fábrica de esdruxularias

depois de várias conversas por email, com até então desconhecida margareta13 do Postcrossing, nasce uma narrativa sobre a cidade natal da, agora, Marga, e com ela, uma amizade que transpassa as barreiras geográficas que nos foi imposta. o primeiro email que enviei data 13.05.2010, há quase exatos um ano atrás... thanks my overseas friend, you had been amazing! that's my gift to you. still you remember how's your bucharest?

uma deriva à love-hate BUCARESTE

by Margareta Mârza

“Un complex dragoste-ură mă leagă de oraşul în care mi-am trăit întreaga viaţă, ca de orice obiect pe care îl recunosc ca neavînd realitate, ci existînd cu totul în adîncul creierului meu. […] Odată mă gîndeam zîmbind autocompătimitor: lui Joyce i s-a dat Dublinul, lui Borges Buenos Aires, lui Durrell Alexandria, «dar mie, Domnul, veşnicul şi bunul / Nu mi-a trimis, de cînd mă rog, nici unul» dintre aceste oraşe-mit, oraşe care apar numai în vis şi, poate, în clipa morţii. Enigmele nu vroiau să apară. Subterane nu existau. Oamenii erau buni, iar oraşul plat ca un ceas de mînă, legat de încheietură cu Dîmboviţa în chip de cureluşă. Unde era splendidul, splendidul amurg petersburghez, cu un student aplecat visător pe un pod, peste apele Nevei? Unde tunelele de cărămidă pe sub Buenos Aires din „Abbaddon”, în care, în cea mai adîncă adîncime, o Oarbă desface coapsele şi pleoapele vulvei se deschid pentru a ivi o privire albastră? N-o găseam nicăieri nici pe Justine din cartierul copt, nici pe Frieda din pivniţele Pragăi, nici pe Alejandra, pentru că încă nu le întîlnisem pe toate în icoana unei singure fetiţe-femei, cu un oraş rotit în jurul ei ca o fustă largă sau ca o pînză de păianjen.”

“A love-hate complex ties me to the city where I have lived all my life, as well as to every object I recognize as not having reality, but existing wholly in the deepness of my brain. […] One time I was thinking, smiling sympathetically: Joyce had Dublin, Borges had Buenos Aires, Durell had Alexandria, “but to me, God, eternal and good/ Didn’t send me, since I pray, none” of these myth-cities, cities that appear only in dreams and, maybe, in the moment of death. Puzzles didn’t want to show up. Undergrounds didn’t exist. The people were good and the city flat like a hand watch, tied to the wrist with Dîmboviţa as a strap. Where was the splendid, the splendid twilight like in Saint Petersburg, with a dreaming student bent on a bridge over the Neva waters? Where were the brick tunnels under Buenos Aires from “Abbaddon”, where, in the shallowest depth, a blind woman opened her thighs and the lids of her vulca opened to show a blue sight? I couldn’t find anywhere neither Justine, neither Frieda from the Prague’s cellars, neither Alejandra, because I hadn’t found them all in the icon of a single girl-woman, with a city revolved around here like a large skirt or like a spider web.” [ TRECHO DE UM ENSAIO DO AUTOR ROMENO MIRCEA CARTARESCU ]
About one month ago I receive a message from a Brazilian guy, telling me about his project (a magazine)  and asking me to prepare a material on my city. Why me and why Bucharest? Because it is a city we all (Romanians) love to hate, to complain about it, saying that the authorities demolished so many old buildings, in order to build glass buildings, so it has become a city with no history. I am one of the few people that love it as it is. I didn't have any idea what I could possible do to make this article interesting for people that live on the other side of the world. Historical things are hardly catchy, but so does the view of one single person (my view). I still don't know if I will be able to make you reflect upon a far, far away city, which is not one of the most important, oldest, beautiful capital on the Old Continent, Europe. I will tell you about how I rediscovered my beloved Bucharest again, because I too, had fallen under the influence of those who hate its grey socialistic buildings. I took my camera, I took a deep breath and I stepped outside. Luckily, it was the first day of spring, the light was perfect, and the sky was incredibly blue. I meet with a friend at the University Square, which is very close to the historical center of Bucharest. (We call it historical and not old center because it's not that old as compared to other cities in Europe only 500 years). I chose this part of the city because the residential areas with beautiful houses or the “sleeping” neighborhoods with tens and hundreds of apartment houses would have been deceiving. The historical center is at the crossroad of indifference and ignorance (which translates into ugliness) and the aroma of the Golden Age (between the '20s and the '40s) and the Balcanic spirit of all the small speculators that had their business here. I think this is one of the most fascinating characteristic of Bucharest: being a European capital, with an oriental air (like Istanbul is an oriental capital, with Occidental influence).
So we started our walk, visited a fair of vintage clothes, passed by the Russian Church, also called Student's Church (because its near the Bucharest University), walked around the National Bank, which has been recently renovated and looks very nice and got on the Lipscani street, which is called like this after the merchants from Leipzig, that had their shops here. We passed by a gang alleyway. I am always attracted by what they hide and we entered a small interior court yard. Nothing outstanding, just the breeze a long gone better life. We made some pictures, but on our way out a woman, a tenant, approached us very aggressive, yelling and asking us why we are taking pictures, we are not allowed to do that. After that a man came and started pushing us, very violently, out the gang way, he pushed us into the wall and my friend's camera almost got broken. This is a common reaction in Romania: people are afraid of cameras. My theory is that the communist period had affected them too much. It was a time when everybody betrayed everybody who was against the regime, hoping for a better life. Otherwise, I can't explain this reaction, because we were not breaking on anybody's property (well, the city hall's property).
It wasn't a pleasant experience, as you can imagine, and passing by some people that were filming and advertising commercial I couldn't take any pictures, thinking I was not allowed and looking carefully towards the bodyguards, afraid they will tell me that taking pictures was forbidden. We continued our walk, but with less more enthusiasm. I think we looked a bit weird with the cameras in our hands, because it was clearly we were not tourists. Some gypsy kids asked why we are taking picture and they said they wouldn't like to do that and after complimented me or my friend's behind (I would say mine because I was wearing pants and she was wearing a knee long skirt). I was actually expecting that they would run towards us and really touch me or my friend's behind. Gypsy kids are most likely to do that. And sometimes not only kids, which is even more annoying! But they proved to be harmless and we walked forward. In the center of Bucharest, there is this old ruin of what used to be a medieval royal court. They restored it a bit and now it is a museum. A museum I have never visited although I pass by it everyday. But that day, we entered, we paid the ticket, but it wasn't actually a ticket. We got a postcard as a ticket. The lady was surprisingly nice for an employee and told us we have to pay extra if we want to take pictures, but if we will comeback two weeks later, there would be a fair with open access and we could take picture then. She didn't follow us so we could do that, but we didn't. The court is pretty amazing. We went to the cellars and got scared by some noises coming from a dark corner. I started imagining giant rats, but we found out that maybe it was only a dog. (But a dog that stays in a dark corner can be as dangerous as a rat I told to myself, it can have canine madness.) So we left quickly for the upper level. It was like a plateau, and I thought I could sit here for hours reading a book. I was thinking about free access to this plateau, but Bucharest people are a bit of a menace for all the beautiful things in the city, for all the monuments, and clearly they would trash it, leaving garbage behind them and not only. I would never understand why they are so careless, but still they are complaining about the city being dirty and ugly. I can't explain why people have this unhealthy attitude towards it.
We left for the road that accompanies Dambovita River that crosses through Bucharest. It's a small river and, it is pretty dirty and polluted most of the time. Again, I can't explain why this is happening and why doesn't nobody (not even the mayor) do anything! Here, on Dambovita's right side, we discovered a new monument, built in the memory of the Holocaust victims. I am glad it is a monument, because I thought they were building another corporate skyscraper, but this monument looks as bad as an unfinished factory building. I don't understand the concept behind it, maybe then the whole monument would make a lot more sense. Well, I said this would be a story about how I rediscovered my city and all I have done so far is to point only the bad things. Perhaps it was the spring sun, the perfect temperature for a walk, the amazing light that shed upon the old buildings and put them in a new perspective that helped me realize that Bucharest really has a history. It's not hidden, but now one is interested in discovering it, because we are all too preoccupied living in the present and making plans for tomorrow. But without knowing the forgotten city, we won't know what to do to help it find again its lost sparkle and we will remain forever unhappy, unsatisfied, thinking about leaving this city, but never doing it because Bucharest is the economical, social, cultural, political center, the heart of the country, and if we want to make it big, we have to succeed living here. The essay from which I took the excerpt that opened this… essay[?], has a happy ending. Our writer discovers the thing that could make Bucharest a myth city that appears only in dreams. He will write about a Bucharest that has an oyster pearl hidden inside. Few people have found this pearl. But I'm guessing that it exists only within us, and only when we will find it deep inside of us Bucharest will show us its hidden face. Margareta Mârza | born Bucharest [Romenia] | graduated in Communication Studies | master student at Stockholm University [Sweden]!