Where will I reside for the next two years? That would be Făleşti, Moldova. Once you get past the name, pronounced 'fuh-lesh-t', it sounds like an awesome place. A rayeon center in the north of Moldova, a stones throw from the Romanian border, and a 40 minute rutiera ride from Belti, the unofficial 'northern capital' of Moldova. I am quite pleased with my placement, as mentioned earlier it is a rayeon center, or the hub of a sub-division of Moldova. This weekend we will be embarking on site visits where we will be able to make awkward small talk with our new host families and work partners. Updates and pictures to come later.
In other news, today we had a hub site visit. Hub sites typically happen once a week in the capital. There are pros and cons to these visits, able to interact with all the other volunteer (pro), having to wake-up early to catch the bus into Chisinau (con)....the list could go on but I won't bore you. Anyway, today we had the delightful topic of sexually transimitted diseases. Now, I have never been one to relish in these sorts of conversations, and my defense mechanism tends to be ill placed humor. So, when we were broken off into small groups to discuss the different STIs, and I was asked to scribe for the group, I tried my best to make light of this...sore...subject. Not to worry, our poster was complete with hand drawn pictures and statistics, including: "In the US 700,000 people each year are infected with Gohnerria...good thing we are in Moldova." Luckily most of the inappropriate humor was taken in stride, after presenting I slowly bowed my red face and returned to my seat. Yay, for training.
Till next time,
-Peace
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Monday, July 4, 2011
A bit of good ole' Uncle Sam in Moldova
This past weekend the US population in Moldova gathered to celebrate the fourth of July. As everyone back home gassed up their grills and gorged on cheeseburgers and beer, we here in Moldova partook in the Molodovan take on this American holiday. We too had burgers, and beer, a hot dog eating contest and a live band. It was a fun night, the drinks were plentiful, while the burgers were a rare commodity. We danced in the rain to a Moldovan band, covering many of the classics, that we, as Americans, can't help but love a little more being so far from home. It's funny how much more pride I have for my country when I am away from it. Luckily, I am in an amazingly fascinating new place. Blessed to be here, thanks to the country I call home, and those who dedicate their lives to keeping it free and safe.
I look forward to celebrating Moldovas Independence day on August 27. A country whose history has seen the overcoming of challenges, freedom from oppression and strength in the face of hardship. Though I will never be a Moldovianca (Moldovan woman), I am filled with a sense of pride for this little land locked country in Eastern Europe. A place I will call home for the next few years. The passing of stories and traditions between national and volunteer will continue to awe me, and illumine my little world.
Peace and Joy be with you on this day of independence!
I look forward to celebrating Moldovas Independence day on August 27. A country whose history has seen the overcoming of challenges, freedom from oppression and strength in the face of hardship. Though I will never be a Moldovianca (Moldovan woman), I am filled with a sense of pride for this little land locked country in Eastern Europe. A place I will call home for the next few years. The passing of stories and traditions between national and volunteer will continue to awe me, and illumine my little world.
Peace and Joy be with you on this day of independence!
Friday, June 24, 2011
Shhhhh! You are being too quiet.
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
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
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
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