Day 10: Cluj-Napoca

Rosia Montana
by Peca Stefan, Andreea Valean, Radu Apostol and Gianna Carbunariu
directed by Carbunariu, Valean and Apostol
Hungarian Theatre of Cluj

http://www.huntheater.ro/interferences/darab.php?eid=164

The house is set up in the round. There are three big projection screens. One behind me, one to my left and one to my right. There are little models of houses and churches, set on blocks, against the wall throughout the space. On the stage are some chairs, tables, some blocks. Four or five actors come out on stage. The slide show presentation begins. The actors walk around in various repetitive stage patterns, addressing the audience with questions. I don't understand any of it, because it's in Hungarian and there is no English translation via headset. There's supposed to be but it's not working. The aesthetic is simple, and not inspiring. I'm kind of suffering through this. Then a domestic drama begins where a lawyer or saleswoman shows up at the house of an old man who's had a tracheotomy, played by a woman. She speaks through the device that picks up the vibrations of the vocal chords. The lawyer speaks in Romanian, very professional sounding. The father and two sons are distressed. Then we have some sort of farmer or miner who is trying to blow up the mountain. He seems to be in love with a donkey. The donkey dies and is taken away by rabbits. Then it's a rock concert, smoke fills the room. This section is in English. Two kids, band members are looking for some treasure. Some sirens show up and trick them. There is some singing and dancing. It's the only visually imaginative section of the piece. The only time it comes alive. This is two hours in. The show stops for a break. I thought the piece was over. I was very upset when I learned that it was an intermission. Many people didn't know, and left the theatre. The piece was boring, went in many different directions, didn't have an emotional or intellectual core. The acting was good overall. The second half was another hour. It was more interactive with the audience, but even less focused. The piece ended when one of the actors, a young woman playing an old woman and speaking in Romanian, gives one of the Hungarian audience members a text to read in Romanian, and then the actors disappear. There is no signaling of a conclusion. We half heartedly applauded and figured it was time to go. We had to catch the 19.00 show anyway. We exited the theatre. The lobby was dark. There was no one at the coat check. No ushers. This piece kind of infuriated me for a lot of reasons. A) It needs major editing. It is far too long. B) It needs to be focus and filtered. C) The aesthetic is level I university directing seminar. D) Young actors playing old people just hardly ever works, and it didn't here. E) After suffering through 3 incoherent hours, there wasn't even a signaling that the thing was over. F) The metatheatricality of it is cheap and feels tacked on at the end. If that's the play, then let that be the play, back to B--ie, no focus. I have heard a little bit about the situation in Rosia Montana. The government is trying to get people to sell their land. Also they are apparently selling the cemeteries. If I hadn't been told about this situation beforehand, I would have left the piece having not learned anything about the situation, let alone with the feeling that I could have some sort of response to these artists reaction to it.

The Other World -- The Society and Governments of the Moon
after Cyrano de Bergerac
directed by Benjamin Lazar
Theatre de l'Incredule, France

http://www.huntheater.ro/interferences/darab.php?eid=170

It becomes apparent in the first minute that there will be no English translation for this piece either. Okay. I'm in Romania. That's fine. Not everyone in this world should speak or understand English, and I totally am on board with that. But under the expectation that there would be translation provided throughout the festival, I'm a little disappointed, and I'm sure you can understand that. Okay, so more theatre without translation. If the piece is universal, if the piece is inspired, it's no problem. I did just fine with Leonce and Lena. Okay, so not as much with The Other World. The piece is directed and performed by Benjamin Lazar, who is accompanied by the Baroque chamber duo La Reveuse. The style of performance is French Baroque museum. There are footlights with actual fire. Everything is lit by candles. The actor and musicians are all pallid with painted faces. Lazar performs this text in a storytelling style with a ladder, a chair, and a writing stand. The musicians are positioned stage right with other instruments hanging behind them off of a wooden structure. The piece is pleasant enough for the first 15 minutes. The music is pleasant throughout. The performer is talented and interested. But the piece never develops into anything. And this type of "storytelling" theatre without translation for 120 MINUTES is pretty torturous. My Romanian is getting nowhere with this YE OLDE FRENCH text. There were a few of visually interesting things. Like how gentle he was with the fire of the candle. Bursts of intriguing phsyicality. The way he hypnotically swung a baton back and forth. But a few visually interesting things cannot carry a one man show in this museum style for two hours. I was really pleased when the whole thing was over. Why perform in a dead style with complete lack of irony or commentary? It's an intriguing question. Is it worth it? It would probably have been pleasant just pleasant if I understood French.

Ana, Gyongy, Zsuzsa and I head upstairs. I have an espresso. We're planning to go to the third show of the evening. But it is at a different theatre. We talk for a bit. Then Andras rushes up. Come on, come on, we have to go! We rush outside. There is a bus waiting. We head to the Teatru National in the Visky's van. Saci drops off Andras and I and we head inside. I see Balazs and Tom. Tom gives me a cookie. I want to talk to Balazs more, but he seems pretty reserved and I get sort of intimidated. The show is about to begin. The hold the pieces for at least a half an hour, because the previous show runs late. The Teatru National in Cluj is gorgeous and antique. The house opens and we enter. I run into the girl who lead me through the journey of Immaculate Conception in Ex-Position. I sit next to Andris.

Process_In_Progress (Process_City Trilogy, part III)

after Franz Kafka and Orson Wells

adapted by Boris Bakal

directed by Bakal

Shadow Casters, Croatia

http://www.huntheater.ro/interferences/darab.php?eid=186

The three actors come out on the stage, and start talking to us in a casual way. It's Boris again from the fitness center, and I love this guy. "I need some help. Can someone please tell the story of Joseph K in Hungarian and then in Romanian?" No one volunteers. "Okay, that was harder, this will be a bit easier, turn to the person to your left or your right and tell them your name and your birthday." I turn to Andris and the lady next to me. "Kevin. June 23." The lady's next to me is December 24. "OK, now who has a birthday today?" No one. Okay, does anyone have one coming up? She does. Okay. "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Joseph K, you were arrested today." The show takes place upstage in a proscenium. A table, two chairs on each end. A video projection to the back. There are at least four cameras set up on and around the table. Again there is no English translation. Okay, it's just that kind of day. The Romanian subtitles are easier to follow, but they are completely out of sync with the text and even I can tell this. Oh well, ok. Boris, Damir Klemenic, and Nina Violic take turns playing Joseph K, who is arrested and imprisoned for no reason. The alternate from scene to scene. The staging has a few imaginative sparks, but needs so much more. There's a casual, messy aesthetic to it, which is appealing, but never really exploited to its full potential. The video effects are interesting, almost always with two different shots layered on top of each other. Facial close-ups with a long shot of the table. Because of the lack of translation (it was performed in Croatian), I couldn't pick up much of the story line. As for the performance, it never evolved. There was an interesting frantic movement section with rapid fire monologues, and the most visually striking thing I had seen all day, one of my favorite moments of the festival so far even, when all three actors took out knives. They looked as though they were about to cut their wrists in a very cliche manner, and then all the sudden, they started tracing words on themselves on their arms on their chests with the knives. It was very disarming and interesting. Then they passed the knives in a round-robbin between the three of them quicker and quicker and this was accompanied by a shot from above. There were moments of inspiration here, but I wished it would have been one continual inspiration. Not enough was sparking. In terms of a conclusion to the Process_City trilogy, I struggle to find a through-line.

Here are some pictures from inside the Teatru National in Cluj:

Day 9: Cluj-Napoca

Ex-Position (Process_City Trilogy, part II)

by the Ensemble

directed by Boris Bakal and Katarina Pejovic

Shadow Casters, Croatia

http://www.huntheater.ro/interferences/darab.php?eid=185

There is a group of people sitting in a circle in the lobby of the fitness center. I stand to the side. I'm not sure if it's okay for me to join the group or not. I don't know which group I'm supposed to be going with. Boris Bakal, the Artistic Director of the company, is telling a long and funny story. He is very congenial and learning all of the names of the audience members. It is a cold bright morning. He points to me standing at the side. He says that these actors that have been hired to stand around and look like normal people are underpaid and that now and then should be applauded. He makes me smile and laugh. He tells a long story about perspective and coincidence. A story from his life. He's really charasmatic. There is a table top that he asks for everyone's autogram with sharpie on. I eventually feel like I should be allowed to exist (it's my own issue), and I sit down. Boris talks to me a lot, and calls me by name, Kevin. Everyone picks random numbers. Someone comes down and takes audience members away based on the number they've chosen. This is the first time that I'm really feeling a sense of camaraderie with all of the other festival attendees around me. I sit and listen to his story. Aquarius, Goethe, Berlin, help, doorbell, bouquet, tiny pieces, wedding, blonde Norwegian, drunken party, friend didn't arrive, crying girlfriend like from the movie. People who have come to the fitness center walk through the door. Boris says that these actors are very realistic stylistically and that they should be applauded. Unassuming young man enters to work out. We break out into applause. Remind me to talk about the way applause works here in Cluj. "9?" "Are you ready to go Kevin?" "Sure." A man leads me from the fitness center to the Brush Factory. He takes me to room number 9. A woman is in there, standing at the window. I sit there for a while. She turns to me. Asks me my name. What do you see through the window? Do you believe in miracles? Yes. What kind? Personal miracles. Do you believe in immaculate conception? Like virgin birth? Yes. No, I don't. She shows me the goggles I will be wearing. To blindfold me. She says if I ever feel unsafe, that I can ask her to take off the goggles, but that I will have to start at the beginning of the journey again. She spins me around. Sets a scene. Tells me a story. Takes me for a walk. We go outside. THE STORY IS ABOUT THE IMMACULATE CONCEPTION OF THE JESUS THROUGH MARY'S POINT OF VIEW. For those of you who worked on Candlelight Carols, you will understand how surprising this was for me. The journey itself in Ex-Position was not that transformative. At one point, she washes my hands, we had to sacrifice the doves. I was never really taken away. We sat down on a bench, and I had to decide whether we take Jesus with us, and choose the path of that suffering, or leave him behind. I never felt like anything was really at stake, and I was never really moved by any of this. Finally, she took me to a blanket where I layed down. She sang a song, and then left me to sing or pray. Afterwards you can go to room number 100. I said the Serenity Prayer a few times, and then tried to find room 100. I go in, it is the "control room." I'm cold. I'm hungry. I have some juice. I can watch the other rooms or listen by headphones to the other stories. I don't really care, I want to go. On the way out I find Noemi. She asks me if I want to share a cab with her to the Tranzit House. I'm happy for this. I tell her that I liked Part I of the trilogy better, a man from the company seems surprised about that.

Noemi and I take a cab to the Tranzit House. Koinonia (Andras's publishing house and where Ana works) is having a book launch for George Banu's new book about Peter Brook. We arrive and I go upstairs. Andras and Tompa Gabor are with Banu and a few other presenters. They talk in Romanian or Hungarian and there is a headset translation in English and French. Eventually a Russian woman who can only speak Hungarian, is translated over the microphone by Andras into Romanian and then over the headsets into English and French. Then a speech from Peter Brook is shown in French while Banu translates in to Romanian and the French translator switches to translating French into English over the headset.

Fever

by Wallace Shawn

directed by Lars Noren

Theatre d l'Espace - Scene Nationale de Besancon, Le Nouvel Olympia - CDR, Tours, Aprocryphe Tendace and Athenee Theatre Louis-Jouvet, Paris

http://www.huntheater.ro/interferences/darab.php?eid=181

Bare stage. Simona Maicanescu enters. Buna seara. Bon soir. She steps into the middle of the stage, with a glass bottle, could be filled with water or vodka. She sets it down. She doesn't move. Fever is a long and interwoven monologue about the economy and sociology and psychology, the guilt of being born with opportunity, the rich and the poor, the inevitable hatred, misunderstanding between them. It taps into something very personal, a little taboo, and follows it down a long twisting spiral. Her performance is very minimalist. She holds her hands in front of her. It starts with a single movement, a finger, more fingers, a hand. It's all organic. Eventually the hands start moving. She is a grounded and complex performer. The monologue could use some editing. In the last third, it isn't as sharp or as tight. She takes off her earrings. The only big gestures are reaching for the bottle once, putting it back on the ground, near the earrings, taking off shoes and her jacket as she is laid a bit more bare. Her inner fire carries the piece all the way through. The little gestures mean a lot. It's a very fine performance, and intellectually provocative. It's in English.

We run over to the main studio it's time for the four hour production of Measure for Measure. I am extremely excited.

Measure for Measure

by William Shakespeare

directed by Matthias Langhoff

Hungarian Theatre of Cluj

http://www.huntheater.ro/interferences/darab.php?eid=154

Maybe the greatest production of Shakespeare I've seen? The best in a long time, no doubt. I think I read this play in college, but it's been a while since I've seen the text. Proscenium. A huge rotating pillar stage center, with 1940s style posters. "She's a bag of trouble." "Fuck the King of Hungary" graffiti. It rotates to reveal the different settings, two levels of scenery attached to the pillar. Some cafe tables and a piano and a urinal downstage left. A young woman runs out and introduces that the actors are coming. A young man passes out and dies. The company recites a collage of famous Shakespearean quotes. The action is broken up by Shakespearean sonnets sung by the ensemble (sometimes excruciatingly out of pitch, but always fascinating, always terribly enunciated English), in the style of Brecht and Weill. The production is wildly imaginative. The acting is wonderful. The action is clear. Kudos to Sha for the wonderful English translation via headset. Brava! Maximalism. Visually audacious. Irreverant. Dirty. Refined. Specific. Funny. Common. Intelligent. Raunchy. There's a point where the Duke is fondling Isabella. The audience laughs. It makes me a little sick. I don't know how to react. What is the director's POV? Is this supposed to be funny? There is an intermission at two hours. The actors are out in the lobby, improvising jokes in Hungarian. "By the time you get back into the theatre, the Romanians will finish paving the roads." The second section starts off with some songs sung by Marianna, played by Emoke Kato, she plays four roles at least, including the executioner. She has a very sexy cabaret presence. Striking red hair. Zsolt Bogdan is radiating animal chemistry as Angelo. Aniko Petho is smart and human as Isabella. The scenes between Angelo and Isabella are completely riveting. Aron Dimeny is strong and serious and complex as Lucio. After intermission, there is a long improvisation in Hungarian by Andras Hathazi, who is playing the Duke and Pompeius. I don't understand any of it, as there is no Romanian or English translation. It lasts a good 10-15 minutes, but I don't care I'm so fascinated by the wild and brave ways that Langhoff is playing with form and structure. He never, ever rushes the proceedings, but every section, every moment holds something fascinating. At one point, the stage cracks downstage. The actors are nearly falling through. The final image is extremely bold, extremely disturbing. A beautiful commentary on the supposedly happy ending for the Duke and Isabella. The company breaks out into a Bachanallian frenzy of singing and dancy, and they pass Isabella around like a rag doll. She eventually ends up in the Duke's arms completely limp and they "dance" frantically. A spotlight on the ax that has been driven into the platform downstage. And then blackout. Although the Duke has offered clemency for Angelo and for Claudio, the implication is that the a measure has been taken for a measure, an eye for an eye, and the sacrifice is Isabella, who has been thrown into a rushed marriage to a man she barely knows, with no say in the matter.

Day 8: Cluj-Napoca

Vacation from History (Process_City Trilogy, part I)
by Boris Bakal and Katarina Pejovic
directed by Bakal and Pejovic
Shadow Casters, Croatia
http://www.huntheater.ro/interferences/darab.php?eid=171

We come into a little waiting area with benches. Andras tells Larissa the history of this building. That after WW2, there were only a few Jews left in Cluj. Something like 60. There are about 27 of us waiting on the benches. "Sorry we counted you so many times, but we can only have a certain number of audience members, and you will see why." Everyone around me is speaking Hungarian. They take us into the main performance space one by one. Me and another woman are the last two left. "Always the last or the first," she says. I'm taken in second to last. A nice woman greets me, and asks me my name. She takes me into the space. She gets me a blanket. She leads me into an area with a bunch of little cots. Everyone in there is lying down in separate cots and it's dark. The walls of the performance space are white gauze. My cot is the bottom bed of bunk beds. She takes my coat and hangs it on the bed. She places a fresh pillowcase on my pillow. I take off my shoes and get into bed. We all lay there in silence for a while. Then ambient sounds. Teeth brushed. People pacing around. A man crying. Telling a story about someone who looked like someone he went to school with. After about 10 minutes, some actors enter the space in the middle. They are coming home. They dialogue is in English. I crawl to the edge of my bed to watch. The young man, the crying man has gotten mixed up with the mafia. His life is at risk. The drama escalates and eventually the older man takes him out of the space away from the women. Silence. A man enters, and reads a list of things that he likes about life. All simple things. It's moving to me and I start crying in my little bed. One of the company members comes to each bed and has us put on headphones. There are two simultaneous monologues. A recently deceased young woman talks about death. All the loved ones that recently died before her. The daughter she leaves behind. "I somehow thought that I was irreplaceable." The show tapped into something pretty primal. It was really an experience.



Alcoholics
by Andras Visky
directed by Gabor Tompa
Teatrul Maghiar Stat de Cluj
http://www.huntheater.ro/interferences/darab.php?eid=155

The girl who's become my friend with the translation headsets assures me that this time it will work. I take my seat in the second row, next to the pretty blonde lady who takes quiet pictures with the big box. Upstage is a huge pile of trash beyond a dirty shallow square lagoon of water with boards as a bridge across it. To stage left is an emptied out barrel, stage right a locker. Imola Kezdi is Eva, the homeless alcoholic who wanted to be an actress. She gives one of the greatest performances I have ever witnessed. Feral, relentless, funny, human, sweet, violent, full, crackling, sparking, ferocious. Singing, dumb drunk, stumbling, spitting. I mostly just can't take my eyes off of her. One of the ensemble members is a violinist who accompanies the whole piece. Some elements of the production are underdeveloped. The angels who suddenly enter the scene are a bit cliche. Eva at one point becomes Mary, who visits the empty tomb. The stations of the cross factor into the script, but it wasn't entirely clear to me. Mary gets drunk with the other Mary, played by another homeless vagabond, named Trezor, with a few teeth, and they're quite rotten ones. Eva gives a monolgue towards the end in a fantasy sequence where she thanks everyone who's helped her "become a famous dancer and actress." Reminiscent of Precious. Kezdi broke my heart. In the final moment of the play, after Eva is redeemed, I was overwhelmed by an emotion that I didn't understand, and I started to weep.



Endgame
by Samuel Beckett
directed by Krystian Lupa
Teatro de La Abadia, Spain
http://www.huntheater.ro/interferences/darab.php?eid=175

The huge proscenium stage in the main theatre is blacked out on the sides. A big cement basement is carved out of the middle, surrounded by a strip of red light around the edges. Windows in the back. A man in a wheel chair with a bag over this head. The acting in this production is extremely strong. Ana is working the supertitles, so I am rooting for her. Clov is played by a woman. Her commitment to the physicality of the staging leaves a little bit to be desired, but that's pretty much the only foible with the performances here. The woman sitting next to me asks me if my headset is in English. I tell her yes. She says that they told her there would be English supertitles. Since I know some Spanish and some Romanian (there are Romanian and Hungarian supertitles and the play is performed in Spanish), I offer her my headset. I do pretty well. It's a shame that I haven't read this play. Theatre without translation. Struggling through language while engaging with performance. I could write a book about this after my experience here in Cluj. It's pretty fascinating. Nagg and Nell are in little coffins on rollers, meat locker drawers that are pulled out of the wall on stage right. The play takes its time, and just delivers the goods. If I'd had translation, it would have been a richer experience, I'm sure.

Day 7: Cluj-Napoca

Leonce and Lena

by Georg Buchner

directed by Gabor Tompa

Teatrul Maghiar Stat de Cluj

http://www.huntheater.ro/interferences/darab.php?eid=168

The main stage of the Sala Mare has been completely transformed, and the house is moved onto the stage. It's amazing to me the man power behind this festival. The set is a dilapidated, dusty room in the grand French style of the 19th century. There are divans and chairs scatter about, a sink. The walls are crumbling, and there are big windows on the back and at the sides. It's my first time every using a headseat for translation. The show begins, the entire company pops there heads through the little doorway at upstage left with their powdered wigs and grand costumes in the same French style. The slowly move to the middle of the stage in silence, en masse. They pause stage center, realize their dusty. It's funny. It's a great image. It's my favorite scene in the play. I realize straight away that my headset doesn't work. It's just static. I am searching through all of the channels, trying to find something. Nothing. I give up. There are Romanian supertitles, so my Romanian will have to carry me through Buchner. There are little dance numbers, and irreverant sequences, which start off somewhat charming. They become pretty repetitive. The quiet little arias sung by the actors are interesting. The performers are all very precise. Loránd Váta brings embodies the imbicility of the king, with the tense muscularity of his performance. Balázs Bodolai as Leonce is perfectly non-chalant, and has a great presence on stage. The "love story" between Leonce and Lena is distanced and muted by director, a really strong and fascinating commentary on this sort of love. Their scenes are stripped of feeling. And when the two lovers are at last married, they turn into rigid dolls that fall on their sides. I didn't know what was being said, but this came across clearly to me, so bravo to the production. The physicality of the ensemble is really impressive, acting on chairs with three legs, tumbling backwards off of chairs with two legs.

Day 5: Bucuresti, Cluj-Napoca!

I wake up at 6am. Run around. Shower. Everything's packed. Cami calls. She picks me up out front. We're off to the Bucuresti Nord Train Station. We have a great conversation on the way there about the orphans, about the Eastern European vs. American psychology, the differences in society. Why it's particularly difficult for the orphans to make connections and enter into society. I tell her how blessed I've been to be surrounded by people working hard for change here, what a great group I've fallen into. I give her the fudge from my Aunt Sara that my mom sent with me. It's called "Oh Fudge." Train station. Not too bad. "You paid way too much for this ticket." "You're in Wagon 5. It's always the last wagon." My bag is heavy. Bye Cami, bye Bucuresti. I enter through the very narrow doors. Cross slowly through narrow passageways with my big bag, and I feel awkward, like I always do when I'm carrying things. I reach my first class compartment. There are girls there, a bit younger than me. "Este numar unsprezece?" "Da." I try to put my huge back above the seat. The shelf is way too small. "Sper ca va sta." "Si noi." They motion to me to set it underneath one of the seats. "E bine." They think it's okay. A couple in their thirties or forties gets into the cabin with us. There are 5. One empty seat for the baggage. The transit person comes by. "Billet si loc." I give him the ticket with my place on it, but can't find the actual ticket. I'm shuffling around. "Imi pare rau." Ok, ok, I can't find it. Shit. Oh wait, there it is. I have so many pockets in Romania. I am pocketful. I can't find something for a whole evening, and then I get home and it's been there in my pocket the whole time, but I just couldn't find it for all the pockets. We set off at 07.30. I feel tired and wired and nervous. Everyone has told me that I have to pay attention on the train "Fii atent." I try calling Andras at 10.00, but I don't reach him. He calls me, we set up that Mrs. Visky will meet me at the train station. Ok, that's set. We go through beautiful mountains at Siniai. The compartment looks like this:

The girls and the couple both get off at Brasov. "La revedere." "O zi placuta." "Buna ziua." "Drum bun." "Si tu." And then I have the cabin to myself, which is kind of nice. Romania by train is stunningly beautiful. I'm pretty much glued to the window the whole time because it's that beautiful. At one point, I start cying a little because it's so beautiful, and I'm so happy to be here. At one point, a twenty year old looking boy opens to door to my cabin and looks at me. I look at him. "Buna ziua." I don't know what's going on. He opens his backpack and puts all sorts of merchandise with price tags on the seat. He pulls out a squirrel. This is wild. He leaves. Here you go:

We pass through little villages. Through Sighisoara, which is an amazing medeival town. I start really taking pictures. Here you can see what my trip was like, but it was 1000 times grander than I could capture:

Somewhere after Dumbraveni, I call Delia Groza, it's around 6am Chicago time so I figure she'll be on her way to work. I leave a message all in Romanian, which I think was pretty good. : ) I saw a little town called Augustin on the train and I wanted her to tell Augustin the cook at Nookies about it.

At Copsa Mica, a bunch of people board the train. I see the salesboy walk off with his bag. I wonder who is he and where is he going? One man comes into my compartment. E liber? Da. Another man comes in. Sunt liber? Da. The older guy next to me has a cell phone with an REM ringtone of "Losing My Religion."

One of the men leaves and I'm left next to the man with the Losing My Religion ringtone. It looks from my map, like we'll stop in Cimpia Turzii, where Delia is from, but I'm not sure. I feel a little brave and I start up a conversation with the man in Romanian. "Stiti dumneavoastra daca vom opri la Cimpia Turzii." He's not sure. But we keep talking in Romanian. He's a very nice guy. He's retired, with a two daughters and two granddaughters. One is in Italy, one is in Sibiu, if I remember correctly. We talk for a long time in Romanian, and I actually understand about 60% of what he's saying. Success! I am so happy! I can't even express it. We are approaching Cimpia Turzii, Vasili gets excited and tells me to get ready. I go to the wrong side of the train! He tells me to come back over to the other side. Here's what I could capture you, iepuras, (I missed the sign):

Vasili is going to Cluj-Napoca as well. I'm about 8.5 hours into my trip. We keep talking. He says I should take a picture of him, and he will take a picture of me, and that I should send them to him. He gives me his address, and I give him my card and write my address in Chicago on it. Here's Vasili and I:

"E bine?" "Frumos." We arrive in Cluj a bit early. I saw goodbye to Vasili. I promise to send the pictures to him. I scurry off the train, onto the platform. I'm in Cluj Napoca! I stop to have a cigarette. Almost as soon as I arrive, an old woman approaches me. She hugs me! Matusa! She says a lot to me very fast in Romanian, it sounds like she says my name! I think that maybe she is Roszica, the Visky's "chief angel." "Roszica?" She looks confused at me; that's not her name. "De unde esti? (Where are you from?)," she asks me. "Eu? Chicago!" She waves her hand at me like, "Not you!" and she walks away. This is very, very funny and wonderful to me. I am greeted in Cluj-Napoca officially with a big hug from a stranger. Thank you. Romanian angel #6. I sit down to smoke another cigarette. (It's been 9.5 hours, you know.)

I open up my card from Kaitlin, as directed, on the fifth day. Thank you, I needed that hug. :) I miss you too!

Noapte buna, Cluj-Napoca.

Cu drag,

Kevin