Weekend in Arad

Arad has been nicknamed "Little Vienna" because many 19th century buildings were deliberately patterned after the architecture in its imperial Big Brother. Here's the city hall lit at night.

Friday night we went to The Strand, a riverside entertainment complex, to celebrate Paula's birthday. We had local Romanian food and beverages and met some great people.

On Saturday, Scott drove us up into the Carpathian foothills through some old villages populated mostly by Roma. It was like stepping back centuries. We saw a shepherd who could have been from biblical times. Chickens and goats roamed the dirt streets winding past old tile-roofed houses.

Saturday afternoon, we visited Oaza (Oasis) which is a home for children run by the church. It began as a rescue mission after the fall of Ceaucescu when the streets of Romania were full of abandoned children. With the coming of the EU, things are much more tightly regulated. Facilities have to conform to EU standards which means that they can only accomodate 12 kids. Not all are orphaned, some just can't (or shouldn't) be cared for by their parents. As with any ministry with needy children, there are stories of wonderful victories and heart-breaking losses. But the staff are incredibly faithful and filled with hope. Here's Diane watching one of their favorite movies, a Bollywood musical. They've seen it so many times, they can sing along with all the songs -- in Hindi!

On Sunday, we attended the church that Scott and Paula have been working with. Originally a Pentecostal congregation, they are now affiliated with the Free Methodists. They meet in an old union hall where, Scott says, they used to show communist propaganda films. For that reason, some older people won't attend because of the memories the building brings back.

There were about 40 people at the service. They start with an hour (that's right, an hour) of singing, take a break, and then it's time for the teaching, which can also last anywhere up to an hour. Here's the guest preacher for the day, along with his Romanian translator.

In the afternoon, it was off to the train station to get our tickets to Sighisoara. We learned that Romanians don't use credit cards. I had to walk across the road to get cash from an ATM. We also decided to buy our tickets to Bulgaria while we were there. One less thing to worry about.

And, of course, the train was late. But we made it. I'm writing this blog entry from Sighisoara. More about that later.