{"id":7299,"date":"2024-06-27T07:19:31","date_gmt":"2024-06-27T07:19:31","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/taifasfestival.mywp.ro\/?p=7299"},"modified":"2025-09-15T08:01:04","modified_gmt":"2025-09-15T08:01:04","slug":"o-treaba-profund-balcanica-2023","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/taifasfestival.ro\/en\/o-treaba-profund-balcanica-2023\/","title":{"rendered":"A Truly Balkan Job - \nMoni St\u0103nil\u0103"},"content":{"rendered":"

What does one think of when one hears about the Balkans? Each of something else.\nSome might think of sarmale, while I might think of soft cottage cheese, since I\u2019ve\nrecently learned that it\u2019s a common product in the Balkan plateau. Even though each of\nus calls it differently. Even though I can swear that no milk is like that of the sheep that\ngraze in the Carpathians.<\/span><\/p>\n

What do I think about when I say Balkan? About disorientation? About orientation?<\/span><\/p>\n

About Timi\u0219oara and Kolymbari. Naturally, I find it funny that the Republic of\nMoldova is included among the Balkan countries. This reminds me of a conversation I\nonce had with a Slovenian poet who said that her people considered themselves Balkan\nonly when it suited them, i.e. for projects and festivals dedicated to the Balkan culture.\nOtherwise, they call themselves Central-European. As far as I\u2019m concerned, I have no\ndoubts. I am Balkan whether it suits me or not.<\/span><\/p>\n

One thing is clear in my mind: Balkan culture does not include Br\u00e2ncu\u0219i or\nKazantzakis - they are unquestionably part of the universal culture. So what do I think of\nwhen someone asks me about the Balkans?<\/span><\/p>\n

Once I was at an international event and someone in the public asked me to say\nsomething about Balkan habits other than cuisine. I got stuck. I looked at them quietly for\na few minutes, then I said, \u2018Drums! Drums!\u2019. It was their turn to get stuck. So I began to\ndescribe what I had in mind and in my heart, something I had been carrying with me\neverywhere since I was born: the dube (drums) of Balo\u0219e\u0219ti. The dube that Sandu films\nwhenever he has the opportunity, the dube that Ghena(die Popescu) dreams of filming at\nsome point.<\/span><\/p>\n

The dube are the most spectacular Christmas tradition. It may sound simple, but it\nisn\u2019t. The duba\u0219i or dub\u0103i are a kind of winter c\u0103lu\u0219ari 1 who give a specific performance.\nThey can only be found on the Mure\u0219 Valley, at S\u0103v\u00e2r\u0219in and in \u021aara F\u0103getului. There is\nno serious study about the dube in \u021aara F\u0103getului. Only a ten-minute film made in 1977,\na year before my birth, by a TVR 2 team. A story my father used to tell. And the\nperformance of the dube. Over an hour of dancing that they transmit from generation to\ngeneration. A few l\u0103utari from \u021aara F\u0103getului who know the dube songs. A torogoat\u0103 3 ,\nan accordion. Ten young people playing the dube. And the ever-present Capra 4 \u2013 the\ngoat.<\/span><\/p>\n

The goat that accompanies the dube does not resemble the one that TVR shows all\nDecember. Neither does it resemble the dance of the bear, which is a cruel thing inherited\nfrom the time when bears were tortured for fun. They were forced to jump on embers.<\/span><\/p>\n

Here the goat only dances once throughout the programme, on a very clear song with\nold lyrics: \u2018This is the sturdy goat\/that lifts the bear up on its horns.\u2019 Then the goat dies,\nthe torogoat\u0103 plays softly, the duba\u0219i call the goat, and the goat comes back to life. It\u2019s\nbeen my favourite moment of the year since I was a child.<\/span><\/p>\n

The dub\u0103i (they are called duba\u0219i only by the people who also call the torogoat\u0103\nsaxophone, but here I want to use the words I\u2019ve learnt in the village) are c\u0103lu\u0219ari whose\nwinter dance is linked to carol singing and wooing. They date back to the times when the\nwooing customs lasted from Christmas to Pentecost and could still explain what florile\ndalbe or leru-i ler 5 was. From the time when you could see apple blossoms on the table\neven on Christmas day. If you want to have some too, put apple twigs in a vase on Saint\nNicholas Day, and they will bloom by Christmas.<\/span><\/p>\n

The dub\u0103i wear long white shirts, white woollen tunics, bells at their feet, and\nsheepskin hats, many of which are adorned with peacock feathers \u2013 I have no idea why.\nAt the belt they always have male (meaning big) white handkerchiefs. They must have\ninherited them, because I haven\u2019t seen handkerchiefs in shops since Alex got married and\nI learned that the godmother was supposed to bring a big white handkerchief to the\nchurch. So the dub\u0103i are white, while the goat is coloured. And heavily adorned. In my\nchildhood, the goats were dressed in counterpanes, on which fir branches, small bells and\nivy vines were sewn. The musicians dress as they please, since they are not part of the\ndancing group. They are l\u0103utari paid to go from house to house and to provide the\nsoundtrack the coming of the dube, the leaving of the dube, the dance of the dube, the\ndance of the goat, the \u00eenv\u00e2rtita and the hora 6 of the dub\u0103i, the M\u0103cei (or the Matei).\nWhere I come from, I let my rifle rust is a must, because my father asks for it instead of\nthe traditional song. He does it because it was the favourite of my great-grandfather\nAlexander, who had raised him and had built the house where we receive the dube today.<\/span><\/p>\n

Besides their music and dance performance, the dub\u0103i also sing carols. It is great to\nlisten to them sing two octaves lower, so confident they make the cobs jump in the barn.\nAlmost every house they visit they are asked to sing Meie Lina la f\u00e2nt\u00e2n\u0103 7 . In the end\nthey sing Happy New Year and go to the next house. Usually, the villagers follow them\nfrom one house to another until late at night.<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019m just showing off, because I didn\u2019t see the dube of Balo\u0219e\u0219ti in my childhood.\nThey weren\u2019t there any longer. The last time they had been there was in my father\u2019s youth. We were only visited by the dube of Tome\u0219ti-Sat and Rom\u00e2ne\u0219ti. The village of\nBalo\u0219e\u0219ti was visited by the dube of Br\u0103ne\u0219ti \u2013 probably the best known and respected in\nthe area. Last year I was in Bucov\u0103\u021b, where people adapted. Girls and boys beat dozens of\ndrums of all sizes, as if they were Poderosa Aainjala (google it!), but the dube there have\nbeen set up recently.<\/span><\/p>\n

But now I\u2019m going back to the dube of Balo\u0219e\u0219ti, probably the smallest band of\ndub\u0103i. There are over 30 dub\u0103i in Rom\u00e2ne\u0219ti and Curtea, but only 10 or 12 in Balo\u0219e\u0219ti.\nBut I like them best. They sound older. They are the only ones in the area who also sing\nthe lyrics of the\u00a0<\/span>Goat\u2019s Dance<\/span>\u00a0and they don\u2019t have a glass too many. They do everything\nvery seriously. And I think they are the only ones who take very small boys with them.\nThey teach them the customs when they are young and that\u2019s great.<\/span><\/p>\n

What seems very Balkan to me is that although there are dube in most villages of\n\u021aara F\u0103getului and on Valea Mure\u0219ului, starting with the ones known all over the country\n(The S\u0103v\u00e2r\u0219in dube), each village has its specificity. No two dube are the same. No two\ndube sound the same. And only very close villages dress the same. Only the dube of\nTome\u0219ti-Sat, Rom\u00e2ne\u0219ti and Balo\u0219e\u0219ti dress in white. Those of Curtea also wear a\nsheepskin coat; in Bucov\u0103\u021b they wear jeans, whilst in S\u0103v\u00e2r\u0219in they are dressed in folk\ncostumes.<\/span><\/p>\n

I would like to read a detailed study of the similarities and differences between the\ndube. About their specific performance, about how this tradition that fascinates me\nappeared. I always live in fear that in time they will disappear and the only\ndocumentation that will remain will be in a few films on YouTube. My husband,\nAlexandru Vakulovski, also uploaded some carefully made films on YouTube. They were\nshot in my yard, so you can check me if you like.<\/span><\/p>\n

I have never dealt with more particular aspects. For example, I think that the shirts\nthe dub\u0103i wear (with grapes embroidered on lace) are made especially for them, but I\ncan\u2019t be sure. I have googled it may times \u2013 \u2018male shirt in Mountain Banat\u2019, \u2018men\u2019s shirt\nfolk costume Banat\u2019, \u2018men\u2019s shirt folk costume\u2019 \u2013 but I haven\u2019t found anything, which\nmeans the shirt must be very specific. I also searched \u2018men\u2019s shirt dub\u0103i\u2019, but I got links\nto shirts from Dubai \u2013 not at all Balkan, not at all funny. I also searched for \u2018male shirt\nc\u0103lu\u0219ari\u2019, but still got nothing.<\/span><\/p>\n

To be honest, parts of the dub\u0103i costume are lost. Others will be lost too, I\u2019m sure.\nThe woven belts were replaced with the Romanian flag when I was young. As for the\nshoes, each dub\u0103u wears what he has. Recently I\u2019ve also seen shirts made of synthetic\nmaterials. For me, this is real suffering; for the reader, it is a big question mark about that\nshirt with embroidered grapes and the incredible dance of the dub\u0103i.<\/span><\/p>\n

Whenever we spend Christmas at Balo\u0219e\u0219ti, while Sandu is filming, I watch the\ndub\u0103i\u2019s feet. Six drum beats, six steps. A fascinating synchronisation. Nobody misses a\nstep. It would be impossible, since the drum tells them clearly when they have to make\n\none jump or another. I can say in all sincerity that I have seen famous folk ensembles that\nfail to synchronize so well.<\/span><\/p>\n

The dube have a leader. I have no idea if he is called a leader or otherwise. But he is\neasy to recognise. He carries an adorned pointer in his hand. A stick, we call it. A small,\ndecorated collection box is tied to his palm with a narrow strap. While the dub\u0103i, besides\nthe belt, have an oblique strip over their right shoulder, their leader has two, one over\neach shoulder, forming an X \u200b\u200bover the white shirt. So the one with the X is the leader.<\/span><\/p>\n

What I best liked in my childhood was the dance of the dube. They stand in a circle\naround the leader. At first glance, the leader seems to dance a different dance. His\nmovements are different. He moves in the direction opposite to how the circle rotates.\nWhile the 6-8-10 dub\u0103i are perfectly synchronized, regardless of the differences of age or\nheight between them, their leader moves in the opposite direction and makes different\nsteps, different jumps. You need to be either an initiate or very observant to realise that\nhe takes the steps that the others will take in a few seconds. He practically performs the\ndance in the opposite direction, a few beats earlier than the circle, as if he were dictating\ntheir next moves. Once you know this, it\u2019s fascinating. Like off-beat in music. Or like\nrounds, where the followers begin the same song in a different voice, a bar or two after\nthe leader.<\/span><\/p>\n

When I was little, I knew that first came the carollers, then the neighbours\u2019 children\nwho also sang carols, and then the Star singers. Sometime after lunch we heard the dube.\nIt felt as if an earthquake was about to strike. We all ran to the gate to see the dub\u0103i. They\nwalked up the street, up the hill, to Liman, to Luncani, and in the evening they were to\ncome to Tome\u0219ti. The only fun I had in my first years of life was to run away from the\ngoat. Long after midnight, before falling asleep, my ears pricked up at the last echoes of\nthe dube. And I knew that the next year it would be the same.<\/span><\/p>\n

Now I\u2019m no longer so sure. Now I think of the dube of Balo\u0219e\u0219ti as I think of the\nruga in Balo\u0219e\u0219ti, which I had the chance to experience, but which has disappeared in the\nmeantime. At least in its original, almost mystical formula, in which it was held in my\nchildhood.<\/span><\/p>\n

This is, however, another story.<\/span><\/p>\n

As anyone from Banat\/Balkan knows, the word rug\u0103 comes from \u2018rug\u0103ciune\u2019 8 and\nmarks the village church dedication day. Today we only hear about rug\u0103 in Timi\u0219oara or\nReca\u0219 and it no longer resembles what I knew a rug\u0103 was. The almost mystical element I\nwas talking about was the Dinner.<\/span><\/p>\n

For the rug\u0103, folk music singers were invited and large open places were prepared\nfor a kind of dancing. Why \u2018a kind of dancing\u2019 and not just \u2018dancing\u2019? Because rug\u0103\nmeant you also had dinner, whereas dancing was just music and\u2026 dancing.<\/span><\/p>\n

But let\u2019s speak about the Dinner now. The first thing was that you had to be very\nwell prepared. Food was prepared like for a wedding. The traditional dishes:\u00a0<\/span>la\u0219ce\u00a0<\/span>(chicken soup with noodles), sarmale (stuffed cabbage leaves), roast with salad and\nmashed potatoes, cookies and lots of drinks. You had to have plenty of food, because\nyour relatives were coming. At the end you slept on the floor.<\/span><\/p>\n

I could speak about the ruga at Luncani, because they always had celebrities on\nstage. Big village, wealthy people, great rug\u0103. They had a huge courtyard near the\ncommunity centre, where the ruga was organised. I don\u2019t remember if it had always been\nlike that, but when I was little you had to buy a ticket. Naturally, tickets couldn\u2019t be\nbought online then. The money for the tickets went to the musicians.<\/span><\/p>\n

I could also speak about the festival at Liman, which was the rug\u0103 we, the ones in the\nColony, organised. It was already compromised, since there was no dedication day to\ncelebrate. Tome\u0219ti-Colonie didn\u2019t have a dedication day. Tome\u0219ti-Colonie didn\u2019t have an\nOrthodox church. One was built twenty years ago. In communism, Orthodox masses were\nheld once a month in a small Roman-Catholic church. The Colony, registered officially as\nthe Factory Colony, but which we all called Tome\u0219ti, while Tome\u0219ti we called Tome\u0219ti-\nSat (Tome\u0219ti-Village), was born as the colony of the workers of the Glass Factory opened\nby the Germans in 1820.<\/span><\/p>\n

At first, barracks were built, then houses, then blocks of flats. Then the Mayor\u2019s\nOffice in Balo\u0219e\u0219ti was moved to the Germans. And so did the dispensary, the police, and\nthe school. Then it became a commune. And so on and so forth. But we still didn\u2019t have a\nchurch, since the Mayor\u2019s Office moved after the Communists came.<\/span><\/p>\n

During the \u201970s, the Valea lui Liman tourist complex was opened and the Tome\u0219ti\nruga, nedeea, was held there. When I became a teenager, things evolved. On Saturday\nnight there was a disco at Liman, the next day, the Banat Nedeea.<\/p>\n

I could speak about the ruga at Zolt, where I bought a panpipe. Or about the one at\nRom\u00e2ne\u0219ti, which wasn\u2019t held on the village dedication day, in October, but in July, on\nSaint Elijah Day, when we still had Balta Cald\u0103 (The Warm Pond). They wouldn\u2019t issue\npermits to those who came with \u2018a whole tribe\u2019, as we used to say. It was a real fair.\nThere I ate corn on the cob for the first time in the year, from there my father bought\nwatermelon. There we bought the first Yo-yos, the ancestors of the Yo-yo toys. Small\nsawdust balls wrapped in coloured tin and tied with rubber bands. Gingerbread with a\nmirror in the middle. White or black toy mice with a resort and rubber bands. Sun glasses,\nmetal rings, plastic rifles, water pistols and many more.<\/p>\n

Balta Cald\u0103 vanished and so did the ruga. They became memories.<\/p>\n

So I will tell you about the ruga at Balo\u0219e\u0219ti, held on 8 September, the feast of the\nNativity of Mary, or \u2018M\u0103ria Mic\u0103\u2019, as people called it.<\/p>\n

Like at Luncani, at Balo\u0219e\u0219ti ruga was held in front of the community centre. In the\nhill or mountain areas, it is difficult to find a flat place for the rug\u0103. In Balo\u0219e\u0219ti there\nwas no other place except that in front of the community centre.<\/p>\n

The first dance took place in the presence of the priest. At six o\u2019clock in the evening.\nI do not remember any famous folk stars. We had music, maybe well-known singers, but\nI can\u2019t say that for sure. Everything was as clear as possible. Peopled danced on folk\nmusic until eleven at night, when the musicians stopped. The Dinner followed. The story\nelement. The off-beat in music.<\/p>\n

If you weren\u2019t from the village, it was good to make friends with someone, so you\nwouldn\u2019t be hungry. It was not good at all if you remained alone. In our area, even the\nJuly nights were cold. In September, we had the first frost, so they often moved the ruga\nin the community centre.<\/p>\n

But if you had friends or danced with a villager who invites you to dinner, things\nwere very different. I still remember those nights very clearly, although I was only 3 or 4\nyears old when my grandmother and great-grandfather were still alive. They both died in\n1984. So my memories are before that year.<\/p>\n

They removed the all the tables from the house and placed them in the courtyard,\nthen they covered them with tablecloths. They brought not only chairs, but also the\ntraditional benches with backrests, which usually stood near the very tall beds in the\nhouse. Those beds were about a meter high. Instead of a step, you climbed those beautiful\nbenches that were as long as the beds.<\/p>\n

The table had to be laid for at least twenty or thirty people. Whether your guests were\ncloser or more distant relatives coming from other villages, you had to prepare a few\nplaces for strangers. Nobody was allowed to skip dinner, it would have been a great\nshame for the village if they did. I remember that sometimes my grandmother also put\nflowers on the table. Maybe she always did, I don\u2019t remember. And her yellow plates and\nlarge bowls from the same set, for soup. All the day the cookies were cut, at least four or\nfive kinds. They were arranged on trays and kept in a cool place.<\/p>\n

At midnight the table was full, all seats taken. The village was screaming with joy.\nAnd from the plum rakia, maximum thirty percent alcohol content. But the atmosphere\nwas special. You laid the table for whoever came, never knowing how many people will\nenter your yard. You offered a meal where no gifts were given, unlike at weddings. A\nmeal that financially you cannot recover. No return, no gifts, no taxes. A meal offered at\nmidnight to anyone who happened to visit your household. For me, this is a truly Balkan\njob. A table for cheerful people who eat and drink together, who joke and laugh, not\nknowing if ever in their life will they eat next to each other again or will see each other at\nanother dinner, at another ruga, in another village.<\/p>\n

I am sure the dogs must have barked from so much noise and the cats probably\ncurled into a ball under the table or begged for the crispy chicken skin. Maybe an owl\n\nhooted in the oak tree forest behind the garden. But these things I don\u2019t remember. I only\nremember the sadness, because we, the little ones, were sent to bed after Dinner. So we\ntried to behave like the grown-ups, we tried not to do bad things, not to be sleepy, in the\nhope that we would persuade someone to let us stay awake at least another hour, look,\nCristina, Nea Bujor\u2019s daughter, says she\u2019s staying another hour, we can\u2019t we stay too,\nwe\u2019re old enough for that.<\/p>\n

But there was no way we could persuade anyone. After dinner, we had to go to sleep.\nThe light that penetrated from the street through the open shutters, cheerful voices,\nsomeone calling for someone else. Are you going back to the rug\u0103? Wait, we\u2019re coming\ntoo. Grandmother was watching us.<\/p>\n

Grandmother died when she was 56. Why didn\u2019t she go to the rug\u0103? Was she ill? I\ndon\u2019t believe so. If she had, she wouldn\u2019t have laid the big table in the yard. Was he\nstaying at home to keep an eye on us? This is another truly Balkan job, which I\nunderstood better from Kazantzakis: the aged woman. Not old, but aged by society, by\nmentality, by prejudices. Why should we go to the rug\u0103? We\u2019re old.<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t remember grandmother wearing white clothes, let alone coloured ones. Only\nblack and brown. Undyed sheepskin coat. A headscarf. Did she have long hair? Did she\nhave more than one set of clothes?<\/p>\n

At Balo\u0219e\u0219ti we still have some poneve, cergi, thick tablecloths, some of the yellow\nplates and bowls, two aluminium tablespoons \u2018with a tip\u2019. But no beautiful sweaters, no\nwarm clothes, no winter coats, nothing from my grandmother. Just things for the\nhousehold. Many things for the household.<\/p>\n

Was my great-grandfather old at fifty? I remember him after he\u2019d turned eighty. He\nstill worked on the hill. He had a leather bag, loose, brown, wool slacks, probably a hemp\nshirt. The hat, the small felt hat. I remember him well, I loved him a lot, he called me\nHarmonica. But when the world had him age, I couldn\u2019t say. Certainly not at 56, like it\ndid with my grandmother.<\/p>\n

My great-grandfather was her father and my father\u2019s grandfather. A man to write a\nstory about. A Zorba. A Balkan, even though he fought in the war on the Alps front,\nwhen Hemingway fought on the other side. He had been a soldier since he was 14. Then\nhe became a forest ranger, then an architect, then a mayor, and finally he bought sheep\nand oxen. I think he was sick when I was born, because he no longer had sheep. I\nremember the oxen, Puiu and Florea, that\u2019s what they were called. They were huge. But\nhe didn\u2019t keep them at home for a long time. I think he kept them in the stable near the\nfield on the hill, near P\u0103duri\u0219c\u0103, where he\u2019d once kept his sheep. And I remember B\u0103lu\u021bu,\nthe huge and beautiful Bucovina Shepherd dog tied to the pear tree behind the house.\nProbably after my great-grandfather had sold the sheep.<\/p>\n

I remember how we all went to P\u0103duri\u0219c\u0103, and grandmother was making pancove 9\n\nwith cheese. Today, if I see ads for pancove or scovergi 10 at fairs, I turn my head away. I\nalready know that the scovergi are not true scovergi, the pancove are not true pancove,\nand the ruga is not true ruga. And there is no Dinner. Who else is there to lay the table\nfor thirty people, some of whom are strangers?<\/p>\n

People have got used to complain of poverty. But people have never lived better than\nnow. My grandparents and great-grandparents would not understand today\u2019s poverty.\nAnd I think they would lay the table for Dinner on 8 September once again, because it is\nin their blood, part of their traditions, of the Balkan rural culture. Because you can\u2019t greet\nthe dub\u0103i empty-handed. You don\u2019t give them la\u0219ce, since they have to dance all night,\nbut you still offer them something to eat. And you walk with the tray of sandwiches and\ncookies around the yard to serve those who accompany the dube, villagers or people from\nthe neighbouring villages, who follow the dube from the first to the last house.<\/p>\n

Why do I speak of all this? Maybe that\u2019s what I understand by being Balkan. Home.\nMy home, in which I grew up, the rhythm from the dube, on which I move my feet even\nin summer, if I suddenly hear it in my mind.<\/p>\n

I have invited people to dinner, foreigners, people from other countries. The farther\nin the west was their country, the greater their surprise. Someone from a large group that\nI had invited in my small house told me: \u2018It\u2019s very touching that you\u2019ve invited us, the\nhouse is something so intimate.\u2019 What about the Dinner? I thought, but I didn\u2019t say\nanything.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s in my nature. Laying the table and greeting the dube is something I inherited\nfrom my grandparents. When someone was in mourning, they received the dube in their\nhouses, but they did not dance and the musicians sang only carols, and announced the\nBirth of our Lord. But you couldn\u2019t turn down the dube. This is why I try to go home for\nChristmas every time I can. Because it is sad for the parents to receive the dube, but not\nto have their children beside them.<\/p>\n

Now the parents call their children abroad on Facebook, so they can hear the dube. I\ndon\u2019t want that, though my dad called me a couple of times too. I don\u2019t like it, I want to\nbe there. I want to listen to the musicians from F\u0103get playing L\u0103sai pu\u0219ca ruginit\u0103 in my\ngreat-grandfather\u2019s yard.<\/p>\n

Sometimes, when I feel nostalgic and watch the dube on YouTube I think I should\nhave stayed at home, in my village. To mow the hay in summer. I know it sounds\ndramatic and exaggerated, but I sometimes feel like I should have done it. I should have\nstayed there and learn from my father how to clean the forest, why a spring dries out and\nhow you can clean it. He could have shown me how to predict rain by the sunset colours.\nMy mother could have shown me how to make pancove and scovergi, and la\u0219ce with eggs. And maybe instead of starving while trying to lose weight, I would have learned the\ndance of the dube and I would have danced for hours on end in the yard.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s not the area, it\u2019s the inheritance, because I know for sure that many people born\nin the Balkans feel quite differently. They don\u2019t want to come to Dinner; they want to be\nleft alone, to barely hear what you have to tell them, to listen only to classical or rock\nmusic, to spend their days among concrete buildings, not in gardens or forests. Is it a\nBalkan matter or is it not? Is it really something specific to each area or only people\ncoming from over the seas can sit at table for Dinner? Can they do it or not? Will they lay\nthe table for Dinner or not? Will they appreciate the dub\u0103i or will they just say, \u2018This\ntraditional stuff is not for me\u2019? Will they denounce premature aging or will they pity it?\nIs it something about all the stories I have told you or is it just childhood? Is it me aging\nprematurely and opening my mouth to say, \u2018In my time\u2026\u2019?<\/p>\n

For me, Balkan culture is an image, a film, a collective poem: many people together\nin one place, songs of sadness and songs of joy, an exaggerated familiarity, an\nunsophisticated nature, something that is inherited. I remember how I felt when I saw the\nfirst documentaries with the Clejani Taraf, those old, authentic musicians. Nicolae\nNeac\u0219u, who played as if something broke inside him, and inside you, although that thing\nabout Corbea couldn\u2019t be understood very clearly. How he got to prison. How Corbea\nsuffered. How Corbea saved himself.<\/p>\n

Balkan festivals bring together people who, regardless of their beliefs or opinions,\nseem to have the same mother. The first Balkan festival I attended abroad was in Ordu, in\nthe east of Turkey, and was dedicated to the Black Sea. I sensed familiarity not only\nbetween writers, but also in their texts. Something not common, but similar, a kind of\nartistic intimacy. A kind of Dinner. I had incredible seven-course Dinners every night,\nwith dube and torogoate.<\/p>\n

At night, when we returned from the restaurants, Tozan sang traditional Turkish\nsongs, but I didn\u2019t know any doin\u0103, so I sang Psalm 142 on voice VI. I spent there four\ndays, but it was of incredibly intense. I still feel as if I had spent a whole month there. I\nconquered everybody with my lying text about the sea. About the boat or the raft with\nwhich I could have crossed the sea. Lying dreams for a prose about the Black Sea.\nTravellers, Dinners, stories, music, shows, young people, readings in schools, trips\noutside the city, restaurants, authorities \u2013 all in four days, during which I barely slept\nseven hours.<\/p>\n

The Balkans. Much more recently. This summer. Theodoris of Kolymbari, talking to\nus while he was lying on Mias Beach and searching for sea urchins that he crushed on the\nstones to eat some part of them. And I felt Scandinavian. Theodoris of Kolymbari, who\ntold us about his life and about the beauty of Crete, about the miraculous sea urchin roe,\nabout how the salt from the rocks is collected. Theodoris of Kolymbari, who invited us to\nhis place to taste lamb cooked according to a traditional recipe. And who told us that\n\nsomeday he might visit Romania or Thailand. But then he spoke of his luck again. \u2018I\u2019m\nso lucky I was born here,\u2019 he said. And he was right.<\/p>\n

As am I.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

La ce se g\u00e2nde\u0219te un om c\u00e2nd aude de Balcani? Fiecare la altceva. Poate unii la sarmale, poate eu la urd\u0103. C\u0103 am aflat recent c\u0103 \u0219i urda o \u00eemp\u0103r\u021bim unii cu al\u021bii \u00een platoul balcanic. Chiar dac\u0103 fiecare \u00eei spune altfel. De\u0219i pot s\u0103 jur c\u0103 a\u0219a cum e laptele oilor care pasc \u00een […]<\/p>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":7300,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"inline_featured_image":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[66],"tags":[47],"class_list":["post-7299","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-eseu-2023","tag-moni-stanila"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/taifasfestival.ro\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7299","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/taifasfestival.ro\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/taifasfestival.ro\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/taifasfestival.ro\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/taifasfestival.ro\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7299"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/taifasfestival.ro\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7299\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7499,"href":"https:\/\/taifasfestival.ro\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7299\/revisions\/7499"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/taifasfestival.ro\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/7300"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/taifasfestival.ro\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7299"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/taifasfestival.ro\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7299"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/taifasfestival.ro\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7299"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}