we're obvious.

Thanksgiving is not a holiday in Romania.
So on Thanksgiving day I taught 4 hours of classes then invited myself over to a colleagues house (she makes delicious ciorba) for a big lunch.
The big thanksgiving event for myself was traveling to Transilvania to another peace corps volunteer's site for a weekend of thanksgiving.
So on Friday I stood out at the road in front of the magazine kiosk in my town and flagged down a big white bus at 11 in the morning. The bus got to Tirgu Mures at 6:30 that night, after driving across the Carpathians which are now stunningly snow covered. The bus played popular romanian music and even had a television screen so passengers could listen and watch the music. The music videos feature romanians in traditional dance with big microphones in their faces as they sing and dance.
Unfortunately, by the time the bus arrived in Tirgu Mures, it was dark and the last maxi taxi to my friend, Jake's, village had left. So I stayed the night in Tirgu Mures, a breath of big city air, in the nicest looking Peace Corps apartment I have ever seen (thanks Ikea).
I got the bus station and walked around, looking into the front windows of the vans and buses to see if one was going to Riciu, and finally the security guard came over and asked me what I was looking for. We began a conversation that culminated in him promising to keep an eye out for the maxi taxi for me. After hour 1, I wondered if there wasn't a better way to get out there, after hour 2 I wondered if all the buses I kept seeing leave were really heading towards my destination and my waiting for hours was just a clever hoax. After 2 1/2 hours, I began wondering if Riciu even existed. After 3 hours, the security guard reassured me, "imediat o sa vine," and the grey skies were beginning to clear into blue.
After 3 hours and 15 minutes, the correct maxi taxi finally arrived. Imagine a subway station without the signs telling you where to go, and you're not really sure where you are going...and you stand there long enough to feel lost, and then suddenly, a subway comes with the exact destination you are looking for. The ride to Riciu was beautiful in an ozark, wisconsin dells kind of way, and the van dropped me off near the mayor's office. Jake had told me that he lived in the only bloc apartment in town. The town, better described as a village, is small enough for the 5 story, pink painted bloc to be obvious.

When I got to the bloc, I realized I didn't know where Jake lived, so I walked into the magazine alimentar (little shop) under the bloc and asked, "Stiti unde locueste omul american" (do you know where the american lives?).
Yes, the woman did, but she wasn't entirely sure, so she walked outside with me and together we asked some men working on an apartment balcony, "Stiti unde locueste omul american?"
And yes, they knew exactly. Up these stairs and at the top floor, to the left.
So I entered the pink bloc and climbed 5 flights of stairs and forgot which door to knock on. So I knocked on the one I thought it might be and someone opened the door
and it was Jake. I don't think I've ever been that happy to finally find someone.
And the next couple days in Riciu were great, with lots of mud, a turkey, mashed potatoes, sarmale and talk.
And whenever me and the other pcv's that came later would speak in English, any nearby villager would ask us if we were friends with Jake.
We are so obvious.