Yesterday (Sunday) was an eventful day. It was the birthday of my host father (Florin), which in Romania entails massive celebration—plus, it was the first time I’ve ever been to church in Hungarian, the first time I’ve climbed a tree in a dress, my first slumber party in Romania, and the first time I’ve been offered ţuica by my host grandpa. Talk about a full day…
So first things first. I think I may have found a church! Yesterday morning Marit and I joined Tad and Julie and Julie’s host brother Mani at the Reformed church in Lupeni, which happens to be in Hungarian. (It’s hard enough to go to church in Romanian, where I pick up about one in ten words, but in Hungarian?! There is no language in the world that’s related to Hungarian!!!) Hungarians are an ethnic minority in Romania—there’s an interesting story about their origins in the country, actually, as Transylvania has been swapped between the two nations for years and years (usually with fierce nationalistic anger on both sides). There’s really no hope of me learning enough Hungarian this semester to understand anything at the Reformed church (ahem, there’s probably no hope of me learning any Hungarian this semester, really…). But I might go there anyway. The building itself is beautiful and simple, with big windows that let the October morning sunshine stream through. The sides of the church are segregated by gender, something I’ve come to expect at Protestant churches here. But we sat up in the balcony by the organ, where men and women are allowed to sit together (though there were only five other people up there). From up high we had a good vantage point of the service and didn’t feel nearly as conspicuous as I have in all the other churches we’ve visited. It was refreshing. Plus, the service was much more orderly than in the Pentecostal church and the Orthodox church, where for two or three hours you’re practically doing calisthenics, what with all the kneeling and standing and sitting and kneeling… it’s unfamiliar and sometimes uncomfortable. Not that I don’t think worship shouldn’t be uncomfortable—on the contrary, I know it’s important to do things in worship that push me outside of the place where I’m comfortably residing. It’s the presence of the LORD, after all. But honestly, in this place where everything is a bit unfamiliar (even if by now it doesn’t feel that way), to spend an hour in a familiar rhythm of singing hymns, rising for prayer, and sitting for the reading of Scripture and a sermon was truly soothing to my soul. The organist played a hymn to the tune of “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty” and I cried. How Good and restoring it was to be able to sing along—even if I was singing in the wrong language.
When I got home from church, I was shocked: there was a jeep sitting in the yard outside my host family’s house, with five strangers standing around outside, chatting with Florin and my host grandpa (who was a bit happy from ţuica—Romanian plum brandy, basically moonshine—and gave me the most jovial welcome home I’ve probably ever received). I know my host family has friends, and I remembered it was Florin’s birthday; I just didn’t think the festivities would have started yet. But from that point on—so from noon until 7 pm—there was a steady stream of well-wishers at our house on the mountain, all of them bearing gifts and coming to wish Florin la mulţi ani (happy birthday)! Andreea and I had made food until 11 pm the night before, and I was glad to see it being enjoyed—potato salad with carrots and pickles and chicken and peas, delicious mashed potatoes, broiled chicken, bread (of course), and a pretty amazing prajitura—this fantastic concoction of ladyfingers, peaches, pineapple, yogurt, and whipping cream, essentially. It was great. The ţuica and bere were flowing like mad, though, so eventually Marit and I decided to make an escape and get some fresh air (Marit’s host parents were invited because they’re good friends with Florin and Andreea, and it was really nice to have another American there).
I’d been wanting to go exploring up into the far reaches of my farm since I’d gotten here, but every attempt had been dissuaded. When I asked Mădălina once, she just looked appalled and said, “Nu! Câine rau!” (which means, No! Bad dog! … and was enough to persuade me to stay off the trails by myself). But with Marit alongside, and with a beautiful October afternoon just begging me to go exploring, I could no longer resist. So we climbed up, and up, and up… eventually crawling over the last fence onto a narrow trail, which is clearly used infrequently. It opened up into the most beautiful scenery I could ever imagine—a clearing on a little plateau amidst the mountains, all of which are currently covered in orange and red and lime-green leaves. The sun was shining, the sky was bright blue, the grass in the meadow was golden and basking in the sun… I was glad I was still wearing my dress from church, so I could frolic and skip with my hair and skirt breezing behind me. It was pretty idyllic. We decided to follow one of the trails into the woods, and came across a beautiful climbing tree that we promptly climbed. (It required me taking off my dress to scale it, but don’t worry, I had a tank top and pants underneath!) We sat up there enjoying the sunshine and the colors and the quiet for a while, then eventually headed back home. We were afraid we’d miss the prajitura.
Sunday night, then, as soon as all the merrymakers had left our farm, Florin and Andreea both hustled off to work—they both had to work the night shift, from seven to seven. That left Mădălina and I to clean up and wash dishes (which, now that we have hot water in the kitchen, Mădă didn’t mind at all). After that we read Bambi in Romanian, listened to soothing music on my laptop, got skyped by my parents in Iowa (and found out from Grandma and Grandpa, who were visiting, that Maria reads this blog aloud to Aunt Kris every week… hi guys!). Eventually we fell asleep, both of us snuggled into my couch-bed. It was lovely to have a little sister again. Kendra, I miss you.
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