Transylvanian horseman

Introduction and postscript

This blog catalogues the final two years of my life in Transylvania and the immediate aftermath. It is a curious complex tale and best read as a whole. Some posts are joyful, many informative, a number reflective, several cynical or even angry. Most of the latter occur towards the end. But, as you will read, I have moved on from the disappointments that caused these few.

My time in Romania included eight years running a riding holiday centre, living in a remote village, getting hay and firewood with horses, travelling through high mountains and deep forests, an exploration of the culture and heritage of that land, marriage and divorce, struggling with bureaucracy and the facinating process of watching a country in metamorphosis.

 
I had been searching for an idyll. Such a place was a source of childhood imagination. I dreamt of an idyll during early years in a dull urban job. Then I sought an idyll in Transylvania and initially found what I thought to be one.

I was looking for something tranquil, beautiful, simple and, the realist will point out, fundamentally unsustainable. Perhaps I sought a lifestyle more akin to Tolkien’s fictitious world - the Hobbits' Shire for instance - that that which reality offered? Stepping well back in time it was understandable to desire an idyllic childhood (though I hadn't read Tolkien back then) not least when growing up in the banality of a 1970s suburb. As a young adult I lived in some ugly places, the broken society of a cheap part of northwest London being the worst. No wonder I sought an escape. From beneath the dark cloak of depression I looked out desiring light and beauty which seemed frustratingly unattainable. Then I experienced Transylvania.

In 1990 I was supposed to be visiting to help alleviate poverty. However what I saw in rural areas was scenic beauty and a simple way of life that appealed deeply to me. Poverty existed of course but was neatly boxed in discrete distant towns. People in villages were not well off financially however they had the land and expertise to grow food and raise livestock. I loved driving through that countryside and longed to dwell there. In the meantime I moved from London to a small town in the countryside just beyond. However my move involved an expensive rented apartment (for the town was a desirable place to live) and a surprisingly time consuming journey to work too. It began as an idyll in a small town surrounded by hills and woods but soon became a prison tying me to a long commute, costly living and smug church congregations. From there I moved to rural Oxfordshire as a precursor to exile in Transylvania.

 
In the interim I had made a two month journey across Romania on horseback and crossed the country from corner to corner by bicycle. I had seen the country in detail before moving there - or rather scraped a great deal of its surface and imagined that I knew and understood the place and its people.

My Transylvanian idyll was not based upon idleness. Indeed I assumed that hard work would be needed and planned, through running a tourist business, to share my discovery. It was personal, then, but not selfish. I built a business, planned riding trails and took guests out to experience the scenic beauty and archaic nature of the Romanian Carpathian mountains.

 
The vision came to be shattered as such inventions are wont to be. There had been chips taken out of the enamelled picture, of course. Rubbish-choked rivers, occasional thefts, hillsides denuded of trees and incidents of corruption all spoiled the image. However it was the hidden history of Romania that shattered my dream. The doings of history are lodged in the past however in the national unconscious they live on. The Romanian collective unconscious strove to blot out misdeeds large and small. Genocide of the Jews, persecution of the Gypsies, collusion in Communist repression and killing, the recent razing of their own historic towns and endemic corruption over centuries were all whitewashed. Guilt and shame were nearly absent. Educated people denied what had happened and the peasants simply did not know. But were it not for the collective unconscious of that nation I might have stayed. That unconscious warped the national psyche, introduced neuroses and sustained pathological behaviour. When exposed to the collective unconscious the Romanian character mixed pride with self loathing. Too often one could not tell the closed mind of an ‘educated’ Romanian what to think. They resented deeply the implication that they may be wrong. However the same person unashamedly would tell the most deprecating jokes about Romanians in general.

 
My peasant neighbours exhibited few of these neuroses and pathologies. Indeed they could be stubborn and viewed this as a virtue. Some were coarse in word and deed, a proportion was prone to steal, and rarely were the implications of their actions carefully considered. But very many of the rural people with whom I rubbed shoulders were hospitable and most were surprisingly tolerant of a foreigner living in their midst, indeed ready to forgive occasional indiscretions and ignorance from one new to their society. They were simple people unburdened by too much knowledge. There was a fundamental hard-working decency about the mountain peasants. They possessed a strength and versatility which had long ensured their survival. I had a lot of fun living and working amongst them. But modernisation and EU accession thrust urban mentality and officials into our unwilling faces.

 
There is much that I miss. I worked with some good people in a beautiful place. We made some wonderful journeys through wild places. The opportunity to work with draught horses was unforgettable and deeply satisfying. I experienced a vanishing lifestyle about which there was much good. Challenges sometimes brought out the best in me. And there I met my wife who is still with me.

Now I have gone full circle in my thinking. Or rather, like a bird soaring in a thermal current, I've described a circle and risen higher in the process. So I look back fondly upon the good memories of which I have many. As to the blows I can look upon them philosophically. What does not kill makes one stronger. Indeed I have emerged tougher and wiser, more ready to understand and forgive.....and no longer believing in idylls.

Sunday evening reflections

The aftermath of our old life in Romania lingers like a bad smell.

As a good friend, who runs a travel agency specialising in Eastern Europe, commented: if I told the following story about any European country other than Romania, people would question whether I was reporting a real situation.

It goes rather like this. Before I left Romania, I sold seven horses to an Anglo-Romanian foundation that aims (we are told) to preserve culture, encourage civic values, and build a hotel that will offer riding and other attractions. The price for each horse was agreed with the director (let's call him Mr A), however (what a surprise) he delayed and the money wasn't transfered into my account before I left Romania. Now Mr A has called me and says that he wants to renegotiate the prices. He intends (he says) to bring a veterinarian in his pay to "value" the horses. Of course the vet will say what he is expected to say, since naturally enough he wishes to work for Mr A again in the future. The fact that vets are responsible for treating sick animals, not assessing the financial value of healthy animals, seems irrelevant when there is money to be grasped.

Meanwhile, the formal legal closure of my old company is in the hands of a lawyer, whom I shall call Mr B. Now, Mr B is a friend of Mr A. Guess what, as soon as the issue of payment for the horses surfaced, Mr B stopped answering my phone calls (my name appears on his phone display when I ring) and no longer replies to emails. Meanwhile, Mr A has asked me "to put a financial value" on his requesting Mr B to continue to represent me. Mr B has all the documents from my old company, and knows that it will be very difficult to engage another lawyer from Britain. Especially when Romanian lawyers are a cozy clique to begin with. Meanwhile, as closure is delayed, tax bills mount.

Both these men are well known figures in Transylvania, yet neither feels the need to behave ethically. Until these problems occured, they were all charm and helpfulness. Mr A's wife (who is English) is looking after the horses, so I hope that they will be well cared for. [Later: sadly, this proved to be a vain hope!] However, Mr A was slow to give his wife money to buy corn, and then claimed that "the horses were thin" (they certainly weren't thin when I delivered them!), so I wonder just what has happened. (Unless, of course, they are being compared to images of fat English show horses!)

Regrettably it seems impossible to transact any sort of business in Romania without the stench of dishonesty.

This is all very sad after spending nine years living and working in Romania. I had a lot of fun riding through the mountains, enjoyed keeping horses and running the riding centre, and most of the time enjoyed working with my employees. Unfailingly I showed the best parts of Romania to guests from forty countries. I did my best to integrate myself into Romanian society. My business supported local farmers, and helped several accommodations as they started up. We supported musicians and craftspeople. I practically contorted myself trying to explain away the at times glaring failings of the system in general and the tourism industry in particular. I forgave a good many foolish and dishonest acts. So most probably it was a mistake to expect to be able to leave without being ripped off.

It was a common trait amongst foreigners working in Romanian tourism to believe that "things will improve shortly". Next year will be better was the motto. Of course tax hikes, government own-goals, burgeoning bureaucracy, above inflation price rises by suppliers and the shaky economy meant that "next year" rarely was better. We tried to trust anyone who appeared trustworthy, as a reaction against so many who manifestly were not trustworthy. Some Romanians were indeed trustworthy, and I could name Cornel (my old horseman) despite one or two lapses, Sorin (the guide in Suceava), Mugur (who has horses near Cluj, and is keeping my dogs until October), Ovidiu (who runs a riding operation near Targu Mures, where the mare Kaluga retired to) and his colleagues, Irina and Daniel in Bucuresti (who helped so many of our guests), Andrei and the staff at Pantravel in Cluj, and Cristi (the vet who helped us so much). Others not mentioned should forgive my memory. However I strain to think of any other neighbours, colleagues or suppliers whom I felt able to trust. Now, again, I have treated someone as trustworthy because I hoped that he would prove trustworthy. Again, my fingers have been burnt.

Really, it would have been better if we foreigners had put our collective foot down in 1990. When we gave out aid to very poor people and orphans, and they went straight to the market to swap the aid for cigarettes, we should have seen the light and walked away. But we hoped that things would get better. We should have seen it as a sign of what was to come. But we were blinded by our egotistical desire to "do good", and now we have paid the price. So have more deserving people whom we might have helped instead.

Still, I have emerged wiser and with new skills. My wife and I met in Romania, and our paths most likely would not have crossed any other way. We have had interesting experiences and good times as well as bad. Those nine years brought blessings and, as for the bad things, some would say that I escaped relatively lightly.

From the past, good and bad

Yesterday the sun shone briefly between emerging from the clouds and setting beyond the western hills. At a low angle, it glinted brightly off the mud and puddles that form our village road. From the balcony, I captured a few images of horse carts passing into the sunset, snapshots of a vanishing past as Westernisation catches on.

The economy lies in strange waters. Greedy bosses, poor productivity, a subservient mentality and a high degree of subsistence living keep wages low. Imported goods cost the same as in the West, or even more. Few can afford what they desire, leading to a pervading and irremediable dissatisfaction amongst the young. Or, at least amongst those who haven't left already. Globalisation has its merits (not least, for me, a partner from the other side of the world). However, uncontrolled, it can be terribly disruptive to a conservative cash-poor society.

Clearing up in the house, Danielle and I found a strange folk blouse from the pre-communist era. We were somewhat surprised to notice the swastika design motive. This symbol was, in fact, used by a nationalist party in Romania before being adopted by the Nazi movement. So I wonder quite how innocently this blouse was embroidered, given the strength of the far right Legionary movement in inter-war Romania? That period of time is sadly neglected by Romanian historians, perhaps because writing honestly about it would require engagement with some unpleasant anti-semitic skeletons in the cupboard. Like the omnipresent but ignored rubbish that litters Romanian rivers and roadsides, it is easier to pretend that there was no fascist past than to acknowledge the problem and make amends.

Grey March

The past few days have been grey and drizzly, as the weather warms up and the snow melts. It does not look or feel like the spring thaw as depicted on television nature programmes, where sunlit ice drips into a tumbling stream to a background of pastoral music.

The photo shows the sort of weather that I would like to be experiencing. Some sunshine would go down well just now. There is a lot going on at the moment, and we need all the encouragement that we can get. I cannot write any more about this at the moment, however I will fill in some detail in a couple of weeks time.

For now, we continue with our routine of feeding and watering horses, cleaning the yard (a busy task, this, as the horses are in the yard a lot now that the field is wet and muddy), and feeding the fire with wood. Routine can be good in itself, though I feel the lack of real work, that of looking after guests and taking them on trips. 

Of course I should relax. The horses do. Here they are, on a drier day, up in the field. I love the way that they rest and sleep lying down contentedly in groups. Sometimes, when I check on them at night in the yard, six or eight at a time can be lying down in the sawdust bed dozing or even fast asleep. I have found Doru the stallion fast asleep in his pen, on his side with all four legs straight out like a sleeping foal. It is so rewarding to see the horses this relaxed and secure in their home here.

Lingering relic

When a regime changes, the iconography of its ideology tends quickly to be brushed away. Careful observation turns up relics of the communist era, however, throughout Romania. I spotted this curious socialist-realist mural on a factory wall in Cluj-Napoca earlier this week. The factory office complex now houses, amongst other tenants, the regional veterinary office.

I have now twice been 160km (100 miles) each way to the veterinary centre to get some cats and dogs microchipped and vaccinated. Of course, this being Romania, mistakes were made. So we have to visit a third time to get the animals re-vaccinated. Yes, that is three visits in a week when one would have been enough. Then, after several weeks more weeks have passed, we need to visit a fourth time for fresh blood tests. The inefficiency, waste of time, and needless miles driven are incredibly annoying, as well as stressful on the animals who spend ten hours in the car on each trip.

Somehow, I can see why people don't mind seeing a symbol of the old communist regime standing over them daily at their place of work. The bureaucracy and waste, the enforced subservience to rules and paperwork, are not a million miles away from the old regime.

The wall that carries the mural has had new windows fitted lately. Yet, even when there were workmen out there, no-one pulled the socialist figure down. There he is, Big Brother, telling us that time passes and regimes with it, and we are still insignificant.

Bits and pieces

Here are two photos of a bit that I used for a while, until my ex took it when she left. I'm wondering whether any of my American readers can tell me anything about this kind of bit?

I know that it is some kind of Western curb. My old horse Marcu could be strong, and this bit worked well on him. He also tended to raise his head to evade the bit, especially at the beginning of the season when he was out of riding practice after being used for draught work through the winter. This bad habit was managed by my ex fixing a tie-down between his girth and curb chain.

Marcu's tie down was set long enough to allow him to move normally, but not put his nose up in the air. I do not know whether this is regular Western practice, or something invented on the spot. Marcu quickly was persuaded to keep his head in the right place, and not try to raise it to avoid the bit. As the season progressed, the tie-down was removed. It seemed like a technique to be used carefully, given the potential for an over-short tie-down to forcing the horse into an artificial shape or jerking his mouth trying to balance himself when stumbling. We didn't jump Marcu. Nor were clients ever allowed to ride him with this tack in place.

Anyway, it was a handy bit, and I'd like to find another. Doru is coming back into riding work after a winter of pulling carts, proving lively and trying to avoid the bit, reminding me of this useful gadget. He's ridden carefully on a loose rein, so he has no good reason to put his nose in the air. I like all my horses to go forward well on a loose rein. My current Western bridle has no place for a noseband, otherwise the tie-down could attach there instead. It has split reins which I like to use open when necessary for control, so a martingale isn't a solution.

Can any reader suggest where a bit like this may be obtained? I've not managed to source one in Europe. Perhaps it is a kind of antique?

All comments will be gratefully received, thank you.

Spreading love and appreciation.....

A few days ago, several readers shared an award with me, Scary amongst them, on the subject of spreading love and appreciation. I have a memory like a seive, however I think that there were other generous souls out there too.

Here's my contribution to the spreading of love and harmony, with a special equestrian flavour. Two large draught horses at peace with one another, not even nibbling one-another's floral decorations.

I'd like to dedicate this to three readers. Do feel free to pass the photo on to whoever might appreciate it.

Scary of Scary's West to encourage her to keep posting beautiful photos.

Igallopon of I Gallop On for encouragement through an unpleasant bout of flu.

Scarlett of Scarlett Pages for being a great partner, in fact the best. I really need to get thinking about what to do for Valentine's Day.

Strange photos from the past

A few posts ago, I floated the idea of tagging some readers to post pictures of themselves from the past, perhaps illustrating an interesting or unusual aspect of their earlier life.

To kick off, here is a photo of me in Wembley, England around 1996. In those days I was an engineer with a £45 million annual budget for subway station construction. The work was interesting and varied, unfortunately thoroughly urban too (and not as well paid as it sounds). In one four-year period, I only spent two whole weekends in London. My largest project was a new station at Wembley, serving the projected (and since completed) English National Stadium. An early phase built a large public open space outside the station site (which can be seen in the background surrounded by construction hoardings). The open space was completed by a steel and glass piece by celebrated sculptor Danny Lane, an American working in Britain. Meetings to discuss the artwork were fun, since Danny brought his dog which he proceeded to entertain with a frisbee.

Wembley Park is located in the London Borough of Brent, a name that used to epitomise the mediocrity of British local government. During the 1996 European Football Championships, sponsored by Coca-Cola, Brent rented the outside of their headquarters building facing the stadium to Pepsi (and were successfully sued, first by Coke, then by Pepsi). Then they failed to apply for European regeneration funding because they had eliminated the post of the official responsible "to save money". Wembley Stadium was no better run. When I applied for planning permission for the new station, the Stadium's owners (the main beneficiaries of the whole project) objected, claiming that "the newspaper kiosk on the station would abstract from their merchanising revenue". Sometimes I did wonder why I bothered. After the opening ceremony for the sculture, local newspaper coverage focussed on the irrelevant detail that, were the statue male rather than androgynous, it would have been endowed with a one metre long phallus.

Eventually, as with many public projects in Britain, this one stalled because of budgetary uncertainties. Government lacked commitment to public transport and chose to proceed with clumsy privatisation proposals for the Subway. The National Stadium was delayed too. There was money aplenty for a £600 million "Millennium Dome" that closed after a year, but none for a national sports stadium. Eventually, years after I left Britain and moved to Transylvania, both projects were completed and opened to the public: just in time for construction of the massive 2012 Olympic site on the opposite side of London.

Now I shall tag three of you to play this entertaining and revealing game:

Victoria at Teachings of the Horse

Callie at Mid West Horse

BarnGoddess at Ramblings from the Reservation

Myths ancient and modern

Igallopon's examination of myths and beliefs has set me thinking. So, I am developing my own thoughts, which may be interesting. Or they may provoke disagreement or (more likely) yawns and a failure to finish reading this post. I'll get back onto horses and rural life tomorrow.

A myth, Wikipedia tells us, is a sacred story concerning the origins of the world or how the world and the creatures in it came to be in their present form. The active beings in myths are generally gods and heroes. Myths often are said to take place before recorded history begins. In saying that a myth is a sacred narrative, what is meant is that a myth is believed to be true by people who attach religious or spiritual significance to it.

It's curious how individuals interpret the same sacred text in different ways, even divergent ways, creating their own personal spiritual myth. Reading about Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, one person can conclude that mankind has a rebellious nature, that people tend to shirk responsibility and blame others, and that men and women have different but equally valuable natures. Another person can read patriarchal overtones into this myth and conclude that its aim is to make women guilt-ridden and submissive.

Perhaps one aspect of these sacred myths is that we have the responsibility to interpret them intelligently using our wisdom? Some people are open to spiritual myths, others reject spirituality altogether. Looking at a religious myth from a political or material perspective is a recipe to miss the point. Myths are held to reveal "timeless truth", something the Gnostics understood when they adopted the position that we can be saved from the world only through secret knowledge or "gnosis". I'm not a Gnostic, however I perceive wisdom in this idea. Perhaps the "secret knowledge" is the wisdom to approach religious myths spiritually. That is what opens one's eyes, the state of heart and mind in which each proceeds on his or her quest.

All those who truly seek God shall find Him. Therefore, I have no fear of truly spiritual people, whatever name their avowed faith takes. I would rather discuss the state of the world with a Benedictine, a Budhist, a Gnostic or a Sufi than with a modern materialist.

Those who seek a theocracy are another matter altogether. When the religious beliefs of a clique start to dictate national policy, we are on a slippery slope away from spirituality.

Nowadays, the realm of explanatory myths has expanded beyond the sacred. In this material age, the dominant quest seeks to explain where and what we are, rather than why. Sacred myths addressed why we exist and how we relate to the world around us. Nowadays, people happily accept that they exist, and many seek a non-spiritual sense of identity. Hence the modern materialistic myth, based on the need for security. (Here we diverge from Wikipedia's narrow definition.) We are defined by what we consume, in contrast to those who oppose us. We belong to a nation (implying an ethnicity), and we are threatened by (depending on one's home country) such groups (or constructs) as "Polish migrants", "Romanian Gypsies", and "Mexicans". (If anyone writes to say that, "yes, this or that group damages my nation", that only helps prove the existance and power of the myth. I'm not writing to prove or disprove any particular viewpoint.) The materialistic myth can, at least, be addressed factually. Economists and social scientists can quantify the effects of immigrant groups and others on the host population. Of course, this analysis doesn't always get done and, where it is done, it can be ignored.

There is another type of myth, other than the sacred (or spiritual) and the material: the pseudo-religious national myth. I am reminded of the pseudo-religious nationalism of pre-communist Romania, which reached a peak in the years up to the Second World War. Belonging was defined by a combination of ethnicity and religion, leading to anti-semitism and eventually to active participation in the Jewish holocaust. (Back then, Gypsies were not considered to belong to a different ethnic group. Now they are, conveniently forming the new scapegoat group.) This movement mimicked true religious ritual in order to hoodwink the ignorant, rejecting the openness and love inherent within genuine spirituality. Relics of this mentality still exist in a national myth founded on victimhood, where every failing and calmity is blamed on foreign invaders (Turks, Austrians, Hungarians, Gypsies.....) and "enemies" (take one's pick!). I meet these views still, most often amongst "educated" urban people whose outlook lacks the pragmatism of the peasant. (And I am sure that I will receive some comments and emails about this!) Back then, blame was laid at the door of "Jews, Communists and Foreigners". How similar to the constructed villains of today's Axis of Evil: "Muslims, Communists and Foreigners".

Not all national myths are religious in a conventional sense. Lately I've met Hungarians who define their identity based on their nomad ancestors' trek from Central Asia to the Danubian plain. Horsemanship, historical re-creation and practicing skills such as mounted archery are part and parcel of this rather attractive myth. It's all very inclusive of men, women and children too. All this has happened spectacularly over a couple of decades in a country where the communist regime had almost eliminated horses and horsemanship.

Amongst powerful nations, pseudo-religious myths lead to myths of manifest destiny. The British Empire had such a myth, America did too and still has such a myth. So, again, has Russia. The Iraqi weapons of mass destruction are a recent case in point. What mattered was to believe that they existed and were a threat, even when the evidence pointed in the opposite direction. Now look where that mistaken belief has taken us.

Finally, there is the personal myth, popular in an age of mobility. Strangers in a diverse world characterised by personal mobility, we define whom we want to be by what we tell others. I'm guilty too, creating an aura of mystery on my website, refering to ancestors who included a Scottish pirate (who existed: just don't imagine Johnny Depp in a kilt). Then there was a decade of struggle in the urban jungle (which was awful, by the way), followed by a move to rural tranquility (which I do like, despite the awkward fact that life here is hard work).

It's no surprise that, in a confusing and insecure world, people look for comforting myths that point to a better world that welcomes and values them. There exists a plethora of myths to choose from, and many ways to interpret them. I like the concept that I am related to the natural world (which I am, through sharing a Creator with it). I long for mankind to realise that the Earth's resources are finite. I am comfortable with the idea of female figures connected to the earth and the act of creation, recalling female friends who would sit beneath the green canopy of "earth mother". (Most of the influential people in my life have been women.) I love that Hungarian equestrian nomad myth. I dream of peace and harmony, living in a world riven by greed and violence. I wonder whether angst is a sign that I am missing something in my spiritual quest? Or whether it is a stage of the journey? Deep down, I feel that true spirituality brings inner peace, and that I truly long for.

Hay and Hummers.....

.....and indeed leisure horses, farmers big and small, and anything that runs on fossil fuel.

I read in the most recent edition of Geographical that, for Britain to reach a statutory target whereby 5% of fuel used for transport is produced from biological sources (i.e. crops grown on farms), 25% of farmland will have to be used to grow these biofuel-providing crops. Geographical is a respectable journal, not part of the Green movement, and the article is based on sensible research. As an engineer, I like assessments that are based on our best shot at the facts.

Many estimates for Peak Oil, the date when global production of oil slips into inexorable decline, will occur within the next 20 years. And most of those dates are generated by over-optimistic oil industry sources keen to keep us complacent.

Meanwhile, The US department of Energy assesses that a "crash programme" will need to start 20 years before Peak Oil if economic and human disasters associated with scarcity of fossil fuels are to be avoided. That may be sometime around now.

There isn't much sign of a "crash programme" yet. However, turning land over to biofuel crops will take land away from food production - and other crops, such as hay. In fact this has begun to happen. Removing land from food production raises prices and causes scarcity. The price of rice has risen by a fifth, maize has doubled in price, and the price of wheat has reached a 10-year high. There have been food riots in Mexico. We all know what has happened to hay prices.

If you think that you may pay an excessively heavy price, with hay for your horses expensive and hard to find, think again. This article tells you why our leaders, the ones we elect, are beginning to inflict something far worse on people in the Third World. Perhaps even to those anonymous First World peasants ignored by their government, who are my neighbours.

A growing global shortage of resources, corporate greed, and political cowardice and venality are queuing up like bandits to rob you at the hay merchants. And to starve hundreds of millions worldwide. Whilst the real issue, future oil shortage, is not being solved.