Vecina mea
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The above phrase in Romanian means "my neighbor." My neighbor is a real character. A cranky old woman quite insistant on her way who always seems to have a mouth full of cracker crumbs which she spits on me when she talks. She's nice when I offer her extra food I won't be able to finish or free groceries I got from the Red Cross that I don't think I deserve. She has a habit of telling me in Romanian that I don't speak Romanian well, the other American who lived here before spoke Romanian better. She also insists that Phil's name was Paul and that he promised her his pots and pans when he left so I should give them to her when I leave and when am I leaving Romania again?
She's also someone who hasn't gotten that if someone doesn't understand the language you're speaking, repeating yourself louder doesn't help. She's nosey and sometimes annoying and grabby. She offers unwanted advice, and helps her self to whatever food I have out on the counter when she comes over and when she doesn't like what I'm saying to her in Romanian such as "don't put your frozen meat in my freezer. My freezer is full and I don't want to keep your meat frozen for you," she pretends she doesn't understand me. However, I believe that deep down she is a sweet lady.
Sunday I was home for four hours before I had to catch another train to take me two hours south to pick up my cat. My neighbor came over to give me some little apple cakes and thank me once again for the free groceries I gave her in October. She brought over the apple cakes on a plate so she could come into my apartment and set them on one of my plates - just because she wanted to come in. Usually entrance into my kitchen is an opportunity for her to ask me for my pots and pans, but this time I figured, why not ask her advice on something. My notices form the post office that indicate I have something to pick up have been arriving without specifiying which post office to go to - or maybe they do but the handwriting is unintelligable. I asked my neighbor about the noticed (she also, unasked, keeps an eye on my mailbox for me) and she offered to go with me to the post office.
I unwillingly accepted her offer as she was very excited to hear about the prospect of me getting a package from the U.S. I think she just wanted to see what was in a package from the U.S. I knew I couldn't get a package unless it was Tuesday or Thursday so we made plans to go this morning.
I woke up this morning to huge snowflakes falling down beautifully and coating all the trees and fences and cars. It was goregous. My neighbor was knocking on my door at 9 o'clock even though we agreed to go at 9 thirty because she wanted to remind me to pay my water bill. After I dressed and had my morning cup of tea we headed out together, bundled up warmly in the still falling snow. As we passed my mailbox I noticed I had another slip, this one for a letter, I suspected from a different post office than where one usually picks up international packages, but I did recently get an envelope with two books in it sent to me there, so I was even more confused. I took the notice and once on the main street my neighbor began dragging me to the telephone office. I tried to explain I'd never been to this office before, but she insisted the people in the Romtelcom office would tell us which post office we could pick up a package from the USA. It seems she had a bill to pay there, but as I expected the clerk behind the desk didn't know where to pick up my package, but another person in line directed us to the Vama - international post office for packages. I've been there several times.
My neighbor has never been there and didn't know where it was. Thus began the ensuing arguement. She wanted to go to the post office at the train station and ask there if they had my package. I wanted to go directly to the vama but she didn't beleive it existed or that I knew where it was. The wet snow was falling a lot lighter now, but the sidewalks were covered with a slippery layer of slush and mud. I worried about her falling. When she took my arm I was glad and I half wondered if she had brought other bills to pay and just wanted someone to walk with her. Walking to all the different offices to pay your bills can take most of a day and probably longer when your old, slow and in serious danger of falling down in the slush. For the first time I thought about how hard it is to get around if you're slow and elderly. Especially in the weather.
She produced no more bills, but we did continue slowly. She wanted to stop walking every time a car passed us and like a little kid, wouldn't cross the street unless there were no cars on the road at all. Apparently she hasn't learned the habit of drivers in her country that if you get into the middle of the road they will stop for you. I guess unlike me, she didn't trust her ability to leap out of the road if a car came up too fast, and she seemed deathly afraid of a car splashing us as it drove past. She lectured me on not wearing a hat, even though my scarf doubles as one and explained to me after six months of living in this city that you cross at the green light and wait at the red.
I explained I thought we were supposed to go the vama and that I knew where it was - between the train station and the market. We headed in that direction and usually she'd let me lead for about 1 street before she'd inisist I didn't know where I was going and pull me down a side street in another direction. We walked like this for about an hour. She stopped to ask for directions twice after I did my best to tell her where we were going - once when I was in sight of the post office. See! I know! was all I could say at this point - my frustration was high. We walked in. She seemed impressed that is was indeed a post office. My neighbor was determined to do all my speaking for me - snatched the slips out of my hand and told the lady behind the desk. "This is an American. She has two packages here. She doesn't speak Romanian." The lady wanted to know when I got the slip in my mailbox. I told her I didn't know because I wasn't home for over the end of last week when it arrived. Even though I said this in Romanian my neighbor felt the need to repeat to the lady She doesn't know. She wasn't home. She left for Miecurea Cuic! Well, I was Miercurea Cuic two weeks ago, but whatever.
It turns out there was no package. The slip I just got in my mailbox was for a package I picked up last week without a slip when I inquired at the Vama whether they had more than one package for me. I guess that didn't prevent them from delivering the slip anyway. I was showed the form I signed for the package. I thanked the lady and left with my confused neighbor and tried to explain the situation. I think she got it but was upset not to see a package from the US so she just said "I don't understand."
As we were walking along a young lady walking on the other side of us slipped and fell. My neighbor shouted Let us help you! and pulled the lady to her feet. I picked up her dropped purse and asked a couple of times if she was ok - never recieving a response because this caused my neighbor to launch into a torrent of Romanain. I have no idea what she was saying - if she was lecturing the young lady on how to walk down the street - or telling a story - but I know I heard the words "this is an American. She's my neighbor." I rolled my eyes and never learned if my neighbor knew this woman or not.
The vama had sent us to post office #1 for the second slip - where I had picked up my evelope with the two books. I had it in my mind this might be a smaller packet I'm expecting from Hawaii, possibly a large envelope. I didn't know why it went to the much hated post office #1 where the person behind the desk has been rude to me. There are several lines to get in. I always pick one, start at the end and when i get to the front try to polietly ask where I can go about the business that brings me to post office #1. My neighbor cut to the front of the line, leaned over the desk and demanded to know where an American would pick up a letter. She thanked the woman, then cut to the front of the appropriate line, grabbed the notice out of my hand leaned over the counter and again said, "My neighbor doesn't speak Romanian. She has a letter here." The woman at the desk looked briefly at my notice and said that I didn't have a letter there. My neighbor insisted "We've already been to the vama and they told us to come here." It was at this point that I by myself might have given up, my pushy neighbor persisted. I was questioned whether my packet was mailed inside Romania or from the US. I shrugged my shoulders. What do I know? Last time I got a packet here from Kansas. Now they were telling me no letter from outside Romania come through post office #1. I pulled out my Romanian ID card after hearing it called a "Buliten" a new word for it I've never heard before. My neighbor snatched it away to look at it, insisiting "this is your American ID." "It has a big picture of Romania on it." I responded. She looked at me and laughed. I realized that my lack of fluency in the Romanian language must be just as annoying to her as her slowness and failing eye sight must be to me. We were a pair of characters stumbling around all morning in the slush, fighting about which way to go. She, trying to help me, and me unwilling to listen because I was sure she was going to take me somewhere I didn't need to go.
Finally the lady produced a gray envelope mailed within Romania that contained some DVDs I ordered for a friend. A four part series on learning English that she was going to show to the kids at the orphanage where she works.
Humbled, I thanked the post office lady and put them in my bag. I forgot all my morning dreams of drinking my favorite tea, or eating salsa sent from the U.S. Disapointed the packet wasn't from the US, my neighbor questioned me about the DVDs and I explained what they were for. English lessons on TV?! She sounded just as excited, and I was reminded it wasn't all about me. Even though our language barrier caused us to annoy each other, it was nice of her to offer to take me to the post office, and to see me through to the second post office when there was no package at the first.
Back on the side walk, I appologized again for the confusion. She asked "You already got two packages from the U.S." "yes," I said. "Last week." "What was in it?" She wanted to know. I returned to thoughts I had earlier - that even though my neighbor is sometimes annoying, I should invite her over more. If I have a New Year's party, maybe I'll invite her for breakfast so she can try some American foods like cakes, chocolate chip cookies, and pancakes. As I described the contents of my packages I realized we were walking down the sidewalk together with no clear goal in mind. I told her I needed to buy cat food and milk and butter and she didn't have to come with me, I could go home by myself, and thanked her for walking with me. She agreed I could probably make it home by myself and let me go.
So I came home to post this blog entry and relax a little before heading back out into the melted snow to the Red Cross office today. At the top, by the way is the picture of my kitten in an envelope she crawled into.
