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Then and now. Guide to the Country of Papura Voda - Cristian Dudu
![Then and now. Guide to the Country of Papura Voda - Cristian Dudu [1]](https://gomagcdn.ro/domains/editurauniversitara.ro/files/product/original/atunci-si-acum-ghid-in-tara-lui-papura-voda-966100.jpg "Then and now. Guide to the Country of Papura Voda - Cristian Dudu [1]")
Publisher: Cismigiu Books
Author: Cristian Dudu
Edition: I
Pages: 148
Publisher year: 2023
ISBN: 978-606-28-1668-1
DOI: 10.5682/9786062816681
Product Code:
9786062816681
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Through a game of words and trades, a tourist guide becomes a life guide.
Written with an objectivity similar to a video camera, Cristian Dudu's book, "Then and now. Guide to the country of Papura Voda", is a novel from journalistic collages. Fragments of life, transposed into lived images, punctuate a time recovered through writing. The desire to confess is saving.
The regret of selling the watch that belonged to his father can be a reason for the book's parable. Selling time means selling your life. And, sometimes, you also sell the lives of those around you...
"The last cry", the phrase that appears in Cristian Dudu's book, is not just the conclusion of a transaction at the auction houses, but an original, original formula for the desire to find the goldfish. In "Papura Voda's land", in no man's land, people are still looking for him.
Clelia Ifrim
Written with an objectivity similar to a video camera, Cristian Dudu's book, "Then and now. Guide to the country of Papura Voda", is a novel from journalistic collages. Fragments of life, transposed into lived images, punctuate a time recovered through writing. The desire to confess is saving.
The regret of selling the watch that belonged to his father can be a reason for the book's parable. Selling time means selling your life. And, sometimes, you also sell the lives of those around you...
"The last cry", the phrase that appears in Cristian Dudu's book, is not just the conclusion of a transaction at the auction houses, but an original, original formula for the desire to find the goldfish. In "Papura Voda's land", in no man's land, people are still looking for him.
Clelia Ifrim
-
Then and now. Guide to the Country of Papura Voda
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CRISTIAN DUDU
The sixties - a resigned world / 11
Carol I Park - a place that deserves a better fate / 15
1968 Who would have guessed then? / 17
The seventies and their music / 20
The first day of work in communism / 26
Does the man sanctify the place, or does the place spoil the man? / 29
Money from the bottomless bag of the State / 31
Bihor Diocese - a gloomy place / 33
Socialism with a human face, German brand / 35
Table in the collective / 38
Practice at the workplace vs. the legend of the novel skilled in everything / 40
Better a guide with tourists than a tourist with a guide / 42
Year-end characterization / 46
Another collective, but actually nothing new / 49
What else could a tourist guide tell / 51
One thousand nine hundred seventy seven / 53
The first demolisher became the first architect / 56
Eugen Iordachescu, a little known name / 59
Neighbors, they brought something for groceries! / 62
The cheese has also disappeared from the screens / 65
Meat and eroticism / 67
A stay on the Romanian coast / 69
A moment of sincerity and you reach security or the Colleague next to you, the caster next to you / 71
A radioactive cloud, a moderate alarm / 76
Last call, goods refused for export / 77
December 21, 1989 / 80
22, 23, 24, 25 December / 84
We were few, we are still many / 88
The nineties / 90s
German rigor versus Dambovian ingenuity / 92
1990 - Friedrichstrasse, the last redoubt of an unbelievable border / 94
My father's watch / 98
A flea market, late regrets / 100
The first day of work in their capitalism / 102
The first day of work in our capitalism / 107
I became production manager. How do you mean? / 110
What was not filmed, did not exist / 116
Censorship has disappeared, long live self-censorship / 118
The 2000s and something / 121
Useless comparisons, lasting inertia / 123
It was better before. Really? / 125
Again guide, nowadays / 128
Welcome to Romania, welcome to the port... / 130
New skills, in tourism with an outstretched hand / 135
December 16, 2017 / 138
In new times, new tourists, new questions / 139
2019, 2020, 2021 etc. / 144
From the Orwellian universe, to the grain of salt and back / 146
Crazy thoughts / 150
Carol I Park - a place that deserves a better fate / 15
1968 Who would have guessed then? / 17
The seventies and their music / 20
The first day of work in communism / 26
Does the man sanctify the place, or does the place spoil the man? / 29
Money from the bottomless bag of the State / 31
Bihor Diocese - a gloomy place / 33
Socialism with a human face, German brand / 35
Table in the collective / 38
Practice at the workplace vs. the legend of the novel skilled in everything / 40
Better a guide with tourists than a tourist with a guide / 42
Year-end characterization / 46
Another collective, but actually nothing new / 49
What else could a tourist guide tell / 51
One thousand nine hundred seventy seven / 53
The first demolisher became the first architect / 56
Eugen Iordachescu, a little known name / 59
Neighbors, they brought something for groceries! / 62
The cheese has also disappeared from the screens / 65
Meat and eroticism / 67
A stay on the Romanian coast / 69
A moment of sincerity and you reach security or the Colleague next to you, the caster next to you / 71
A radioactive cloud, a moderate alarm / 76
Last call, goods refused for export / 77
December 21, 1989 / 80
22, 23, 24, 25 December / 84
We were few, we are still many / 88
The nineties / 90s
German rigor versus Dambovian ingenuity / 92
1990 - Friedrichstrasse, the last redoubt of an unbelievable border / 94
My father's watch / 98
A flea market, late regrets / 100
The first day of work in their capitalism / 102
The first day of work in our capitalism / 107
I became production manager. How do you mean? / 110
What was not filmed, did not exist / 116
Censorship has disappeared, long live self-censorship / 118
The 2000s and something / 121
Useless comparisons, lasting inertia / 123
It was better before. Really? / 125
Again guide, nowadays / 128
Welcome to Romania, welcome to the port... / 130
New skills, in tourism with an outstretched hand / 135
December 16, 2017 / 138
In new times, new tourists, new questions / 139
2019, 2020, 2021 etc. / 144
From the Orwellian universe, to the grain of salt and back / 146
Crazy thoughts / 150
How naive do you have to be, to imagine that today someone reads to the end more than a few lines? About as naive as I feel now. For many, maybe a few times, it would be a bit much. In a world where, like at a late hour of a party, you would say that everyone is talking and no one is listening, wouldn't a well-written title be enough to say everything? Look, that would really be a thing. To tell something, only through titles. Because of ideas for a title, I would not have lacked: "The last night in communism, the first night in democracy" This, if there were no traces of plagiarism, would have worked. "I was a cautious dissident"... as true as it sounds embarrassing.
However I would title the following and especially whatever I will write, I would like the result not to be considered a simple diary. Although maybe even that, it would not be the worst thing.
I lived in two, at least theoretically, totally different systems.
Today, however, I am overwhelmed by a strong feeling of withdrawal from a past that I had hoped I had finally parted with. Probably the idea of writing down thoughts on virtual paper these days came to me when my son Stefan, noticing that I had advanced in some absurd polemics on social networks, told me that I had become a hater. He was right and that got me thinking.
Perhaps the freedom of expression won after 1989, which came almost as a package with the new means of communication, instead of bringing us closer to each other, achieved more the opposite.
When in a coach, you have the privilege of occupying the front seat intended for the guide, you can easily be tempted to give a monologue while forgetting about those behind you. Doesn't the same thing happen when you put your thoughts on paper?
*
Here on the coach guide's seat, I feel at ease. I'm a little dictator too, aren't I? "On the left you can see Lipscani Street, on the right the Coltea Hospital, on the left the Sutu Palace, the University... In the middle of the boulevard you can see some commemorative stones"... They say the words almost mechanically.
It's been a long time since I started working as a guide, so emotions are out of the question. And yet, every time I arrive here in Piata 21 Decembrie 1989, I can hardly control my emotion. More than thirty years have passed since then and yet...
**
In a crowded and sufficiently messy city like Bucharest, the experience of walking soon becomes a challenge. Even if one day you just decided to walk the streets without a specific goal, you will soon find yourself rushing like those around you. Please, at least that's what happens to me. Those in front of you who go slower, start to catch you. From here to the slight alienation, there is not much left.
Once, even I don't really know when, a simple thought had become an obsession. At the sight of a crowd of passers-by, I was overwhelmed by the feeling that most of my peers had no idea what world they were living in... Sometimes I tried with my eyes, even to separate those who were simply moving mechanically, from those who who were still thinking. I wondered then: "How many of these people are at least trying to bring something new to this world?" Most of them just keep repeating their own reflexes. How many of them have other concerns besides feeding themselves and, of course, having offspring?".
Didn't Seneca say that some people live in vain? Most people live for nothing, I decided. I defined the more or less hurried people around, as an impersonal crowd that moves mechanically, following like the members of a pack, an unseen leader.
Although basically trivial, such thoughts were not only comfortable. Sometimes, it still happens to me that I startle when it seemed to me that I saw a more special person. Then, I would turn my head that way, to see once more the one who seemed different from the others. I was even trying to remember the faces of those I would most certainly never meet again. What nonsense, I said to myself the next moment.
If I lived in a provincial town, come on, this nonsense could have made sense. But like that?
And yet, where does this appetite come from, along with the infatuation to categorize peers? Come on, don't tell me that "everything has its roots in childhood" story! Although...
The good part is that after a while, this tiring reflex of my thinking passed. Or at least that's what I thought.
However I would title the following and especially whatever I will write, I would like the result not to be considered a simple diary. Although maybe even that, it would not be the worst thing.
I lived in two, at least theoretically, totally different systems.
Today, however, I am overwhelmed by a strong feeling of withdrawal from a past that I had hoped I had finally parted with. Probably the idea of writing down thoughts on virtual paper these days came to me when my son Stefan, noticing that I had advanced in some absurd polemics on social networks, told me that I had become a hater. He was right and that got me thinking.
Perhaps the freedom of expression won after 1989, which came almost as a package with the new means of communication, instead of bringing us closer to each other, achieved more the opposite.
When in a coach, you have the privilege of occupying the front seat intended for the guide, you can easily be tempted to give a monologue while forgetting about those behind you. Doesn't the same thing happen when you put your thoughts on paper?
*
Here on the coach guide's seat, I feel at ease. I'm a little dictator too, aren't I? "On the left you can see Lipscani Street, on the right the Coltea Hospital, on the left the Sutu Palace, the University... In the middle of the boulevard you can see some commemorative stones"... They say the words almost mechanically.
It's been a long time since I started working as a guide, so emotions are out of the question. And yet, every time I arrive here in Piata 21 Decembrie 1989, I can hardly control my emotion. More than thirty years have passed since then and yet...
**
In a crowded and sufficiently messy city like Bucharest, the experience of walking soon becomes a challenge. Even if one day you just decided to walk the streets without a specific goal, you will soon find yourself rushing like those around you. Please, at least that's what happens to me. Those in front of you who go slower, start to catch you. From here to the slight alienation, there is not much left.
Once, even I don't really know when, a simple thought had become an obsession. At the sight of a crowd of passers-by, I was overwhelmed by the feeling that most of my peers had no idea what world they were living in... Sometimes I tried with my eyes, even to separate those who were simply moving mechanically, from those who who were still thinking. I wondered then: "How many of these people are at least trying to bring something new to this world?" Most of them just keep repeating their own reflexes. How many of them have other concerns besides feeding themselves and, of course, having offspring?".
Didn't Seneca say that some people live in vain? Most people live for nothing, I decided. I defined the more or less hurried people around, as an impersonal crowd that moves mechanically, following like the members of a pack, an unseen leader.
Although basically trivial, such thoughts were not only comfortable. Sometimes, it still happens to me that I startle when it seemed to me that I saw a more special person. Then, I would turn my head that way, to see once more the one who seemed different from the others. I was even trying to remember the faces of those I would most certainly never meet again. What nonsense, I said to myself the next moment.
If I lived in a provincial town, come on, this nonsense could have made sense. But like that?
And yet, where does this appetite come from, along with the infatuation to categorize peers? Come on, don't tell me that "everything has its roots in childhood" story! Although...
The good part is that after a while, this tiring reflex of my thinking passed. Or at least that's what I thought.
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