A Beautiful Hour In Sibiu

A Beautiful Hour In Sibiu

In 1998 I was on a trip to Romania as a street performer with Neighbourhood Watch Stilts International and as always, I had some drawing and painting materials to make the most of any spare moments captured from the chaos of travelling street theatre. We were in the beautiful city of Sibiu in Transylvania for four or five days, at a time when food there was sparse and alcohol was ridiculously cheap; Romania was still an extremely poor country nine years after their revolution put a violent stop to the horrific regime of Nicolae Ceaușescu's communist party. Away from the post-war cold, brutalist housing blocks remained the beautiful old centre of the city with its once grand buildings and ornate churches; the area we were lucky to be staying and performing in.

I managed to find an hour for myself on a warm sunny evening and sat with my paints and drawing pad in a doorway opposite The Lutheran Cathedral of Saint Mary - one of Romania's famous gothic style churches.  There was heavenly choral singing coming from inside the church and the peace was only broken by a very pretty and rather flustered young lady on a bicycle rattling towards me. She dismounted and breathlessly asked if I was going to be there for the next hour, and would I watch her bicycle as she was late for choir practice and of course, I said yes as she ran across the road.

I got back to my painting and a while later a young boy carrying a huge carrier bag of clothes walked up to me. His English was excellent and I soon learned he was only eleven years old. He wanted to know what I was doing so I showed him what I was painting and he asked if he could sit and watch.  I gave him a sheet of my paper and told him to draw a picture using my pencils; he happily set to it, saying it would make a good present for his mother.  He sat down and we got to talking.  

Even though he grew up in poverty, and poverty in Romania at that time was real, brutal and everywhere, he had such a happy outlook on life and a wisdom beyond his years.  I learned he went to school Monday to Friday, on evenings he helped his mother do other people's laundry, hence the bag of washing he had with him, and on weekends he laboured on building sites with his grandfather and uncles. He never knew his own father who died during the revolution.  To me, his life story was tragic; to him it was just matter of fact. He was most excited about the World Cup which was on at the time in France, and Romania and Scotland were both in.  He said with great confidence, "Romania are going to win."  

"No chance," I said, "Scotland will win."  He was adamant, however, that Romania were certain to win and he happily explained his logic.  "You know how Brazil are the best football team?  Because they're really poor. Well Romania is even poorer than Brazil."

I had to admit, I had no come-back for that one and felt rather humbled. He'd finished his drawing, said he'd best get home and off he went, laundry in one hand, drawing in the other. I got back to my painting.  

Soon the etherial choir singing stopped and the pretty girl came back for her bicycle. She too was curious about my painting which she politely admired and we got talking for a bit.  She found it exciting that I was one of the stilt walkers in the huge, brightly coloured bird costumes which had not gone unnoticed in the town centre.  She wrote her name and address on a piece of paper and asked me to send her a postcard from my next location on my travels, which, of course, I did.  And that was my beautiful hour in Sibiu.