Expat In Romania

When we were kids, my brother and I spent all day playing outside with the other neighbourhood boys. When it wasn't soccer, it often meant the ' ștrec ',  a deep embankment on either side of the train tracks that crossed Blaj from one end to the other. The  ștrec  was headquarters. That's where most of our games started or ended. We were soldiers, cowboys or indians,  hunters, explorers, and, best of all, we were spectators to one of the greatest spectacles of all: the thundering passing of trains. The ștrec today is smaller and more overgrown The Rapid (now InterCity ), especially, was a joy to behold. It would fly by in a blur of grey and blue, holding the promise of far away places that were as inaccessible as Coca-Cola or Juicy Fruit. Three of us (my brother and I and another kid) were practicing karate moves on the embankment a little ways from our usual spot. We had just finished watching Bruce Lee's Fists Of Fury and today we were all Bruce ...

The little time I spent in Lyon left me with the impression that it resembles Cluj - maybe a Cluj 100 years into the future, but nonetheless some sort of Cluj. The city's topography, with its perched 5th Arrondisment, and the Place Bellecour, which bears a striking resemblance to Piata Unirii, down to the mounted horse statue, helped cement that notion.  But this is not what this post is about. On the 19th of June we made our way to the fanzone located in the aforementioned Bellecour. We walked down from the 5th on the Avenue Point du Jour to the Rue de la Favorite, and finally, somewhere in a little street, we ran into some kids playing in an alley on the side of a small building. We were dressed in Romania fan attire; jerseys, flag, clown hair, and good cheer. "Allez les Jaunes!" I chanted. But I was wearing the red Romania jersey and that probably didn't make much sense. One of the kids eyed us suspiciously. " D'ou etes vous - where are you from?...