Author: plutoman

We’ve had some pretty warm weather this week, though we were spared the intolerably high temperatures seen near the banks of the Danube, and of course I now have few face-to-face lessons. This morning I had another lesson with the chap in Austria, who said that Romania’s coronavirus figures are probably deliberately overstated. Don’t know about you, but if was going to fabricate the numbers I’d make them go down, not up, and anyway I’m finding all these conspiracy theories tiresome, not to mention dangerous. Apart from that, our lesson went well as always. A highlight of the teaching week was another game of Maths Millionaire with Octavian. When we ran out of time, he’d got to £32,000 but had run out of lifelines.

I’ve been in contact with the Romanian teacher about the book. She hasn’t had much time of late. I did a 900-word translation from her from Romanian to English as a form of payment, but she has a much tougher task on her hands in translating what I’ve done. I’d have liked to have written the book in Romanian myself, but I’m just not up to it. When it comes to anything half-way technical, I’m clueless. I shouldn’t be too downhearted though – my Romanian is getting better in general. My speech is more fluent, my listening is better, and I’m at least aware of some of the traps even if I still fall into them now and again. The tennis is helping.

Five of us were at tennis tonight, including Domnul Sfîra, the 85-year-old bloke. I played the whole time with the only woman. She always serves the first game of every set, and that only serves to put her team at an even bigger disadvantage. In the first set Domnul Sfîra was on the other side of the net, and we eked out a 7-5 win. One long set was enough for him, and he left the stage for my partner’s husband, and we lost the remaining action 6-3, 6-4, 3-1, not that any of that mattered. In fact playing with either the woman or Domnul Sfîra is good for me because I get more exercise that way. I was thinking tonight, while taking in all the trees in the vicinity of the court, that if you enjoy simple pleasures, this Romania thing isn’t bad at all.

That goddamn virus. Four-figure daily case numbers are the norm in Romania now, and deaths are increasing. Timiș is verging on hotspot territory. People (or should I say people with money) are still travelling overseas, as if it’s an entitlement. The Romanian teacher is about to head off to Greece, and when I questioned that idea, she thought I was some kind of corona-Nazi. Right now, we all need to stop travelling. No Greece, and no Black Sea either. Just for this one year. We’re in this mess in the first place because of rampant, selfish, unnecessary travel. I still think there should be much more freaking out in Romania full stop, although it was pleasing to see about 80% of people wearing masks at the market this morning, even though it was outdoors. I bought some goat’s cheese, tomatoes, peppers, onions, aubergines, sweetcorn, cucumbers, nectarines and some watermelon. The fruit and vegetables are quite wonderful at this time of year. I’ll probably pick some more plums in Mehala tomorrow morning. It’s a shame we don’t have figs, which were heavenly when I visited Montenegro and Bosnia.

My signed sale agreement on the flat in Wellington, which I sent in early June, never reached its destination. I can’t be arsed with getting it all notarised again and sent via an exorbitant courier, with no guarantee it will ever get there. Nothing is getting to NZ from Romania, or vice-versa, as far as I can see. If my lawyer insists on having the original documents, I won’t bother.

I’ve had a sinking feeling this week, or perhaps a sense of déjà vu. Coronavirus cases are now climbing fast in Romania (see my graphs above!), and way too many people have their heads in the sand Trump-style and think it will magically go away. Perhaps the best indication that we’re likely to be in deep doodoo pretty soon is that many European countries have recently blacklisted Romania. My student in eastern Austria, a few kilometres from the border, is now unable to cross it and see his 90-year-old mother who lives in Arad. He and I had planned to meet up too.

We now have both the highest rate of new cases and the highest number of active cases since the pandemic began, but you’d never have guessed it by wandering around town tonight. The one real saving grace is that bars and restaurants are still only open outside, although last night I could hear the music from the club, and clubbing is about as dangerous as it gets right now. It’s got to be riskier even than flying. Another positive, maybe, is that we aren’t experiencing the searing heat – high 30s – that we sometimes get, that just about forces you inside where the virus spreads more easily. Remaining positive, Romania doesn’t have that ridiculously childish “you’re destroying our freedoms” attitude towards masks which is present in the US and sadly also the UK. And temperature checks are commonplace – we got tested before playing tennis tonight, even though that’s pretty safe.

In seems that states and countries all over Europe and America are trying to out-stupid each other. In Florida, where they’re in the shit frankly, they’ve just opened Disney World. I mean, c’mon. And in the UK where the government response has often been lamentable, the Tories still hold a significant lead in the polls. After all this, they’re still backing Boris. Even though his Covid hubris nearly killed him. (I wouldn’t be surprised if he suffers long-term complications.) You can now really back Boris by drinking in a pub, and on selected weekdays they’ll even give you up to £10 off a restaurant meal. Hmm, how about we spend our tenner on a Cytokine Storm? I wonder what that is. Sheer madness. The English and Scottish responses to the crisis have been increasingly divergent, and I imagine this (combined with a hard Brexit) will make it even more likely that the Scots decide to go it alone.

On Thursday I had my first lesson with a ten-year-old girl who lives in a large house not far from Calea Aradului. It was lovely and quiet there; you could hear all the birds in the garden. She seemed a nice girl, although I felt that her English lessons at school were probably a waste of time. I spoke a fair bit of Romanian. I wonder how many more face-to-face lessons I’ll have with her.

As well as playing tennis, I watched some today too. I saw a the last two sets of a video of the 1991 Wimbledon final where Steffi Graf squeaked past Gabriela Sabatini. It was a shame Sabatini didn’t win after serving for the match twice in the third set, but one extraordinary point where Graf scrambled incredibly well to avoid going down match point seemed to turn the tide. Graf was fitter than I gave her credit for. I didn’t see the match live – I was manning a game at a summer fair at school, where people rolled 10p pieces (the big versions, just before they were downsized) down chutes, to try and win money by landing on marked circles.