The End

At the time of your reading this and me posting this, my time as a teacher of English in Moldova is officially done. All the grades are in, all the lessons have been taught, and we even had a ceremony today (May 30th) that officially ended it all. I'll spend the next few hundred words explaining just what that means to me.

In a way, I can't believe it. It's over. The concept of me being done is one that I'm still trying to wrap my head around. I think it really hit me last Friday when one of my kids was talking to me and made a grammar mistake and my 'teacher' instinct kicked in and I was thinking how I was going to have to review the word order for Past-Tense Conditional when it hit me – there is no next lesson. Ever. Everything these kids will ever learn from me has been taught. And it's amazing, both in a good and bad way.

I'll start with the bad so I can end on a good note. The mentality of my school is one that isn't necessarily supportive of learning English – of my kids, I can say that seventy percent have nothing more than a rudimentary interest in learning English, with certain classes having zero interest in the language. My eighth graders, for example, did basically nothing during my two years (in fact, my one regret from my second year is that I didn't tell my director on day one that I wouldn't teach them). In fact, last Thursday when I gave them their grades I went on to tell them how we were supposed to have two lessons this week but they had already wasted two years of my life and I wouldn't let them waste another hour and a half (that's a direct quote). Something last summer happened with my seventh graders, because in our first year they were great and always worked and I honestly couldn't wait to start working with them again this year; however, after our third week it was clear that something had changed, that all of their interest was gone and that it was going to be a trying year. I can't tell you how many kids, from many classes, showed up everyday without a pen, a notebook, or a textbook. I had one student in fifth grade who I told to write 100 words – in Russian – explaining why he didn't work and told him that he would basically receive a D- for every lesson until I had the work in my hands. How long did he take to write it? Six weeks. That level of stubbornness/disrespect/disinterest is something which I had to battle with on a daily basis for two years. My feelings would swing like a pendulum, with hurt on one side, anger on the other, and indifference in the middle. Thankfully, those time are over.

On a positive note, there are some kids in some classes that I absolutely, totally adore. My sixth graders, for example, are amazing. I would work with those kids for six hours a day, every day, if given the chance. They showed up everyday ready to work and when I taught new grammar or words it was clear at the next lesson that they had gone home and learned them. I went out of my way yesterday to thank them for everything they've done in our one year together to make my job that much easier. My top fifth graders (the best three – I can't talk about the whole class) are incredible. When I think of how much they knew on our first day of class compared with their level now . . . it's remarkable. A few weeks ago they had to translate a text about a hedgehog under a bed – the text was probably 200 words – and they not only translated it but translated it so quickly that I was stunned. They can listen to a conversation I can have with any of my American friends and if we speak slowly enough, follow along. My fourth graders are so warm; no matter how bad a day I had they could inevitably say or do something in the first minutes of our lesson that brightened my mood – I genuinely looked forward to our time together. And my ninth graders (again, the top four) are really, really good. I can't believe how much they've grown mentally and physically in the last two years. And their English is really solid, at least compared to what it was then they walked in my door of September, 2006. Sometimes they would give me homework and I would be genuinely surprised by the quality of what I received. About once a week I would say some obscure word in English (like 'scar') and one of them would already know the answer.

I think the biggest challenge facing me in my last two months here will be simply a change in identity. From the moment I touched down here on June 6th, 2006, my identity has been that of an English teacher; when asked to describe what I do here, I could always answer in the present tense, “I teach English.” I could aways say, “I am an English teacher.” Now, for the next two months, everything switches to the past tense, “I taught English”, “I was an English teacher.” It will be an odd transition to make.

Notes:
- There are moments that, despite living in this country for almost two years, still surprise me, still catch me off-guard. Case in point: last Saturday night there was a group of walking around Chisinau when we stumbled on a free concert in the center, where a popular Russian band named Tokio was playing. There were literally thousands of people there listening and we had no idea, before getting close, that anything like that was going on.

Then, while listening to the concert, we wanted some beer so we went to a store in the center that we know to be open twenty-four hours a day. We got there and while the store itself was open, the doors were closed and there was a guard standing there, not letting anyone; apparently the place was too full. But rather than do the logical thing – when two people leave, two people are let in, and so forth – he let the line build and build while people left and left and then finally, he opened the doors and there was a mad rush in. Strange.

- My plans for the summer couldn't possible be any more open. I have no idea what I'll do – there are some dates where I have to be certain places for certain reasons but other than that, I'm free to do what I want. I'll probably be in my village 1/3 of the time, in Chisinau 1/3 of the time, and I'm planning on visiting friends – that'll take up another 1/3 of my time.

- I've got a new cell-phone number: 011-373-687-86-283. Feel free to call at any time . . .

- I'll end by describing what happened on Thursday with my sixth graders when, in an attempt thank them, I brought them to the local store so I could buy them ice-cream. Of course, I didn't tell them in advance of the plan but instead, as soon as they sat down, I grabbed my keys and told them to follow me. They were a little surprised and kept asking me where we were going – I kept saying, “somewhere.” Finally, though, we arrived and I told them to go inside and pick out their favorite ice-cream. They, however, were far too sheepish. They yelled at each-other to go because everyone was too scared to be the first. I finally got tired of waiting and just went in, bought something, and gave it out, telling them that I had already spend the money so they should eat it.

They smiled to each-other, thanked me, and immediately devoured the ice-cream. I figured it was the least I could do for them considering all that they've done for me.

Wedding Bells Are Ringing

Last Wednesday, I slept six hours because I had to get up Thursday at 5:30 and, because I had no lessons for the proceeding two days, I couldn't sleep

On Thursday I was at a conference with the others in my group and we celebrated a birthday – again, I slept five hours.

On Friday we celebrated the going-away of another girl and again, I slept five hours.

So you can imagine my trepidation when I went to my host-brothers wedding on Saturday, weddings here being endurance contests as much as anything else and events which require a depth of energy even under the best of circumstances.

But I showed up ready to go, getting home at 7:00 Saturday evening and after waiting for a ride from my host-cousin with my host-mom and host-grandma for a while, we were finally whisked away to the mayor's office for the signing of the documents (the irony being that we waited thirty minutes to avoid a four minute walk). We showed up and there were only a handful of people there, the mayor included, and my host-brother and his bride both dressed up and looking great. The others gathered around were mainly family and the young men and women of the wedding party – a total of maybe twenty-five. There they had their vows, we drank some champagne, the parents gave some words, and then it was off to our local sanatorium located about a mile away for the real party that awaited us.

When we arrived, after taking some pictures, we were met by a crowd of about 150 people who were cheering and in a very jovial mood. At weddings here the couple usually goes in first and waits next to an arch decorated with flowers while the guests file in, one by one or in pairs, and offer their congratulations to the couple and then take their seats. It should be noted that this didn't happen until 9:30 at night and I was already dragging badly from being so tired – it took a lot of mental energy for me to stay focused and I had to draw on the people in the room to stay up.

I was placed by my host mom at a table of twenty-five people, two of whom I actually knew: my host-brothers wife's neighbor who I had spoken to twice and who once picked me up when I was trying to hitchhike, and the wife's aunt who ate dinner with us once but with whom I'd never spoken to. That was it. Thankfully though, there was a married couple to the immediate left of me who were quick to befriend me and with whom I spoke for a while. At weddings, after people have sat around and eaten for a while, people go outside to dance for an hour or two. Me being alone, I just stood and watched the dancing but actually found it entertaining – I also didn't have the physical vitality to spare for dancing, especially because we were coming up on 1:00 in the morning at this point and I still had at least five more hours to go. So I went back inside and sat alone at my table alone for a while, having a drink and trying to recover a bit, although I tried a little too hard because the next thing I new the place was full and there was the married couple sitting next to me and giving me an odd look (apparently I had said some words to them in English, making me realize that I was indeed seventy percent sleeping yet part of me was conscious of the people entering around me. I then, however, closed my eyes only to open them fifteen minutes later with my host-mom telling me not to sleep and putting a cup of coffee on the place-mat in front of me.

I woke up at about 2:00 to the start of the traditional second dinner, when the equivalent of the best man and bridesmaid walk around the room with a decorated basket, approaching all the guests who in turn give little toasts, then announced how much money they were giving the newlyweds before throwing the money into the basket. I actually had a little toast planned but a combination of my total exhaustion combined with the mass of people around me caused me to hold my tongue – when they came to me I simply threw my money in the basket and told them I had no speech. They came to me at the end and my body was like a cellphone operating on the final bar and starting to beep loudly, demanding recharging. It was 3:00 in the morning – I was dying.

But then the most remarkable thing happened: I got a second (or third or fourth) wind. From somewhere, someone, I somehow started to feel better. My mood picked up, and thoughts other than my desire to crawl to sleep somewhere were able to enter my mind. I saw a woman I knew there, my host-uncle's wife and a woman who once a week or so goes to take care of host-grandpa (who, sadly, wasn't at the wedding) – I ended up drinking and talking with her for about an hour. At that point the crowd was starting to clear out while the bride and groom engage in a tradition in which they sit on chairs and all the clothing, sheets, and other wearable things they've been give are placed on them, after which the cake is cut and given out the holders-on.

Finally, about 6:00 in the morning I was basically drained and ready to go home, waiting and waiting and wanting to do everything possible to avoid the half-hour walk home. They kept promising that we would leave and then . . . the next thing I knew it was 6:45 in the morning and I was the only one left in the building. I must have sat down to relax and like a laptop computer turning off itself when the battery gets too low, just shut down. I didn't know what to do except that which I didn't want to do at all costs – walk home. But seeing no other option, I hoofed it home, arriving at 7:28 and passing out from exhaustion at 7:30 (only to wake up at 1:30 in the afternoon). It marked a great end to an event that I had been looking forward to for well over a year.

Notes:
- Sadly, this joyous event was proceeded by a very personally sad one – the loss of my cell phone. It fell out of my pocket on the mini-bus home before the wedding and I was so busy with thoughts of the following few hours that I didn't notice until I walked through my door. I immediately went back and flagged down the driver who let me get on and search but I came up with nothing. I then went home and called myself (something I should have done right away) I heard it go right to voice-mail, meaning someone had found it and turned it off. Meaning that no-one had any intention of returning it to me.

On one hand the news was crushing – the days without a phone have been much harder than my time without a computer because gone is any communication with friends, the daily text-messages sent between us. There a few things that happen every day after which I need to tell someone but can't. But on the other hand, there are volunteers who have had computers or wallets stolen so in a way, I know it could be a lot worse. But it's still not fun. As soon as I get a new phone in eight days, I'll post my new number so that should the mood to call me strike anyone reading this, that possibility will exist.

- The conference that I wrote about at the start of this about the conference that all members were at – it was a little bittersweet, seeing as how it will be the very last time that we are all together. We spent the two days getting presentations from various Peace Corps staff and former Peace Corps volunteers who work with NGO's in Moldova, all of whom gave us information about what we can expect both in our last few months of service as well as out first few months back home.

We also had our final language exam and I got the score I expected on it, grading out at “Advanced-Mid”, the score I was hoping to get when I first found out about the scoring system. It's especially high for a Russian speaker – I've allowed myself a rare moment of pride over my accomplishment.

- Exactly three months from the day of this posting my feet will touch down in my hometown. Not that I'm counting or anything . . .

- Last Thursday, the first day of our conference, also marked the birthday of one of my best friends here, a girl celebrating her twenty-fifth year. As part of my gift to her I had my youngest classes, my fourth, fifth, and sixth graders, all make by hand cards for her with notes written inside them. I have to hand it to my kids – they did a great job and the cards were great, so great that the girl I gave them to actually teared up a little. It made me so happy with my kids that I can't describe it.

The Last Trip

I'll start this entry about my nine days of vacation with my favorite story from times spent in and around Moldova with friends.

Two Fridays ago we went up to a town located forty-five minutes north of Chisinau called Orhei for the going-away party of a girl in my group who, sadly, will be leaving us early. We all, five of us in total, took a mini-bus to the town after putting our sleeping bags in the back before leaving the bus-station in the capital. So we got out in Orhei, made our way the fifteen minutes to the house, and twenty seconds after walking in a guy with us got a panicked look in his face and remarked how he had forgotten his sleeping bag on the mini-bus. It took me a quarter-second to realize that I also was responsible for one and had forgotten it as well.

So we took off to the bus-station and spoke to a girl there who told us that the mini-bus we came in on had gone to the final parking lot for the night and gave us directions there. We went to one lot – not the right one – and from there got directions for the final one. We walked up to the people working there, explained them our situation, and they allowed us to walk around to find our ride and which we discovered within seconds. The men working there were not really sure what to do but were very helpful, making calls and eventually telling us that either the driver would come with the key or we would have to wait until 10:00 the next morning. A few minutes later they gave us the good news, that we would have to wait only ten minutes to get our things.

To thank the driver for coming back to help us my friend and I went to the store and bought a bottle of beer and when the driver (an elderly, shorter guy) opened the door and let us take the bags I gave him the bottle and said, “For your help.” He got a little smirk on his face, brightened up a bit, and made this sound that Moldovans do which is like a long, drawn out “hey” but without the “h”. I responded by shrugging my shoulders with a bigger smile and saying a slightly higher-pitched version of the “hey”. It was classic.

Notes (rather than a blow-by-blow of the whole vacation, I'll list off the highlights):
- As written about in my last entry, on April 27th we celebrated Orthodox Easter here in Moldova. I went with a friend of mine to visit a girl in the south of Moldova. We arrived on Saturday and went to the church to join the people in the village at the church at 3:00 in the morning, having gone to sleep at 10:30 the night before. We were there for an hour and a half, watching the cross being carried around the church with the 400 or so people also gathered there while the priest also sprayed down everything and everyone with holy water. After that we returned to the house we were staying at for a little meal and two shots of vodka (at 5:15 in the morning). We returned to sleep and rested all day before having the big meal at 4:00 in the afternoon, four of us Americans sitting around talking with each-other and with the parents of a buddy of mine who called while we were there.

- We spent two nights, three days in the town of Vadul lui Voda, which I previously described as the Breezy Point of Moldova. It was a plan dependent on the weather: good weather would be a great time, bad weather would put a serious damper on the occasion. Well, it rained non-stop for two days, leaving us with nothing to do but sit around all day, go on walks when the weather cleared for a while, and sat in the sauna for two hours a night. Of the three, I'll let you guess what was the most enjoyable.

- Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday of the week marked four of the best evenings I've had in my three years. On Thursday night a group of fifteen of us went to a disco in Chisinau where they had salsa dancing, a great time. I had no idea how to do it upon walking in the door but a good friend of mine here is a girlfriend from San Diego who turned out to be a proficient teacher. On Friday it was that aforementioned party at the house where I was 100% in my element, walking around with a drink in one hand while talking to the fifty or so other volunteers who I knew there. It was great to just go from room to room in this huge house, chatting up groups of people. On Saturday night (after a three hour nap in the afternoon) we went to a bar where we heard an amazing Doors cover band. And on Sunday we went 120 miles to the north of Moldova to a town called Glodeni for a Cinco de Mayo celebration with another twenty volunteers.

- On my way home from Chisinau on Monday I saw a sight I never expected to see in my village. We were on the road in on a mini-bus when, on the side of the road, I saw three people, clearly tourists and all holding stuffed frame-packs with lost looks on their faces. As we drove by they started to point the other way and I saw them mouth in English, “Are you going there?” I didn't do anything and just continued to sit for the final few minutes to my house. I have – and will never have – any idea what they were doing in Hirjauca.

- I've written before about how in the last month or so I've started running, mainly as an effective means of passing the time but also to get some exercise. My stamina is getting pretty good – I'm up to fifty minutes, three times a week, while adding five minutes per week until I hit an hour. Naturally, this much time spent on the road leads to some interesting reactions

The most basic reaction, especially from the elderly crowd, is disbelief; most people have no idea why any person would want to waste their time by running (although basically, they can't comprehend it because no one around here really has time to run as there is just too much work). There can also be some mis-comprehension, as people will stop me on their horse-drawn carts or cars offer to stop and pick me up, thinking I'm running to/from something. And for my kids . . . it's usually a combination of shock and awe. And just yesterday a drunk guy – from the front seat of the van he was driving – yelled at me that 'vodka is the other way.'

- There's two articles that we've been shown that I'll pass along links to: the first one is general just about the Peace Corps. I actually agree with eighty percent of what he says. The second one applies directly to Moldova and is really interesting while being very sad at the same time.

- My host-brothers wedding in next Saturday and I'm as excited about it as I've been about anything in a long time.

- My favorite part of vacation was written about at the start of this entry but my favorite part of my time spent in my village happened on my visit to Grandpa on Wednesday afternoon. I think that my favorite moments with him are when I say something that makes him really, really laugh, when he leans back a little with his mouth open – those times are great for me.

I was lucky this week because I had two such moments. First, when talking about my host-brothers wedding next Saturday, I asked him if we would be there and he responded that he didn't know about the transport there and back. I told him that if no one came for him I would bring him and he answered that he can't because of his knees – I told him that I'll carry him on my back for the two miles of no one comes, which elicited the first laughter from him. Then I told him that at the wedding there will be a lot of girls and maybe we, me and eighty-one year old grandpa, can find girls there.

He laughed so hard it was likely the best part of his week. It certainly was the best part of mine.