Trail of the Pipes

In the eastern European country of Romania, big metallic creatures cross the land in silence. They are the pipes that transport hot water and heating to the inhabitants of the place. But they don’t just heat up the home of the ordinary citizen that pays the bills at each end of the month; they also serve some of the most unfortunate of the society.In the city of Oradea, man and pipe have been living alongside each other since the 60’s when the power station was build. The power station supplies the area with electric energy and its by-product is the thermal energy that gets transported in and out the city trough this network of pipes. I went back to follow once again these pipes that, in the early years of my life, use to guide my way to school. I found they haven’t change much, only now they look smaller to me. Some of them have been abandoned and are now in a state of slow decay resembling an unfinished sculpture. If asked, the ordi-nary citizen will say that they are ugly and unaesthetic, but their relationship has always been a love and hate struggle. They are vital to the delivery of basic utilities, but they also attract a part of the marginalized: the homeless. They use these pipes as the only way to warm up in the cold nights. Some of them leave piles of rubbish behind them, some build cardboard walls to have some privacy, some are just occasional visitors. Whether an ordinary citizen that pays the bills to maintain these pipes or an unfortunate creature just trying to stay warm, you can’t escape this red of steamy snakes.

Trail of the Pipes

by Emanuela Chis

Vobiscum

În cercul lumii comun şi avar...Mă zguduie de mult un plâns intern;Şi-acest fel (de-a fi) va fi eternŞi de nimic, pe lume, nu tresar.

... Dar vai, acei învinşi, pe veci pierduţi...Ori în taverne, ori în mansarde;Şi acei nebuni, rătăcitori, tăcuţi,Gesticulând pe bulevarde...

George Bacovia

Vobiscum

In the common and miserly circle of the world ... I’ve been shaken for a wile by an internal weeping; And this way (of being) will be eternally And nothing, in the world, makes me jump,

... But alas, the ones defeated, lost forever ... Whether in taverns, whether in attics; And those crazy, wandering, silent, Gesturing on boulevards ...

George Bacovia