Macaraua* called me at the end of October: “Hello, Mihai! We are taking a castle in the Ardennes, two nights, at the beginning of December! Will you come too?”. It seemed to me that I could not hear well: “What are you taking, me?”. He patiently explained to me: “The castle. Damn, how much could it cost?”. I laughed, said it was a joke. It wasn’t a joke. The crane is not kidding.

The village was called Chassepierre, the castle was La Bavier, and the river that flowed in front of it was Semois. I arrived there on the first Friday of December and left early Sunday afternoon. It was very beautiful. The castle was much larger on the inside than on the outside, and could hold at least twice as many guests (to change some people’s minds, I was sent to sleep alone, in a room with ten beds. What was What to do? I slept in ten beds. Snow White only slept in seven, so I clearly fell for her).

I am not going to describe what the Romanians do by the fire, at night, in the courtyard of a castle in the Ardennes; very nice to experience something like this (guitars, dancing – the beautiful Dafina and her partner did a sensational tango demonstration – steaks, cauldron, benches, beer, endless stories – “Say it with Bebegrasu and Forduțu!” – seafood paella like here in Maramures etc.), but no one cares. But then, when one very intelligent woman started arguing with me, everything became the subject of an article. The lady is my reader, so I didn’t dare to give her a real answer (well, how many readers do I have that I can afford to be a fool?), but that dialogue made me think. In short, the lady reproached me for making fun of “ordinary people” (I used to write an article**, that’s what she meant).

Her theory was clear: there should be no social caesura. We complex people should not laugh like hyenas while listening to the adventures of poor Bebegas and his Forduz for the thousandth time. But the social caesura exists. Bebegras would never be invited to a castle in the Ardennes, and even if he were, he would have nothing to talk to—and no one to talk to him. Moreover: the social caesura exists not only between the middle class and the lower class, but also between the middle class and the upper class. As a former journalist, I can honestly say that rich people have nothing to talk about with us, these complex people. We don’t care, and they’re right. Our world and theirs are very clearly separated not by money (money is something else), but by time. Their time and our time for work – otherwise where does the money come from? Not so with them.

There, by the fire, I kept wondering if the woman was wrong. But I think I know, and I also think that in her inner circle she also knew: she didn’t have it. The real truth is that women are much more inflexible about class distinctions, and even if in theory they try to be as politically correct as possible, when it comes to practice, the scales change. Oh, how it changes! I remembered this summer.

Myrcelle, Fenika and I have been talking about going on a seaside holiday together here in Belgium in the town of De Panne (near the French border) because it’s cheaper. We also told Berbatusha about the project, he more than agreed, so we instructed the couple to find good and cheap housing. They found a villa Esprit de Mer with three rooms upstairs (the landlady lived with her family on the first floor): Marée Basse, Marée Haute and Brise-Lames, that was the name of the rooms, and they were just right, so the three of us were delighted, but I asked, “Well, what about the Husband? Where will he stay?”. Our three ladies started teasing us: that Bartheusch doesn’t speak well… that he drinks too much… that he is vulgar and tells pornographic jokes… that he expresses disagreements… that he belches demonstratively… that he listens to manelas on his portable speaker, not even with headphones… that he knows neither English nor French… that he embarrasses us in the restaurant… in short, a thousand and one excuses, only the truth or will they honestly say: Berbatush wasn’t from the middle class, and they didn’t want to spoil their vacation by taking him too. On one of the common people. It was his original sin!

Not that there is only one social caesura: the generational caesura is at least as deep. There, in the Ardennes, there were also two teenagers who had been brought by their parents somehow against their will – which teenagers were bored to death. For three days and two nights they didn’t say a word, at least to us “old people”. They talked to each other about video games (I overheard) but that was it. How nice I was in the castle, that’s all boring it was for them. I understand them perfectly! Read the rest on Contributors.ro