working in Romania

So I failed to write the past three weeks or so because there is no high-speed internet at home. Honestly, I felt nothing when my Alitalia place took off from JFK, maybe a tremendous and tremendously hidden fear that I won't really feel at home back home. I have forgotten what it's like to live in developing country and I never made a living here, I never worked for someone, except my own expoitative family ( just joking, trying to contribute to my mother's small business is not by far exploitation on her part).
So here I was in the middle of Easter, one of the holiest orthodox holidays, in my uncle's car through the holes of transition. I felt diffrently the minute we landed in Milano; a bunch of obvious Romanians invaded the atmosphere. No matter where they go, they have this quality of making everything look aggravating. Maybe it's just my perception. I really do love my people but sometimes they just seem made out of a rough stone. To put it mildly. They get the shiniest, cleanest, wackiest clothes and accessories when they step out of a plane in Bucharest so they impress the potential audience. But inside, within, nothing is changed. It's hard to change after a certain age, indeed, and I suppose it will take at least one more generation to have more occidental people.
Fast forward 2 weeks. I am at work, it's 10 pm and I am still at work waiting for a producer to come and tell me about what I have to do tomorrow. I don't really know why I have to stay so long really. Useless. So, not-so-funny gal found a job. Not just any job but something she thought she always wanted to do. Ehey. Production. So more than smoking, drinking coffees and cokes and some occasional Garronne, there is not much going on here in the afternoon. Well, the basic activity is talking on the phone and finding items for shoots. Research. Some sort of journlistic research. It was exciting, today I almost posed in a journalist at press department at the Ministry of the Environment. I say almost because at the end when the guy who actually seemed nice and helpful asked me who I was and where I worked, I couldn't help telling him the truth.
The biggest story so far is a monkey I've been looking for since yesterday. Are there no primates in this city? Well, I guess a wee bee too many to count for one.
I wish I could go to bed now. But I am still at work. Advertising is hard children. Like the inscription on the gate of hell in Dante's Inferno " You who pass these gates leave behind all hope." Or smth like that