Peles Castle, Sinaia Ski Slopes

My best friend and I were joking the other day that we probably have forgotten how awesome the mountains can be, seeing as how both live on flat terrain. She's in North Dakota, whose motto is "Liberty and Union Now and Forever, One and Inseparable," which also describes how I feel about her. So serious. On the other hand, she is the pinnacle of comedy, capable of making me laugh under any circumstance. In fact she's even made me pee my pants, which as those who know me, is not hard. But on a bike? That takes skill.

At any rate, it was she who I was thinking about today, as I went north to Sinaia, for a quick power trip. After the massive cabin fever epidemic, I was giddy to escape the city! I went with a good friend (who was on a mission to preview the mountain town before a scheduled field trip), a gregarious and kind driver (who I want to be my friend), and of course Deets (who goes where I go). We were thrilled to escape a -14C temperature to a balmy -5C. 

No frozen snot today, so happy!

Quaint and beautiful, Sinaia has one the of oldest ski resorts that peaks out at a whopping 2400 meters (7,874 feet). Two gondolas are in operation for mountainy pleasures. I enjoyed a newbie skier in tight periwinkle pants fly-wedge his way down the beginner's slope ending with a backwards down-dog. 

The gondolas are PINK!

Pretending I didn't miss making my own fresh tracks, we moved on to check out the Peles Castle, an apparent summer house for King Carol I back in 1914. It's absolutely amazing, and the prettiest I have seen yet. Alas, they were closed for touring the inside, but I don't think Deets minded.

Um, please pay attention if you will.

Feeling extravagant and hoity, we countered with a humble trip to the Sinaia Monastery, founded in 1690. 

Turns out they are open everyday, but being fueled by a hangry baby, we continued onto lunch. Afterwards, we attempted to ride the gondola as a last hurrah, but missed it by 3 minutes. Not wanting to get stuck in Bucharestian traffic, or see an atomic baby meltdown, we headed home tired but pleased by our "discoveries" made on the day. To my BFF, this town is waiting for you.

Tram/ski map. So retro. 

Snowed In

Snowed in!
Today I woke to Deets judo kicking his crib, an unhinged gate smacking into a fence, and howling winds that have permanently tilted one of our newly planted trees. I am pretty sure I saw the Wicked Witch flying by our home in the 'burbs only to be buried in untouched snowdrifts. Apparently my plans to head downtown were not meant to be.

Plan B: pretend none of this annoyed me and prepare Deets for some more in-home entertainment. He seemed successful with painting at his play group earlier, so I cracked open a shiny new package of Crayola brushes with built in paint.

Before:

After: (We're talking mili-seconds!) 

Just for comparison purposes, if there was ever any doubt of who's child he is...

1984?

Still, I was determined to make the most of my day. So several layers of clothing were applied and Jim, Deets and I went out to get some fresh air. Caterpillar tractors were pushing snow around, and hordes of shovelers were attacking the several feet of snow that dumped in the hallowed Oxford Gardens. They put a pretty good dent in snow removal, but not before gesturing my kid should be better dressed. Seriously?

Are you ready to rock?!

Toss!

Tears of joy or betrayal?

Art In Bucharest Field Trip

Free pass granted! On a last minute whim, I signed up for a walking tour of artists' studios today, guided by a lively hipster named Mircea. Mark stayed home with Deets to cook for our pending dinner party later that night! He even drove me to the metro, with sleet, slush and ice blinding our way. 

Total idiot at large.

Emerging from escalator, the metro dumped me off into a winter wonderland of Izvor Park. I made a mental note to drag Deets to yet another fabulous park of Bucharest. Our touring party began with a ceramist's studio, a fantastically cluttered basement filled with beasty and breasty sculptures. The artist, Alina Buga spoke of his trade with glowing pride; using his hands instead of a wheel to mold the clay from a lump to a masterpiece. It was quite inspiring!

Waaay more technical than the
pinch pots I made in high school. 

Cats, dogs, people with boobs. Many sculptures
were created in the likeness of diabolical politicians,
especially during communism.

The thin lipped, schnozzed snail. 

Shininess of their art comes from
polishing the surface with smooth granite.

 Hirschorn appropriate?
His n her motorized rotating heads,
 just aching to be exorcised.

I could not comprehend how they manage to get the hefty sculptures up these winding stairs to head to their 7000 cubic inch kiln that was 40km away. Their answer? Very carefully. 

Next stop, we met a father and son who share a studio in an artist's commune. The father once painted portraits of Nicolae Ceausescu and continues to paint daily, anything from landscapes to still life to portraits. His son, modestly spoke of his early career choice, starting to paint at age five when the rest of us were busy picking our noses.

Self portrait: Constantin's bearded era.

Self portrait: Clean Shave Era

 Constantin the Artist

Gorgeous flowers, buried behind a pile of frames.

Defying hunger pangs and unrelenting snowfall, our third stop was to a lovely lady who weaves tapestries. 

She weaves pictures of windows and birds. Nice lady.

She was the most animated of all the artists, interrupting our guides' interpreting regularly to tell us even more about the awesomeness of weaving. In fact, she has even won a few weaving awards, bemoaning the fact there are no good tapestry museums around. Her work was quite intricate and definitely complicated. I am sorry to say she does not weave pants. I asked.

He topped off our afternoon with a quick look at a local church named Sf. Gheoghe Nou (New St. George's Church) that was loaded with thick historical significance, complete with the tombed hand of Constantin Brancoveanu. He had tiny hands, but apparently didn't stop him from ruling a chunk of Romania (Wallachia) back in the 16 and 1700's.

Persistent rebuilding: floods, earthquakes,
or wars can't keep this fantastic church from being destroyed.

Never judge a book by it's cover:
the paintings inside are exquisite.
And very thorough: not a square inch
of space was spared of color.

Post Script for the Dog Who Almost Died

I just wanted to leave a side note that the dog we rescued last Sunday is doing just fine. She did have surgery to repair a broken hip and leg, but has been recuperating well and is expected to make an excellent recovery. Since I don't have a picture of said dog, I thought I would post one of Jim instead...

Sit Ubu Sit. Good Dog.

A good place to sit: Cismigiu Park

A good place to sit: Cismigiu Park.

I imagine the oldest park in the city would suit the seats of many people, but on a damp, wet day, we had to settle on walking the gorgeous grounds. Apparently, that is what this paradise in the city is known for anyway so we spied an ice skating rink, playground, chess tables, and about a million empty places to sit, think, ponder, plot, or fantasize.

Bench for sittin'

Or maybe some chair-sittin'

Lovely decor, no? 

 Strangle ye lightpost will yeh?

Mom, put me DOWN!

Museul Antipa si National de Istorie

Museum Hunting

One of the beautiful things about Bucharest is there are about twenty museums you can visit. And while they aren't the price of DC museums, they are cheap enough to head into especially if you have a toddler who needs to run around. The key is this: finding the ones free of breakable delicates and cranky staff who yell at you to stop touching the glass displays.

Deets and I took a field trip to the National Museum of Natural History which was closed for remodeling for several years until recently. With toddler high corridors (yes!) the museum guides you through any habitat of your desire, complete with taxidermied animals and various reenacted scenes of Animals Gone Wild. It was definitely worth the trip; I got to see some blood and guts in the human body exhibit, and Deets got to explore "on his own" without interference of mom constantly trying to redirect his attention.

Total Eclipse of the Heart

Now shake dem skeleton bones!

I told the Witch Doctor that I was in love with you!

Ooh Eee Ooh Ah Ah!

We got a hot crustacean band

On another day, I took Deets and our neighbor's son downtown to check out the Romanian National History Museum. At first I was a tad worried when we were directed to look at blurry black and white photos of grim faced priests and farmers, but beyond that they had an interesting mishmash of collections: gorgeous gold jewelry, crowns, weapons, and coins all cozied in the velvety purple basement. They also had a barrage of chiseled Roman stone you could walk through and touch (thank you Deets). 

I dunno, what do you want to do tonight? 

Noooooose.

I enjoyed some awesome hat- wearing men-folk paintings and the two boys feasted their eyes on the car and toy collection from yesterday's children. This is where I got yelled at for Deets touching the glassed-in stuffed animal display (seriously, there were filthy, stuffed bunnies, bears, and dolls from the 60's on show). Worth the visit? Eh. Probably, considering it was only 8 lei, about $2.50 and it was miserable to be outside in the rain with a fiercely independent baby boy.

Find one thing that's wrong with this hat.

No clue who they are.

Caged animals.