Most cities and towns in Moldova have a designated day each year in celebration of the place and it's people. This day is known as Hram. Last weekend I was invited to attend Hram with my friend, and fellow volunteer Lyndsey, in her town Izvoare. Izvoare is a village within the raion (similar to a county) in Falesti.
Sunday morning, I woke up and prepared for this day of celebration. I walked down to the bus station in town and waited for the rutiera that would cart me off to Izvoare for a day of good company, good food, and a change of scenery from my usual Sunday routine within the walls of my house. The ruteria finally arrived, and as I waited outside the door for the packed ruteria to empty I quickly realized the rutiera wouldn't be emptying. Instead, I would need to cram myself into this already overcrowded mini-bus if I wanted any chance to celebrate Hram with Lyndsey. And so, from out in the cold breath-smoke air I pushed and shuffled my way onto the hot rutiera. Within a matter of seconds I began to question my decision to leave my warm bed. Somehow, the driver was able to close the door and we were off.
I was standing between a woman with a baby who was screaming from displeasure, and a man with a very shall-we-say interesting smelling sweater. I was unable to see out the windows partially from my awkward standing position, partly from the breathy fog covering the windows. It was hot, I could feel myself sweating through my tee-shirt, sweatshirt and quickly to my jacket. I hadn't had a chance to take a car sickness pill, and well, that was a bad mistake. Every bump and turn became a growing issue. The lump in my throat wasn't going to go away until I was out of that mini-bus. Forty-five minutes and some serious will power later I was standing in Izvoare. I waited at the bus stop for Lyndsey, happily breathing in frigid fresh air.
Lyndsey met me at the stop and we headed to her house. It had rained the past few days so the roads were washed out and muddy. We squished and slipped our way down the dirt roads to her house. When we arrived I met her host mother, two host sisters and their children. We went into her house and her host mom prepared the soba (similar to a wood stove). For awhile we sat beside the soba talking about our previous week, warming our feet on the hot bricks. An hour later host mom was calling us for the meal.
We all crowded into the casa mic (small house) where a table had been filled with plates of traditional Moldovan foods. We all sat down and the first round of house wine was quickly poured. This is where we stayed for the next two hours-- talking, eating, drinking. This was a celebration. After the food had been eaten and a couple of pitchers of wine had been drank, Lyndsey and I meandered outside to see what her host brother-in-law was doing. We were lucky enough to come upon him finishing off the barbecuing of a rabbit. So we stood around the fire, munching on pieces of rabbit talking about the kind of wild animals one could find in the woods of Moldova until the rest of the meat had been deemed finished. We returned back into the little house for one more round of food and wine.
After our sufficient in take of food and wine it was time to go down to the casa de cultura (cultural house) for some traditional music and dancing. The band played, the dancers held hands and danced the hora. A group of on-looking grown-ups decided the dancing wasn't meant for just the kids and started their own group, with interlocked arms they danced, and kicked, and laughed. My favorite musician was the beer-bellied tuba player, with a cigarette hanging from his lip, so he could take a drag when he wasn't blowing into his instrument. The town was out, you could see the local pride in peoples faces, it was neat to be a part of.
Lyndsey walked me back to the bus stop in time for me to catch another overcrowded rutiera ride home. Her host sister and two little host nephews were also on the rutiera. I had come to Izvoare that day knowing only Lyndsey. I left knowing an entirely new family, one that had graciously let me into their celebration with open arms and a pitcher of wine, knowing only my name and that I was a Peace Corps Volunteer. This is the peace and friendship we are asked to live in our daily lives. I could have stayed within the security of my home that day, but instead I took the overcrowded rutiera ride to a village I didn't know... and I am so happy I did.
Peace
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Home Alone
For the past few days I have been home alone.
Since arriving home on Sunday host mom has been in Chisinau. This has led to an entire slew of fun new experiences for me. To be honest, I enjoy living by myself. Independence is something I highly value, however, this sort of living alone comes with its special characteristics.
I like to think of these past few days as my: I-once-was-a-girl-scout-let's-see-what-I-remember test. It's surprising how similar being alone in this house is to being at girl scout camp in a cabin. The biggest similarities include; the lack of running water and heat. The biggest difference include; the ability to access the internet and the absence of 11 other awkward nerdy girls stuffing their sports bras. I can't say I mind those differences. This sort of living alone however does come with a few extra challenges that we little girl scouts didn't go over in our tie-dying, trail mix making, camp fire singing, scavenger hunting lessons.
October in Moldova is pretty nippy and without host mom home I don't know how to work the two different heating sources in the house. Well, to be fair, with host mom I don't know how to work them either. This has lead me to become pretty dependent on my bed. I spend most of my time under the big thick blankets so that I stay warm. Looks like my winter, while at home, will consist mostly of reading books, sipping tea, and watching movies. I'm now taking any and all suggestions for good books, feel free to drop a comment with your list of favorites.
The water in our house was shut off. I'm assuming host mom shut it off before she left for Chisinau so that the pipes didn't freeze, smart lady, but waterless Brittany. At first I was able to get by with the water I had left myself in my filter and some that I had stored in bottles. This lasted about a day and half. I decided it was time I take my maiden voyage to the well. It's right outside my house...I probably should have done this earlier, but like the market, I have weird fears.
I got the well pail. I walked outside my gate and set my pail on the bench. Unhooked the well bucket, and helped the chain slowly fall down the shaft into the water below. I did that crank move to make sure the bucket had been submerged in water and was full. I was totally handling this like a pro, what up! I cranked that bucket up with one arm...because let's face it I would have looked like an amateur if I had to use both my arms. By the time the bucket finally got to the top my right arm was feeling a little fatigued, but I didn't care I had successfully gotten my water. I pulled the bucket out and began to pour the water into my pail. And then the chain began to quickly fall back down into the well. Crap, what will happen if the chain goes taught and I'm holding the empty bucket? I reached up to stop the crank but I didn't realize how strong the pressure would be. Instead of stopping the crank I ended up getting a nice beating on my forearm. Finally the chain stopped moving and I pulled it back up, re-hooked the bucket and covered the well. I may have almost broken the well, and got a huge black and blue on my arm, but hey, at least I got some water?
By the fourth day I knew it was time to bathe. I had been dreading it and putting it off, but I knew someone at the office would probably say something if I showed up yet another day with my hair in a greasy french braid. So, I took the pail of water with me to the bathroom with a dunk mug. Warmed up all the water I could in the electric kettle, and poured it in with the cold water in the pail. Than I did the dunk and wash, scoop and rinse. I still stand by the fact that you can only get 'so' clean with the bucket bath.
So, this is my life, kind of like camping... kind of not. Either way, it keeps me on my toes, good or bad.
Peace
Since arriving home on Sunday host mom has been in Chisinau. This has led to an entire slew of fun new experiences for me. To be honest, I enjoy living by myself. Independence is something I highly value, however, this sort of living alone comes with its special characteristics.
I like to think of these past few days as my: I-once-was-a-girl-scout-let's-see-what-I-remember test. It's surprising how similar being alone in this house is to being at girl scout camp in a cabin. The biggest similarities include; the lack of running water and heat. The biggest difference include; the ability to access the internet and the absence of 11 other awkward nerdy girls stuffing their sports bras. I can't say I mind those differences. This sort of living alone however does come with a few extra challenges that we little girl scouts didn't go over in our tie-dying, trail mix making, camp fire singing, scavenger hunting lessons.
October in Moldova is pretty nippy and without host mom home I don't know how to work the two different heating sources in the house. Well, to be fair, with host mom I don't know how to work them either. This has lead me to become pretty dependent on my bed. I spend most of my time under the big thick blankets so that I stay warm. Looks like my winter, while at home, will consist mostly of reading books, sipping tea, and watching movies. I'm now taking any and all suggestions for good books, feel free to drop a comment with your list of favorites.
The water in our house was shut off. I'm assuming host mom shut it off before she left for Chisinau so that the pipes didn't freeze, smart lady, but waterless Brittany. At first I was able to get by with the water I had left myself in my filter and some that I had stored in bottles. This lasted about a day and half. I decided it was time I take my maiden voyage to the well. It's right outside my house...I probably should have done this earlier, but like the market, I have weird fears.
I got the well pail. I walked outside my gate and set my pail on the bench. Unhooked the well bucket, and helped the chain slowly fall down the shaft into the water below. I did that crank move to make sure the bucket had been submerged in water and was full. I was totally handling this like a pro, what up! I cranked that bucket up with one arm...because let's face it I would have looked like an amateur if I had to use both my arms. By the time the bucket finally got to the top my right arm was feeling a little fatigued, but I didn't care I had successfully gotten my water. I pulled the bucket out and began to pour the water into my pail. And then the chain began to quickly fall back down into the well. Crap, what will happen if the chain goes taught and I'm holding the empty bucket? I reached up to stop the crank but I didn't realize how strong the pressure would be. Instead of stopping the crank I ended up getting a nice beating on my forearm. Finally the chain stopped moving and I pulled it back up, re-hooked the bucket and covered the well. I may have almost broken the well, and got a huge black and blue on my arm, but hey, at least I got some water?
By the fourth day I knew it was time to bathe. I had been dreading it and putting it off, but I knew someone at the office would probably say something if I showed up yet another day with my hair in a greasy french braid. So, I took the pail of water with me to the bathroom with a dunk mug. Warmed up all the water I could in the electric kettle, and poured it in with the cold water in the pail. Than I did the dunk and wash, scoop and rinse. I still stand by the fact that you can only get 'so' clean with the bucket bath.
So, this is my life, kind of like camping... kind of not. Either way, it keeps me on my toes, good or bad.
Peace
Cold-- Wet -- Key-less
The past couple of weeks I have been in Phase 3 of training in my PST site Cirescu, a village close to the capital. This, Phase 3 of PST, is the training that comes after a volunteer has been working at site for six weeks. This also explains my 'absence' from posts. I won't bore you with the details of training, we learned Romanian, had 'tech' sessions, and spread the peace and friendship at the local bar. All and all I think we volunteers were just happy to get a chance to see one another again, things get lonely quick at site.
Training ended this past Friday and most volunteers stayed in the capital to take advantage of wine fest. A big annual festival to kick off wine making season. There were tons of vendors selling crafts, food and of course wine. It doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure out that everyone in attendance at this event was having a real good time.
Sunday it was time to head back to site, back to reality. The one observation I have gathered from being in Moldova is that when it rains, it pours. Back home, when it rains you can pretty much count on it stopping in a twenty minute period. In Moldova, when it rains, it rains ...and rains, and when you think it has stopped and you step outside it rains some more. So of course, Sunday, when we all had to crawl out of our comfortable hiding places in apartments and hostels around the city we were greeted by a rain cloud that seemed to cover all of Moldova. A stopoff at the PC office to change our soaking clothes, gather our belongs and our courage before our journeys home. I'm usually the type of person who likes to walk to my destination, if it is within a reasonable distance but, on a day like this no one who has to walk would have chosen to walk. So, I tucked my stringy wet hair behind my ear and asked the guard if he would be willing to call for a cab. His response was short and to the point "No". At first I thought he was joking, but than I remembered Moldovans aren't known for their sarcasm. I asked, why? He gave me the simple explanation, "it's raining, all the cabs are full". Begrudgingly, I pulled on my soaked rain jacket, tied up the laces of my blessed L.L Bean boots, strapped on my backpack that I had clearly over-packed and stepped outside into the storm. We raced as fast as we could to the north station to get our bus home but it didn't matter how quickly we walked, we were drenched. I'm still a little convinced that every car that passed meant to hit all those puddles that splashed against my legs as if to say "sucker, we got the cab you wanted". We finally arrived at the station, purchased our tickets and waited for our bus.
I have gotten used to buses over the years. When I was a teenager I would take the Trailways bus from northern NH back down to Concord on a regular basis. Something about buses is nostalgic, calming, a sort of; "you will get there, when you get there" mantra. Buses in the US however are well ventilated, with working heating systems. Buses in Moldova, I have quickly learned, are not. On the two and half hour ride back to my city, Falesti, I had hoped to warm up and dry my jacket and pants. This is the opposite of what happened, instead I sat freezing with my hands shoved inside my wet coat pockets, my hood up over my head, and a pathetic grimace on my damp face. Finally, the bus rolled into the station in Falesti.
I decided I had made it this far without a taxi, I could walk the next twenty minutes back to my house. I also didn't feel like haggling with the idling unmarked taxi cab drivers, a decision I regretted halfway home. When I reached my house I was so excited. I dropped my huge bag under the awning of the 'casa mic' (the small summer kitchen) and went straight for the 'veceu' (outside toilet). I went to open the door of the house and it was locked. I checked the two spots I was told the key would be in. ..no key.
Panic began to set in. And so, the internal dialogue began... Ok, what should I do? I'm cold, wet, tired and fighting some sort of head-cold sickness. Should I sit out here and wait for her? Maybe, she has gone for a walk? Maybe, she is visiting a neighbor and will be back soon? No, I don't want to sit out here, it is cold. I guess I could go ask the woman who works at the store on the corner? God, I hope the woman working isn't the one who only speaks Russian, then I would be really screwed. Yes, I don't see how I have any other choice. Ok, Brittany just go and get this over with, no one is here to help you, you have to help yourself right now.
I walked down to the store. The woman working that night I had met before, she seemed friendly and she spoke Romanian, win! I pieced together what I was trying to ask and gave her a look of desperation. Somehow, after I had said what I was trying to explain in a few different ways she was able to figure out what I was saying. She didn't know where host mom was, but she did have her phone number and was willing to call her for me. (Yes, now we are getting somewhere) Host mom, as it turns out, was in Chisinau with the keys to the house. So I was locked out of my own home.
The generous woman at the store offered to host me for the night at her house. I was humbled by her offer, but all I really wanted was to sleep in the room I had finally gotten comfortable in...and I had a skype date with my Dad that I didn't want to miss. A few phone calls later and the neighbor was over helping me break into my home. With some crafty work he was able to get a window open and climb through. It never fails to impress me how handy these Moldovans are. Luckily, the front door had a key so he was able to unlock it and let me in. He wished me a good night and was on his way.
I brought my big backpack into the house. Walked down to the store and told the woman working that my house had been opened. Walked home, took off my boots and climbed into bed. I turned on my computer hoping to catch my Dad so we could chat but quickly realized I was internet-less. So, I threw all the blankets I could find on top of myself and began to think about the day I had just had. It had been a long day. I was happy to be in my bed. A little worried about how easily my neighbor was able to break into my house, but luckily I was able to sweep those thoughts away as I drifted to sleep.
If only I had known what the next few days had in store for me...but I guess I will save that for my next post.
Training ended this past Friday and most volunteers stayed in the capital to take advantage of wine fest. A big annual festival to kick off wine making season. There were tons of vendors selling crafts, food and of course wine. It doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure out that everyone in attendance at this event was having a real good time.
Sunday it was time to head back to site, back to reality. The one observation I have gathered from being in Moldova is that when it rains, it pours. Back home, when it rains you can pretty much count on it stopping in a twenty minute period. In Moldova, when it rains, it rains ...and rains, and when you think it has stopped and you step outside it rains some more. So of course, Sunday, when we all had to crawl out of our comfortable hiding places in apartments and hostels around the city we were greeted by a rain cloud that seemed to cover all of Moldova. A stopoff at the PC office to change our soaking clothes, gather our belongs and our courage before our journeys home. I'm usually the type of person who likes to walk to my destination, if it is within a reasonable distance but, on a day like this no one who has to walk would have chosen to walk. So, I tucked my stringy wet hair behind my ear and asked the guard if he would be willing to call for a cab. His response was short and to the point "No". At first I thought he was joking, but than I remembered Moldovans aren't known for their sarcasm. I asked, why? He gave me the simple explanation, "it's raining, all the cabs are full". Begrudgingly, I pulled on my soaked rain jacket, tied up the laces of my blessed L.L Bean boots, strapped on my backpack that I had clearly over-packed and stepped outside into the storm. We raced as fast as we could to the north station to get our bus home but it didn't matter how quickly we walked, we were drenched. I'm still a little convinced that every car that passed meant to hit all those puddles that splashed against my legs as if to say "sucker, we got the cab you wanted". We finally arrived at the station, purchased our tickets and waited for our bus.
I have gotten used to buses over the years. When I was a teenager I would take the Trailways bus from northern NH back down to Concord on a regular basis. Something about buses is nostalgic, calming, a sort of; "you will get there, when you get there" mantra. Buses in the US however are well ventilated, with working heating systems. Buses in Moldova, I have quickly learned, are not. On the two and half hour ride back to my city, Falesti, I had hoped to warm up and dry my jacket and pants. This is the opposite of what happened, instead I sat freezing with my hands shoved inside my wet coat pockets, my hood up over my head, and a pathetic grimace on my damp face. Finally, the bus rolled into the station in Falesti.
I decided I had made it this far without a taxi, I could walk the next twenty minutes back to my house. I also didn't feel like haggling with the idling unmarked taxi cab drivers, a decision I regretted halfway home. When I reached my house I was so excited. I dropped my huge bag under the awning of the 'casa mic' (the small summer kitchen) and went straight for the 'veceu' (outside toilet). I went to open the door of the house and it was locked. I checked the two spots I was told the key would be in. ..no key.
Panic began to set in. And so, the internal dialogue began... Ok, what should I do? I'm cold, wet, tired and fighting some sort of head-cold sickness. Should I sit out here and wait for her? Maybe, she has gone for a walk? Maybe, she is visiting a neighbor and will be back soon? No, I don't want to sit out here, it is cold. I guess I could go ask the woman who works at the store on the corner? God, I hope the woman working isn't the one who only speaks Russian, then I would be really screwed. Yes, I don't see how I have any other choice. Ok, Brittany just go and get this over with, no one is here to help you, you have to help yourself right now.
I walked down to the store. The woman working that night I had met before, she seemed friendly and she spoke Romanian, win! I pieced together what I was trying to ask and gave her a look of desperation. Somehow, after I had said what I was trying to explain in a few different ways she was able to figure out what I was saying. She didn't know where host mom was, but she did have her phone number and was willing to call her for me. (Yes, now we are getting somewhere) Host mom, as it turns out, was in Chisinau with the keys to the house. So I was locked out of my own home.
The generous woman at the store offered to host me for the night at her house. I was humbled by her offer, but all I really wanted was to sleep in the room I had finally gotten comfortable in...and I had a skype date with my Dad that I didn't want to miss. A few phone calls later and the neighbor was over helping me break into my home. With some crafty work he was able to get a window open and climb through. It never fails to impress me how handy these Moldovans are. Luckily, the front door had a key so he was able to unlock it and let me in. He wished me a good night and was on his way.
I brought my big backpack into the house. Walked down to the store and told the woman working that my house had been opened. Walked home, took off my boots and climbed into bed. I turned on my computer hoping to catch my Dad so we could chat but quickly realized I was internet-less. So, I threw all the blankets I could find on top of myself and began to think about the day I had just had. It had been a long day. I was happy to be in my bed. A little worried about how easily my neighbor was able to break into my house, but luckily I was able to sweep those thoughts away as I drifted to sleep.
If only I had known what the next few days had in store for me...but I guess I will save that for my next post.
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