Being here, in Moldova, not speaking much of the language, one would think it would be quiet. This could not be farther from the truth. Ever since I tearfully hugged my dad good bye at the airport my internal voice has not shut up. In college when you study too hard for too long, you give yourself a headache, similar situation. Inside I am babbling away. --'Oh, that's interesting' 'What is the word for how....what is it?' 'That village sounds pretty, I will have to visit' 'Oh man, I have to go to the bathroom again' 'What's the word for before' 'Stop forgetting, the ch makes the qe sound' 'If that dog attacked my right now, I would probably be the most delicious meal it has ever had' 'I think I will try to give myself a stomach ache on fresh strawberries tonight' 'What is the phrase 'No thank you, it is delicious but I am full'' --on and on it goes. Maybe before I spoke too much, maybe now I can't speak enough, maybe I'm going crazy. Who knows? Peace Corps Training (PST) is certainley not the place to find 'the peace and quiet' you have always dreamed of.
This being said it isn't necessairy a bad thing. I think my internal self is keeping my external self safe...and sane. When I find myself in a situation where I am uncomfortable I try to think of a funny Friends line to diffuse the situation. No one else will know why I am giggling to myself, but it works for me.
Often when it is quiet, to cut the silence, I whistle. Both, concious and unconciously, I tweet little diddys. Luckily for me this is one of the customs in Moldova that starkly contrasts with that of the US. At home it is completely fair game to whistle, wherever. This is not the case in Moldova. In Moldova whistling in a home, a school, or really any structure with four walls and a roof is meant to wish ill financial future to the other people in the space. Excellent. Didn't take me long to unknowingly wish this upon my new host family. When the language trainer heard me whistling one day she told me to stop. I thought she was just being grumpy, but sure enough, I was the one in the wrong, per usual. Later that evening I had a fun conversation with my host family. I think my favorite part was when I forgot the word for whistle, so naturally, I had to whistle, to show why I was apologizing. Thank goodness I have a good host family who simply believes I am the entertaining American, who is flustered by simple tasks, doesn't understand all the traditions, and can't weed a garden.
I now hum.
Peace
Friday, June 24, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Agri-business - Agri = Business?
Today, I will talk about gardening. The irony in my talking about gardening is funniest to those who know me best. If a good gardener has a green thumb, and a bad gardener has a black thumb, I haven't got a thumb, just an arm with four fingers. You give me a plant, and I promise you, I can kill it. A plant that needs watering, I don't water it. The kind of plants that need no watering, I drown those suckers. Cactus, dead. The only plants I can handle are fake, and the majority of the time the fake ones are tacky, so I live my life plant-less, or until now.
My offical title in Moldova is an "Agri-business development volunteer". Agriculture is built right into the name, they are going to rue the day they put me in any position to consult about anything 'agri'.
Moldova is a blurr of gardens, as an agriculturally based country, growing your own food is pretty much mandatory. And so, in order to fully assimilate myself into my community and family I decided to get involved with the garden. I was doing great. Picking strawberries, cherries, raspberries, no problem! I was all about that, nothing better than picking some fresh produce on a cool summer evening.
Today was different, I entered the world of weeding. Now, having only really ever weeded a flower bed before, and not really weeding it anyways, given my exception of all dandelions. (I still stand by them being prettier than some flowers, and as such, refuse to pluck them until they are in the seeding stage, when you can blow them into the wind and make a wish. I know, I know, and look like a toddler.) Anyways, when weeding a flower bed it's pretty apparent which green thing is a 'plant' and conversely which is a 'weed.'
Today we were weeding the onion bed. Yes, onions look a lot like everything else when they are growing beneath the ground. But, I wanted to help, so I began plucking everything that looked like a weed, tweleve onions later, I pretty much knew what they looked like. Luckily I have a good host family who understands, 'the poor american who knows nothing about gardening'...'little', try nothing. We all laughed it off, I got more comfortable and began pulling away, a little while later my sister pointed out the dill plants intermixed with the onions. Sure enough, I had pulled a couple of those plants as well and they lay among the heap of weeds. Yes, it was a proud day for me, I truly showed my talents and did a job well done...
Tonight we ate onion.
I wonder if they will ever let me near their garden again? As awful as I was at pulling those weeds, I got a lot of satisfaction when I was able to yank out the correct green-thing. Yet another lesson in 'practice makes perfect', I suppose.
Until next time,
Peace
My offical title in Moldova is an "Agri-business development volunteer". Agriculture is built right into the name, they are going to rue the day they put me in any position to consult about anything 'agri'.
Moldova is a blurr of gardens, as an agriculturally based country, growing your own food is pretty much mandatory. And so, in order to fully assimilate myself into my community and family I decided to get involved with the garden. I was doing great. Picking strawberries, cherries, raspberries, no problem! I was all about that, nothing better than picking some fresh produce on a cool summer evening.
Today was different, I entered the world of weeding. Now, having only really ever weeded a flower bed before, and not really weeding it anyways, given my exception of all dandelions. (I still stand by them being prettier than some flowers, and as such, refuse to pluck them until they are in the seeding stage, when you can blow them into the wind and make a wish. I know, I know, and look like a toddler.) Anyways, when weeding a flower bed it's pretty apparent which green thing is a 'plant' and conversely which is a 'weed.'
Today we were weeding the onion bed. Yes, onions look a lot like everything else when they are growing beneath the ground. But, I wanted to help, so I began plucking everything that looked like a weed, tweleve onions later, I pretty much knew what they looked like. Luckily I have a good host family who understands, 'the poor american who knows nothing about gardening'...'little', try nothing. We all laughed it off, I got more comfortable and began pulling away, a little while later my sister pointed out the dill plants intermixed with the onions. Sure enough, I had pulled a couple of those plants as well and they lay among the heap of weeds. Yes, it was a proud day for me, I truly showed my talents and did a job well done...
Tonight we ate onion.
I wonder if they will ever let me near their garden again? As awful as I was at pulling those weeds, I got a lot of satisfaction when I was able to yank out the correct green-thing. Yet another lesson in 'practice makes perfect', I suppose.
Until next time,
Peace
Saturday, June 18, 2011
A ride on the wild side
A few days have past. A few more lessons learned.
As many know, I get car sick relatively easily. This is magnified when crammed into a van, known here fondly as the 'rutiera'. These are the most frequent transportation around Moldova. In the summer they are hot, cramped, stuffy little vans created to make people like myself die inside everytime I enter one. Our rutiera, slightly larger than a 15 passanger van, served as transportation for more than 35 people rushing from one side of the city to the other. Everyone on the rutiera was sweating as this little metal box was an oven in the hot summer sun. I held tight to the metal grab rail, with beads of sweat dripping down my arm and forehead. For one who gets motion sick easily, and who needs a constant stream of clean air, these little death capsules serve as a true test of strength. Luckily, this time I escaped with only a sour stomach and a lump in my throat. I hope that if you ever find yourself in Moldova you will too experience the public transport that is the rutiera. They are cheap and fast modes of transportation, I will give them that. On my income I will have to grown fond of the rutiera, as it is one of the few modes of transportation I will be able to afford. And so now, I will choose to embrace the rutiera. I love it, I love it, I love it. Yea, I love those damn things...
A joke circulated through the peace corps goes as follows:
How many people can fit in a rutiera?
...Always, one more.
Until next time,
Peace
As many know, I get car sick relatively easily. This is magnified when crammed into a van, known here fondly as the 'rutiera'. These are the most frequent transportation around Moldova. In the summer they are hot, cramped, stuffy little vans created to make people like myself die inside everytime I enter one. Our rutiera, slightly larger than a 15 passanger van, served as transportation for more than 35 people rushing from one side of the city to the other. Everyone on the rutiera was sweating as this little metal box was an oven in the hot summer sun. I held tight to the metal grab rail, with beads of sweat dripping down my arm and forehead. For one who gets motion sick easily, and who needs a constant stream of clean air, these little death capsules serve as a true test of strength. Luckily, this time I escaped with only a sour stomach and a lump in my throat. I hope that if you ever find yourself in Moldova you will too experience the public transport that is the rutiera. They are cheap and fast modes of transportation, I will give them that. On my income I will have to grown fond of the rutiera, as it is one of the few modes of transportation I will be able to afford. And so now, I will choose to embrace the rutiera. I love it, I love it, I love it. Yea, I love those damn things...
A joke circulated through the peace corps goes as follows:
How many people can fit in a rutiera?
...Always, one more.
Until next time,
Peace
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Mother Nature and I had a chat
Buna ziua friends,
From a young age in the U.S. we are taught that rain is displeasing. As school children we sang 'Rain, rain, go away! Come again another day.' Treating rain as a necessary evil. We grew up and became adults who, at the sight of rain quickly deploy our umbrellas as temporary shelters, to shield us from the dreaded rain. Now, had I done a better job packing and brought my umbrella who knows if I would have noticed the rain today. Alas, I did not pack the umbrella and so I did notice the rain today. On my walk home from school it began, I quickly found refuge under a tree (natures umbrella). As I stood there, annoyed by the delay in getting to my 'putin obosit' (little nap), I began to shift my thoughts to the rain. I have always heard the rain but never really listened. It was lovely, a new kind of music that I had never cared to pay attention to before. (But, now given my new 'simpler' lifestyle I am able to see things new again, a rebirth of sorts. This rebirth comes complete with learning how to use the restroom...sorry getting off topic.) I emerged from beneath the tree before the end of the shower, I was curious to hear the contrast in tones against different surfaces. I know what you are thinking, 'oh, that's nice, Brittany has gone and strengthened her hippy instincts.' I suppose that could be part of it, but largely it echoed the inter-connectedness of the natural world. A reminder that much of the world is the same, a reminder that home and far away are not so far apart afterall.
On another note: I tried the traditional chicken jello. It is traditional. It is chicken. It is jello. So much of Moldova on my plate. Let's just say, I was full fast. ;D
Noapte Buna,
Peace
From a young age in the U.S. we are taught that rain is displeasing. As school children we sang 'Rain, rain, go away! Come again another day.' Treating rain as a necessary evil. We grew up and became adults who, at the sight of rain quickly deploy our umbrellas as temporary shelters, to shield us from the dreaded rain. Now, had I done a better job packing and brought my umbrella who knows if I would have noticed the rain today. Alas, I did not pack the umbrella and so I did notice the rain today. On my walk home from school it began, I quickly found refuge under a tree (natures umbrella). As I stood there, annoyed by the delay in getting to my 'putin obosit' (little nap), I began to shift my thoughts to the rain. I have always heard the rain but never really listened. It was lovely, a new kind of music that I had never cared to pay attention to before. (But, now given my new 'simpler' lifestyle I am able to see things new again, a rebirth of sorts. This rebirth comes complete with learning how to use the restroom...sorry getting off topic.) I emerged from beneath the tree before the end of the shower, I was curious to hear the contrast in tones against different surfaces. I know what you are thinking, 'oh, that's nice, Brittany has gone and strengthened her hippy instincts.' I suppose that could be part of it, but largely it echoed the inter-connectedness of the natural world. A reminder that much of the world is the same, a reminder that home and far away are not so far apart afterall.
On another note: I tried the traditional chicken jello. It is traditional. It is chicken. It is jello. So much of Moldova on my plate. Let's just say, I was full fast. ;D
Noapte Buna,
Peace
Monday, June 13, 2011
A day in the life of a Peace Corps Trainee
Hi All,
A few days have past since my last post, my apologies, I couldn't figure out how to create new posts...and I probably won't be able to figure out how I got here later to create another and so this stupid cycle will continue.
Anywho, here I am, in Moldova. I live in a suburb or Chisinau, Ciorescu. It is quite nice here, being a suburb of the capital, it is a more affluent part of Moldova than most. So, my day-to-day life, I wake up at about 7:30am and have breakfast and bathe before going to the school for morning language lessons. Lessons at school are from 8:30-12:30, I head home for lunch at 12:30. At 2 I am back at the school for technical training, so that we are prepared to partake in the 'business' world here in Moldova. This lesson ends at about 5pm at which time I walk back home. When I return home, I usually study. Being a competitive person in the Peace Corps holds very little importance, and so, I create competition with myself in learning this darn language as fast as possible.
It is the end of cherry and strawberry season, so usually after dinner my host sisters and I will go to the garden and binge on fruit. This can be problematic given that it is customary to feed guests until they are on the brink of explosion. Granted, the members of my family are petite, I am clearly not, but still, the portion of food they give me could easily feed three grown men. Luckily, I quickly learned how to politely ask for smaller portions...and 'no I don't like butter on everything, thank you'.
Bathroom situation: we have an out house, and an outdoor shower, I was unaware that these were, in fact, two different places. The first day I needed to relieve myself so I headed for what I thought to be the bathroom. When I walked on I realized, no, this can't be the bathroom there is no hole. I slowly peered outside the curtain to find my host sisters questioning what I was doing. I asked 'toilet'? They both burst into laughter...'NO..hahahahahhaaha'. With red cheeks and a full bladder I was shown where the actual bathroom was. I was happy to find a hole in the second location...I'm not saying I made it in the hole, but I tried my best. I reminded myself 'practice makes perfect' and headed back to the house to wash up.
So there you have it, a day in the life of a Peace Corps Trainee in Moldova.
Until next time,
Peace
A few days have past since my last post, my apologies, I couldn't figure out how to create new posts...and I probably won't be able to figure out how I got here later to create another and so this stupid cycle will continue.
Anywho, here I am, in Moldova. I live in a suburb or Chisinau, Ciorescu. It is quite nice here, being a suburb of the capital, it is a more affluent part of Moldova than most. So, my day-to-day life, I wake up at about 7:30am and have breakfast and bathe before going to the school for morning language lessons. Lessons at school are from 8:30-12:30, I head home for lunch at 12:30. At 2 I am back at the school for technical training, so that we are prepared to partake in the 'business' world here in Moldova. This lesson ends at about 5pm at which time I walk back home. When I return home, I usually study. Being a competitive person in the Peace Corps holds very little importance, and so, I create competition with myself in learning this darn language as fast as possible.
It is the end of cherry and strawberry season, so usually after dinner my host sisters and I will go to the garden and binge on fruit. This can be problematic given that it is customary to feed guests until they are on the brink of explosion. Granted, the members of my family are petite, I am clearly not, but still, the portion of food they give me could easily feed three grown men. Luckily, I quickly learned how to politely ask for smaller portions...and 'no I don't like butter on everything, thank you'.
Bathroom situation: we have an out house, and an outdoor shower, I was unaware that these were, in fact, two different places. The first day I needed to relieve myself so I headed for what I thought to be the bathroom. When I walked on I realized, no, this can't be the bathroom there is no hole. I slowly peered outside the curtain to find my host sisters questioning what I was doing. I asked 'toilet'? They both burst into laughter...'NO..hahahahahhaaha'. With red cheeks and a full bladder I was shown where the actual bathroom was. I was happy to find a hole in the second location...I'm not saying I made it in the hole, but I tried my best. I reminded myself 'practice makes perfect' and headed back to the house to wash up.
So there you have it, a day in the life of a Peace Corps Trainee in Moldova.
Until next time,
Peace
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Buna Ziua!
Hello everyone at home!
I am currently sitting with my host sister, Marina. I have been here in Moldova for two full days. I arrived yesterday around noon and haven't seemed to catch my breath since. The country is awesome, definitely post-commie and definitely beautiful. The weather has been very warm and the people have all been quite friendly. Today, we walked around the Captial, enjoyed the company of some of the current Peace Corps Volunteers and had our first 'official' language class. And, so begins my lessons to learn a language I am certain to butcher for atleast the next 26 months. I was dropped with my host family yesterday and it was a rather surreal moment steping out of a huge van my first day in Moldova and being met by my two host sisters (Marina and Elena). That surreal moment was met by awkward greetings, my first official greeting to my new family..."Buna Ziua!" I exclaimed uncomfortably, knowing full well I had killed however I was supposed to pronounce the greeting. The first night I was so tired I went to bed early, but not before walking around the town eating cheery's we had picked from the garden (ummm yum!).
Tomorrow begins another set of lessons and another exhuasting day of trying to wrap my tiny brain around this whole experience.
I am not one to be plagued with homesickenss easily...but somehow I have found that being here is harder than I thought it would be, given Sam's looming graduation. That being said, my Daddy didn't raise no quit-ter and I have way too much to learn to even consider coming home...sorry Dad. It is all happening so quickly, I have barely had a second to catch my breath, I'm trying to soak it all up and relay on as much as I can.
Also, you should note, the word spell on this computer is in Romanian so I apologize in advance for the typos the entire screen is a giant red squiggly line. ;D
So, for now---Noapte Buna,
Peace
I am currently sitting with my host sister, Marina. I have been here in Moldova for two full days. I arrived yesterday around noon and haven't seemed to catch my breath since. The country is awesome, definitely post-commie and definitely beautiful. The weather has been very warm and the people have all been quite friendly. Today, we walked around the Captial, enjoyed the company of some of the current Peace Corps Volunteers and had our first 'official' language class. And, so begins my lessons to learn a language I am certain to butcher for atleast the next 26 months. I was dropped with my host family yesterday and it was a rather surreal moment steping out of a huge van my first day in Moldova and being met by my two host sisters (Marina and Elena). That surreal moment was met by awkward greetings, my first official greeting to my new family..."Buna Ziua!" I exclaimed uncomfortably, knowing full well I had killed however I was supposed to pronounce the greeting. The first night I was so tired I went to bed early, but not before walking around the town eating cheery's we had picked from the garden (ummm yum!).
Tomorrow begins another set of lessons and another exhuasting day of trying to wrap my tiny brain around this whole experience.
I am not one to be plagued with homesickenss easily...but somehow I have found that being here is harder than I thought it would be, given Sam's looming graduation. That being said, my Daddy didn't raise no quit-ter and I have way too much to learn to even consider coming home...sorry Dad. It is all happening so quickly, I have barely had a second to catch my breath, I'm trying to soak it all up and relay on as much as I can.
Also, you should note, the word spell on this computer is in Romanian so I apologize in advance for the typos the entire screen is a giant red squiggly line. ;D
So, for now---Noapte Buna,
Peace
Monday, June 6, 2011
Every Long Journey Begins With One Simple Step
Well, first post to kick off my peace corps adventures. Staging happened today in Philadelphia. We did lots of things that one would expect at a staging event, we were--staged? The morning started with my saying good bye to Dad, Sam and Nan. Rough, as good byes always are. On the way out of town, dad and I were driving behind an SUV, inside a person was waving, instinctively I waved back thinking "Oh, that's so nice I wonder who is waving good bye". Soon after dad realized it was not someone waiving and was in fact, a dogs tail wagging. Yes, that was just about the perfect way to depart from my little Hoppy town.
Philly was a whirlwind. The flight got in only a few minutes late. After tracking down my bags I was told that the shuttle I wanted was in a different terminal. And so, my 100lbs of luggage and I trekked all the way down multiple long hall ways, huffing and puffing, only to realize there was a shuttle to the other terminal. The information lady didn't mention this fun fact. Once at the right location, I was given a number, ticket 11, and told I would be called when my shuttle arrived. Thirty minutes later I was still waiting, at this point getting a little impatient, given my schedule of noon arrival for training and my watch reading 12:15. Numbers 9 and 10 were called, no 11. Twenty minutes later and my foot tapping, numbers 13 and 14 were called. Still, no 11. At this point I walked back up to the desk to question whether tickets 13 and 14 were in fact about to take the shuttle that I had been hopelessly waiting for, for 50 minutes now. Sure enough, my buddies 13 and 14 were both taking seats of the shuttle that I should be in. Luckily, I was able to wedge myself between to very excited tourists enough to close the doors of the over heating 16 passenger van. Checking in went smoothly, as did sign in, I waived the life insurance (day one finance class: don't get life insurance unless someone needs your money after you die, and well, that is not currently a scenario I need to worry about) dotted my T's and crossed my I's [ ;) ] and was all set and ready to go. I'm not sure if staging made me more excited or more nervous. Being able to share this experience with like-minded people is a comfort, their sharing their anxieties of things I hadn't even considered...not as comforting.
Our group is big 50+ people. We have been broken into smaller groups for travel and training, I am in group "Purple". All the other members of my group are also doing Agri-business Development, that should make training more focused and all that logistical schtuff.
This morning in the car Dad reminded me that "Every long journey begins with one simple step." This rings true in many ways, I tend to over think most things in life. I get overwhelmed by the mountain and instead opt for the hill I know I can conquer. I believe Peace Corps will not only provide me the tools and opportunity to take life a little slower and live one-day at a time, but also to realize the intricacies and beauty in the little aspects of life that I so frequently overlook. These small steps will lead to the feat I aspire to, my metaphorical mountain in looming. I think the small part of me that wanted to be an avid hiker crumbled today when I was wheezing carrying my crap from one terminal to the next. Ultimately, I aspire to manifest a more well-balanced lifestyle, integral in living life to its fullest.
And so begins the journey,
Peace-Out America
Philly was a whirlwind. The flight got in only a few minutes late. After tracking down my bags I was told that the shuttle I wanted was in a different terminal. And so, my 100lbs of luggage and I trekked all the way down multiple long hall ways, huffing and puffing, only to realize there was a shuttle to the other terminal. The information lady didn't mention this fun fact. Once at the right location, I was given a number, ticket 11, and told I would be called when my shuttle arrived. Thirty minutes later I was still waiting, at this point getting a little impatient, given my schedule of noon arrival for training and my watch reading 12:15. Numbers 9 and 10 were called, no 11. Twenty minutes later and my foot tapping, numbers 13 and 14 were called. Still, no 11. At this point I walked back up to the desk to question whether tickets 13 and 14 were in fact about to take the shuttle that I had been hopelessly waiting for, for 50 minutes now. Sure enough, my buddies 13 and 14 were both taking seats of the shuttle that I should be in. Luckily, I was able to wedge myself between to very excited tourists enough to close the doors of the over heating 16 passenger van. Checking in went smoothly, as did sign in, I waived the life insurance (day one finance class: don't get life insurance unless someone needs your money after you die, and well, that is not currently a scenario I need to worry about) dotted my T's and crossed my I's [ ;) ] and was all set and ready to go. I'm not sure if staging made me more excited or more nervous. Being able to share this experience with like-minded people is a comfort, their sharing their anxieties of things I hadn't even considered...not as comforting.
Our group is big 50+ people. We have been broken into smaller groups for travel and training, I am in group "Purple". All the other members of my group are also doing Agri-business Development, that should make training more focused and all that logistical schtuff.
This morning in the car Dad reminded me that "Every long journey begins with one simple step." This rings true in many ways, I tend to over think most things in life. I get overwhelmed by the mountain and instead opt for the hill I know I can conquer. I believe Peace Corps will not only provide me the tools and opportunity to take life a little slower and live one-day at a time, but also to realize the intricacies and beauty in the little aspects of life that I so frequently overlook. These small steps will lead to the feat I aspire to, my metaphorical mountain in looming. I think the small part of me that wanted to be an avid hiker crumbled today when I was wheezing carrying my crap from one terminal to the next. Ultimately, I aspire to manifest a more well-balanced lifestyle, integral in living life to its fullest.
And so begins the journey,
Peace-Out America
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