….I know some folks who are

Are you xenophobic? Anti-Semitic? Is your family, your best friend, you partner? If so, why? If not, why not? While you think of some answers, I will explain why I’m asking. It starts with an Englishman. And by the way, we English invented the concentration camp, during the Boer War.

As you may know, Jeremy Clarkson is a British celebrity and ‘New Lad’, who reviews cars that go fast and writes books that expose the limits of his intellect. A little while back, he made headlines in the UK, following his comments about Muslim women who, he claims, wear a burka on top and a thong underneath. He seemed to believe this was worth our attention. Hundreds of TV viewers phoned in, to tell him to mind his own business.

A few days later, a Romanian friend of mine – let’s call him Marcel – expressed support for Clarkson, on Facebook.

I posted a reply to Marcel, telling him I disagreed, and we got into an argument. My position was this: Clarkson enjoys popularity and power, but had forgotten his responsibilities. In other words, if you’re famous you should watch your mouth, because you are also influential. Think of Lennon and his infamous ‘Jesus’ comments in 1966, think of Bowie and his Hitler salute outside Victoria Station in 1976. In short, unless Clarkson has something helpful to say, he should stick to talking about cars and not make provocative comments in a fractured world.

Marcel became increasingly hostile online and asked me if, during my recent 6 months in Sudan, I had ‘’turned Muslim.” Next, Marcel tells me he prefers Jeremy “to some asshole in a suicide belt.” I replied that such comments revealed a superficial grasp of international politics. Next, Marcel said he did not buy my “hypocrite shit” and suggested I should leave “comfortable Bucharest and move to Gaza.” Since the power of his argument was so overwhelming, I said goodbye and deleted him from my list of friends. With friends like that, who needs an enema?

Next day, Marcel emailed me: “Mike, sorry if you think I’m a dickhead, but like many Romanians, I am xenophobic, homophobic and I don’t much like Roma. I cannot help it.” I told Marcel we were wasting our time and should stick to talking about football.

Until that point, it had never crossed my mind that Marcel might be a dickhead. I just considered him a bit myopic, someone who needed to watch less TV and read more widely. I was wondering about all this when the story took a new turn.

The problem with them and the problem with us.

My friend Valerie contacted me. She had just had a nasty argument on Facebook with… Guess Who. This time Marcel had been making nasty anti-Semitic comments about a Romanian coin showing an Orthodox cleric. I won’t repeat them here.

It seems Marcel lost some more friends on FB and I’m not surprised, because it seems to me that racists and xenophobes are about as convincing as people who believe the earth is flat.

But I was intrigued by his antipathy to Jews and asked Valerie if she could shed some light on the issue, for two reasons. First, because she has family in Romania, and second, because I’ve encountered anti-Semitism in Romania quite a few times, over the years, even in young people. Puzzles me no end, that.

Anyway, Valerie reckons that anti-Semitism is rooted in Romania’s past, particularly the early days of the Communist takeover. She says her own parents suffered because of this and they ‘cannot forgive’. It still causes arguments at home.

It rings a bell, because I too know how it feels to be angry with a different tribe. In my case, I reckon the British government got what was coming in Northern Ireland. I say that, not because my great grandparents were Irish Catholics, or because Protestants spat on my Dad on as a kid in Liverpool, but because I’m pro-democracy and the British government, for 200 years, was not very fair to Catholics in Northern Ireland. But time moves on, the duty of the next generations is to build bridges, and I was never anti-Protestant. I played football with them every day, as a kid.

Which brings us back to Marcel. Why does an educated, middle-class Romanian adult think it’s OK, even cool, to slam Muslims and Jews, and anyone else who does not belong in his ‘civilised’ world? How do anti-Semites in Romania feel about the Israeli doctors who rushed to help the survivors of the recent horrific fire at the Giulesti maternity unit – would they say it was for the money?

There’s a twist too – Marcel asked me, when I was in Sudan, to bring some banknotes for his collection, because he is ‘fascinated by foreign countries’. Just not by the people who live in them, perhaps.

To conclude, and before any of you tell me to get out of your country, consider this: America can do without Sarah Palin’s down-home, disingenuous racism, the UK can do without the Nazi-mindset of the English Defence League, and Romania can do without xenophobia. It reduces us all and the country has enough problems. So, guys and girls, please, rise above.

By the way, I’ve invented a new word: Romaphobia. Remember where you read it first, here on the back page of FHM. Perhaps we’ll discuss it some time. Next month: why I hate Martians.

First published in ‘FHM Romania’ magazine, Oct 2010. Republished here by kind permission of SC Sanoma Hearst Romania SRL

How many hats do you own? I don’t mean baseball caps or fleecy bonnets. I mean a Panama for summer, a tweed cap for autumn, and perhaps something elegant for special events? While you are counting, here’s my own answer: zero, because I can never find a hat that fits. Recently, however, I was walking along the cobbles of Strada Sepcari behind Hanul Manuc in the centre of Bucharest and spotted a little shop with a big sign: Palarii. The hats inside were well made in various styles, reasonably priced and, of course, none fitted me. The friendly owner Mr. Nicolae ‘Nicu’ Zdarco measured my head and since that memorable day, I have bought several more and we’ve had some nice conversations. Next time you are in Bucharest, pay Nicu a visit and ask him: ‘How are you doing?’ He usually replies: ‘I’m doing hats’ He has a mischievous smile, a dry wit and lots of stories from a long career. Here’s a selection of my questions, and his answers.

FHM: Why should a man wear a hat?

Nicu: A hat strikes an elegant note and completes your look

FHM: In old movies, almost every man wore a hat, whether he was a cowboy, a gangster or a guy selling newspapers, but not today. Why did hats go out of fashion?

Nicu: “In Romania, I think it was due to Communism. A smart hat looked too bourgeois, anti-regime, you would get booed on the street. Only Russian hats and berets were appropriate. Towards the end of Communism, our VIPs began to travel abroad and hats were OK again.”

FHM: How did you get into the trade?

Nicu: “I was one of 11 children living in Mierea Bilnicii. Times were hard in our village so I came to Bucharest to live with my uncle. I trained four years as an apprentice hat-maker, unpaid. During the Second World War, when the bombs were falling, I used to cry because the boss wanted to send me back to the village. I did not want to go. I loved my work, I still do. When I was 20, the boss was sent to the Front and got killed, I was the oldest hat-maker in our atelier, and took over his job. I served 3 years in the army but when I got out, the Communists had nationalised the trade. I was nominated to run a co-operative. I was the youngest supervisor.”

FHM: How did you survive, if most hats were considered bourgeois?

Nicu: “We diversified and made bed linen, ties, baby clothes, whatever would sell. After Communism, I got invited on national TV and showed 20 of my hats. Next day, I got lots of orders, there was a queue halfway up the street. Synthetic fur hats were very popular, back then.”

FHM: What skill is most important in this job?

Nicu: “You have to enjoy the work. What I like most is when someone leaves my shop happy. I make hats for men and women, rich and poor. It’s all about making the right hat and making them smile.”

FHM: How many styles do you know?

Nicu: “For men, at least 20, not including the hats I make for stage and screen. Over the years, I’ve made hats for some of our great actors – Beligan, Birlic, Puiu Calinescu, Giugaru. The bowler is the most difficult, it takes skill, observation, years of practice.”

FHM: Where does the best material come from?

Nicu: “The best black felt, and the best hats, are made from rabbit fur in the Czech Republic. Timisoara used to have a good wool felt factory but it closed down. Chinese imports are OK but nothing beats traditional skill and a personal service. I’m the only hatter in Romania who makes real gabori hats for the Roma, the gypsies. One day, some of them were passing through my home village and my brother asked where they got such nice hats. The gypsies told him: “We have our special guy in Bucharest, Uncle Nicu!”

FHM: You’re 83 with no apprentice, are you concerned your skills will not be passed on?

Nicu: “Yes, and I’m one of the last people in Romania doing this job. It’s the same for many of our tailors, dressmakers and shoemakers. I’ve had lads come to learn, but they leave after a few months. I wish someone would stick at it but they want jobs that bring fast money.”

FHM: Can any man wear any hat?

Nicu: “Certain styles fit certain heads. My job is to suggest the best match. A hat should fit not just physically, but also in terms of character. If people laugh at my clients in the street, that’s bad for them and for me. Then again, some people have no idea how to wear a hat, like these idiots with baseball caps backwards.”

By the way, dear reader, I’m writing this wearing my new black bowler. It’s stylish, hand made by Uncle Nicu of Bucharest and, for once in my life, it fits. As we say in English, if you want to get ahead, get a hat!

(This story was first published in  FHM Romania, issue November 2010, and reappears here by kind permission of SC Sanoma Hearst Romania SRL. )

Have you ever worked abroad? If not, you probably know someone who has. Someone like Cristi, maybe, my favourite Bucharest cabbie. He’s an excellent driver, punctual and polite. Back in 2005, all he wanted to do was work abroad.  But it was not so easy. Over a Coke in a café, Cristi explains why….

Cristi: I was 26 my friend was working in Spain and asked if I was interested. It sounded good, why not? I just wanted to get away (m-am dus sa scap). Next thing I know, I’m on a bus to Valencia with four friends – three lads and a girl.  At the time, Romania was not in the EU so at the Spanish border the cops took lots of us off the bus, because we had no formal invitations or permits. We had only reservations for a hotel in Valencia, like tourists.

FHM: So how did you get into Spain?

Cristi: We went to a train station, where a French calauza offered to get us into Spain for 150 euros each. I accepted but my friends declined, they wanted to try by train. I went with the calauza and three strangers from the bus. We put our bags in his car and drove to a border crossing used by French and Spanish locals. We got out of his car before the border with little rucksacks. Nobody suspected us, there were no cops. The calauza followed with our bags, we met on the other side.

FHM: Success?

Cristi: Not quite. I took a train to Barca then a bus to Valencia, arriving at 1am. When I got off the bus my big bag had vanished. It belonged to my cousin and I did not want to lose it, so I grabbed a bag that looked like mine. I took a cab to the hotel and opened the bag. The clothes were better than the ones I had lost and fitted me well!

FHM: So you’re well dressed but unemployed. What next?

Cristi: We looked for work on building sites but we needed papers. We stayed 1 month in that hotel until a Romanian helped us rent a place in Castelleon. We moved there and after 6 weeks I got a job renovating and building houses. At weekends we’d go to Valencia for the beach, visit the zoo and stuff.

FHM: Did you save?

Cristi: Yes, my brother came too, we worked together, saved up and bought land outside Bucuresti, we hope to build a house.

FHM: Did you learn Spanish?

Cristi: In 3 months, on the street and watching TV!

FHM: Did you mix with locals?

Cristi: We Romanians tended to stick together. We would go bowling or play billiards. The Spanish preferred bars and nightclubs.

FHM: Did you hope to settle?
Cristi: No, I knew everything has a beginning and an end. After 5 years the crisis hit so I came home to learn to be a truck/bus driver.

FHM: How did you feel to be back in Romania?

Cristi: The traffic seemed aggressive. I prefer to drive properly, defensively.

In Spain it was a lot calmer.

FHM: What would you say to a young person who fancies working in Spain?

Cristi: It’s hard without good contacts. I would say: stay in school, education is important.

FHM: Did you go to bullfights?

Cristi: Beautiful!

FHM: Not violent?

Cristi: Not really, it’s a Spanish tradition, same as our Christmas pigs!

FHM: But Romanians kill the pig for food, not for sport.

Cristi: The Spanish eat the beef! Besides, bullrings provide jobs.

FHM: And Spanish cuisine?

Cristi: Excellent. I tried to cook seafood paella but it’s tricky.

FHM: How do you like your job in Romania?
Cristi: Awful traffic, bad drivers, no parking spaces for taxis, si politia sta pe capu nostru cu amenzile. Not enough clients, lots of stress. On Friday nights, when people go partying I must work. I have no choice, so I’m training to be a truck driver.

FHM: How is it going?

Cristi: I paid for my tuition but halfway through my instructor said we should stop because I was good enough. I was disappointed. He’s lazy. So, I told him that if I don’t feel confident about my test I’ll come back for more lessons, because he owes me. I’m 31, been driving 13 years, but a truck is not a car.

FHM: Would you try to bribe the police to pass your truck test?

Cristi: Never. Years ago, I failed my car test 3 times and passed on the 4^th attempt. But I would rather do that and be confident of my skills than to pay spaga, pass first time and have no skills.

FHM: So, your ambitions?

Cristi: To drive lorries around Europe, especially Spain – and to live in Romania, in a house I will build myself.

FHM: Marry a Spanish beauty?

Cristi: No,  because in Spain, the woman rules the roost, she wears the trousers. I would want a more equal relationship.

FHM: But isn’t it the same in Romania?

Cristi shrugs, smiles and sips his cold Coke.

This story first appeared in FHM Romania, Dec 2011, and reappears here by kind permission of SRC Sanoma Hearst Romania SRL