Buying blow Craiova

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Buying blow Craiova

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Craiova: a few considerations about Europe

Buying blow Craiova

It is dark from above in this part of Romania. Like a dreamless, peaceful sleep. Sitting up here, at the back of the plane, I begin this little journey towards an unusual destination in this beautiful Europe where I have the shameless fortune to have been born and raised. Many flights from Turin to Romania leave late in the evening, so I land in Craiova after midnight. I call an Uber an Uber! Unthinkable in Italy! The entrance is through codes which were emailed to me a few hours before by the owners. I will never meet them, but they will wait up for me to make sure I get to my room without any problems. We communicate in near-perfect English during my stay. I have the feeling — not at all fictional, believe me — that they have thought of this hotel as a cosy home, rather than a place to pass through. On the bedside table, new, I find an essence diffuser, new. The bed, new, has a duvet and quality sheets, also new. Good night Craiova. These days, many European nations celebrate the arrival of March. In Romania, Albania, Bulgaria, Moldova, Macedonia , and Greece, the beginning of spring is celebrated with a holiday identified by different names depending on the country. In the morning, when I leave my house hotel, I immediately realise the special occasion: the pedestrian centre is full of stalls where one can buy small amulets, usually for girlfriends, wives, sisters, and children. These small objects, images of love and good luck, always have two colours: red, representing spring just around the corner, and white, symbolising the winter that has just ended. The neat and tidy park is a true historical document: in , after Romanescu was elected mayor of the city, a project for the modernisation of the city was voted in. One of the objectives of the programme was to create parks and gardens. The winner of the competition was the French architect Edouard Redont, who took his plans to the Paris Expo in and won the Gold Medal. He added hills and valleys, roads, and paths for a total of about 35 kilometres. I walk for a few hours in this green lung of the city, a perfect synthesis between a painting and landscape architecture. There are no travellers on this early February afternoon. Most of the plants here, as at Romanescu Park, are still dozing, while some daffodils are stretching shy but determinedly out of the ground. I wonder how beautiful all this will be in April, and May when nature will be in full bloom. In the s, it was Buia, a professor of botany and agronomy at the University of Craiova, who wanted this green area to be created. On the Bridge of Lovers, however, there are not two lovers as I pass by, but two friends a little bit older, one of them clearly deaf because he talks very loudly. They seem to comment on the geese and swans frolicking in the water at their feet. Does Travel mean visiting the very same destinations? And then the same ones for whom? Or is it better never to lose curiosity and to continue to seek out even destinations that are often considered secondary, a little mistreated, because perhaps it is precisely those that have still retained a minimum of authenticity, that offer a glimmer of everyday life not yet totally watered down by the globalisation of which we are products? Obviously, I do not have an answer to all these doubts. On my way out of my hotel this Monday morning, I meet many students, both university students and younger ones. Children are the same everywhere , here in Oltenia as well as in Sydney: they hold hands in pairs as they cross the street following the teacher, chatting, laughing, and goofing around. The first Orthodox church I visit is the Church of the Holy Apostles, one of the oldest religious structures in Craiova originally built in the 15th century. The pope and one of his aides must not be very used to travellers, because as soon as they see me, they invite me in. Romanian and Italian are not the same language , but I understand that they are asking where I am from. I know where I live, but not where I come from: once in my life I would like to answer like this to see the reaction of my interlocutors. Just like that, just to create a bit of a mess. Because it is the truth: after all, what defines the origin of a human being? Their passport? Their birth family? The culture or nation one is born into? Or what one acquires through different channels? But to the clergyman who invites me inside the church, I answer that I am from Turin. In the Metropolitan Cathedral of Craiova , no one asks me anything. The temperature inside offers shelter to an endless line of old ladies so stereotypical with their headscarves on that they look fake. There are also two homeless people, the only ones I meet several times in the centre of Craiova during this short stay. Churches are not only crowded but also on the move in this part of Europe: the faithful come and go from one icon to another. These movements always amaze me, because, in temples of other Christian faiths, I have often felt obliged to be stationary so as not to disturb the deities. Another thing I notice in this church with its gold-coloured walls is that several clergies officiate at the service: they stand to the right of the ever-present iconostasis, taking turns reading and chanting a couple of holy books resting on a lectern that rotates. That is why the lectern has to rotate. I have visited dozens of other Orthodox churches in my life, but for the first time, I notice this: travel gives us new eyes , and makes us more aware and more present. As I leave the cathedral, I find only one thing strange: there is no parking for the faithful. I try to talk about it with some people I meet on the benches — new ones — surrounding the church. This time, too, the proximity of Romanian and Italian helps me: I understand perhaps that parking spaces are there, but perhaps they are metered and therefore few can afford them. That the diocese perhaps receives a portion of these fees. The next stop, very close by, is the Church of Our Lady Dudu. I sit on the floor because in Orthodox churches there are almost never chairs and I witness a fairly long series of confessions amidst the usual coming and going of the faithful from one sacred image to another. They are all women, of all ages, who approach the pope with sins that, at least judging by their appearance, cannot be mortal: what kind of unforgivable mistakes could these women have made? They all seem like good people, and I wonder what eats at them inside, I wonder what corruption and anguish can gnaw at their souls. The confession happens in a very physical way, here: the believer is blessed by the cleric, she kneels at his feet, and he covers her head, the nape of her neck, with the scarf symbolic of her spiritual role, decorated in silver on a black background. Is it a symbol? Does God protect you, or will you let me protect you from the wrath of God? Another idea springs to mind: the further east one goes, the more physical faith seems to me to become, and the more contact there is. Just think of the kisses that Orthodox believers give to icons. Who knows what pain Covid has brought here with bodily distance from the faith? The Church of St Nicholas is closed to the public when I arrive there in the early afternoon: I am informed by a girl as soon as I enter the courtyard. She speaks little English, but tells me I can have a look at the frescoes decorating the church entrance: those on the right wall are a representation of the Trumpets of the Apocalypse, along which blue devils do unspeakable things to kings, queens, wolverines, and sinners in general. Christians are always so merry. The last spiritual stop is at the Church of St. Iliei : the pope stands welcoming the faithful who come and go and holds a candle so big it looks absurd. To his right, there is a small table on which a woman is ironing. Yes, she is ironing. And she talks on her mobile phone and occasionally greets those who come in and out. Perhaps this is what I like most about Orthodox churches: they are lived, because life is also, alas, ironing clothes. In Craiova, I spend the vast majority of my time alone, without anyone stopping me or asking me anything. This is also the case at the University, where I enter and visit a couple of completely deserted and surgically clean lecture halls and halls, and also at the Marin Sorescu Theatre: located in William Shakespeare Square and built according to the dictates of Brutalism, it was founded only years ago and since , a pivotal year in European history, it has participated in several international festivals. Since , it has also organised a very important festival dedicated to the Bard. I cannot help but wonder at this point what they might have staged during the years of the communist regime: an almost endless series of plays steeped in the empty rhetoric typical of all dictatorships in the world. Surreal is the only adjective I think I can come up with once I sit down for coffee and cake. It resembles a ballroom, with marble tables, chairs, sofas, and walls in shades of red and green damask. Rich ceilings, almost too much. The lady behind the balcony listens to a radio that plays only and exclusively Italian songs: some artists from the recent Sanremo Festival are followed by others that are not really famous outside Italy. On the morning of my last day in Craiova I go to the Oltenia Museum — closed on Mondays — which is in a spectacular building opposite the Church of the Madonna Dudu. There are a few classes of middle school kids visiting the building with me, and I think it could really be an exceptional cultural centre if only some of the explanations — presented on huge, detailed panels — were in English. I try to do the online translation of the first few rooms, but I tire easily because it is quite an absurd mechanism. However, I decide to commit myself at least to those dedicated to History closest to me, that is, from World War II onwards. In one of these rooms, we talk about the ruthless repression that the communist government imposes against those citizens who are obviously, once again in history, considered enemies of the system. What happened in this prison a few hours from Craiova, between December and December , represents one of the most obscene mass re-education experiments ever: in addition to an absurd series of psychological punishments, the internees — most of whom were students — were subjected to physical torture by other internees. Let me explain: in this article published in , it is recounted how the prisoners had to go through 4 stages of re-education or unmasking. During this third phase, victims had to disown their family or close friends and their religious beliefs. Finally, in the fourth phase, prisoners were forced to re-educate their best friends, thus losing their status as victims. Obviously, a failure at any subsequent stage sent the inmates back to square one. In this obscene system, moreover, death was not an option: many students did not attempt extreme beatings, but longed for them out of desperation. It was the only option to give death a chance. Unfortunately, those who did the experiments knew this very well: the torturers in the cells knew it too, because many of them had wished for the same when they were in the same situation. Blows to the temples, directly to the heart, the back of the head or any other part of the body that could lead to death were not allowed. The physical death of the students was not necessary. Your email address will not be published. Please keep in mind that comments are moderated according to our Privacy Policy. Get an alert when there are new comments. Or subscribe without commenting. Non puoi copiare il contenuto di questa pagina You cannot copy content of this page. Calling March These days, many European nations celebrate the arrival of March. What defines a Journey and a Traveller? No one can stop me In Craiova, I spend the vast majority of my time alone, without anyone stopping me or asking me anything. Monsters On the morning of my last day in Craiova I go to the Oltenia Museum — closed on Mondays — which is in a spectacular building opposite the Church of the Madonna Dudu. Leave a Reply Cancel reply Your email address will not be published.

Buying blow Craiova