Exploring Romania (Part I)

It's been almost three months since we returned from our trip to Romania. The task of writing about the adventure-filled three weeks that I spent there with my Romanian family seemed too daunting until today.

I realized that the best way to tell my stories may be to do it in parts. As I've always been delighted with architecture, I'd like to start with the marvelous monasteries, churches, fortresses and castles that we visited there. I will also share legends, snippets of history and accounts of my own personal experience.

Curtea de Argeș Monastery
Wallachia

Rear view of the impressive monastery and its well kept gardens

The Story of Manole

No one visits the Curtea de Argeș Monastery (Mănăstirea Curtea de Argeș) in Wallachia without hearing the tragic story of Manole, a legend told to generation after generation of Romanians and tourists.

Front view of the monastery

Legend has it that Master Manole, the best mason of those times, was hired by the voivode to build the most beautiful monastery in the country.

Working with nine masons, Manole labored in vain because the walls of the monastery would crumble at night. This angered the voivode who threatened their lives unless they successfully finished the construction.

One night, Manole dreamed that, for the construction to be successful, a person very loved by him or his masons had to be built into the walls of the monastery.

He told his masons about this dream, and they agreed that the first wife who would come there with lunch for her husband the following day should be the one to be sacrificed.

As expected in stories like this, who other than Manole's own pregnant wife, Ana, would be seen approaching from the hills the next day?

Manole prayed for strong winds, rain and storm to stop her, but her love for him kept her going despite the terrible weather. When she arrived, Manole and the masons hoodwinked her into believing that they were just playing a game of building walls around her body. She soon realized that it was not a game and begged Manole to let her go. Committed to completing the monastery and fearing the voivode's wrath, he kept his word to his men and sacrificed his wife.

The beautiful monastery was completed and the prince was very pleased with the results. He asked Manole and his masons if they could ever make another building to match it. None the wiser, they replied that they definitely could always build something even greater. As the voivode, in truth, did not want them to build something more beautiful for someone else, he had them all stranded on the roof. They tried to fly off the roof using wings fashioned from wood, but they all fell to their deaths.

The marked wall

Today, a well is believed to mark the spot where Manole's body landed. A mark outside one of the monastery's walls is said to indicate the spot where Manole's wife was supposedly immured.

The Legend of Master Manole by Vasile Alecsandri

There are many versions to the Legend of Curtea de Argeș, and the story of Manole is probably one of the most popular among them. These legends have inspired many Romanian poets including the celebrated Vasile Alecsandri.

I found and bought a copy of Alecsandri's version for 10 lei from one of the stalls outside the church behind the monastery. It's quite impressive. Not only is it told in Romanian, French and English prose, but also beautifully illustrated. 

A Final Resting Place

While the legend says that Curtea de Argeș Monastery is the final resting place of Manole's wife and their unborn child, the impressive building actually houses the remains of important personalities in Romania's history: Radu of Afumați, Neagoe Basarab, King Carol I, Queen Elisabeth, King Ferdinand and Queen Maria.

The tombs of King Carol I and Queen Elisabeth

Wall paintings inside the monastery,

depicting monarchs who ruled Wallachia

An Orthodox church behind the monastery

Visiting the monastery in the winter

Chasing Cherry Blossoms

"What happens to a dream deferred?" Langston Hughes asks in his poem.

Ever since I was a child, I've dreamed of visiting Japan. When I got much older, I specifically added its Hokkaido Prefecture to my list of places to visit as I was curious to see the place Haruki Murakami made so magical in A Wild Sheep Chase. However, from the inception of this plan, my ultimate reason for visiting this country was totally unrelated to its literary relevance. I really just wanted to witness the sakura zensen or cherry blossom front. I planned to travel across Japan, following the  cherry blossoms' advance across the country.

For many years, I kept both planning and pushing back my dream trip. In 2011, a 9.0 magnitude earthquake struck Japan, causing a tsunami with 30-foot waves that damaged nuclear reactors and took thousands of lives. I didn't want to visit so soon after the disaster as I was scared of being exposed to radiation. Thus, my dream of going to Japan to chase cherry blossoms was temporarily crushed. I was still living in the Philippines at the time – so close to Japan – so I figured that I could just postpone the trip until conditions improved. I was wrong. I ended up visiting other countries in the succeeding years and moved to the U.S. in 2015.

Months before moving, I realized that the probability of visiting Japan had significantly diminished due to geographic constraints. I was no longer going to be just a five-hour flight away. However, a silver lining appeared in the form of photos sent to me by my fiancé (now husband). Nature had announced the coming of spring in Seattle through its appointed town crier: cherry blossoms!

I was so jubilant when I found out that they can also be found in Seattle. A research I made much later showed that the flowering cherry trees were gifts from Japan and were first planted in great numbers in Seattle in 1929.

I arrived in Washington towards the end of summer, so I knew that the wait was going to be long. When March came this year, I couldn't be happier. I especially wanted to see the cherry blossoms in the University of Washington's main campus as I had seen in the photos the year before.

Last Saturday, my friends and I decided to have our Saturday running rendezvous at the UW campus. I've never been there before. When I arrived, the sky was gray, the air was cold and a light drizzle danced on my path as I walked to our meeting place.

It didn't take long for the mood to change, though. Walking to our meeting place, splashes of color from spring flowers here and there greeted me. I was also impressed by the Harry Potter-like architecture of the buildings that towered over me. Then came the familiar faces and beautiful smiles of my friends. We walked towards the "Quad" where I had my first glimpse of UW's flowering cherry trees.

After an energizing run, the sun came out and the sky turned blue. Along with the impressive architecture,  they were a beautiful background for these breathtakingly beautiful cherry blossoms in full bloom. 

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens...."

A windstorm hit Seattle this week. I'm pretty sure many of the flowers were blown away. I'm just glad that I was able to witness their beauty at their best.

In Japan, when the blossoms come, people celebrate with picnics under the trees. This flower viewing festival called Hanami is for people to stop and make the most of the moment. My dream trip to Japan will have to wait for now, I guess. In the mean time, I wonder if we can have a similar event here in Seattle where we can picnic under the cherry trees and really be present in the moment. After all, life, just like the beauty of cherry blossoms, is so transient.

(Photos taken with my Windows phone)

Pi Day and some meandering thoughts

I was so preoccupied with schoolwork yesterday that I didn't have time to post anything.

In fact, I almost forgot that it was one of my favorite days of the year -- 3.14 -- Pi Day!

"Pi in the Sky II" by Micajah Bienvenue

San Juan Island, WA

August 2015 

Spending most of the weekend as well as Monday working on our group's final project presentation for Monday night, I've pretty much been on "zombie mode" until today. Technically, I'm now done with the winter school term. In less than three months, I'll be done with the whole program. Time surely flies fast! I can't believe that I've been here this long. (In the photo above, I had just arrived from the Philippines!) 

Counting school days is such a strange way of measuring the passage of time. For many students, especially children, school breaks mean emancipation from a deluge of homework, projects and exams. School breaks usually mean freedom.

However, I have mixed feelings about this program ending soon. While the homework assignments take a huge chunk of my time, I could say that they have so far been the most effective way to learn to do things. I always look forward to coming to class because it is such a mentally stimulating environment. I especially admire our teachers who, on top of their regular day jobs, come to class each week fully prepared. These seasoned professionals have mastered their craft so well, and now we are learning from their knowledge and experience. I don't know where their energy comes from. 

Lee, our instructor in PR Writing, gave us this writing prompt on our final class meeting:

I think that I still have it in my heart to....

I had so many emotions and meandering thoughts going on that time, so I didn't feel like sharing with the class what I wrote in those five minutes or so. Now that I've regrouped, I'd like to share what I wrote.

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I think I still have it in my heart to become an educator.

I remember promising to myself when I was a little kid that I will never become one. My parents are both teachers – my mother still teaches in our local elementary school and my father is a retired college math professor – and I've always known that their jobs didn't pay very well. They still did their work well, anyway. For them, what their students become is the measure of their own success.

I believe that going to school doesn't necessarily equate to getting an education. It takes hard work and competent teachers to make that happen. My parents have done so much for their students and their workplace beyond teaching, and they continue to do so to this day. They are definitely the reason I grew up with a deep love for learning. While I share their passion for making a positive difference through education and think that it is a worthwhile challenge to be in their role, I don't think the right time has come yet for me to act on this dream.

Someone once said that teachers are molders of dreams, because they spend so much time shaping young minds and preparing them for the future. I've always visualized this description as a potter spinning clay on a wheel. Expertly. Passionately. Lovingly. While clay has many qualities that make it so useful, it takes the most competent potter to shape it to its best form and purpose.

Right now, I'm a student. From time to time, I mentor someone. But someday, I think I'll try my hand at being a teacher. It may not be as cool as training padawans to become Jedi knights, but it will definitely be a life lived with purpose, as I've seen through my parents. 

Cheers to all teachers! To my father, the math professor, I hope you had a happy Pi Day!

A Family Reunion

(A short story in response to my writing group's prompt of the week, "miss it all.")
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There was a long, unscheduled power outage that night. There were no emergency lights, so the house was pitch black for a few minutes. Someone lit a candle and placed it at the center of the dinner table. The flame momentarily flickered as if it was going to die, but somehow managed to survive the wind’s little tickle.

It’s been hours since they’d finished eating, but no one had left the room. Still gathered around the dinner table, they could barely see the faces of those seated across them. They didn’t seem to mind. Ah, there wasn't a smidgen of doubt that it was going to be one of those long nights.

She stepped out for a few minutes to get her luggage from which she took a Scrabble board. The week before, they reminded her to bring one with her on that trip. There was unanimous cheering when they saw that she remembered. She gently placed it on the table, next to the candle.

The board was far from fancy. She was going to leave it with them so that they’d have something to use in that house when they visit. She owned a nice travel version where the tiles remained in place even if you turned the board upside down, but they didn’t like that one. They found it rather inconvenient – “The tiles are too small!” “The racks are too unwieldy!” “It’s too much work to remove the tiles!” – yet no one complained about the tiles always being in disarray when they played on a big cardboard version, the same kind that she brought with her this time.

Somewhere in the dark, someone produced a yellow piece of paper and a red ballpoint pen. And so began their battle of words. Not very long into the game, one of them played holster for 76 points. Another immediately added soldier for 81. She was just as skilled at Scrabble as them, but it seemed to her that everyone was playing the best game of their lives. She remembered what their friends would usually say while watching them play: “They play for blood!” “Blood in the water! The Scrabble sharks are out!” “They’ll crush your ego to smithereens.”

“Indeed,” she thought. Dreadingly awaiting her turn, she fiddled with her tiles and began singing a song from Sondheim’s Into the Woods: “Agony!/ Beyond power of speech/ When the one thing you want/ Is the only thing out of your reach…/ Agony! Oh the torture they teach....”

They laughed. The song was quite apropos – there were no more tiles in the bag to draw, and her remaining tiles were mostly vowels. They were already talking about playing another round. “Bloodhounds!” she retorted. The victors snickered in response.

“You’ll miss it all,” one of them tenderly replied. She knew it was going to be a while before she could play Scrabble with her siblings again.

Almost a year had passed. She glanced at the calendar, then the flight itinerary in her inbox. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Time to practice.

Celebrating Spring and the Joy of Friendship

Spring has sprung in Seattle!

The other day, my husband made my day by surprising me with tulips when he came home from work. While he often does the sweetest things like this for me "just because," this gesture was for a particular occasion: it was Mărțișor [mərt͡siˈʃor], the Romanian celebration on March 1 to mark the beginning of spring.

Beautiful tulips to mark the start of spring

Before he left for work that morning, I helped him choose some items to give as gifts from a small box he had at home. They were small trinkets attached to bows made of silky red-and-white threads. These are said to symbolize friendship, love, appreciation and respect, and it is customary for men to give them to female family members, friends and colleagues on Mărțișor.

Late in the evening, our Romanian friends, Oana and Florin, delivered their gifts: lovely accessories they made and a daffodil from their garden. 

Our other Romanian friends also gave me some mărțișor trinkets: a traditional one from Radu and Sandra (who are also our nași or godparents) and a modern one from  Ionuț and Irina.

Left: Snowdrop as a symbol of spring
Right: Horse shoe and four-leaf clover - a traditional mărțișor

Ahoy, anchor trinket + 1928 fashion!
I love the Art Deco postcard it came with.

I couldn't help but be amazed by this tradition. We definitely didn't have such a celebration in the Philippines. My motherland of eternal sunshine (and the occasional torrential rain) doesn't have four seasons; I grew up seeing the same flowers and trees bloom and grow all year. I realized that this is actually my first time to experience all four seasons in a row, and this is my very first spring!

Just add water

Upon our return to Washington this January after spending most of winter in Romania, our friends Sonia and Razvan informed us that, sadly, the plant we asked them to take care of for us didn't survive. We didn't mind, of course! Our plant had a higher chance of surviving when left with them than left behind at home while we were on vacation. All the same, they returned our pot filled with soil, told us they had a surprise in it for us and instructed us, "just water it everyday."

Two weeks had passed, and my husband and I totally forgot all about the "surprise" sitting on our patio until the same couple asked us about it. I immediately started watering it. A month later, we enjoyed the beauty and fragrance of two hyacinth flowers!

It was a wonderful experience to witness these flowers grow, and it was also quite a treat to see them bloom exactly on my birthday! When I have my own garden, I'll definitely continue planting hyacinths in springtime.

Our hyacinths' journey

Running outside – rain or shine!

Moving from the tropics to a temperate country meant that spending time outdoors is – and will always be – quite cold for me. Nevertheless, I started running with my new friends, Pilar and Melanee, every weekend. Aside from being able to spend time together outside of school and pave our path to fitness, we are also often rewarded with the sight of beautiful blooms along the various trails we take.

 Glorious daffodils and the perfect running weather around Greenlake Park.

(Yes, Seattle! More of this, please!)

Cherry  trees in bloom around  Lake Union

Crocuses near the end of a 5-mile run at the Seattle Arboretum

It's been almost seven months since I moved here. I sometimes find myself a little achy to see my family and friends back home. Still, my heart remains grateful to feel so much love from family and friends here.

As I reflect on Mărțișor, the well-wishes of health and prosperity and the meaning of those trinkets, I bow my head and say a prayer of thanks for the beauty of new beginnings, life, love and friendship.

Sa ai o primavara frumoasa!

Isang magandang tagsibol!

Have a beautiful spring!