Coming back to Buch we saw a bunch of piglets on the side of the road somewhere near Horezu. He, of course, has immediately declared we should stop and get them. As pets. And it’s now recurrently surfacing every now and then, to our mutual amusement: “Baby, go back. I want my piggy!”
Other then that, I am in limbo in so many ways it’s hard to count. Yeap, for the moment I can only count on credit. Being a hobo sucks!
If everything is small, then everything is small. Remind me to tell you the Arcidosso story, when we tried to fit a our 2 meter wide car on a 1,90 meter wide street.
I’d like to tell you why visiting the Parliament is worse than the Parliament itself together with all the politicians who are already there and with all the politicians who want to be there, but it’s been a long day and tomorrow I am waking up at four. Or something.
And I am going to win ’cause I’ve got a head start. I have been angry, and sad, and envious, and totally unproductive.
He approached me shyly, like he was lost and asking for directions. I was a bit amused by his choice. It’s not exactly polite nor effective to ask someone who is obviously on the phone. I mistook his pose for “need in an emergency” and somehow agreed to see what that was all about. He said “This is my access card, I don’t need it, I’m leaving Bucharest”. I acknowledged his gesture like I was taught to. I was still reluctant to accept reality, these random acts of kindness don’t happen to me. I even confessed to it on the phone, during my conversation. Before finishing my ride on the subway my plan was made. This one month subscription card had to go on and live its last day in the hands of as many as possible. My stop looked almost deserted and for a couple of seconds I feared I would meet no one on my way out, on their way in. But I met someone. I said “Here, have this card, it expires today”. The man stopped for a fraction of a second, I had interrupted his fishing for the money in his wallet. Then he took it and left. I was a bit sad he did not say “Thank you”. Maybe he was just baffled, as I was when the same happened to me.
I hope the one who gave me the card really only needed it to Victoriei, where we met. And I hope the man who got it from me, also gave it to someone else when he was done with his trip.
There! I am leaving. Will I be able to spoil myself?
And the city smelled like New York. But I am not going there, nor to Barcelona. I am visiting that city, like I always do before I change my job or my job changes me.
It’s “so far, so good”, instead of “sooo good, so far”. There are a lot of reasons for that. Like the fact the one of the guard monkeys grabbed my arm. I say learn English, learn some manners, then get paid to be a bodyguard. Anyways, nothing serious. Some of the festival staff is really good and effective. Like the guy who apologized for the guard.
So that would explain why I have started drinking beer as early as ten something in the morning. Or wouldn’t it?
Can I complain about the dust. About the little motorinoes? They are everywhere, inserting themselves in every little space available. I am talking both about the dust and the little motor bikes. Since there is nothing much I can do about the dust, I thought of just pushing the riders as they pass me by. Criminal instinct, huh?
So yesterday was the first busy day. Kaiser Chiefs made my day. “That’s a nice one, BUCHAREST”. The Romanian crowd was ecstatic. The Hungarians were like “What was that? Neah”. So that was the highlight of a day that included, dozing in the ambient tent, excellent music and sound, a indie-underground American movie and a discussion with it’s director in the Magic Mirror, The graffiti artist - don’t bother unless you don’t have anything else better, the quite electric Fanfara Tirana, and the funny Finish unpronounceable Alamaailman Vasarat, a bit hard to digest in terms of music, but very humorous intros to their pieces, Kaiser Chiefs as you know them, Jamiroquai impaired by their own live sound, so we moved next door to Bob Marley’s son. You remember the cute little Ky-Mani? He is all grown up now.
The cherry on the pie was Szivkov Aleksszandr 6 minute dance. Great, entertaining, well-done, perfect moves and his body is a bonus. On the same occasion we watched another performance, that made us want to leave the room and move forward. Some tunisian guy, speaking French, of course, using a wheel chair. The dancing was good, but the piece was all together too long and “artistic”. We ended the night in a jazz note. Rhoda Scott is an American artist that plays an instrument that’s a cross between a piano and an organ and she does it with all her soul. Plus she had help from this incredible drum player. Makes me wanna be like that when I am older.
My twenty minutes are almost up. See you soon.
LATER EDIT: Thanks to Hotnews for linking me.
It was not love. It was COLD.
As the water was dripping down his body and swirling into the drain, he was waking up. Waking up shivering. Waking up and shivering. Not what he intended, the shivering.
And he was realizing yet another difference between communism and capitalism. In capitalism you pay by the meter for what you’re getting. In communism you pay by the meter for how much you’re getting. These were his thoughts at six a.m. while taking his cold shower coming down to him from the hot water pipe. He was still in communism, obviously, he thought. “And also this is what you get for being first”, he issued yet another Simonism before he got sucked into making ready for his imminent trip to his lover.
Civilized, tell you more tomorrow. Now off to 4 of July and then to B’Estfest.
I am finally fully identifiable and documented, driver’s license and all.
Quite impressive their new headquarters for relations with the public. They even had a nicely cosmopolitan electronic system for queuing and a working air conditioning. What was partly missing? A sidewalk.
I left through the countryside-like dust. But I am happy.
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