My Dinner with Ati

“My biggest value is my time,” Ati told me initially. I thought he was being trite. We all think this, or understand it on some level. But Ati lives it.

Ati’s meals are put together in 15 minutes, tops: A full plate of healthy food that’s always tasty. It’s eaten in 15. He hates washing dishes, as there’s a more elegant way to do it — that being a dishwasher — but that dishwasher isn’t in his kitchen and that must kill him. 

Ati’s shower dials are perfectly set, so you can turn on the shower and not waste precious seconds futzing with it. 

The washing machine is up and done in 15 minutes flat, just as you’re finishing your morning bowel movement. 

He’s got one tub for all your cut-up veggies, which keeps them fresh. One big bowl of bulgur, that’s your side for the next three days. Fresh bread is bought in bulk and frozen in chunks. He’s got a double-sided skillet that folds over, like a panini maker, which cooks your meat in half the time. 

Ati can often skip pleasantries; when it’s time to go, he simply says, “Ok,” and then disappears before you’ve turned around. Like Batman. 

The thing is, though, Ati isn’t regimented, nor frenzied. He’s efficient. There’s a complete difference. He’s taken the tasks that can eat at your day and has optimized them. This allows him to be generous with his time. 

Ati even had his son efficiently.

He first met his wife at his own photo exhibition. After a long relationship ended, Ati studied photography and spent a year traveling the world taking pictures — he spent three weeks in each country. After, his Mom suggested he set up a photo exhibition. “When my mom says something,” he said, “you can’t argue. Before you know it, she’s already talking to the next person, and it’s done, the conversation is over.” Ati didn’t want to go to the photo exhibition, but his Mom insisted. A woman came in, she was wearing the exact same shirt he was. 

They spent the next three weeks together, and then she was pregnant. “So if you ask how long we’ve been together,” he said, “take my son’s age, then add nine months and three weeks.”

**

I lived with Ati for one month. I posted on an expat group in Brasov (Romania) that I was looking for housing. He commented that his wife and son were back in Canada, he’s living alone and would love some company. The room has a private entrance, its own bathroom, and a desk that faces Brasov’s iconic Tâmpa Mountain. He posted his number and we spoke on video that day. 

Ati’s in his 60s. He’s a retired forest engineer and now works as a tour guide. He stayed in Romania to work on some projects, and would then join his family in Canada in the fall. For the room, he’s not really motivated by money, he said. He’s been a traveler, and he wants to help other travelers. If I enjoyed the stay, I could leave a donation, which he’d give to his teenage son.

I was slightly trepid. It was a bit of a funky arrangement after all, sharing a home with someone I’d met only through video. Yet something told me to go ahead.

Turned out, Ati was wary too.

He asked for a reference, plus links to my social media. This actually gave me comfort. But one morning he sent a lengthy message, sharing that he’d like a one-week trial; his time is his most valuable asset, he said, and he didn’t want to spend it with someone whose company he didn’t like. 

It was phrased very reasonably, but the notion caught me off-guard. I understood where he was coming from, but what about me? I’m visiting a country I’d never been to before. If it doesn’t work out, what do I do? 

“I’m sure we will get along,” the message read, “but I want to have this as an option.”

Fair enough. 

On my third day, I took Ati’s tour. He’s a remarkable tour guide and truly loves what he does. Afterward, I had a phone call scheduled with my Dad. 

I had an hour to kill. It was golden hour and I was already in Old Town, so my plan was to hang in the area, then find a bench and have our call. Yet something told me to take the call from home. It didn’t make sense; it was a glorious evening, I was still new and eager to explore. But I’ve learned to follow these hunches.

My Dad and I were chatting. All the sudden, I hear a noise from the bathroom. It sounded like water moving through the pipes, but much louder. 

I opened the door and water was gushing out of the wall. 

“Dad,” I said, “I’ll call you back.”

I started looking for the shut-off valve. My shirt was drenched in seconds. The bathroom, meanwhile, was filling up like the Titanic. I frantically called Ati, no answer. I took a picture and sent it to ChatGPT, who sent me a giant wall of text. I threw the phone in the room. 

I looked around the sink and finally saw it: a small plastic tile with a piece of tape attached, Main water valve (in English, no less). 

I twisted the valve and miraculously, the water stopped. 

The bathroom was flooded and I was soaked. Minutes later, the neighbor came up and asked what the hell was happening, as his pantry started flooding. He spoke English and I explained what happened. 

Ati got home thirty minutes later. He checked everything out. A small pipe spontaneously split open underneath the sink. We remarked how insanely miraculous my timing was. If I didn’t take that call from home, we said, his apartment would have been flooded, perhaps ruined.

“Whatever intuition you have that’s guiding you,” he said, “don’t lose it.”

I took it that I passed the one-week trial. 

Right before visiting Brasov, I expressed a desire: I want a health reset. Better eating, better sleeping, less drinking.

It was wild how the universe delivered. 

Some mornings, we’d take our speed walk to the mountain. We’d exercise on those free outdoor machines, then come back and eat eggs and cauliflower steak for breakfast. 

Other mornings were more charming. Ati loves home workouts, and would invite me to join. 

In his main study, he’s got a big TV. Instead of warming up with stretches, he loves to watch dance videos and mimic the moves. So on comes this Latin influencer with his gorgeous backup dancers, and for ten minutes, me and Ati, as unlikely a duo as you’ll see, are shaking our hips and cha-cha’ing around his living room. Then we’d do our squats and curls, then eat our breakfast. 

Speaking of, the food.

Ati almost lost his wife to cancer some years back. When she was diagnosed, he said that they completely upended their diet.

That meant pantries stocked with hemp seeds. Pumpkin seeds. Blueberry extract in powdered form. Loose-leaf teas. Pomegranate juice (for the prostate). Non-preservative ham. Weekly fish. Lentils. Non-alcoholic beer (“hops are good for you, alcohol isn’t”). Dark chocolate. Lemon water with chia seeds. And a whole lot more.

Ati taught me not only how to eat well, but how to shop. He doesn’t buy ingredients, he buys staples: fresh bread, potato salad, red bell peppers, frozen veggies, egg whites, protein packs, chicken thighs, organic turkey, tuna salad, pre-made falafel, etc. This helps you put meals together instead of always needing to prepare them. It also lets you mix and match so no two meals are ever the same. And given the nutritional value, it means having steady energy throughout the entire day.

We often ate our meals together. He’d cook, I’d clean. One of my last nights, he prepared a wonderful dinner and opened a bottle of Rosé. We said our cheers.

It felt great to eat so healthily and spend so little. But after three months of previously living alone — including a deeply isolating month in Georgia — it was Ati’s company that felt most nourishing.

**

When it was time to go, I was sad to leave. I loved this healthy lifestyle. I was off to Ireland with a friend, and knew it’d all go to pieces. 

Ati helped arrange transport to Bucharest airport. He made me a sandwich for the road, and also packed a fruit puree and protein drink. He walked me down and made sure I got off okay. As I got in the van, he stuck his hand out to shake goodbye. I gave him a hug. 

Less efficient, but that’s okay.