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Language learning - Language teaching - Life :) - Politics - Romania

Take the money and run

November 24, 2019 plutomanby 0 Comments

After a no-show this afternoon (there’s nothing more annoying than that), I finished my week with 29 hours of teaching. It felt more than that – there was a lot of biking to lessons this week, and maybe that tired me out. I didn’t put an end to my lessons with that slightly weird woman after all. She told me yesterday that she’d kept pages of notes in pencil about me (what?!) and in particular she wanted to know what was going with my face. She asked me if I was a drug addict. What a question. (I’ve had flaking skin on my face for the last three weeks or so. How being a drug addict would cause that I don’t know.) After yesterday’s session I figured she was strange but ultimately (hopefully) harmless.

On Thursday I had my second lesson with the English teacher. She was marginally better this time, but now says she’d like to do two sets of exams, IELTS and Cambridge, both in the spring. She asked me how long it would take to get her up to her desired C1 level. I was honest – I said nine months at a push. This week I had – yet again – somebody who said her dream destination was Dubai. Women seem to really home in on that furnace of flagrant fakeness. I just don’t get it. For me, it would be way down at the bottom of any list that didn’t include war zones.

A popular discussion topic with my older and younger students is something I’ve called What If?, where they have to imagine what they’d do in certain situations. One of these hypothetical scenarios is where they find a package containing a large sum of cash. A majority tell me, unashamedly, that they’d take it. One of them even said, “well, I’d buy a car,” never considering an alternative to taking the money. There’s been a story in recent days of mystery bundles of £2000 turning up at random in a small town in north-eastern England, which was discussed on local radio today. The host was amazed that people were really handing the money in to the police.

Duolingo. I’m beginning to see its limitations now. A lot of intricate grammatical concepts are introduced too early, without any real explanation. In contrast, many very important words and phrases come into play too late, if at all. The Romanian course has fewer resources put into it than more popular languages do, and I don’t think the English sentences have ever been sense-checked. Some of them are worse than bizarre, they’re just meaningless non-English. At the higher levels the sentences often comprise ten or more words, and can be translated in many ways, but only some of the possible answers are marked as correct, so you’re forced to play a frustrating guessing game. The Italian course is better than the Romanian one. I’ll continue with both languages for now; the Romanian exercises have already been useful for drilling pronouns that I struggle so much with.

One of the best resources for learning Romanian I have at my disposal right now is the local radio station, Radio Timișoara. My favourite programme, when I get the chance to listen to it, is between six and seven on weekday evenings, where they play lots of older pop and rock music. This morning I listened to the sport show, even though I hardly follow sport these days. There were slightly amusing regular updates from Timișoara Saracens’ rugby match in Constanța, which the Saracens won 111-0. I heard the surname of their kicker (who must have got lots of practice in today’s match) is Samoa. The Saracens are perhaps the best team in the country, and they often make the European competition, but they’re no match for British and French teams.

Tomorrow is election day in Romania: the second of two rounds which will determine the president for the next five years. Klaus Iohannis is the incumbent, and he is facing off against Viorica Dăncilă, who was prime minister until the government fell last month. My students have quite strong opinions about Dăncilă. They aren’t flattering. They think she’s stupid and she’d be a disaster for Romania if she became president. From what I’ve seen of her, I can hardly disagree. But she came second in the first round, mopping up votes in rural parts of the country where people have lower levels of education on average.

Dad’s stunning sales in Geraldine have given him a shot in the arm. It’s great to see him (and Mum) so positive. Thinking he’s found the winning formula, he’ll be churning out rhododendron paintings like nobody’s business.

Family - Language teaching - Life :) - New Zealand

It’s only just begun

November 20, 2019 plutomanby 0 Comments

This morning I picked up some ink cartridges that I’d had to order, and the man who served me said, “Sărbători fericite” meaning “Happy holidays”. A few minutes later I was in Carrefour, where Slade’s famous Christmas song was blaring out. This evening I was sitting at my desk next to the window when two people, just about close enough to touch, were up a crane fixing the festive lights to the lamp-posts. There had been little sign of Christmas until it all hit me today. Ten days from now, the market sheds will be going up, and with the waft of chimney cakes and mulled wine soon after, it’ll really feel like the festive season, particularly if daytime temperatures do eventually fall from the balmy mid-teens.

I had a new student yesterday. She actually teaches English to groups of beginner adults, but if I’m being brutally honest, her knowledge isn’t quite what it needs to be. I’d put her no higher than a 6 on my 0-to-10 scale. She told me, “I have teached English for three years.” Oh yes. She then got confused between “taught” and “thought”. She didn’t know the word “narrow”. As it turned out, we had a very productive lesson, covering acres of notepaper in our 90 minutes, on all kinds of matters to do with vocabulary, grammar and pronunciation, and I hope I can get her up to speed. I’ll be seeing her again on Thursday. The crazy thing though is that she wants to improve her English to help her get out of her English teaching job! She also plans to take the IELTS exam in March, which is pretty soon. Tomorrow I’ll have my last lesson with the woman who sent me that strange text.

Dad has had a successful local exhibition, selling a number of high-value paintings. Spring and the run-up to Christmas make it an opportune time to hold a show. There are quite a few people in the area who have sold family farms for colossal amounts of money, and I think that money was burning a hole in their pockets. My latest conversation with Dad was all very upbeat until we discussed my predicament in Wellington. My body corporate’s self-imposed deadline for me to sign the sale agreement is Friday. That ain’t gonna happen.

A new mural on an abandoned factory by the Bega
Life :) - New Zealand

Saying no

November 18, 2019 plutomanby 0 Comments

Six cancellations last week – pretty frustrating, but withstandable: I still racked up a reasonable 26 hours of teaching. I might soon be needing some new students, however. On Friday I got long, and bizarre, text from the woman I played tennis with last month. She seems to like me. “This is a delicate situation. We’ll talk about it when you’re ready.” I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready. But I am ready to stop having lessons with her, a married woman in her early forties whose twelve-year-old son I also teach. I think I’ll have to pull the plug on the lessons with the boy too, and that’s certainly a shame because we’ve been making good progress. Despite the money, it isn’t worth the risk. Her husband seems quite an aggressive man, and things could get ugly for me if I carry on. On Wednesday I’ll see her for one last time, explain the situation as nicely as I can, and that (I hope) will be that.

Committee members of my body corporate in Wellington are badgering me to sign the collective agreement to sell our apartment block. They’ve imposed a deadline of this Friday. I simply don’t want to sign. Maybe I’m just stupid, but none of the arguments I’ve seen so far convince me that now is a good time to sell the only property I’m ever likely to own, while I’m receiving over NZ$2000 a month (net) in rent. (If I ever do buy another place to live, it’ll almost certainly be in Romania. In either of the other two countries I have connections with, property will be far beyond me.) I had a Skype chat with one of the owners (she’s lived there since 1997) and she’s not keen on selling either. If she sells and I’m the only hold-out, perhaps I’ll be forced to.

My sister-in-law recently invited me to have Christmas at her parents’. That was a nice gesture, but it’s a non-starter. Getting down there would be an enormous hassle at any time of year, let alone over the festive season. Dad asked my aunt whether she’d be interested in having me over, but she apparently she’s going through one of her “black dog” periods and doesn’t want to see anybody. So it looks like I’ll be on my own. I’m sure I’ll manage.

Language teaching - Life :)

Isolation (again)

November 11, 2019 plutomanby 0 Comments

It’s year four in Romania for me. Some things change. Most don’t. One thing that hasn’t is my success in meeting new people. (Well, actually, I had more luck when I arrived than I do now.) There are three reasons why it’s a struggle. First, it’s really tough to break into a society where everyone has their obligations and close-knit groups, even in a city where people are as open-minded as perhaps anywhere else in the country. Second, my schedule is hopeless for meeting people. So much of my work is in evenings and weekends. Third, and perhaps the biggest problem of all, as that I’m quite happy being on my own most of the time I’m not working (and I never have the urge to interact with dozens of people all at once). I simply don’t need much human contact (but I need a bit!). I don’t know what the answer is. If I found any of this stuff easy, I doubt I’d be in Romania in the first place.

As I’ve said before, this job (or the way I choose to do it, at least) involves printing, cutting and sticking, sometimes on a near-industrial scale, as well as thinking about exactly what to print, cut and stick. One example of this is Taboo, a game you can buy, where you have to describe a word to somebody without mentioning any of the other words on the card. My handmade version of Taboo has been a success, and it works especially well with my pairs of students. I’d made ten sets of 36 cards, at various levels of difficulty, but I’m in the process of making another four sets. In total, that’ll be 504 cards.

Last Thursday I had another difficult lesson with the pair of young women, one of whom cried in the previous session. The other woman (not the one who cried) was so vacant throughout most of the lesson that I wondered why I was even bothering. She’s 27, but she was like a 14-year-old sitting in the back of a maths class, waiting for it to be over. She’d checked out. Are you bored? Tired? Would you rather we did something else? I did tell her that if she doesn’t participate, there’s really no point. Other than that (and the cancellations), I had some quite productive lessons.

A week ago a pair of 50-foot masts appeared in front of the cathedral, and last night two huge flags were hoisted on them: a flag of Romania and another showing Timișoara’s coat of arms. I wish they could have spent the money on a ramp for the poor man with no legs who has to crawl up the steps (and the numerous others with mobility problems) instead of pointless frippery.

I spoke to Dad yesterday. Mum was in Alexandra, on her annual golf trip. Unfortunately we only spoke for ten minutes because I had a lesson to get to. Somehow we got onto the subject of sanitation and wooden water pipes. After that, he sent me an email saying he’d been quoted several thousand dollars to get the engine on his MG repaired, and he wasn’t looking forward to telling Mum.

I pay virtually no attention to memes. I almost never use social media. But in the last ten days I’ve been hearing a lot about “OK, boomer”, a phrase used by young people who are fed up with the attitudes of baby boomers. Last week a New Zealand Green MP in her mid-twenties used the phrase in parliament. This inter-generational conflict is all a bit silly, really. We’re all products of the world we’re born into, which we have no say in. It does annoy me, therefore, when wealthy older people deny the role that luck has played in getting them to where they have, and instead (ridiculously) talk of overcoming adversity. We had 15% mortgage interest rates! Well, big deal. You also had annual salary increases of almost that. Sure, it was a struggle to pay off the mortgage in 1980, but by 1995 you were laughing. Of course, I’m not that young myself anymore, and things have got even harder since I went to university and entered the workforce. Degrees have become vastly more expensive, and less valuable, in the last two decades. Would I have even gone to university in today’s environment?

These generational differences crop up in conversation in lessons. Many of my students are surprised to learn that in the Anglosphere it’s often older people who have the money.

Books - Family - Life :) - Romania

Three years on, it’s still a great feeling

November 5, 2019 plutomanby 0 Comments

It’s a beautiful Tuesday morning here in Timișoara. Earlier I went to Piața Badea Cârțan where I had a coffee and bought some vegetables. Three years on, being amongst the fresh produce on a sunny morning, and watching the world go by, is still a wonderful feeling. As I sat on a bench near the market, I had a view of a brick wall I hadn’t noticed before. I couldn’t read what remains of the writing on it, but it looks like the letter to the right of the emblem is a W. So it’s probably more than a century old, dating from when Romania was still part of the Austro-Hungarian empire. Back then, Timișoara was trilingual (Romanian, Hungarian and German), and German is the only one of those languages to use the letter W.

The writing on the wall

Yesterday’s weather was grim in comparison to today’s. My parents had ordered a book for me ages ago: My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante. I think it will be a very good read, when I get around to it. But getting it in the first place wasn’t easy. It had come from Australia, via who knows where. Last Wednesday I finally got a note in my letterbox telling me that it was ready to be picked up. The next day I went to the main post office, where parcels normally go to, but I was told I needed to pick this item up from a different office, next to the railway station. On Friday afternoon I went there, only to find it closed at 1pm on Fridays and I was too late. Yesterday I went back – I got there ten minutes after it opened at 9:30. I went up to the first floor (where there was a poster telling me about the “new” notes and coins that came out in 2005) but was told I needed the customs office on the second. I spent the next half-hour in a forbidding waiting area, in which time six or seven other people collected their parcels before it was my turn. The room is what Romania must have been like under Communism. Everything was painted beige and brown, seemingly in about five minutes total. Aggressive-looking, bizarrely-printed signs adorned the walls. On the floor were some old scales, made in Sibiu in 1975, which had all the number fours printed in a typically Romanian way. I imagine they still work fine. The loud bang of metal doors closing in other parts of the building reverberated. I thought, I would not like to end up in prison in this country. When it was my turn, I entered another room, I handed over my passport, a man opened the package with a knife, decided there was no contraband inside, and I was free to go with my book.

When I got home I called my parents to tell me the book had arrived. We then moved on to the subject of Duolingo. I mentioned to Mum that I’d given 28 hours of English lessons in the past week, and she’d spent about as long on that site. I said it was an inefficient use of her time if her goal is to actually learn French, and she’d be better off doing 10 hours of Duolingo and 10 hours reading news articles, or something along those lines. Even the occasional conversation with me, perhaps. Suffice to say, this suggestion didn’t go down well. She wouldn’t speak to me. (That’s the way she’s always handled anything I say that she doesn’t want to hear. Even on a subject as unimportant as this.) I was just trying to help her. I honestly think it’s great that she’s trying to learn a language, and if she could get to the stage where she could go to France and communicate with people there, that would be fantastic. But I do have a pretty good idea of what works and what doesn’t (it’s kind of, you know, my job).

After our chat, I bought a few bits and pieces from the supermarket, and on the way I popped into the second-hand clothes shop. Every six weeks or so, on a Monday, they have a new collection of stuff. I picked up a bronze-coloured leather jacket, made in Palma de Mallorca, for 70 lei (£13, or NZ$26). Yeah, I like this. It’s had some use, but not much. I thought it was pretty damn good value. It’s worth rummaging around in there sometimes. Beats going to the mall.

Although winter is around the corner, the markets are still full of tasty produce. Right now there are mountains and mountains of cabbages. Sometimes I buy a ready-pickled cabbage and try to make sarmale.

Two cancellations yesterday. I try not to let that kind of thing frustrate me too much.

Family - Language learning - Language teaching - Life :) - New Zealand

Mum, I think you’re addicted

November 4, 2019 plutomanby 0 Comments

In the last week I’ve used Duolingo a fair bit. Italian in the morning, and brushing up my Romanian in the evening. It’s important to keep the two languages separate as much as possible, because they’re fairly similar. It would be very easy to start mixing them up. This week I happen to have earned around 1500 so-called experience points (XP), which to me are meaningless apart from in one aspect: to gauge how long I’ve spent on Duolingo, in the absence of any clock. (The creators wouldn’t want a clock. They want everyone on there as long as possible, collecting gems or chasing promotion to the next gemstone-named league. It’s a great site, but the way it hooks you in is extremely Candy Crush-esque. Or even pokie-machine-esque.) I seem to pick up about 150 points an hour, so I’ve spent ten hours or so on the site this week. That feels like a reasonable amount if you’re splitting the time between two languages. But then I saw this:

MUM?!?!?!?!

I’ve connected with my mother, who is learning French exclusively. I’ll be generous here, and assume she’s doing tasks that yield points faster than the ones I do (because the points motivate her more than me). I’ll give her 200 points an hour instead of my 150, in which case she’s spent 25 hours on the site. Sheesh. I wonder how much she’s really learning, and how much she’s just mining fool’s gold. If her goal is genuinely to learn French, there isn’t much point in putting in so much volume. Little and often works well. Plenty and often (Mum’s strategy) doesn’t get you very much further. But it sure does get you a whole heap more digital diamonds.

I’ve had some interesting lessons, as I always do. In this morning’s productive session, we discussed the words analyse and analysis, two words that my student uses in her job but finds hard to pronounce, because of the changing stress pattern. After the lesson I sent her a video clip of me saying the pair of words repeatedly. On Thursday evening I had a particularly awkward situation in my lesson with two women in their twenties. They’re both at around a 4 on my 0-to-10 scale. One of them started to get angry with the other woman when they discussed learning styles (What works for you doesn’t work for me!) and out of the blue she burst into tears. I think she’d had a stressful time at work, and I realised that (unusually) we hadn’t discussed their work day at the start of the session. Perhaps, ultimately, it was my fault. The one who cried has always seemed a really nice person, and my biggest worry is that she’ll be embarrassed about her outburst and they won’t come again. I hope that doesn’t happen.

The week before last I had one of my (sadly rare) half-English, half-Romanian sessions. I asked the teacher how I would say “My living-room window faces west” (which it does) in Romanian. She simply said that Romanians don’t say that, and instead I should just say that my room gets the sun in the afternoon. But it doesn’t always, and certainly not today it doesn’t! She told me that compass directions are used fairly infrequently, apart from sometimes to talk about parts of the country. One thing I really noticed when I moved to New Zealand was that compass directions are used all the time there, much more than in the UK (and, as I now know, considerably more than in Romania). Especially where my parents live, there’s always a nor’wester springing up, or perhaps a cold southerly about to hit. The mountains tell you precisely where west is. There’s Northland, Southland, Westland (but no Eastland). Even the two main islands are simply called North and South. I remember when I lived in Wellington and I’d sometimes go on day tramps, the trip leader might say “if you just look to the east…” and I’d be thinking, where’s east?! It’s as if all Kiwis are born with an internal compass. Quite a lot of New Zealanders sail, some of them still build their own homes, and there’s still some of that pioneering spirit.

This morning I went to the chemist to pick up two medications (an antidepressant and something for my hair) but they were out of the hair lotion. That meant I had to go to their other branch at Piața Unirii. It’s in Casa Brück, one of the most wonderful buildings I ever have the pleasure to enter. After that, and just before my lesson, I had a Skype chat with my cousin in Wellington. I also caught up with her husband and all three of their boys. The eldest is now 17. All of a sudden, he’s a man. Time is shooting by.

Life :) - Photos - Tennis

Caught up (and some autumn colours)

October 21, 2019 plutomanby 0 Comments

So last week I had my usual pair of two-hour lessons with the woman who doesn’t like speaking English, and I mentioned in passing that I played tennis but struggled to find anyone to play with. She said, why not have a game with my son at the weekend? Yes, sounds good. I popped along to the nearby courts to book a session. The only time they had a court free was from 11 till 12 on Sunday (yesterday) when her son was busy, so she suggested that she take his place. Fine. All booked. Then at around 9am yesterday I got an unusual WhatsApp message in reasonable English. Who’s this? It was her husband, telling me not to arrange anything for his wife or son during the weekend in future. Well it wasn’t my idea, but I replied politely. I understand. Weekends are family time. The next thing I knew, he appeared to have blocked me from WhatsApp. His wife was oblivious to the WhatsApp stuff until this morning, when she must have got hold of his phone. She sent me a long message of apology, talking about possessive Romanian men. I want nothing to do with this. For now, the lessons with her and her son will still go ahead, and they provide me with a quarter of my income. I will tread carefully. (Money doesn’t seem to be much of an issue for them. He clearly makes lots of it, but I don’t know what he does.)

It was a beautiful morning yesterday, and we did play tennis. She had hardly played before, and most of the exercise I got was from picking up balls that went here, there and everywhere. I told her that if she wanted to improve, the best way would be to hit against the wall for an hour. She certainly won’t be hitting with me again in the near future.

Brexit. I’m now totally, officially, lost. Boris Johnson does seem to just about have the numbers for his deal, which is basically the same as Theresa May’s that was defeated three times but a smidgen more Brexity, but will that even matter? Does any of this even matter anymore? Here in Romania, the government fell the week before last, and we’ll soon be on to our fifth prime minister in the time I’ve been here.

Here are some pictures from the area around Piața Traian, and a few autumnal shots. There’s even one of (a bit of) me in a hammock, which is the closest thing to a selfie you’ll ever get on here. It’s pretty awesome when I think about it. Not so long ago, if I felt a bit stressed during a work day, I might have been able to walk around a business park for a few minutes. Now I can go an actual park and lie in a hammock.

The sun setting over the Bega
Language teaching - Life :)

Hell-oween

October 20, 2019 plutomanby 0 Comments

Yesterday I saw those two boys again. The big one made noises about wishing I could stick around beyond our allotted hour, while the little one wasn’t showing much sign of life at all by the end of the session. The “highlight” was when I mentioned Halloween. The older boy looked at me as if I’d just said the C-word (which in Romanian is the P-word). It was soon apparent that the family are devout Orthodox Christians. It’s OK mate, I’ve never done Halloween either. When I got home I had my first lesson with the wife of my very first student, veteran of 127 lessons. She was very good – I’d put her at an 8½ on my 0-to-10 scale. When I started out I didn’t know how to help people at that level, but now I realise there are so many subtleties and nuances and quirks that even advanced students don’t know about. Inevitably, perhaps, she asked me about her husband’s lessons. Why hasn’t he improved more? Is he lazy? Hmmm, I’m going to get into trouble here if I’m not careful. No, he’s not lazy, I said, but he’s quite happy just chatting, reading, listening to songs, playing games, and doing a few grammar exercises here and there. The truth (as I’ve gathered from our many conversations) is that he has a fairly stressful work and home life, and comes to my place mainly to relax. That’s his goal.

This morning I had a lesson on the seventh floor of one of the tower blocks in my next picture. I felt more like a psychiatrist than an English teacher. Here are some pictures I took from Piața Dacia just after that lesson:

I bought plums, apples and sweetcorn from this stall
Imported from the US. Some Romanian kids certainly do do Halloween.
Family - Language learning - Language teaching - Life :)

Memories of prehistory

October 14, 2019 plutomanby 0 Comments

Last week my dad got an email from daughter of my old kindergarten teacher at Hemingford Abbots, not that we used the word “kindergarten”. We didn’t say “preschool” either. It was playschool, or sometimes playgroup. It sounds so much more fun, doesn’t it? My old teacher is still alive; she’s now 87. My grandmother taught her daughter history of art (she became a teacher late in the day – in her early fifties – and the change of scenery rid her of crippling depression almost instantly). My dad forwarded the email on to me, and I replied, trying to remember what I could from her mother’s playschool sessions. The little black dog she used to bring in. My fourth birthday. I also remember a time I was stuck on the toilet, unable to go, and she told me to “make an effort”. I didn’t mention that episode in my email.

Nine cancellations in the last two weeks, not to mention the people who have given up. On the plus side, I’ve had some new people, including another pair of brothers, aged seven and nearly ten. Their mother (who could speak reasonable English) told me at the start of the lesson that she’d need to stick around and interpret everything I said, and I tried to put her off doing that. (My Romanian is good enough, I like to think, that I can get by without an interpreter.) They also have a little brother, aged just one. If I’m still here in a few years… Yesterday I had another duo – two women in their twenties. Trying to get the present simple and present continuous across to them was no simple feat. One of them seemed particularly vacant during that part of the session, glued to her phone while her so-called smart watch buzzed. I couldn’t entirely disguise my annoyance.

My mother has – surprisingly – developed what I’d almost term an addiction to Duolingo. She’s been learning French on it for several months. As addictions go, that’s a pretty good one to have, but I wonder how much she’s really learning. She seems pretty motivated by trying to gain promotion to the ruby league, or emerald league, or whatever it is. In the last two weeks I’ve been using Duolingo to learn (or re-learn) Italian, and yeah, I can see how it can draw you in.

I haven’t managed to play tennis since that time a month ago. I’ve made three court bookings with the same guy, but each time he’s pulled out because of the weather or (the last time) because he was “unexpectedly” out of the city. I think he’s simply got better things to do than spend time with me. (I’m used to that feeling.) When he pulled out last week, I hit against the wall for an hour, at one stage keeping a rally going for ten minutes.

My apartment in Wellington. They just want to sell. Now. To me, this is a total capitulation, a surrender (to go all Boris Johnson), and I can’t see how selling will benefit me while I get $24,000 in rent every year I keep hold of the place. But doing anything else feels almost politically impossible. I’m being pressured to consult a lawyer, which will cost me thousands, and I’m on the other side of the world, dammit. The thing that really rankles is that I’m being asked to urgently care about something – the sales process – that I don’t care about in the slightest. “Please progress this,” I was asked. Oh god. You’re using “progress” as a transitive verb. I wish I could disappear the whole thing.

It’s deosebit de cald – unusually warm – for this time of year. The centre of town has been packed all weekend as a result. In the forecast there’s a row of suns and temperatures in the mid-twenties, stretching out as far as it will go.

Language learning - Language teaching - Life :)

No subtitles

October 7, 2019 plutomanby 0 Comments

I’ve just watched a Romanian film, Principii de Viață, and I watched it without subtitles. This wasn’t easy due to the sheer speed they talked at. It seemed they were only saying every third word. I’ll do this again – I think it’s an extremely valuable exercise for improving my listening. As for the film, the ending wasn’t quite what I expected.

Matei’s parents invited me to have dinner at their place in Dumbrăvița on Friday night. It was a good evening. We had plenty of traditional Romanian food – pork, slănină (smoked bacon fat), smântână with mămăligă, and pickled cucumbers. I also had a few shots of Romanian liquor – quite what, I wasn’t totally sure. (I’m not really a spirit drinker, and when I’m eating, I’d much rather have more liquid to wash it down.) We talked about Matei’s (expensive) new “British” school, where he has every lesson in English, except Romanian. So, after 118 sessions, he doesn’t need me anymore. After dinner we sat outside; Matei’s dad had lit a fire. I spoke English and Romanian, roughly equally. I left at about 11:40. According to the version of the timetable I had, the last bus to Timișoara left at three minutes to midnight. Matei’s parents’ friends told me there wouldn’t be any buses at that sort of time. I trusted them more than the timetable, but I thought I’d stand outside the bus stop anyway (expecting to be calling a taxi), and sure enough, on the dot of 11:57 the bus came.

At 10am on Saturday I had my back-to-back lessons with the sister and brother. As usual, the big sister just wanted to talk. I do bring actual material with me, just in case, but I know I probably won’t need it.

It’s cooling down. Autumn here is quite lovely with all the yellows and browns, the colours that remind me of when I arrived in this city three years ago tomorrow. It’s been that long.