Like Aurel Maria Baros says in his poem: ‘Duc o viata de kkt’, or ‘Je mène une vie de merde’, or, like Lieven translated it: ‘i’m living a shitty life’. Making this conclusion was the first thing to do being back in Belgium and haven’t yet seen anything but rainrainrain and missing the fabulous temperature of thirty degrees (I have to be pleased with hardly fourteen now).
Romania was in lots of things so different that I’m considering the fact that I might have gone to another world for a week. The cars, the busses, the trains, the streets, the dogs everywhere, the cheap food, drinks, and cigarettes. the lots and lots of people I’ve met. I feel like l’ve been a sponge for a week, just sucking and sucking all those ‘new’ things.
Was it really only a week? Yeah, when I remember the time that Lieven and I landed in Otopeni and caught a taxi (actually, it was the taxi that caught us – and set us up), it was just last week. Also the horrible night in the Funky Chicken was in fact only during a couple of hours. That’s why it soon became thursday and I met Peter, Esther, Peter, Triin, Odveig, Bjørn, Alan, Steve, Dumitru, Joan and all the others.
I think at that time, having the first reading in the mirror hall, the time stopped. I became a sponge and sponges usually are not aware of time. Actually, I couldn’t be aware of it anyway because the program changed so many times. The only explanation of that could be that time in Romania didn’t matter at all. And what doesn’t matter, can disappear without complaint.
So, riding with the busses and trains, having all those conversations, seeing the Danube, meeting other Romanian poets and Romain, eating the bad hotelfood, having the readings in the school, the library and the museum, having the debate, starting the project with ‘Ron’ and having other conversations, playing billiard with the Romanian students, trying to find the X-cave, drinking Timisoreanabeer, constantly saying ‘naroc’ or ‘mulţumesc’ or ‘pofte bune’, seeing the ‘whawhawhawhawha’-movie, losing the camera, sitting on the boat, saying goodbye to many Romanian poets, writing poems on my left leg and performing them in front of the videocamera, swimming in the Black sea, trying to buy a t-shirt, drinking the marvellous tea back in Bucharest, and so on and so on and so on, it all happened in a strange timeless evolution.
Back home, I can only wring myself out in a big large bucket and try to pretend nothing of such a great impact -becoming a sponge- ever happened. I’ll have to get used to the shitty life again and cross my fingers that maybe next year I can become a sponge again… We’ll see.
For now, I thank all those I’ve met, just for meeting them, others I also thank for the many things they did, such as taking care of us. It was only a week, but -oh, what a cliché- the memories will last forever! 🙂