Romerican was here. Our souls still weep.

Yes, the rumors are true: Romerican stopped in Targu Mures and for those 20 or so hours, time stopped as well.

While I am sure he will offer a much more revealing review of the hostilities, allow me to preview what he will have to say by permitting you to indulge in some unrevealing words and photographs. You see, the night started early Saturday with a belief that food can nurture and please us all. Eager to please, I have parachuted Romerican and his Muse to downtown Targu Mures, to bask in the unexploited bounties of culinary variety. Yes, the moment did include Avram Iancu‘s horse’s testicles, a tourist attraction almost as popular as our clock tower.

We proceeded by injecting a motherload of pain and suffering into our bodies by witnessing the chrushing of Romania by the barbaric Bulgarians. Rumors say they rode to the game on black horses and made sinister noises to the peasants they passed by. I believe it–I have seen Lord of the Bulgarian Rings and I trembled.

Then, along with the musically inclined DJ Dan (his sets coming soon to a town near your), Utzu (who spends much time agonizing over the psychological implication of working for his father) and Lavi (soon to be bottled and sold as an energy drink) we moved our carcasses to Office, a bar known for the fact that it offers a side of smoke with every drink. We had quite a few of those sides. Matt, whom Romerican had challenged to a duel earlier this summer, returned for a second round and scored maximum points when he, along with the Muse, engagged in hand to hand combat to tracks such as “I will survive.”

A plethora of metaphors were exchanged and many stories of the happy, sad, comedic types were swapped. Few of these stories lived to make it through the night intact. It’s a pity, since a few of them–such as Romerican’s Frankfurt adventure–are instant classics. A couple of casually told stories by me (involving heavy interaction between me and the American psyche) earned me the potential nickname MC. As I’ve been told, this had nothing to do with my rapping skills (Dinu Sararu numea clipa/Unitatea de timp in care/Din tarana prostia se ridica) but it actually stands for Magic Commando. As the Bergenbier commerical insisted, “prietenii stiu de ce” (friends know why).

This would be the place where sleep normally intervenes and nights like this fade out. It didn’t, not really. When we returned to our shelter, I decided that the only way we’d reach the Flea Market on Sunday was if at least one of us, as in me, stayed awake to watch over the troops. It was hard, but I managed and by not attempting to sleep I did manage to find a fresher face in my repertoire than the one everyone else put on when they dragged their hojts (a word inspired by underground Dutch sensation band Duhnind A Hojt) out of bed.

We did go to the Flea Market (ha, told you so Nyx!), an experience to be remembered by the maximum cuteness pooches we encountered on the way there. Romerican will certainly offer a more detailed description of the Flea Market as I like to stay within the psychological realm. Yes, we were tired. One purchase that will be remembered in town is the Ping magic wand/huge match-shaped lighter. Wish I had a photo to demonstrate. Quite a sight.

Below are the pictures that speak to what will remain in modern consciousness as the Targu Mures Sneak of Early Fall.

O mica distractie

This message was underneath a bridge passing the Mures river. It sounds like an honest confession and says (not a literal translation): “A little fun. I was drunk god damn itQ” (In Romanian it says “I was drunk, in my penis!”


One of the two small stray pooches we cam across. We put them in the yard of a house (yes, we opened someone’s gate and snuck two animals in) so they wouldn’t be run over my cars.

Pooch again

Second of the two pooches.

Piata de vechituri

The colorful scene at the Flea Market (Piata de Vechituri).

To piata de vechituri

Commerce at its best. Dig through the piles of clothes in search of who knows what. Be brave.

Shoes in cetate

Our shoes survived the night, although Romerican claims to have left town carrying some blisters. Wouldn’t suprise me.

3 Responses to “Romerican was here. Our souls still weep.”

  1. Absolutely adore that second doggie 🙂

  2. Your market photos turned out far superior to my paltry snapshots. Cheers!

  3. Sing Halelujah, come on, get happy! Historical moment, I mean. Well done!

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