Originally, I hadn’t planned to do anything. Travel is challenging, and I didn’t want to take the time off school. However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized how much I love this holiday, and how much I wanted to be with people I love on this holiday.
So, I decided to join a group of eight people up in this corner of the country for a Romanian village Thanksgiving. And that it was.
I think the best way to break down the weekend is with a blow-by-blow account, so here goes:
Thursday, Nov. 24:
10:20 a.m.: I catch the bus to Iași, a giant college town in the northeast of the country. Although this is the real Thanksgiving Day, we had decided to celebrate on Saturday. However, I don’t teach Thursdays, and I had already taken Friday off, so I travel.
2 p.m.: I arrive in Iași.
2:15 p.m.: I hit the Billa for some essentials. The receipt reads: two half-liter plastic bottles of Polar vodka, 7-up, Fanta, Pringles and sour cream (for tacos later on).
3:30 p.m.: I catch the bus to my friend Kelly’s village. She told me to sit on the right side of the bus and in front so as to not miss her stop: Focuri (which literally means “Fires”). The only seat I find is in the back left. Well done, Matt.
3:47 p.m.: As we’re leaving Iași, the sun is setting over the urban landscape while, strictly by coincidence, “August’s Rhapsody” comes on my shuffle. I take a swig of the Screw-Up I prepared for the ride (vodka, 7-Up and Fanta) and enjoy.
4:46 p.m.: I arrive in Focuri to a smiling Kelly. There have been worse welcomes.
5:29 p.m.: Kelly tells me another volunteer, Lindsey, named our turkey Bert. By the way, our turkey is currently alive in the backyard of Kelly’s gazda (host family).
5:30 p.m.: Bert is dead. Cause: decapitation. Weapon: ax.
7:01 p.m.: We eat tacos. And it was good.
Friday, Nov. 25:
7:15 a.m.: Two more volunteers arrive. We are now four.
9:30 a.m.: Kelly and I hitchhike into Iași in quite possibly the first Dacia ever built. Upon arrival, the driver tries to extort us for way more than anyone ever charges for that leg. Kelly knows this because she does it all the time. We explain this to him. He’s still an a-hole. We walk away. I assume he remains an a-hole to this day.
10:30 a.m.: After an hour walk to the train station because the a-hole (see previous) wouldn’t drop us off any closer, we meet up with three more volunteers. We are now seven. (Note: Hitchhiking in Romania is typically a great experience. People are nice, and it’s safe. This was an aberration. The walk also allowed us to stop by an awesome stand with killer coffee and some great breakfast options. I went with a hot pocket and a hot dog wrapped in a pretzel. This is not the first time, nor the last, I will eat this for breakfast.)
10:32 a.m.: Three more arrive. We are now seven.
10:45 a.m.: We eat, again, at the McDonald’s next to the train station. This is common practice.
11:30 a.m.: We arrive at a mall and the only Carrefour visible from space. We do some clothes shopping. A few of us succeed in finding jeans. For me, the only pair I find that wouldn’t have to be removed with the Jaws of Life costs 335 lei (conversion: a lot).
1:15 p.m.: We finish clothes and food shopping for the weekend. As a group, we’re about a thousand lei lighter, but, like good little Peace Corps Volunteers, we made smart choices. We decide to take our time now because we know we’re not going to make the 2 p.m. bus. The next one is 3:30 p.m. This is called foreshadowing.
3:31 p.m.: We miss the 3:30 p.m. bus by “câtevă minute,” (a couple minutes), we’re told.
3:35 p.m.: We’re seated on the 5 p.m., but with GREAT seats.
6:15 p.m.: We get back to Kelly’s and, as seven, spend the rest of the night catching up and killing eight bottles of wine (or the equivalent of that; it was boxed. See “smart choices.”)
Saturday, Nov. 26: OUR THANKSGIVING!
7:15 a.m.: Volunteer No. 8 arrives.
2:30 p.m.: Volunteer No. 9 arrives. We are now complete.
3 p.m.: Bert goes into the oven.
5 p.m.: He comes out, a bit prematurely, something we find out partly due to one volunteer’s prodigious gag reflex.
3-7 p.m. (continuously): Side preparation is in full swing, a difficult pursuit with two burners and one oven. However, thanks to the masterful conducting of one Kelly, we redefine efficiency.
6-something: The power goes out. Seriously. So, after a few moments of “Are you f•••ing kidding me?!?” we grab the bull by the horns – and our Euro-Nokia phones that are all equipped with flashlights – and light everything we need to.
6-something-plus-a-few-minutes: We’re PCVs, dammit! We can handle this. We’re now cooking, and more importantly carving, in the dark. What of it, Electricity.
8:05 p.m.: Lights are still out, but so is the food. We’re ready to eat. Thanks to the continuing power outage, the creativity of the table-setters, and Kelly’s gazda’s penchant for figurines from all geni, we’ll be eating by candlelight jungle motif, just how the Pilgrims did it.
8:10 p.m.: We all say what we’re thankful for. I don’t care where you are, or whom you’re with, this should happen at every Thanksgiving dinner table.
8:30 p.m.: Mid-dinner, the power comes back on. We rejoice. But it’s short-lived. We’re eatin’ here.
The rest of the night: We eat, drink and be merry.
Sunday, Nov. 27:
7 a.m.: Five leave. And then there were four.
11:30 a.m.: Three leave. And then there was one.
Monday, Nov. 28:
Sometime Monday morning: Everyone is back to his or her respective sites and accounted for, with a belly fully of turkey and a heart full of great memories. Here’s to the next holiday. Wait, that’s this week: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Union_Day.
I think it’s safe to say our first Romanian Thanksgiving, was exactly that.
Great times!
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