Saint Nick (no it ain’t Christmas)

Today is St Nicholas Day, known as Moș Nicolae in Romanian. Last night children would have left their shoes outside, and this morning they would have woken up to find them (traditionally at least) filled with either gifts if they’d been good, or a stick if they’d been bad. In practice most of them would have received both. I was amazed to read that the average Romanian spends 318 lei on this religious festival. For that money you could buy six 90-minute English lessons from me, the haircut I had yesterday, plus a small coffee from the vending machine I often use. It’s a quarter of the minimum monthly wage. In other words it’s a lot of money. It’s a busy time of year for festivals and celebrations. St Andrew’s Day was on 30th November, the first of two public holidays in a row. The next day, 1st December, was Romania’s national holiday, commemorating the 98th anniversary of the unification of Transylvania (including the Banat region where I am now) with the rest of the country. I watched the parade of tanks and fire engines as my feet froze despite being double-socked. Later I had some food and mulled wine from the market in the middle of town, saw the mayor switch on the Christmas tree lights, and at 10pm watched the fireworks display to the strains of this revolutionary song. I even bought a Romanian flag.

I’ve got a new student who wants two lessons a week from me, starting this Thursday. He’s at a beginner level, so it promises to be interesting. I did well to hold that conversation together in Romanian. Again I’m a little worried about the first lesson from a safety point of view. I had several calls yesterday. Speaking Romanian (or rather understanding it) in the middle of a busy town is well beyond me at this stage. Somebody else rang me this morning wanting lessons in a café between 8am and noon, which would be very convenient for me, but we haven’t sorted out dates yet. Just from our English phone conversation I’d put him at a 7 (at least) on my 0-to-10 scale. The enthusiastic younger guy who I taught two weeks ago seems unfortunately to have dropped out of the picture, for now at least.

I have to find an apartment with some urgency if I want to stay in Timișoara (and I really really want to stay here!). But there are so many pitfalls. I’m at risk of being ripped off or in a noisy hellhole or robbed or some combination of the three. Noise control exists in the Romanian language: controlul zgomotului (see, another z-plus-consonant word) but that’s the only place it exists here. My tennis partner has a contact in real estate; I spoke with her this evening on the phone. Hopefully she can find me something.

I won’t be leaving Timișoara for Christmas.