Well, a belated Merry Christmas to all! Christmas here in Moldova was simple but very unique and special.
The festivities commenced on Friday when volunteers were invited to attend a Christmas party hosted by the Ambassador. This was a unique opportunity for all of us volunteers, it is rare that an Ambassador would be so willing to open his home to group of strangers. We were given a warm reception when we arrived, and we were all shocked at the spread put forth that included some luxuries from home we all miss *cough, Dr. Pepper, cough*. The Ambassador and his family were so gracious to have hosted us, and I know I speak for everyone who attended the gathering when I say thank you, it truly made for a special holiday. It was a memory we will never forget, and brought a sense of the traditional American Christmas to our minds and hearts as we ate and drank familiar foods in the warmth of your beautiful home.
Just after the party I ventured over to the North Station with a few other volunteers where we met a few friendly Moldovan's also heading to Balti (a city in the north). They were extremely nice and we all had a great time making small talk and laughing about the differences in culture between Moldova and the US. We all got on to the rutiera (mini-bus) and continued our conversation with our newly made friends before everyone drifted off into a daze gazing at the darkened countryside passing by our breath-clouded windows.
The following day, Christmas Eve, was spent at a leisurely pace, we all woke with the sun peering into the windows. After a few mugs of instant coffee we decided to venture out into the city for a couple of hours. We munched on warm brinza placinta (pastry filled with cheese) as we walked through the main square and further into the market. The market is a hectic place with stands and booths lining up and down, row after row. We mazed our way through the different sections,-- produce, cookies and chocolate, housewares and everyday essentials, clothing and shoes,--all the way to the second hand clothes section. We meandered around in search of a diamond in the rough. After plowing my way through multiple piles of sweaters I came out with a gem. A big ole' wool sweater with a pattern that would make any ugly sweater party proud. I happily handed over the requested 15 lei (about $1.25) and carried away my new prized sweater. A bit more peering about and ogling some old Communist era pins before we headed back to the apartment. For dinner that night we got our inspiration from Christmas in July and prepared cheeseburgers, french fries and coleslaw. The night was ended watching football and drinking a glass of Ukraine's finest beer.
Thanks to technology I was able to share in many of the traditions that my family and I have back home. So, during the wee hours of Christmas morning I woke and booted up my computer so that I could Skype-in to the Christmas eve midnight service at my church. My dad, being the tech savvy guy that he is, had no problem hooking up all sorts of gadgets in the sanctuary so that I could feel like I was home and not missing out on any of the moments that make Christmas special. There I sat, thousands of miles away, watching on as so many of the people that I know and love took part in the yearly Christmas eve candlelit service. I was a big old softy and cried three times during the service, it wasn't because I was sad, it was because I was seeing all the people I wanted to hug, all the people I wanted to whisper Merry Christmas to. It was, as it always is, a beautiful service. I even was prepared and lit my own candle and sang along to the songs in my darkened room. The soft light from the candles was beautifully reflected on my little screen and when I closed my eyes it was like I was sitting in a pew. It might have been a little over the top to have Skyped my church service, but it honestly made me feel less homesick. Being able to turn the computer off at the end of the service and crawl back in to bed for a few more hours of sleep made me feel like I was falling asleep while everyone else in my little town also snuggled into their blankets. We were sharing Christmas together after-all.
Christmas morning we woke up and quickly threw on 'church clothes' so that we wouldn't miss Christmas morning mass at the local catholic church. I am not Catholic, but I thought it would be a neat memory to have attended mass here in Moldova. When we arrived I quickly felt out of place, not only do I not know when to kneel, or chant, or do the cross thing, the entire service was given in Russian and Polish. What language have I been learning? Romanian. So, I sat there silently for the next hour and half trying not to look completely out of place. When mass finally ended we all headed back to the apartment where I prepared a big breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and bacon. The rest of the day was spent at a leisurely pace, I was able to Skype with my family and we all opened presents together, and again when the entire family got together at my Grandmas. It was a simple day, nothing over the top, but for being so far from home I felt close.
It was a Christmas I will remember forever.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Anytime is a good time for a 'Masa'
Over the past few weeks I have been going to the Casa de Creati (Crafting House) to both meet with the kids who attend the school and begin to learn how to needlepoint. It is a humbling experience to sew significantly below the level of the 8 year old girls that accompany me, but hey, you have to start somewhere, right?
The fist day I went to the craft house I was received with confusion. The girls were, naturally, confused why a grown woman was, first, in the class and second, why I didn't have the basic knowledge or the feminine pedicure to gracefully stitch myself into oblivion. By the end of the first day, one flower and a leaf later, I was asked to return the next day for a celebration. It was, after-all, Saint Andrews day, we must celebrate.
So, the following day I gathered the courage to make myself look like an incompetent fool and ventured back to the Craft House. When I arrived I quickly realized that today would not be a normal class. The room had been turned into a stage with chairs lining the parameter. I was called over to sit next to the teacher. I awkwardly took my seat and tried my hardest to blend into the background while the girls rehearsed their lines. A couple of older women had joined the mix today. They were providing us with a musical contribution. The two ladies sat happily perched on their chairs singing little melodies in celebration of Saint Andrew. A few more people joined the audience before the performance began, and than we were off.
The girls read their parts with clear enunciated voices. The two visiting women sang their well-worn songs. The audience consisting of me, a young boy, the director of the school and a neighbor, sat watching on attentively. The performance was coming to an end when the teacher asked for me to contribute to the performance. I had no idea what to say, I was hoping to get by with just a smile, my face was burning red, I looked around to see if I could get out of it, the handful of people in the room were expecting me to say something. With all eyes on me I was able to choke out a thank you and that I had had a wonderful time. I was hoping that after this I would be able to sneak out the door while no one was looking, but of course that just wasn't meant to be.
The director of the school, an older gentlemen with a warm smile ushered me into an adjoining room. Where a spread of sandwiches and snacks were being set for a 'masa' (meal). Chairs were brought in and all of the adults were taking their seats, handing out cups and napkins and getting ready for the meal. Three large bottles of house wine were set on the table, and with that final flourish, the meal began. I let the singing ladies take the reigns on this masa. They chattered away, I happily smiled and quietly downed cup after cup of house wine. There were toasts to health, happiness, successful collaboration in the future... and of course for my future husband and babies. The women sang the songs they have sung for years, well worn songs that everyone who grew up in Moldova knows, drumming their calloused hands on the table, filling the masa with music. Keeping a plucky beat for an evening that turned out to be one of my favorite in Moldova. Sitting amid these people, speaking their language, listening to their songs and stories, eating their food and drinking their wine, these are the moments I truly do love being here.
Peace to you on this chilly winter day.
The fist day I went to the craft house I was received with confusion. The girls were, naturally, confused why a grown woman was, first, in the class and second, why I didn't have the basic knowledge or the feminine pedicure to gracefully stitch myself into oblivion. By the end of the first day, one flower and a leaf later, I was asked to return the next day for a celebration. It was, after-all, Saint Andrews day, we must celebrate.
So, the following day I gathered the courage to make myself look like an incompetent fool and ventured back to the Craft House. When I arrived I quickly realized that today would not be a normal class. The room had been turned into a stage with chairs lining the parameter. I was called over to sit next to the teacher. I awkwardly took my seat and tried my hardest to blend into the background while the girls rehearsed their lines. A couple of older women had joined the mix today. They were providing us with a musical contribution. The two ladies sat happily perched on their chairs singing little melodies in celebration of Saint Andrew. A few more people joined the audience before the performance began, and than we were off.
The girls read their parts with clear enunciated voices. The two visiting women sang their well-worn songs. The audience consisting of me, a young boy, the director of the school and a neighbor, sat watching on attentively. The performance was coming to an end when the teacher asked for me to contribute to the performance. I had no idea what to say, I was hoping to get by with just a smile, my face was burning red, I looked around to see if I could get out of it, the handful of people in the room were expecting me to say something. With all eyes on me I was able to choke out a thank you and that I had had a wonderful time. I was hoping that after this I would be able to sneak out the door while no one was looking, but of course that just wasn't meant to be.
The director of the school, an older gentlemen with a warm smile ushered me into an adjoining room. Where a spread of sandwiches and snacks were being set for a 'masa' (meal). Chairs were brought in and all of the adults were taking their seats, handing out cups and napkins and getting ready for the meal. Three large bottles of house wine were set on the table, and with that final flourish, the meal began. I let the singing ladies take the reigns on this masa. They chattered away, I happily smiled and quietly downed cup after cup of house wine. There were toasts to health, happiness, successful collaboration in the future... and of course for my future husband and babies. The women sang the songs they have sung for years, well worn songs that everyone who grew up in Moldova knows, drumming their calloused hands on the table, filling the masa with music. Keeping a plucky beat for an evening that turned out to be one of my favorite in Moldova. Sitting amid these people, speaking their language, listening to their songs and stories, eating their food and drinking their wine, these are the moments I truly do love being here.
Peace to you on this chilly winter day.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Rewriting the Meaning of Success
As part of the Peace Corps 50th anniversary celebrations, Peace Corps Moldova put together a blog called "365 days of Peace and Friendship". Volunteers in Moldova are the contributors to the blog and everyday a different volunteer serves up his/her story from Moldova. There are no parameters for contributions which allows all volunteers full creative license. I posted to this blog last week and because I am at a loss for what to post I have decided to re-post what I contributed here. Feel free to explore the 365 website at this address to read the stories of my fellow volunteers in Moldova.
https://sites.google.com/a/365peaceandfriendship.com/365peaceandfriendship/home
Like many of my fellow volunteers, I joined the Peace Corps straight out of University. I came from a hyper active bubble of academia, strict deadlines, and fast paced classrooms. I had a typical college schedule filled with late nights, tons of coffee and a thirst for productivity. I kept a schedule, worked off a check-list, stressed about nearly every aspect of my life and always thought at least ten steps ahead. And so, when I decided to join the Peace Corps I thought, like most type-A volunteers do, that I would venture off to a new country, learn a language and make a meaningful impact in a community that was waiting on the edge of their seats for my arrival.
I made check-lists of all the wonderful things I wanted to accomplish, I made timelines of how I would complete project after successful project and I filed away deadlines in my mind that would allow for optimal success. I knew my planned ‘awesomeness’ could not go astray, it couldn’t, I had built such a strong Peace
Corps syllabus for myself, the classrooms I had spent four years of my life in couldn’t fail me, not if I prepared.
As the time neared to take off on this great adventure the people in my life all talked about how wonderful they thought it was that I was going to give two years of my life. I smiled, and said how I was excited for the challenge and to go get work done. It was so simple to plan, and dream, and get caught in the excitement and anticipation of my pre-departure period. I took my final exams, walked in my graduation robes, celebrated with friends and family, and packed my bags for the next 27 months. The time was going to fly by.
The M26 group, Peace Corps Moldova, landed in Chisinau on June 8 2011. We carried with us not only heavy bags filled with warm winter clothes we were warned were necessary for the cold winter months, but dreams of big change and hopes for our future in this little land locked post-soviet nation.
As I started settling in after the first two months of training, I began to realize life in Moldova was not going to be what I had expected of it. My coffee addiction was traded for tea. My list of projects were all deemed un-fit, un-sustainable or un-important. My timeline was passing deadlines with no progress. Not every person I encountered was overjoyed to have me living in their country. My life had to happen within the hours of sunlight. And ultimately, my idea of success had to be reworked. Was this what I spent over a year applying for?
At first I fought it; this wasn’t what it was supposed to be. I was supposed to be the superhero. Instead I ended most days feeling tired, confused and often utterly dejected. As time passed I began to wonder why any of us had chosen to leave our family and friends to be in this place. And then, one day I woke up and realized that my idea of success had changed. Success wasn’t the number of successful projects I completed, or the amount of money I was able to raise. Success would be my ability to live happily in this community, my ability to share in the everyday experiences. My ability to make my neighbor smile when I walked pass her on my way to work, my ability to share my little knowledge of computers with the people in my office, my ability to prepare pancakes for my host mom on a Sunday morning, my ability to simply live would be my success.
My new goal, that I try to live by everyday, is that if I am the only American that the people in my community ever come in contact with, they will think highly of the people and the country that I represent, that will be what makes me proud, that will be my success. That will be my small, unglamorous, contribution. And, that will be enough for me.
https://sites.google.com/a/365peaceandfriendship.com/365peaceandfriendship/home
Like many of my fellow volunteers, I joined the Peace Corps straight out of University. I came from a hyper active bubble of academia, strict deadlines, and fast paced classrooms. I had a typical college schedule filled with late nights, tons of coffee and a thirst for productivity. I kept a schedule, worked off a check-list, stressed about nearly every aspect of my life and always thought at least ten steps ahead. And so, when I decided to join the Peace Corps I thought, like most type-A volunteers do, that I would venture off to a new country, learn a language and make a meaningful impact in a community that was waiting on the edge of their seats for my arrival.
I made check-lists of all the wonderful things I wanted to accomplish, I made timelines of how I would complete project after successful project and I filed away deadlines in my mind that would allow for optimal success. I knew my planned ‘awesomeness’ could not go astray, it couldn’t, I had built such a strong Peace
Corps syllabus for myself, the classrooms I had spent four years of my life in couldn’t fail me, not if I prepared.
As the time neared to take off on this great adventure the people in my life all talked about how wonderful they thought it was that I was going to give two years of my life. I smiled, and said how I was excited for the challenge and to go get work done. It was so simple to plan, and dream, and get caught in the excitement and anticipation of my pre-departure period. I took my final exams, walked in my graduation robes, celebrated with friends and family, and packed my bags for the next 27 months. The time was going to fly by.
The M26 group, Peace Corps Moldova, landed in Chisinau on June 8 2011. We carried with us not only heavy bags filled with warm winter clothes we were warned were necessary for the cold winter months, but dreams of big change and hopes for our future in this little land locked post-soviet nation.
As I started settling in after the first two months of training, I began to realize life in Moldova was not going to be what I had expected of it. My coffee addiction was traded for tea. My list of projects were all deemed un-fit, un-sustainable or un-important. My timeline was passing deadlines with no progress. Not every person I encountered was overjoyed to have me living in their country. My life had to happen within the hours of sunlight. And ultimately, my idea of success had to be reworked. Was this what I spent over a year applying for?
At first I fought it; this wasn’t what it was supposed to be. I was supposed to be the superhero. Instead I ended most days feeling tired, confused and often utterly dejected. As time passed I began to wonder why any of us had chosen to leave our family and friends to be in this place. And then, one day I woke up and realized that my idea of success had changed. Success wasn’t the number of successful projects I completed, or the amount of money I was able to raise. Success would be my ability to live happily in this community, my ability to share in the everyday experiences. My ability to make my neighbor smile when I walked pass her on my way to work, my ability to share my little knowledge of computers with the people in my office, my ability to prepare pancakes for my host mom on a Sunday morning, my ability to simply live would be my success.
My new goal, that I try to live by everyday, is that if I am the only American that the people in my community ever come in contact with, they will think highly of the people and the country that I represent, that will be what makes me proud, that will be my success. That will be my small, unglamorous, contribution. And, that will be enough for me.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Tis' The Season?
It's a typical Tuesday morning. I am sitting in my office at work. I am staring at my computer screen. I am thinking I should write something so I don't get the 'where is a new post?' email from my Dad. I am entirely drawing a blank. What should I write about? Nothing is happening... I am lost for words. (Let me know if there is anything you want to hear about... I'm completely open and hoping for suggestions)
Getting in the holiday spirit. How does one do this in a foreign land? In the US it is simple. It's made easy, because we all have traditions that fill the season and make it unique. We also live in a society that commercializes the crap out of the holiday, so the in-your-face approach will tackle a person whether holiday cheer is wanted, or not. Some people hate the commercialization of the holiday... the people who know me best know that I can't help but love the craziness of it all. No, I don't think that people camping out on black Friday is healthy or normal, but I do love the piles of cotton snow, countless strings of lights, and carols blaring from speakers forming the soundtrack of the season.
In Moldova it is a bit more of a challenge to identify the season. Other than the cold, it is just like any other time of the year. When I go into the capital I am able to detect Christmas, with lots of fake trees for sale in the market, but this isn't exactly what I had in mind. When I get on the rutiera (mini-bus) I hope for Christmas music, no. When I step out my door and can see my breath in the air, I hope for snow, no. When I walk through the center of town I hope for wreaths--or lights-- or a tree, no. It all makes finding the 'magic of Christmas' a challenge.
Now, before you start judging and thinking the only part of Christmas I like is the atmosphere and push to 'buy-buy-buy', I must remind you that I am a specimen of my upbringing, these are just some of the elements that contribute to what makes the Holiday season special to me.
I also have begun to miss the advent season at church more than I have in the past. I miss the stories, and the lighting of the advent wreath. I miss seeing the members of my community in their newest winter sweaters and pulling tags from the 'giving tree'. I miss the sound of the choir singing the classic songs that solidify that it is, in fact, the most wonderful time of the year.
How have I chosen to get myself in the holiday spirit? I guess it would be the little things. I have busied myself making homemade Christmas gifts for people, host mom has done a good job at showing her amusement of my crafting ability. I have also upped my hot beverage in take. This includes the special 'christmas mystery' tea I was introduced to earlier in the year by another volunteer, and digging into my coveted swiss-miss cocoa reserve that my grandma sent me. I also spent an hour streaming approximately five Christmas songs on youtube (slow internet this time of year translates into a lack of x-mas tunes). This weekend I have plans to watch Christmas movies with another volunteer and purchase a, never-thought-I-would-say-it, fake tree. The weekend after I am planning to bake Christmas cookies, and perhaps, attempt a gingerbread house. None of these things are grand gestures, but they are all small nods to the holiday that I hope will shine some light on this otherwise cold and dark time of the year.
I hope you can embrace the corny Christmas-land that surrounds you in the US. It's not perfect, but it 'Tis' the Season'.
Peace from Moldova
Getting in the holiday spirit. How does one do this in a foreign land? In the US it is simple. It's made easy, because we all have traditions that fill the season and make it unique. We also live in a society that commercializes the crap out of the holiday, so the in-your-face approach will tackle a person whether holiday cheer is wanted, or not. Some people hate the commercialization of the holiday... the people who know me best know that I can't help but love the craziness of it all. No, I don't think that people camping out on black Friday is healthy or normal, but I do love the piles of cotton snow, countless strings of lights, and carols blaring from speakers forming the soundtrack of the season.
In Moldova it is a bit more of a challenge to identify the season. Other than the cold, it is just like any other time of the year. When I go into the capital I am able to detect Christmas, with lots of fake trees for sale in the market, but this isn't exactly what I had in mind. When I get on the rutiera (mini-bus) I hope for Christmas music, no. When I step out my door and can see my breath in the air, I hope for snow, no. When I walk through the center of town I hope for wreaths--or lights-- or a tree, no. It all makes finding the 'magic of Christmas' a challenge.
Now, before you start judging and thinking the only part of Christmas I like is the atmosphere and push to 'buy-buy-buy', I must remind you that I am a specimen of my upbringing, these are just some of the elements that contribute to what makes the Holiday season special to me.
I also have begun to miss the advent season at church more than I have in the past. I miss the stories, and the lighting of the advent wreath. I miss seeing the members of my community in their newest winter sweaters and pulling tags from the 'giving tree'. I miss the sound of the choir singing the classic songs that solidify that it is, in fact, the most wonderful time of the year.
How have I chosen to get myself in the holiday spirit? I guess it would be the little things. I have busied myself making homemade Christmas gifts for people, host mom has done a good job at showing her amusement of my crafting ability. I have also upped my hot beverage in take. This includes the special 'christmas mystery' tea I was introduced to earlier in the year by another volunteer, and digging into my coveted swiss-miss cocoa reserve that my grandma sent me. I also spent an hour streaming approximately five Christmas songs on youtube (slow internet this time of year translates into a lack of x-mas tunes). This weekend I have plans to watch Christmas movies with another volunteer and purchase a, never-thought-I-would-say-it, fake tree. The weekend after I am planning to bake Christmas cookies, and perhaps, attempt a gingerbread house. None of these things are grand gestures, but they are all small nods to the holiday that I hope will shine some light on this otherwise cold and dark time of the year.
I hope you can embrace the corny Christmas-land that surrounds you in the US. It's not perfect, but it 'Tis' the Season'.
Peace from Moldova
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