The beer tent remained full morning till morning pumping out Ursus Beer (Bear Beer), emptied between snacks of traditional grilled meats they call �michi� (it�s something like a hamburger, shaped like a hotdog, eaten with a spicy mustard).
According to vender Horea Nutsa, vodka was also a big seller. Horea, a little man with a large, golden smile, comes from the Gypsy section of Rosia Montana. He came trailing his large extended family � and a team of Gypsy musicians � what they call �Lautari� who with their non-stop fiddling, clanging of the cymbal and a squeaking old clarinet that had passed the hands of four generations brought life into the rather mundane food court.
I visited the Gypsy community located at the very tail end of Rosia Montana. They are about 500 (half that number under the age of eighteen) crammed between the smoke stacks of the defunct gold factory, and a bald mountain of contaminated residue rising over the green like the Sahara. Railroad tracks act as the community�s boulevard separating a row of houses pressed against the immediate sharp slope of the hills while on the other side of the tracks they lay along the banks of the impinging contaminated �orange� river� Though they complain of ill health and a high infant mortality rate, like Margareta Pantzir, who just buried a baby (the other is constantly ill) still no one listens.
The rain would prove to be the calm before the storm � because a couple hours later, as the rains ceased � the head-banging music started up - and the crowds stormed the stage. Even with all the distractions the true cause of the event wasn�t forgotten and that came out when the lead singer of metal band �Tep Zepi� called out to the crowd, �what are we here for?� There came back a grumbled � uncertain reply when suddenly up out of the mob bellowed a deep, gravely �death to Gabriel� � and the people roared.
All in all Fan Fest made its point � but as I sat outside my tent on the hill overlooking the event, scratching my head, I couldn�t help noticing the hypocrisy. Beneath all the green signs and loud voices defending mother earth where piles of plastic and metal cans piling up � filling the dumpsters (nothing was paper � even the throw away cups of beer were plastic). There was no recycling effort being carried out - everything was going underground. Romania has not yet instilled a nationalized recycling system like Western Europe, though private recycling companies do exist. I asked Eugene David about this. He said he was aware of it, but sorting and recycling the waste simply was not in the budget � not in the budget. Oh well, not even green is without its shades.
THE END