Adventures in a Romanian Kitchen (and Other Adventures)

I am thrilled to have my own kitchen in Romania. Trips to the grocery store provide a nice 30 minute walk through the park and city while a daily produce market gives me the chance to practice my fledgling Romanian.

Cooking in Romania has not been without it's challenges. Things that I take for granted in the United States, such as maple syrup and sweet potatoes, are non-existent here. Instead, I find bumper crops of produce that I have no idea what to do with, such as celery root. Jacob and I have become quite the fan of beets.

This made Thanksgiving an interesting proposition. Jacob and I have had Thanksgiving outside of the U.S. once before - we were in London and had our holiday meal in an underground vegetarian restaurant with communal tables. Keeping in the spirit of un-traditional Thanksgiving, we immediately scrapped the notion of a turkey, and chose to make simple "seasonal" recipes. We bought a pumpkin from the produce market and I was faced with the challenge of roasting it.

The only problem is that our oven is about 50 (or more) years old. And it's a strictly gas oven. Lighting the oven means risking your entire arm to a tragic gas-oven explosion. Placed over the flames are several bricks which distribute the heat and prevent the food from burning too badly on the bottom. All of this turns using the oven into an adventure for my convection-spoiled self. It turned out to be easy though. I put the pumpkin in the oven, hovered a bit, and voila!

Roasted pumpkin. Which turned into this:

Pumpkin, Balsamic caramelized onion, and Goat cheese gallette.

It was delicious, and we were thankful.

Dinner tonight was not so successful. We had a whole defrosted chicken waiting for us, so we decided to roast it for dinner. I started blogging; Jacob tackled the chicken. Five minutes into blogging I heard a yelp. As Jacob had been preparing the chicken, he checked inside the cavity. This is what he found:

The head. Next out of the cavity came two chicken feet, gizzards and organs, followed by the chicken neck, still attached to the body. I quickly looked up "how to butcher a chicken", and together we learned how to detach a chicken neck.

Feeling mildly grossed out, we dressed the chicken and popped it into the oven with some potatoes. At the proper time we pulled it out to check the meat. Then we tried stabbing it with a fork, hacking at it with a knife, and hitting it against the counter. Once it became clear that the chicken was impenetrable, we set it aside and started on plan B for dinner. (The potatoes turned out awesome - not a total loss.)

It later occurred to me that it was a rooster, not a chicken, which may mean we were doomed from the beginning.

When not cooking, Jacob and I have been having fun exploring the city, often with our dear friend Anda.

Anda loves tea. 

Anda took us to the most incredible cemetery I have ever seen before. (Once again, my apologies to people who find cemeteries creepy - I love them for some reason. I love the history they contain and the stories they tell.)

Once you've seen this cemetery, you will realize how truly personality-less our American cemeteries are. Very few of the graves are simple headstones - these people get creative. People build mausoleums the size of small houses, and some that look like full-blown churches.

I also appreciate that Romania has a yearly holiday for visiting family graves. On November 1st families go to visit the graves of their forebears and leave gifts of flowers and candles. Apparently that night, the entire cemetery glows by candlelight. Sounds romantic, doesn't it?

While in the graveyard we saw something that pretty much made my day.

A Chimney Sweep a la Mary Poppins! And you thought that only existed in Victorian England! Pretty exciting stuff.

On another afternoon walk, Jacob and I discovered a gigantic birds nest on top of a hill over the city.

Seriously. My guess is that it's an installation by a local artist - regardless, it's ridiculously cool.

Trying out my "model face"

Catching Up

Jacob and I keep saying that we have been chasing the end of summer. We started our travels in Sweden, and left just as it was starting to get cold. Then to Prague, where it was warm. Then the south of France, where it was hot.

We left France as the cold and rain was starting and escaped to Turkey, where we spent a week on the beach. Obviously, it was warm. By the time we left Turkey in early November, we knew there was no escaping the cold now. We were afraid we might have missed autumn entirely, but we did not. Romania has given us a beautiful autumn.

But it is cold. I'll be the first to admit it, we are wimps. I wasn't always such a coward when it came to cold - I grew up on the East Coast where flip-flops were my shoe of choice up until the first snow. But now we live in Southern California, where I get excited to pull out a sweater if the weather drops below 70 degrees.

We are living in a great old house - it is big, has high ceilings, and no central heating. Instead the rooms are heated by beautiful tile furnaces that run off gas. In an effort to save on gas, we keep our bedroom warm, and turn on the kitchen furnace in the evening when we make dinner. All other rooms (including the bathrooms) stay at an even 40 degrees, or lower. If we want to get between the kitchen and the bedroom, we run. Trips to the bathroom are often accompanied by yelps of cold-shock.

We have been forcing ourselves to adjust however, knowing that this is necessary since we will have Christmas in Germany, then to Switzerland for January. Progress has been made I believe - we went for a walk the other day in 50 degree weather and we made comments on how warm it was.

Last weekend two friends invited us to go on a little road trip with them. There was a popular Christian band playing in a town close to the Hungarian border about three hours away. Excited to spend more time with our friends and the chance to see some Romanian countryside, we gratefully accepted.

Friends, this was my first impression of the Romanian countryside.

It looked exactly like a Grandma Moses painting. Yes, Grandma Moses, a funny old lady from New York who painted idyllic folk landscape scenes with skewed perspective that made horses as big as houses. Somehow here, it all made sense. Grandma Moses, I now realize, was subconsciously painting Romania, not Idaho or New York as I had always assumed.

The landscape we saw is just like the painting above - hilly, alternately forested and agricultural, with pockets of valleys that house little villages and church spires peaking out above the trees.

Our drive through the countryside was gorgeous. It was the first time I'd seen autumn forests in, oh I don't know, six years.

Then we got to a place that blew my mind even more. So as many people know, there is a large population of Gypsies who live in Romania. In fact, that is all many people know about Romania - Dracula and Gypsies.

Now for a couple of caveats before I go any further. Firstly, Romanians and Gypsies are two very (very) distinct people groups and cultures who co-exist within Romania. Saying they are one and the same would offend many people. Secondly, I believe Gypsy culture, unlike anything I have ever seen before, is fascinating and worthy of respect. The pictures I will show and information I will share are in no way meant to belittle or criticize their unique way of living.

Ok - the Gypsy houses. I legitimately flipped out when I saw these houses.

Jacob and I had been told of them before. As we had been informed, while many Gypsies still live a very nomadic lifestyle, and some have completely left their Gypsy lifestyle behind, there is another group altogether: the rich Gypsies.

These wealthy families build beautiful, flamboyant mansions; often painted vibrant colors, topped with silver roofs, and sometimes decorated with giant statues of lions.

Our little car next to the house for perspective. Notice the top of each pinnacle has a mercedes emblem on it?  

Here is where it gets really interesting. Many of these houses are unfinished - and will always remain unfinished. Few of them are even furnished or inhabited.

The yards are often totally un-landscaped. The houses I photographed were sitting on either side of a two-lane highway, overgrown with weeds, littered with rubble and wandering chickens.

Here is how it was explained to us: the mansions aren't meant to be lived in necessarily - they are a symbol of wealth. It's like buying an expensive car and then never driving it. It's all about the status.

So where do these wealthy families actually live then?

They live here.

In little shacks in their mansion's backyard. Apparently many of these little cabins don't even have indoor plumbing - instead the families choose to build an outhouse. Once again, as it was explained to us, just because the family is wealthy, doesn't mean they want to become fully "modern" by our western standards. For hundreds of years they have lived nomadically in small houses with outhouses, and that is still just fine for them. Just now they throw a mansion in their front yard.

If some person or organization wants to give me a bunch of money to go photograph and learn about these Gypsy mansions and the family stories behind them, just let me know! I would do it in a heartbeat.

Once we arrived at our destination we spent some time walking around. It was a very pretty town, filled with ornate art-deco style buildings.

We ate in a very quirky American style diner called the "Lactobar".

Our friends Anda and Emma at our awesome table inside of a Convertible. 

Clearly we got the best table in the house.

After we ate dinner we went to the concert, which was really fun except for the minor obstacle of not understanding anything. After the concert the four of us were invited to visit the house of a new friend who lived in town. We spent an awesome evening talking and drinking tea while crammed around a table with 20 people (15 of which were family, and we were the only guests). We all stayed up until 3 am talking, then crashed in their living room. The next morning, groggy, sleep-deprived, and un-showered (sounds like college!), we got on the road back to Cluj.

We made a stop by Emma's father's gorgeous lake-resort, and met an awesome dog named Ben that looked exactly like a lion. Pictures for all that will come later. :)

Romania

Before I tell you any thrilling stories about Romania, I first want to answer a question that we have been asked frequently:

 "Why in the world are you in Romania?" 

(You would be surprised how many of the people who have asked us this question are actually Romanians.)

To tell the truth, we arrived here with very little context for being in this country. We have a friend back home who grew up in Cluj-Napoca, a large university city in the region of Transylvania. She told us that we could go and stay in her family home - who would say no? That was enough for us to slot it into our travels, and we were excited to go.

Turns out, from the little we have seen, Romania may be one of Europe's best kept secrets. Jacob and I both thought on the first day that Cluj feels and looks like a mini-London. The city is cosmopolitan, filled to the brim with trendy but inexpensive restaurants and cafes. The people (as a whole) are friendly and impeccably dressed. The city is beautiful, easily accessible, clean, and you don't need to sell your firstborn to take a taxi home.

Enough of my sales pitch. Suffice to say we really like it here.

We arrived in Cluj around midnight after a full and frustrating day of travel from Turkey. As it turned out, our friend's brother Sam would be sharing the house with us while he auditioned for the Romanian State Opera. We thought it sounded very glamorous to hang out with an opera singer.

Sam and his friend Danny (also visiting Cluj from America), immediately took us under their social wing. We were personally shown around the city, taken to cafes, introduced to friends, and shuttled to church. Sam and Danny left after a few days, leaving us with a built-in network of friends. The kindness and hospitality we have encountered while here has been astounding.

In the short time we have been here we have attended a pro soccer game, a pro basketball game, and the opera Carmen (the lead Tenor was Sam's cousin). We've also attended a concert and gone on a road trip to the Hungarian border with new friends.

We have spent a lot of time walking, sitting in cafes, cooking, working, and spending time with friends. It's almost like we have a normal life.

Now that you know why we are in Romania, I promise the next blog post will be more interesting. (And it will be coming in just a couple days!)

Picture time.
(My apologies to those of you who follow my Instagram or Facebook - you'll have seen these pictures before. I haven't carried around my camera too much in the past week or so.)

Wandering around the city center

Afternoons in a cafe with friends

Central Park

Orthodox Cathedral in the city cent

The Cluj State Opera House

Cluj (CFR) vs. Brasov soccer game, as a thick evening fog began to roll in. 

The Magical Land of Cappadocia

It's impossible to over-hype Cappadocia. Jacob can attest to that - I have told him about this wonderful place for years. But all the pictures, nostalgic stories, and foaming at the mouth still can't over-exaggerate the majesty of Cappadocia.

I'm going to apologize now for uber-enthusiastic descriptions, and pictures that barely do the landscape justice. Jacob and I left behind a sizable chunk of our hearts.

Our trip to Cappadocia started off pretty rocky. We had an 8 am flight from the airport in Izmir, which meant an early 5 am morning. We responsibly dragged ourselves out of bed, got everything loaded in the car, and dropped off at the airport. Once in the airport, we panicked. There was no check-in desk for our flight anywhere in the airport, and we didn't have much time to waste. In desperation I went over to the airline office and asked about our flight.

"Ma'am, that flight doesn't exist."

Uhhhh. What? Yes it does, I insisted, I have the confirmation and everything.

"Oh. That flight is tomorrow morning."

No it's not! It's today - Oct. 29th! I showed him my phone as proof, which clearly read that the date was October 29th.

"Today is the 28th." He pointed to the calendar on his wall, then showed me the date on his phone for confirmation. I thanked him, and sheepishly asked if I could use his land line to call Frances, wondering all the while why my phone had betrayed me. And for how long had it been doing this? We will never know.

Frances graciously picked us up from the airport, and we repeated the entire process the next morning. We arrived in Cappadocia, an hour-long flight into central Turkey, excited that our hotel had arranged private transportation for us to our destination. For once, getting somewhere was going to be easy. We were going to be one of those people who had a chauffer holding a sign with our names on it.

We left the baggage claim area, looking around expectantly for our names on a sign. No one. Half and hour later, still no one. After a long and arduous process of locating an internet signal, finding the hotel phone number, borrowing a phone, calling the wrong hotel, arguing with the receptionist on the phone, calling the right hotel, borrowing another phone, and calling back, we found out the truth. Our transportation had forgotten about us.

Our hotel kicked some butts for us, and two hours later, our shuttle finally arrived. We arrived in Cappadocia and quickly forgot all of our troubles.

Here is why:

Cappadocia is an area of central Turkey that is surrounded by three volcanos. Volcanic activity over the ages has left massive deposits of a soft and porous stone that is easily shaped by rain, wind, and erosion. The result is a surreal landscape with riddled with "fairy chimneys". 

This is a fairy chimney:

And yes, that is a door in the bottom of the fairy chimney. Because the stone is so malleable, it has been used for thousands of years as natural housing. Rather than people constructing their home on the land, they constructed their homes in the land. The stone provided natural insulation, and most of all - protection.

This area was famously settled by vast Christian communities. The evidences of their occupancy lie everywhere. They built hundreds of churches, they built cities, they built monasteries. But the Christians in this area had a long history of persecution, so they built their churches, cities, and monasteries in secret, hidden places.

As you climb around the landscape, you can see holes and windows punched into the stone, often too high up to access safely. (We tried as much as we possibly could). If you can manage to get up to them however, and slip through what is often just a crack in the rock, often you will find yourself in a church.

Some of the churches are elaborately painted with murals of Jesus' life and the saints and apostles. Many of these caves were discovered at one point or another by the persecutors who creepily vandalized the paintings by scratching out the eyes of Jesus and the saints and angels.

The Christians also made incredible hidden cities for themselves that exist entirely underground. We visited one of these cities - it extends 10 levels underground, with capacity for 10,000 people including livestock, to live for one month. The cities were used primarily in times of crisis - if in desperate times, the entire population could disappear over night, literally sliding a rock behind them to cover the entrance. There are underground streets, schools, wine presses, stables, churches, graveyards, wells, and ventilation shafts. There are even tunnels that extend as far as 13 km, connecting city to city.

It is mind boggling. And to think the entire city was built and carved out by hand.

Needless to say, we loved our time exploring Cappadocia. It was like being the Indiana Jones of Christian history.

Here is some more scenery from our explorations.

Reading inside of a cave house we climbed into

I'm saving the best picture for last.

Our hotel sat in a valley, the houses built up, in, and around the fairy chimneys of the town of Goreme. Cappadocia is a popular place for hot air ballooning (can you imagine why?), and most of the balloons take off near to where we were staying. One morning we got up for sunrise to watch the balloons take off. Even before we were outside we could hear the balloons, nearly silent except for the shot of flames which propel the balloon up. It sounded like crashing waves.

We left Cappadocia reluctantly, promising ourselves we would be back.