Self Coaching, The Power of Stories and Travels

“Traveling solo does not always mean you’re alone. Most often, you meet marvelous people along the way and make connections that last a lifetime.”

– Jacqueline Boone

We met for the last time 10 years ago. Our relationship started in 1997 and was like a vortex of colorful meetings and adventures. No wonder why I was so thrilled to meet again, and to see what my challenging love, Bucharest, had become after all these years. In '97, I was 27 and had been recently appointed as country representative in Moldova for an international organization, based in Paris. What does it have to do with Bucharest? Wait, you will see. In Eastern Europe life needs to be challenging to feel exciting! At least it was my perception when I was 27.

Cretulescu Palace, seen from the Cismigiu Gardens

“Travel. The best way to be lost… and found… at the same time.” -Brenna Smith.

Twenty two years ago, my husband and I embarked on our turquoise Lada without planning too long and headed 450 km from Chisinau to Bucharest. The Secretary General of the Union Latine, the organization I was selected to work for, a few staff members from Paris and the Romanian team had a meeting in the capital of Romania. We have never been there before. The border between Moldova and Romania was opened seven years ago and we visited only a few places in the Eastern part of Romania.

I was quite convinced I will impress those Aliens and show them that the young woman from a small and unknown country will move mountains. I wanted them to know they made the right choice. Studying foreign languages, the history of French civilization and literature for five years at the State University of Moldova, I wanted so badly to work and discover the world.

In my fourth year of university, I started teaching Italian in primary school and working as an interpreter now and then. In my first five years after graduating, I managed to teach French civilization in higher education, to give birth to my first daughter, and to start my first PhD. After staying one and a half year home with my little child, I started to teach French at the Alliance Francaise. I felt like I was able to do everything I wanted. I was dreaming of something exceptional, I wanted to speak all the languages I have learned, to travel and to meet people around the world.

"I see my path, but I don't know where it leads. Not knowing where I'm going is what inspires me to travel it." – Rosalia de Castro

My French language was so damn good! My French was my imaginary palace, the perfect place to hide from the unpredictable realities of the '90s in Moldova. The ideal place to erase the taste of the carousel of unexpected turns of events and of the Soviet-Russian-Moldovan-Romanian, unclear to me at that time, identity. My French language was a crystal palace, my fairy tale, where everything was possible.

We left early in the morning and, after six or seven hours driving, parked our Russian Lada in front of a fancy soviet style Romanian hotel on Magheru Boulevard. I tried to behave like if I have always lived in elegant hotels. I was confident, I have already been two times in France, a rare opportunity for a Soviet-born girl at that time. In the afternoon I was expected to the meeting with my boss and his team. I stored my anxiety deep, deep inside, being trained from a very young age in my family, where emotions were not welcomed, to philter carefully what I manifest.

- Oh, so you think you really understand the psychology of the future beneficiaries of our projects in your country, my dear? And you will be able to shape the activities of the organization accordingly? said Claudine in her aristocratic French. She was the head of projects for Moldova and Romania. I realized much later, her wise and warmly humorous eyes reminded me of my grandmother. Something inside me knew it immediately, and it clicked.

Elisabeth, the director of the cultural program, was smiling, and from time to time, she would launch a joke in her Brazilian French, accompanied by the deep crystal tingling of her laughter. Philip, the big boss, looked old and tired in his pain-body partly disabled by a childhood disease. He was observing me carefully, occasionally asking a question. He was intrigued by our turquoise Jiguli-Lada car, and impressed that it drove us from Chisinau to Bucharest.

Marius, the director of the Romanian office of the organization, was a notorious person, a member of the Romanian Academy. He was scrutinizing curiously the young woman from a small, mysterious country with a fluid identity. That young woman spoke French and Russian easier than she spoke her native language Romanian. I was at least two times younger than each of them.

Somehow I knew, I passed the test! And It felt like I was adopted by a new family. A new phase of my life and education started: learning, taking risks, making mistakes, learning again, and getting a lot of encouragement. I was given a chance in the crystal palace. It was like righting the wrong of what my mom said to me: "Now that you have a child, let your husband work, why would you need to invest in your career?"

"Sincere enthusiasm is the only orator who always persuades. It is like an art the rules of which never fail; the simplest man (and woman) with enthusiasm persuades better than the most eloquent with none." - François de La Rochefoucauld

Small, hidden treasures, the streets that go like a web from Calea Victoriei and reveal, day and night, so many surprising secrets: small cute shops, theaters, restaurants, and cafes for all the tastes. My school friend Mihaela is now a respected doctor in Bucharest, she made me discover the cozy and friendly Journey Pub on George Enescu Street.

Corina shared with me her hidden treasures in Bucharest, the gourmet sweet shop French Revolution. Corina and Liliana are experienced managers in media development in Moldova. I knew them for years and was happy to meet unexpectedly at The Power of Story Telling 2019. Thanks to them and to the award-winning books of Tatiana, I also discovered the theater Point. We left there a piece of our hearts, in "The Summer, when Mom had Green Eyes."

The same patchwork of buildings on the Calea Victoriei as twenty years ago. Only in 1997, they all looked tired and dusty. Now the magnificent, polished Art Nouveau constructions from the beginning of the 20th century stand their ground proudly next to the tarnished, dark grey, poorly kept soviet style boxes, forgotten in the past.

Le Bistro Français, Bucharest

Streets and squares from different times and stories, some of them fresh and shiny, others stained and overshadowed by many layers of time. The park Cismigiu looks a little bit like the forest surrounding the Sleeping Beauty castle. A sleeping park populated by people who take as much as they can from a sunny October Sunday. Still, you have the impression everything is a dream, starting with the black and white swans behind the green fence. It seems too quiet, too peaceful, from the old couples bearing the burden of the years and memories to the young couples with children that seem to calibrate the intensity of their emotions in this incredibly lightful day.

It made me think about the Lake Leman and the parks around it in Geneva, where the swans and other birds leave and walk freely without fences, interacting with people. I had the feeling that in the part of the world I come from everything fragile, vulnerable, beautiful like swans require more protection from people. Perhaps it requires protection everywhere, but there are different ways to approach it.

Cismigiu Gardens

This trip to Bucharest was my first without a dense agenda of meetings or conference presentations. I only came to discover and enjoy The Power of Storytelling 2019. So I decided to fully feel the vibrations of Bucharest, and for the first time, took the bus from the Airport to the city. A young guy, looking lost and shy, took the sit in front of me. He asked something in English with a strong French accent. I switched to French and learned that he is from Lyon and was making his first trip alone without his parents. Traveling to a gaming competition in Bucharest, his phone ran out of battery, as were probably the monitors and the voice announcing the stops on the bus. The poor guy could not figure out how to find his stop. I checked his address on the map and found that we needed to get out at the same stop Piața Romană. Oh, the beautiful feeling of saving someone! Over time I learned to save people selectively when I choose to.

“Learn from yesterday, live for today, look to tomorrow, rest this afternoon.”

― Charles M. Schulz

On the last day, before taking the shuttle to the Airport, I wanted to reinforce the taste of the Art Nouveau Bucharest with a delicious amandine at the terrace of the Café Chocolat. The amandine was served together with a view on the elegant Bistrot Français across the street. When I took the shuttle from Piata Romana to the Airport, a homeless old man boarded the bus, struggling to get in, and my heart ached. He cursed everything and everyone from the driver who took off abruptly to the passengers who didn't dare to help him. He calmed after a while and took a sit in the middle of the bus. The passengers' heads started to turn, and the noses to sniff in the hope that the poignant smell will sit next to the homeless old man without spreading through the vehicle.

It came to my mind that twenty two years ago, Bucharest streets were full of rubbish that attracted homeless dogs. But I did not remember seeing any homeless people at that time. Some things change for the best, some don't.

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