Machol Romania Day 0: Back That Train Up!

First of all, let me just say (write?) that I am highly amused: Here in Predeal, where the nearest big city is Brasov (Romanian for "Middle of Nowhere", population: sheep), I have a flawless internet connection whereas in Pest, I have to take MJ (my faithful laptop) out to the balcony, tilt her in the proper direction, chant praises to the Sun God, etc. to access the universe. Irony, you are a crafty bitch.

As soon as I finished that last sentence, the internet crashed. Irony, you are just a bitch.

The train to Predeal was an excellent warm-up for the camp, in that it appears that I will be getting no sleep the rest of the time as well. I attempted more positions than a nymphomaniac yoga master and still failed to grab more than 3 (non-consecutive) hours of shut-eye. Which makes me think the railway needs a new slogan: "You can't spell 'Train to Predeal'" without 'Pain'" (or without "ntopre," but that's neither here nor there (so yes, it's in Predeal)). As seems to be tradition, my non-sleeping hours were at least partially filled (don't make me calculate the volume) with math. Yes, despite running away from BSM like the rabbit I decided I was, I managed to land in the same train compartment as Andras, who is essentially fluent in English and who scored something like 6 zillion (quick: what is this in dollars?) on the Hungarian version of the SAT. Thus, I began my vacation by discussing the Euler's bridges of Königsberg while the third member of our compartment, Balázs Who Knows Every Dance Ever OMG, looked on, probably horrified that he'd be spending the next few hours with 2 of the 3 biggest nerds in history (Euler couldn't make the dance camp. Something about being dead.).

Fortunately for Balázs WKEDEO, we were soon shuffled out of our compartment by Burly Romanian Guard #3, as apparently we were running the risk of becoming comfortable, in defiance of company policy. So we joined other members of Hora Budapest in a much more appropriately squished (behold, a sardine/rabbit hybrid!) area of the train. It was from this new location that we were able to notice that, after we stopped in Small Romanian Town #4, the scenery began moving in the wrong direction. Yes, Romania had apparently taken a lesson in public transport from the DC metro system and cleverly put two trains on the same track, forcing us to moonwalk (moonride?) back from whence we came and make an impressive (read: long) U-turn, much to the amusement of the local sheep.

Our ovine-pleasing venture finally came to an end and we landed in Predeal at half past Bitch AM, just in time to meet up with the most hyperactive friendly redhead EVER, who happened to be the organizer. As a side note, he was the first person to do the cheek-kissing greeting with me, leaving me thankful that I could at least tell my right from my left and avoid having the awkwardest moment EVER with said most hyperactive friendly redhead EVER. One can only have so many superlatives in a moment. Practically as soon as we hit the hotel, Andras, Balázs and I went for a walk around Predeal, figuring that maybe sitting down for twelve hours was not the *real* best warm-up for 5 days of dancing, despite the lack of sleep (the others opted for a nap. Wusses.). OH I almost forgot that we had breakfast, which would be unremarkable were it not for the fact that THEY DID NOT HAVE WATER. Not having the fresh-squeezed juice from the Aiiouuiaiiieee fruit that only grows in Hawaii I can understand. Not having Diet Coke PISSES ME OFF, but is still understandable. But really Romanian hotel? No water? I'll be the first to say that coffee is like water to me, but I won't actually be speaking literally. Anyhowieday, the walk (do you remember the walk?) was pretty and pretty uneventful, save a memorable experience at the lunch restaurant, where Andras tried to order grape juice first by playing charades, then Pictionary, with our baffled waitress. I guess game night wasn't until Saturday. I meanwhile, feasted on that traditional Romanian dish of Tasty Stuff In Butter and, at long last, Diet Pepsi. Soulmates always find a way.

After an exquisite nap, the program for Machol Romania (do you remember Machol Romania?) actually began with a mini-dance session. There, I learned that the first Israeli dance ever was choreographed by a Romanian-born Jew (what an unbelievable coincidence!). I also got kissed on the cheek *again* by Eran Bitton (!) (can you tell the cheek-kissing thing still weirds me out a little?), which gave me a closer view than I really needed of his kind of scary hair. I feel no compunction in calling it scary, since it's the exact same look I sported in 8th grade, though I'll admit he pulls of a headband better than I ever could. Then it was dinner time (more Stuff In Butter! Am I cultured or what?), change time (did I mention that throughout the course of the day, I wore 4 different outfits, at least one of which twice and non-consecutively? It was weird), and then time to listen to the Hyperactive Friendly Redhead prattle for a while about how Hyperactively Happy he was that everyone was there and how he couldn't even express his Hyperactive Joy that his Hyperactive Dreams had come true. The prattling was not without rewards, for it was followed by a chance to see the Israeli ambassador looking horribly confused during Od Lo Ahavti Dai, as he had apparently never done Israeli dancing before. Go figure. That would have been sufficient evening entertainment, but instead it was followed by several hours of hora-ing (new verbs FTW), leaving me high as a kite but with substantially more pain in my feet (and, you know, substantially more feet to begin with). I'm actually writing this at the end of my high, since it's 3 am and the sessions begin at..er..10 am maybe? I should probably look that up.

In conclusion, I'm pretty sure I will never want to leave Machol Romania. Math program? What math program?