Danube-Networkers
Cornel Axente
Text: Dunja Loncar Pticek
It was about twenty-five years ago, when my husband and I decided to make a short trip to Vienna with our about ten year-old daughters. The first morning at the campsite, while having breakfast, we noticed a cheerful family in front of the tent next to our camper. There were two girls, the younger one in the age of our daughters. After shy smiles and polite good morning wishes we started to talk. It came out they were from Rimnicu Vilcea in Romania. Their parents, Silvia and Paul, were about to show their children a different world than they were used to in their own country. The purpose of our trip was in fact the same.
We talked. But what kind of language was it? Some words in English, some in French, German, Italian, even Latin, a lot of gestures, smiles, etc. It could be called "the language of good will to make friends".
After a few days we said our goodbyes. I was confident; we would never to meet again. In which language could we write to each other? However, I was wrong.
Next spring there was a letter from Romania in our letter box. It was written in German by Silvia’s 80 year-old uncle Cornel. Silvia, Paul and their youngest daughter were coming to visit us. Great! What a terrific idea! We were going to have our friends in our home!
We really had a lot of fun together - in Slavonia, in Zagreb and in Postojna. For the next summer our family was invited to visit them in Romania. We accepted the invitation with great pleasure and we began to draw blueprints.
Cornel wrote his letters. In each of them there was a repeated welcome, but also a warning. He warned us not to be too optimistic - this and that could represent a problem. There were shortages of food, gasoline, bad roads, embarrassing administrative regulations, etc. He told us he would come to meet us at the border in order to make the journey to Rimnicu Vilcea easier for us. We neglected all the warnings. We couldn't imagine what he was talking about.
There we came. First we had to wait for a long time on the Danube bridge and then again at the border. On the other side we saw an elderly, grey-haired man explaining something to an official. It was Cornel – he ignored the fatigue of his age for our comfort. On the road we began to understand his warnings. It was a long drive with no campsites on the way, no restaurants, no gasoline stations. Thanks to Cornel we arrived safe to Silvia's and Paul's home.
We were welcomed with open arms and open heart. In those days it was forbidden to house foreign gests at private homes. Our hosts took the risk. Paul sucked gasoline out of his tank to provide our car with fuel. Silvia cooked for four of us, her husband, their four children and a son-in-law, Cornel and his wife Letizia - eleven people - while the butcher's shop offered only "addidas" = pigs hooves and "computer" = pigs heads. When outside the house, Cornel was always near to protect us from obtrusive children begging for cigarettes or chewing gums. And at last, while he was escorting us back to the Yugoslav border, he managed to find a canister of expensive but low-quality gasoline in a muddy farm-yard.
Imagining our Romanian holidays we travelled to Bucharest, to the Black See and to Transylvania. Romania wasn't as beautiful as we hoped to find it. One could only suppose its beauty under the wounds left after many years of Ceausescu's dictatorship. The land disappointed us – Cornel's family filled us with enthusiasm. We got to know the lifestyle of a decent, selfless family in very hard conditions. For all of us, especially for the children, it was an excellent lesson of modesty, generosity and hospitality.
Back home I missed to write to Cornel. The new school year began, I had a lot to do, I postponed the writing from one day to the next. And then we had "our war". We moved from Slavonia to Zagreb and the address got lost.
Very often I remember our Romanian friends. I have forgotten Silvia and Paul’s last name and the first names of their children but I remember very well the looks of Cornel and Letizia Axente. They passed away in the meantime and I feel very ashamed for not having written on time.
Maybe someone who knows Silvia and Paul will read this text, and let them know about my feelings. We re-establish contact again. It would be wonderful!
