The translation profession can be very interesting. Especially when interpreting. I have such ridiculous and absurd incidents that I lose track of the details. You meet new people, there is always something new to learn, travel and explore the world. You are improving language and psychological skills… well, sweet job. The events and characters are quite real. Names are initialed for national security reasons… Ha ha, bullshit! It's just that the names are not important here, but the events. I don't know how many there were, I can't count to that many.
I haven't been to an interpreter recently, not of the type like in the stories. Banal things like going with a client to a bank, to a notary or to a doctor do not count. Look, it's interesting in the aftermath of First district. And they already know me there. However, every time we see K. or M 1 we remember at the same time how side by side we "saved the world", but instead of honor and respect, we received censure. And shall we meet with M.K. or G.K. we greet each other with a "long, white onion" and fondly remember Doña Cecilia and the long journey home.
Home, dear home
September 2014. I was just leaving my job as the secretary of the community center, since the incumbent returned from maternity leave. I decided to register at the labor office. It turned out that several ladies from the education sector would travel to Cherasco in order to make connections, exchange experiences, etc. Naturally, I accepted the invitation to translate. I had to register with the exchange within 7 working days from the date of termination of my contract, we would return a day earlier. This worried me a little, I don't like to do things at the last minute. The other thing that worried me a little was that the day after we returned home, my mother and son were going in for surgeries. True, minor and routine, but still. But - the husband was with the child, my brother with his mother, and I left calm and full of enthusiasm for adventures. And they were not late.
Our trip and stay was organized by some travel agency (if I had done it...). On the way to the airport and during the flight everything was normal. When we landed in Cuneo, a car of the hosts took us. We had specifically told the agency that they had to accommodate us within the city limits of Kerasco because we had meetings but no transportation. Yes, but no. The hotel was wonderful. But it was literally in the middle of nowhere. Imagine a corn field, fields like ours and a hotel in the middle. And the city was only 10 km away. Or 6 - I don't remember anymore, but in both cases we couldn't walk several times a day there and back. The leader of the group called the agency, but nothing could be done. It was agreed that we would use taxis, and the expenses would be paid by the organizers, who pushed us into nowhere.
There were four ladies. M.K., S.P., G.K. - headmistresses of various schools and D.H. - from RUO. There were five of us. More interesting than our stay there were two things - the snail festival and the disappearance of D.H. During this period, a snail festival was held in Kerasco. The town is small, but it was full of guests. The center noisy, decorated with all kinds of statues and figurines of snails. Our hosts from the town hall invited us to dinner. There was music, dancing, lights... dinner was in a huge tent, sort of like a picnic, with wooden tables and chairs, plastic cups and plates. There were all kinds of people inside, it was accessible to everyone, but we were separated at a special table and we were served. The rest were served as a buffet. We tried 8 !!! type of snail dishes. With rice, with spinach, in its own sauce, fried, boiled... with tomato sauce... Each portion was very small in weight so that there was room for everything. We overate.
We thanked the hosts for their hospitality and the hearty feast and the taxi took us back to the cornfield, ie. at the hotel. The next morning we had breakfast and went to town early. We decided to go around first and in the early afternoon meet the principal of the local school. We were merry company. We walked to the local castle, snuck into some magical trinket shop, bowed our heads humbly in a beautiful and majestic cathedral with exquisite statues, and finally sat down to rest in the park. However, on the way D.H. and S.P. they gave something short. I don't remember what the topic of the drama was, but at one point they were already fighting hard. I remember that the other two ladies strongly sided with S.P. And D.H. got angry But just like a little kid. Natsupi stopped talking to us and was the last to walk. I decided to remain neutral, at least my work there does not imply taking sides. However, I had an opinion. And it was that one of the group was acting like a bitch. We sat down to lunch, but D.H. she refused, she was going for a walk. bye bye We were just finishing our lunch when we spotted her in a nearby shop. I shouted and waved to show her which direction we were going. We walked slowly and chatted.
Somewhere in the park we noticed that D.H. she is gone. We looked around, I jumped to the intersection... she was gone. We were worried. Kerasco is a small town, but for a person who does not know the city and does not know the language, it is not pleasant to wander the streets alone. We went to call her - the phone was switched off. We were already seriously worried. What should we do? Shall we scatter on the streets where we passed or roam together? We decided the latter was a better idea. We passed the church, the magic shop, and the downtown alleys again…no sign of DH. At one time M.K. anxiously said it was time for the meeting. What now? If we don't go, it will be irresponsible. But let's leave the lost one, who is not known where she is, is she okay... Somehow intuitively we decided that she is okay and we went to the school. M.K. she was now more furious than worried. Because it was D.H. as a representative of RUO, he would lead the conversation and the meeting.
About twenty minutes had passed when D.H. bloomed dewy-fresh with a sly smile that said "Did I blow your mind"... But she otherwise quite professionally apologized for being late and joined the discussion. They arranged an exchange of personnel and students (for a number of reasons, none of this happened in the future) and at some point we left. We stepped out onto the sidewalk and the other three jumped on the "lost" like hungry hyenas on a wounded lion. And rightfully so. They gave her a good beating, finally reached a sort of truce and we left. I stubbornly continued to be Switzerland.
Translation troubles - part 2 - And the river of absurdities flowed
The remaining two days passed uneventfully. We just had an incident last night. S.P. raised a temperature. And we had bought prosciutto, wine, some cheeses, we were going to party. However, she was a fighting lady and sent me to get her a hundred vodkas from the bar. Since we didn't have brandy first to smear his heels and palms with, vodka would do the trick. I go down, "good evening, one hundred grams of vodka, please." Well, there are no eyes like that. The bartender looked at me as if I had ordered a hundred liters and drank them on my ex. "Soooo graaaaaaa" he asked drawling to be sure, looking at me almost in horror. I nodded affirmatively. I took my cup, went up to the room and I tell them, and they laugh. S.P. I smeared myself, we arranged something like a table and went to bed. However, it turned out that we don't have a corkscrew for the wine. And all in one voice "Well, Ileto will come down." Well, I was already convinced that I was an alcoholic, at least the blade was full. Not that I cared. I go down with the bottle and I'm already laughing out loud. The bartender looked at me and started to grin too. I didn't need to tell him what I wanted, he thought to himself. I take the corkscrew, at that time his colleague comes and he tells her "that's the Bulgarian woman with the vodka". Good! I began to explain that, according to an old folk recipe, the temperature is brought down with strong alcohol and that we did not drink the vodka. They were interested in how we treat ourselves at home in the absence of medication, but I guess they didn't believe me. The evening passed in laughter and banter on the topic of "Balkan alcoholism".
And the great homecoming began. In the morning, we shouldered our luggage, traveled only with a manual and set off. The taxi that was engaged by the agency picked us up and drove us to the same airport where we landed on arrival, ie. Cuneo. We waited. We drank coffee, smoked, tapped... and somehow a strange feeling came over us that something was not quite right. At one time M.K. asked me to check when our flight was because it was getting close and there was no sign of information anywhere on the signs. And it's been almost two hours. I went to ask and... there was no flight from Cuneo to Bucharest that day. Why not, huh!? We have tickets. I show the ticket to the clerk and see that we are actually flying from Turin, which is about 100 km away. Wonderful!
We call the agency, foaming at the mouth and ask why the driver was instructed to take us to the wrong airport. They started muttering, apologizing... The solution - we hire a taxi, we ask for the driver's bank account, and they will transfer the amount while we travel, i.e. let's agree on a price in advance. I started digging around the net to look for a ride. I found after the third rejection. That who is crazy will run 100 km without being sure if they will pay him! Doña Cecilia came, a very nice and pleasant lady. We also submitted the data to the agency, warned them that if they kicked us out, it would be bad, and we left. We actually had a chance with a bit of luck to catch our flight. But it was not written. On the way we talked with the Italian woman. The topic was what fruits and vegetables they have in the area, what is different from ours, things like that. I am officially translating. However, on porro I got stuck. I thought, I thought, I couldn't remember what it was. Dona Cecilia explains to me in detail that it is a long white onion. I translate too. Verbatim. In which M.K. he begins to shake with laughter and says to me: "Leek, be Ile, we call him leek in our own way." We laughed a lot.
Somewhere along the way I'm getting really pissed off. On top of that, I was on my period, bleeding, and in my last clean clothes. Doña Cecilia reassured me that we would soon reach a gas station. But that wasn't quite written either. Meanwhile, after several checks from our side, the money has not yet been transferred. I don't know how many kilometers before the airport we stopped. But not at the gas station. On the highway. In the distance, planes could already be seen taking off and landing. But we stopped. Four columns did not move. A cruel disaster was ahead. I was no longer worried about the flight, because my biological needs were literally tearing my body apart in pain. I looked around - there is no grass, no ditch, no bush to hide. Only concrete. And cars. With people inside. He couldn't support himself. I wondered what I would die of first: the shame of having peed my pants or the loss of blood. Honestly, if I wasn't on my period I would probably end up going behind or in front of the car and just relieve myself. But given what else the people around would see, it would be brutal. In general, the things in life that have a fairy tale. The sick stuff, though.
Translation Tribulations - Part 3 - Balkan witches save the world from an alien invasion
It turned out that my internal organ musculature could rival that of a bodybuilder. I squeezed. Meanwhile, we saw the pink fuselage of Whiz Air take off gloriously… without us. After half an hour's stay, the column crawled slightly. Doña Cecilia informs us with sadness in her voice that if they don't transfer the money to the gas station, she will leave us there. Shock and horror. But we couldn't blame her. After less than ten minutes we stopped at the gas station. They had just brought one of the cars from the crash - the sight was cruel, which further soured our spirits. But I couldn't get out of the car. I was folded in half and every time I moved I felt brutal pains in my stomach, as if I was being c-sectioned without anesthesia. It was from a lot of squeezing. Little by little, with the help of my female companions, I managed to get out, but I could neither stand up nor walk. Two of them literally carried me in their arms under the arms and dragged me to the toilet in front of the stressed looks of the passers-by. I took it easy for a long time. And it was painful. A kidney crisis doesn't hurt like that. In the end, I threw off the unnecessary fluids, tried to practice some hygiene, and went out, already with a more board step. I bought a coffee, went out for a smoke, and called my husband to inform him that I had no idea when or if I would ever be back.
Meanwhile, the money was transferred (finally!) and M.K. informs us that, according to the agency's information, flights from Turin to Bucharest, to Varna or to Sofia are not available until two days later. This was already the bottom. At least that's what we thought, there was more. They found us a flight from Bergamo, but the next day. They also found us a small guest house a 10-minute walk from the airport, they pay for sleeping. However, this was another 150 km, which Doña Cecilia refused to go unless she was paid the full amount in advance. Naturally. We waited for half an hour, the payment went through and we left.
I was already very worried for several reasons. And this was not at all due to my physical condition, nor to the fact that I was bleeding profusely. Other worries tormented my tormented soul. We were supposed to fly the next day, but with simple math I came to the conclusion that a flight to Bucharest plus a trip to Varna equaled arriving home in the middle of the night. Trouble number one – the next day I had to register at the labor office, it was my last day. If I was late I would be left without money, and I still had no job. In those years, the financial crisis of 2008 had already firmly settled in my family and every penny was precious to us. Trouble number two – again the next day, when I was supposed to be home, my mother was going in for surgery, she had broken her arm. The surgery was routine, I was more worried about how the anesthesia would affect her. Trouble number three – my son, again a routine, minor surgery, but I was worried. There was no way I could teleport… I arranged the situation with my husband and brother, spoke to the child and mother and we left for Bergamo. It was late evening when we arrived. With hugs and kisses and lots of laughter we said goodbye to our Donja and settled into the house. Our hosts were elderly people, very kind. We agreed with them that the agency would send us the new tickets to their email early in the morning. They had a printer, the overnight stay had to be paid for at the latest before we left.
I went into the bathroom. God, what a relief! And a sense of cleanliness. I found a clean blouse in my luggage, worn but relatively clean (no sweat smells, which was enough). Pants - the only thing that worked was a black tracksuit, it was for washing, but it was definitely many times cleaner and more decent than what I took off. I ceded the bathroom to G.K., she and I would sleep together. M.K. and S.P. in the other room, D.H. alone. I was very worried about the stock market. It was too late to call there, but I remembered to call a friend of my mother's whose office was next to that of the employment office. We agreed that in the morning she would explain the situation to them if they could make a compromise. I went out on the terrace to smoke and called a friend to distract myself and tell her about my vicissitudes. And why shouldn't a large piece of my smoking cigarette fall on the awning downstairs! It's not a fire, just coal. And the fabric canopy. Hey, I already woke her up. I ran into the kitchen, filled a glass with water and lys across the terrace. Good thing there was no one below. I tell GK who was just coming out of the bathroom and she laughs “How much more, eh!?” Yeh, there was.
Bathed and rested, we decided to take an evening walk, eat... and drink. Especially the second one. There were still museums open, but we had no desire for culture. For drinking only. We sat down in some restaurant, I don't even remember what we ate, it was something unpretentious. I decided that I will drink tequila (favorite drink). The rest - grappa (an Italian version of brandy, but much weaker than ours). I didn't know that in Italy the measures of alcohol are 25 and 50, not 50 and 100 like here. The bartender - a young and handsome Puerto Rican man literally laughed at me - there was no tequila, but it was not suitable for young girls (I was still a girl then). I'm yelling, give me a five percent of the grappa. "But she is very strong, you will feel sick" - he sincerely believed. "How many degrees is it?" I ask at MK's request. 28 was the answer, followed by a mighty Balkan laugh from five throats at once. We got our drinks, it was self-service, but the Dominican brought us our food and stayed to watch us drink. We drank. And we didn't get drunk. But we educated him about the Balkan culture of alcohol consumption. He was impressed that in our country men produce their own wine and brandy, and his eyes widened like pancakes when I told him that my husband's homemade brandy was fresh at 45 degrees.
Relaxed, we went home to sleep. I was just drifting off when something hissing startled me. It turned out to be a room freshener. I got up and put it in the wardrobe. The sound was like an Amazonian boa hissing at you with decibels exceeding the permissible level (I don't know where the boa lives). In the morning we get up for breakfast with the hope that everything is already behind us. But it wasn't. It was right in front of, the troubles were hitting us in the faces that we had so much loved. First the landlady screamed, and from the words fired like a machine gun I understood that she was accusing us of theft. While the others were wondering what we could steal from her so that she would rage like a mad bulldog, I started to smile. The flavoring. I took her by the hand, led her into the bedroom and demonstratively opened the wardrobe. The woman immediately calmed down and started apologizing. Problem number two - they had sent four tickets, the fifth one got stuck, I didn't understand what. D.H.'s was missing. Problem number three – one credit card was empty (of the agency), the other got stuck, now they were going to try a third one... in a word, the night was not paid and the landlady said that she would not give us the tickets (she had printed them and taken them) until they don't pay. Three-in-one before breakfast and coffee was a really cruel twist of fate, considering what we'd been through before. I informed the agency that if they didn't pay, this plane would take off without us, and we waited. When I hung up the phone in utter despair that I would be stuck abroad for an indefinite period, my landlady smiled and said "I won't do that to you, but please don't tell them." I nodded complicitly and thanked her from the bottom of my heart. Time passed, and the last ticket was gone. At least at some point the payment of sleep went through. We decided it was time to go. D.H. informed us that she has enough money on her card and will buy a ticket, and then the agency will return it to her. Agreed.
We got to the airport by a special bus that the landlady ordered for us. Free. Unlike the ticket, which cost something like 250 euros. Good thing the woman had money. S.P. she quietly joked that God was punishing her for her childishness a few days ago and the circus she played on us. We boarded and took off. At last! Two hours of mental rest… and a new obstacle. The pilot told us we were about to land and we felt the plane pitch down. After literally an inhale and exhale of relief that we were going home, the pilot's voice boomed into the lounge again. We weren't going to land, not anytime soon. And the plane pointed its nose up into the heavens again. All five of us began to shake in guttural, hysterical laughter under the puzzled gazes of flight attendants and passengers. They ask us what we are, we scream with distorted semblances of smiles. Actually, we felt like crying. It turned out that some military helicopters had to land urgently and we had to circle for a while. We landed. And you probably think it's all over. My... you didn't guess.
Meanwhile, down on the ground, another drama is unfolding. Our driver, who was supposed to take us from Bucharest to Varna (each on his own way) the day before, had reached the outskirts of Bucharest when he was informed that we had missed the flight and was on his way back. Like a normal person, he also got worried and waited impatiently for us to land. He saw that our plane was changing direction and, having heard-misunderstood what the reason was, he decided that they were going to divert our flight to Constanta. Our man ran to the parking lot to start the car and while running realized that there was not enough money in his bank card for the road and highway tolls to get there. He called his wife urgently to transfer money to him. I don't know at what point he realized we were actually landing and came back to wait for us at the exit. When we saw him and he saw us, we ran to hug each other. It was a real human hug when you see salvation before you. We laughed that his wife did not enjoy him so much, and we enjoy him more than our husbands, at least for the moment. We left for Bulgaria. On the way I heard from the household - everything is fine. I also heard from the women from the employment office - and everything is fine there, the next morning they will be waiting for me to go first, sooner rather than later. Well, if I have to, I won't go to bed, huh!
Relaxed and calm, we crossed the Danube bridge without any mishaps (how come!?). We entered Ruse, it was still light. We decided to eat somewhere downtown. Without talking to each other, we all ordered fried meatballs. Calm and happy, with full stomachs, we staggered to the parking lot. We lined up like bitches in carts... but the car wouldn't start. The starter choked like a smoker with a coughing fit… and nothing. Brand new car! It just blocked us emotionally. At least me. I still remember today that I felt like I was in a trance, as if I was watching myself from the side. Some part of my mind persistently tried to tell me that we are in Bulgaria after all, and Ruse is a place that is called a step away from home. I snapped out of my trance when our friend informed us with a laugh and a slightly worried tone that sometimes ladies have to push too. We will push where we will go. And we pushed. And the starter continued to cough as if Arda had smoked. And we pushed again... at least twenty minutes. Suddenly there was the cherished sound of the growling of the engine and under our stormy applause, as if we heard a performance of Mozart, we set off. We all unanimously decided that who peed, who smoked, no stopping until the final destination.
Shortly before midnight, happily tired, I locked the front door from the inside. I was at home.
© 2024 Iliana Dechkova