MEMORABLE 2016 MOMENT

This year we went back to Eastern Europe for the summer. Life in Romania is in many ways very similar to life in the US. There are malls with H&M and Gap stores. There are hipster coffee shops. There are upscale cheese places where you can buy 20 different types of brie or feta cheese. As of a couple of years ago, biking lanes started to pop up through parks and on the side of the road. Teenagers are on their smartphones at all times, and everyone is on Facebook and Instagram.

Some things are not nearly as good as in America. When we drove to most places, we used two lane roads that slowed us down, with cars narrowly passing us, making my stomach roll into a tight ball. Sometimes we got stuck behind a horse pulled caravan driven by gypsy families transporting wood or hay. 

A pack of cigarettes is like an iPhone in Romania - nearly everyone pulls one out of their pocket when they sit down at a table. People working at stores or banks didn't smile, and we were smart to have our money ready when they were ready for us. 

People there live in a tight-knit community. Behind the lace curtains, we knew that our old lady neighbor kept an eye on what us or the other neighbors did. We learned that jobs are scarce, and that many people with a master's degree or who speak fluently a foreign language, likely immigrate to other countries like US, or Germany. With the exception of Bucharest, a typical job pays barely enough to cover your mortgage and bills. Going out to eat is a luxury for most. And, as my Californian husband painfully noticed each time we visit, there is no "good" beer (if you don't like Pilsner type, which is prevalent). We learned to drink wine like locals - gasp! - topped with sparkling water ("shpritz"). 

On the other hand...

The summer there deeply warmed my soul. Most weekends we barbecued at leisure with friends and family. Because people feel comfortable around each other, they speak from their heart, sometimes too intensely. Loud chatter and quiet times were equally present. When we visited family in weekends, we spent often an entire day around a table dotted with platters with smoked sausages, grilled pork, chicken salad, pickled cabbage, feta cheese made a couple of days back, and tomatoes and cucumbers picked from their garden. 

As people are so deeply connected with each other as a community, they are noticeably happy and joyful, especially in the countryside. Most evenings we ate at the table my mom had set in the courtyard for the summer. Sometimes, when our neighbors came over and had a glass of my dad's homemade wine or moonshine, they sang old folk songs together. The songs were not always cheerful, and often were packed with both wisdom and sorrow. People in the old world are deeply in touch with their emotions. We saw them cry and laugh at a funeral. Our kids joined the other children from our village on the Saturday religion class at the local church, and learned about old world values like not lying, doing chores, or minding their parents and elders. 

With the Carpathian mountains covering a third of the country, the air is clean. As we drove through Romania, because of the narrow roads, we noticed the endless wheat fields and meadows dotted with cows, like in a Van Gogh painting. 

*****

In one of our trips to the mountains in Transylvania, we went to an area called Apuseni Mountains, known for its scenery and numerous caverns. While on a hike across meadows, we saw an old man walk toward us. When we got near, we stopped to talk to him. He looked at the wildflower bouquet my friend Miruna and I had picked. "Beautiful flowers. Those will make for a nice tea" he said. There was St. John's Worth, Yarrow, and wild Basil, which indeed we made tea from later that night around the campfire. I gently "interviewed" him about his ways of living and of being happy.

"I'm very happy, of course" he said, in a gentle, soft voice. "Look around us" he said, gesturing with his old but sturdy arm. "Do you know of anyone who is unhappy around here?" to which he answered earnestly, hesitating "Oh, I don't, know, there might be. But I don't know anyone." 

"I'm very lucky. I have my cow, and my little cabin." He told us he lived by himself, cooking, cleaning, making winter preserves, cutting wood for neighbors in exchange for bread or money, selling cheese he made from his cow's milk. He had no car, no phone, no retirement pension, and no stores but one seasonal pub which sold snacks and bread.

"But what happens if you get sick?" I asked, trying to understand how the old man could live by himself in such a remote place, with the closest town about an hour away. "Oh, God has kept me healthy, I've never been sick. If something were to happen, I have my neighbors who are like my brothers and sisters. I've been healthy, and my parents lived a long life, so I am not worried." His life had always been simple. Sure, he must have had his own suffering and sorrows like all of us, but he was happy. 

I met many other people like him in the countryside, sturdy, old people, beaming with joy of life, who reminded me of my grandma. After talking to the old man, the lingering question about what happiness means to people, seemed silly. 

Happiness is simple. It's a way of looking at the world and ourselves. It's the divine in every moment. It's the warmth in our soul, available to us always. I sometimes think happiness is like a magic tunnel going along the side of any path I walk, which I can always choose to go through. It's the slow lane on the same road. It's savoring, being connected with others around us. 

I interviewed a mom who lost a child. I interviewed my uncle who is ill, I talked to a couple who risked everything to move to a small hip Black Sea resort to open a seasonal B&B, I talked to a single mom working 12 hours a day raising two kids, and who writes a novel at night. I talked to a school teacher in my hometown, Sibiu.

I talked to a waiter in Tropea, Italy, to a coffee shop barista in Rome, to an old couple running a small yet popular pizza restaurant in Salerno, Italy, who had lost their only grandson. I interviewed pretty much anyone I met this year who had the flicker of joy in their eyes. The reason for their joy was always the same. They were happy to be alive. And, when we got to talk long enough, everyone mentioned either a tragic losses or pain or suffering. 

"God only gives you what you can carry" had said the old man on the mountain, smiling, as he waved to us good bye.