Who are the Gypsies? They originated from India. They came wandering into Europe about 1000 years ago where their bohemian lifestyle and dark features right away put them at odds with their Europeans hosts. Instead of finding that famous European open arm hospitality they were met by persecution, forced assimilation and enslavement. Generations later and they still retain their old ways. They refuse to change into something that they are not. They are the ultimate free spirit.
I have always been fascinated by Gypsies. Time and again I have been called �Gypsy� or said to have �a gypsy heart�. After all, for the past year I have been living a kind of �gypsy� lifestyle bumming around Europe on my motorbike. All these analogies and yet still I have never known any.
I traveled into Romania. With somewhere between 1.5 and 2 million of them scattered across the nation I knew it was just a matter of time till we would meet.
And sure enough� while riding along the magnificent Olt river near the boarders of Transylvania I happened upon a little Catholic Church in a little town called Brezoi � and in that church was a little office and there I met Marius Hodea, director of the local Catholic Charities and learned about the Gypsy school that they had built.
On my first day at school I rode in on the motorcycle. I pulled into the school compound, the doors burst open and out charged a screaming swarm of colorfully dressed and dirty Gypsy children. They surrounded me. They touched, and pulled and tugged - all just too overly excited to meet this �white man� in black leather and feel the shinny chrome of his motorized bicycle.
The elegant young principle, looking like �Snow White�, with long black hair, in all white and high heels, pushed her way through the knee high crowd and whisked me away into the teacher�s lounge, or neutral zone, where the children are forbidden. There I was introduced to the staff who one after another offered me coffee, cola, pastries and fruit in the typical hospitable Romanian fashion. I asked the principle about the number of students in my classroom. I was a little nervous and not quite sure what to expect. Attendance was low, she said, and there probably wouldn�t be more than 10 pupils. Once entering my classroom I found myself facing a room packed with a couple dozen bright eyed children and still more coming in till they had to start sharing desks. But once they started doubling up on chairs that�s when I drew the line and bared the door.
There are 130 families living in The Valley of Stan. Though they are Gypsies they don�t call themselves that nor the politically correct term �Roma�. They name themselves after their traditional profession, �Rudari� � wood workers. Other Gypsy tribes call themselves �Caldara� (coppersmith), �Florari� (florist), �Lautari� (musicians), and �Ursari� (bear trainers).
They were a prosperous community till about 50 years ago when the gold mines suddenly shut down and they found themselves out of work and no one really interested in hiring them. Today, with practically 100% unemployment they survive on scant welfare checks that barely reach $30 a month per household. To make ends meet they sell hand made baskets out by the roadside, or wild berries or fish that they pull from the nearby stream. They are survivors.
One day after arriving late for class I was greeted out front by two of my students, Sammy and Nicusor, who told me that all the children went home. I asked if they knew where the students live.
�Ba-da� (of course)
�Come on, lets go get them,� I said and I waved them on.
The village is located about 100 yards from the school, over a couple rickety bridges and at the bottom of a country road. It�s a cramped little village pressed between the steep slopes of the Carpathian mountain range with its deep dark forests where bears, lynx and wolves roam free. These are the lands of Bram Stoker�s Dracula and it is just that wild untamed spirit that sheds its influence over the village and its people.
I asked Nicusor about the wolves. He said he never saw one but he hears them in the night and sometimes they come in and take a dog.
As we marched into the commune I got my very first glimpses of the settlement and its inhabitants, as well as their first look at me - �Americanul.�.
The village is made up of dilapidated huts lining either side of the road. Each with its own picket fence concocted from sticks pulled out of the forest. As much as ten people, from grandma to grandchild share these one and two room homes. Outside in the front yard Gypsy women cook over wood fires and wash their clothing in the cold mountain water of the passing stream. The dusty road belongs to the squawking ducks and chickens, loose horses and naked children running wild - so many children.
It reminded me of the slave quarters of young America�s rich landowners. It is an apropos comparison as the similarities between Gypsies and African-Americans doesn�t end there. There are of course issues of segregation, discrimination and the fact that Romanian Gypsies were enslaved until the mid 19th century.