Everyone has that one friend that is filled with wisdom beyond their years. The kind of friend who cheers you on no matter the context, who can find beauty in simplicity, and can illuminate your heart and mind even when you feel you are lost in darkness. I was lucky enough to find this friend my freshman year of college.
My friend Athena is a wonderfully optimistic and grounded person. She is currently a graduate student in Hawaii, studying to get her masters in Psychology, so she can someday realize her dreams of becoming a world-class sex therapist. This is a friend I am proud to say I have. As time goes by and my 'business minded' brain begins to consider thoughts outside the realm of interest rates and yield curves, I'm beginning to think she was put into my life for a reason. I'm beginning to think that my friendship with her has given me the tools I need to get through the toughest of days (and weeks...and months) I have here in Moldova.
I have had more "ah-ha" moments with her than anyone I know. Everyone knows those moments I'm talking about, where the light bulb goes off in your mind and suddenly it just 'makes sense'. I don't know if maybe I'm just slower at maturing into these realizations, but I credit her for jump starting my 'thought engine' and making me consider new ideas about how to experience life.
One of my more profound memories of our friendship was late one night. We had been talking for awhile about an assortment of different topics, nothing of grave importance, probably classes, or boys, or the lack of selection at the dining hall that night, but somehow we got on the topic of 'the future'. I remember telling her that I didn't think my life had followed the 'normal' path and that I just wanted my life to be 'normal' in the eyes of the on-looker. I remember her responding without hesitation; 'Why would you want your life to be normal? You aren't bound for normal, you are supposed to live a life that is different. It shouldn't be normal, it should be special.' I hadn't considered living outside the 'norm' before, I was an economics major, I like capitalism, I liked conformity, it was where my comfort lay. This was an early conversation in our friendship, I think it was probably a spark that started the concentrated fire within me.
Over the next four years we stayed close friends. We both had our own lives, she excelled as an RA (obviously) and later as an assistant hall director. But through it all we made sure to keep our friendship strong. Each year she taught me something new, each year she (perhaps unknowingly) helped me grow into a stronger person. Senior year she put the finishing touches on me, makes me sound like a class project, her sprinkling a bit of her 'Athena glitter' on me. I know how she feels about some of the relationships in her life, I definitely don't want to be put into the ebb and flow category, I have told her I can't be washed to sea, she is stuck with me. Her glitter is the ability to see beauty in everything. She can find it in the most unexpected of places, watching a caterpillar crawling along a table, the taste of an excellent hot chocolate, the wind whistling through a tree...I could go on. Stopping to notice the little things, this was her final lesson for me. This has been one of the most important lessons I have carried with me to my Peace Corps service.
These past couple of weeks have been tough for me. Finding my footing and mixing myself into the grain of society has been more of a challenge than I originally thought. The feeling of homesickness has loomed in my mind every moment. People back home remind me of 'how proud they are of me' and how 'I shouldn't worry because I am strong and it will get better'. Those are some hollow words when you are actually here. The feeling of being isolated and alone, while also feeling on-display is a hard sort of mixture to understand. After these conversations the person on the other end gets to turn off their computer and give my Peace Corps experience a romanticized hardship. These emotions are also followed closely by guilt. Life here isn't physically demanding, and I have access to a hot shower and high speed internet. Often I am confused by why I am complaining, spoiled American.
What has gotten me through so far? Besides the support and friendship of other volunteers, I have taken a stance to actively notice the little things. A bad day can be completely turned around if I am able to see and realize the perfect imperfection in my surroundings. The other day I was in a bad mood, I couldn't pin point the exact reason but nothing was going 'my way'. I had stopped at five different shops in town looking for cheese to make my lunch, none of them had cheese, this seemed to be the final straw. I begrudgingly made my way home thinking about the cereal I would be eating for the second time that day. As I walked, I listened to a mix I had titled 'happy music', I was going to try my best to not let my bad mood take me down. The awesome U2 song 'Beautiful Day' came on, I found myself singing along, throwing up a little prayer that maybe my day would turn around. As I crossed my narrow concrete bridge and marched up the trail I saw a piece of white paper on the ground. I thought to myself 'big surprise, someone throwing their garbage wherever is convenient', but as I passed the piece of paper I realized a heart had been cut out of the paper. This was my sign. A few steps further and there the white paper heart lay. I stopped, on the path, staring down at this dirty white heart. This was my sign, this was what I had been waiting for. I picked up the paper heart, it had dirty foot prints on it but I didn't care. I tucked it into my bag and continued my walk home. My day had turned around. This silly piece of paper had been exactly what I needed. Somehow, I felt like everything was going to be okay. I walked into the first shop near my house with a new sort of hope, maybe they would have my product. No, all out. I had one more chance, one more store to check. I walked the couple of blocks down to the store. I saw from a block away the sign that said closed. I couldn't believe my luck, I wanted to pretend I was reading it wrong, maybe it's open, maybe I'm just really that bad at Romanian. I walked up and tried the door, locked. I took a deep breath and thought about my paper heart. I turned back to my house and tried to remind myself of how unexpected and perfect the paper heart had been. I won't lie, I was still a little annoyed, I couldn't eat the paper heart, I wanted the damn cheese. I had walked about a hundred feet when I heard a lady behind me yelling 'lady'. I turned around, it was the shop keeper, she was coming back from her lunch to open the shop. I walked into the shop and asked if she had cheese. She did. I happily carried my bag home and made a delicious lunch. This day had turned around. This little white heart brought light to my week.
These are the sorts of moments that I love about the Peace Corps. I thank Athena for helping me to recognize when something so small can be so wonderful. Hope can wash over you when you least expect it. It is our job to recognize it and cherish it as special.
My little white paper heart. A true piece of peace.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Open the barn doors: I'm taking friend applications
Moldova is a country of many unique and interesting attributes. One of these interesting attributes is the high rate of population migration to big cities in surrounding countries. The reasoning for this is simple, substantially greater money can be made in other countries. This leads to a high rate of GDP coming from remittances (the sending of money from one country to the recipient in another country). This sort of foreign dependence is seen all around the world; we in the US have our own issues with foreign dependence, most countries show a form of dependence, but all forms differ. This trend of working in foreign countries leads to a high rate of young people leaving the country for University and not returning until they are raising a family.
How does all of this affect me? Well, I consider myself to be a relatively social person and given the lack of people my own age at my site, I have resorted to befriending many people I wouldn't have considered in the US. These people include, the older people in my community, the ladies at the shop near my house, and the few kids I pass on my way to work. I don't mind this random assortment of acquaintances. They are all wonderfully hospitable and usually show some sort of interest in me and my background. All of these 'new friends' still don't fill the void I feel being away from everyone I know and love, and so I resort to some pretty entertaining measures to keep myself amused.
Now, if you know me well this will be an eye-roll-nod-of-head moment. If for some reason this blog has attracted readers who don't know me--please don't judge, I promise I'm not crazy (and hey, thanks for reading!).
Like I mentioned in earlier posts, I pass many animals on my way to work. In the majority, these animals include geese, goats and chickens. I have made my morning walk into a sort of game. It entertains the pants off me. I have provided the three different animals with different roles. The geese speak English, the goats speak Romanian, and the chickens speak Russian. I know, I know, I sound crazy. Don't judge, it's pretty fun for a bored peace corps volunteer.
So, every morning on my way to work I wish the geese a 'good morning'. I usually follow this with something witty like -'all your feathers look good today ladies, bravo'- usually their response is that goose quack that sounds a lot like laughing (they totally get my humor). The goats I wish a 'bună dimineaţa'. Sometimes followed by a 'ce faci', I usually get no response, sometimes they will look up acknowledge I'm there and quickly go back to grazing. I have begun to expect being ignored when I speak in Romanian. The chickens are an entirely different story. The chickens and I are rarely on speaking terms. I don't know Russian and these chickens don't know English. Sometimes, if I have woken up on the wrong side of the bed and am feeling especially snappy I will say something along the lines of - 'I'm going to eat your cousin tonight for dinner'- not particularly original, but they ignore me anyways. So, these are my make-believe friends, because well, I like to talk, and if I can't talk to people I turn to the animals.
If you had asked me a year ago what I thought my social life would be, I don't think I would have guessed my current situation. A 22 year old; talking to barn yard animals, staying at home after nightfall and having the highlight of her weekend be skyping with her Dad (Not that you aren't awesome, old man). Oh well, welcome to life as a PCV in Moldova.
Peace
How does all of this affect me? Well, I consider myself to be a relatively social person and given the lack of people my own age at my site, I have resorted to befriending many people I wouldn't have considered in the US. These people include, the older people in my community, the ladies at the shop near my house, and the few kids I pass on my way to work. I don't mind this random assortment of acquaintances. They are all wonderfully hospitable and usually show some sort of interest in me and my background. All of these 'new friends' still don't fill the void I feel being away from everyone I know and love, and so I resort to some pretty entertaining measures to keep myself amused.
Now, if you know me well this will be an eye-roll-nod-of-head moment. If for some reason this blog has attracted readers who don't know me--please don't judge, I promise I'm not crazy (and hey, thanks for reading!).
Like I mentioned in earlier posts, I pass many animals on my way to work. In the majority, these animals include geese, goats and chickens. I have made my morning walk into a sort of game. It entertains the pants off me. I have provided the three different animals with different roles. The geese speak English, the goats speak Romanian, and the chickens speak Russian. I know, I know, I sound crazy. Don't judge, it's pretty fun for a bored peace corps volunteer.
So, every morning on my way to work I wish the geese a 'good morning'. I usually follow this with something witty like -'all your feathers look good today ladies, bravo'- usually their response is that goose quack that sounds a lot like laughing (they totally get my humor). The goats I wish a 'bună dimineaţa'. Sometimes followed by a 'ce faci', I usually get no response, sometimes they will look up acknowledge I'm there and quickly go back to grazing. I have begun to expect being ignored when I speak in Romanian. The chickens are an entirely different story. The chickens and I are rarely on speaking terms. I don't know Russian and these chickens don't know English. Sometimes, if I have woken up on the wrong side of the bed and am feeling especially snappy I will say something along the lines of - 'I'm going to eat your cousin tonight for dinner'- not particularly original, but they ignore me anyways. So, these are my make-believe friends, because well, I like to talk, and if I can't talk to people I turn to the animals.
If you had asked me a year ago what I thought my social life would be, I don't think I would have guessed my current situation. A 22 year old; talking to barn yard animals, staying at home after nightfall and having the highlight of her weekend be skyping with her Dad (Not that you aren't awesome, old man). Oh well, welcome to life as a PCV in Moldova.
Peace
Friday, September 9, 2011
The sun has set on the sunflowers
Moldova is well known for it's sunflowers. The country is filled with these flowers. The range and scope of this, one of their primary exports, is wide. It is not uncommon to find them nestled in gardens bearing just a few of the majestic stems, while conversely vast fields full of the yellow flowers are found all over this small country. In summer one doesn't have to walk far to find these flowers.
Luckily for me, the sunflower is probably my favorite flower. They are big, and bright, and have 'sun' in the name. That's a happy flower, if you ask me. In the heat of summer the saving grace of many of my 'rutiera' rides (as mentioned earlier, these are the vans the shuttle people throughout all of Moldova) was the view of these fields, rushing by my window, creating a storybook-like yellow blur.
Now that the weather has begun to cool, and the most temperature sensitive crops have come and gone, we enter the season of fall. I love fall, nothing better than a long walk on a cool afternoon, munching an apple and enjoying the colors of the leaves about to fall from the trees. With fall comes the end of sunflower season.
In the US we import nearly everything we consume. This is a pretty well accepted statement. And so, I hate to admit it, but I have only ever seen sunflower seeds in the cute little pouches one buys at the grocery store. At Shaws, one can buy them in fun flavors or 'classic salted', great for a day at a baseball game or a BBQ.
My ignorance of the lineage of the sunflower seed all changed this week. On Wednesday I was sitting outside munching on my lunch of crushed sauteed vegetables and bread, when I heard what sounded like a hammer hitting a paperback book. I asked host mom 'what's going on over at the neighbors house'. She didn't need to look before responding 'sunflowers'. I gave her my oh-I-have-never-seen-that-before look, mixed with my I-would-really-like-to-go-help/watch-what-is-happening-because-I'm-an-ignorant-American look. She gave me her I'm-busy-right-now-I'm-going-to-ignore-your-look-because-I-don't-have-time-for-this look. And so, the subject was dropped and I returned to my lunch.
I had forgotten about it by Thursday when she came to my room and said 'let's go'. I often don't know where we are going, but I trust her, so I get up and put on a sweatshirt. We walk to the neighbors house and sure enough I find my answer to the question I had posed a day earlier. A pile, my knee high, of sunflower seeds had been whacked out of sunflowers. Both the women sitting at the pile had a glove on one had and a block of wood in the other. I was quickly escorted to a stool and handed a fancy mallet with a hand grip that had been carved in. I was wearing sports shorts which were deemed inappropriate for the work (now I understood why host mom had told me to put on pants, and I didn't listen...typical of me). A bolt of fabric, once a skirt, was tucked around my waste and into the back of my shorts. I watched as the baba (grandma) sat with her feet fully submerged in the seeds, like sitting in a sand pile at the beach, hammering away at these sunflowers.
I decided this was fun. I grabbed the biggest sunflower I could find and started whacking away. I got a few funny looks from the baba, but no one complained because the seeds were falling out-- and that is the point. After smacking away at a few flowers my arm began to feel fatigued, and the glamor of the simplicity of this new experience began to wear off. Host mom kept looking over and asking if I was tired. Of course I responded 'no', I wasn't going to let some old baba beat me at sunflower seed shucking. Yes, that was childish of me, but I really will do anything for a competition, whether my competitors know who they are, or not. So, there we sat for the next couple of hours smacking sunflowers until the all the sacks had been emptied, all the flowers had been de-seeded and all the light had drained from the sky.
Later, as I got ready for bed a few seeds dropped out of my pony tail. They weren't 'a fun flavor' or 'classic salted' but they tasted fresh, and natural. It was a simple way to finish my day.
I will miss the yellow.
Luckily for me, the sunflower is probably my favorite flower. They are big, and bright, and have 'sun' in the name. That's a happy flower, if you ask me. In the heat of summer the saving grace of many of my 'rutiera' rides (as mentioned earlier, these are the vans the shuttle people throughout all of Moldova) was the view of these fields, rushing by my window, creating a storybook-like yellow blur.
Now that the weather has begun to cool, and the most temperature sensitive crops have come and gone, we enter the season of fall. I love fall, nothing better than a long walk on a cool afternoon, munching an apple and enjoying the colors of the leaves about to fall from the trees. With fall comes the end of sunflower season.
In the US we import nearly everything we consume. This is a pretty well accepted statement. And so, I hate to admit it, but I have only ever seen sunflower seeds in the cute little pouches one buys at the grocery store. At Shaws, one can buy them in fun flavors or 'classic salted', great for a day at a baseball game or a BBQ.
My ignorance of the lineage of the sunflower seed all changed this week. On Wednesday I was sitting outside munching on my lunch of crushed sauteed vegetables and bread, when I heard what sounded like a hammer hitting a paperback book. I asked host mom 'what's going on over at the neighbors house'. She didn't need to look before responding 'sunflowers'. I gave her my oh-I-have-never-seen-that-before look, mixed with my I-would-really-like-to-go-help/watch-what-is-happening-because-I'm-an-ignorant-American look. She gave me her I'm-busy-right-now-I'm-going-to-ignore-your-look-because-I-don't-have-time-for-this look. And so, the subject was dropped and I returned to my lunch.
I had forgotten about it by Thursday when she came to my room and said 'let's go'. I often don't know where we are going, but I trust her, so I get up and put on a sweatshirt. We walk to the neighbors house and sure enough I find my answer to the question I had posed a day earlier. A pile, my knee high, of sunflower seeds had been whacked out of sunflowers. Both the women sitting at the pile had a glove on one had and a block of wood in the other. I was quickly escorted to a stool and handed a fancy mallet with a hand grip that had been carved in. I was wearing sports shorts which were deemed inappropriate for the work (now I understood why host mom had told me to put on pants, and I didn't listen...typical of me). A bolt of fabric, once a skirt, was tucked around my waste and into the back of my shorts. I watched as the baba (grandma) sat with her feet fully submerged in the seeds, like sitting in a sand pile at the beach, hammering away at these sunflowers.
I decided this was fun. I grabbed the biggest sunflower I could find and started whacking away. I got a few funny looks from the baba, but no one complained because the seeds were falling out-- and that is the point. After smacking away at a few flowers my arm began to feel fatigued, and the glamor of the simplicity of this new experience began to wear off. Host mom kept looking over and asking if I was tired. Of course I responded 'no', I wasn't going to let some old baba beat me at sunflower seed shucking. Yes, that was childish of me, but I really will do anything for a competition, whether my competitors know who they are, or not. So, there we sat for the next couple of hours smacking sunflowers until the all the sacks had been emptied, all the flowers had been de-seeded and all the light had drained from the sky.
Later, as I got ready for bed a few seeds dropped out of my pony tail. They weren't 'a fun flavor' or 'classic salted' but they tasted fresh, and natural. It was a simple way to finish my day.
I will miss the yellow.
Friday, September 2, 2011
--breakthrough!
Well, I have been in my new home for almost a month now. I have settled into my routine. Gotten used to my new living space, my new work space and my new community. I live solely with my host mom, and so, this is an extremely important relationship to foster. As time has gone by we have slowly begun to feel normal and at ease around each other. This is a HUGE feat for me. I wasn't sure what I was going to do if we were unable to understand each other. Luckily, our living together has recently lead to a --breakthrough!
Living with a host family is very unlike any sort of situation I have been put into before. Yes, I lived with my family, they had no choice but to love me. Yes, I lived with roommates but they were often friends and we stayed, for the most part, out of each others decisions. This situation is different. No, we aren't required to love each other or become best of friends (though I could always use another friend), but we are required to create a happy coexsistance where we can both live comfortably with one another. And so, we return to elementary school, and the golden rule to any relationship: communication.
Now, I'm no language pro, and I don't mean to sound boastful, but when it comes to speaking I consider myself above adequate. Articulation of what needs to be said comes naturally. I just say it. Since arrival in Moldova my world has been toppled on its head. My language is now the level of a slow 5 year old. This makes for a challenge when you are trying to seamlessly integrate into your 'new family' as a 22 year old who can't create simple sentences let alone complex ones. Yes, facial expressions help, and let me tell you I know how to make an expression BUT, at the end of the day a big smile or a look of confusion doesn't explain how I am truly feeling or what I would like to be saying. This has lead to much aggravation for me and the people surrounding me.
The breakthrough came yesterday. Host mom was getting sick of looking at my wrinkled clothes so she decided it was time to do a bit of ironing. After deeming my ironing less than adequate I found myself standing in the kitchen watching her ironing my pants. I won't lie, as a 22 year old woman I found it hard to watch someone else ironing my pants, when I am perfectly capable. Setting aside my pride, I decided to stick around and watch, who knows maybe I could learn a thing or two from Mama G.
After talking about the normal pleasantries, work, friends and the like, she began to tell me more about her family. There we were, swapping stories about our families. In the course of our conversation I was invited to both a wedding and a baptism. Who would have thought while ironing we would reach a --breakthrough!
I have even begun to throw in some of my own humor. Though my language isn't good enough to spurt off jokes quite yet, I can still get a giggle out of her from time to time. We were using a steam iron, one that you press a button for water. When she finally decided to give me another chance at the iron I used the opportunity to use the iron as a squirt gun and hit her with some of the water. Win, she laughed-- breakthrough!
Later we walked to the store to buy food for dinner...and sweets for desert. While we walked she told me she hoped I would have guests come to visit. I told her that my family might come during Christmas time. She looked at me entirely straight faced and said; "Yes, but how will we communicate?". I told her by Christmas time I would speak well enough to communicate. She laughed and said "Maybe, if the dictionary becomes your brother." She is funny too, this will work--breakthrough!
It was a good day. We covered a lot of ground. I felt more connected to her, and by default my community. I'm certainly not changing the world but this country is definitely changing mine. And you know what I call that, a --breakthrough!
Living with a host family is very unlike any sort of situation I have been put into before. Yes, I lived with my family, they had no choice but to love me. Yes, I lived with roommates but they were often friends and we stayed, for the most part, out of each others decisions. This situation is different. No, we aren't required to love each other or become best of friends (though I could always use another friend), but we are required to create a happy coexsistance where we can both live comfortably with one another. And so, we return to elementary school, and the golden rule to any relationship: communication.
Now, I'm no language pro, and I don't mean to sound boastful, but when it comes to speaking I consider myself above adequate. Articulation of what needs to be said comes naturally. I just say it. Since arrival in Moldova my world has been toppled on its head. My language is now the level of a slow 5 year old. This makes for a challenge when you are trying to seamlessly integrate into your 'new family' as a 22 year old who can't create simple sentences let alone complex ones. Yes, facial expressions help, and let me tell you I know how to make an expression BUT, at the end of the day a big smile or a look of confusion doesn't explain how I am truly feeling or what I would like to be saying. This has lead to much aggravation for me and the people surrounding me.
The breakthrough came yesterday. Host mom was getting sick of looking at my wrinkled clothes so she decided it was time to do a bit of ironing. After deeming my ironing less than adequate I found myself standing in the kitchen watching her ironing my pants. I won't lie, as a 22 year old woman I found it hard to watch someone else ironing my pants, when I am perfectly capable. Setting aside my pride, I decided to stick around and watch, who knows maybe I could learn a thing or two from Mama G.
After talking about the normal pleasantries, work, friends and the like, she began to tell me more about her family. There we were, swapping stories about our families. In the course of our conversation I was invited to both a wedding and a baptism. Who would have thought while ironing we would reach a --breakthrough!
I have even begun to throw in some of my own humor. Though my language isn't good enough to spurt off jokes quite yet, I can still get a giggle out of her from time to time. We were using a steam iron, one that you press a button for water. When she finally decided to give me another chance at the iron I used the opportunity to use the iron as a squirt gun and hit her with some of the water. Win, she laughed-- breakthrough!
Later we walked to the store to buy food for dinner...and sweets for desert. While we walked she told me she hoped I would have guests come to visit. I told her that my family might come during Christmas time. She looked at me entirely straight faced and said; "Yes, but how will we communicate?". I told her by Christmas time I would speak well enough to communicate. She laughed and said "Maybe, if the dictionary becomes your brother." She is funny too, this will work--breakthrough!
It was a good day. We covered a lot of ground. I felt more connected to her, and by default my community. I'm certainly not changing the world but this country is definitely changing mine. And you know what I call that, a --breakthrough!
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Over the river and through the woods: A morning commute in Falesti
As a new Peace Corps volunteer I am very aware of the differences between my new home and the one I recently left. Some of the magic of Peace Corps is the opportunity to begin anew, even the most mundane routines we all performed on autopilot at home, are now entirely new. It's exciting, it's scary, it's wonderful. It has become as 'real' as it can get.
This includes, but is not limited to, the morning commute. Now, in the US it was simple. Hop in car, drive for 35 minutes, perhaps stop at Dunkin' Doughnuts to grab a coffee, arrive at cubicle, work, drive home. What we know as a lather, rinse, repeat sort of schedule. My commute here in Moldova is slightly different from what I new as 'typical' back home.
In Moldova I leave my house and venture out into my community, I live on the opposite side of town, and the walk takes about 20-30 minutes (depending on weather). I exit my community, cross a main road and enter a small forest. --through the woods-- Here I will see, on a daily basis, flocks of geese and chickens, goats out to pasture, and one big cow. This is a far cry from the radio-show I listened to only a few months ago. On occasion I will pass another person, but this is rare for the first half of my walk. In order to exit the woods I cross a stream. --Over the river-- I come from a state filled with covered bridges, quaint New England, you know the type. This is a long narrow cement slab. I am already nervous to cross it with another person, I can't imagine what winter has in store for me. After making it this far the rest of the journey is a breeze. I wind my way through a few dirt roads leading up to the center of town, walk down main street, and bam-- I'm at the office for another day of work.
This is just one small example of the many new adjustments the newest volunteers of Peace Corps Moldova experience during our first weeks, our first months and our first 365 days of peace and friendship.
This includes, but is not limited to, the morning commute. Now, in the US it was simple. Hop in car, drive for 35 minutes, perhaps stop at Dunkin' Doughnuts to grab a coffee, arrive at cubicle, work, drive home. What we know as a lather, rinse, repeat sort of schedule. My commute here in Moldova is slightly different from what I new as 'typical' back home.
In Moldova I leave my house and venture out into my community, I live on the opposite side of town, and the walk takes about 20-30 minutes (depending on weather). I exit my community, cross a main road and enter a small forest. --through the woods-- Here I will see, on a daily basis, flocks of geese and chickens, goats out to pasture, and one big cow. This is a far cry from the radio-show I listened to only a few months ago. On occasion I will pass another person, but this is rare for the first half of my walk. In order to exit the woods I cross a stream. --Over the river-- I come from a state filled with covered bridges, quaint New England, you know the type. This is a long narrow cement slab. I am already nervous to cross it with another person, I can't imagine what winter has in store for me. After making it this far the rest of the journey is a breeze. I wind my way through a few dirt roads leading up to the center of town, walk down main street, and bam-- I'm at the office for another day of work.
This is just one small example of the many new adjustments the newest volunteers of Peace Corps Moldova experience during our first weeks, our first months and our first 365 days of peace and friendship.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)