Sixintheworld.com

Andrus family travel round the world, rtw with 4 kids?

# #
May 14th, 2007

Touched by Angels

When we set out on this trip almost nine months ago, Tom and I knew that we wanted not just to see the world but also to participate in it. By finding opportunities to help, even in small ways, we hoped to increase our family’s appreciation for what we have at home and prove to ourselves that even though there are only six of us, we can make a difference. As we’ve traveled through some of the world’s most impoverished regions, we’ve been discouraged by how much work there is to be done but also heartened that everywhere there are courageous, selfless people trying to do it. Last week we discovered a Romanian woman who through tireless work and unwavering devotion is trying to improve the lives of Romanians one child at a time.

One of the first associations for Americans when they think of Romania is orphans. Many of us have friends or family members who have adopted children from the country. Before arriving, I had never given much thought to why these orphans existed. I offhandedly assumed they were casualties of the revolution, but then I realized it happened in 1989 over the course of a few weeks and only a few thousand people died. So how is it that a country of only 22 million people could continue to produce parentless children for almost two decades following this traumatic event? The answer is tragic and yet another legacy of one of the world’s most ignominious leaders.

After assuming the helm of his country in 1965, Nicolae Caecescu implemented a Hitler-like policy of forced fertility. Hoping to build his own empire, Caecescu required Romanian women by law to have four and later five children and outlawed birth control for women under 45. For a people already struggling with economic deprivation the results were devastating. Parents neither wanted nor could afford children and simply began abandoning them in nation’s hospitals. State-run orphanages, bleak loveless institutions, were built to house the thousands of homeless children and simply kicked them out when they turned 18. Following the revolution, Western nations swooped in and began adopting these abandoned children, a practice that ironically only served to perpetuate the orphan crisis. Mothers saw that abandonment provided not just their children but potentially themselves with an opportunity for a better life. Giving children up to private groups provided a healthy income for some otherwise destitute women. Prior to Romania’s January 1 entree into the EU, it’s “orphan” (child abandonment) rate stood at 1.5%, a staggering figure.

Even with legions of eager foreigners hoping to adopt, the reality for Romanian babies was grim. Until their placement, whether at home or abroad, they were left to languish without love or proper nutrition in state hospitals, spending 24 hours each day in steel cribs. This was something Simona Stewart could not abide. WIth the support of her American husband and an American adoption group, she founded House of Angels, a facility dedicated to the nurturing of abandoned infants. The city of Gaesti gave her a long term lease on an abandoned school and she singlehandedly transformed it into a place where each and every newborn orphan in her county would receive all the necessities of life plus a healthy dose of the warmth and affection babies need to thrive. She had no grand visions of placing all the babies in foreign homes; in fact, very few ever ended up overseas. She focused only on the very real and immediate need of protecting and nurturing them through their critical first few months of life. Some were able to stay up to three years in the facility depending on the government’s success in placing them in foster or adoptive homes.

Dax standing next to some of the highchairs that sit childless.Anne and Simone looking at pictures of the babies

Simona was overjoyed by the work House of Angels performed and felt she was fulfilling her life’s calling. She had steady funding to cover the babies’ expenses, over $1000/month in diapers alone, a caring, competent staff, and boundless love for the scores of children that entered her care. Then the laws in Romania changed. The EU demanded that in order for the country to join the union it had to do something to fix its orphan problem. Rather than doing anything to actually help the children, officials simply changed the legal definition of an orphan and mandated that no child under 2 could be housed in a private facility. This way all abandoned children (still over 1% of all Romanian newborns) could be hidden within the system. In addition, international adoption was outlawed, in theory to prevent Romanian women from purposely conceiving unwanted children for money. Abandoned children were now required to go into permanent foster care or back to the families of their parents. Since their families often could not be found and rarely wanted them, they usually ended up with poor, rural families who were eager for the 100+ euros/month stipend the government paid.

These changes were like the rug being pulled from under Simona’s feet. No longer would she be able to care for her babies. Newborns would once again be relegated to a cold, sterile existence in hospital wards and state run facilities. She was bereft at the loss of the babies and furious at the government’s willingness to sacrifice them. She testified before international commissions in Washington and Brussels and pleaded with the world to protect Romania’s still numerous orphans.

A year and a half later, she’s made little progress. Change can only occur at the presidential level, and her president is not inclined to act. In the meantime, the cribs at House of Angels lie empty, much of the staff has been laid off, and Simona’s heart aches for the babies she is prevented from helping.

The changes in the law could have been the end for the House of Angels. Simona could have packed her bags and headed back to Atlanta for a life of comfort and privilege, but instead she began searching for new ways to help Romania’s children. She redirected her focus toward a group she was allowed to serve–the poor. She visited local schools, got names of families on the government welfare rolls, and searched for those too poor to even register. She kept a core staff of dieticians, teachers, and cleaners to maintain the House of Angels facility and transformed it into an afterschool center where children could come for hot meals, hot showers, help with homework, and organized play time–all luxuries they did not have at home. In addition, she hired a pair of physical therapists to work with handicapped children. She sought out those children needing therapy and in some cases, made arrangements for her onsite director to shuttle them back and forth to the House multiple times each week for treatment.

Kids at the House of Angels in RomaniaA little Romanian girl at the House of AngelsMcKane and Asher playing with the kids in the House of Angels

We visited House of Angels and spent the day with Simona, her staff, and her kids. Our presence, as always, proved a great curiosity to the children, who couldn’t get enough of the Andrus kids. Like many young people we’ve encountered in our travels, they equate America with the WWF and were eager to wrestle not just with the boys, but with Asher as well. They tried to teach us to dance, eagerly tested their limited English on us, and begged us to join their handball match outside. Tom and I visited a therapy session of a little boy named Vlad who though severely handicapped had one of the sweetest spirits we’ve ever encountered. The smile that spread over his face as his therapist whispered tenderly in his ear was enough to melt even the most cynical heart and one I will never forget.

The physical therapy room, all with hand built equiptment

The children at House of Angels are no different than those we’ve spent time with in India, China, and Cambodia. They are full of life, enthusiasm, love, and magically hope. They do not seem to know that the world expects them to be full of sorrow and suffering, nor that their opportunities might be limited. Instead they reflect the confidence of children who are cared for and from whom much is expected. This is Simona’s effect.

House of AngelsDax playing handball with the kids

When it came time for us to leave, the kids all put on sad faces and handed us a card they had made earlier in the day. Yet again, we felt we had done little for them, while they had done much more for us.

Simona and her uncle drove us back to the station in Bucharest where we boarded an overnight train for Budapest. As we parted, Tom and I could not believe the sheer will and resourcefulness of this amazing woman. Unwilling to give up, even when her chosen mission was banned, she has committed her life to finding and helping the needy children of her country. I asked her what her focus will be in coming years and she explained she will try to build up the center’s physical therapy program in order to reach a larger group of needy, handicapped children. As for how the rest of us can help, she welcomes one week visits from volunteers and will undoubtedly put any donated funds to good use. For more information and inspiration, please visit the House of Angels website.

Technorati Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

May 13th, 2007

Dracula Didn’t Sleep Here

Dracula. It’s a name that strikes fear into the hearts of millions. Books have been written and movies made about this Translyvanian nightmare. Every Halloween thousands dress up in his likeness in the hopes of getting candy. On this trip we would be in the homeland of the ‘real’ Dracula (the one who inspired Bram Stoker to write his book), a medieval prince named Vlad from Translyvania who impaled thousands of his enemies at a time (hence his nickname “Vlad the Impaler”), and rumor has it, drank their blood. We tracked down “his” (more like one that he visited once…) castle near Brasov, Romania. While staying there we had been informed by the locals that not going to Bran Castle is like going to Paris and not seeing the Eiffel Tower. We decided it would be best if we went, so we headed off on a bus for a rather unpleasant ride with Asher on my mom’s lap and my dad and I sitting next to men with knock out amounts of smoke on their breath. I went to sleep to avoid becoming a casualty of third hand smoke. When I woke we were at the bus stop. You could see the castle through the trees, but only partially.

We bought some drinks and hiked a short way up to the entrance of the castle. I looked at it awe struck. It could be described in one word, “incredible.” Yes, incredible. Incredible that this small, scrawny wimp of a castle could be the home of Vlad the Impaler, the only person who gave me nightmares as a kid. It was a square, box-like structure no bigger than a small office building. I thought to myself, “No, that’s not it. That must just be the front gate!” We walked through the sea of Dracula merchandise until we reached the gate to the castle. We read the information sign which told you that the castle was built as a buffer against the Ottomans, that it had changed hands many times during history, and that it was currently owned by the people of Romania. After we hiked the small road up to the castle and entered it, my fears were realized. This was the castle in its entirety, the alleged stomping grounds of one of the world’s cruelest mass murderers. We went inside and started to look around. It was not even a square acre in size and had a small courtyard with a garden the size of your grandma’s and a well in it. I couldn’t help but shake my head and laugh.

Not really Dracula's castle and not that scary

We made our way through the castle looking at old woodwork and strange pictures of the most recent royal residents of the castle. While going through one room, we heard a weird beeping noise followed by someone talking in Romanian and then a voice speaking in English. McKane stuck his hand out and touched a guard rope; the noise sounded again. The voice sounded in English screaming something that sounded like, “Please, don’t touch the obelisks.” Mom told Mac and the little kids to stop but they couldn’t resist the temptation to keep on touching the rope. We deciphered that the voice was really saying, “Please, don’t touch the objects!”. Everyone was laughing and having great fun but to avoid a confrontation with the security guards and having to explain why we were continually grabbing the rope we left. We made our way through the rest of the rather dry and boring castle and were on our way out when we were called over by the guard woman. I froze in fear. What if she was going to talk to us about our fun with the rope? We walked over. “Do you want to see some wood products, some souvenirs? We have them upstairs. Cheaper than in the gift shop downstairs.” She gestured to a staircase behind a rope. We said no but she was persistent. Apparently secret trading in souvenirs is an unofficial but serious aspect of her job. We finally convinced her we weren’t interested and exited the castle.

Dax inside the castle in branDax showing off his fangs in bran

We walked around the forest surrounding the castle for a little while and I found, of all things, an old Asian coin. Mac was excited due to the fact he collects coins. We took a few pictures and headed off to board another stinky bus back to Brasov. I looked at the castle in the distance as we drove away and thought, “How could anyone ever, ever see that as Dracula’s castle?” I still don’t know, but maybe if I had seen Vlad the Impaler’s real castle when I was little, I never would have had nightmares about him.

The family at peasant home in Bran Romania, much nicer than the castle

Technorati Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

May 10th, 2007

All the small things

All of you reading this probably know that we were on Oprah recently. The episode we were on aired about a month ago in the US. But do you know how many countries Oprah is shown in? Take a guess…126, yes 1 2 6. That doesn’t mean it shows on the same day everywhere in the world. Our episode actually aired in Romania while we were there. We were watching the TV in our hotel room in Brasov, Romania when it was on! But not the right channel unfortunately : ( . We were watching snooker on Eurosport instead. That night we got an email from a Romanian woman named Corina who had just seen us and lived near the town we were in! When mom saw the message she looked up how many countries Oprah showed in and we were in awe at the number. People literally all over the world had seen us.

The fruit Cake from CorinaAsher eating cake

Later in another hotel in Brasov, Romania, Corina came and brought us a fruit cake while we were out. It had a vanilla inside with vanilla frosting and lots of different fruits on the top, like kiwis and strawberries. (Thanks Corina! The cake was delicious!). We were going to try and meet up with Corina but we got an email from the House of Angels charity saying that they would be glad to have us volunteer, so we had to hurry and get tickets back to Bucharest for the next day. So unfortunately we could not meet up with Corina : (, but we did get to see all the children at the daycare. When we were at the train station in Brasov, Mom decided to get the tickets for Bucharest to Budapest. There was a couple in front of her, and when they saw mom waiting, she looked kind of antsy because our train to Bucharest was going to leave soon. The couple let mom go ahead of them, but there was a problem. The lady at the counter didn’t speak much English, and Mom spoke no Romanian. It turned out that they spoke Romanian and English, and they were glad to help translate. While the lady at the counter got all the tickets set up and printed out, Mom spoke with the Romanians and found out that they had seen her on TV and were glad to help out a traveler in need.

The kindness of people around the world is amazing, whether it’s delivering a cake or simply letting someone behind you go in front of you. There are some cities like New York or Paris where a lot of people are too busy to help or are just plain mean. Even in these places, if you look lost or confused long enough, you will always find one kind person to help you out. That’s a great thing to learn when you’re traveling and something to remember when you’re home.

Technorati Tags: , , ,

May 9th, 2007

In the Footsteps of Revolution

When we traveled through Vietnam, we swam in history. We witnessed it in the landscape, sensed it in the streets, and read it in the faces of the people. What happened there was recent, a formative piece of our national consciousness, a vivid memory from Tom’s and my childhood. Romania, a surprise destination on our itinerary, has offered us a similar experience, only here the history is almost 20 years more recent, a different piece in the same puzzle, and one no less compelling. I recall sitting in my residential college common room my senior year at Yale. The date was December 21, 1989. I had two more finals to take before heading home for the holidays and like the other students who remained on campus needed to blow off some steam in between study sessions. Over the course of the semester we had watched in awe as the Soviet Union, the archenemy of our childhoods, had imploded, the Berlin Wall had fallen, and the Eastern Block countries were left to redefine themselves. Throughout the process, Peter Jennings had been our liaison, our interpreter of the most radical changes we had witnessed in our brief lives. On this day, Peter explained that thousands of Romanians with revolution on their minds had descended on the Communist Party headquarters in Bucharest in protest against longtime dictator Nicolae Ceasescu. When the crowds retreated to a nearby square, Caesescu ordered tanks and police in to quash the rebellion with gunfire. The next day, after my finals were over, the events Peter relayed were even more shocking. After addressing an irate crowd from the building’s second story balcony, the cowardly Ceacescu escaped from the roof via helicopter and ordered his troops to fire once again on his people. Over these two days, 162 Romanians were killed, 1104 were injured, and Ceasescu sealed his own bitter fate. At the time, few of us knew much about Romania, other than it was the home of Olympic gymnast Nadia Comanici, just a few years our elder, as well as the legendary region of Transylvania. Beyond these random facts, the country’s Soviet-enforced closure to the world had obscured it from our awareness.

Four days later, Christmas 1989, I watched in shock from my parents’ couch in New York as Peter aired footage of Ceacescu’s corpse, fully clad in jacket and tie, lying in a pile of rubble. He and his wife had been discovered attempting to hide in a town outside Bucharest and summarily executed by enraged Romanians. Legend has it that he plead with his captors to think of all the good he had done for them, but they saw it another way. Prisoners in their own country, strictly limited in their choices and opportunities, and closely monitored by a brutal secret police force, most Romanians viewed Ceaceascu as a tyrant and were glad to be rid of him. As I watched this mysterious country’s future play out that Christmas night, I did not imagine that 18 years later I would be walking those same revolutionary streets and brushing shoulders with the people who liberated them. This would have seemed as unlikely to a child of the Cold War era as one day strolling the peaceful avenues of Baghdad, Tehran, or Kabul seems to a child today.

My first concern upon arriving in Romania was not history but safety. We had been warned about gypsies, pickpockets, and criminal cab drivers in Bucharest’s Gara de Nord train station. Even the shady coin salesman at the Bulgarian train station had cautioned us that all Romanians were “bandits.” (There’s little affection between the two nationalities.) We hadn’t yet decided on a place to stay and needed to find an internet connection to make phone calls and check email from potential hotels. We decided to brave the bandits and take the metro to the city center where Lonely Planet promised there would be a few internet cafes. The cafes proved elusive as we trawled Nicolae Balcescu Street, so we camped out on the curb of the swanky Intercontinental Hotel to search for an open connection. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was from this building that the world’s journalists watched as the victims fell under a hail of bullets on University Square that cold December night. With a little determination you can still find bulletholes in the walls of the surrounding buildings and a small black cross that commemorates the spot where the first victim perished.

Communist party headquarters

A statue to honor the revolutionariesIMG_7480.JPG

We eventually found our connection and called our home for the next three days, the Residence Hotel in the north of the city. As we made our way there via a succession of Metro rides and long walks, we tried to get our usual initial read on the city. Ceacescu’s legacy is that Bucharest is a tough town to love. Its buildings are ugly, fashioned in the gray, cinderblock Soviet style; its people are hardened by their years of repression and not overly eager to befriend outsiders. We bit our bottoms lips and vowed to give it a chance over the next 72 hours.

Fortunately, Bucharest did not disappoint…me at least. Tom and the boys were less impressed, but I was blown away that a place that knew so little freedom for so long could be bursting with energy and a spirit of renewal. While the city doesn’t have the architectural inheritance of Budapest or Prague, its residents seem to be making the best of what they’ve got. And though they’re not the type to rush up and befriend a traveler in need, neither are the New Yorkers I lived amongst during my high school years.

On our last day in the city, we happened upon the perfect symbol of the rejuvenation of this once grim and colorless place. Just a few meters outside the Royal Palace, which is now the National Art Museum (the good stuff is “closed for renovation”), we noticed a bizarre burst of movement and color outside a crumbling corner building. We hurried over to discover we were in the midst of a film shoot. Multiple rows of brightly clad, smiling young people were practicing dance moves and obviously enjoying themselves enormously. Even heckling from their bald, goateed, rasta-cap wearing director couldn’t hamper their fun. We watched with delight as they ran through their 1960’s Frankie and Annette type number and giggled as the turbaned women on the balconies struggled to get their timing down (they never did). We couldn’t figure out what they were shooting, perhaps a music video or a scene for a musical. Finally, their purpose was revealed when they whipped out boxes of Surf laundry detergent. No wonder they looked so squeaky clean!

Happy young RomaniansIMG_7323.JPGSurf Soap commercialRasta skull cap wearing director

20 years earlier these dancers would likely have been headed for factory jobs and washing their clothes with whatever state-rationed product the government made available. Today they’re free to audition for commercials, wear bright foreign-manufactured garments, and launder them with a variety of fresh-smelling soaps. This is a Bucharest Ceacescu never envisioned and one I’m glad we had the chance to discover.

Technorati Tags: , , , , , , ,

|