A Week Of Food- Hram (City Day) and Thanksgiving

Last week was a week full of food, friends and host family. Not only was Thursday, Thanksgiving, but, Wednesday we celebrated Hram (City Day) here in Nisporeni.

Hram, is a holiday in Moldova that celebrates the city, town, or village that one lives in. Every town has their own day. And, Nisporeni happens to have it's Hram every year on November 21st. So, Tuesday evening host mom and I began the preparations for the big meal we would have on Wednesday.

She requested I make pizza, this has become her go-to dish for me to make. I'm honestly not sure if she really likes pizza or she likes the fact that I can make pizza. Regardless, I was more than happy to lend a hand in the kitchen. Now, if you have ever been to Moldova you know that pizza here is not the same as pizza back home. The standard pizza in Moldova arrives with a layer of mayonnaise. To be honest, I'm not sure why this extra topping is deemed necessary but alas it is, and so we peace corps volunteers adapt. Now, when I make the pizzas' at my home in Nisporeni we play by American rules. No carrots, or cabbage, or funky mystery meats, and definitely NO mayonnaise! No; we go classic. So, after I had made my homemade dough and rolled it out on the counter I asked host mom where the tomato sauce was that I would be spreading over what would, undoubtedly be bubbly chewy golden crust. I knew I was going to be disappointed when she said, well I don't really like tomato sauce so instead I bought an alternative. 'Here we go', I thought, 'here comes the mayo...'. And then, host mom pulled out a packet from the fridge and there in her hand was a bag of tartar sauce. ...................................... Let me just let that sink in for you, my lovely reader................... Host mom was asking me to defile my beautiful pizza with tartar sauce. But, then she smiled and said 'I think this will be better, don't you?' The thoughts that raced through my mind were not particularly pleasant, but after a few seconds and seeing the big goofy smile on my host moms face I conceded and squeezed the contents of the tartar sauce packet out onto the beautiful dough I had prepared. These are the trials of a peace corps volunteer. It's a hard life, right? I'm thinking I'm going to be chowing down on some seriously delicious pizza and than I'm covering it in tartar sauce. But, you know what, these are the things that a year and a half in Moldova has deadened me to. I challenge any Moldovan to shock me, at this point, it's not going to happen. And, after a year and a half, that tartar sauce pizza, I hate to admit, didn't taste half bad.

Thanksgiving is always a crap time to be away from home, but this year I decided I would celebrate with my host family. Last year I was off with other volunteers and we had a very American thanksgiving lost in some bloc-apartment in Moldova. This year I wanted to celebrate slightly differently, I wanted to involve my host family. They have, after all, involved me in all of their special celebrations, it was my turn to show them how we Americans do the holidays. So, Thanksgiving morning I awoke early to start to cook for the entire day. I was happily interrupted by some lovable family members who had dipped into the holiday punch early and decided to skype with me before getting a little rest before the big day. I baked and cooked all day. I would make anyone who knew me in my 'previous life', as the girl who could barely make ramen noodles correctly, very proud. I happily scrambled, mixed, chopped, sauteed, molded and stirred my way through countless hours of Christmas music, kitchen dancing, and cooking! And later that day, when a couple of volunteer friends arrived in Nisporeni, we streamed a live broadcast of the Macy's day parade, sipped on festive holiday drinks, and enjoyed each others company. Later, at meal time we all sat down together, as volunteers and host family members, as Americans and Moldovans, and had very special bi-lingual Thanksgiving (my first ever!).


Hope you had a happy, peaceful, and thankful Turkey Day across the pond!

Girls Weekend

Last weekend I went on an adventure up to the little village of Oliscani to join in a 'girls weekend', celebrating the birthday of a fellow volunteer.

Saturday afternoon a group of boisterous volunteers piled into a routiera (mini-bus) and headed for the north of Moldova. We arrived in the little village in early evening, and walked through the muddy roads to our hosts home. From there we made the trip to a sauna where we would be spending the night. We indulged in delicious cheese burgers and onion rings before heading to the sauna room. It was a fun night of sitting in the sauna, dunking the cold waiting pool, and chatting with new friends.

The following morning a group of us made our way to the bus stop. Actually, it was less a bus stop more a corner of the road. We walked a mile and a half through the cold and fog to reach this corner, and there we stood and waited.

After about ten minutes a packed mini-bus sped by us, with a destination in the adjoining district. This was a good sign, at least there were buses running. The bus we were waiting for finally appeared another twenty minutes later. We were all freezing, and I believe I did a happy dance when I finally saw the bus. We waved it down, ready to hop on, and then it also flew past us, ignoring our flailing arms. The sinking feeling started to grow in our stomachs, at this point we just wanted to get in a moving vehicle, it didn't matter what, just as long as we were out of the cold and headed in the right direction. We began to feel pretty helpless knowing the next bus wasn't for another five hours, were we really going to be stuck on this corner for five hours? Finally, after our hopes had been sufficiently diminished, a miracle mini-bus turned down the street. We waved it down and sure enough, it stopped to picked-up all five of us, disheveled sleepy and cold girls. None of us cared that we had to stand in the isle. We were just happy to be on a mini-bus headed to our destination. When we reached the next district exactly five people got off the mini-bus opening up just enough seats to allow all of us to sit down for the remainder of the trip.

 It ceases to amaze how things in Moldova have a way of working themselves out.   

Happy Monday!

A Year With Host Mom

How do you bond with your family? In my experiences its developed over years of living together and loving one another. But, how do you bond with a host family? It was a new experience for me, coming to Moldova and living with a host family.

At first it's just down right awkward. Not only did I not know the language, but I had never been placed in a situation that resembled this before. I didn't know where I fit in, what my role was. Was I just a person renting a bedroom in their house? Was I just the strange foreign girl who spent a lot of time in her room? At first this is how it feels, just trying to blend into the background and not ruffle feathers.

But then, after about a month of quiet dinners it's time to make the move towards a new sort of relationship. I started slowly with host mom, bringing up simple subjects to discuss. Before I knew it we were talking about our lives, our hopes for the future, advanced subjects of conversation that later I would think about and wonder how I understand anything that was discussed. Host mom (this is her name to me thus the lack of 'my' in front of host mom) has easily become my best host-country national friend in Moldova. I tell her everything and in turn she does the same. It's a pretty great relationship, I find myself missing home (in Moldova) when I am way in the capital or visiting other volunteers. I consider myself exceedingly blessed to have been able to live with her.

This week marks a full year in Nisporeni, and a full year with host mom. We have come a long way. In this year not only did I meet her, but I got to know her and her family. This past year I attended family parties, helped with house work, went to a family christening, attended a wedding, made house wine, conserved fruits and vegetables, had visitors, and began to call Nisporeni my home. I can honestly say that after this year living in Nisporeni I will always call Moldova my second home. Peace Corps is a roller coaster ride for emotions, health, and mental well-being, but I have had many of my high moments here when simply sitting at a table drinking tea with host mom.

Our latest form of bonding has come from a Turkish TV series, Suleyman Magnificul, we watch every Monday and Tuesday night from 8-10:30pm. The series is in Turkish with Romanian subtitles, if asked a year ago if I would be reading a foreign film in a foreign language I would've laughed. But, without fail we watch, it's dramatic and over-the-top and host mom and I can't get enough. Later in the week we discuss what happened and our predictions for the next weeks show. --'I don't think she killed him.' 'I agree but, she does have a temper. I wonder if the Sultan will bring her back to court because he loves her.' -- These are the things that bring us together, the things I will always remember from my time here.

Multumesc mama gazda, a fost un an placut cu dumneavoastra. Sper ca inca un an impreuna cu multi fericiti.
Thank you host mom, it was a enjoyable year with you. I hope we will have another happy year together. 

Peace to you, on this last day of October.

A Simple Weekend

Well, the cold has arrived and with it the rain. And, so I will write of my simple and happy 'weekend in'.

I opted to stay at site this past weekend and spend some quality time with my host mom. She and I have grown close and I enjoy the long conversations we have about all facets of life.

The weekend started after work Friday. I found myself brewing up some hot spiced cider and reading in my big cozy bed. A perfect way to end a hectic week.The following morning I took a trip through the rain to the local shop, just a few blocks from our house. Host mom wanted to make soup for dinner so I volunteered to pick up the cabbage. I hid beneath my black umbrella, its purpose quickly waning as the holes in the lining grow, hitting my face and hands with cold drops of autumn rain. I returned home without everything host mom had asked for, the shop was out of peppers. She didn't mind, the soup could still be made without the peppers. As she chopped and stirred the soup we chatted about how fun it would be if she could come with me to America, we could open a Moldovan restaurant, she could cook and I could do the books. What fun she had laughing about the prospect.

My host mother is truly an amazing woman. Having grown up with four sisters and a brother she has countless stories of her childhood and fond memories from her weathered life. She moved around Moldova when she was young, living near sisters who had moved away from home, but finally her husband Mihai was able to wrangle her in, and she has lived in Nisporeni ever since. The home she has built would make anyone proud. With her husband working abroad for more than a decade she has put her time, resources and care into making her house a comfort for even my first world tastes. But, its not just the house that she has built, but the life she has built, to truly be proud of. My host mother is one of the kindest women I have ever met. She works hard as the accountant for the local pharmacy where she is fifty percent owner. She looks out for her neighbors and often invites people over for dinner, just to make sure they don't go to bed hungry. She is patient with everyone, especially me, which I am so thankful for. Above all of that she has integrity and compassion that can only be learned from years of living a full life.  

 The weekend ended up more livelier than both host mom and I had thought, with the arrival of my host sister and her husband on Saturday evening. I found out she would be coming following my lazy Saturday afternoon nap. I made my way into the kitchen confused to find host mom preparing several different dishes. She had already made the soup, on a normal weekend that would be both our lunch and dinner, something was up. I asked host mom what she was doing, she turned around smiled and responded 'Olga is coming'. After speaking with her daughter multiple times that day it seemed she had won in persuading her daughter to come for a visit, contingent on the preparation of a few favorite dishes. It was a welcome surprise after a gray and rainy day of tea and movies.

My host sister, Olga, is a spirited young woman. She commands the room and always makes a statement with both her beauty and her bubbly personality. I am quite reserved as compared to my host sister (this might come as a surprise to many of you). She is quite the Moldoveanca (female Moldovan), her tall slender frame and her always pristine makeup make her easily the object of passerby's affection. But, she is more than just her beauty. She works hard and has created quite a career for herself, constantly jetting off to international conferences all around Europe. It is always a pleasure when she comes home for a visit. She always livens up the mood, and shortly after her arrival pop music is streaming throughout the house.

That evening we toasted with cognac and house wine. What were we toasting? Who cares! We made the visit a celebration, who needs a reason beyond that? The following morning we all woke up to find host mom yet again hard at work in the kitchen making another meal to warm our tummy's.  I decided today I would try and make an apple pie for everyone. It is apple season after all, and any excuse to fill the house with the aroma of cinnamon I will take. After looking at recipes I opted for a much simpler apple tart recipe. I must say, I have become quite the cook in the past few months. I guess cooking and baking aren't as horrible as I had made them out to be. And, the end result is so delicious. I got the stamp of host mom approval and a request to make it again soon, don't have to ask me twice.

Sunday afternoon Olga left to get back to Chisinau and host mom and I fell back into our routine. The weekend ended just as it had began. With a big mug of hot cider and a good book, all tucked into bed.A perfect way to prepare for another week.

Peace on this Monday ~

Rekindling The Fire

Lately I have realized how my thoughts quickly jump ahead to the future. What does the future have in store for me? It's quite a looming question, what will I do after Peace Corps? So looming in fact I have already begun to lose sleep over what I will do, where I will live, when this will all happen. You get the idea. All of these thoughts have consumed me the past month or so. This was brought on by seeing the year of volunteers ahead of me leave and struggle to find their place back in the US.

I have realized that worrying is one of my favorite things to do. But, really where does worrying get a person? Besides curled into the fetal position with a stomach ache. So, I am officially challenging myself.
Challenging myself to live more in the moment and less worried about what the future holds. Life has worked out pretty well thus far. I  will always be type A, to the point of no return. I know I will stress over the little things and fear for what my future will be, but I must not let that ruin the present.

So here is my challenge to myself: I will live in the moment and appreciate the beautiful country and people who surround me. I will take in the little bits of sunshine left before the winter. I will eat all the grapes I can fit in my stomach before they turn to raisins. I will get crafty in my free time. I will work hard with my work partners, and be okay if this doesn't equate to the grand development I had originally hoped to see. I will share stories and laughter and tea with my host mom. I will remember to smile at people, even if they think I am crazy in the head. I will not take the relationships in my life for granted and I'll learn to give more praise for all the wonderful things people are doing.

And, I will work everyday to rekindle the fire I had inside me when I joined the Peace Corps, 15 months ago.  

Peace to you!

Wine

September has rolled around once again, and with the cooler weather comes wine making season!

This was my first year of making wine. Last year a few obstacles stood in the way but, this year I was not going to let the season pass me by. So, when the temperature began to drop and the sun began to set earlier I knew it was only a matter of time before we would be out in the garden picking grapes.

Wine is a big part of the culture here in Moldova. Moldovans are very proud of their wine, and every household makes their own house wine (vin de casa). And, every household believes their wine is the best, this is shown time and time again when visiting new people. The house wine always flows generously. Furthermore, When driving through the countryside of Moldova one easily sees hundreds of family grapevine plots dotted over hills an valleys. It's quite beautiful, the rows of vines bobbing and twisting around mid-height stakes in the ground.

When the time comes to conserve fruits and vegetables here in Moldova, host mom and I go out into the garden and pick said fruit/vegetable completely from its source. We leave no piece behind. Host mom, like most Moldovans conserve in large batches. One day of conserving kilo upon kilo of pickled tomatoes and it is done and taken care of for the winter. There is no difference when making wine. We went out into the garden with buckets and proceeded to pull every last bundle of grapes from the vine.

After the grapes had been collected we brought them over to a large wooden open-top barrel where we began to process all the grapes through a hand-crank grinder squeezing the grapes and depositing them in the barrel. We cranked through over 200kg (2.2lbs per 1kg) of grapes that day. Hello, arm workout. When the grapes are all squeezed then its just a waiting game.

The grapes naturally ferment overtime and by the third day it was time to siphon the wine out and put it into the holding container. This part of the process I was interested in viewing as the barrel was up in the front yard and the holding container for the wine was down in the cellar. But, my confusion was quickly erased when I saw the long hose borrowed from a neighbor dipping into the barrel with the grapes and extend down into the basement ending in the other container. For the rest of the afternoon a parade of helpful neighbors came and went, monitoring the progress of the wine. A couple of days later the remaining grape pits and grape skins were manually put into another small press and squeezed of their excess liquids. Ending the wine making process with an empty wooden barrel and a large holding container of wine in the cellar.

My favorite moment in the process was when one neighbor complained of being tired and the other neighbor chirped in "Yes, fall is tough but when winter comes what will we do? We will sit with our feet on the heater and a glass of wine in our hands." I will cheers to that!

Here's to the coming winter, with our feet on the heater and a glass of wine in our hands!

Peace

A Wedding In Moldova

Last Friday I attended my first Moldovan wedding.

My host cousin married his fiance and I was invited to partake in the celebration. The event was held at a wedding hall in the neighboring district of Ungheni. Host mom and I prepared in the afternoon, got into our party dresses, and played around with our hair for a good hour. Well, it was mostly me playing around with my hair until I was able to put together something that was deemed suitable.

We left the house around 4pm and made the short trip to host aunt's house. There, with many of the other family members, we prepared to depart for the wedding. Preparation for departure included dressing-up a roasted chicken with a cellophane skirt, a string of olives necklace, roasted potatoes in gold tinted aluminum foil, and many other little details I have since forgotten.

When guests of the wedding arrived at the parents of the grooms home, they were ushered into the sitting room, where a quick toast to the wedding was made and the drinking was commenced. After guests were left to their own devices to enjoy the company of the others who had already gathered to chat about the falls harvest, grape prices, and the drudgery of a summer without rain.

I wanted to make myself useful and asked what I could do to help. This somehow was construed as 'I am hungry, feed me now'. I was whisked into the kitchen, sat at the table, and handed a large mug of tea and told to eat. I suppose the biggest help I could be was staying out of the way. So, that's what I did. Truth be told, I am quite good at sitting at a table and drinking tea.

Around 6:00pm we embarked from host aunts house in the rented routiera (mini-bus). As usual, there were several more bodies than there were seats, and a quick dash into the house for stools to be placed in the row between seats was made before we departed. The routiera was well past its prime, and whatever shock system it once had was long gone. So, in the very back row, crammed between the window and a few healthy women I swallowed a dramamine (thank god for those little pills) and prayed that the routiera wouldn't break down half way to the reception. We bumped and tossed our way there and around 7:30pm we arrived at the event hall.

We waited outside the event space for awhile, the entrance is important, we had to wait for the right timing. Around 8pm we made our entrance. Joining the rest of the guests who had already greeted the couple and were now forming a giant circle around the newlyweds. After everyone had given their best wishes, a few rounds of the hora (traditional circle dance) were danced before we entered the dining room.

 I had a really great seat in terms of view. I was seated with the immediate family members at the table directly next to the newlyweds table, with a great view of the rest of the guests. Prime location, score. Host cousin carried his bride into the room and to their table where they would be sharing the first official meal as husband and wife.

Moldovan weddings are a very important part of the culture and as such, no expense is spared. This is most apparent in the meal that is served. When guests walk into the dining hall the tables are already set up with plate after plate of food, covering every single table. This is one of the biggest differences between a Moldovan wedding and a American wedding. In America, the catering company knows the headcount of the guests and provides food accordingly. Also in America, time and thought goes into creating a centerpiece for each table. At a Moldovan wedding the tables are literally covered with plates of beautiful food. No space is left on the table for any sort of centerpiece, I couldn't even put my cell-phone on the table, it was filled to the brim.

The MC for the evening kept the guests excited and the atmosphere light. We dined on the first 'cold meal', drinking champagne toasts, and watching traditional Moldovan dancers sweep over the bits of free space between the tables. After the meal we adjourned back to the dancing room where the bride and groom shared their first dance, complete with fog and bubble machines. Dancing commenced after this. I like the way Moldovans dance. Everyone has their own sort of space to dance, it's also quite calm, a back and forth motion with hands slightly raised is good enough, and for me that is about all I can manage. The dancing went on for a number of hours, coffee and tea were served with some mid-evening cakes.

When the dancing finally came to an end everyone made their way back into the dining room. It was time for the second 'hot meal'. Before this meal, the chicken that had been dressed up earlier in the day was presented to the god couple of the newlyweds. This is also a Moldovan custom, the newlyweds choose another young married couple to act as their mentors in marriage. I like this custom of seeking a couple to mentor and guide couples through good times and bad. I would imagine this system comes in handy when the couple needs a third parties advice, who better to turn to than people who are entrusted with the role to love and support the couple? After the funny chicken is delivered, the hand washing ritual is performed with the newlyweds washing the hands of their god couple. Following the hand washing, braided round bread and wine is served as a toast to the god couple. The 'hot meal' is then served, customarily this includes sarmale (grape leaves wrapped with rice and meat), and some meat dishes.

When the second meal has finished the couple than gets toasts from nearly everyone at the wedding. This was the portion of the evening that definitely strays from what we Americans would consider good etiquette. At the end of every toast the person announces how much money they are giving to the couple and then the money is placed into a large glass vase. My host mom explained that people are to state how much they are giving so no one takes advantage of the couple. Luckily, host mom took the microphone when it was our turn and I was spared from having to state how much I was throwing in the pot, she said it for me. This sort of thing wouldn't fly back home.

Following the toasts, we went back out into the dancing room and watched the bouquet and garter tosses. Then the couple sat on two chairs in the middle of the room and proceeded to get presents placed in front of them and blankets strewn over their shoulders. After some time they had been completed buried in the blankets. The guests would go up, wrap another blanket on top of them, duck down and wish the couple well. They were swallowed up by all the blankets, it was hot just looking at them sitting under the growing pile. When the parade of well-wishers and presents finally ended the couple emerged from the pile and waited for the presentation of their wedding cake. I shouldn't have expected anything less but, out came the huge three tiered cake with sparklers going off and music playing. We dined on cake and coffee for the remaining time.

And then, the most humorous thing happened. When people had finished their cake everyone slowly disappeared back into the dining room. I wondered what was going on so, I made my way with the crowd. And there, I found everyone taking plastic produce bags and filling them with all the plates that still had food on the table. All the food was taken, down to the last slice of bread. Host sister could tell I was slightly thrown off by what was happening and she explained that every place setting of food was about $80 and so all the food would be brought home and eaten later. The plates were scraped clean, the wine pitchers were emptied into containers, the half full bottles of cognac and vodka were consolidated or drank, and the dining hall was left empty of food and drink. 

I do love weddings, they are such a beautiful celebration of love. Watching the way the bride and groom interact, and seeing the way they look at one another is so special. I was honored to have been apart of one of the most special days of their lives. And, I don't think I could have gotten a better example of a truly Moldovan wedding.

At the end of the night, we filled our arms with all the leftovers and piled into cars to make the journey back to Nisporeni. We arrived back home around 5am. I was told to change, and that we were going back to host aunt's for the after party. After party? It was 5am, I was done. I told them to go on without me, I had experienced all the Moldovan wedding I could for that day. I was tired, and it was time for the lame American to go to bed. They understood, I said my good nights (probably should've said good mornings) and headed off to bed. As I dozed off I was happy to have experienced such a night. And then I went to sleep, mind full of champagne bubbles and Moldovan folk music.

And to the newlyweds,
Multi fericire si drum bun in viata! (Much happiness and good travels in life!)

Peace