by Just like in New Zealand and the UK, pedestrian crossings have a red and a green man. There must be penalties for jaywalking here, because people are remarkably obedient when it comes to the red man considering how unbothered they usually are by authority. Anyway, red man, green man, easy (once I’ve got out of the habit of looking the wrong way). But this week I saw a flashing orange man. What do I do here? I was stumped. All that Romanian I’d painstakingly learnt, and none of it was helping me translate flashing orange man.
And I’m running into flashing orange men everywhere I go. On Monday I went to the library. A bit of background: Romania consists of forty-odd județe, which are like counties. This library is the central library of the Timiș județ, so it’s a bit like Wellington Central Library in NZ, or Cambridge Central Library in the UK, or any number of pretty big libraries. Or so I thought. The library is conveniently situated in Piața Libertății, one of the main squares in the centre of town where people hang out and relax. I always thought it was weird how I rarely saw anyone go in or out of the library entrance, but maybe there was some tradesman’s entrance that I didn’t know about. So I popped in. There was a guard at a desk. “Um, library? Er, this way?” Yes, he assured me. I went upstairs and downstairs, four fairly decrepit floors in all, and the only thing I found was a reading room with a solitary woman, well, reading. And that was it. Bemused, I walked back to where the guard was. “Er, so where are the books?” He pointed. Ah. In a small room to the left, on the same floor. I walked in, or tried to, but was stopped by another man, this time at a window. “Spuneți, vă rog.” Speak, please. But what was I supposed to say? He then said, “English?” No, not this again. This isn’t a language barrier, this is a flashing orange man barrier. I said in English, “I just want to look at some books,” but then gave up and walked out. I’d expected to see a whole shelf devoted to Mihai Eminescu, a kids’ section with beanbags and “storytime”, a selection of DVDs, a bank of computers, maybe even a coffee machine, but it felt like I’d been transported back a hundred years. I could see why hardly anybody ever went in.
Talking of tradesman’s entrance… I was starting to get a bit frustrated with my lack of work, when on Thursday morning I got a call from someone supposedly wanting a lesson. I was pleased to hold the conversation together in Romanian, and delighted when he wanted to come at 2pm that same day. He then switched to English, and asked me how old I was. Then he asked if I had a boyfriend and whether he could get to know me better. Alarm bells were ringing. He didn’t turn up at 2pm and I was reasonably grateful for that. He does however still have my address.
Yes, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit frustrated at the moment. The worst thing is that my Skype student, who provided about half my business, seems to have dropped off the face of the earth. She still owes me 80 euros, not a lot in the grand scheme of things I suppose but it’s still more than a week’s rent. At this point I’d say it’s less than 50:50 that I’ll ever hear from her again. I did 8½ hours last week; that isn’t nothing but it’s a third of what I’d like. Marketing myself is proving damn near impossible in the absence of lamp-post ads (I saw today that one of the Donald Trump ones I put up outside Piața 700 in November is still there). Adverts in shops just aren’t a thing here, with the exception of the notice board in Kaufland, a large supermarket. I’ll knock on the doors of six or seven language schools next week, armed with business cards and my CV full of unrelated jobs. I’ll also pop into the offices of some publications here. Some of them have English content geared towards expats (or, more accurately, immigrants) like me, but it isn’t English as I know it. Perhaps they’d appreciate a hand (or perhaps not). The biggest thing I can do is get out much more in the daytime like I used to, because heck, it’s a cool city to wander around in, and the money I’m saving by always having my lunch at home is surely outweighed by the health (and who knows, financial) benefits of being outside and in contact with people.
