A Different Kind of Heaven

A day before I left Craiova, I was sitting at my desk, working on grades, when someone buzzed up from downstairs. I answered, and a voice mumbled something in Romanian. I thought maybe it was the older woman who worked for the apartment building and would sometimes ring up and then sort of snoop around, looking at leaking pipes, peeling paint, the broken sofa or whatever, and so, because I hadn't seen her in awhile, I buzzed her in. Then came a knock on my door. When I opened it, there stood 8 of my 12 acting students, the English majors who had come to me in February and asked if I would be willing to teach them off campus two evenings a week. They nearly knocked me over with their boisterous, “Surprise!”

And what a surprise it was! Some of them had brought cameras to class during the last week, and we had all gone out for dinner after the last class, and now here they were with a scrapbook they’d made for me, and beneath each image, personal notes expressing deep gratitude and friendship. Thank you, my dear friends. I will keep this notebook and the memories with me forever.

I’m now in Mamaia, on the Black Sea coast, just north of Constanta. After I left Craiova I traveled through Turkey for two weeks: Istanbul (where I got a new tattoo), Cappadocia, Izmir, Selcuk, Ephesus, Pammaluke, Bodrum, Oren, and again to Istanbul. I was amazed at the history and hospitality, delighted by the food, soothed by the Turkish civility. Someday, I would love to go back and spend a much longer time there.

But this is a blog about Romania, and so after leaving Istanbul I flew back to Bucharest, and went out in the evening with my ex-students from the National Theatre. Back in April, Mihaela Sirbu, who teaches at the National University of Theatre and Film in Bucharest, asked if I was interested in teaching a three-day rasaboxes workshop. I did, and it was a phenomenal success. The very best of the best attended: courageous, imaginative, and emotionally available, the actors and actresses gave their all, and, because of the demanding nature of the work, we quickly became a family. Mihaela asked if I would be willing to come back in May and teach a longer Practical Aesthetics workshop, and so I did, an exhausting four day, 5-hour-a-day intensive. And so seeing everybody again after coming back from Turkey, it felt a bit like coming home.

From Bucharest, I rode a bus to the Danube Delta, the area in northeast Romania that borders the Ukraine, where the Danube River empties into the Black Sea. I spent the night in the riverfront town of Tulcea, and then hopped a boat and rode four and a half hours, past forests, hills, and finally sawgrass that looked very much like The Everglades, to the village of Sfantu Gheorghe (St. George). I checked into a little pension whose gardens overflowed with roses, then hiked a mile east of town, past brightly colored reed and mud houses, to the beach. The water, brown and brackish, was warmer than I'd expected, and I swam out far away from the buzzing horseflies that had swarmed me on my walk. Later that night, I dined on locally caught fish, then strolled the dirt roads, listening to a symphony of frogs, detouring around wandering cows, all beneath a canopy of stars.

Now as my last days here wind down, I not only become more homesick, but I already begin to miss everything I am about to leave. This morning, walking along the beach, I found myself thinking of the places and people I love in America; of road trips through rural Florida, snacking on boiled peanuts, the smell of orange blossoms, and of summer rains that seem like they’ll go on forever. I thought of friends and family in places like Tampa, San Francisco, Austin, New York, Atlanta, of memories that hold us together, and of adventures we’ve yet to have. And I thought of what I’m leaving here, a different kind of heaven, one that continues to unfold with every passing day.

Last semester, I ended the American Corner Film night in Craiova by showing Into the Wild, a movie beautifully directed by Sean Penn that retells the journey of young Christopher McCandless, who discovered too late that life is best when shared with others. And as I think now of the new friendships I’ve made here, I know that some, like Florida rain, will go on what seems like forever; and that others, begun like lightning strikes, will leave only smoldering scars.

I head back to Bucharest tomorrow, and will say my goodbyes to my friends at the Fulbright office on Monday. I will also see my dear friends Petru and Ana, who launched me on this amazing voyage when I first arrived in Romania. And then on Tuesday, I leave, arriving back in Tampa at midnight, staying with my brother Horst or my great friend Steve Powell for three days, sushi and boba and Bayshore, then flying to San Francisco where I’ll eat crab legs with Marcy, drink tea with Mr. Lee, watch movies, stuff myself with popcorn, and shop for a new tattoo to even out the old TULSA one and the unbalance left by the very large new Turkish moon and star. Then it’s back to Tampa to try and find a car and new apartment, and then upstate New York, where I’ll be acting in a play at Chenango River Theatre, run by my old friend Bill Lelbach.

A few years ago, my mother asked me if I believed in heaven, and I told her that it really doesn’t matter, that for me everything here is enough. After New York, on August 10th, I’ll return to Tampa and to USF, reconnecting with friends, sharing what I’ve learned, and building new unimagined bridges. And though the roller coaster life sometimes brings with it lows as well as highs, if there is a luckier man alive, I have not met him. I thank you all, my dear friends in the states, and new friends in Romania, for being part of this amazing journey.