Corncrakes

I've had to do a quick ( as in two days there) trip to Romania, as my incredibly valuable signature is required on a EU document to enable me to get my hands on Eur150,000 of EU cash.

Some months ago, the Gnome ( you can guess why he's called that) came across some Corncrakes on our land.

Now Corncrakes are on the red list and we should all be doing our utmost to keep them with us. Naturally, we do rather more when our palms are crossed with silver.

So the EU is providing me with money to expand the area where the Corncrakes are and to create a sort of "corridor" for them to flit to and fro between.

We can only use the land for hay thereafter, but as this will add up to about Eur 100 per hectare, and we get the EU subsidy of a further Eur 67 per ha, this will represent quite a nice return on our net costs per ha of about Eur250 after the EU grant. The Romanian government is supposed to be lobbing in a few quid as well, because they should attract eco-tourists.

It's a long term project, but what it does do is underpin and secure our business in Romania for the long term.

The Mayor has been very helpful in leasing us some extra land to cover the loss of agricultural land this will entail.

I did have to promise him that he could be the first to see them... once we find them again....

Cold turkey

There are perils associated with doing business in Romania, and I have been hit by two of them today.

The first concerns some land we have owned for quite some time. To cut a long story short, there would appear to be two pieces of land with the same reference number.

As far as the law and we are concerned, we own the bit we thought we bought. As far as the person farming our land is concerned, it is still his.

However, it actually works in our favour, ,as we have a specific requirement for another piece nearby, which is owned by the dispossessed farmer. Nothing could be simpler than to effect a transfer each way....which has therefore worked out very well in our favour.

The other problem is the Mayor , having had his birthday, has decided he won't drink until my birthday on 3rd September. The problem is he has roped me in to do the cold turkey with him. In fact, it won't be much of a problem for me as I don't drink in the UK anyway, but I am Godfather at another wedding in Romania on 16th May, and that will be quite difficult.

Still, it's in a good cause. The bet is a bottle of whisky - to be drunk by the loser.

I don't drink whisky, so I better not lose.

PS. You see what being drunk does to you....???

A badge of honour

Being in Romania makes me reflect on what the EU actually does.

Apart from giving farmers like me subvention payments, most of the time it's objects are Statist and regulatory.

For instance, last year when we did the contracts for renting the land to various people, we simply put all the bits one individual was renting onto one piece of paper and had it notarised. The Romanians ( who make French and Italian bureaucrats look like amateurs) have simply layered EU regulations on top of their own. Somewhere along the line, this has translated into having to do one contract for each piece of land.

So yesterday we took the notary with us to Nemsa and Alma Vii, clutching ream upon ream of paper, and as each renter came up he signed, I signed and stamped, in three copies.

128 times.

Times 3.

I was completely punchdrunk by the time we finished.

The only ray of light on the horizon is that this is the first year this has had to be done, and everyone is up in arms about it, so there is likely to be a modification for next year.

Last year we got goats and sheep as rent, but as we now own most of the goats in the area ( and having the sheep simply feeds the teethy wolves and the locals), we will receive a share in the produce in the autumn, or in some cases days work. This last is quite useful as it saves having to pick and choose who we want to work for us on the day.

Yesterday was the Mayor's birthday, so of course we had to go and wish him many happy returns. He is now 58, and although he drinks like a fish and eats all the wrong things, he looks remarkably young. I put it down to his not smoking at all and being effectively stress free. Everyone does everything for him.

Of course, it could just be the genes.

His father died last month.

He lost a leg in the war and refused ever to wear a prosthetic, which stood outside his front door for all to see. He hirpled about on his crutches until the day before he passed away.

He was married twice( his first wife died during WW2) and Eugen is the progeny of his second marriage post-war.

He was 92 when he died, a man who worked the fields well into his 70s, and a previous mayor in the Communist era.

So I expect at least another 25 or 30 years out of Eugen.

Goat Stew.

I've been very busy the last couple of days out here, and very boring it has been as well.

Hours spent with lawyers and accountants are just about bearable, but with officials who require upwards of 40 or 50 signatures and stamps is enough to make me want to shoot myself. Fortunately, it does eventually end, and one can emerge blinking into the sunshine again.

The Mayor is well. The house he is building for his son and daughter-in-law is progressing well, even if he has some odd ideas. He has decided it should have CCTV cameras. As everyone has told us,"For what he wants this? To watch his chickens pecking?" The house is in the grounds of his own house, which is immediately beside the police, so it is extremely unlikely anyone would attempt anything.

The centre of Sighisoara is no longer a mess - the cobbles have all been put back, although with true Official determination some of them have had to be dug up again. They had very carefully sunk some uplighters into strategic locations - the only problem being no one had laid any electric cables...

The new seasons cabbage is not here yet. This means that one does not order cabbage salad as it is a bit white and tough. Of course, foreigners and people from Bucharest are steered to order it, as they, of course, know no better.

But the overwhelming question of the day, on everyone's lips, is what are we going to do with the goats? You may recall last autumn we had about 60 - I say "about" as my calculation was less than the goatherd's, which, in turn,was less than there actually was.

Having been mated in November, we now have a string of baby goats emerging, which, in theory, will take us to about 120.

This is such an enormous number that people actually can't conceive of how we are going to deal with them. As Baldrick would say, I have a cunning plan...

It looks as if we will have about 25 or 30 male goats from the new crop, so these will be sold far and wide - we will only sell in our area if anyone wants one. Some may even find their way back to Switzerland to help their gene pool.

On 23rd May, a large delegation is coming from LeManoir near Caen in France to mark 25 years of association with Mosna. There is to be a feast for the whole (top echelon) population of the three villages and the French - about 300 people in total.

By my reckoning, this will use up about 30 kids. Of course, the Mayor has a budget for this, but Mosna City Hall also has a derelict orchard I want, so we have arranged a small swap. He will buy the goats from me and I will buy the orchard from him. More precisely, Mosna will give me the orchard and I will pay the Mayor....

But hey - that's the goat problem solved . For this year at least..

Sweet Music ... and sour salt.

Most of today was spent finalising some land deals (and driving down the prices of legal papers in view of the economic situation), but there was time to take a fresh orange juice in the shade in Medias as we waited for some papers to be completed.
I have two friends coming here tomorrow, and Mosna is in turmoil for their arrival. Children are being schooled, the band is being tuned up, the barbecue area is being specially cleared ( with signs saying no one is allowed there tomorrow) and Erne has come back from his holiday at the Black Sea to make sure we are all undisturbed.
The Mayor, for his part, is in charge of the alcohol, and when we arrived to clear some papers this afternoon he had an array of bottles ready for approval.
The other night he had wanted to open his champagne just for me ( we had had a few by then) and with great difficulty I had wrestled the bottle from his grasp ( not to drink but to stop it being opened).
Today, there was no champagne visible. I asked if we were going to have any. He did the strange screwed-up-face-head-waggle that means he isn't sure.
"Er well, Mr King, you see I KNOW I like to drink with you, but I don't know I am wanting to drink seriously with your friends."
Actually, that makes perfect sense to me and I told him so. He was mightily relieved, but I am prepared to bet when it comes to it the champagne corks will pop.
We had to be back in Sighisoara by 6pm to meet our accountant, who has done such a wonderful job that we actually made a profit in the last six months to the end of June. I explained to her this was completely unacceptable, and she explained to me that this was only telling me the real position - of course for the authorities there would be a loss.
Whilst we were talking, I could hear some lovely violin music in the back ground, and I asked if the radio was on somewhere.
Not at all she said, it was her son Alex who would be going to the Cluj Music Academy ( the premier one of Romania) next autumn.
I walked through to where he was playing and asked him to play some other tunes. He was excellent, and definitely soothed the savage beast as the philosopher has it. Accountants do that to me.
Alin and I then went to diner, which was actually lunch at about 8pm.
We ate in the Rustic which I've mentioned before, and Alin sprinkled his food liberally with salt. I told him I was off it.
" Well Mr. King, there was being a very famous other king in Romania, many years ago, and he was having three daughters"
Ah yes, I said, King Lear. Shakespeare.
"No no no!. He was asking the eldest one how much she loved him ( King Lear, I said again.)Mr. King! Pay attentions!.
Anyway she was saying her love was sweet like honey. And the second one, he was asking the same question and she was saying her love was so sweet like sugar."
By this time I was ready for Cordelia to say her love was only as it should be, but I was in for a surprise.
" Anyway, when he was asking the third one, she did say her love was like salt. And the King, he was angry, and said she was not any more his daughter, and she should be working in the kitchen.
Now Mr. King, you know what she did? Well, I am telling you. The next day they were preparing the food and the thirds daughter, she put honey and sugar and all sweet things in the meat and vegetables, and she took it to the king and he say YUCK! That is disgusting, and she say here eating this, which of course was food that was properly cook-ed with salt. And the king, he say, ah, that is good, and the daughter she say, you see? That is how I am loving you."
I'm not quite sure of the moral of the story.....

The Birthday Present

I've been in Romania for a couple of days so far and have been putting in long days to match the daylight hours.
Everyone starts work here at 7 or 7:30, so I do too. Whereas they tend to finish about 5, Alin and I keep going and make use of the light to check out the land.
It's roasting here - as high as 37C yesterday - but the crops are all growing like mad and the prices appear to be holding up. Sweet corn, which was planted on the basis that we would get RON 0.50 per ear, is selling in the markets for RON1.40, and even the under size and misshapes are making more than we expected. We might actually break even this year, which is a year earlier than we expected, especially if the goats do their stuff. In that context, we have enough so that it doesn't matter whether they produce billies or nannies - we would simply keep the nannies if they produce less than 50% females, and make more money from the sale of billies. If, on the other hand, more females are produced, we will sell some of them, which will mean that the amount we collect is down somewhat ( boys are worth more than girls - no comment).
A lot of the time has been spent with lawyers sorting out problems that have cropped up when the topographer has done his job. Over the years dividing lines between owners have become "smudged" and from our point of view we need then to be exact. In some instances we find we have more land on the ground than we have technically bought, or less. As none of the land has been registered, we are bearing the costs of doing so, but also having to make sure it is exact.Resolving the problems takes time, but ultimately helps not only us but the local people. This is because if for example one side of their land has been exactly registered, the eventual cost to them of registering drops by 50%. Admittedly it helps us too if we buy from our neighbours.
The Mayor was delighted to see me. Since my last visit he hasn't had a drink. It's not doctor's orders ( though it should be) just every now and again he stops. The people in City Hall don't like it as he makes them all stop too. Overall, though, the level of health of his people is bettered.
So it was with a whoop of glee that he drew off some of his excellent pink wine that I particularly enjoy. All his tuica and wine is in the cellar that every good Transylvanian has under his house - keeping cool and at a steady temperature. It might come as no surprise to you to learn that his cellar was originally the pub for the village...
We sat in the shade of his fruit trees, smelling the new mown hay, and listening to the odd plum drop off a tree. These are gathered up and turned into this year's tuica. A few glasses in and the front gate banged. It was the bread delivery - made three times a week for the whole village. The smell and feel of the newly baked bread is more intoxicating than the wine. When eaten with tomatoes, onions, gherkins and a paste that is a bit like salsa, it's very much a meal fit for a King ( no pun intended).
The day before had been Tina, the Mayor's wife's, birthday. Tina is the lady who is keeping BAT's in business. I've no idea how many cigarettes she smokes a day, but I have never seen her without a cigarette in her hand. This includes meal times, and her cooking is enhanced by all the ash that goes into it.
I congratulated her.
"Well,"she said,"As it was not a special birthday, Eugen only gave me a small present. We were shopping a few days ago, and I had left my purse behind. I borrowed RON200 off him ( about GBP42)"
"Ah yes," said the Mayor."Not such a small gift."
"Yeah right,"said Tina. "When we were in bed last night I asked you what you had got me for a present."
"Indeed " said the Mayor ," And I told you you didn't need to pay me back...."

Watching the Wedding DVD.

Today was spent negotiating - or rather trying to negotiate - with various owners about bits of land we wanted. The day started with ten minutes in the bank that I thought was going to take an hour, followed by what I thought would be ten minutes of LAG business that ended up being 90 minutes.
By the time all that was out of the way, we were late for a meeting with the Topographer who does satellite drawings of our land. In this case, there was a dispute over about 800 sq. mtrs which can only be resolved by the land court in Sibiu. There is no real problem, we just have to get everything certified twice and then the court grants us our land - that we have already paid for. It is, of course, a hang over from the Communist days when the extent of any given piece of land was irrelevant. Now that each bit of land is owned by someone, it matters where the boundaries are and how big the bit of land is.
As far as I was concerned it meant I had about an hour to walk over some of our land and see what had been done ( and what hadn't). I suppose I could be upset about various things, but the sun was shining, the swallows were whirling around, the baby storks were peeking out of their nests, the butterflies were burgeoning, and the orchard we own was in full blossom. The scent was almost overpowering, and the noise of the bees was deafening. Incidentally, Romania doesn't seem to have any problem with bees dying. In fact, the price of honey this year is predicted to fall as they have an oversupply. Just might be to do with the fact that there are none of the particularly long-lived insecticides anywhere in Transylvania - in fact there aren't at all. People here look at you as if you have two heads when you talk of " organic" produce. Because there is nothing artificial in use, its all what we would describe as organic. As far as they are concerned its just food.
Having succesfully confirmed our land ownership, we started the round of speaking with various old ladies. They, of course, are convinced we are multi-millionaires who will pay them anything. It usually takes us three or four meetings to persuade them otherwise, but two in particular today have been ultra stubborn. We left both without agreement, but with them in no doubt our offers were final, would not be increased, and in fact, in view of the economic situation, might be reduced and/or withdrawn. As Alin said " We will see"
By the time we finished it was after 6pm (having started as all good Romanians do at 07:30 am) and as we were driving wearily home, one of Alin's mobiles rang. It drowned out the tolling Church bells.
It was the Mayor.
Why weren't we at his house? Frankly, we hadn't been invited.
Nothing would do but that we should turn round and come for a drink - which consisted of polishing off the two bottles of Neuburger ( you will be glad to hear the Mayor approves of them) a bottle of his own excellent rose wine and three quarters of a litre of his special Nemsa grape white wine.
Tina his wife produced her excellent bean and ham Ciorba, a thick tasty soup, along with my favourite sausages and the Mosna potatoes.
Now you may say this was all a bit much, but of course there was an ulterior motive.
With a great crash the gate opened and in came the Mayor's son ( also Alin) and his truly gorgeous wife Irena. You may recall I was a guest of honour at the wedding on 14th February.
With a flourish they produced the video of the wedding ( on 4 DVDs and cut down from about 15 hours to a mere 4) and the album, which had so many photos in it I could hardly lift it.
And I had to watch the video.
Luckily, Alin and Irena were in a hurry so I only had about 90 minutes of viewing. Other people's wedding films usually leave me cold, but, as I told you in February, there were lots of people there I knew - and here I was watching them all misbehaving and in some cases seriously drunk.
The Mayor myself and Tina had been the ones drinking the wine, so we found the whole thing utterly hilarious, whilst my Alin ( driving, not allowed to drink) and Alin 2 and Irena ( who hardly touch a drop between them) wondered why we thought it was all so funny.
When it came to the part where the bride is stolen and ransommed, all three of us were in such hysterics at my and the kidnapper's performances that we had to stop the DVD until we three calmed down. Tears were streaming down our cheeks and every few moments more giggles and guffaws escaped us. Eventually we got the DVD moving again, but by that time the sober members decided we were not taking it seriously enough and turned it off.
A couple of glasses later it was time to go.
As we walked out, the Mayor gripped by shoulder.
" Mr. King, when you are coming you take all my cares away. Saturday we will have a barbeque in the fields. The Government accountants are coming and we need to make a good impression. You will be there."
Looks like a party on Saturday then....

In Romania

I awoke this morning very early as the sun was streaming in my window - which was open.
To we Scots, there are usually one and a half nights a year when you can sleep with the windows open, unless you want to get hypothermia, so the thought of it being the end of April and yet having the windows open is a sort of Clause 4 moment. One approaches it with trepidation and yet with excitement.
I hadn't actually been in the flat for more than 16 weeks, as the previous trip in February I was in Medias full time, and last week was very much a rush. I'd forgotten the pleasures of making the coffee, the sound of the children going to school (at 8am), the banter in the square, the lack of a TV pumping out drivel - and not having to read about the recession and the swine flu every two minutes.
Alin told me that the Mayor had bought me a lamb as an Easter present.
I said I thought that was very kind, but I already had lambs from my own burgeoning flock ( at least it would be if the teethy wolves stopped eating them - I feel a bit like the people who feed the birds in the winter, only it's wolves that I feed. )
Stupidly, I then asked if the Shepherd had been looking after it.
" No no Mr. K, it was for eating, and when you didn't come, the Mayor he say Mr.K he give us a lamb for Easter to the people in the City Hall, and they eated it.They were very happy."
Ask a silly question.....