a 44 will get you 99

train pulled into Bucuresti Nord before 7am. cold from just waking up and the objective temperature, leveled my belongings on my back and started walking. it is my firm belief that one can, in a city and with a limited amount of time, see a bit or see everything; i prefer the latter, until it comes to the second (related) pair: telling a little or telling everything—because i'm good at neither of these and, so, am in a perpetual bind.

headed southeast from the eki, to Piața Romana and then down to Piața Revolutiei. other than some sort of German beer festival being set up, nothing seemed to be happening. just wandered around, looking at stuff, for a long time. the most striking thing about Bucuresti is, i must say, the architecture. the city is sort of grand, in part because of it.

and then you have the [other] Central Committee building, site of all sorts of ignoble activities and from which Ceausescu gave the speech that led to the unfolding of that atrocious 21 December in 1989. the monument, amazing statue of a seated man with very long features, listed names of those who died and enscribed crosses between each, and marker on the ground stand on all sides of the building—as if guarding it from any further antics. notwithstanding, part of it houses the sanitation department for the city (oh, it asks for anything that can be said in response). on the far side of Piața Revolutiei, Crețulescu church in its red brick. in front of that one of the many variously-painted cows that are all over Bucuresti (what? is this Chicago or something?). damage from bullets, all around. down in and around Piața Universității (although the square itself, where students had once gathered to yell and die, held four automobiles, advertising Kiss Radio in red, white, blue, and blue), small and large crosses marking places and personages of death on that day. all of this gives the impression that the entire city revolves around the events of a few hours—when, in reality, what occurred was the result of an entire system and years and years of powerful people up to no good. even if we ignore everything that went before him (just trifles, really: involvement in two world wars (the second of which included a complete changing-of-sides), Soviet occupation and subsequent withdrawal)), Ceausescu had been in power since 1965. during that time, he did remarkable damage on top of everything that had already been done. totally crazy stuff: exporting food while Romanians were starving, for the purpose of appearing stable and sound. this didn't work for the international conception, either of Romania (economically) or Ceausescu (mentally). the most visible expression of his insanity is laid out in the southern part of the city, where Ceausescu razed 1/6 of the *entire* city in order to build the so-called "House of the People." let us say that, as a result, many many were left without one of their own.

on the other side of this knee-jerk impression that Bucuresti gives is reflective of more recent turns of political mechanisms (although, like the above, nothing is about suddenness or the span of a few moments, but everything emerges out of a context—that of a seemingly inconsistent "everything" that does, upon reflection, make sense). Romania is trying very hard these days to gain entry into the EU. this would exist as a speck of information, were it not for the physicality that the fact takes upon itself. everywhere, the straining attempt can be felt and, moreover, that something is being stretched over whatever else is real comes through just as clearly. it is as if by flying flags and adopting the attitude that Romania already is a member, the grotesque poverty and subsistence-level existence, problems in social and political systems at large, and certain cultural barriers that will, no doubt, make entry difficult at best—that these will simply fade. i cannot foretell what shall pass. although i think that Romania will join the Great March, perhaps offered an arm to board the moving vehicle as soon as 2007, i have speculations (doubts) about what the EU will be at that time, how/whether it can/will exist.

maybe Bucuresti really is a city of the present, poised though it is, with a balance that could not easily be imposed, between events of the past (or collective conceptions thereof) and hopes for the future (or collective, ahem...).

all i'm saying is that Bucuresti is a fairly good city for wandering. although it is, astoundingly, larger than Beograd (discovered this later), it doesn't seem that way. by the afternoon, it was warm enough to remove my outermost layer. by the time the evening rolled around, it was time to think about what the night would hold. had the name and partial directions (they turned out to be wrong, but not too wrong for me to amend) of a place to camp. although, i should mention, i also had unearthed the notable fact that, in theory, one can camp *anywhere* in Romania without persecution. ready to escape martyrdom by loudly avowing my hearsay, i took a bus to the northeast outskirts of the city. in following the directions i had, ended up at this "hostel" that really looked more like a hotel surrounded by agricultural equipment firms. to land myself here was dually bizarre, because there was nothing touristy around these parts, and especially not at the end of the kilometer-long road through tall crops that i walked from the bus. i realised early on and with great certainty that i pretty much did not want to be here; that in no way deterred me from asking my absolute favourite question (for which there is only one answer, although my campaign to bring this to its proper unanimity has been met with significant resistance), namely: may i set up my tent here? apparently the man at the desk didn't understand just how unobtrusive i would be, apart from the inducing of initial double-takes by those observing the lawn. he also seemed to be a bit mixed up as far as Bucuresti's layout was concerned: when i inquired about what was quickly becoming the elusive camp ground, he instructed me to go back into the city. even i knew that this was highly unlikely.

i started back down the road to the main street, when a car pulled up behind me. of course i did exactly what everyone's mother and you warns against, but i figured that since i'd been practising, day and night, the exiting a moving vehicle with a hiking backpack, it was ok to beg (ie. accept) a lift. the driver knew where i was going, despite the fact that i did not, as he had once been a taximan. the camping place was right next to the police academy and, like it, enclosed on all sides by a fence. i slipped under the guard-rail entrance and talked to the guy who seemed to be in charge. suddenly i realised that i had forgotten to obtain any funds. their credit card machine had given in to the nasty habit of snapping cards, a prospect i found highly undesirable, so i walked back out to the road and went in search of some money. as i was waiting for the bus, i engaged myself in a conversation with a man who was also waiting. riding along, before i knew it, he had suggested and outlined a plan that revolved primarily around us going to the zoo that happened to be close by. it took some work, but i declined because, you see, i simply cannot stand zoos.

when 200,000 lei comes to just over €5, i cannot help my culturally insensitive way of laughing. granted, there's a reform taking place, the object of which is to Remove Zeroes or Die Trying. the institutors have settled on a good round 4 digits as a modest beginning for the excising.

as long as i was committed to the deed at hand, i also bought the usual sustenantial travel staples: liters of jogurt and bread. considering myself set, i returned to the campsite. all in all, it was good that i'd not started on the quest any later, because it would have been slightly less fun to have been caught in the darkness that now descended (although i have firmly established that i can set up tent in several adverser conditions than mere darkness [scoffs]). i found, unexpectedly, that i was within a few hundred meters of both warm showers and working toilets. should not have been surprised, given that there were also little cabins. but, still, when i left Beograd i was thinking only of pitching in some ravine, with a loaf of bread for a pillow. mercifully, i could still count upon one aspect of this plan. until i ate it.