It was in a Bucharest bar during a conversation with two new found friends that I first learned about a Gypsy school in central Romania built by Catholic Charities. I had some free time on my hands and so I decided to go up and see the place for myself.
I went mainly out of curiosity - but I also wanted to do something to help. After meeting the director of the program Marius Hodea and explaining my interest I asked if they were interested in a volunteer English teacher. I was a little nervous about how he might respond but was immediately put at ease when he smiled and embraced me.
The elegant young principle dressed in all white and high heels looking like Snow White 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. But once entering my classroom I found myself facing a room packed with 25 bright eyed children and still more coming in and till they had to start sharing desks. Once they started doubling up on chairs that�s when I drew the line and bared the door.
There is of course always the infamous Bucharest Taxi�s to choose from and the overloaded bus lines where passengers push their way in till coat tails hang out through the door. Too often it�s like cattle loaded into boxcars. It�s a mobile incubator spreading colds throughout the city as it drops off and picks up passengers.
The taxi�s are an entirely different experience best suiting the �thrill seeking� traveler. These shotty little Romanian made tin cans whip around the crooked streets cutting dangerously in front of unsuspecting drivers and even the monster tram if the opportunity arrives. One unforgettable driver of mine calling himself Cowboy and his taxi a runaway stage coach hopped aboard the tram tracks and rock and rolled our way past the lines of traffic.
The taxi�s back seat view goes by too fast to take in any sights, but I would recommend at least one ride on the roller coaster just to experience the sight of worried pedestrians jumping back up on the curb.
The tram offers the best tour of Bucharest�s unending maze. The tram is the city circulatory system constantly moving its work force along the tracks, and it is here, not at the upscale center and casino, where you find these city dwellers with their hardened faces - faces that blend the olive complexions of their indigenous Dacian and Latin forefathers - blending blue-eyed Germanic influences, fair hair Slavic and silky black hair Bulgarian. It is on the trams where you will find the golden brown complexions of Romanian Gypsies with their colorful dresses, even the exotic mulatto - a new Romanian breed formed during the Communist era when African students met Romanian women.
Tram 21 is picked up just outside the Church of St. George built in 1706. Inside the center of church, alongside the hand of St. Nicholas, is buried the much admired Romanian Prince Brancoveanu who along with his four sons were beheaded by the Turks after refusing to convert to Islam. Just to further torture the family the cold blooded Sultan ordered the bodies hurled into the deep Black Sea and thus deny them a Christian burial. Brancoveanu�s devoted wife spent the next six years scouring the beaches and picking up the pieces as they washed ashore..........................