Paranoia and other pleasant things

On the way to Maramu’5

Posted: chestii

Arrowcrack1

The next day started with me being very enthusiastic about “Crafts from the age of Conquest” - a festival taking place in the city’s castle, where people were invited to learn how to make pottery, whips, how to raise their own yurt, write in rovasiras (the ancient rune-like writing of the Magyars) cook food early-medieval style or shoot a bow. Timi couldn’t be bothered to care, as she was busy chewing on a deelishus! carrot.

We had to go visit Robi’s grandmas first though, but I thought that it shouldn’t take that long, after all the festival’s gates were open until 6 pm, right? So we left, Robi’s middle sister, her husband and their baby in tow.
First stop was at the maternal grandma, a little energetic lady in her eighties still recovering from an attack of zona zoster . We knew she’s been feeling a lot better lately, but we didn’t expect to find her gone to the other part of the village, to help an even older friend with the cooking. We took a walk to the friend’s house, only to find the yard full of nervous Bucharestians . Like, 20 of them. A quiet “wtf?” was dropped, and we entered, asking politely about the whereabouts of our grandma. We found her quickly but that didn’t help much as we were forced to sit and “eat something!” by the sea of relatives, who turned out to be in an even greater number inside the house, sitting on every surface that vaguely resembled a chair, eating sarmale and shouting in rapid-fire Romanian at each other.

We sacrificed for the greater good, chose the smallest Wieners from a plate that was pushed in front of us and ate as slowly as possible, while waiting for the grandma to finish the two sarmale she was munching on. Turns out the horde of Bucharestians was there for the mass that commemorated 7 years since the passing of the friend’s husband. The grandma finished what was on her plate so we -gently - grabbed her and left just in time to avoid the attack of a fried meat-loaded platter heading straight towards us.

When we got back, the baby had already decided he waited way too long for us.

..while Timi and her cousin Lorand were busy flying kites

and jumping from tree trunks.

Which was all fine and dandy, except for the fact that we still had another grandma to visit and it was already 3 pm. So we left, promising to come back in a month or so, when our nephew will be baptized.

The other grandma was in her usual somber mood, which dissipated when she saw Timi and her little cousin.

A rabbit was taken out from his cage for Timi, and she petted him gently like she does with our kittens. The rabbit didn’t seem to mind, so she played with him while we cracked hazelnuts and chatted with Robi’s dad.

Suddenly, it was 5 pm and we were rushing back to the city. Fortunately, we arrived in time to see the yurt

and the peasant houses…

and - the most important part - we were given a crash course on how to deal with the bow. Robi was a natural, shooting arrow after arrow straight into the target like somebody who just got back from the 11th century.

And by golly, he looked smokin’ hot while doing that.

Then my turn arrived and the blood in my veins mutated into pure adrenaline. The arrow pointing to the target, the tension in the cord tying it like an extension to the arm, the other hand’s fist clenched on the wood … with the departure of that first arrow from the bow, I was hooked.

So we’re now hunting for bows on the ‘net and preparing for the next session of shooting. I blame our bloody Hun ancestors for that.

Posted: chestii