Mary Douglas has famously illustrated how hygiene rules can play a role in the symbolic maintenance of boundaries (Douglas 1966). As she argued, ideas of dirt should be seen as an expression of a groupÕs system of symbols, reflecting shared classifications and ideas of order (idem). What kind of boundaries are therefore hosts and their guests trying to assert? We can find the answer by looking at a number of studies that focus on postsocialist changes in Romanian society, which reveal that the preoccupation with cleanliness is far from being confined to the tourist-host encounter. Researching domestic material culture in the town of Suceava, Drazin described how cleaning practices are part of a process of Ôreinterpretation of the past, through rejection of certain elementsÕ (Drazin 2002:103). According to him, the emergence of new ideas
of hygiene in a postsocialist Romanian society can be linked with peopleÕs increased access to a globalised market, offering a rich variety of cleaning products (106), as well as to their exposure to the new aesthetic standards for home decoration promoted by the media (107)96. The contemporary desirable home boasts spacious interiors covered with
parquet, rather than carpets, and with furniture that is free of any adorning cloths. There is a strong contrast with the preferences of older generations who had a tendency to keep all possible surfaces of floors and furniture covered97
. In this context, the younger generation rejects the material culture of the older one by associating it with an image of dirt and clutter (121). Easier to clean, the new interiors are linked to ideas of efficiency and they are also evidence of a householdÕs successful participation in the market (116). An inability to reproduce these consumption patterns in their own households gives people a sense of failure (Kideckel 2010:144).
Cleanliness ideals go beyond the domestic order. As Kideckel observed, a new material culture of labour emerged in postsocialist Romania and what is promoted now, particularly in the media, are Ôimages of ÒcleanÓ work with the help of technologyÕ (Kideckel 2010:75). Workers and peasants have limited access to such valued jobs and they must find alternative ways of asserting their claims to desirable social identities. Showing a concern with domestic hygiene can be one way of achieving this and Kideckel described most of the apartments of miners and factory workers that he visited as ÔimpeccableÕ (145). Similarly, in rural areas from Oltenia98, Mihăilescu observed
villagersÕ interest in home improvements and garden amenities such as gazebos and cradles. This was coupled with a growing dislike of farm animals, linked to dirt and backwardness (2011:45). Mihăilescu explains how the household can be seen as the main stage for displaying new identities of modernity and success (idem). The same conclusion is supported by IancăuÕs research on village architecture in Apuseni (2013) and MoisaÕs study of the houses built by migrants in Certeze, which are found to be important status symbols and material proof of success (2011b).
Current notions of achievement and their aesthetic and material expressions must be placed in their historic context and all of these authors find continuity with processes started in the socialist period. First, as the industrialisation and urbanisations projects triggered intense urban to rural migration, life in an urban block of flats became a sign of achievement for many former villagers (Tudora 2009:54). Building regulations
96 Although Drazin does admit that at a more symbolic level, cleanliness has always been associated with
progress, even in the socialist period (Drazin 2002:122).
97
Drazin presents a detailed description of one such household (2002:117).
for rural areas also followed an urbanising trend and required people to build houses with at least one floor above the ground (Mihăilescu 2011:40). Second, the restricted freedom and the scarcity that characterised the communist regime, particularly during its last decade, turned the household into the main refuge for most Romanians (Moisa 2011b: 50). For many urbanites life in a block of flats proved disappointing, particularly as Ceaușescu implemented his ÔsavingsÕ policy by limiting heating and hot water (Tudora 2009:54). Consequently, in postsocialist Romania, the image of the ideal home became a villa in the suburb (idem). As TudoraÕs interviews with Bucharest residents show, the inspiration for the new homes comes from the ÔWestern bourgeoisie houseÕ (56). It is interesting to note TudoraÕs finding that the old houses in Bucharest, often deteriorated and in need of repair, were contrasted to the aesthetically pleasing ÔnewÕ architecture of the suburban villa, and rejected as ÔoldÕ, ÔuglyÕ, or ÔdirtyÕ (58). Since the nouveau riche were the first to move to the suburb in the new villas, these houses became a symbol of social status and economic accomplishment (57-59). Tudora concludes that her respondents, both architects and lay people, share a sort of ÔÒaesthetic confusionÓ [É] whereby beautiful is synonymous with big or clean, while ugly is synonymous with small or dirtyÕ (62). Turning to rural areas, Iancău observed how villagers tried to make a break with a past of being subordinate and marginal, by emulating an urban style in their housing choices:
For locals, to live in a traditional house was equivalent to being a peasant, which automatically positioned them as inferior to the townsÕ people. The urban taste is a step towards Western modernity, where there are no more peasants. A mechanically worked garden, a courtyard designed as a public garden and a large house equipped with bathroom, double glazed plastic frame widows and new types of decorations are the way to succeed in climbing the social ladder (Iancău 2010:77).
Indeed, in Bran and Moieciu hosts see the constant refurbishing of their guesthouses in order to please tourists, in terms of an evolution. Some owners explained to me that more demands are normal, since Ôlife evolvesÕ.
Of course demands are growing because everyday life evolves, no? So do we, no? We eveolve, itÕs normal that deamands grow and that you make, every year, obviously, a space for relaxation and spending the free time. Here in the
guesthouse that I made I have a conference room, a relaxation area, a sauna, a pool table, a gym (Rodica Iancu, guesthouse owner, Bran).
This evolution depends on distancing oneÕs self from the peasant and farming economy of the past by displaying a tidy garden and providing clean, modern accommodation. Part of this symbolic delineation of boundaries meant that many villagers relocated their stables out of the touristsÕ sight or renounced their farming activities completely.
We had the household99 but after making... bit by bit they [i.e. her children] tore
down stables and all [laughing]. Yes, after making the guesthouse, [they said] that it smells, that I donÕt know what, that itÕs no good [...] We didnÕt even keep a pig anymore, nor chicken because they make a mess, and like this, we were ÔhouseholdersÕ, and we ÔunhouseholdedÕ ourselves (am fost gospodari și ne-am desgospodărit) (Maria Matei, guesthouse owner, Moieciu).
When villagers talk about their farming, they often make references to the dirt and the manure involved in their work. At the same time, most tourists want to avoid ÔdirtyÕ sights and some of their reviews show that they were bothered by intrusions from the farm animals in the form of smell or manure found on an alleged football field. The boundary being set here is between a ÔbackwardÕ messy countryside and a ÔcleanÕ, ÔcivilisedÕ and aestheticised modern rurality. The disorder and apparent ÔdirtÕ of a local farm is not compatible with touristsÕ idyllic gaze of the countryside. TouristsÕ main focus, however, remains the indoors. Although it is highly unlikely that their own homes are always impeccably clean, with furnishings that show no signs of wear and tear, they demand this from their holiday accommodation in the countryside.