Cucurigu! Cucurigu!

The Groși monastery is on top of a big hill that leads to the mountains. One of the dirt roads from the monastery looks as if it drops off into thin air; the other disappears into a tiny village at the foot of the mountains, right before the forest starts.

I had no work one afternoon, so I walked down through the village and up the first mountain into the woods. Tiny houses, some under construction, were clustered along the dirt road, and the church was down another path — I could see it’s metal roof. (Most of the churches I saw in Moldavia had metal roofs that reflected the sun; they looked like fallen stars in villages when seen from across miles-wide valleys.)

Yes, Candy, these ARE Romanian trees!

Yes, Candy, these ARE Romanian trees!

A.A. Bondy – I Can See The Pines Are Dancing

I passed kids on bikes and old men with walking sticks and women in headscarves. Horse carts laden with wood from the forest bounced past, with entire families sitting in the back, looking with confused suspicion at the women with the camera and big sunglasses. Even the geese seemed a bit unsure about me.

The next morning, I managed to convince Lucian, who worked with me in the kitchen, to get up early and take me to milk the cows. He was very kind to do so, and I only bring up this little story because I wanted an excuse to post a picture of a cow named Michael Jackson:

MJ: Doesn't matter if you're black or white (or female).

MJ: Doesn't matter if you're black or white (or female).

[Note: “Cucurigu” is Romanian for “cocka-doodle-doo.”)

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