Well, after a very mild November, December and most of January, winter has finally arrived, and with it the snow, ice, and freezing temperatures we all love to hate. It was a bittersweet arrival. For the agricultural sector it was a welcomed freeze, giving the crops a chance to rest before the spring. For us mere mortals it is a time of year when we burrow under blankets in multiple layers of clothes, only emerging for the essentials, mainly more piping hot tea.
Last week all of us agribusiness and rural business volunteers had a conference in the big city, Chisinau. We were put up at a "fancy" new hotel that was kind enough to give us our usual "much less fancy" hotel rates. Yay, for new businesses! The conference was for both volunteers and our host-country national work partners. My partner, Vlad, and I worked together to develop a project that our community had expressed a need for. (More about the actual project later.) The constructive setting allowed for everyone to accomplish a significant amount of work over the two and a half day seminar. We discussed matters of sustainability, elements that make for successful projects, tips for writing good proposals, and other basic but essential knowledge when it comes to the world of grant writing.
The weekend that followed was typical for winter in Moldova (ie staying inside, at all costs). Taking advantage of being in the capital, a group of a few volunteers and myself got an apartment, enjoyed some Greek food, and listened to countless songs on Youtube before falling asleep, dead tired from a long week. The following day I visited a few other volunteers in a city to the north. We made Mexican food for dinner, and drank a local red wine while listening to hits from the year 1993. When I began my journey back to site, I quickly realized the ruteria (mini-bus) I had planned on taking home was in fact broken, and no other buses were running. Luckily, another volunteer lives close by and I was able to find a place to stay for the night. After a little bit of work getting back to his site, we were able to salvage the night by making some tasty American grub, and watching an Adam Sandler classic, Billy Madison, before calling it a night. Thank goodness for the soba (wood burning heater) on these cold nights!
I learned a fun saying 'E un ger de crapa pietrele' when translated it means: 'It is so cold that stones break'. ...this expression is quite fitting for the current sub-zero temperatures we have been experiencing.
Until next time, peace.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
A wee bit of Scotland
Last week I took my first 'trip' as a peace corps volunteer. I visited the beautiful country of Scotland. I had an amazing time with a fellow volunteer as we made the long journey from Moldova to Scotland.
Of course, like any trip, the 'getting there' part makes for a bit of an adventure. A word to the wise, if you find yourself in Chisinau (the capital of Moldova) and need to get to Bucharest (the capital of Romania) for a cheap flight, don't take the overnight bus. Spare yourself a night of no sleep, being overheated, while listening to Russian comedy films getting piped through all of the speakers on the bus, loudly. It was, to say the least, a sleepless uncomfortable night. But, when we did finally arrive at the airport for our further 6 hour wait for our flight I was able to get a few minutes of shut eye on the tiled floor of the Bucharest international airport. I have no shame, I will look like a bum if it means I will be slightly more comfortable. The flights were, luckily, all on time, and we made it to Edinburgh without too many setbacks (well unless you include my being slightly more cranky than usual).
We were greeted at the airport by one of my friends from school. I had the great good fortune of being an RA in the international dorm during my senior year at the University of New Hampshire. This experience allowed me the opportunity to meet some truly amazing people, who all kindly offered up their homes if I were ever 'in the neighborhood'. Well, being over in this neck of the woods, I am finding myself cashing in on as many of those offers as I can. Suckers, didn't think I would visit. I guess the joke is on all of you! Any-who, after a short ride on an immaculate double-decked bus we were dumped out in the middle of Edinburgh. Caught up in the charm of the city already, I quickly proclaimed 'this is the best trip I have ever been on'. This was all said before eating or sleeping...that goes to show you just how wonderful a city Edinburgh truly is. The night was short, we met up with another friend I had made at UNH and got a 'yay, you made it' pint. Although, I really didn't need a reason to have a pint at that point. After we shoveled all of our luggage into the trunk of a rented car (we somehow had the luck of scheduling our trip around the same dates as my friends father was visiting town. Thus, allowing us the ease and mobility of a car). I can never get over driving down the wrong side of the road. So, as I yelped with fear turning through intersections, we finally winded our way down the streets to the boys apartment. Not without stopping off to get a late night kebab and Dr. Pepper, of course.
The following day, unwilling to catch up on sleep, we arose to surprisingly warm morning. First point of business was to find sneakers. I had somehow lost mine in the confusion that is the peace corps office and needed a new pair, so that I could trounce around Scotland the right way. After finding a pair that were too tight for comfort I decided that without other option I had better just take my new trainers up the clerk check-out and get on with the day. Sam, the other volunteer on the trip, discovered the beautiful discount shopping store 'pound land'. We may or may not have bought up a few pounds worth of Dr. Pepper before hitting the road in search of something even more important: McDonalds breakfast. Now, before you go judging, this is coming from two people who have been outside of the US for quite awhile now. Neither one of us particularly craves McD's breakfast sandwiches when home, but, the novelty of devouring a bacon, egg and cheese on a bagel was just to great to pass up. After our morning of 'American' luxuries we headed back to the apartment to re-group before our jam packed day of sight seeing.
We packed a lunch and decided the best way for us to see the city would be to take the short half hour hike up Arthurs Seat that boosts the best and most expansive views of Edinburgh. The weather was perfect and without out too much trouble we were able to reach the summit, though the older gentlemen running up and down the step slopes of the hill made me feel more than slightly out of shape. We found old remains of a chapel that served as an idyllic place for a picnic and sat down to our lunch of ham and cheese on a freshly baked baguette. After finishing our light lunch we headed up the royal mile to see the beautiful St. Giles cathedral. We floated along the cobble stoned streets as the sun gently set and the building were bathed in a warm yellow-pink hue.
Another of the missing food groups we so craved, besides McDonalds breakfast, includes Chinese cuisine. And, what better way to fill that empty MSG void than with an artery clogging good old fashion Chinese buffet. So, we headed out in search of just that. We entered Jimmy Chungs ready to fill our bellies with all the best dishes; orange chicken, vegetable lo mein, chicken teriyaki, egg rolls and steamed dumplings. Oh goodness, just thinking about it makes my mouth water. Of course, after only a few mouth fulls and my stomach was already protesting my taking another bite. Apparently my stomach had forgotten what fun we used to have devouring plate after plate of delicious greasy fair. So, after only eating one plate, my stomach was too upset to allow me to eat another morsel, believe me, no one was more disappointed in this sad truth than I was. It also ended what would have been a fun Friday night out in Edinburgh. Instead, I lay in a food coma on a couch, in an apartment, on Easter road, watching a British food show (but, hey, it was in English).
The next day I woke to find the entire top of my left foot had been roughly bruised thanks to the too-tight sneakers I had purchased the day before. I tried to not let this ruin my spirits as we (Sam, the apartment boys, and I) headed out to the National Museum of Scotland. Now, I'm all for a good museum. But, I can't lie, I'm the kind of person who rushes through, doesn't read the little blurbs about the artifacts behind the glass, and gets distracted by the pop-up coffee kiosks that are strategically located close enough to the exhibits so that you can appear to be looking at something important when really you are, in actuality, reading the menu. This works well when you are with a group of like minded people but, when you are with a bunch of museum nerds you feel yourself get antsy and glance out the window every chance you can. Luckily, I was able to persuade all of the men with me that whatever was outside the confines of the museum wall were far more interesting than what was stored within. This is coming from a person who could sit at a park bench for hours staring at strangers walking by. Do I gain intellectual stimulation from sitting outside staring down strangers? No, probably not, but, my simple mind very much enjoys observing my surroundings, especially in a new place. And so, to me, getting out of that stuffy endless museum and back on the street became my vendetta. Sorry, boys.
After the great success of the museum, we headed over to a beautiful part of the city that is nestled on a stream. Now, this is my kind of sightseeing. The buildings were out of this world, beautiful. I found myself blissfully stumbling around the narrow streets daydreaming about my future flat being in that old building, or that one with the red roof, or maybe that one with the terrace and budding cherry tree, oh bliss.
We zoomed about the city in the wonderful rented car and weaved our way back to the boys apartment but, not before first stopping off to get some delicious fish and chips. It makes me sad that fish and chips are so darn unhealthy because ohmygoodness they are so good! It's honestly a good thing I live in a landlocked country, I would most certainly make a bad habit of consuming too much fried fish if I lived near the coast.
That night we did make it out. It always surprises me how much of a social life middle-aged society has outside the US, I guess it makes sense, especially in a cosmopolitan area like Edinburgh. I was also terribly under dressed in my tee-shirt and black patagonia jacket. Women parading into the jammed pubs with their sky-high heels and glittering tops, I felt like frump-osraus-rex. We had a great night, consuming excellent quality beers and chatting (in English!). The night ended with yet another stop off at the beloved late night kebab shop, this time to for some chips and curry.
The following morning Sam and I woke early to catch a train to Glasgow. We met up with yet another friend from UNH and her girlfriend who offered an amazing tour around the city. Except to pause for a delicious lunch at the local brewery, we walked and saw most of what Glasgow has to offer that day. It really was a beautiful city (didn't have a castle though, point Edinburgh). Later that evening we met up with a childhood friend of mine who had moved to Scotland many years ago. We had the most amazing dinner with her and her boyfriend and caught up on each-others lives as of late, before we headed back to Edinburgh on the late train.
The following day we allowed ourselves a few extra hours to rest after our long day in Glasgow. We started the day going to the supermarket. Now, again, you will judge and say that going to the supermarket while you are on a trip to a new place is a waste of precious time, but, I must remind you that there are only two supermarkets we volunteers have convenience of going to and that is only if we find ourselves in the capital. They also cannot hold a candle to that which is the first-world supermarket. A mecca to foodie volunteers. Sam and I felt like kids in a candy store, each new aisle an adventure of foods we could only dream about in Moldova. I should add a disclaimer here, the food in Moldova is great, don't get me wrong. I have more than enough weight on my bones before I could be considered even under nourished adjacent. That being said, the foods we eat in Moldova differ from those we are accustomed to eating back in the US. Thus, the appeal of a supermarket carrying all of those foods we pine over, in one convenient location. After purchasing far too much food, and in fact, judging myself for all of the unhealthy choices I made in the store, we carried our shopping bags back to the good ole' apartment.
A packed lunch later and we were out the door. We meandered our way back into the city center. I got to hear and oggle an innocent bagpiper. We also meandered around the National Gallery, before we settled at a park bench in the park just below the castle. A delicious sandwich, some fancy gourmet chips and a carton of blueberries later, and we were full and ready to see the last bits of the city.
On our final day in Scotland, Sam took the GMAT while I was entertained by UNH friends. We walked up a little hill where a replica of the Parthenon had been partially constructed. I'm told the investor thought it would look great atop this hill, I guess he isn't wrong, but, the project ran well over budget and so construction was stopped, and just one wall of pillars remains. That night we went out for a final farewell. After getting a couple of pints at a funky little bar off the main drag, we ate a delicious meal of British comfort food. Over indulgence again led to a shorter than planned evening, and we were back at the apartment packing our bags for an early morning.
The trip back was bittersweet, I didn't want to leave my friends in Edinburgh, they had been such wonderful hosts but, I was looking forward to having a proper bed to sleep in once again. Both flights went smoothly and our private rutiera from the Bucharest airport was actually quite comfortable. And, even though we stopped at a restaurant for little under an hour so the driver could have dinner, we still made it back a couple hours before we had estimated.
The trip was so relaxing and it, as vacations always do, went by far too quickly.
More on adventures in Moldova next time!
Peace
Of course, like any trip, the 'getting there' part makes for a bit of an adventure. A word to the wise, if you find yourself in Chisinau (the capital of Moldova) and need to get to Bucharest (the capital of Romania) for a cheap flight, don't take the overnight bus. Spare yourself a night of no sleep, being overheated, while listening to Russian comedy films getting piped through all of the speakers on the bus, loudly. It was, to say the least, a sleepless uncomfortable night. But, when we did finally arrive at the airport for our further 6 hour wait for our flight I was able to get a few minutes of shut eye on the tiled floor of the Bucharest international airport. I have no shame, I will look like a bum if it means I will be slightly more comfortable. The flights were, luckily, all on time, and we made it to Edinburgh without too many setbacks (well unless you include my being slightly more cranky than usual).
We were greeted at the airport by one of my friends from school. I had the great good fortune of being an RA in the international dorm during my senior year at the University of New Hampshire. This experience allowed me the opportunity to meet some truly amazing people, who all kindly offered up their homes if I were ever 'in the neighborhood'. Well, being over in this neck of the woods, I am finding myself cashing in on as many of those offers as I can. Suckers, didn't think I would visit. I guess the joke is on all of you! Any-who, after a short ride on an immaculate double-decked bus we were dumped out in the middle of Edinburgh. Caught up in the charm of the city already, I quickly proclaimed 'this is the best trip I have ever been on'. This was all said before eating or sleeping...that goes to show you just how wonderful a city Edinburgh truly is. The night was short, we met up with another friend I had made at UNH and got a 'yay, you made it' pint. Although, I really didn't need a reason to have a pint at that point. After we shoveled all of our luggage into the trunk of a rented car (we somehow had the luck of scheduling our trip around the same dates as my friends father was visiting town. Thus, allowing us the ease and mobility of a car). I can never get over driving down the wrong side of the road. So, as I yelped with fear turning through intersections, we finally winded our way down the streets to the boys apartment. Not without stopping off to get a late night kebab and Dr. Pepper, of course.
The following day, unwilling to catch up on sleep, we arose to surprisingly warm morning. First point of business was to find sneakers. I had somehow lost mine in the confusion that is the peace corps office and needed a new pair, so that I could trounce around Scotland the right way. After finding a pair that were too tight for comfort I decided that without other option I had better just take my new trainers up the clerk check-out and get on with the day. Sam, the other volunteer on the trip, discovered the beautiful discount shopping store 'pound land'. We may or may not have bought up a few pounds worth of Dr. Pepper before hitting the road in search of something even more important: McDonalds breakfast. Now, before you go judging, this is coming from two people who have been outside of the US for quite awhile now. Neither one of us particularly craves McD's breakfast sandwiches when home, but, the novelty of devouring a bacon, egg and cheese on a bagel was just to great to pass up. After our morning of 'American' luxuries we headed back to the apartment to re-group before our jam packed day of sight seeing.
We packed a lunch and decided the best way for us to see the city would be to take the short half hour hike up Arthurs Seat that boosts the best and most expansive views of Edinburgh. The weather was perfect and without out too much trouble we were able to reach the summit, though the older gentlemen running up and down the step slopes of the hill made me feel more than slightly out of shape. We found old remains of a chapel that served as an idyllic place for a picnic and sat down to our lunch of ham and cheese on a freshly baked baguette. After finishing our light lunch we headed up the royal mile to see the beautiful St. Giles cathedral. We floated along the cobble stoned streets as the sun gently set and the building were bathed in a warm yellow-pink hue.
Another of the missing food groups we so craved, besides McDonalds breakfast, includes Chinese cuisine. And, what better way to fill that empty MSG void than with an artery clogging good old fashion Chinese buffet. So, we headed out in search of just that. We entered Jimmy Chungs ready to fill our bellies with all the best dishes; orange chicken, vegetable lo mein, chicken teriyaki, egg rolls and steamed dumplings. Oh goodness, just thinking about it makes my mouth water. Of course, after only a few mouth fulls and my stomach was already protesting my taking another bite. Apparently my stomach had forgotten what fun we used to have devouring plate after plate of delicious greasy fair. So, after only eating one plate, my stomach was too upset to allow me to eat another morsel, believe me, no one was more disappointed in this sad truth than I was. It also ended what would have been a fun Friday night out in Edinburgh. Instead, I lay in a food coma on a couch, in an apartment, on Easter road, watching a British food show (but, hey, it was in English).
The next day I woke to find the entire top of my left foot had been roughly bruised thanks to the too-tight sneakers I had purchased the day before. I tried to not let this ruin my spirits as we (Sam, the apartment boys, and I) headed out to the National Museum of Scotland. Now, I'm all for a good museum. But, I can't lie, I'm the kind of person who rushes through, doesn't read the little blurbs about the artifacts behind the glass, and gets distracted by the pop-up coffee kiosks that are strategically located close enough to the exhibits so that you can appear to be looking at something important when really you are, in actuality, reading the menu. This works well when you are with a group of like minded people but, when you are with a bunch of museum nerds you feel yourself get antsy and glance out the window every chance you can. Luckily, I was able to persuade all of the men with me that whatever was outside the confines of the museum wall were far more interesting than what was stored within. This is coming from a person who could sit at a park bench for hours staring at strangers walking by. Do I gain intellectual stimulation from sitting outside staring down strangers? No, probably not, but, my simple mind very much enjoys observing my surroundings, especially in a new place. And so, to me, getting out of that stuffy endless museum and back on the street became my vendetta. Sorry, boys.
After the great success of the museum, we headed over to a beautiful part of the city that is nestled on a stream. Now, this is my kind of sightseeing. The buildings were out of this world, beautiful. I found myself blissfully stumbling around the narrow streets daydreaming about my future flat being in that old building, or that one with the red roof, or maybe that one with the terrace and budding cherry tree, oh bliss.
We zoomed about the city in the wonderful rented car and weaved our way back to the boys apartment but, not before first stopping off to get some delicious fish and chips. It makes me sad that fish and chips are so darn unhealthy because ohmygoodness they are so good! It's honestly a good thing I live in a landlocked country, I would most certainly make a bad habit of consuming too much fried fish if I lived near the coast.
That night we did make it out. It always surprises me how much of a social life middle-aged society has outside the US, I guess it makes sense, especially in a cosmopolitan area like Edinburgh. I was also terribly under dressed in my tee-shirt and black patagonia jacket. Women parading into the jammed pubs with their sky-high heels and glittering tops, I felt like frump-osraus-rex. We had a great night, consuming excellent quality beers and chatting (in English!). The night ended with yet another stop off at the beloved late night kebab shop, this time to for some chips and curry.
The following morning Sam and I woke early to catch a train to Glasgow. We met up with yet another friend from UNH and her girlfriend who offered an amazing tour around the city. Except to pause for a delicious lunch at the local brewery, we walked and saw most of what Glasgow has to offer that day. It really was a beautiful city (didn't have a castle though, point Edinburgh). Later that evening we met up with a childhood friend of mine who had moved to Scotland many years ago. We had the most amazing dinner with her and her boyfriend and caught up on each-others lives as of late, before we headed back to Edinburgh on the late train.
The following day we allowed ourselves a few extra hours to rest after our long day in Glasgow. We started the day going to the supermarket. Now, again, you will judge and say that going to the supermarket while you are on a trip to a new place is a waste of precious time, but, I must remind you that there are only two supermarkets we volunteers have convenience of going to and that is only if we find ourselves in the capital. They also cannot hold a candle to that which is the first-world supermarket. A mecca to foodie volunteers. Sam and I felt like kids in a candy store, each new aisle an adventure of foods we could only dream about in Moldova. I should add a disclaimer here, the food in Moldova is great, don't get me wrong. I have more than enough weight on my bones before I could be considered even under nourished adjacent. That being said, the foods we eat in Moldova differ from those we are accustomed to eating back in the US. Thus, the appeal of a supermarket carrying all of those foods we pine over, in one convenient location. After purchasing far too much food, and in fact, judging myself for all of the unhealthy choices I made in the store, we carried our shopping bags back to the good ole' apartment.
A packed lunch later and we were out the door. We meandered our way back into the city center. I got to hear and oggle an innocent bagpiper. We also meandered around the National Gallery, before we settled at a park bench in the park just below the castle. A delicious sandwich, some fancy gourmet chips and a carton of blueberries later, and we were full and ready to see the last bits of the city.
On our final day in Scotland, Sam took the GMAT while I was entertained by UNH friends. We walked up a little hill where a replica of the Parthenon had been partially constructed. I'm told the investor thought it would look great atop this hill, I guess he isn't wrong, but, the project ran well over budget and so construction was stopped, and just one wall of pillars remains. That night we went out for a final farewell. After getting a couple of pints at a funky little bar off the main drag, we ate a delicious meal of British comfort food. Over indulgence again led to a shorter than planned evening, and we were back at the apartment packing our bags for an early morning.
The trip back was bittersweet, I didn't want to leave my friends in Edinburgh, they had been such wonderful hosts but, I was looking forward to having a proper bed to sleep in once again. Both flights went smoothly and our private rutiera from the Bucharest airport was actually quite comfortable. And, even though we stopped at a restaurant for little under an hour so the driver could have dinner, we still made it back a couple hours before we had estimated.
The trip was so relaxing and it, as vacations always do, went by far too quickly.
More on adventures in Moldova next time!
Peace
Monday, January 9, 2012
Craciun Veche-- Christmas: Round Two
This past Saturday (January 7) was the Eastern Orthodox Christmas. The great majority of people who live in Moldova celebrate Christmas on the 'old calendar' with Christmas falling on 1/7 and New Years falling on 1/13. A holiday is always cause for celebration here in Moldova and Christmas is no exception.
Friday night, host mom was busy cooking up a storm for the masa (meal) on Saturday. I asked how many people we were expecting, host mom laughed, and told me she didn't know and that was why she was cooking so much food. I helped make the clatite (first: lets just take a moment to appreciate the hilarity of that word. second: they are not nearly as dirty as they sound, it's simply crepes filled with sweetened cheese and pan-fried). We all stayed up late preparing for the next day, cooking food and drinking tea.
Saturday, I woke to find host mom busy at work in the kitchen. I skirted around, helping when I could, mainly putting myself in the charge of the electric kettle (coffee is a requirement for normal functioning). When people did start arriving we were prepared, the food was laid out on the table, and the champagne was ready to be popped and poured.
When living with a host family there is always a period of awkward transition. A period of time when you tip-toe around, smile, make pleasantries, and get to know one another one day at a time. Luckily, I have built a strong relationship with my host mom. She is a really warm and caring woman who enjoys spending time with me (or, at least, she does a good job at pretending). Recently she has begun calling me by my nickname 'Britt'. So, when I met a few members of the family on Saturday and introduced myself as 'Brittany', host mom was quick to jump in and add "but, her family calls her Britt, it's easier". These are the little things that make me feel like I belong, like I am building the kind of relationships that I will hold on to when I leave Moldova.
Sunday, my host sister came home for a visit. She and her husband live in the capital, Chisinau. This, to me, was the true day of celebration. In the late morning we started up the BBQ and spent the day drinking vin de casa (homemade wine). We enjoyed each others company, ate until our stomachs were full, and drank until our minds were a buzz. It was a fun weekend here in Nisporeni.
Friday night, host mom was busy cooking up a storm for the masa (meal) on Saturday. I asked how many people we were expecting, host mom laughed, and told me she didn't know and that was why she was cooking so much food. I helped make the clatite (first: lets just take a moment to appreciate the hilarity of that word. second: they are not nearly as dirty as they sound, it's simply crepes filled with sweetened cheese and pan-fried). We all stayed up late preparing for the next day, cooking food and drinking tea.
Saturday, I woke to find host mom busy at work in the kitchen. I skirted around, helping when I could, mainly putting myself in the charge of the electric kettle (coffee is a requirement for normal functioning). When people did start arriving we were prepared, the food was laid out on the table, and the champagne was ready to be popped and poured.
When living with a host family there is always a period of awkward transition. A period of time when you tip-toe around, smile, make pleasantries, and get to know one another one day at a time. Luckily, I have built a strong relationship with my host mom. She is a really warm and caring woman who enjoys spending time with me (or, at least, she does a good job at pretending). Recently she has begun calling me by my nickname 'Britt'. So, when I met a few members of the family on Saturday and introduced myself as 'Brittany', host mom was quick to jump in and add "but, her family calls her Britt, it's easier". These are the little things that make me feel like I belong, like I am building the kind of relationships that I will hold on to when I leave Moldova.
Sunday, my host sister came home for a visit. She and her husband live in the capital, Chisinau. This, to me, was the true day of celebration. In the late morning we started up the BBQ and spent the day drinking vin de casa (homemade wine). We enjoyed each others company, ate until our stomachs were full, and drank until our minds were a buzz. It was a fun weekend here in Nisporeni.
Friday, January 6, 2012
La Multi Ani- New Years in the village
The New Year has come. I enjoy the beginning anew that happens on the first of January. It’s as if we are all given a refresh button. Everyone, myself included, comes up with resolutions for a better self. And, like most, mine is thrown to the side that Monday. But, in the spirit of starting anew we all celebrate those few hours before the start of a new beginning, and I am all for a good party.
This year was no different. On Saturday, I journeyed to the village of Sadova where I had plans to spend New Years with a few other volunteers and a welcoming host family. The evening, like most when visiting a new host family, started with a generous pitcher of house wine accompanied with some light conversation. The following few hours were spent relaxing before the big masa (meal) that would be eaten at the sound of midnight.
Curious of what festivities the village had to offer we set out in search of the band we had been told would be playing at the local cultural center. The walk through the village was short, but along the way we saw a few fireworks being set off around town. When we reached the center we could tell, from about 300 yards away, that this wasn’t the sort of band we had been expecting. We were greeted by the loud thumping of techno music and decided that we had better return home if we wanted to dance the Hora (a traditional Moldovan circle dance).
A bit more waiting back at the house before it was finally time to sit down to the meal. All six of us crowded in to the largest room in the family’s home, the master bedroom. A table had been set with a large spread of traditional Moldovan foods, and three bottles of sparkling white wine were waiting to be popped and toasted to the New Year.
We watched on the television as the festivities unfolded in Chisinau. It was reminiscent to the ‘Dick Clarks New Years Eve special’ my family watches of the festivities in Time Square. Just before the New Year we heard an address by the interim president Marian Lupu, and with that, it was down to the countdown. We all sat around the table, with our glasses raised, counting down in Romanian to a new year in Moldova.
The weekend was lazy and delightful. Sleeping in on Sunday morning and waking up in a brand-new year. The village didn’t look any different, and we were all no worse for the wear (well except for the headaches), and another New Years had come and past, and Monday life was back to normal.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Christmas in Moldova
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.
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.
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.
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