My last post promised to explain why I was lewdly teased when debarking from a Romanian train compartment back in 2002. If you haven’t read that blog yet, this one would mean more to you if you take a minute and check it out. Also, please read the attached comment to that blog sent in by my sister for whom I was, indeed, digging out this old material about Romania.
In my last blog, I was pulling into the Brasov, Romania, train station after having spent several hours in innocent conversation with a very nice man, Eugene. As we left our glass-fronted train compartment, a stoned guy in the hallway made suggestive comments in his native language. A few days later, in the lovely little village of Bran, site of the so-called, Dracula’s Castle, I had an insight into why he might have jumped to his conclusion. Of course, he seemed to be the sort of man who needed no real excuse to make such assumptions, so I could be wrong. Here is the rest of the story, from my point of view:
“Valentin led me up the mountain road to the Cabana Bran Castle and we talked over a cup of coffee while he tried to get me to hire him as a guide for the castle and a nearby stork sanctuary. Though I was intent upon going it alone, we had a happy conversation before saying goodbye. He commented to my hostel hosts, Carmen and Coastal, that I was American, and that we are so independent. He explained that the English are so rigid, uptight, and always right; but that Americans are easy-going and love life more. “Americans are a lot more FUN!” It was an insight from one who has had many chances to observe both sorts of tourists. He’s right. I’m so easy-going that I “let it all hang out,” though with a modicum of ladylike dignity, I like to think.
Later, in my room, I thought about how this free-spirit behavior could well be misinterpreted by others. Especially, if it is actually “free SPIRIT.” Probably that disco man on the train had spotted me trying to demonstrate to Eugene, upon his request, how Those on Other Dimensions try to connect with us dull-witted humans. He might have seen me hopping around our glass-fronted compartment, trying to mimic the Holy Spirit or a guardian angel, buzzing away at the head of an Earthling, speaking in a high, frustrated hum: “Listen to Me! Just listen to Me! Open up! Turn your attention to My Voice!”
I was just zapping my fingers towards Eugene’s ears, describing what must have been behind the high-pitched sounds in my head, which I always, at first, thought were faulty fluorescent light bulbs in places like the library…quiet places, where I first became aware of this sound in my ears. Later, when I really listened, it took a little while for the sound to slow down enough for me to make out actual words being shouted at me by a very frustrated Upper Being. That’s how I came to realize that I could hear sensible Voices In My Head and because the subject had come up during this train conversation, I was trying to illustrate this concept to Eugene, there in the privacy of our compartment.
No Britisher, man or woman, would have done that, and very few, if any, Americans, I’ll bet! Probably disco man thought I was an exotic dancer giving my new Romanian friend a taste of what was to come. I never thought about that! I wasn’t touching his head, just zapping my fingers at it! But probably, exotic dancers aren’t allowed to touch, so I don’t imagine there was much difference!
My hips weren’t swaying. Does that count?”