First day at site

I have finally made it home, to the small village where I will be living for the next two years. I end my first full day at site salty and smelling of cow, both of which I have my ten year old neighbor to thank. You may remember her from my entry about site visit, when she helped get me a ride on both a karuta and with a cart and bull. So far she hasn’t let me down. Even if we don’t have a chance to do the things planned, she fits in something different and equally amusing into the day.

Today our sites were set on the salty springs that are a town or two away. I have no idea if it is possible to hop a maxi-taxi to there, but being able to go by car was a treat in itself, if for nothing else because I could fully enjoy the beauty of the rolling hills and picturesque villages without fear of being crowded, and in this case, in the comfort of air-conditioning, a luxury which has proven to be rare.

The salt springs themselves consisted of three large pools. They were surrounded by tree, and quaint chalet type pensions, which bared a vague resemblance to the type one might find around Lake Tahoe. The pools were the perfect temperature, but upon entry I immediately became fully salient of the location of every mosquito bite I have itched and the popped blister on my feet. Those I came with told me, that the salt water has healing powers. While this may be true, I think the immediate pain that one feels upon entry into the salty water, is a bit hard to see past. However, there was one major advantage that I noticed right away; since we could float without effort I didn’t have to spend my time keeping my eye on the over ambitious Iza, who likes to jump in the deep end of the pool despite the fact that she can’t swim all that well.

After about three hours there, I went home fully satisfied with my first day, unaware that it could get any better. After dinner I got a knock on my door, “Vrei sa mulci vaca” (want to milk the cow?) Iza asked. My reply was an enthusiastic “DAAAAAAAAAAA”. So we walked about 30 feet to her uncle’s where I got to milk a cow, not for very long, mind you, as it is extremely difficult, but I plan on putting “can milk a cow” on my resume when I get back to the States, so this surely won’t be the last time.