Random Musings on a Moldovan Odyssey

America's Birthday

2008-07-08T02:53:00.001-05:00

There are a few days of year in the life-cycle of a Peace Corps Moldova volunteer that we – all of us – look forward to for months and months. I'm not talking about Halloween or Easter or Christmas. I'm talking about Wine Day and the Fourth of July, both events taking place in Chisinau with massive amounts of other volunteers, plenty of Moldovans, and everyone around in a great, jovial, celebratory mood. This year was no different. Rather than go blow-by-blow I'll just write about the many highlights.

1) In our first year here we paid no entry fee, there was a ton of food, as well as free beer, red wine, white wine, vodka, cognac, and coke. For everyone involved, things got a little nuts. One year ago we paid 100 lei (ten dollars) and got only free beer and intermittent food. It was fun but could have been better. This year we paid 150 lei and there was free beer, the two types of wine, and a lot of food. It was, despite the increased price, by far the best of the three. There were at least 120 Peace Corps volunteers there as well as another 100 Americans and a lot of Moldovans – it was a great combination of people, all of which were there just to have a good time.

2) Another difference compared with the first two years was the location: most of us agreed that the new place was a big improvement (a big statement because it was a great location in the past). It was basically a huge patio with a big pool in the middle. The party started at 3:00 in the afternoon and it took four hours for volunteers to start jumping in. We were just standing around talking when we heard a loud splash and turned around to see one of us in the water. It took literally seconds for others to follow. When I saw what was going on I turned to a friend of mine and asked him when we were going in. His answer?: after one more beer. Very soon after that, we had joined with the ten or so others in the pool, spending about forty-five minutes there. It was my first time swimming since June of last year and it felt amazing to get back into the water. The fact that I was there with ten friend with another 200 or so surrounding us and watching our spectacle made it that much sweeter.

(Apparently, when the first guy went in a Moldovan woman there turned to another volunteer and asked him what time it was. He told her that it was 7:04 and she said she was disappointed. The reason? Her and her friends had a bet on what time the first volunteer would jump in and she had 7:15. Sometimes in this country, our reputation proceeds us. The urge to dive ahead actually came from the wife of our country director who asked us, “Did anyone tell you not to jump in? Are there any signs? OK, what are you waiting for?” Her impetus pushed us over the top).

3) There was a Moldovan cover band there that has played the last two years as well and they're amazing. They play everything from Lynard Skynard and The Beatles to Jet and The Strokes. They played the last two hours and had everyone dancing.

4) I was especially excited because our new Peace Corps financial officer is from Minneapolis and had just gotten in the day before. I spent a good half-hour talking to her and her husband about life in my hometown (one of my favorite conversational topics).

5) They were also doing face painting for a small fee (two dollars for the biggest one). We wanted to pay my friend to get a teddy-bear painted on his neck but he passed. So my friend and I went with our own selection: a unicorn for me (which ended up looking like a horse with a saber through it's skull) and a kitty-cat for him. They were huge too, going from my ear to the center of the neck. The woman who painted them on thought we were totally crazy for doing it and laughed the whole time. Mine stayed on only for an hour or so due to my jumping into the pool but the outline stayed until the end of the night (4:30 in the morning). I got so used to the thing being there that I didn't realize until I woke up in the morning why I was getting so many odd looks all night at the bar – it was because I had an outline of a discombobulated horse on my neck. That realization actually explained a lot.

6) Another annual highlight is talking to the newest volunteers, those who actually aren't technically volunteers because they're still in training. It a lot of fun to have a few drinks and talk to them one-on-one, outside the presence of any authority and get a feel for them as well as have then have the chance to ask us some questions. This new group is really, really good, far better than my group was two years ago - we were and still are a very young group and at times were very difficult to work with. The new group and the group that came in last year, by contrast, are great. Part of me cant' believe that they have two more years here (which seems like a long time) but the other part of me can't believe that I was in the same position as them a mere two years ago (it feels like yesterday). It won't be long at all before they're dolling out the same advice that they were seeking on Saturday.

Notes:
- As I'm sure you've noticed, my posting are getting a little more spaced out then they've been in times up to now. The reason is simply – my life has become increasingly simple. I'm in my village from Sunday afternoon to Thursday morning and in Chisinau the other times. There is simply far less going on in my life for me to report about. My village life is painfully simple: I sleep, play my Super Nintendo Emulator, run, and eat. That's it. In Chisinau on Thursday we go to one disco there for Salsa night, on Fridays we lay low, and on Saturdays we go out again. That's it. It's a rather enjoyable lifestyle and one that allows me to save a little money for my three week trip between August 1st and 21st.

It looks to me like now like I'll only post two more times but I think the last one may be a big, end of twenty-seven months type of entry. I'm still debating on if I want to write something like that but it's looking more and more like I will. Just don't keep your fingers crossed.

- One of the things that my Peace Corps lifestyle has allowed me to do is to read. A lot. So the following is a list of the literature I've gone through here, written in chronological order. On one hand it's a lot of books – eighty-five. But there are volunteers who have read far more, as many as 120, and one girl who left after the first year did so after reading 165 books. In eleven months.

In A Sunburnt Country - Bill Bryson
Rasputin’s Daughter - Robert Alexander
The House of Sand and Fog - Andre Dubus III
Running with Scissors - Augsten Burroughs
In Cold Blood - Truman Capote
Interview With the Vampire - Anne Rice
Made In America - Bill Bryson
Ben-Hur - Lew Wallace
Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim - David Sedaris
The Russia House - John le Carre
The Best American Sports Writing, 1998
Playing the Moldovans at Tennis - Tony Hawks
Into Thin Air - John Krackhauer
The Tipping Point - Malcolm Gladwell
The Poisonwood Bible - Barbara Kingsolver
Mystic River - Dennis Lehane
Fever Pitch - Nick Hornsby
High Fidelity - Nick Hornsby
Bleachers – John Grisham
Skinny Legs And All – Tom Robbins
The Bourne Identity – Robert Ludlum
The Bourne Surpremecy – Robert Ludlum
The Rainmaker – John Grisham
Can I Keep My Jersey? – Paul Shirley
The Bourne Supremacy – Robert Ludlum
Naked – David Sedaris
The Kite Runner – Khaled Hosseini
A Widow For One Year – John Irving
Blowing My Cover – Lindsay Moran
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Price – JK Rowling
The Game – Neil Strauss
Harry Potter and the Deadly Hollows – JK Rowling
Brual – Kevin Weeks
Cold Mountain – Charles Frazier
A Thousand Splendid Sons – Khaled Hosseini
The Grapes of Wrath – John Steinbeck
I Know This Much Is True – Wally Lamb
The Lost Continent – Billy Bryson
Nickled and Dimed – Barbara Eirenreich
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time – Mark Haddon
The Intuitionist – Colson Whitehead
War And Peace – Leo Tolstoy
Trainspotting – Irvine Welsh
How Soccer Explains the World – Franklin Foer
The Last Czar – Edward Razinsky
About a Boy – Nick Hornsby
The Innocent Man – John Grisham
The Red Tent – Anita Dimant
Atlantis Found – Clive Cussler
River Town – Peter Hessler
The Cider House Rules – John Irving
Atonement – Ian McEwan
Blink – Malcolm Gladwell
100 Years of Solitude – Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Seabiscuit – Laura Hillenbrand
The Bureau and the Mole – David Vice
The Perfect Storm – Sebastain Junger
Band of Brothers – Stephen Ambrose
Theodore Rex – Edmund Morris
The English Patient – Michael Ondaatje
Napoleon – Felix Markham
Mornings on Horseback – David McCullough
Life of Pi – Yann Matel
On the Way Down – Nick Hornsby
The Count of Monte Cristo – Alexander Dumas
The Three Musketeers – Alexander Dumas
A Train to Potevka – Mike Ramsdall
Kingdom of Fear – Hunter S. Thompson
How the Irish Saved Civilization – Thomas Cahill
Playing for Pizza – John Grisham
Hells Angels – Hunter S. Thompson
Lullaby – Chuck Palahniuk
The Good Earth – Pearl S. Buck
The Girl With The Pearl Earring – Tracy Chavelis
Rabbit Redux – John Irving
Fast Food Nation – Eric Schlosser
Choke – Chuck Palahniuk
The Godfather – Mario Puzo
The Education of a Coach – David Halberstan
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas – Hunter S. Thompson
Othello – William Shakespeare
The Name of the Rose – Umberto Eco
Stranger than Fiction – Chuck Palahniuk
The Russian Debutant's Handbook – Gary Shyngent
Snow – Orman Pamuk (in progress)

Finally, Some Good

2008-06-29T03:17:00.002-05:00

At the end of my last entry I wrote about the glasses give-away that was to occur last weekend. It turned out to be one of the best, most fulfilling projects I've been apart of in my two years here.

As I mentioned, I have a good friend here whose cousin's wife works as a optometrist and who really likes doing mission work and who decided to come here to do free eye inspections as well as a give-away of glasses to those who needed it. Everything started on Sunday morning: my friend had put up signs throughout the village advertising the program while also noting that special attention would be paid to the kids who showed up. So on Sunday morning we walked into the building where we were going to work and set up shop: we had on registration by the door, in one room we had a place for the vision test and for eye drops, and in another room was the place where the doctor did the test of the actual eye as well as testing different lens strengths in order to appropriate the right glasses.

We were expecting a handful of people, maybe a few trickling in every few hours. We were wrong. Right away at 9:00 there was a throng of people waiting for us, a throng that never really diminished. My job at first was to sit in with the eye doctor and translate her instructions as well as questions and answers (all pretty easy work, as it was various combinations of the same words). However, after a lot of commotion outside in regards to who came and when, with different people trying to go right to the front. After about two hours my friend who was doing registration and told me how I had to switch places because, as he told me, “you know Russian and you can be rude with it, you don't know anyone here, and because you don't live here you can say what you want without having to worry.”

So I got to work door duty, which turned out to be one of the most frustrating and yet fun things I've done all year. (It should be noted that Moldovans in general aren't fan of lines or standing in them. It's actually not common at all to be standing in a store and have someone go right in front of you and start talking to the clerk. It happens often, actually). When I took over my friend told me who the first four people waiting in line were so I let them in order but after that it was chaos (there is a more accurate word in Russian, bordak, that sadly doesn't translate). I had to basically go on feel. It was always fun for me when a person tried to jump to the front of the line because I got very short with them, told them where to go, and gave them a mini tongue-lashing in the process.

The worst of it happened right before we broke for lunch. We decided to do a queue system so we could maintain some sense of order after we got back: I wrote down numbers on pieces of paper and gave them out to those waiting. The first ten or so were clear enough but after that it got a little murky. After a little while I said “who's next?” and all four people in front of me said, “Me.” I looked at them and said, “Listen. I have four people here in front of me. Only one of you can be next. You know the truth. There's only one truth and when I ask for it I get four voices from four people. I don't know anything – you yourselves know. So please, tell me, who is first?” They looked for a second at me, then each-other, then back at me before they all responded, “Me. I was the first one here.” It was amazing (I promptly moved them all to the back of the line. It would be a lie to say the power wasn't fun to wield).

Things got a lot better after lunch, when the queue system went into full effect and those who came in time to get help received it. There wasn't a whole lot of fighting but people had a hard time figuring out the system and what exactly it meant – they didn't comprehend that they could go home and come back and keep their place in line. For example, one woman came in after lunch while we were on number two and ended being in at number twenty-seven. She promptly stood in front of my desk – and DIDN'T MOVE A STEP – for the next four hours. I told her that she could go home and come back in, at the very least, two more hours but she refused. It was surreal in a way.

There were a lot of really nice aspects of the work, apart from just obvious. One woman came in, seventy-eight years old and physically strong and sturdy (although her face had the wrinkles of a person who has spent twelve hours a day, eight months a year, outside). As part of my work in registering them I had to get general information and things like that and when I asked her about her eyes she responded, “I'm seventy-eight years old. I see far. I see close. I have a few problems with reading so I want glasses for that.”

There was one man who came in, seventy-four, and my first questions to everyone was about their general vision and how they read. When I asked him how he reads he responded, “I finished forth grade. I can read.” “No,” I responded, “Can you read without problems?” “I have a forth grade education but I read well. No problems.” I chuckled a bit to myself and said, “I know you can read. But how about the letters on the page? Are they clear? Can you read them?” It was only now that he knew what I meant. It was a very enduring exchange (meant fully complimentary to the gentleman I helped).

Also, there are a lot of residents of the village who speak the same Ukrainian dialect that is spoken in my own village and a lot of people started to think they could talk about me, around me, without an issue (thinking I wouldn't understand). I took it for a while for me fill them in on the fact that I knew what they were saying – it wasn't until a woman came in and responded to all of my questions in Ukrainian with me writing the answers that people really got surprised. When I finished I told her that she was lucky I live in a village where I can understand all that she said – the room then got quiet and it was the last of the dialect that I heard.

It also led to one of the most rewarding moment's I've had as a volunteer here. While I was doing registration I went in back to where the doctor was examining eyes and there was a woman I had sent back there in tears, seventy-one years old and clutching her first ever pair of glasses. I asked her what was wrong and she said, “I'm seventy-one years old – I don't have much longer to live on this earth but I want to be able to see while I still can. Thanks to everyone here, I can.”

Think about it – you're in your seventies and finally you get your first pair of glasses and see clearly for the first time in as long as you can remember. It's heart-warming to imagine and was even more heart-warming to see.

Roaming

2008-06-19T12:51:00.003-05:00

Nothing big has happened to me in the last week with which I can use to introduce the rest of the entry – it's been a pretty slow last week. But I figure I should fill people in on what I've been up to: if I waited for quality material and stories, I wouldn't be able to post anything for quite a while.

- We got our new group of English and Health Education volunteers. They were a little frazzled coming in because they had no layover in Frankfurt due to a delay in their flight out of JFK – they had only a few minutes on the ground in Germany before getting on their connecting flight. I actually didn't have a chance to talk with them the first day because they got in a little late and

I was tired from my 5:30 AM wake-up call. The tradition here is for a lot of volunteers to meet the rookies at a bar near their hotel in the center of the city but rather than go there I went to a different place where they were showing Euro Cup soccer on massive TV screens.

My mentality with the new group is simple: while I wish them all the best and will be more than happy to answer any of their questions when they are received. But because I'll be in America by the time they get out of training I'll never have a chance to get to know any of them. And it's still amazing to me that I was in their position a mere twenty-four months ago.

- On Thursday I had a very fun and depressing evening, all at the same time. I went to the south of Moldova to a girl's going-away party which was very fun because it was celebratory, with a lot of food and wine and dancing. Everyone was in a good mood. It was depressing too because it was organized by the other teachers and it was 100 percent better than the going-away that will not be held for me in my village. (I forgot to write last time: how many words of thanks for my two years of service did I get on the last day of school? Zero. No recognition for all that I did here).

- On Tuesday I did something I hadn't yet done in this country – went fishing. One of my students who finished ninth grade actually invited me during the last week of school to go with him at some point this summer and after missing on a few days, we finally decided settled on last Tuesday.

When he first told me about it I was excited but with one trepidation: I had to meet him near our school at 5:30 in the morning. I thought he was joking when he first told me but my alarm going off at 5:15 in the morning convinced me that he was, indeed, very serious. He actually showed up twenty minutes late which really bothered me as I waited but my feelings of irk were dissolved when I saw him sprinting to our meeting place so that he could make up for lost time.

We went to our local lake with our arsenal – worms, bread, cornbread, and our fishing poles (I felt like Huck Finn – the poles were just eight-foot long sticks with eight feet of fishing line tied to the end with wooden bobbers and hooks). We sat by the lake for five hours and caught only four small fish, although one monster took our bait and was so big that he split the line in half.

- I was exhausted by waking up at 5:15 because 1)It was 5:15 in the morning, and 2) Because I had slept ten hours the previous two nights combined (although if should be noted that when I'm not in my village I go out of my way to not sleep at all, knowing that sleep is one of the tools I use to kill time when at home). The night before the one preceding sleeping I was in a village celebrating 'xram', the day of the city (or village), with eight other volunteers. I've written about these days many times before: basically, people eat and drink in the early evening then all congregate in the center for a huge dance.

At this particular dinner something amazing happened, something that hadn't occurred in almost two years: I ate some much I couldn't sleep anymore. It was a combination of Russian salad, sausage, cheese, tomatoes, cucumbers, chicken, fresh onion, rabbit (very tender), mushrooms, and rice wrapped in grape leaves. I think I ate half a rabbit just by myself. There was also plenty of wine and cognac to go around too.

At around 11:00 in the evening we went to the center where there were literally hundreds of people gathered around, all of them doing nothing but the national dance called the hora in which people lock arms around each-other, form a big circle, and proceed to circle around and around around for the duration of the song, doing some sort of cross-over step with their legs. It's simple and people here love it. I can't express this enough: they love it. At any even where five or more people are dancing, there'll be a hora. And because we were there with all the Moldovans, we fell right into lock step until 2:30 in the morning, when we decided to finally head home.

- The previous two nights I went to a town about two hours north of Chisinau called Singerei to hang with a friend of mine there, another volunteer who happens to have an XBox that drew my attention. I got there at 7:00 on Friday, played until 2:00 in the morning, woke up at 9:00 on Saturday and played until 7:00 at night, breaking for nothing more than the bathroom, a shower, and a three minute run to the local store. It might seem like a big waste of time to the casual reader but I not only would disagree, I would say that I can't wait to get back and do it again, likely next weekend.

In the evening we decided to go out and ended up at a great disco, one of the best that has to be in any regional center in this country. We ended up there and at another place until 5:15 in the morning and I have to say, there's nothing stranger than going to bed and walking past people who have already woken up to start their work day. It's something I did only once or twice in all my time in America but something I've done about a half dozen times both here and in Russia and I'm still not used to it.

- This weekend I'm actually going to do something productive. The cousin of a friend of mine is coming in from America and the cousin's wife works as an optometrist; they're bringing in 200 pairs of glasses and giving them out to villagers in my friends village. But it's a village in which about forty percent of the village doesn't speak any Romanian so I need to go and help translate. It promises to be a really good time, one that will not only benefit me but others as well. I'm already looking forward to it.

- I'll end with a few pictures. The one on top is of me at the wedding with my host-brother and his new bride, taken at about 5:30 in the morning. The second one is of the rather motley crew (said fully complimentary) I met at my host-grandpa's house on the last day of school. Grandpa is on the left, his best friend since childhood next to him, his neighbor next, and finally the woman who comes to take care of him on the far right.

Freedom

2008-06-10T03:08:00.001-05:00

I realized something this last week: these next free seven weeks will be the last time until I retire in a few decades that I will have this much time off – seven weeks with no responsibilities, no duties, and the ability to form my own schedule in regards to work (my lessons with my kids in my village), doing as much or as little as I want and doing it when I want.

So far, my first ten days of vacation have been great. I've not really done much of anything. In my village, I sleep, eat, run, read, and . . . . That's about it. I've also developed a sort of reverse tolerance to life here; I can stand it for seventy-two, maybe eighty-four consecutive hours before I have to get out again, before I just can't take it anymore. I regularly forget what day of the week it is. When I'm not in my village I'm either in Chisinau or in a friends village and my plans change from day to day. On Monday of this week I was in the village of a girl who lives in the south of Moldova and I called my host-mom, telling her where I was and then saying how I had no idea when I would return home – maybe in a day, maybe two days, maybe in another week – and that no news from me means that everything was OK (I ended up returning home the next day due to a lack of clean clothes).

A good example of all this happened last week. My original plan was to leave last Wednesday to go to xram – the day of the city – in the village of one girl who lives about thirty-five miles from the Ukrainian border but the day before her mom de-invited me. Then I wanted to go to my regional center and hang-out with the girl who lives there on Thursday but she had too much work so I waited until Friday. From there I didn't really have a plan but got an invitation to go the south to another girl's village with some other volunteers. Again, my plan was to get there on Saturday and roll out on Sunday morning on the bus at 6:00 AM.

But all five of us went out to a bar/disco in the village on Saturday night (one of my top ten nights out ever in this country) and didn't go to sleep until 3:30, quickly erasing any thoughts I had of getting up two hours later. Which turned out to be a great decision because the next day we didn't really do anything. We woke up, ate pancakes cooked with Bisquick mix, then laid out on the sun all day doing almost nothing (more on this at the end). Two other volunteers showed in the afternoon, bringing the total up to seven of us (or five percent of Peace Corps Moldova), and they just continued in the laziness. It was great. The day ended with dinner, house wine, and Euro Cup 2008 soccer.

My plans for the next week? I got home Monday afternoon, I'll be here on Tuesday, leaving Wednesday morning, and not coming back until next Sunday. I'll be in Chisinau, in the North, in the South. Everywhere but home.

Notes:
- On Wednesday the 11th we're getting our new group of volunteers, which is always a great day. It'll be a little odd because I'm not going to get a chance to really get to know any of them, but it's great because they all look at us second-year volunteers like we are wise sages.

- I wrote that I was in a village on Saturday and Sunday but the word 'village' is a bit of a misnomer because it's basically a town of 6700 (or about five times larger than my village). They have things like flowers in the median, no-passing painted lines on the road, a large museum, gas and water. It felt like I had gone about 500 miles to the west. The host family is awesome, perfectly happy to have guests over. It's actually a Bulgarian village, the language heard everywhere there, but they all speak Russian too so I had no problems. It was a lot of fun, walking into a bar and having the girl point to everyone and tell the bartender, “They're my friends – they all speak Romanian,” to which I could answer, “Except me.”

- I've got a new pet-project here in my village: I'm teaching computers to the mom of my best student. It's a little odd because she has no clue about computers, not even knowing how to turn one off and on. I show her and explain to her how to do tasks like the opening and closing of folders, how to click on things and what not, but it's tough because she has no idea what she is opening and closing and I'm not really sure what to do. Even a basic program like Word causes a lot of difficulties because she has no idea how to use any of them.

But nonetheless, I really like my time there. The mom is really nice and always kind to me and it's good for the daughter because she has a chance to practice her English. They always feed me too, with the mom not letting me leave unless I've eaten an acceptable amount and the dad not letting me leave unless I've drank an acceptable amount of their home-made whiskey.

- I'll end by explaining what happened on Saturday that interrupted our afternoon of nothingness. We were lying in the driveway in the sun and on towels with music playing when the host-dad and brother drove in a tractor that was pulling a lot of hay that when set on the asphalt ended up being about 25 feet by 10 feet and 5 feet tall. There was another guy there from Iowa who actually grew up on a farm and we were quick to ask if they needed any help.

So they gave us two pitchforks and we joined them in their task of transferring it to the barn where it could be dryly stored for the winter. There were four of us total working, two Americans and the brother and dad. The brother and Americans manipulated the hay from the big pile into smaller, more manageable piles, then pushed those piles fifty feet (through a doorway) to near the barn, where host dad shoveled them into the barn itself. It was hard work, really labor intensive, and it had been over a year since I had done work like that. It was fun too because three of the girls there sat and watched while chatting with the host-grandma, making jokes.

It was great though. Half-way through we all took a break, drank some wine and ate a little. It was clear that as happy as we were to help they were equally happy to receive it.

The End

2008-05-30T00:16:00.001-05:00

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

2008-05-21T00:52:00.001-05:00

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

2008-05-12T01:44:00.002-05:00

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.

And I'm Done

2008-04-26T03:13:00.002-05:00

For all intensive purposes, at the time of this posting my time as a TEFL teacher in Peace Corps Moldova is done. Yes, I won't leave this country until August 1st and won't arrive back in America until August 21st (I bought the tickets last weekend), and while we still have technically five more weeks of lessons, I'm counting myself as done. Allow me to explain.

Technically my vacation started yesterday at 11:15 in the morning when I left school – I'll write about my plans in a second – and after our vacation we have four short weeks of school. However, we have no lessons on Monday and Friday of the first week (Monday for Easter of the Dead, Friday for Victory Day), and the week after I'll have Thursday and Friday off for a Peace Corps conference. Then there's only two weeks but the last week doesn't count because grades are due a week before the final day of classes, making the final five days in school an exercise in creatively killing time. Therefore, we have only one real full week of lessons where we are supposed to pass along a semblance of education to our students.

How will I pass the time? For starters, I'm giving tests to four of my six classes, doing a review of all information given since our last vacation a long seven weeks ago. As for the rest of the year, my kids are getting one large assignment that will be due sometime during the last two weeks in May in which they will have to use all of the grammar we've learned this year: I tell them the grammar, the times it need to be used, and how many points they will receive for each usage. The topic is simple – they have to write about themselves. That's it. I've told them that they can give me only two rough drafts to check over and that I'll be more than happy to do so when requested. I'll only check their work twice because if I did it any other way I would get the question, “How do you say this?”, at least 100 times from everyone; to nip that I've had to make a few changes.

And those changes mark the beginning of the end of my two years in my school.

Notes:
- Outside of the classroom there is one problem that I've made my personal crusade during my second year. It's cellphones.

During my first year I didn't have any problem with cellphones because there was no real coverage in my village and as a result, it didn't make any sense for families and students to spend money on purchases that were obsolete for all intensive purposes. About this time last year, however, a new European company called Orange bought out one of the service providers here and made an effort to expand coverage – it wasn't long until they put up a tower in the village next to mine (I can tell you the exact date, May 2nd, when coverage finally arrived).

With this expansion of phones has come an equally large dislike of them by me. Fortunately for me and unfortunately for my kids, I've had to implement and enforce a 'no cellphone' in my classroom. The second one foot crosses my threshold I don't want to hear as much as a peep from any phone in the room, even through headphones. I tell them that what they want to do in the hallway is their own business but once they cross past the door they are in my territory and I can ask for what I want.

I finally totally obliterated the problem last month when on Tuesday I, already in a fired-up mood, took a phone that the kid had decided to play music through, in the middle of a lesson. I promptly deleted all the sounds. Ten minutes later another phone went off the girl holding just grinned. All her sounds were gone twenty seconds later.

Needless to say, it was the last time I've had a problem.

- I'm (and have been) looking forward to this next vacation with such excitement that I can't even begin do describe it. I'm heading down to a girl's village in the south on Saturday where I'll spend the Easter holiday on Sunday – it's the same village I've been to twice already and have always had a great time. Then on Tuesday there's a group of us heading to a town called Vadul lui Voda, located about ten miles from Chisinau and the place that is most popular within country for Moldovans to travel to and a great place to relax (the best way to describe it would be to compare it to Breezy Point in Brainerd. For anyone outside of Minnesota reading this, that will make no sense. But that's the best comparison I can come up with). We'll be there for a few days too.

That's it. That's the plan. A whole lot of nothing, which is exactly what I want.

- One thing I've become increasingly cognizant of during my almost two years here is the weather. It may seem like a thing that is totally obvious but until you live in an environment like this, where the quality of life of everyone greatly depends on what comes (and doesn't come) from the sky, it really changes your awareness.

If you'll remember, last year we suffered through the worst drought seen in this country in over sixty years. We had three days of rain from the middle of May through the first of August, causing the costs of food to skyrocket and, in some cases, wells to dry up. The ramifications of this were felt in everyday life and by every person here; the most basic example is that most people were forced into a situation in which they had to dump a lot of the animals they normally keep because, with a lack of corn that didn't grow, they had nothing with which to feed the livestock. It may seem like something not too significant but in an agrarian society like the one in which I live, it's a massive blow because those animals need to be replaced with money that is hard enough to come by as it is.

Thankfully, the weather this year has been a totally different story – it's the perfect spring. It rains usually two days a week, then there's enough time for the soil to dry out. Just when it starts to get a little too dry . . . the rain comes. It's the ideal combo. And it's the perfect opposite to what we went through last year.

- I'll end this by simply stating that one aspect of life that I've become totally accustomed in my village that will be hard to leave will be the absolute silence that is everywhere – it has to be experienced to be believed. Sometimes, if I sleep in in the morning, I just stay in bed until I hear a sound – any sound. It's almost always a few minutes.

And on my daily walks to and from school there are two sounds that are constant: the songs of birds and frogs. It's a combination I think I'll never encounter again, especially at the volume and frequency with which I bump into them here.

(Not) Making Sense of it All

2008-04-14T02:04:00.002-05:00

There are many aspects of being an American here in Moldova, many parts of life, that can make a born and bred Western like myself crazy. And I'm not talking about amenities like running water and a toilet inside. I'm talking about day-to-day goings on that simply make no sense and that, if added together, can drive someone like me nuts.

The most obvious examples of this happen in Chisinau, where being in the capital of a European nation makes some people and establishments feel like they are more important than they really are. For example, a few months ago I went to meet with a girl in Chisinau who had spent last summer in America and who wanted to talk about her experiences there. She told me to meet at a certain hotel in the center, a lower-class place in any other European nation but one here that is just middle-class (it costs twenty-five dollars a night), and a hotel that we Peace Corps volunteers are very familiar with because we hold a fair amount of conferences there. Upon walking through the door I started to scan the lobby for the girl but before I got too far I (dressed in normal every-day clothes) immediately had the guard at the door ask me in Russian for what reason I had come and what I wanted there. I told him I was just looking for a person but that is really beside the point – the point is that, at this little hotel in this little capital, I was grilled by this odd guard (I should have just looked at him oddly and answered something in English). Compare this reaction to the one we had at the Hilton Hotel in Cairo, where my two friends and I walked in also dressed like normal tourists and which where a room costs 125 dollars a night - were greeted with nothing but smiles and welcomes when our only goal was to access the ATM there.

Or even in my village we have two stores side-by-side (THE only two stores), both of which work the exact same hours; even their breaks are the same. Am I crazy or does this not make a whole lot of sense – shouldn't they tier their breaks so at least one is always open? And to make matters worse, both choose to close at the one time of day that would likely be the highest in traffic, right at two o'clock in the afternoon when school gets out and a mass of one hundred hungry and thirsty kids goes by the two places that can placate them.

These two previous observations are just tips of the iceberg, just little examples of goings on that can really start to bother someone like me. But recently, the government raised the price of basic transport as high as fifty-percent, all in one hike. From the moment I first got to my village in June 2006 to the week before last the cost to get to Chisinau, one way, was 25 lei (about 2 dollars). Then, all of a sudden, last week they raised the price to 34 lei, which on one hand is only 75 cents but on the other hand is 1)Quite the percentage raise, and 2) Means that the passenger pays an extra 18 lei for a round trip, around 75 percent of the original total cost and enough to discourage many people on a strict budget to even think about such a trip (and this is just an example from my village – similar hikes occurred everywhere here). Now, while I realize that the cost of gas has gone up a lot in the last twenty months and that such a rate hike was likely totally necessary, but in most places in the world it would have been a gradual, incremental hike done month-by-month or something along those lines. Here? All at once. Just another line on the list . . .

Notes:
- Last Saturday some of my friends and I, in an effort to add a little culture to our usual weekends, decided to spent 2.50$ and attend the theater in Chisinau for a two-hour performance. The bad news is that it was all in Romanian, leaving me in a state of dis-comprehension that was tough to get out of. The good news is that my time here has given my mind the ability to fill vast amounts of free time with nothingness. Teacher meetings, four-hour bus rides that go only 100 miles, hours of conferences that repeat information for the hundredth time – compared to such events, the play was a feast for the senses, far more entertaining that my usual mind-occupancy tasks such as counting the amount of times in my life I've flown or the amount of US capitals I've been to or naming all the coaches of every NFL team as well as many coordinators as I could. This was

- I've written before about the life-cycle of animals here and how they come and go so frequently that it doesn't really make any sense to get too emotionally attached to them. Farm animals are the ones who naturally go the the quickest – I've even refrained from naming our pig because while I talk to her if she's out eating I also know her days are numbered (in regards to her, I've maintained so emotionally dis-attached that I would be her executioner in a heartbeat if given the chance – it would be one of the highlights of my service too).

However, this cycle applies to 'pets' as well. I wrote back in September how my favorite cat was ran over by a car, the one named by my parents last June. A new cat had since taken his place as the one I preferred, but when I woke up this last Wednesday I walked past the barn and saw her dead as a doorknob, eyes wide open but splayed out on her side, body intact and not moving. She was fine the night before and in the morning, dead. No one really has any idea what happened either. I'm 33% sad, 33% indifferent (it was just a cat), and 33% of me is laughing at the oddness of the situation. And if any of this sounds cold – as I'm sure it maybe does – you just have to realize that this rapidity of life and death is something that all of us here just get used to.

- Last week my friend and I had a plan we had been working about for a few weeks; we were going to do a surprise visit to her village, to just show up out of the blue. The only catch was that we wanted to call her host-family and get their permission first, thinking it would be merely a formality and that we would be welcomed with open arms. So I called the house one day when I knew our friend would be at school and when the host-mom answered I told her that it was likely a little strange but that I didn't want the American, that I wanted to talk to the mom herself and explained the situation, again waiting for the expected welcoming words of invitation. So you can imagine my shock when after my suggestion she responded with a, “well . . . this Saturday will be difficult. It'll be better another time.” I was stunned with disbelief and the only thing I could mutter was, “OK . . . . well then, we won't come on Saturday.” I went from being 100 percent happy to 100 percent incredulous in a few seconds.

- If you want to watch something new about Moldova and have thirty minutes to kill, go to YouTube and search “BBC Places that don't exist Moldova” and you'll find a three part series, each ten minutes, about a guy from the BBC who goes to the breakaway region of Transnestria. It's really interesting to watch and you'll also get some images of the capital city here. For example, the park where they have the ceremony that the woman crashes in right in the center – I see it all the time and all of us here use it as a common meeting place.

- I spent last weekend in the village of a friend in the north of Moldova, about 120 miles (or four hours) from Chisinau, going up there with another girl in my group for a trip that was six weeks in the making. Before we went, however, we decided to play a little joke on our host. We sent him two frantic text messages telling him how the bus was full and the driver wouldn't let us stand up because of a police crackdown; we then told him how we were going to the cheapest hotel in Chisinau and would roll in the next day (he told me that the first bus leaves at 8:00 AM – I said that was too early just to rub it in). He naturally panicked and the girl I was with couldn't keep it together on the phone so I, being the colder blooded of the two of us, had to take over. It was classic – we kept him on a string for a long, long while. It was so great that even when we got to his village it was clear that he was still seething. It was one of the top five jokes I've ever perpetuated in my life, and despite the fact that my buddy hated it, I would do it all again. In a second.

Differences

2008-04-05T01:11:00.003-05:00

At the end of this entry you'll find a series of pictures that I've been meaning to post, mainly because it's been a slow week and I don't have much to write. Just a few little observations . . .
- I can't begin to describe the differences between my life here in Moldova and my life in America – I could write 3000 words on just this topic alone. But the difference that strikes me I think most odd (apart from the outhouse and lack of running water) is my daily proximity to animals. Not just cats and dogs but to fowl and livestock as well.

I've written before how, every time I go to the outhouse, I walk past a pig, two cows, a horse, and any number of ducks/chickens/turkeys that happen to be on the little path. Sometimes I get home and there are literally a dozen turkeys sitting on the stoop to the house. When I walk to school I again walk through a heard of various birds and, now that it's spring, a few horses and cows. The oddity of this whole situation didn't fully hit me until a week ago when, walking home, I passed a group of chickens that refused to get out of my way. Being higher on the evolutionary scale I thought I should assume right-of-way and when the offending chicken refused to budge, I just clapped my hands a bit and yelled out, startling the offending bird and freeing up my path. I then realized, the moment after I had passed, just how odd my world has become, how I can count on one hand the amount of times in America that I had seen a real live chicken before coming here but how now I have gotten to the point where 1)Seeing animals like this doesn't even phase me and 2) Yelling at them to get out of the way doesn't phase me either. It's an odd state of mind to live in.

This point came to full fruition a few days ago when I was finishing my run and wanted to end at the stadium around the track located near school but I had to avert my path because there instead was a woman with three goats (another animal I never really saw close up in America: I can report that they are very creepy looking up close) walking them and they were in the way. How many times could/will I be able to say that?

- As I wrote about last in my last entry, I was lucky enough last Saturday to have two friends come visit me. They came in on our bus and the first thing we did was head to visit my host-grandpa, of whom I have written about almost ad-nausea. We got off the bus and walked right there, with them being especially surprised because he lives in the boondocks of the next village - “This is Peace Corps,” said a friend of mine. We dropped in – I warned him the day before of our coming – and he was pumped to greet us. He naturally offered us wine and when the first batch was gone he sent my friend and I to the cellar to fetch more from one of the barrels there. There's no tap present; instead you need to take a little tube, place it in the opening on the top of the barrel, and siphon it out with the mouth. Usually it's a simple process that takes a few seconds but for some reason we were unable to do so. Grandpa sat at the top of the stairs yelling at us in Romanian – something hilarious, I was told – and he was insistent that we get wine, so we just knocked away the supporters keeping the barrel upright, rolled the thing until wine started to pour out, filled up the pitcher, and returned everything to it's proper place. It was one of those odd, surreal moments that had to be really seen to be believed. It was the type of story too that Moldovans find amazing – my host-mom almost lost it when we retold her later on.

- I'll end with a description of the pictures that accompany this entry: I figured it's been a while since I posted any I got some good ones.

The first picture is of my friend and I hoisting glasses of with with host-grandpa in the background. Under that is a picture of where he lives, with the outhouse in the foreground and the house itself a little ways right behind it. The third picture is of me and my host-mom (finally – I think it's the first of her that I've posted). I'm ready to go to the new bar. And finally, there's a picture I took last September and am pretty sure that I haven't yet posted – it's taken from across the lake that I usually walk/run around and in the distance you can see the village I live in. It's one of the best pictures I think I've ever taken and it's one of the images I'll use in the future whenever asked to describe my village.

Drifting

2008-03-29T02:43:00.001-05:00

Probably the biggest difference between my first and second years here is my propensity to stay in my village and just how often I'm here. In my first year I stuck around my site a lot, leaving for Chisinau only every other week or so and even when I did that, I seldom slept there over night. I can't really give a reason for my propensity to stick around – I just did. I didn't really gain much out of it – occasionally I worked with students on Saturday or Sunday and I tutored with a woman in my village once in a while. I was able to sleep in, recoup energy from my work-weeks, and save some of the spending money were provided with each month because it's very, very difficult to spend money in my village. This pattern of being basically a homebody was followed rather tightly up to the end of classes on May 31st of last year.

Fast-forward to this year. While I continue to go to school every day, continue to give my best efforts to my kids, and in general continue to enjoy (for the most part) my work here, there is no doubt that I am – and have been for a while – finished with weekends in my village. As I tell people here, I like everything in Hirjauca from 8:30 on Monday morning to 2:00 on Friday afternoon, after which the last bell rings and I want to get out of here as soon as I can, on the first option that's available. In a car, on a mini-bus, on a horse, it doesn't matter. I want out. The reason is basically simple and was actually hinted at in the first paragraph here; that I stayed in my village for a whole year and didn't really get anything out of it. There still remains nothing to do here. Apart from the parents of a few students and the students themselves, I don't really know anyone here. I haven't any friends. And lest you think that I'm complaining, I'm not. This is just the reality of my life in my village. As a result, I stay here not as little as possible but not much more than that. I've woken up in my village on a Sunday morning exactly once since October 9th. I sleep here on Fridays maybe once a month, choosing to either 1)Go to Chisinau, 2)Go to my regional center to the apartment of another volunteer there, or 3)Go to the villages of other friends.

This weekend, however, will be different. I'm actually going to stick around, not going farther than a mile down the road to the regional center on my runs. It will mark the first weekend that I haven't left my village for any reason since (gulp . . .) September 1st and 2nd. I haven't stayed at my site for more than eight days in a row since (gulp again . . . ) May of last year. Needless to say, it's been a while. (if that sounds bad, I have a buddy who hasn't stayed in his village for a 24 hour period in weeks) But I'm mentally ready to bunker down: I've got three books, five movies, and I think a friend or two of mine may come out on Saturday to ease my burden.

And I should come out and admit that I have an ulterior motive for being here for the next two days; the bar that they've been building in the forest for a year and a half has finally opened and I'm ready to try it out.

Notes:
- Wednesday of this weekend marked one of the most productive days that I've had in a while here, with productive of course being a relative term. I taught three lessons, all of them successful (meaning that information was processed), then after school we teachers had a little celebration in light solid visit from our regional inspectors, then I walked to the sanatorium here to get a haircut. That's it. One one hand, it's not much. On the other, in terms of productivity, that's about as good as it gets.

- The wedding of my host-brother and his fiancée of two years is officially on for sometime in May. The place is still a topic of discussion and the date keeps changing, but the bottom line is that the event I've been waiting for for a year and a half will finally come to fruition. Soon.

- One personality trait that has come out strong in my time here has been my competitiveness. I've always been competitive, telling friends here that I never play: I win or I lose. That's it. But I think that here, the lack of opportunities to compete have made whatever chances come my way that much more intense for me and, as a result, those involved. This applies to many situations, some of which make sense – a game of basketball – and some of which are ridiculous, like an Easter Egg hunt last Friday. That's right, an Easter Egg hunt.

The girl who I wrote about last time, the one with appendicitis, prepared for my friend and I a friendly little search for Easter Eggs in the apartment she was at. They were really well hidden. My friend and I started out in good moods, laughing and smiling and joking. That lasted about five minutes, after which things turned dour. Our lack of ability to find them, our lack of success, drove us totally nuts. It ceased being fun for everyone involved – even the hiders – and we were absolutely determined to finish what we had started. Thankfully, the torment of everyone involved ended only 35 minutes after the searching had started and only 30 minutes after we started taking it far too seriously (I say we because my friend was just as into it as me, the difference between us being that I didn't try to hide my feelings while he did).

- It's been a slow week so I'm already ready to wrap thing up on my end but while I usually try end to my writings with a story or an antidote or something quirky tale from the last week. This week, I decided to write a few lines about one of the things I'll miss most when I leave here in a few four months time. The sky.

First of all, I can count with one hand the amount of times in America that I could see the Milky Way. Here, it's a daily occurrence. I can track the stars and actually have a mental-image of where they are; the Big Dipper, for example, is right over my house right now – usually it's farther north. And Orion is to the south-west. One of the best things I do here is to print off the Internet a star-chart every month and go look at the constellations and the clearest planets.

I've also found that I can predict the next-days weather by the night before simply by looking at the clouds, which given my lack of other sources happens to work out just fine. While there are many luxuries to which I will return with a smile on my face, the lack of my Hirjauca night sky's – and the pleasures they can bring – will be one thing I will surely wish for.

For What's It Worth

2008-03-23T02:17:00.001-05:00

If there is one nice advantage for schools here to having a Peace Corps volunteer it's that, in addition to the obvious benefit of having another teacher that will help the students in their pursuit of English, we volunteers have access to various activities and projects through Peace Corps Moldova that we are able to bring to our schools, to our kids, that they would maybe otherwise not be able to receive.

For example, this year, as I've written about in the past, I was lucky enough to be able to take a team to the Model United Nations conference in Chisinau, put on through Peace Corps and a host of Moldova partners. It was a conference that was done all in Romanian, a bit of a problem for me because in my Russian school there are only a handful of kids who speak Romanian to the level required. Thankfully, amongst the twenty-one ninth-graders in my school there are five of which speak the national language to a high enough level – of these five, I was able to take three to Chisinau to the conference last weekend. It was one great moment followed by another.

It started on Friday, when we rolled off the bus from my village at 7:45 in the morning and needing three hours to kill, went right to the Peace Corps Moldova office where we have a volunteer lounge that I spent an inordinate amount of time in. We hung out there for a few hours while I gave the kids some more information that they needed, then let them prepare their opening presentation. We then went to a hotel here where all the kids were put up for the duration of the weekend. It was clear from the start that it was their first time in such a place as when they got their registration cards they worried immensely about how to fill in the information correctly (I, on the other hand, just filled in what I thought they needed – no problems either). Then they got to their rooms and of course their first question was if the TV worked or not. I then led them to registration – done totally by Peace Corps volunteers – before basically letting them go for the next two days. I had their cell phone numbers, they had mine, and I just dropped in from time to time to monitor things but tried to stay out of their hair because, as I told them, they were young and in Chisinau and with other students and they last thing they wanted was to be around me.

The conference went well for them overall. They told me that they had a few problems with the language (at one point the guy on the team was stating an opinion when he paused, said the word in Russian, waited for someone to shout out the answer, then proceeded, all done with an air of helpfulness). When I went to get them on Sunday morning I asked them how they had slept – I myself had slept only from 2:30AM – 5:45AM – and they responded that they hadn't really slept and had instead just watched TV until 4:00 in the morning, waking up at 7:00. In hindsight, I should have expected nothing else from ninth-grade students away from their village and parents, in a hotel and without supervision with a TV full of channels.

But they way back from the hotel to the bus-station brought out my absolute favorite part of the experience. As I wrote about in a previous entry, the kids that I took were/are the best of the best in my school, kids that I look forward to teaching every day, who work for me and from whom I work as well. So on the road I was able to finally see just how rare of a chance it was for them to be where they were and to live the life that, fortunately, I'm able to live every weekend.

At one point we walked into the largest supermarket in the center of Chisinau and my kids looked at the escalator with a bit of awe – it then hit me that they had never ridden one. So they asked me if they could take a spin and I jumped on. I then turned around to watch one of my kids slowly approach the foreign object, and take a little hop, only to carried safely to the top. Then they got into the glass-walled elevator with the purpose of just taking a ride to the top.
And to top things off, on our way out I ended up having to wait for the two girls inside the store while the guy with us was waiting outside and when I went to check up on him there was a woman proselytizing to him with a brochure from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in her hand. It was fully clear, in that moment, that he wasn't in Kansas anymore.

Notes:
- Probably the favorite computer program of every volunteer here (and, I dare say, around the world) would have to be Skype, which allows any person to call to America for two cents a minute – by comparison, the cheapest calling card available in Moldova costs seven dollars for forty minutes).

So last Saturday night, in a Peace Corps apartment for sick people (more in a second), I and two friends of mine sat around for three hours and called person after person after person in America. We did a round of sorts, with each of us calling one friend at a time, and because we were in the situation of using only the microphone and speaker, thus allowing everyone to hear and converse with the person whom we were calling. Made for some great moments intertwined with great conversations.

- The aforementioned apartment that I was in is Peace Corps owned, right next to the office, and is for volunteers who have some affliction that requires medical attention. Well, a girl I know – the same girl whose village I wrote about in my last entry – happened to come down with appendicitis last weekend and let my friend and I basically camp out with her all of last weekend. She couldn't do much at the time so there was a host of us there. The most unfortunate part for her was that it hurt to laugh, making for plenty of painful moments. And the apartment itself is great, like any place in America or Europe. Two bathrooms, three bedrooms, relaxed atmosphere. It was painful to leave.

I've also found out, as a result of this calamity, that should I need to have any sort of emergency surgery done there are places in Chisinau where it's possible. And no, it's not at any of the public facilities (sadly, they aren't up to western standards). But there's a private clinic somewhere in the capital that, if need be, can take care of anything too serious.

- My favorite part of last week – apart from seeing my kids get on an escalator for the first time – was on Wednesday when I was walking home from Grandpa's house and on the road home I ran into two third-graders. So we talked for a few minutes, with them giggling to themselves when I asked how their English lessons are going and if they could speak English to me.
Before we departed I asked them where they were going and they said to the kindergarten to pick up their younger siblings. One boy, nine years old, was going for his eight-year old sister, while the nine year-old girl was going also for her eight-year old brother.

Crashing

2008-03-13T12:28:00.001-05:00

Have you ever seen the movie Wedding Crashers? Well, last Friday, my friend and I did just about the best impression of that possible at a celebration in the village of a friend of ours in the south of Moldova: the main difference between us and the characters in the movie is that we were actually invited. Apart from that, however, the similarities are eerie.

It all started at a concert held at the school in the morning (more on that in a second – and on the village, in general too), after which all the teachers and administrators got together for a feast of food and wine, also done in collaboration with the International Womens Day that is celebrated in this part of the world. It started at 2:00 and the first glass of wine was down by 2:10. My friend and I had gone to the village last Wednesday after our TEFL conference in Chisinau to visit a girl we know there; because we were guests, we also were invited as was another Peace Corps in the village, making a total of four Americans present at the party.

Walking in the door my friend and I knew nobody apart from the girl whom we were visiting. After an hour, the three American guys present were on the stage, singing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” after which I gave a toast in Russian. Within two hours we were dancing with all the teachers, swinging around and dancing the national dance in a circle as well as chatting up the director. After three hours we were walking out with a pitcher of wine, a 3-ounce glass, and a plate of meat and cheese that people use to chase the wine, a task usually taken on by the host/hostess and a task which amused the real hosts to no end. The girl we were visiting was dancing with her director (not at all strange, despite what you may initially think) when we started the handouts and he pointed us out to her: she at first was surprised but then just laughed and laughed.

The similarities with the movie don't end there, however, because if you'll recall they end up crashing funerals.

Well, we had a like circumstance happen to us. Turns out, the sister of one of the teachers in the school died a few days before so after the celebration following the concert we had a little memorial celebration for the sister and again, for some odd reason we Americans were also invited. It was, as you could imagine, a fairly somber event. We all received a loaf of bread in the shape of a ring with a candle in it, the bread symbolizing the soul. This event held us there for another two hours but the more the wine flowed the looser the atmosphere got. One of my favorite parts of the evening – and the part that fully demonstrates just how integrated we were into the community of teachers – was the end when we took a group pictures of all teachers in the school. I'll try to post it as soon as I can because who is present in the the background? My friend and I who had met the teachers there a mere four hours before. It only took that small amount of time for them to consider us part of the family . . .

Topping off the night was our return home to the girl's host family – we heard music blaring from the kitchen when we walked through the gates, knowing that a good time was likely going on inside. We were not mistaken when we entered and saw the host mom with a bottle of wine and a glass pouring out shots as well as two women dancing with the two daughters, aged eleven and fifteen. Naturally we jumped in, my friend and I dancing with everyone from the host-mom to the youngest daughter. And all was done within the tiny confines of a kitchen that while being tiny, was big enough to contain our spectacle . . .

Notes:
- As I alluded to in my last entry, the reason for my not being able to post recently is that we were on a hard-earned vacation from school for the last week, starting on the afternoon of February 29th and going until the morning of March 10th. I had a conference in Chisinau through Peace Corps on Saturday and Sunday for all the TEFL teachers in the country (ironically, the only time that ALL of us TEFL teachers, separated by a year of arrival, will be together) and I worked at the conference for the new volunteers that went through Tuesday. I have to admit that I really love to work at the Peace Corps conferences because 1)It's a lot of fun to be around the group of TEFL teachers that came in last year – they're just a great set of people, 2)I get to extend my stays in Chisinau for as long as possible while all the while being given per-diem for food, and 3) It's not too much work and the work that we do do is a lot of fun.

So I was in the capital until Wednesday, after which I went to the south of Moldova with a friend of mine to the village of a girl we know there, another volunteer in my group and the same girl to whom I went at the end of January, if you'll recall my entry on the time and just how great it was. Well, this time was better. A lot better. We were basically there for two days, arriving Wednesday evening and leaving Saturday morning. As alluded to before last time, the family there is great, the village huge (over 4000 people: the director of the school there, upon hearing that we have 1300 people between two villages, said they have 1300 houses). I can't begin to describe the differences between my village and hers but the biggest one would have to be wealth.

I've always known that my village is pretty poor but it didn't fully hit me until I came home the day after leaving the other village and, seeing some of the homes around here, I realized that I didn't see anything like them down south. When were at the concert we saw all these kids in all sorts of these nice national costumes, little kids in suits, little girls in beautiful dresses: none of these things have I seen at the concerts around here. Also, I've written about how at the school there they did a big celebration for International Womens Day, something we did at my own school last year. This year, however, it didn't happen; the reason, according to my host-mom, is that the teachers voted it down because they couldn't afford to miss the few precious hours of work in the fields that they would have to sacrifice.

Another example of how the wealth of students can affect the motivation of the kids. The same girl who I visited told us how she did a trash art contest with her kids in which they students had to walk around the village picking up trash and then make some sort of design out of what they found. It was a huge success, with the kids producing some amazing work. Their reward was merely a diploma that she printed off her computer. If I were to try something like that, the kid would either laugh at me or tell me to go and make art. No one (with the exception of 6th graders, who are great) would even think twice about not doing it. They simply don't have the time.

- The story that I wanted to kick off this entry with would have been the most surreal set of events to happen to me if not for our crashing/taking over the party in the village. My initial story happened two weeks ago, the first Friday of vacation, when a friend of mine had a free room in a hotel in the center of Chisinau as a result of his presence at a conference for an agricultural organization that is nation-wide (I'm still not sure why he was there, this being the reason for my odd explanation). Along with his room at the hotel came an invitation to an anniversary party for a couple celebrating six years of marriage, and because the drinks and food were free. So I showed up with a girl in my group, two of us showing up uninvited to a wedding of people we didn't know. Like what would happen seven days later, it took us an hour before we started dancing with everyone, chatting people up. It was nice.

- I'll end with the following story, one of those that's a reminder of just how odd this bubble of Peace Corps Moldova volunteer can be for us, especially in villages.

On Thursday of this week during one of my free hours between lessons my host-mom came in holding six sheets of paper and telling me that our director wanted me to go home, re-type all of the documents (which was a grant that another school had written and he wanted to copy without a digital print), and put them on my flash-drive so he could print them the next day. Unfortunately, I forgot my flash-drive with a volunteer in my regional center about a month ago and haven't gotten it back yet. I told this to her, she retold to my director my words, and returned telling me that my director was 'calling' me.

So I went to our computer room and when he saw me he told me that, knowing how fast I can type, he was canceling my last two classes so I could sit in the lab and re-type everything, all six pages of Romanian as well as reproducing charts with numbers and costs and totals. Seeing as I didn't have an option, I proceeded to sit there and, for two hours and fifteen minutes, type out every word. Actually, because it was a language I don't know, it was more like every letter. It was both painful and a painful reminder of this odd world, but if given the chance to do it over again, I would in a heartbeat.

And She's Out

2008-02-29T00:18:00.002-06:00

For the last week my host mom had been gone from my village, studying in Chisinau for something involving teaching (sadly, while I could explain it to you in Russian, I have no idea how to bring the concept to English. That's not be bragging about my skills – it's just something about another language. More on this later). It's been quite the scene around here without her.

Even before she left she was prepared for any and everything to happen to me – devoured by wolves, drowning in the well, lost and starved in the forest. If she were to come home and hear anything of this, she would not be shocked. She would likely slowly nod her head 'yes' and say, “Yep, that sounds about right.” She's ready for it all. She actually called last Thursday and asked three questions: 1)Had I eaten that day?, 2)What had I eaten?, and 3) Who cooked what I had eaten? It was a thirty-second phone call.

In the meantime, things have been interesting around here. My host-grandma comes over every day to feed the animals, gather eggs, do work like that, but it's odd because she doesn't speak Russian, only the Ukrainian dialect spoken here. Thankfully, after a year and a half in the village my comprehension is such that I basically understand what she wants me to tell me, like what she did, things like that. Sometimes, though, when they are really busy I get to do things like give water the animals (finicky drinkers, I've found): I feel like I'm at some sort of camp in America where people go to live in the country, because that's exactly what I get to do. As for other chores, thankfully my host sister-in-law does the cooking and cleaning for my and my host-brother, which actually works out nice for me because she's actually a little better cook than my host-mom.

Of course, there also comes the unfortunate malady of being treated like a four-year old child. For example, last Wednesday my host sister-in-law called and asked me if I could plug in the light in the hen-house. “CAN YOU PLUG IT IN!?,” she said. “ARE YOU SURE?,” was the follow-up question. I reassured her that, yes indeed, I could plug in a light. I only have one job to do every day: to start the fire in the wood-burning oven that serves as the one heat source for the house. And I have to admit, I've gotten pretty good at it, to the point that it takes me only one match after needing almost a whole box a year ago. I finally figured how it was done one day by watching my host-mom do it for the five thousandth time in life. That's all it took. And the house is warmer and the matches, more abundant, as a result.

Notes:
- We always like to joke here about our workdays – not matter what we say, there is almost zero doubt that we work less than most work in America. For an example day, last Monday I woke up at 7:45, got to school at 8:25, left at 9:15 after the first lesson (per schedule), didn't go back until 1:00 (per schedule), and walked out the door by 2:05. A total of 1:30 minutes of work, 1:35 minutes if you include preparation time. Not too bad, especially compared with a one day of a traditional forty-hour work week in America. And if there is an irony in this, it's that my work here is far, far more stressful than the work I did there.

- As I alluded to at the start, one of the odd things about knowing another language is that I (and any other person) finds that there are certain things that simply can't be translated to the other language at all. There are a handful times a week in which my kids will give me a sentence in Russian and want to know how it's translated into English and while I know every single word and understand it perfectly in the other language, I have no idea how to translate it into English.

Some of my friends make fun of me actually for my propensity to speak Russian around large groups of Moldovans when it's not totally necessary. As one friend jokes, if there is a room of 500 people, all of whom speak English and 497 of which speak Russian (American's being the three uninformed), I will inevitably start speaking Russian. And my answer? Yep. It's not my fault really. If I'm telling a funny story or something that originally happened in Russian, it's not my fault that the story is funnier in the original language. Then I shrug my shoulders and simply say, “What do you want to me?”

- I've written about before how my host-grandpa left about two weeks ago to return to home in the next village – his home is about a twenty minute walk away from mine. Usually I walk for about forty-five minutes every day but in the opposite direction of his house. I was wanting to visit him for a while but the problem is that his house is located at the top of a hill that is unpaved; thus, any attempt to visit him before the last few days would have been met by a mound of mud that would have driven me mad. As a result, I deferred. Until Wednesday.

I walked into house, shook his hand, and immediately regretted that I hadn't decided to come in sooner,. He got a big smile on his face, told to me to sit down, and after a few questions of mine directed in his direction – mainly focusing on the searing temperatures inside his room – he started to talk to me, wondering where and how I had been. I was there for about a half-hour before deciding to leave but when I got up to go he asked me where I was going to and told me to grab a seat again. It was clear that he didn't have much to eat around so I asked him if/when he wanted me to go to the store for him – he quickly responded that he could use three loaves of bread and a pack of butter to go with them. I went to the three closest stores, all of which were closed, before returning home with the sad news. He didn't seem to upset after I promised to get some homemade vodka from the cellar for him.

Thankfully, his disappointment about my inability to find him something to eat was alleviated by a woman who came up. Turns out, she comes by every day to clean and cook and straighten up for him. She fried up some fish, reheated some buckwheat, and went to get the vodka that I couldn't find. Then grandpa and I sat around, drank some of the vodka, and I went home with a promise to return the next day. He seemed to be happy with that.

- There is a lot of conversation going around now amongst Peace Corps Moldova volunteers surrounding a book that's come out not too long ago called “The Geography of Bliss” (the author's name escapes me now), a book in which Moldova is featured as the third least happy country in the world. The man wrote a chapter about life here, about his time spent here investigating just how unhappy people here are. The verdict? Really unhappy. As he was quoted in saying in Newsweek International, “People in Moldova celebrate in the misfortune of others.” He actually started in Chisinau and then went to a town in the south of Moldova called Cahul and interviewed a handful of Peace Corps volunteers, and suffice to say our organization doesn't come out looking too nice; were basically painted as a group of beer-slamming whiners.

The biggest complaint I have against the book is that he takes an amazingly one-sided view of things – he was here for a short amount of time and without knowledge of the language it would far easier to get the misconception of things. For example, just last Sunday I bought a card for my phone and, in a rush, left without getting my change. I realized my mistake after a minute and went back to get it and the woman was at first a little incredulous but after I told her how I just forgot to take it she started to joke around and was quick to give me my seventy lei (about 6.50$).

Also, I'll never forget how a few weeks ago I was waiting in my regional center at the bus station to get back home. A little girl came up asking everyone for money – every bus station has at least a few of these kids – and after she was denied by me she went up to the woman next to me. The woman gave her one lei, asked the girl to sit down, and proceeded to talk to her for a few minutes. The whole conversation was in Romanian and the only things I understood was about “Is Mom at home?,” and something about school. But needless to say, I got the gist of the whole talk. And I hardly find it to be the talk of a people who “ celebrate in the misfortune of others.”

- Before I wrap this up, a warning: we have break from school for the next week and I'm leaving my village on the 29th of February and not coming back until the 8th or 9th of March. I'll be out of my village for as long as I can, basically. As a result I won't be able to post anything for at least two weeks.

- The best part of my last week came on my first visit to host-grandpa on Wednesday. First, I should write the caveat that he's terrified and horribly bothered that I have yet to find a Moldovan girlfriend. It's atop his worry-list. Well, last Saturday I met a girl in Chisinau who seemed cool and with whom I exchanged numbers.

When I went to visit him on Wednesday I told him how I met a new girl in Chisinau. He looked at me and asked, “does she drink?” When I answered in the affirmative he leaned back, smiled a little, and gave me a thumbs-up. It's the type of look – the type of thing that he does – that I'll never, never forget.

He's Back. Again

2008-02-20T01:06:00.001-06:00

Just like the last time I was without my power cord for an extended period of weeks, rather than go blow-by-blow about all that I've managed to not post, I'll just go ahead and give a quick run-down. And yes, it's good to be back.

- I managed to kill the last three weeks mainly by doing a copious amount of reading (i.e. about 120 pages a day from Sunday through Thursday). I went on a biography bender too, polishing off two books about Teddy Roosevelt, one on Napoleon, Band of Brothers, which I would count as sort of a group biography, as well as a biography on FBI spy Robert Hanssen and of a horse (Seabiscuit).

- Overall my time in school has been spent well, with a huge exception being last week. To picture how bad things were, picture the one of the worst days you've ever had. That was Thursday (Valentines Day, ironically, and it had nothing to do with love, the usual calamity on such a day. I'll explain some of the reasons in a second). Then picture a day that was still slightly better but still really bad. That was Wednesday. A day again slightly better but still horrible. That was Tuesday. And Monday was just a bad day overall.

Thursday I could either give a rundown of all that happened but instead I'll just jump to the point immediately after which I was very, very close to going to the local store where I could buy a double-shot of vodka for thirty cents. Actually, it's frightening how close I was. Basically, the best way to describe what I saw when I entered into my classroom where I had left my fourth graders is simply make a reference to “Kindergarten Cop” when he meets the kids for the first time. It was chaos, kids running around, shouting. One kid was even lying on the floor like a fish on a dock, flopping around. I looked at him and said, “Dima, what are you doing? Are you drunk? Why are you lying on the floor?” He just shrugged his shoulders and looked at me. I said, “Do you know the floor is dirty? Do you care?” Again, he shrugged his shoulders and looked at me. It was just by the grace of God that I didn't go to the store.

In fact, later in the day I told my host mom this story and about how I almost went for the shot, and she said, “Andy, do you know what kind of people go to the store for vodka after a day of work?” When I answered, “Yeah, the type of people who feel like I felt today after the 6th lesson,” she gave a half-smile, lifted one shoulder a little, and told me that I was right.

- Last Tuesday I was forced to implement a little bit of American discipline. It started the Friday before when a kid in 5th grade wanted to come into my classroom and I didn't let him. He told me some swear words in Russian that, sadly, he didn't think I could understand. I could. So on Tuesday I brought him into my classroom, made him write out numbers one through one hundred on the left side of sheets of paper, then wrote in English “I will respect my English teachers.” I told him how, I having written one sentence, he was going to have to copy it ninety-nine times. He proceeded to look me in the eye and said that no, he wasn't going. Needless to say, this isn't the type of disrespect I take from a kids who's ten years old. I, naturally, insisted that he would and told him he would not be allowed to leave my room until he did.

To make a long story short, he spent two hours joking and running around, telling me that he didn't do anything and that as a result he wasn't going to write. Finally, after two hours, he started to cry and five minutes later asked me to tell him again what he needed to do. Forty-five minutes later he was done. Believe me, it was far more painful for me to be with him than it was for him to be with me.

- To make matters worse last week, on Friday I actually didn't have any lessons so I was free to go to Chisinau early. My plan was to hitchhike out of my village, which is usually not a problem. I've never had to wait more than twenty minutes and when my friends were here two weeks ago we waited literally a minute and a half. This time, though, last Friday I waited an hour in fifteen minutes in twenty-five degree weather for the first ride, which didn't even to take me to my final destination of my regional center but instead to a village about six miles from mine. There, I waited another thirty-seven minutes for another ride. So in total, it took me 1:57 to travel a total distance of six miles. About the speed of a brisk walk.

- I've written before about how much our English has fallen in our time here. Case in point: last Saturday a few of us were at an apartment and talking about pain killers. One guy asked another girl if it was easy to get a 'subscription' for pills and she answered “no, a 'subscription' is easy to get.” Of the five of us present, only one of use noticed that he meant to say 'prescription.'

- A few weeks ago, at the end of January, I went to the south of Moldova to visit another volunteer there, and I walked away stunned. First of all, just pulling up I was in shock of the place – about 3000 people (or 1800 more than are present in my village and the bordering one). There was paved roads everywhere. Even at her house they have running water, a toilet inside, a shower, satellite TV, and high-speed Internet. It was easy to hitch-hike to and from, it's only two hours from Chisinau. I ended up talking to her host-dad for about two hours while drinking wine. I promised to return the next chance I could, as I already prefer her village to mine.

- Actually, my original plan was to go back to her village in a few weeks time when we have the next vacation from school, which starts at 2:00 in the afternoon on Friday, February 29th. Not that I'm counting the days – or hours – or anything. We have conferences in Chisinau from March 2nd to the next Wednesday and I was planning to go hang out for a day or two but there's been a hitch in the plan because I'm fairly sure I'm going to have a team for the national Model United Nations conference that'll happen in Chisinau those days. Another team dropped out, leaving a space for kids from my school. In all honesty I would rather not go, but in looking at my kids I realized that it's the best of the best who are likely going, kids who have been nothing but great to me during all of my time here. I figure it's the least I can do to show them my appreciation and give them this chance to be in Chisinau for three days, to sleep in a hotel and meet other kids. It's the type of thing I just don't want to have pass them by if I can help it.

- I've become increasingly conscious here of my ability to jinx myself. For example, I told people for a year and a half how tough it would be to live here with out a computer when low and behold, my power cord has died (twice) on me. I also made the mistake of always talking about my Ipod, how it was my savior here. Wouldn't you know it, it finally died on me. It actually still works (in theory) – the battery is fine, but when I plug it in I'm told by Itunes that it's corrupted and needs to be reset but, after I do as told, I'm simply told again that I need to reset it. I would take it to a place where they can replace it but . . . that's either in Bucharest or Kiev. And I'm not totally sure they can repair it. I'll keep my fingers crossed.

- Speaking of those places, my vacation plans for my final trip as a Peace Corps volunteer is starting to take place. I may actually go up to Germany or down to a town called Constantsa, in Romania on the Black Sea coast. At the very least, if those don't work out I'm heading to Odessa and maybe Kiev for a few days. Either way I'm excited.

- Finally, I'll end with a note on the weather. Suffice to say, it's gotten cold here after a brief spell of rather warm weather. Actually, outside it's not too bad, getting down to the high-teens during the day and getting into the high-thirties during the day. But for some reason, the house here simply has been unable to warm up, to the point that I can literally see my breath all the time (even as I write this sentence). Ironically, it's not that bad; it takes some getting used to and my fingers get especially uncomfortable, but as long as I wear enough layers the rest of my body is fine. Plus it comes with the added knowledge that 1)It's supposed to get into the high-forties some time later this week, and 2)The spell now is likely to be the final cold spell of the season. I can only hope. And my hands can only hope that warm blood will flow freely through them in the not-too distance future.

Nothing Special

2008-01-28T01:56:00.000-06:00

Seeing as how this last week has been pretty slow, there isn't really anything with which I can have a lead off. So instead, it'll be just a collection of notes.

- There is no doubt that my English has fallen. It's not a huge problem at all, instead it's a little funny and frustrating at the same time. At least two or three times a week in Chisinau I make basic grammar mistakes like using the wrong tense, or else I just flat out forget a word altogether. Case in point: last Friday my friend and I were in a hotel room eating and were talking about how, at the store that we at with other volunteers they decided to run to McDonald's and one girl had some things in a basket that she had to but away. The problem was, I (and my friend) totally forgot the word 'basket.' I said that she had a full . . . full . . . full . . . and I held up my hand like I was holding something. My friend started to nod but it was clear that he had lost the word too. Finally it came to me, but not before I was on the verge of saying 'bucket'. My friend sighed in relief and said that he was about to say, 'holder.' It was brutal.

- This actually happened a month ago but I feel like it deserves re-telling now. Before I left for vacation my host-grandpa was asking me how we volunteers get money. I told him that my organization gives money to a bank and we go to ATM's and take it out. He leaned back slowly and did something he did with his head that I can't describe but which means that he didn't understand (part of the language we've developed between us that I wrote about last time). But at the same time my host-mom came up behind me and said, “Andy, grandpa doesn't know what an ATM is.” Thought it was classic.

But speaking of host-grandpa, I guess my entry all about him last week jinxed me, because when I got home on Sunday afternoon he was gone. Turns out he staged a little of a hunger strike until they would take him home. It worked.

- On Tuesday and Wednesday of this week we had two meetings after school, one with just teachers and one with the parents of the fifth grades students (who are the worst in the school). The total time of the two meetings: three hours. The total amount of words spoken by me: zero. We will actually go around the room while our director gets everyones opinion on a subject and., after asking the teacher to the left of me, will just jump to the teacher to the right. Not that I'm complaining. I'd rather not speak at such events. But they're an amazing waste of my time, at least me because of the fact that, in my position as a volunteer, virtually none of the decisions they make will ever have an effect on me.

-I would love, love, love to write more but last Thursday the new power cord I had just bought two months ago fried again. So alas, I'll be without a computer (and the ability to update this thing) for another two, three weeks. Sorry . . . .

My Favorite Person in the Village

2008-01-16T01:27:00.002-06:00

Seeing as how he is, without a doubt, my favorite person in and around my village (as one of two Moldovan friends that I have), I decided that I would take a few minutes and a few lines of this space to describe my host-grandpa. I figured that, due to his eighty-years, he's earned some words from me.

He's my host-mom's dad and I first met him after I had been in my village only a few days last year when my host-sister and mom brought me along to his house in the next village over when they went to clean it out. I knew at once that I was dealing with a different type of person when he asked me if I had come to Moldova on a train or bus and was in a mild state of shock when I told him it was on a plane, ten hours from New York. That day marked the first of monthly-or so meetings in which we would go to his house to do various tasks that he physically can't do anymore. We picked grapes and made him wine – the 350 liters that he went through in six months – as well as apples that we picked and sold to supplement his monthly pension of thirty-eight dollars a month. His house is about a half-hour walk from ours and the last 200 yards or so are through one long continuous patch of mud, and one of the girls that I tutor sometimes lives only fifty or so yards away; as a result, when I would go to work with her my host-mom would often gave me food to bring along to grandpa.

Those types of treks to help him don't really happen anymore because, fortunately for me, he basically moved in with us here about six months ago after coming here off and on for three months before that. As I alluded to earlier, physically he can't do a whole lot. One year ago he could at least climb stairs, move around where need be, and while he did so slowly at least he was able. Now, however, his knees are basically shot. Even getting up and down in a chair is far from easy for him. And his hands aren't necessarily in the best of conditions too (I can only imagine what a geriatric doctor from America would say upon viewing his body and what needed to be done). He basically sits in one room of the house all day, listens to the radio, takes some naps with the cats laying on him. He's amazingly bored, to say the least. It's especially difficult for him to be here because of his physical condition – he sees the amount of work that my host-mom has to do every day and it drives him nuts that he simply can't do anything to help her, his only daughter. Once in a while she'll give him corn that he has to strip from the husk, a task he can accomplish during the day: I love it when I arrive home and see that he not only has finished the task but starts to brag about easy it was and how my host mom should have given him more to do, doing all with a cool confidence. And often, if given nothing to do, he'll tell me as soon as he sees me that his day was OK but that it would have been better had he had some work to do.

As I mentioned in the opening, my host grandpa here is really my only friend in the village. When I get bored I just drop in him and we talk a little – whenever I have problems with people or students and need someone to talk to I buy some beer and we sit and shoot the breeze for as long as it takes. He also really, really likes to drink (but my host mom consistently reminds me that while he has always liked to drink, he has never been a drunk who the likes of which stomp through the village, embarrassing himself and his family). He has told me that when he is home he would drink 1.5 liters of wine a day, but while he is here with us my host-mom simply just doesn't give any wine to him. As it stands, we end up drinking wine with dinner a few times a week or beer whenever I actually stick around my village for a Friday or Saturday night.

Apparently, my fondness for him is matched equally by his fondness for me – if I'm on vacation or somewhere he always asks when I'm coming back and when I do arrive home we shake hands and he immediately starts to interrogate me on what exactly I saw or experience during my time away. And he loves to see my pictures as I retell him everything. He's also fascinated by American life; one of these day's, if I ever figure out how, I'll record one of our discussions about how much things cost in America and how much money people receive, then translate it and post it on Youtube or something. His reactions are classic.

And speaking of classics, he told me last week about the time the Nazi Army was in my village during WWII. It wasn't that dynamic of a story – they told him in German to come over, he ran away – but I was amazed that he had waited so long to recount.

In closing, my favorite part of our relationship is this dialog that we've developed between us, this sort of language that comes with being surrounded my my host mom/sister for eighty percent of our time. It gets to the point that someone will say something odd or illogical or want him to do something that he doesn't want to and we just look at each-other and share a slow head-nod 'no', a little smile, or a shrug of the shoulders. Like I said, he's the closest thing I have to a friend in my village and when I leave here in a few seven-months time, he'll be the one I miss the most. No doubt about it.

Notes:
- I've been passing my free time recently watching the first two seasons of MacGyver, and while I won't waste your time by becoming a critic, I have to simply say that I've never seen something else that is simultaneously brilliant and brilliantly amazing at the same time. In a way it's shattered a little bit of something I had cherished since I was little.

- In Moldova they celebrate Christmas according to the Orthodox system, January 7th every year. This time, like last, we went over to my host grandma's where it was just my immediate host family, aunt, uncle, and cousin. Usually it's not a great time for me because everyone just sits around and speaks the Ukrainian dialect all the time. While I understand it well enough, I disagree with it's usage in principal around because I think it's a little disrespectful. My plan this year was to actually walk-out after a while and then, when asked where I was going, make a little speech about my thoughts on their using nothing but what they themselves refer to as “dirty Ukrainian.” But upon arrival I realized – something that I knew but had never hit me before – is that I'm fairly sure that my host grandma doesn't speak Russian at all; at least, if she does, I've never heard it from her. So I decided this year to just sit back, read the book that I had brought, and let them jabber away. Turned out to a really nice time too. I even answered a question right on Russian “Who Wants To Be a Millionaire” that everyone was impressed by.

- The last day before I left for vacation we had a man I didn't know, had never seen before, and will likely never see again, come by and asked for some wine when my host mom happened to be at work. The man who came was in really, really rough shape, a clear alcoholic who my host mom actually fed once before out of pity. He smelled really badly, had old clothes, glasses held together with wire, and rags over his hands instead gloves or mittens. He was nice actually and confused about who I was, where my host mom was, and why I was there. He was a little flummoxed when I told him that, in principal, I never give any wine to anyone. This actually has happened only once before, when my parents were here. That lady was nice too.

But my favorite part came when I went to see host grandpa, who saw the entire exchange but physically couldn't do anything. He was all fired up when I went to talk with him, loved my re-telling of the story, and had plenty of words to say about the man who had come – apparently, they know each-other.

- I also wrote before I left for vacation about the girl in my school who tragically died that week (apparently of leukemia, according to my partner teacher). Well, literally two minutes after I had posted my second-to-last entry my host mom came in and inquired if I wanted to go to the girls house for a memorial (or so I understood). While I didn't know the girl at all, I thought that the least I could do would be to go and pay my respects, especially in a community and school such as ours.

So I went outside and jumped in with the line of teachers all headed to the girls house (only a few minutes' walk away from mine). When we entered I saw in the veranda what I thought was the coffin itself and distinctly remember thinking that it was amazing that the girl was right there, underneath such a slim covering.

However, in entering the next room I was surprised to see that what I saw in the veranda was just a cover – the coffin with the girl inside of it was inside another room of the house where people had gathered around her. So I sat in that room with about fifteen other people for a good ten minutes, just us and the dead student who was wearing a beautiful dress; everyone drank a glass of wine and ate some crackers. It was one of the most somber moments experiences of my life.

- A month ago I bought a new phone off Ebay and had it shipped to my friend who was in America for Christmas. It's a Blackberry and it's amazing. I'm slowly trying to figure out how to get e-mail access on it (not so simple in Eastern Europe). But another volunteer got one a little while ago too and he's far more savvy than me. My goal: to send someone an e-mail from an outhouse.

- In closing, as I've written about before one of the main way's that I've tried to change things up in my life in this, my second year, is to try and take different modes of transportation back to my village (yes, not a large step, but what can you do?). Two Sundays ago I actually wanted to take the one bus that goes right home but, being the day before Christmas, it was standing room only two hours before departure, a yearly occurrence..

Wanting to minimize my discomfort, I took a trolleybus and a minibus to my regional center and in trying to get home ended up getting a ride in an ambulance driven by an off-duty driver to a village half-way to my own, knowing from the start that it would be fairly easy hitchhike the rest of the way home. After a few minutes of waiting a car rode by, seemingly ignoring me at first before I saw the red brake lights flash on and the horn blast.

So I ran over and, turns out, it was a girl from my school and her family. They not only picked me up but also drove me the mile or so past their house to my own because the weather was bad, then wouldn't take the money I offered. I thought that was not bad, and it certainly made my week for me.

Better Than We Could Have Thought

2008-01-04T05:27:00.000-06:00

Yes, this posting means that I have officially gotten back from my trek across four countries, two continents, two seas, one peninsula, the longest river in the world, and one of the most important geographical points in the Old Testament.

Our journey started in Bucharest, a city about which, if you remember in my last entry, I had heard nothing but bad news and was looking forward to disliking. Needless to say, I wasn't disappointed, neither on my outgoing through the city nor on my return trip (more on that in a second). We took the overnight train from Chisinau, slept on the train, and rolled in at 6:15AM. It didn't take long to realize that my basic problem with the city is this: people there are the exact same as people here in Moldova. They can be just as impolite and unhelpful there as here, but people there look down on Moldova as being something like an unwanted step-child, in a very disparaging way. That annoyed me as much as anything else. There is one great silver-lining to the city though – all the American restaurants that we miss and are absent from Moldova just happen to be in the Romanian capital; as a result, we ate breakfast at McDonalds, lunch at Pizza Hut, watched a movie in English (which was terrible and quickly descended into my friends and I doing a Mystery Science Theater impression), then ate dinner at KFC. And you know what? We have no regrets.

We flew out in the evening and landed into Cairo at 3:30 in the morning, found a taxi to our hostel, and didn't go to sleep until 5:00, waking up with excitement a mere four hours later (there will be a point soon to these mentions sleep). At breakfast we were lucky to meet a man originally from Chicago who has been to Egypt ten times and was quick to dispense with advice and actually walked with us about an hour to the main market as well as showed us how to navigate the metro system and introduced us to a guy who arranges private tours (interestingly, in Cairo the first two cabins in subways are reserved just for women. They can and do travel in different cabins, but men aren't allowed into the first two). We then spent the rest of the day just walking around the city, trying to find the center of the ancient Coptic church but getting lost in the afternoon (we knew they were on the other side of a slum but reasoned that we didn't want to try passing through), then strolling through some of the main streets in the evening, an evening in which we decided that Cairo is our favorite city in the world (the justifications for that decision are forthcoming).

The following day we went did the tourist things. The man we met up with the day before who does private tours arranged for a car (for ten dollars each) to drive us to the Pyramids, wait around while we strolled around, and bring us back. As someone we met the first day told us, there is a very mercantile mindset still ingrained in the minds of many Egyptians and, if your are willing to pay for it, people will be willing to do just about anything for you. This was our first example.

The Pyramids were really interesting, although in all honesty they weren't as big as we thought. Don't get me wrong – they're big. Maybe our expectations were just too much, but we were hoping for the most massive objects any of us had ever seen. They weren't. But that fact still didn't diminish our overall awe of just being near and around such world-famous objects that have stood for so long. The Sphinx was especially nice, although it would be nicer if the British hadn't cut off the beard and taken it to London. It was really nice there because it's basically an open area – you pay the ten dollars to get through the front gate but then you're free to roll around the complex how you feel, for as long as you feel. We felt like two hours . .. .

Then in the afternoon we went to the Egyptian National Museum, featuring dozens of mummies and other artifacts all coming from the long and amazing Egyptian history. There are two highlights in the place (although, I have to admit, in almost any other museum in the world the things that are casually disregarded in Cairo would be the main part). The most well-known object would the burial mask of King Tut, which is stunning, and the second most well-known object is the throne and footrest of King Tut. Ironically, under the footrest was placed pictures of his enemies so he could symbolically place his feet upon then whenever he wanted – as my friend and I joked, do Cheney and Rumsfield have similar arraignments?

That evening, rather than pay the money for a room – although a night in Cairo cost only five dollars – we decided to take an overnight bus to a town on the south end of the Sinai peninsula called Sharm el-Sheik, arriving at 6:15AM and transferring to our final destination, the town of Dahab on the Red Sea. Arriving there was one of the happiest moments of the nine days – Dahab is this warm, quiet, small town on the coast in which people come to just to relax on the beach and drink tea. We got to our hostel and during breakfast we had the remarkable revelation: the land we were seeing across the water was in Saudi Arabia. We were looking at Saudi Arabia! Upon comprehending this the three of us just sat there in silence.

Our original plan was to spend the night in Dahab and take the ferry to Jordan the next day but we also wanted to climb to the top of Mount Sinai to watch sunrise. In talking with the man at the front desk of the hostel we realized that our most time efficient option would be to climb Sinai at night, then rather than return all the way to Dahab the next day they could arrange for the car bringing us back from the mountain to bring us to another car that would take us the the port-town where we could catch the ferry to Jordan and then press on to our final destination, the ancient city carved out of stone called Petra. Yes, this plan was a little nuts – after sleeping five hours on a bus which, 1) Isn't really 'sleep' and, 2) Would come of the heels of sleeping a combined twenty hours in the previous four nights, and 3) We planned to climb a mountain and cross the Red Sea the next day. If we didn't suffer serious personal harm from exhaustion, we would be set to fully enjoy our time in Petra.

So we spent Christmas day walking on the beaches in our city, talking with a great Australian couple that we met during breakfast and taking a two hour nap. And on Christmas day at 11:00 at night, we got a ride to the base of Mount Sinai with two Japanese tourists and a family from Canada. We met our tour guide, drank tea to warm us (the temperature was about seventy-five to eighty during the day but down to about thirty-five at night), and finally took off for the summit at 2:00 in the morning. We were lucky in that we had an almost full moon which made the three and a half hours to the top far more bearable. That being said, the route was far from easy. It's about four miles, all of which is taken in the middle of the dark night and it's a path that winds up, around, and through the mountains. The final half-hour stretch is 750 stairs which make the perfectly difficult end of the path.

However, the reward that we received at the top made the whole trek worthwhile. At the top there is a Catholic church and an Islamic mosque as well as everyone who had succeeded waiting for the sun to come up from the east, across the peninsula, the Red Sea, and the mountains of Saudi Arabia. There are no words to accurately describe all that we felt at the time so I'll just recommend that you look at the picture that follows this entry to get an idea of what we saw.

And no matter how tired we all were, once the sun came up we became filled with energy and were especially happy when the sun illuminated the amazing scenery around us. Turns out, the range gets it's name because Sinai means 'teeth' (or maybe 'tooth') in Arabic, and the path back to the start showed all of us why. Also at the start – which we reached at 8:30 in the morning – is the Monastery of St. Katherine's, built on the spot where Moses saw the Burning Bush and which is still maintained by a combination of Greek, Russian, and Romanian Orthodox priests and which was built in the 11th century. Present there is also what some people call the original Burning Bush and what others call a descendant of the original. Either way, it was quite the spectacle.

The following day (or the same day, depending on how one views it) we got one ride to a waiting car and another to the port-town of Newueba, where we caught the ferry across. The price was a little steep for us – when we got to the ticket office it was written '70' and we thought it was written in Egyptian pounds, which would equal about twelve dollars – a reasonable sum. But we were wrong – it was written in dollars. The price alone, however, soon turned out to be highly worth it simply for the experience that we got out of it. We were, for a while totally lost along with the other half-dozen or so tourists trying to cross as well. Everything was written in Arabic without a clue about what needed to be done. However, in the midst of our confusion a van pulled up with a few Italian tourists and their Arabic-speaking guide and we were quick to join in with them – thankfully, their guide was more than happy to help us. One of the most culturally shocking moment that I've had in all of my travels was entering this shipyard that contained the customs agents. It was full – packed – with lines of men fifty yards long, all yelling at everyone else and none too happy that we, as Westerners, were allowed to go right to the front of the line.
It was one of the most surreal few minutes, one of the few times in my life that I was totally, 100 percent outside of my comfort zone, not because I felt any personal danger but because it was the type of situation in which I had just never found myself before that.

The ferry across was fine, and despite the fact that we were exhausted, we immediately found transport to Petra, our final destination, and took the two our ride up. After finding a hostel, getting dinner in a restaurant (a place we liked so much we are five consecutive meals there), we promptly passed out at 9:30 at night.

We were later glad that we hustled because it gave us plenty of time to spend the next two days in Petra, one of the most remarkable places on the planet – as evidence of this, it was just recently named as one of the 7 Wonders of the World, and with good reason. For those of you who don't know what Petra is (I had no clue before going there), it's an entire ancient city carved out of the side of cliffs around AD 20. At one point there was over 30,000 inhabitants there. If you've ever seen Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, the end of the movie where he goes to the Canyon of the Crescent Moon is actually Petra. I wish I could even start to describe what is there but because I can't, I won't even try. Instead, just look at the pictures that follow this to get a general idea of what's there. We were in the city for two days and on the second day we met up with our friends for PC Moldova who were traveling through Jordan at the time – we had coordinated our stays at the same hostel together and believe me when I say that our shared time with friends make the time that much better.

As for our return journey, I had a flight of Cairo at 4:30 on Sunday morning and we came up with the plan of crossing from Petra to the Egyptian capital on the same day, departing from our starting point at 7:00 in the morning with idea of crossing about 400 miles, two countries, two continents, one peninsula and the Red Sea and doing so by two cars, a ferry, and a bus. Thankfully, the plan came to fruition without a hitch, although I admit I was a little nervous when the bus broke down in the middle of the Sinai. Thankfully, we started up again after a mere fifteen minutes. The craziness of everything hit us fully when we got to Cairo and while I was waiting for a cab to the airport one of my friends remarked at how risky it was for us to try to do what we did. Thankfully, it went off about as well as we could have imagined.

My trip wasn't complete, however (my friends stayed there two days longer than I). In the airport in Bucharest on the way back I was told that my flight to Chisinau for that day was canceled and that I would have to wait twenty-fours there, put up in a hotel room paid for by the airline. At first I was a little bothered but then it hit me that I would be able to have my own time, in my own nice hotel room, to sit around and relax all day, recuperating some energy. So that's exactly what I did – I drank a little beer, took a three-hour nap, watched HBO in English. All in all, no complaints. And of course I was able to get back to Moldova in time for the New Year's day celebration, taking a 45 minutes on a prop-plane that caused me to do a double take when I first glanced at and on which there was only fifteen people, five of us being Americans.

And that night in here in Moldova turned out to be a great ending to the best trip I've ever had, one that turned out to be better than any of us ever could have imagined before we left. The best way to say is that it wasn't really a trip, it was an adventure.

Notes:
- As I alluded to earlier, Cairo officially tops my list of my favorite cities in the world. There is no real way to explain it – basically, take all the preconceived notions of a modern city with ancient roots (like Rome) and make those roots not European but Islamic. It has a feel that was totally like any other. We also liked the fact that it wasn't swarming with tourists; while there are certainly plenty around the Pyramids and museums, in just walking through the streets at night there were hardly any to be found, a fact which only added to the great feel we got from the place. Our best description would be to say that it's like a stripped-down version of Istanbul, but of course that could only be understood by a person who has been to Istanbul.

- For a final tally of our sleep the day we crossed to Petra, in the 62 hours between 7:00 AM on Monday morning and 9:00 Wednesday evening, we slept a grand total of eight hours, which includes one night on a bus and climbing a mountain in that time span. Our motor skills were diminishing and even our language was falling – we would say things at dinner like, “can you give me a cut (instead of cup).” It was brutal.

- Before I went we were all prepared to face a barrage of harassment from merchants and the like on the streets of Cairo, but we were pleasantly surprised. While people were quick to come up to us and offer to sell us things, as soon as we said no it was the end of the conversation (as opposed to a city like Istanbul, where they keep coming and coming). And the people, especially in Cairo, were more than happy to aide us in any way they could. At one point we were trying to find the bus station and were not successful in trying to get there. Being the only non-Egyptian people around, it was clear we were lost. But just on the street we had some young people come up to us and ask us if there was anything they could help us with. Needless to say, they and others were more than willing to aide us. Even on the ferry on the way back, on which we were three of maybe ten non-Muslims on board, people helped us in tasks like saving our seats when we went for passport registration and talking us up a little.

My favorite antidote of how people cared for us there comes from the bus back to Cairo on the return leg of our journey. Before departing from the town some men on front of us on the bus got into a big argument about seats. They were yelling at each other loudly (but doing so in a respectful way, if that makes any sense), but after about a minute one man turned around to my friend and said something to him in Arabic while pointing at the seat numbers. While we clearly didn't understand him, the message was clear: 'don't worry, we're just talking about our places.”

We also didn't face as much as a hint of anti-Americanism there. Not even a hint. In fact it was the opposite – we had people ask us on the streets if we really from America, then got a few geographical questions to see if we were telling the truth. But I have to say that traveling in Islamic countries created some interesting situations for the girl in our group. There were a lot of times in which she was either the only female in a place or one of only a handful, and she said that if she had been alone she wouldn't have been conformable but being with us, she was fine.

- Finally, I'll end with a few words on the Russians we met who turned out to be some of the coolest people on earth. We first bumped to them at the bus station in Cairo that was taking us to the south of Sinai – one of them approached us and, in English that was a little weak, asked where were going. We answered and asked them where they were from, and when their answer confirmed our thoughts my friend – another Russian speaker – and I told them how we all live in Moldova and speak Russian and we ended up chatting with them for an hour (in a great remark about my language and my accent, one of them said he knew my friend was American but was surprised to learn that I'm not from Chisinau). We then bumped into them in Dahab. And on the top of Mt. Sinai. And in the port-town on the way to Jordan. And again on the boat. And finally, in Petra.

These guys were hard-core in their travels. They sat in the back of a flat-bed truck going fifty miles an hour for two hours in 40 degree weather to get to the base of Mt. Sinai, then carried their fifty pound frame packs to the summit because there was no place to put them. Getting there early, they actually pitched a tent for a while. And my favorite part is that rather than pay the thirty-five dollar entrance fee to Petra, they opted to walk fifteen miles around the complex, sleep in the mountains, and stroll in through the back door the next day. It was out of sheer luck that we bumped into them when we did, and it's only fitting for us that the final time we saw them they were walking away from a Jordanian security guard who asked to see tickets they hadn't bought – they feigned that they didn't understand and promptly split.

A fitting image, we all though, that summed up all of our time spent together . . .

Pictures, I

2008-01-04T05:17:00.000-06:00

Above is the first set of pictures that I wanted to show:

1) The Sinai mountains as seen on our trek down.

2) The monastery nestled amidst everything, the one that contains the Burning Bush

3) Me in the gully that is actually the entrance to Petra. Believe it or now, it's actually a totally natural area, carved by tectonic action and not water

4) Me in Petra again.

5) An example of some of the buildings carved out of rock. It was tough to capture much - this is as good as I could manage.

Pictures, II

2008-01-04T05:07:00.000-06:00

Here is the second collection of pictures from my journey:

1) At the top is a me (in the bottom-left corner) in front of the Pyramids.

2)My with the Sphynx.

3) This is me in the town of Dahab with the mountians of Saudi Arabia in the background.

4) An image from the town itself.

5) My favorite image from the eight days, one that is now my desktop background: sunrise on Mt. Sinai.

Back in Business, II

2007-12-20T05:32:00.000-06:00

There's no way for me to summarize the last six weeks in any way that would be 1) Painless for me to write, or 2)Painless for you to read. So, alas, here are some of the high/low-lights:

- I can't even begin to describe how totally bored I was here without my computer. There were times that made my bus trip to Moscow look like a amusement park in comparison. Totally brutal. I would come home from school, eat lunch, go for my daily walk around our lake, and then arrive home at 4:30, wondering just how I would be able to kill the six hours between my arrival and my time going to sleep. I did a lot of crossword puzzles, read a book every two days or so, and . . . . that's about it. I watched TV some but my host mom commandeered the remote between 5:30 and 6:30 every day so she could watch Russian soap operas, which were really good language skills for a year ago but now, because my comprehension is almost total, I've come to realize that I just can't stand them. They're amazingly stupid. I couldn't take it anymore. So as I told my parents when my new power cord finally got here last Friday, I felt like I had received a new life. I immediately proceeded to download eighteen podcasts.

- I spent the last two weekends in Chisinau, and they were some of the best weekends I've had in a while. First, two weeks ago we all went to a bar where a cover band of The Doors played. They're Moldovan, and they are amazing. A volunteer actually used to play with them but he left last summer (he was the harmonica player, which they substituted in place of the organ. Fear not, though, as a new harmonica player is in place). It was great. Then last weekend, we celebrated three birthdays together and about thirty of us volunteers all celebrated in a bar together. When there is a mass of us together, there is this energy, this atmosphere, that can't be accurately described or replicated. I was there with a Moldovan girl and I asked her about a dozen times if Moldovan people would do what we were (dancing without music, singing loudly to any and all music played), and she said that as a rule, people absolutely would not behave as we behaved. Of course, as a lot of Moldovans have found, it can be rather refreshing to be around us because we're just so different. She loved it.

- In spite of last weekend, the absolute best thing I've done in a really, really long time happened when three weeks ago when I called some friends whom I haven't talked to in a long, long time. First, my buddy and I called one friend of ours who was a volunteer here last year but left last summer (he just couldn't take it anymore). We talked to him for an hour and a half, which thanks to the Internet cost a grand total of $1.60. Then I called two other friends, one of whom I hadn't talked to since March 15th of this year and the other of which I hadn't spoken to since June 3rd, 2006, the day before I flew out of Minneapolis. I would have called more people but didn't have some numbers and some didn't answer. Believe me when I say that those conversations carried me through all of my problems in school for about two weeks. Just amazing.

- Thankfully, winter has finally arrived to my village. It snowed a lot here on the first Saturday of February last year (I remember that day because it was class reunion Saturday in Moldova), and not again until last week. It came and went in the early part of last week, leaving behind an unprecedented wake of mud in it's tracks. It got to the point that I would put on my galoshes over my tennis shoes just because I couldn't take the fact that they would literally be covered in mud. At one point, in walking home from school, I stepped on a seemingly innocent lump of dirt and had water literally jump up to my knee. I wish the preceding sentence was a joke.

Last Thursday, however, the temperature dropped and the snow started to fall, not stopping until early on Sunday morning. It was just great. On Friday night I was with a friend from Virginia at one of the main grocery stores in Chisinau, waiting for another guy. My friend wanted to wait inside but I insisted on the outdoors. And I refused to stand under the canopy, instead letting the wind and snow blow against me. My friend and I talked for about ten minutes until he told me he just couldn't take it anymore and had to go inside, which we did. Then later we went back to the store, four of us in-total, and spent the ten minute walk to the store throwing snowballs at each-other.

- Thanksgiving, while not being the spectacle it was last year, turned out to be a great time. I went up to the north of Moldova with some friends who threw a little holiday at their house – there were about sixteen of us in total, as well as the parents of the host volunteer. In one room there were three of us sleeping, and I had to share an unzipped sleeping bag with one girl who kept taking it from me. That was really cold. And probably the best part of the day (aside from the food and the conversation, of course) was when some friends of mine went to a store to get some bottles of a new beer that had just come out. They approached the shop-woman and said, “How many bottles of that beer do you have in this store?”, and she counted a little before saying, “We have seventeen.” My friends talked some and said, “We'll take all seventeen bottles.” She looked in shock and asked if they were joking. “No,” they said, “we want every bottle in this store.”

I also had one of the classic 'traveling around Moldova' stories in which I was on a bus that took 2.5 hours to travel a distance of fifty miles. I read 120 pages of the new John Grisham book on the way.

- Highlight of my month so far: yesterday, due to an oddity in our school schedule, I was able to leave school after the fourth lesson, at about 12:15. I proceeded to go home and watch Apocalypto in Russian with my host grandpa, who is amazingly bored all the time because there really isn't anything for him to do around here. And we drank beer at the same time. He really liked it, so I then showed him some episodes of the Planet Earth documentary and translated the highlights for him, which he liked even more.

- Mentally, these last two weeks have been the toughest time of the year for the simple facts that 1)It's cold – about fifty degrees in my room at night – and 2)Darkness. I wake up at 7:20 in the morning and it's as dark as it was at 5:00 in the morning in the summer. It makes it mentally very difficult to simply get the energy to get up, especially coupled with the fact that I have to exit from my warm sheets to my cold room. However, after this weekend the days just get longer and longer and by the time that January 9th rolls around for the first day of lessons, things should be better.

- In a bit of tragedy, this week at school we some really bad news. On Wednesday, at an assembly that we have usually once a month, I walked in a little late and found the mood to be a little somber. After a minute or so our director walked in and demanded totally silence, which was a clear sign to me that something was amiss – I then glanced around and saw tears in the eyes of many. Then our director started up and told us how, unfortunately, one girl from tenth grade had died earlier in the day – she had been in a hospital in Chisinau for the last month and a half. Because I don't teach that class I didn't really know her and didn't really know who she was – it wasn't until I got home and talked to my host mom who described the girl to me that I remembered the girl. She was the top student in the class, and I had talked to her only a handful of times in my life. Needless to say, it's a disaster.

- As I've written about before, I'm officially heading out for my next vacation come Friday evening, taking the overnight train to Bucharest with some friends before flying to Cairo (via Amman) on Saturday night, only to return to Chisinau on December 30th, in time for New Year. There is one special silver-lining to this trip. Basically, I'm looking forward to my day in the Romanian capital because every volunteer I know who has been there (with the exception of one) has just despised it and couldn't wait to leave. In a way, I'm excited to dislike the place.

And of course, upon my return I will work hard to post my next entry as soon as I can, hopefully with some pictures included. In the mean time, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to everyone . . .

Back in Business

2007-12-17T02:00:00.000-06:00

I finally recieved the part I needed for my computer and, as I told my parents, it's like I recieved a new life. I'll get a full entry posted by Friday, when I'm leaving for my Romania-Egypt-Jordan trip.

Finally, An Update

2007-11-23T06:27:00.000-06:00

As you've surely guessed by my last entry and the lack of updates, my power cord for my computer fried a week ago and, as a result, there been no computing for me. I spend my time by reading (finished War and Peace) and doing crosswords for five hours a day.

But I'm in Chisinau now and have three big things to write about as well as some time to do it, so here it goes:

1)My new favourite activity around here is hitch-hiking to get around. It's not at all unsafe and usually affords me the luxury of being able to sleep in certain mornings. I just walk to our sanitorium on foot and wait there, usually no longer than twenty minutes. It also leads to the type of event that I had a few hours ago (literally), one of the bext experiences in my time here. After waiting a half-hour a guy came up and instead of getting a ride just to my regional center, I was able to go with him all the way to Chisinau. On the road we talked about politics, the fall of the dollar, and our lives (he knows my host mom and brother). He shaved 45 minutes of my commute and the the best part of all, he didn't take my money when I tried to pay him. It made my day.

2) Last Friday a friend of mine called me on my cell phone when I was in class with my 5th graders. I answered and immedeatly the room went silent while they stared at me, but about thirty seconds into the call they started to giggle and when I hung up (after a minute), they first laughed for another minute, then looked at me in shock and surprise while asking if my friend had actually understood me. Then they said, "Mr. Andy, this is how you talk" before making gibberish noises for a minute, then they tried to talk to each-other in Russian as fast as I was apparently talking on the phone. It was great.

3) On Wednesday's I have a group that meets after school for extra work. Last week one of my 4th graders came for the first time, a smart kid who tries hard and is great to be around. We did some work for a while (I go back and forth between the older and younger kids) and he was struggling for a while before having a bit of a breakthrough. When he finally understood something I said, "hey everyone, Victor understands this" and started to clap and cheer, upon which all the kids started to clap and cheer along with me. The kid started to blush with a half-smile on his face and ducked his head a little bit, proud and embarassed at the same time.

Not to sound to melodramatic here, but it was a great reminder of why exactly I'm here and go to school every day.

False Advertising

2007-11-07T00:46:00.001-06:00

On October 27th I went up to the north of Moldova to help celebrate 'xram', which is like a town festival that is condensed into one day. People invite all their friends and family members for a day of eating and drinking and in the evening people usually congregate in the center of villages for a little dance. My friend told me about the day in early September and I was looking forward to it for a while, and I was especially happy when he told me that they would be serving otter meat, figuring it would be something interesting to try and the type of chance that comes alone maybe once in a lifetime.

So after a day spent in his local regional center (where I got into a yelling match with a taxi driver trying to milk twenty lei from us) we took a bus to his village, were picked up by his host-brother, and proceeded to his house to dine on the supposed otter. It was actually a pleasant surprise, like a dark-meat chicken that was softer. It was so good that we ate quite a bit before finally, at one point, a friend of mine asked his host mom just what exactly we were eating. She said something but we weren't sure we understood so we asked her again, and after she repeated her answer again it hit us like a brick: we weren't eating otter. It was nutria, the animal like a glorified rat. As one friend of mine said at the time, “This just went from being the coolest thing we could be eating to the most disgusting thing.” And just like that, we put down our forks and stared at each-other in silence for a few moments.

However, I have to admit that as . . . unappetizing as it was, I'll just have to mark it down as another experience that I likely would never have received had I never come to Moldova. At the very least, we all got a great story to tell.

And speaking of stories to tell, I also got a not-so great one out of it too. On the way back we took a bus that took four hours to travel a distance of 100 miles. We stopped seemingly two minutes to pick up someone from the road. It was brutal.

Notes:
- Only one – my computer is acting up (the power cord won't take a charge), so while I realize this entry is painfully short, my battery life is currently at under an hour and I don't have a lot of time. I promise promise promise to give a full, new report on happenings as soon as I get this problem straightened out. Meanwhile, I hope this problem will simply require me getting a new adapter (a simple solution) or getting a whole new cord (which would be a disaster). Wish me luck.

Odds and Ends

2007-10-26T01:00:00.000-05:00

Usually with my entries I try to start off with some large happening or occurrence and then go on to smaller points of interest. This week, however, there hasn't been one stand out moment. Instead, it's been a lot of small things building up. So without further ado . . .

- From a mental standpoint, these last two weeks have been some of the hardest of the year, especially from a 'get out of bed in the morning' standpoint. It's been cool and foggy (no sun for the last week, just like last year) and there is nothing worse than waking up in the morning at 7:30 and it's still really dark outside and relatively cold in my room. I'm faced with a daily battle – to just lay around and make up for lost sleep (more on that in a second) or to crawl out of my warm bed into a cold room, then put on cold clothes before venturing into the cold weather on the outside. The latter option (getting up) has an undefeated record so far but I have to admit, there's been some close calls. The going will get better in a week or so because, after daylight savings, it'll get darker later. And while it will then proceed to get worse as December approaches, by then we're approaching Christmas break so everyone's in a different mental place as it is. And then after Christmas, no matter how dark it is, we realize that it will just get better and better for the rest of the year.

We've also now finishing (today, actually) the longest stretch of school without any breaks – eight weeks. Our fall vacation starts on Monday, lasts for a week, and it will bring with it a welcome and well earned respite for teachers and students both. Believe me when I say that we all need a break from each-other.

- Last Wednesday, the day I posted my last entry, I came home from school and discovered that I had missed out on a spectacle I was really looking forward to – the fall goose cull. They're at their maximum weight now and will soon start to lose mass so they decided to put them – literally – under the knife. My host mom called in sick that day (more in a second on this too) and my host sister-in-law took the day off from work to do everything – because of the amount of feathers that need to be removed, it's rather labor intensive. I came home from school and saw six be-headed carcasses in and around the kitchen, then sat and watched the process of dismantling them (really interesting). Then they proceeded to fry up one and we ate it with potatoes (the verdict – I'm officially a fan of goose meat. Far better than turkey and chicken).

- In the Moldovan school system there's really no such thing as 'sick leave' – that is, if a teacher is sick and unable to go to school they don't receive any pay for the missed day, a huge incentive for going to school under the most dire conditions. My host mom, however, is in the unique position of receiving a healthy monthly payment from Peace Corps, via me. While I don't won't say just how much it is, I'll just say that just the money from me is double the monthly salary for the average teacher. As a result, my host mom is able to stay home when there is a lot of work to do, call in sick, without really having to worry about the financial consequences. Lucky for her, I guess.

- The reason I've been wiped out this whole week is that last Friday and Saturday I spent a sleep-deprived weekend in Chisinau. I went in on Friday to meet a girl I know who had just returned from a week in Moscow with the plan to come home again on Saturday. So we met and were talking in a bar on Friday night when I got a call from one of the Marines here telling me about a party at their house on Saturday night – I immediately invited the girl to see if she was interested in going and she was, so I then decided to stay the night Saturday night with the knowledge that I wasn't likely to sleep. The reason for this is simple – last time I went out with the Marines I had checked into a hotel and paid seven dollars (a fairly large amount) for a room only to arrive there from the disco at 5:30 AM, a bit of a waste considering that I could have just waited a half hour and gone to sleep at the Peace Corps office here.

So this time I didn't bother to check into a hotel and instead went to the Marine house with the Moldovan girl, where we talked to the soldiers, the Embassy staff there, and the other volunteer who had come. We took a taxi to the disco here (a harrowing experience – the only time in my life in which I've been totally terrified in a car because of the driving. At one point we stopped at a light and smelled something odd. We started talking in Russian about what it was when the driver turned around and with a grin said, “I burned the tires”), and while the people I came with left about 2:30, I stuck around until 3:45, walked a ways to a 24 hour market, bought something to eat, and showed up at Peace Corps at 5:15, where the guard was kind enough to let me in and where I slept until 7:30.

There was one silver lining, however: because of the time difference when I woke up I was able to see the last two minutes of the LSU-Auburn game live. Almost made it worth it.

Naturally, I was so wiped out that on Sunday night I went to bed at 8:30 PM (can't remember the last time that happened) and soundly slept until 7:30 the next morning. Yes, I'm writing this Thursday night and I still and feeling the effects of last Saturday. And yes, if I could do it all again I would.

- I'm looking forward to the coming vacation more so than I've looked forward to something in a long, long time. On Saturday I'm going to the north of Moldova to visit a friend of mine whose village is celebrating what basically translates to “day of the village” (Imagine a town festival in American that's condensed from three days into one). While it's a long way for me to his village – I'll be on the road for eight hours – it should be a great time. I'll come home on Sunday and then from Tuesday to Sunday I'll be in Chisinau; up to Saturday for a conference conducted through Peace Corps for the volunteers that have just come in in June and then on Saturday night to celebrate the birthday of two friends of mine. We'll also be there for Halloween and are going out somewhere (I'll be a cowboy if I can get my hands on a hat somewhere).

- One of the biggest problems facing Moldova is the exodus of the working class – around twenty-five percent of the population has left the country to work abroad. As an example of how prevalent this has seeped into parts of the country and of even the villages, on Thursday after school we had a parent-teacher meeting in which the doctor from our village stood up and told us about a list of maladies that have struck our students and then told the parents how they should take good care of their kids when they are young because if they are not healthy or have bad habits they won't be accepted to work in Italy or Portugal in the future. A lot of parents smiled and snickered but when he said, “I'm just talking about real life here,” the room got really quiet, really quickly.

- You'll notice that the frequency of my entries had been diminished when compared to a year ago. The reason for this is simply that last year, everything was very fresh and new and all that I experienced, I wanted to post here and tell it to those who read my writings. This year, however . . . a lot of what I go through I've already been through once and therefore, written about. As a result, it simply takes me a little more time to come up with an appropriate amount of material to opine about.

- Finally, my favorite part of the previous seven days: last Wednesday I was playing a review game with my sixth graders (who are amazing, by the way) to prepare them for their upcoming test.

Before we started, however, I split them up into teams and asked them to pick team names. After some conversation one girl said that she wanted to name her team 'Hakuta Matata' and when I started started to laugh a little she said, “or maybe they can be Timone and we can be Pumba.”

Needless to say, references to The Lion King are not too often stumbled upon here. And of course, this random mention made not only my week but will also stick with me for a long time.

Lowlight Of the Year

2007-10-17T00:51:00.001-05:00

You may remember that last year - and every year for that matter – at Thanksgiving we hold what is described as the All Volunteer Conference for two and a half days. It was the only time of the year that every member of Peace Corps Moldova got together, and during our time in Chisinau we had various conferences, meetings, a talent show and a game of touch-football, and without a doubt the highlight of the time was our Thanksgiving day dinner, although to label it as a dinner would be to describe it way too lightly. It's actually an event that they plan for the entire year, a celebration really of Americans here and what are doing here. There are usually a lot of Moldovans there too as well as a ton of other Americans, ranging from PC staff to Marines to Embassy staff and even the ambassador, with whom I sat with last year while we ate. If you'll recall, last year I wrote about the whole event with a strong sense of joy and since that day had been very much looking forward to our next celebration this year, even writing how I didn't feel like I missed America at all last year and in fact, was likely to miss the event here in Moldova when I had returned to the USA. And of course, all of this was the under the responsibility and jurisdiction of our full time Country Director who took a leave of absence in July to be with his wife, who is suffering from lymphoma for the second time (but who, thankfully, is doing better and is expected to make a full recovery).

In her place was brought in an interim director, a woman from Peace Corps main office in Washington, who in her first few days on the job made a move that has been met with universal scorn by the volunteers here: the canceling of of the All Volunteer Conference. No one – and I mean no one here – is even a little bit happy with the decision, especially considering that 1)Most of the new volunteers were told to – and did – go out of their ways in America, and buy, take up valuable suitcase space, and bring to Moldova, food for the event, 2)Most of the current volunteers had already given 100 lei (about 8 dollars, not an inconsequential amount for us) for the dinner. Now that money has to be re-distributed out; of course, there are no records of who paid. And 3) Most importantly of all, instead of being in the capital for one of the most joyous holidays of the year – and without a doubt the one most about community and gathering and thus, the most valuable for us volunteers – surrounded by literally 250 friends, acquaintances, and others in the spirit of joy, eating home-made traditional American for food (an annual event in itself), I'll be alone in my village surrounded by a handful of Moldovan villagers, maybe eating fried potatoes or buckwheat (if I'm lucky). So if I sound a little bothered by the decision, well . . . take my feelings and multiple them by 125 and you'll get a sense of the mood around volunteers. The problems that most volunteers feel is that she was not totally incorrect in some of her feeling for wanting to cancel the event (some of which were legitimate, most would agree) but was instead quick to dismiss the concerns of us volunteers.

Of course with any big decision like this comes an amazing response of other alternatives to the canceled event. There are already three gatherings in the works for that weekend, and almost all of us are sure to end up at one of them. It should be a good time wherever we end up, but ironically at the same time it's likely to be also one of the worst days of the year considering that what was almost guaranteed to be one of the best days of the year is now non-existent.

Notes:

- On a lighter note, I wrote a few weeks ago about how our family had bought a new pig for rearing and later, slaughtering. Well, on it's second day here it figured out how to jump out of the little pen in which it was held, the first pig in the history of the family that's figured out how to do so. At first my family had the idea of putting it back but it kept jumping out so then they decided to let it run free with the thought that soon it will be grow too fat to be able to jump out: then, we won't have a problem.

So now it runs free everywhere around the property, eating things left out and following my host-mom everywhere like a dog would, from the garden to the orchard to the barn where the cow is held. She also runs up to the gate every time someone comes home or as soon as she sees a person who has returned for the day, and she also loves to be petted. Yes, the pig loves to be petted. Chalk that up as another thing on the list of facts I would have never learned without Moldova – that some pigs love it when someone pets them.

- Last Saturday, the day of wine here and a national holiday, was everything I thought it would be and more. There were about thirty volunteers in town for the day and we started in the center, where there were tents everywhere selling wine and food and was packed with people. We congregated there, talked to each-other as well as an Australian guy we bumped into, and had contests about slang that we use in different parts of the country. We were there for about five hours before going to our favorite Irish bar at about 10:00 at night (see picture below of the concert that was also held to get an idea of just how crowded it was), before finally splitting up at going home about mid-night (A there were literally no free hotel rooms or apartments for rent, three of us slept on the floor in an apartment of a friend of mine).

Probably my favorite conversation of the day happened when I went to the bathroom with some friends with whom I was talking to in English. At one point I waited five minutes to get to the front of the line when a Moldova guy came up, paid the attendant (has I had just done), listened to our English conversation for a moment, then cut in front of me. I gave him an inquisitive look and he said to me in Russian, “I can't hold on,” and made a gesture of discomfort, to which I responded, “we'll neither can I.” With a stunned face he muttered the response, “And I also just paid”, to which I responded just as the bathroom door opened, “And I paid first and I was here first” before stepping in front of him into inside. While there I heard him say to the attendant, “I can't believe her understood me,” to which she responded, “he understands everything.”

- Finally, yesterday (Tuesday) my partner-teacher was sick and I took all of her lessons for the day at school, something I have no problem in doing because she is more than happy to help me when I need to go to Chisinau or someplace. When this happens my lessons just descend into games of UNO with English, Hangman, or 20 Questions because rather than just my group I have everyone together and it's next to impossible to try to teach information using conventional means.

So with my 8th graders (who can't say 'she' in English in their third year with the language) we were playing 20 questions when they figured that I was thinking of an animal that has a height of six feet. Their next guess as to what animal I had in mind?

A whale.

Of course, this is beaten by the time last week when I had student look at my map of Moldova on the wall and ask me, in total seriousness, where America was located on the map because he couldn't find it and then asked me in which country America is located.

That being said, I still have to say – I still love my students here and will definitely miss them in one year's time. Sometimes, it just seems like the challenge will just surviving for another six months . . .

Wit's End

2007-10-08T01:45:00.000-05:00

We as English teachers here in Moldova are required to teach, at a minimum, eighteen hours a week of classes, usually three hours a week with every class. The vast majority of teachers here have, for example, maybe only three classes (fore example, fourth through sixth grade) but they will teach two sections of every class for a total of six classes, each at three hours a week. In fact, of the forty-five or so TEFL volunteers here in Peace Corps Moldova, I'm about ninety percent sure that I'm the only one who teaches the full gamut of classes. I have the fortune of teaching all grades, fourth through ninth. In general, I'm very lucky in that my kids are very bright, want to lean English for the most part, and really like me. Of the six classes I have this year, I taught four of them last year, so I know what to expect from them, they know what to expect from me, and we get along without problems. In fact, I would say that this is the case with every class except my eight graders, with whom I'm just about at my wit's end in trying to get across to them.

I had them last year as well and even then I just ran about of ideas with how to teach them. At the start of the year I worked like normal and didn't see any results from there work. My solution was to just work harder for them in the hopes that they would work harder for me and get the necessary results. And while I certainly stepped up my efforts, the results I wanted were not received. I tried to yell at them, to coddle them, to bring them down and to build them up, to reward them with good grades for doing the smallest task right and to punish them with bad grades for doing the smallest mistake. And nothing worked. I hoped and prayed at the end of last year that a summer off would some how rejuvenate them, in some way give them the spirit to work and to hopefully help them in their studies.

I was sorely mistaken. This year started off OK – we worked well for the first two weeks while doing very basic things like the alphabet and numbers one through one hundred. All was fine. Then we started doing trickier things, like plurals and possession, and their knowledge and skill slowly eroded. None of them do (or really have ever done) their homework, and while they work in class great and without problems (I have no discipline issues with them – they're all nice kids), without work at home their progress is highly limited.

My final straw with them came last Tuesday when I asked them, very basically, how to translate the work “she” into Russian, something we'd gone over literally fifty times in the last year and one month. At first they just looked at me and I, in expecting the answer right away, didn't tell them the answer. Then I waited. And waited. After thirty seconds I started to realize that the answer wasn't likely to come quickly, and while I was tempted to give them the answer I was very interested to know just how long it would take them to come up with the answer. So I waited more. And more. I started to read a book. I drank some water. Read a magazine too. Finally after fifteen minutes, they came up with the answer. Needless to say, I was in shock. I couldn't believe it. Mercifully for them, the bell came as soon as they answered. So at the next class, on Thursday, when I saw that no one had done their homework and no one had studied, I told them I'd had it, that they will do their homework in the future or I simply won't bother teaching them, that I'll just sit and read a book or prepare other work and that they are more than welcome to waste their own time but I won' allow them to waste mine. We'll see what happens in the upcoming weeks, but as for now I'm just at about my wit's end with them. I'm not sure what else I can do to get across to them.

Notes:
- This year I wanted to institute a new tool of discipline. Last year I was left with the choices of just telling kids to be quiet fifteen times or kicking them out of class, without a whole lot of area in the middle. So I decided to reach back into my childhood and take a page from the best disciplinarian I've ever met – my mom – and I instituted a policy of making kids stand in a corner, heads looking at the corner and backs to the class. They don't have to do anything but stand there and be quiet, and they usually start with five minutes but every time I have to tell them to be quiet or turn-around, they get one more minute added on (last week my most trouble-making fourth grader stood there for fifty three minutes). It's been a boost to my repertoire. Older kids really hate it while younger kids feel like kindergarteners when they're placed there. They hate it too. And it's great.

- Last month I went on a reading binge and I read six books in the span of four weeks, including one that was 900 pages (quick note – if you haven't read 'I Know This Much Is True' by Wally Lamb or 'The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime' by Mark Haddon, you should). So I decided then to channel all of that reading energy into taking on one of the most infamous long books ever written, 'War and Peace'. I have to say, I'm about 300 pages into it (only 1150 to go), but so far I love it.

- Next weekend promises to be one of the funnest weekends on record for the citizens of Moldova and it's capital, Chisinau. Every year we celebrate here the Day of Wine on the second Sunday of October while also celebrating the day of the city in Chisinau on the fourteenth. This year they happen to fall on the same day so wine day had been moved back to this following Saturday while day of the city will still be Sunday, the fourteenth. Top all of that off with a Moldova-Turkey soccer game on Saturday night in the center of the city and it amounts to what should be a great time. Of course, in the middle of all of it will be about fifty current volunteers, author included.

- Another Moldovan holiday is Teacher's Day, which is celebrated on October 5th every year. On that day all the students give flowers to all the teachers, sometimes small gifts are exchanged, and after a few lessons we all gather outside in front of our school for a little ceremony featuring dances, speeches, and the like.

This year, like last year, on the day before Teachers Day some of us from my school went to my regional center of Calarasi for a concert and ceremony for all the teachers in the area. Last year we were there for two and a half hours, one hour of which was a ceremony in which they gave out awards to schools followed by a concert of national music for an hour and a half. Now, I have to throw out the caveat that this national music is something I can stomach for about ten, fifteen minutes – tops – before I can't take it anymore. As a result of this, I think it goes without saying that last year the hour and a half-long concert was exactly not the highlight of my day/week/year.

So this year, despite my less-than exceptional experience one year ago, I decided to accept my director's invitation and go again. And of course, about ten minutes after everything started I began to regret my decision to come and instead thought of all the things I could have been doing at home. There was one big difference though this year: at the concert last time they played the music I detest for an hour and a half. This year it was two and a half hours.
Then on Friday, when we celebrated the day at my school, it was a whole other experience. Students had prepared traditional dances with songs and concerts (as opposed to dancing to American hip-hop like last year), and everything was interesting and very well done. Afterwards all of us teachers gathered in our cafeteria for a feast where we also drank cheap cognac (1.85$ for a half-liter) and gave speeches (my toast killed) for two hours before we started to dancing (I with the female-mayor of my village as well as the sixty-five year old third grade teacher).

This day, however, there were no regrets. In fact, I started to get a little melancholy when I thought about how, in one year, all of those people will still be here in this village, doing the same thing, while I'll be in America, starting a whole new life.

It was together a joyous and sorrowful moment.

That Time of the Year

2007-09-29T03:07:00.000-05:00

There are a lot of adjectives with which it is possible to describe Moldovans, and while it's generally not fair to use one word to describe a whole nation of people, there is one description that stands out above the others: hard-working. People here, both young and old and especially in the villages, are not afraid of hard-work and a lot of it. And this being the fall season, it's also the time of year (especially the months of September and October) where there is a massive amount of work to be done.

It usually starts with apples that need to be hand-picked from trees, brought to cellars in crates for winter storage or cut up and canned for winter eating. Depending on the house and the amount of apples, the amount of work also varies – of course, here we have a veritable orchard. Apple season is a lot of work but it's not too terrible difficult, just mundane.

Then comes grapes, which have to be hand-picked from the vines, brought by horse-drawn cart to various houses where they are loaded into a hand-operated crusher (like the ones they use to break up rocks in mines only on a much smaller scale) placed over a huge barrel-shaped container. They are basically crushed so their juice comes out, then they fall into said container which contains at the bottom a small tube with a guard over it, the tube leading to the wine barrels in the basement where the juice flows while the guard makes sure that nothing but juice falls. It's work that is physically hard but, on the bright side, it usually stats and ends in the course of a few days. And of course, in the course of a month the juice becomes five hundred liters of wine.

Finally corn comes, which requires strolling through the a field, stripping corn from the husk by hand and throwing the ears on the ground, then collecting them into eighty-pound sacks, then carrying the sacks through the bumpy field to a horse-drawn cart. This is, without a doubt, the most physically demanding of the three types of work that need to be done but fortunately, also the quickest, as it can be finished in a day. However, then comes the process, late in fall, of pulling up all the corn stocks so they can be fed to the animals. An exhausting and tedious process.

So where do I fit into all this? Well, one of the reasons my family really likes me is that I'm not afraid to get in and do whatever work they want of me – in fact, one of my pet-peeves here is that they don't ask for help enough. Last Friday I came home from school to find my host brother and host sister-in-law's brother setting up the large container and crusher with crates of grapes sitting in the street. So there I was, for two hours, hauling grapes, sorting empty crates, and adding grapes to the crusher. It was a fine way to end my work-week. Apples are coming along slowly but surly and corn, a royal pain last year, might be better this year because of the drought we were hit with last summer (which didn't, interestingly, really affect grapes or apples).

And of course, there is always a great silver lining to the work, especially when people come over to help or we go to host grandpa's a pick things for him: the post work feast. After a hard day we sit around the table, the four or five of us who worked, and eat a big dinner, drink a little home-made vodka or wine, and talk about life. I really like this especially because it's often the host sister-in-law and her mom who are over which forces the conversation to be in Russian rather than the Ukrainian dialect they usually speak in. It's just a great atmosphere to be in, and while I certainly won't miss the work here when I'm back in America, I'll certainly miss the reward.

Notes:
- You remember that when my parents were here we were eating dinner outside one night when some guy who I had never seen (and haven't seen since) brought a tiny cat. We, my parents and I and my host family, named him Charlie due to his Chaplin-esque mustache. My parents took off the soon after but the cat stayed around, becoming as little cats tend to be, a menace and a joy at the same time. My parents took such a liking to him that my dad actually asked how he was when we talked last Sunday night.

Well, on Monday I went to my regional center with one of my students and returned to the news that Charlie had died, ran over by a car in the middle of the day some time. Although it may sound odd to read this, it's a huge tragedy around here. My host mom and I used to talk about him all the time, how he was like a person trapped inside the body of a cat (really – he had an amazing character). I could actually drone on and on about him and make this entry just a eulogy for the cat, telling stories about him and the crazy stuff he used to do. Instead, I'll just leave it by saying that I really miss the little guy.

- However, the cycle of life lives on because on Sunday morning my host mom returned from somewhere at around 11:00 in the morning with a little piglet in-tow. The thing is tiny, about two and a half feet from end to end. It's really adorable, actually. And yes, as I write this thought a second thought runs into my head – I'll probably be out of here by the time they decide to kill it, although I would like to be around because it's such an interesting process.

- As alluded to earlier, on Monday I went to my regional center of Calarasi with one of my students. There is a program called FLEX (Future Leaders Exchange) that is run through the US government in which students from the former Soviet Union with the appropriated English skills can study in an American public school, for free, for one year. This program is holding tryouts throughout Moldova this month and distrusted flyer's to all schools in Moldova advertising this chance. About two weeks ago one of my kid started to take an interest in it and despite the fact that his English isn't nearly good enough (although he's one of the top five in my school), I couldn't shoot him down and encouraged him to do all he could.

So on Monday we went to a school in the Calarasi, one in which another Peace Corps volunteer actually teaches. At 10:00 registration started, actually led by an American who works for the sponsor of the program (he's based out of Belarus) as well as a Moldovan woman who's the program director for Moldova. My student and I registered then went to walk around for a while around the town to get his mind off the upcoming exam.

We went to a cafe, spoke a little, and on our way out we happened to run into three eleventh-graders from my school, odd because they were supposed to be in school at the time. Turns out, they hadn't seen the flyer hanging in the school – which had been there for two weeks – until the morning of the exam so they decided to come in and see try for themselves. I was convinced at the time that they wouldn't be successful because they came too late and missed registration and actually refused to talk to the American guy about it; because he spoke Russian and they were late, I told them they could ask him themselves which they accordingly did and, much to my surprise, were allowed to talk the exam (although it turned out to be just a big waste on their part because of the three, two were too old and one . . . well, seeing as he knows almost nothing I was shocked to see him there and figured he just wanted a free day from school).

As I predicted, my student didn't get past the first round, but as I told him later it was, 1)Great that he even tried, 2)He still has two more chances in the next two years, and 3)In general, I think it was a good experience for him to undertake.

- Finally, I realize I haven't posted anything in a while but I actually have reasons for that, ranging from the power going out an inopportune times to us eating later at night than usual to the amount of aforementioned work swelling up and thus, less time to write. But the main reason is that I wanted to wait until I got to Chisinau to post so I could also attach the following picture. As I've written before, I go for walks around our lake every day at dusk and I took this picture recently. You see the line of trees on the other side of the lake? Well, my village is amongst those trees. It gives a good idea of the quality of beauty in which I'm lucky enough to live in every day.

Up And Down

2007-09-16T05:58:00.000-05:00

One of the many realities of Peace Corps life – and something that is repeated to us early and often in our service – is that we have to be prepared for the up's and down's of life in our host countries. We can be glowing from successes one minute and then, literally seconds later, questioning our decision to become volunteers and start to check airplane schedules for flights to our hometowns. (Un)luckily, this happened to me twice last week in the span of four days.

It started Saturday morning on my trip to Chisinau. First, I was really excited to get out of my village for the first time in eleven days, and I was headed to Chisinau for a birthday party and just wanted to get there. There is usually a man waiting in front of our school who goes to our regional center waiting at 7:00 in the morning with whom I like to go – I prefer him greatly as opposed to the mini-bus that leaves at 7:10. I arrived to his usual waiting place at 6:53 and he wasn't there, meaning that his car likely filled up and he had taken off. There was another woman waiting too and after a minute another car pulled up, taking on passengers. Sadly for me, they had space for one and the woman who had been waiting longer than me had claim to the spot. So I waited. And waited. And waited. Finally I saw our white mini-bus pulling up, full of people and terribly slow: I then knew that it would be a while on that road. Of course, I was hot and uncomfortable frustrated by the fact that I was on the really slow transportation option.

Then when we got to our regional center we eventually had only four people left, two of us headed to the bus station and two headed to sell apples and the food co-op but not really sure about where to go. Rather than drop off the two of us with a set destination, our driver decided to stomp around the town looking for the place for the others to dump their apples, adding to my annoyance. Part of me wanted to get really upset before I realized that 1)The driver was just trying to help out these people, and 2)These people were just trying to get a little money to live better. (But nonetheless, I didn't like it).

I naturally got off the mini-bus a little . . . bothered and I went to the ticket office to buy a ticket to Chisinau on another mini-bus. I felt a little lucky because I got the last of the twenty seats but when I poked my head into the mini-bus all the seats were taken. This happens sometimes; sometimes the mistake is the part of the ticket distributor, sometimes the driver, sometimes the passengers. I just wanted to get to my destination and was prepared to do almost anything to get there so when the driver came up I showed him my ticket, told him that there was no free space, and asked him if I could just stand. He said 'no' in Russian then proceeded to say something in Romanian which I didn't really understand but which I made out to be something like, “oh, don't worry – we'll get you a space.” Turned out, there was a woman who had two kids, one of which was sitting on the space that was mine. The driver told her something again in Romanian and told me to take a seat. And just like that, the terrible experience of trying to get to my regional center was quickly erased by the generosity of the driver.

Then on Tuesday, in the middle of our school day, our vice-director changed around our schedule of classes; it wasn't entirely a huge problem in and of itself except for the fact that he 1) Didn't tell any students of the change, and 2) Put the schedule somewhere, left, and didn't tell anyone where it was. So while normally I have my ninth graders for the last lesson, he had changed things around so my seventh graders were supposed to be with me instead, without alerting any of the aforementioned ninth graders who wandered into my room expecting a lesson and started asking me what to do. I spent a frustrating ten minutes walking around, trying to either find the vice-director, the schedule, or someone who knew the schedule while the whole time I had a group of ten ninth graders pestering me questions about what to do.

Finally, frustrated by the whole thing, I let them go home rather than hold them for forty-five minutes with nothing to do and no lesson to go to, bothered that I had been put into that position (which turned out to be the right move anyways, as their lesson had been moved to a different day).

That series of events, however, was followed by a great lesson with my favorite class – the seventh graders. You know the episode of the Simpsons when Principal Skinner announces to the school that there's no need to panic but “a dog is in the vents” and, after a pause, all the kids start screaming and jumping? That's my seventh graders. They have this maniacal energy that can be frustrating sometimes but, at other times, makes them a total joy to work with. This day happened to, lucky for me, fall into the latter category.

Notes:
- Last Saturday night, from 6:00 PM to 6:00AM on Sunday morning, was probably the best twelve hours I've had as a volunteer.

It started when my buddy and I made dinner (pasta) in an apartment next the Peace Corps office. I actually did the cooking and he did the dishes, a fair trade off in both of our opinions. It was great to eat some regular American-style food – while we both have no problems with Moldovan food, it was nice for a change of pace. Then we went to the Peace Corps office and, thanks to our recently purchases satellite dish, watched live college football for the first time in two years. We proceeded from to there to a birthday party at a bar for a girl in my group. It was at the only Irish bar in town and probably the best bar in city, full of westerners usually and always a place to have a great time. There were about fifteen of us there, drinking and dancing to the old-style music they were playing.

We finally took off about 12:30 to an apartment that we were planning on sleeping in. We sat around talking until, about 2:00, a friend of mine asked if I felt like going to sleep or if I was interested in walking around the city until morning, something I'd been wanting to do for a while. Naturally, I took up his offer and spent the next 3.5 hours with him and another, just walking around the center of Chisinau, stopping at times for coffee or food at a 24 hour market, a bus station that is always open, and finally ending up at Peace Corps at 5:30, where the guard was kind-enough to let us in and where we quickly crashed on the couches in the lounge (I didn't sleep until I watched about ten minutes of the LSU – Virgina Tech game – live, of course). We proceeded to sleep 2.5 hours. It was great.

- Last weekend I received from my dad one of the most valuable things that I ever could have received – a pair of rubber galoshes. The reason for this simple – the amount of mud in villages here literally has to be seen to be believed. Now, thanks to my new toys, I no longer dread going to school on days after a heavy rain. In a way, I look forward to it and actually go out of my way sometimes to stomp through the mud along my route, smiling inside (yes, I've only had them for four days at site and have thoroughly enjoyed every minute. And yes, because of the massive rain we've been getting after the summer drought, I've needed them every day). After less than a week I actually am surprised when I think that I lived here for a whole year without them.

- Finally, some of the radio stations here play a very odd assortment of music, especially American. This ranges from the time I heard “Kiss the Rain” by Billie Myers while getting off a bus in Chisinau, or the time when they played “Jump” by Kris Kross (that was actually at a Moscow disco). But Tuesday morning topped it all. While sitting and eating breakfast before school, my head almost exploded when “You Can Leave Your Hat On” by Joe Cocker came on the radio. To say it was surreal, to hear that song in my village here, is to say it lightly.

Live From Moscow

2007-09-09T02:50:00.000-05:00

As promised a little while ago, here are a few pictures (although admittedly only two) . . . The one on top is of Victory Park in Moscow, commemorating their efforts in World War II. The second is the ubiquitous picture of a tourist (in this case, me) standing in Red Square. You can see Lenin's tomb over my left shoulder and St. Basil's over my right.

What A Difference A Year Makes

2007-09-05T00:36:00.001-05:00

Last year, one of the most terrifying days of my life happened on the first day of school, September 1st, when every student and teacher in Moldova returns to school, back to work. Back then I knew nothing – my knowledge consisted of 1)Where my classroom was, 2)Where my partner-teacher's classroom was, 3)That I was supposed to teach English. I had no idea who any of the kids were (to that point that there was one girl who gave a speech and I thought she was a teacher I hadn't met. Then the 10th graders walked in and sat down in the front row). I had no idea of the student's skill level, let alone how to really teach them. I could barely communicate in Russian and my comprehension was at a similarly low level. And at the same time, I was just this American enigma to the kids here – just as I was apprehensive and nervous about how to deal with them, they were equally apprehensive and nervous with me as their teacher.

Fast forward one year. I have known – and worked with – my kids here for nine months already. I know them, they know me – there are very few surprises anymore. My language skills have improved dramatically, to the point that I don't really have any issues and have had conversations for hours in Russian. I have a year of teaching experience under my belt, which while not much is certainly a far cry from the 'zero years' I had a year ago. The level of comfort is so much higher now than it was a year ago, I can't even begin to explain. Case in point: this year I'm teaching a new group of 4th graders whom I don't really know yet. On the first day, into the first lesson, there was one student who I can already see may be a handful. He certainly didn't make a good impression on me. Whereas last year I would have had no idea what to do and didn't have the language skills to do it even if I knew, this year after the bell rang I told him to stay around then calmly explained that my classroom is not his theater, that he is not there to entertain us and that he had a decision to make: if he wanted to work during lessons or to spend his time in the hallway, a place he'll go to often if he doesn't do what he has to.

At the time of this posting we've had two days of classes and, as it's Wednesday morning here, I'm heading to school in a few minutes to start our third well. In all honesty, I (and most of us second-year volunteers) were dreading this return to school, but I have to admit that it hasn't been hard at all to get back into it, probably because while I've been in my village for a year, nine months of that has been as a teacher at our school. So in a way, I'm more used to this lifestyle than the one that I had to leave-behind to return to school. It's actually been fun at times, like when one of my favorite 7th graders walked in with a buzz-style haircut and I asked him if he's been in prison or in the army.

There has only been one not-so-bright spot so far – they took my favorite class from me. Last year the class I looked forward to the most was 10th grade (11th this year); while they're not the best from a skill standpoint and could be rather difficult to work with at times, they really were just a great set of kids. Having worked with them last year I assumed I would work with them again – I even set up a work plan for the first month or so do drill certain grammar that they need to know for their exams at the end of year. On Saturday in school I went to my partner teacher so we could divide up the classes for the upcoming year. She claimed 11th grade and I quickly objected, telling her that I wanted them. After some discussion we agreed to talk with my director and vice-director about the situation.

An hour later we had a teachers meeting and, after some talking (I'll admit – I don't really listen unless they're talking to me. As a result I listen for ten minutes of a two hour meeting), it came to the point to talk about our class schedules with all other teachers present. My partner told the director that I had something to say and I just said that I wanted to work with the 11th graders again. He and my vice-director quickly jumped in and told me that the reason why they couldn't be with me is that because at the end of the year an exam will happen and my partner can prepare them better (something I disagree with but didn't vocalize). My director thought it was over then but I quickly responded that I was able to work with the 11th grade last year with an exam so what would be difference if I did so again (something that shocked the other teachers, who had never seen me voice any disagreement with my director before). He responded with something but after a few words it was clear he wouldn't acquiesce so I stopped listening.

While it's a minor set-back, it certainly puts a damper on things for a while. I'll just try not to let it get me down and get over it quickly (although I will say, I'm not done fighting yet).

Notes:

- In my village almost every one has a cow or two (we had one but she was getting old so my host mom sold her last Sunday to – no joke – a meat factory in Chisinau). Every day there's a group of people who work as the de-facto shepherds for all the cows, one big herd, leading them in a slow lap around the village and lake so they can graze and at the end of the night, leading them through the only street in the village. On Tuesday night as I was walking home I saw them ahead on the street and realized that I was likely to get caught behind them, meaning I had to basically slow to a crawl for the final quarter-mile home. I thought quickly and realized that, if I hurried, I could take an alternate route and maybe beat them to an intersection so I could get ahead of them before going home.

So I took a right and took off down the street, moving quickly because while the second street was shorter I had to double back a little to get there. I hauled it about 200 yards, turned a left, and found that I didn't make it – the cows beat me. So I had to walk the last 200 yards home at a baby-ish pace, stuck behind a herd of 100 cows all smelling like manure and meandering slowly.

It was either the high-light or the low-light of my week – not sure yet. But I definitely know that it's one or the other.

A Great End To A Great Summer

2007-08-31T05:41:00.001-05:00

This past three months, since the end of lessons on the 31st of May, has been without a doubt the most relaxing three months that I've been able to spend in a long, long time, since the summer after ninth grade of high school. I've spent the time in Chisinau with friends from Peace Corps and, when in the village, sleeping ten to twelve hours a night as well as eating, reading (fourteen books in total), and going for walks around our lake. I've also been lucky enough to travel quite a bit, going to Istanbul, Odessa, and, in my last two weeks, to Moscow for the fourth time. It was, in short, just about the perfect way to end one of the best summers that I can remember having.

As I wrote about in my last, abbreviated entry, I left for Moscow on August 16th, taking a bus for a day and a half. My friends were there to meet me at the bus-station in Moscow and after talking with them (whom I hadn't seen in sixteen months) for a few hours before going to my friends apartment for a night in Moscow discos; finding a decent one was a story in-itself. At the first we went to we were straight up denied, told we couldn't come in (they call it 'face-control'). At the second the guard told my buddy (as a group of Germans, then French came by) that the place was just for tourists, that the place was just full of prostitutes, and that the 800 ruble – 33 dollar – cover was a little steep. The third was closed. At the fourth there was a huge crowd of people all massed around the door while a man with a headset let in people at his whim, seemingly without order - or course, he would let in four beautiful girls, then a few minutes later two beautiful girls and two guys, then three beautiful girls with one guy, then two more beautiful girls. You get the picture. And needless to say, my friend and I didn't try to push our luck. But finally, at fifth place, we found success – it was the place I wrote about last time where I talked to two American girls from the US Embassy in Moscow as well as the three Scottish guys. Went to bed at 7:00 AM and woke up at 2:00 in the afternoon (there are few things more drab than going to bed at 7:00 in the morning and seeing people, while were walking into the apartment to go to sleep, leaving to go to work).

I spent the next eight to nine days in a town called Dmitrov, located about forty miles north of Moscow and the same town where I was lucky enough to live for ten weeks two years ago. I actually slept and spent a lot of time with another family in a town a few miles south of there, a family whom I really consider to be on-par with my own in America. I was basically around those two cities for the whole of my trip with the exception of Tuesday night and Wednesday during the day, when I spent the whole time walking around the center of the city with the younger sister in the family where I stayed as well as two other girls (I'll post pictures in a week, when I'm back in Chisinau). During the days I rested (especially after I came down with a cold in the middle of the week) and in the evenings I would go to the center of Dmitrov and hang out with friends there, people whom I really consider to be some of my best friends in the world but with whom, unfortunately, I'm able to meet with only once a year or so. It was a great time, the almost-perfect trip, an ideal combination of relaxation and festivities.

Making this trip especially comfortable was having, finally, knowledge of the language there. I really can't describe how much better it was to be there and to understand conversations and dialogs and questions, as opposed from knowing nothing at all during my previous excursions. Quickly after arriving I realized just how much better it would be when I was waiting for the bathroom at a restaurant in Moscow when a man came up to me and, in just one word, asked if it was occupied. Now, in the past I would have been in a state distress if this man had not used one of the fifteen or so Russian words I knew at the time – I likely would have said, “I don't know” (my staple response to an un-understood question), which would have led to another question, and it would have snowballed from there. This time, however, I was simply able to say, “Yes, there's a man there.” End of story. It was also just great to get in with the family (like I said, I consider them to really be my second family) and to be able to communicate with them directly, without the aide of a translator or anything like that. Within minutes of my arriving we sat down for dinner, I poured out the bottle of our home-made wine that I brought from Moldova and the grandma started to make a toast. She said a few words then furrowed her brow a little before turning to the oldest daughter and asking, “He understands?”, and upon receiving an affirmative answer, continued in her toast.

It was also a lot of fun to get in and communicate with my friends in their native language, although it should be noted that all my friends there speak English better than I speak Russian – there is no doubt about that. But at the very least my new-found (for them) language skills brought them a sense of comfort, that if they were tired and didn't want to speak English they really didn't have to, or that they could leave me alone for stretches of time in Moscow knowing that I likely wouldn't have any real problems.

I have two little stories of just how nice it was to finally be able to speak Russian in Russia. The first came one day when I was making some coffee and, after spilling some milk, I asked the grandma there where a rag was. She pointed it to me, waited a pause, then said with a small smile, “how good it is that you know the word 'rag'.” The second story happened when, on my first Sunday night, I was in the center talking to some people and there was a girl there whom I've known for two years now and always really liked a lot but could never really talk with. When I arrived she turned to me and said, “Hello!,” in English – which I answered in English – before she continued on with her conversation with another friend. After a little she asked another girl about me and the girl answered that I speak Russian and she could just talk to me. So the first girl turned to me and asked why I greeted her in English, so in Russian I said, “If someone starts a conversation with me in English, of course I answer in English. If the conversation starts in Russian, I answer in Russian.” She had a priceless look of awe painted on her face.

At the end of my trip I was lucky enough to buy an early ticket and, thus, have a spot on a train from Moscow to Chisinau. I was in a compartment with three other people, two women from Transnistria – the breakaway part of Moldova that's basically ruled by Russia – as well as the eight-year old daughter of one of the women. They were very kind and warm to me, terrified that I wasn't eating enough (no matter how much I ate) and put in a state of horror when I coughed once. On the road home we actually had to travel through Transnistria, something we American's are not supposed according to the US Embassy here, and I was a little worried about that, despite reassurances from friends who have taken the same route. However, when the guards came on they simply took the eighty-cent transit fee from me – which they took from everyone – and glanced at my passport for literally two seconds before moving on.

I got to Chisinau on Monday and my goal was to go home Tuesday, as I arrived too late to get home Monday evening. However, I received a text message from my friend inviting me to go to his regional center for 'храм' – day of the city – so I took went up there last Tuesday for the party and finally came home this last Wednesday, fifteen days after I left.

Now, it's time to start up with classes again in school. On Saturday we have a little ceremony in the morning to kick-off things, then we'll all go home around 11:00 in the morning. Sunday's a free day and finally, on Monday morning, we start for real. On one hand it'll be tough to get back into the cycle but on the other hand, it'll be nice to get back to doing the work that really brought me to Moldova. Plus, everyone says that the second year goes by twice as fast as the first year.

So I'll be home in America before I know it . . .

Not-So-Express

2007-08-18T10:36:00.000-05:00

On Tuesday evening I went to the train station in Chisinau, two days before I wanted to leave, to buy a train ticket to Moscow. I, in going two days early, , thought I had a lot of time. So you can imagine my surprise when I asked the woman if there was any open space and, after glancing at her computer, she replied, "No. You should have come earlier today. It's all full now."

Naturally I was shocked, left with only one viable option - a bus. So there I was Thrusday morning at 8:15 (having gone to bed at 4:00 and woken up at 6:30), taking my place on the Chisinau-Moscow not-so-express. The target time was 30 hours upon departure, which turned out to be not true. It was 31.

Although, I do have to say, it could have been much worse. When we pulled I decided to get into a mental-zone in which nothing would bother me, basically spacing out for the length of the trip. I slept about 9 hours, and while I could have certainly been more comfortable, I also could have been much more uncomfortable, so I can't complain.

My friends met be off the bus and so far, a little more than a day into my trip. Highlights include talking to 4 really drunk (falling down) Scottish guys at a club in Moscow - I did all the talking with the waiters and they bought my beer, a fair deal. My friend and I went to bed at 7:00 in the morning after falling asleep on the metro ride home and slept until 2:00 in the afternoon.

In general, it's been great. It's so much more comfortable knowing the language - I can't describe it, but it's just very relaxing.

Can't wait to enjoy my next 8 days too . . .

Where I Was

2007-08-12T11:13:00.000-05:00

As a young, twenty-something American, there are only a few tragedies on the national scale that I have experienced and that, which each, I can remember exactly where I was when I found out. When the Oklahoma City Federal Building was bombed I found out on the road from my school, St. Bridget's, to our baseball practice at a park about a mile, told by a guy who had tagged along for the ride. When Columbine happened, I was told by our school chaplain in the journalism classroom of my high school. When September 11th happened I was in college, well immersed in the rigors of university life for not even a week, and read about the start of the disaster in the computer lab in the basement of the library in between my calculus lab and freshmen writing class. When the second Iraq was started I was in my dormitory in the my sophomore year at the same college watching the breaking reports on our tiny TV.

And when the bridge crossing Interstate 35W over the Mississippi River in my hometown of Minneapolis fell on of August 1st, 2007, I was awoken at 8:00AM in the morning the next day with a text from a friend of mine who happened to have awoken early and checked the New York Times website, where the story was the lead. His text read: “Bad news via NYT: 35W in Minneapolis falls, 9 dead, 59 injured, 30 missing.” Needless to say, I was shocked but, having gone to bed at 3:15, a few short hours beforehand and a little sleep-depraved, it didn't fully hit me. I thought about it a little as I headed to the Russian Embassy in Chisinau with a friend of mine but like I said, I didn't dwell on it too much. At 9:15, while inside the embassy I received another text message, this time from a girl in Russia that I know, also telling me about this catastrophe from my own city. It was then, having received a second warning as well has having woken up a little, that the severity of the situation fully started to dawn upon me.

Upon leaving the embassy I left my friend to walk around Chisinau alone while I made a bee-line for the Peace Corps office here in order to get on the Internet right away and see the full extent of the damage. Needless to say, when I fully saw what had happened, the severity of the detestation, I was in a state of shock, as was the other volunteer here from Minnesota who happened to be in Chisinau at the time and whom I passed on all information when I learned it. I hadn't then heard anything from my parents or anyone else in America, which I assumed to be a good thing because if anything too tragic had happened to someone I knew, I'm sure I would have been told it promptly.

I then spent a lot of the next day just watching TV in our lounge, listening to the breaking news reports about this disaster in the city where I've lived almost twenty-three years of my life. Believe me when I say, it was odd to watch, an unusual combination of disbelief and awe. I returned home at 3:30 that afternoon and asked my host mom if she had watched the news that day and if she had heard about the bridge that fell, she said, “yeah, I saw that. Where was that?,” and was quickly thrown off when she heard how that's my city, how I've driven over that bridge 100 times in my life and how my brother lives 6 blocks from the location. Later in the evening, when I was at a birthday party of a friend of my host sister, my mom called just to talk about everything and to assure me that no one I know was caught/missing in the mess.

While this happened almost two weeks ago, it's still at the fore-front of my thoughts. I guess it's just a little odd for me because I'm here and not there, in my home-town where all this happened. And in the end, through the tragedy, it's great to hear stories of heroism from the people of the great state of Minnesota, how people there went to great lengths to aide others.

And, like I wrote, I will never forget where I was on August 1, 2007.

Notes:
- This whole event soured a little one of the best weeks of summer so far, when my friend Sasha from Russia came in from Moscow to visit me for a week. We spent time in Chisinau, including going to a great rock-music festival (featuring some of the top Russian bands as well as the group widely regarded as the best in Moldova. Sadly, I can't write their name). We went to bars and discos, spent time in my current village, in the village where I lived last summer, and went to a place called Orhei Vechi, an old monastery literally dug out of a mountain and one of the few real tourist attractions in Moldova here. We took a bus there and, when we got off, found out that a man from Alaska who was touring Moldova just happened to be along with us.

It was a great time together, highlighted for me by the fact that I didn't need to translate anything. Actually, my friends and I were quick to take advantage of his language skills, asking him to do things like get complicated directions to light a burner for the oven in an apartment where we stayed, the type of things which we volunteers would have struggled in comprehending but which he picked up on instantly.

One of the oddest part of his trip was simply his leaving. Before he came here we hadn't seen each-other for about 15 months, but when he left it was with the knowledge that we would see each-other again in a mere two weeks, assuming I got a visa to Russia. That was somewhat strange.

- Speaking of getting a visa, that was far more complicated than it should have been. I've know for a while that to get a visa here I needed an invitation – the original, not a copy – from a company in America as well as ninety dollars as two pictures. They only process visas from 9:00 AM to 1:00 in the afternoon on Tuesdays and Thursdays but it's not too tough. Should be easy, right?

Well, I ordered the invitation a while ago and received it in plenty of time. With my friend I went to the Russian Embassy here on the 31st of July, where there is always a crowd of Moldovans but where, when they see an American passport and the word 'visa', they invite said passport holder inside. It was no different this time. (It should be noted that a lot of my friends here have gone to Russia recently and warned me that the vice-consular there, the man who processes visas, is not the most polite person in the world, that he's the type of bureaucrat that knows that we need something from him and, as a result, feels no need to be polite in his discourse).

After a while inside I was met by this man and he took everything I needed for processing in the back. He emerged a few minutes later telling me that there were two problems: 1)I needed to pay 120 dollars instead of ninety because of the timing of my departure (a small inconvenience, but what could I do . . . ), and 2) That my invitation was not an original but that, when I returned in a week to get the visa, I could bring the original and everything would be fine (a big shock to the system).

I ran back to the Peace Corps office here and quickly sent an e-mail to the company through which I got my invitation, telling them the problem and asking them what happened – I quickly received a response telling me that I had indeed received the original, not a copy, and that they didn't understand where the problem could be and encouraging me to go back to the embassy and find out exactly what the problem was. I did so the next Thursday (when I was finding out information about the bridge collapse), arriving at 9:00 AM sharp; I was the first person in to see the consular and when I started to simply get information from him he brought me into a back room, started yelling and pounding his fist and re-iterated that I needed to get the original. I then, in the midst of finding out information about the bridge, sent another e-mail to the company, telling them of the situation and asking them what needed to be done. I got a response within minutes telling me that there was not really anything that they could do, but literally three minutes after that I got a second e-mail telling me that they had sent another, this time original, invitation. I'm still not sure what happened, although the logical conclusion is that, in triple checking their own information, they realized that indeed, I was sent a copy.

I got the new invitation in plenty of time but, as you can imagine, I was a little nervous because I had already spent 200 dollars and if I didn't get what I needed it would mean that I simply wasted that money. So on Thursday the 9th I went to the embassy again, new document in hand and full of anxiety. Inside I saw the polite gentleman who does visa's, gave him my new invitation with few words said between us, and he took it in back with my passport for another person to process, then returned to help a French guy I met outside. I waited for a while and soon a girl came back in, holding my invitation and passport, and she started to talk to the consular. I held my breath for a moment when she handed passed over everything; at one point they opened up the passport and I caught a glance at a corner of one page holding the tell-tale yellow color of my fourth Russian visa. It was quite the relief.

So I'm off Thursday, taking the twenty-seven hour train from Chisinau to Moscow. I'll be there ten days or so, connecting with my friends there. I really can't wait to get back and start talking to people in Russian, people I've known for three years but with whom I could not yet communicate directly, always through a translating friend. Should be great.

- Speaking of trips, I've got my next one for Christmas lined up: I'm flying with two friends into Cairo and flying out of Tel-Aviv while traveling through Jordan in between. We've also decided that we're keeping it at only three, as trips with Peace Corps have a tendency to balloon quickly as people get interested in the journeys of others, especially one like ours. We've already had to deny a few people and chances are that that list will grow. (And for anyone worried about safety in Jordan, don't fear. You'd probably be surprised to know that there's actually a Peace Corps program there).

- Finally, my apologies for not posting this earlier, for waiting over two weeks since the last time I wrote something. My goal was to polish a first draft and post this on Thursday – however, on my way out of the Peace Corps office that day on my way home I noticed that I received a package from my brother, meaning only one thing: Harry Potter 7 had arrived. As a result, I couldn't do anything else Thursday evening/Friday in the day until I finished the book (my verdict: I agree with my brother when he said it really couldn't get better). I wanted again to post on Friday after I worked with my best student at her house; however, while her mom there won't let me leave without food, her dad won't let me leave without wine. So I couldn't really post then. And yesterday, Saturday, was an open-house party at a volunteer near here. So I couldn't post it then.

As a result, here it is.

And one word of warning – I probably won't be able to post again for another two weeks or so, after I get back from Russia.

Weather For The Ages

2007-07-25T14:26:00.000-05:00

The sun flared down on the growing corn day after day until a line of brown spread along the edge of each bayonet. The clouds appeared, and went away, and in a while they did not try anymore . . . The surface of the earth crusted, a thin hard crust . . .

The above quote is from the first pages of my favorite book (one in which I'm in the process of re-reading), The Grapes of Wrath, but it could easily describe the summer of weather that we're having now in Moldova. We're in the middle of a drought, the worst that has been around since 1946, by all accounts. In my village there is a little stream and a little pond, both of which are totally dry and both of which, according to my forty-eight year old host mom, are dry for the first time in her life. Just walking around it's possible to see cracks in the ground that are literally, in some places, two and a half inches wide and eight inches deep. The land is, in a word, parched and it's not too much of an exaggeration to say violently. And it's an absolute, almost indescribable disaster. My host grandpa, when he is here, spends literally six hours a day outside, just looking at the sky and repeating, “There's no rain.” And the crops are suffering as a result. The corn is growing but the size and overall quality will be far lower than in normal years, and apples as well as grapes are in the same boat. Tomatoes and cucumbers are not growing really but can be found in the markets in the various regional centers, but at prices three to four times normal for this time of year.

The real problem, however, will come with potatoes, the staple food for Moldovans in the winter. As a woman told a friend of mine the other day, “we can live without tomatoes and cucumbers. We can't live without potatoes.” My host mom told me that ours here are coming in but with great difficulty, that they are far smaller than in normal times and that in the winter we'll have to buy them, likely – as already with tomatoes and cucumbers – at prices three to four times higher than usual. As a result, my host mom has already gone to my local regional center with the hopes of buying potatoes already, hopefully ahead of the pack, wanting them to just put them in the cellar until winter. She's stuck out until now but she'll likely succeed in the near future.

The people who are going to really suffer from this, however, are the same who usually suffer in times of crisis such as these – the poor. People will need to buy potatoes to eat, but if the cost of potatoes – again, the staple crop in the winter for everyone – will shoot up to three or four times higher, it will almost certainly break people. For example, my host grandpa eats only potatoes and bread at home. Literally. That's it. Normally this isn't a problem because everything he eats comes from his own garden while bread costs one dollar a week, but this year . . . and considering that his pension is 400 lei (around 33 dollars) a month, with prices shooting up – I can't imagine what he'll do. And there are literally ten's of thousands with him in the same boat.

To make the issue of weather worse, we are, in the last ten days, in the midst of the hottest weather that, by all accounts, has ever been here (at least people remember the year of the last bad drought – no one has ever seen this heat wave). When I wake up in the morning (embarrassingly, no earlier than 10:00AM), the temperature is usually in the mid-90's and climbing. Last Tuesday the temperature in the afternoon was 105 degrees according to our thermometer in the shade, with reports of the temperature in the sun being as hot as 112. In my room, I go to bed and the temperature is around 85 degrees, and I wake up and the temperature is still at 85 degrees (my friend in Chisinau has me beat – it's 95 in his room when he goes to bed). I go for walks – short ones at that, maybe forty-five minutes to an hour – and when I get back I'm so sweaty that my host family asks if I've been swimming. Having to sit in full mini-buses, with that many people crammed into such a small area when the temperature is in the mid 100's, should be investigated as a human rights violation. The cats just sit under bushes all day, doing what they can to beat the heat. It's unimaginably hot, and it's a wave that has actually struck all of Southeast Europe (I actually heard them talk about Moldova on the BBC on Sunday, saying the the government has called out for international aide in helping to deal with the effects of the heat).

The situation, as my host mom told me literally one hour before posting this, is getting literally deadly in many villages because of the lack of water in the wells. Our well is low but should have enough water to carry us forward for a while, but others are in big trouble. In our village there are two or three wells that are dry and there is a spring that normally runs all the time but they have recently turned it off in an effort to save water. There is a village about two miles from mine, a small one of 200 or so people with one well, and that one will is dry. The problem's with the heat and the cost of food will be troubling for people, but unless we get a fair amount of rain to fill the wells – and we get it soon – there will be nothing to drink. I think everyone knows what will happen if that takes place.

The depth of the heat fully hit me last Thursday, when I was trying to go to my regional center to meet up with another volunteer there. The driver of the last transportation option out of the village usually goes right in front of my house so I need only to stand in front of our gate and he'll come by. That particular day, however, was a new driver who took a new route, not going down the road in front of my house and instead taking the (one) other road out of the village. There is no worse feeling than looking up, seeing the (one) only transport option that I needed going by, and realizing that I couldn't take it and that I had no other option. As a result, there was only one thing to do – walk the twenty-five minutes to the sanatorium (more on the sanatorium in a second) and hitch-hike out of there. Making things further difficult were the facts that 1)Due to space concerns I was wearing jeans and a black t-shirt, and 2)I was carrying a full backpack with clothes as well as a bag with my computer and two books. Needless to say, it was uncomfortable wearing all that, carrying all that, while walking along a asphalt street in 105 degree weather. To make matters worse, I waited there over an hour and a half at the sanatorium before someone came and took me with them and I stood there with nothing to drink, fearing that if I took off even for two minutes a car would come by and I would miss my chance.

Notes:
- When my friend was visiting me a week ago we went to the sanatorium (where a lot of people live) and he asked me if, should I want to, there was an open apartment that that I could live. I quickly brushed him off, telling him that nothing was free, and then forgot about the conversation. It should be noted, we as volunteers are required to live with a host family for our first six months of service but after that we are welcome to set out on our own. And I've been here almost a year, so I'm more than free to take off should I feel like it.

Well, turns out, my friend was a bit prophetical. Because last Thursday, when I went to visit the volunteer in my regional center, she told me that her host family owns an apartment in the sanatorium in which they live for four weeks a year and wanted to know if I want to live there the rest of the time.

At first I was a little incredulous and dismissed any thought at leaving my host family, with whom I have minimal problems. But the more I thought about it the more I realized that living alone might be better. A lot better. It's not that I don't like my family – indeed, nothing could be farther from the truth, as they're great. The main thing is, I'm kind of bothered here. If I want to invite friends over I need to get permission. I need to eat when my family eats, what they give me to eat. And there are a lot of things along the lines of the following example: last Tuesday night I had one goal, to take a 'shower.' I wanted to at 8:00 at night, but my host sister had the same idea and was in the bathroom. At 8:30 I tried again but we had guests over and I couldn't really go into the kitchen. Same at 9:00. And and 9:30. At 9:45 they had left but my host mom was again washing up in the bathroom. Finally, at 10:45 at night, the chance came.

Like I said, this isn't a huge problem but more of a nuisance, the type of which I could easily live with for another but the type of which, if I can avoid by living alone, would clearly prefer. Of course, I told this to my host family, that I have a chance to move out to an apartment and that I might take it and at first they kind of brushed me off, but on Wednesday of this week when I told them that I was going to the sanatorium to look at the place they became nervous. At first my host sister, in speaking to me for the first time in a long while, asked me (not rudely, just politely) why I want to move out. Then later my host mom, right before I left, told me she wanted to talk with me and asked me about my options to live. I told here that I had not decided anything and I was still thinking but she responded that, if I was going to see the place, I was serious about moving. Then she dropped the bomb (again, not rudely but instead matter-of-factly): if I move out and take my 160 to 220 dollars a month with me, them my host sister will not be able to study at a university in Chisinau next year. That was a shocker. And when I got back we again got into a big discussion about what they will do if I move out. I brought up the scenario about what they would do if, tomorrow, I got a phone call from America saying something happened and I needed to be on the first plane out. She said that would be a totally different situation. Not sure if I agree with that but I didn't want to get into a big discussion with them about it.

And as for the apartment itself, I have to say that while it's pretty small, it's not bad. There's gas and water and some amenities like dishes and things like that. There no TV but, with the money I would save by living alone, I would probably get DSL installed there. It's definitely livable.

The reasons for moving out are simple – here, in my village, I'm totally alone. I don't really have any friends, I don't really talk to anyone. It's ridiculously boring, especially in the summer. Behind the gates of our house I really like everything and everyone, but outside the gate . . . it's rather brutal (it's to the point where I've already decided that I'm done with weekends in my village. Finished. I've tried it for a year and have nothing to show for it in-terms of a 'community integration' standpoint. So I'm out). I told this all to my host-family and they don't really follow what I'm getting at. I tell them that, in a different place of residence, things maybe will be different. They clearly can't get any worse.

In a way, I'm already mentally out of my current place. Like I said, if I had no other option I would, with pleasure, stay here for another year. But knowing that I could live there . . . it would tough. But as I told my host-mom, I want to live alone but I also don't want to destroy their family here. Now my goal is to think of a way to move out and still help my family. Right now I'm thinking of a system in which I would pay them something like 800 lei a month (sixty-five dollars) and come to eat lunch with them every day after school. I would eat and talk with someone to maintain my language (so I would receive something) while they would receive something too, money to help support my host sister in Chisinau.

Needless to say, I have something to think about. It'll help fill the fourteen hours of free time I have every day.

- Quick note: A friend of mine from Russia is coming to visit me on Friday and we'll be stomping around Moldova for a week or so, so please forgive me in-advance for not posting for a while.

- Last Friday, in an effort to beat the heat, I took a bus three hour bus-ride to the north of Moldova to visit a friend of mine who lives close to a city in which they have a swimming pool. That's right, a swimming pool. Actually, five of us volunteers were there, paying a dollar an hour to swim (a bargain when the weather is in the triple digits) for two hours.

We had such a great time that, at noon the next day, we returned, although only for an hour the second time. We spent those sixty minutes doing running jumps into the water, doing the stupidest tricks we could think of while in mid-air. We laughed until we cried and it felt like we were in junior-high again, which, incidentally, was the last time any of us were able to have a full summer off without work or something to do. Frankly, in summer in Peace Corps Moldova, it doesn't get any better than that.

405 Days and No Longer Counting

2007-07-17T14:44:00.002-05:00

From the moment we arrive here in Moldova we are told that one of the most fascinating cultural events we can attend here is a wedding. We are shown videos, told the proper protocol, and given little tidbits of advice on how to conduct ourselves there. I, however, had never had the chance to attend one until last Sunday night, and I must say that is was a cultural scene the likes of which needs to be seen to fully be appreciated.

I was actually invited to the wedding in a round-about way. I had heard talk in my village from my mom and others for about a week that the son of my school director was having a wedding on Sunday, July 15. I, having never meet the bride or groom, was not too worried or concerned about getting an invite, although I have to admit that I secretly held out hope that maybe an invitation would fall my way.

Then last Friday night I went to the one bar here with a friend of mine who came in for the night, and while we were sitting there a girl I know (also the maid-of-honor) came in with her boyfriend (brother of the groom). At one point she came up to me and we chatted a little (I hadn't seen her for a month or so) and she asked me if I was going to the wedding. When I told her that they didn't invite me she looked a little surprise and responded that, indeed, I was invited through the director and the bride (whom again, I'd never met and didn't know at all) were both expecting me. I was a little excited about this but didn't want to get my hopes up. A little later some people I know invited us to come and sit with them and they again asked me about the wedding while I again told them I wasn't invited, a response to which they were incredulous. They turned around and called over the brother of the groom, who again re-iterated that I was invited and that I would receive an invitation the next morning at some point, a statement which confirmed for me that I should be able to show up without an issue.

This point was reinforced the next day, when I asked a half-dozen people if it would be OK for me to go having not received a paper invitation but instead heard from the mouth of the brother. Everyone had the same response – go ahead. It's a village. They don't invite people in the same way we do in America. Mouth-to-mouth is how it's done. And as my friend also told me, I had two choices: 1)Go to the wedding and have a great time, or 2)Stay at home, read, and go to sleep at 11:00 while, because of my proximity to school, I would have been able to hear music from the wedding. That settled it.

It turned out to be, as I alluded to, a great time. What they describe as a 'wedding' in Moldova is what we would describe as a over-the-top reception in America. I showed up at 9:00, met the bride and groom (for the first time), congratulated them, and spent time talking with one of the 2nd graders from my school. People slowly trickled in until about 10:00 or so, when we all went into our school cafeteria to eat (we were waiting in front, outside in a little courtyard, until then). Inside we ate a lot and drank while people gave some toasts, the couple kissed while we chanted something in Russian (I think we were chanting the word 'bitter' but I may be – likely am – wrong on this), and some guy with a microphone walked around and worked the crowd, a scene which carried on until midnight or so, at which time we all went outside and danced and talked with each-other. At 2:30 we all went back inside where we ate again, drank a little more, and people gave gifts, although it should be noted – at weddings people give money. That's almost totally it, with the exception of sheets or other nice clothes. And they do it in a little of an awkward way (it seemed to me) – they go around with a decorated basket and people give a little speech for the bride and groom, at the end of which they announce how much money they are giving before throwing said money into the basket (the winner – 800 dollars, while my gift was 20 because I didn't know the bride and groom, an acceptable sum according to my polling, And I passed on giving a speech). This event went on until 3:00, after which we danced a little more before they started a tradition in which the bride and groom sit on a chair, bride in the lap, and they get placed on them all the clothes or blanket's they they've received (yes, the newlyweds were clearly very hot under everything). It ended with one final circle dance, the cake, and we left. I walked through the door of my house and passed out from exhaustion, having been up at 5:00 in the morning for two consecutive days (more in a second).

Overall, it was a great experience; like I said, the type of event that really needs to be seen to be believed. There was also, amazingly, another American there, some guy from New York who works in Bucharest and knew the groom because the groom studied there for high school and university. I spent a lot of the time talking to other teachers and some of the young people that I know, and I also got about 70 pictures due to the fact that I, in not wanting to busy myself the whole time, gave my camera to one of my 6th graders and told him to go to work, knowing I could just delete anything I didn't like (which led to a great scene at the table the next day in which my host mom and sister talked about who and who wasn't invited and had a running commentary on the outfits of the women).

If there was one mistake I made, it's that I went alone – my host family wasn't invited and I, unsure of my own invitation status, didn't want to bring a guest. While I really liked everything, I kept being cognizant of the fact that it would have been a lot better with a friend. Actually, there's a volunteer here in my regional center with whom I have a deal – we're bringing each-other to any weddings we might be invited to. Actually, there are rumors of her maybe going to a wedding on August 5th. So while I waited 405 days in-country to go to my first wedding, I might have to wait only twenty-one to go to my second.

And I'm already looking forward to it . . .

Notes:
- Last Saturday, the day before the wedding, was also one of the best times I've had in my service so far here. First, at 8:30 my friend and I went to a party at the house of the US Marines who protect the embassy, as they have an absolute mansion near the center of Chisinau where we hung out for a few hours (the ambassador dropped in too). We also met a Moldovan guy whose mom is from Moldova and whose father is from Kenya. He doesn't look Moldovan at all, and not only does he speak fluent English with an American accent, he has a kind-of 'street' accent. He actually had to show us his passport for us to believe him.

But we stayed at the house until midnight or so, after which we all got a ride in their white Suburban to a disco north of the center where, because we were with the Marines, we walked in without a cover and were led right to the prime table in the place. We ended up being there until 5:00AM, when the place closed, spending our time dancing and meeting people. We then took a taxi to our hotel before going to sleep at 5:30 before waking up at 9:30 (thus, I was exhausted after the wedding and promptly until 1:00 in the afternoon).

- All of this followed up a great Saturday featuring an oil-man from Louisiana here in my village. Allow me to explain.

Last Wednesday I got a call from my tutor here telling me that there was going to be an American at our sanatorium and museum here and asking me if I could translate. This being summer and me having no other plan, of course I could. So one of my friends from PC came here on Friday night and on Saturday we both went to meet this American who had come into our midst. Turns out, he's was from south-west Louisiana, and he works in the oil industry; his job is to extinguish fires in wells. Naturally, he's traveled all over the world and told us countless stories from his travels abroad (he's also, due to the lay of the hills and the fact that we apparently have natural striped-limestone in the ground, convinced that there's oil underneath the ground here. He said they'd have to dig a little, 6000-7000 feet, but it's here. Of course, this brought on an onslaught of “Beverly Hillbillies” jokes). Of course, what my friend and I really appreciated was that, because he had rented a taxi for the day, he gave us a lift back to Chisinau with him. This also led to the slightly depressing revelation that in a private car it's an hour and ten minutes to Chisinau, while through public transportation it takes at least two hours.

- As an example of how little there is to do in my village, last Wednesday I spent my entire day reading, to the tune of 320 pages. That includes taking two walks to kill time as well as eating all three meals.

- I've also revolutionized the way I travel, at least in terms of entertainment. I've started downloading Podcasts from ESPN, replays of Pardon the Interruption and Bill Simmons interviews. It might be a little bit of hyperbole to say that it's changed my life, but frankly, it's a little true.

- My favorite part of this week (not including the wedding or the five hours at the disco last Saturday night) was Friday evening. My friend came in at 7:00PM and while we ate we sat around talking and eating with my host grandpa. My friend speak Moldovan so we had a great conversation, drinking beer and wine and sharing questions and answers with host grandpa, who speaks Romanian and Russian both, although I had never heard him speak Romanian until that day.

At one point in the conversation I asked him when the last time was when he spoke Romanian full-time. The answer?

1957.

Pictures of the Family Get-Together

2007-07-09T10:27:00.000-05:00

Attached here are some pictures from my parents' time in Moldova. The one on top is them posing by the sign for my village with our lake in the background, the second is of them with the family that I lived with last summer, and the third is my dad doing one of his favorite activities: watching the geese (with some turkeys in the background).

The Wanderer

2007-07-05T05:16:00.001-05:00

I did the math yesterday morning on a mini-bus from Chisinau to my village and realized that from the 5th of June to the 4th of July I went back and forth between my home and the capital of Moldova an amazing 7 times. That's means I traveled back and forth every four days, a shockingly large amount considering that as a teacher, I made the trip maybe once every two weeks during the school year. It was getting to the point that when one of the two drivers with whom I go saw me, they would give me a look that was a combination of “You again? Why?” and “It's been a while. Where have you been?” I got to know the road amazingly well, listened to over 250 songs on my Ipod, and finished two books. I spent fourteen hours of my life just inside buses/minibuses and spent twenty-seven dollars just on transport. I never spent more than three consecutive nights in one place. And this is supposed to by my vacation . . .

It was at that point that I decided to relax a bit (admittedly a bold statement coming from someone who has just spent three days in Istanbul and another two in Odessa). So I've decided to stick around my village a bit, not going anywhere for the next six days until I have to go teach two sessions of training to the new group that has come in. Yes, there is nothing to do and I may go stir crazy from boredom. But on the plus side, I'm almost guaranteed to sleep ten hours a night, I'll practice my Russian (which was fine when Mom and Dad were here as well as in Odessa but, like my mind is taking a vacation from Russian because of over-use, has in explicitly fallen hard in the last week). I'll read a lot, go for walks, add to my tan, and maybe get a hair-cut. It'll be nice to relax a bit.

Notes:
- As anyone who has read this recently knows well, I spent two days in the Ukrainian resort city of Odessa for two days. It's 5.50$ and five hours from Chisinau, and needless to say it was one of the best times I've ever had. We arrived at 5:20 the first morning and after talking with some drivers we found our way to the center, where we quickly met up with a woman who told us we could sleep in her apartment for 15 dollars a night, per person, not a bad deal. We followed her there and got totally set up by 8:30. We spent the day, from 1:00 in the afternoon to 6:00 at night, sitting on a beach and sipping beer. That was it. The whole day. At night we went down to relax and re-charge at 8:30 with the plan to wake up at 9:20, be out the door by 9:30. I set my phone alarm, double checked it, and went to sleep with my friend relying on me.

Then I woke up at 12:30, in the middle of the night. It wasn't clear at the time (and it's still not clear) what exactly happened, but all I know is that we wasted one of our two nights in Odessa. Not fun.

The second day proceeded a lot like the first, with us walking around the center of the city first before heading to the beach where we basically repeated the previous day's lounging around. At night, after giving too much gas to the boiler and having my friend singe off all the hair on his right arm (literally) after getting too close with a match, we departed to a bar near our neighborhood. Our plan was simply to talk to someone there and figure out where to go (our previous day's searchings had led us to two possibilities: One main street in the center or to a boardwalk area near the beach we spent the first night. In talking with the waitress she said that the center was no good; there was only one decent disco there and it were “a lot of Arabs and Turks there.” Her recommendation: the boardwalk.

So that's where we ended up, taking a taxi. It was great selection on the part of the waitress, as it was a lot of fun there, the type of place that was relatively dead because it was a Monday but which we knew would be a blast on a weekend. It was there that I had the aforementioned run-in with the cop and bought him off with a 1.20$ pizza, then spent the next three hours talking with these two French guys from Lyon who spoke English well and just happened to be doing a huge road-trip through Europe. We had a really nice talk and they bought us beer – who could ask for anything more?

- Last Saturday was the annual Fourth of July party sponsored by the US Chamber of Commerce in Moldova. Like last year, it was at a park near the center of Chisinau and was full of either Americans or Moldovans who had some association with the US Embassy or any number of US based NGO's (like USAID). It was a great chance to get out and meet some new people – while the Peace Corps community here is great, it's small too (only 125 of us) – so my buddy and I spent the night talking with some Marines who guard the Embassy as well as some Moldovans who had spent some time in America (including one girl who studied for a year at the University of Wisconsin – La Crosse). At night, after the party, two of my friends and I went out with a Moldovan girl I met (more in a second).

- Last Sunday was our graduation ceremony at my school for the 11th graders, another great time. It started with a ceremony at 8:30 at night at which my director gave a speech and handed out diplomas, and we quickly moved to a huge dinner in our cafeteria with all the parents, teachers, and students who either finished school this year or, for whatever reason, had to leave at some point. I ended up leaving at 5:45 in the morning, laughing on my way home when I realized that, on June 5th when I went to Istanbul, I walked out my door at 5:30 AM. That was quite the revelation to have.

- Finally, on Saturday night after the Fourth of July get-together a Moldovan girl I had met brought my and two friends of mine to a really nice bar a little north of the center of Chisinau. We were walking through the door when a guard pointed to a buddy of mine, scrunched us his face a little, and said, “He's wearing shorts. I don't know . . . .” Having a Moldovan girl there helped a lot and she started to negotiate with him in Russian, at one point saying “and they're Americans.” The guard started to perk-up a little at that, then asked us what states we were from.

“I'm from Minnesota,” I said.

He responded, “Minnesota, really? OK, I love basketball and play it all the time. Tell me, please, who is the basketball player in the state of Minnesota?

There is only one answer, of course: “Kevin Garnett.”

His faced brightened, he smiled a little, stepped to the side while opening out his arm, and warningly welcomed us in.

The Wanderer

2007-07-05T05:16:00.000-05:00

The Family Story

2007-06-28T15:25:00.000-05:00

It's been a long while since I've posted anything of too much note but I've had a lot of time over the last few days and I thought it would be a good idea to write a few dozen (or thousand) words on what exactly I've been up to in the last month, specifically my time when my mom and dad came in from Minneapolis . . .

On May 31st in school we had our end-of-school closing ceremony which basically went off without a hitch, with the exception of one of our 11th grade girls passing out (likely because she was standing in one place too long with her legs locked). It wasn't a huge problem but the 'doctor' from the school quickly was by her side. But 10:30 in the morning everything was over. The school year had officially ended. It was an amazingly calming, relaxed feeling – a great moment, one that I immediately made better by drinking a beer and smoking a cigar in my classroom with my door locked tight. It was great.

I sat around my village doing literally nothing but reading and sitting in the sun until June 6th, when the new group of volunteers arrived here in Moldova – they will be teachers of Health and also English teachers. Of course, the moment they stepped off the plane they were exhausted and filled with a sense of “what have I done!?!?,” but that is what every group goes through. There were 12 of us there at the airport to meet them – as well as some media (my host mom heard about it on the radio) - and we also spent some of the next few days with them, taking them out to dinner and doing anything possible to help them during their first few days in country. It was especially fun for us to be there and to hear and answer all the questions they had – in a way, I can't believe that it was only one year ago that we were all in their places, asking the same questions and getting the same responses. That initial meeting was almost a month ago and up to now we have only lost two of them. They all seem to be going great, as I was with them last Saturday for a few hours and know first-hand (more in the next entry). The only downfall of their visit was my borderline medically unsafe sleep deprivation – I slept a total of 13 hours in the three nights before and during their arrival. That's pushing it, to say the least.

On the 9th of June I went to Istanbul to meet my parents – seeing them there was as good of a feeling as it's possible to get, I think, a feeling only made better by the fact that I flew in an hour before them and had to wait and wait and let the tension build up inside me before they finally arrived. It was also enhanced by the fact that I didn't know anything about their flight so I had to wait until I heard about a flight from London, then I didn't know from which direction they would come. We spent three great days there (I won't go into details about what we did, as it was basically what I did when was there the first time back in December and January, - needless to say, my mom and dad loved the city as much I as I did – do. Everyone I know who has spent as much as one second in the city has loved it, and my parents were no different).

While my time in Istanbul was amazing I also had an advantage this time that I lacked 6 months ago – because I had been there, I was able to serve as a guide of sorts for us, because I not only knew where everything was but also more or less knew how to get everywhere. I even introduced my parents to a man who we dealt with a lot in December, a carpet seller named Atilla who is the Turkish business partner of the Moldovan host mom of a friend of mine – she makes carpets here in Moldova and sells through him and his business.

As alluded to two entries ago, the plan was for me to fly into Chisinau on Tuesday the 12th at 10:00 AM on Turkish Air with my parents following in the late afternoon on the Air Moldova flight scheduled to get in at 4:00. I got in, past customs, and glanced at the “Arrival's” screen near the door, and quickly saw the word “Canceled” next to their flight. That was a shock. I then went to Peace Corps Moldova office and asked a woman there to call the airline and make sure that, indeed, it was canceled. They confirmed the fact. Then, just to be safe, I checked the website of the airport in Istanbul (amazingly, Air Moldova had no information on their website), and sure enough, the third strike was the nail in the coffin. I was really bothered by this until I called my host mom and broke the bad news – she took it well (and I was most worried about and the amount of work she had no-doubt done, but when she took the news well all turned out fine) While it was not possible to get a-hold of my mom and dad on the day of their flight, I thought I would do the only logical thing: just show up at the airport the next day when the next Air Moldova flight from Istanbul was scheduled. What other alternative could there be?

Sure enough, they were there, a day late but really glad to be in my home nation (for the time being). My host brother was there too to bring us home to my village, highlighted by a drive through the chaos of the main street in Chisinau at the peak of rush hour. My mom thought my host brother was driving a little crazy when he was actually taking it a little easy, in my opinion, worried about our safety. We went right to my village (it's a beautiful drive), about an hour and half from the airport, and were met there by my host mom and host brother's finance (who I always refer to as my 'host sister-in-law' just to save time). We spent the first night just getting to know each-other for a while, but after the wine started flowing we started to discuss things like “the role of Alexander Solzhenitzen played in the fall of the Soviet Union.” Needless to say, my translating skills, great when talking about things like life, take a step back when discussing things like this. Later at night, I received a little sign that all would be fine when, in coming back from the outhouse around midnight, I saw Aurora Borealis in the night sky for the first time (yes, we are far enough north here).

The next day we all went on tour of the local sanatorium (which is a little like a spa in America) of four monasteries in my region, which was an interesting experience. The highlight for us, however, happened when were in the middle of the tour. Throughout the whole first part there was a woman who was constantly looking at me while I was translating, a task I was just barely completing as we were discussing iconography of the churches, the reasons for their founding, and other things. It was really rough for me – maybe 25 percent of the information was getting through. Like I said, this one woman was always around us and I wasn't sure why until halfway through the second location, in the midst of me really struggling through some terms, she turned to my mom and said in perfect English, “What the guide said was that people live here on the grounds of the church but they are not allowed to have weddings or anything too loud out of respect for the area.” It turned out that the woman taught English at the State University of Moldova for 25 years but has been teaching Russian at the University of Mississippi for the last five years: she's home for the summer and was with her mom at the sanatorium, seeing some medical care. My mom was really happy as a result of this discovery, as was I because it meant that my thankless job was done. Our final destination was the monastery in my own village of Hirjauca, which interesting because it is in quite a state of disrepair, having not been in use for quite some time. There are plenty of pictures to show the extent of the damage there and I'll just wait to post them, as words can't do appropriate justice to the level of neglect. The silver-lining, however, is that (like my dad observed) they are in the midst of repairing everything, and while it certainly will take some time, it great to see that these people here have held their faith through everything that has happened to them (like all of the monasteries we were at being used as disco's and dance-halls during the Soviet Union).

For the second day my parents and I went on a long, three hour walk throughout the hills and forest in our village, which was tiring and relaxing all at the same time, while we also got some amazing pictures of the scenery around here. At dinner (which came a little late every night, around 9 or 10 o'clock, something my mom was not exactly used to), we did something called “sashlik”, which is basically a Russian BBQ. In the middle of our cooking a man whom I had never seen before came in holding a little kitten about 6 weeks old that he had found somewhere in the village. He said that he found it knowing that he could either give it his own mom or to my host sister here – his mom didn't want it so he showed up to us, little beast in hand, absolutely adorable. The host sister was more than happy to take him in, and we quickly gave him the name “Charlie” because he has some hair that looks like a Chaplin-esque mustache. At dinner that night we talked about a myriad of topics, and for the first time the topic of the deceased father/husband came up in-detail. It was a little heart-breaking but also interesting, of course, and I also told the story of the time I saw what I'm pretty sure is his ghost (no joke).

The third day in my village we went to our local museum where they teach kids how to do cultural handicrafts like sewing full-length national costumes – my parents also loved the time there, amazed at the skill level of the kids here: as my dad said, “it's amazing to see what people can do without MTV or PlayStation to waste all their time.” We got back home a little early but took it easy the rest of the night because we were all tired and still had another week of travels in front of us.

Sunday morning we took off early for Chisinau – the plan was to leave on the first micro-bus that rolled by but it was absolutely full of people (although it wouldn't have been comfortable, I'm sure we could have fit). My host mom, however, was waiting with us and quickly waived off the driver, then called my host brother who came and took us to our regional center. We spent Sunday just walking around Chisinau, seeing some of the sights as well as going to the Peace Corps office here to do things like get on the Internet.

Our plan for Monday was originally to go to the Romanian city of Iasi, about 10 miles from the Moldovan border and apparently an amazing place. However, I dropped the ball and forgot to check times of transport, which meant that on Monday we decided to go to a place called Millesti Mici, the largest wine cellar in the world (1.5 million barrels of wine, 25 miles of tunnels). We went with a woman I know here, a fellow TEFL teacher from Florida, and her friend who had just flown in, and this being Peace Corps we decided to take public transport and sort of wing-it in getting there, meaning that we took one mini-bus to one main bus station south of Chisinau, waited an hour, almost got on another one going the wrong direction but corrected our mistake quickly, took another mini-bus to the center of the village near the cellar (we overshot the entrance and didn't find out until too late), took another bus back, then walked about a quarter of a mile to the main door. It was something to get there, but I think all of us who went would agree that it was all worth it in the end. The day ended with the elevator in the building where we stayed (we rented an apartment) going out and with us walking up 14 flights of stairs.

Tuesday we went to the village of Ivancea where I lived last summer, again taking public transportation and again almost making a huge mistake before being righted by a combination of a driver, a friendly woman who was having the same problem as us, and the host family to whom we went and to whom I called. Bottom line – we got there on time, and the family, like I knew they would be, were more than generous and hospitable with us. My old host brother was there – who speaks English – and he showed us around the village and played 5 games of backgammon with my dad, winning every time. We also went to the only really other interesting tourist attraction in Moldova (the cellar being the first), a place called Orhei Vechi which is a monastery dug out of the side of a mountain and used for 300 years by monks.

Our plan for Wednesday was for us all to return to my home village where 1) My mom and I would cook dinner, and 2) They would gather their suitcases; because I didn't want to drag them everywhere they packed the equivalent of day-bags for our time away. To get home we took a car from the village to the closest regional center, a mini-bus from there to Chisinau, ran to the store to buy things for spaghetti, took a trolleybus a mile, took another mini-bus to my regional center, then another home. All in the course of 5 hours. It turned out to be a good plan though, as we sat around at night talking for the last time, drinking wine and our home-made vodka. My host mom here and my parents from America really hit it off well, with my host mom remarking that she felt like my mom and dad for a long time already.

Needless to say, when Thursday morning rolled around it was a little somber around here, as everyone was sad to see off the others. My parents and I were in Chisinau all day, going to the History Museum during the day as well as buying gifts, and at night for dinner my mom made hamburgers and four of my friends from Peace Corps came by, which made their months to say the least – as my mom said, it's easy to please us because were totally happy with everything associated with America food, having been deprived for so long. It was a nice day but a little light, because by then we were all (especially yours truly, the guide/de-facto translator) exhausted. Friday was light – basically a trip to the airport, seeing off the family, followed by a trip home for me to rest for 16 hours before going off to Odessa.

All in all, needless to say, it was a great trip. It was awesome to see my parents again, to talk with them and for them to finally experience everything that I've experienced up to now in Moldova. Their presence here wiped out any real feelings of missing America, and I'm sure that it will help my next 13 months here pass by that much more quickly.

Quick-hit Notes (On Their Trip):
- Mom didn't mind the outhouse, just the lack of a seat (a statement echoed by many a Peace Corps female volunteer here).
- Turns out, we fertilize our field here with Ammonium Nitrate – that's right, the same stuff they used to blow up the Oklahoma City Federal Building.
- My dad loved watching the four young geese walk around, saying it was far more entertaining than anything on TV. He even described the character of the one lazy one of the four, and my host mom agreed with his assessment. And he also occupied a lot of his time by simply filling up the buckets of water that were sitting around, with the justification that while no one was using them at that moment, soon they would be needed.
- At dinner one day we talked about the drought that we're having (it's serious but been made a little better – a little – by good rain the last 2 days). My host mom said it was last like this in 1946, and there is a little stream here that she has never – never – seen totally until this year.
- It will be a long time until my parents complain about road conditions again in America having experienced Moldovan conditions. You know how on roads in America sometimes they have rivets on the side of the road that wake up a person who falls asleep and drifts off? Well, sometimes it's like the whole road is like that.
- They really liked the pig here – too bad we killed him literally 18 hours after they flew out. Apparently he was sick and not eating so they didn't want him to lose weight, and with the drought there will be less corn to feed him in the fall and winter anyways. They had planned an August death but shortened his stay-of-execution.
- Our car here has a manual choke, the type not seen on American cars for 50 years. Actually, their rather common here.
- My mom drank her 20 year supply of vodka in 4 days in my village. I could say on this but simply will not.
- Overheard the following conversation in the local store when me and my dad came in – it was in Ukranian dialect but I got all of it:

Woman 1 – What language are they speaking?
Woman 2 - I think they're speaking German.
Woman 1 – Yeah, I think that's right. Alina, (turning to the clerk there who had approached their table), what language is that?
Clerk – They're speaking English – that's our English teacher in school from America.
Woman 2 – Oh, yeah, I knew that.

- Finally, I've decided that I never want to become a guide or something like that. It's exhausting work, as the mind can never rest. Apart from the obvious, like translating all the time and figuring out transportation, it's the little things that really get to a person, the little worries that add up all day. I had to always be thinking about what we were doing, what could be done next, if the main plan didn't work out what the contingencies would be, what all the time frames were for everything, and so on. If we were in Chisinau and mom wanted to rest, where could we find water of a place for something to eat that was cheap, or if the village store was closed what could we do. I was always worried about my parents and what they were doing (to the point that in the village with them, no matter how tired I was, I woke up within 15 minutes of their waking, my instinct taking hold of me) and where they were and would someone start speaking to them in Romanian or Russian without me around and what would happen if so. There is little worse than sitting in my room relaxing a little with my dad outside and hearing the gate open because someone came, then having to run outside to take care of anything that might arrive.

Never again!!!!! . . . . .

OK, at least not until the next American visitor comes.

Notes: A) I know I didn't write about Odessa at all but I've already at over 4200 words – almost 6 single spaced pages – so Odessa will come in four or so days, and B) I wrote this next part at the start of June before my parents got here and just never had time to post it until now – all of this took place a while ago but is still interesting, I think.

As I've written before, one of the challenges of living here is that I live in what can basically be described as Small Town America. While my hometown of Minneapolis has about 2.5 million people, here there are about 1200 between our two villages. As a result, here is the place where, as my host mom says, “everyone knows everyone. We are one big family.” Of course, people talk about me often, even people that I don't even know, and as a result this information gets back to my host family rather quickly.

Case in point: per habit, sometimes I like to walk around with my t-shirt inside-out. I usually do this when one side of the shirt is a little too dirty, and as a rule, I can extend the life of a shirt a little before it permanently goes into the dirty clothes bin. In America this would be seen as a little odd but nothing to think twice about. Here, however, it's a little shocking. I actually learned about this in Russia when I was there for the first time three years ago; turns out, in this part of the world wearing a shirt (or anything) inside out means that a person will soon get beaten-up. So when, way back in the fall, I started walking around with an inside-out shirt, my family thought it was odd but, after my explanation, quickly became used to my way of doing things.
My village, however, has not come around so quickly. For example, last week, on Sunday and Monday during the day, I went for a little walk around 'town', both times wearing a shirt inside-out. I was on the road, around people, for a combined (maximum) ninety minutes and saw maybe ten people whom I simply greeted and kept going – at no point did anyone start a conversation with me or say anything more to me than a quick acknowledgment of my existence.

On Tuesday of this week, however, my decision came back to me full circle. My host mom told me at dinner that, already, a lot of people had asked her about my choice of fashion, thinking it was a very odd choice for me to walk around like that and wondering what exactly was going through my head. These were people whom I, in all likelihood, had never seen before in my life, who saw me and decided not to talk to me but instead choose to voice their opinions to my host mom. In a way it was frustrating to hear this, about how they spoke of me when they easily could have chosen me. But at the same time, I had to realize that, as a part of this one big family, I simply had to suck it up and accept that fact people here are likely to do what they would do in Small Town America, as un-used to that as I may be.

Notes:

- Last Saturday marked one of the oddest day's I've had here up to now. First, in the morning I was expecting nothing more than to sleep in and sit around all morning until noon, when I needed to go to our local museum (more in a second). My plans were simply shattered, however, at 8:00 in the morning when my host mom knocked on my door and asked me if I could help her with some work. Wanting only to sleep but also cognizant of their needs here, I slowly escaped from the comfort of bed, ate a little, got ready, and by 8:30 was ready to roll. Turned out, she was headed to the field to cut down hay by hand and had too much to carry alone. So I grabbed three sickle's, threw them over my shoulder, and we headed out.

On the way to our field (which I had never been to before that day) my host mom stopped to chat with a lot of people in the Ukrainian dialect, reminding each and every one of them that the next day (Sunday) was the election and they needed to go to the mayor's office and vote for the Communists. The best part was when we came upon the woman who can be best described as the town alcoholic. First, my host mom told her to “turn around one hundred and eighty degrees” so she would go and help them in the field. The woman put up a protest, saying that she couldn't, and my host mom then told her that, at least, this woman shouldn't forget to go and vote for the Communists. At that point I knew they were officially desperate for voters.
Anyway, we got to the field where we found my host brother and the brother of his fiancée already at work. We ate a little (cutting the sausage with a sickle that was cleaned with a napkin). I was all ready to start working before they grabbed everything and my host mom asked, “so, you can find the road home? You should go. You don't know how to do this work.” I was a little put-off, as I wanted to help a little, but I didn't put up too much of a fight and instead made the slow way back to the village (coming within literally two inches of getting bit by a dog).
Not quite big city life, but who am I to complain?

It Happened in Odessa . . ..

2007-06-26T15:35:00.000-05:00

I know I've haven't written anything of sorts for almost a month here, and having just gotten back from Odessa I thought I would pass along one of the best stories I've had in my Peace Corps service here. Much, much more will follow in the coming days about where I've been and what I've been doing. Should check in at 3000 or so words . . .

On to the story: The past Monday night, our last night in Odessa, my friend and I wanted to go to the best place in town just to meet people and see a bit of the night life. We started out at a bar in the center and, after talking with the waitress, ended up taking a taxi to a popular area with a boardwalk of sorts about two miles south of the center. My friend (who speaks Romanian) and I were walking with beers in hand when a police officer with a dog stopped us and asked to see our passports. My friend had his but I was without mine, which was certainly a mistake but should not have led to anything too difficult for me. I explained to him how I'm an American that lives in Moldova and how my passport was at the place where were sleeping. He, however, wasn't satisfied, told me that it was a good idea to always have my passport on me, and told us to follow him.

We walked with him for a while in the direction of the police station while he lectured me on why it was a mistake to leave behind my passport. At one point he told me to tell my friend to wait at one place while we alone would go on a bit towards the station itself. We walked up about forty yards, and at first he told me I was drunk (I had drink two beers and told him so and also that I wanted him to test me) at which point he told me that he wanted me to give him twenty grivnet's (about four US dollars) for a pizza, then I could go home. I'm not a fool and knew exactly what he wanted, which I was willing to give if not for the principle of the situation. At the start I told him how I wasn't doing anything bad and I would leave if he wanted me to, to which he responded that of course I wasn't a terrorist. So I went into a big thing with him about how I would not give him any money directly but if he really wanted a pizza I would be more than willing to pay for it and we could go to a restaurant to get one right away. He responded that he could not because 1) He couldn't just go to a restaurant while at work just as I can't during school, and 2)He had a police dog with him so he couldn't go inside anything. When it became clear that he would not receive the twenty grivnet's from me he told me we would need to go inside the station (we were outside about 30 yards). I responded that I would go anywhere without my friend, so the officer told me to call over my friend.

So when me came up I explained the whole situation to him and he asked, rather quizzically, if we could share the pizza with the cop, which I translated and, upon receiving an affirmative response he told us that he would wait for us and we could buy pizza at places not far. My friend and I got really excited about the great story we were going to get out of it so we sprinted up to the place we saw, bought 3 pizzas (for a total of 18 grivnet's), and brought them back to the waiting officer, who had since also dumped his dog and was very pleasant with us, talking about life while we ate. So there were were, at midnight in Odessa, Ukraine, eating pizza with a cop who was treating it as some sort of bribe that ended up being 1.20$. Frankly, I think it was a wise investment for a story like the one we received . . .

Check back in about 3 more days for a painstakingly large amount of detail about what I've been doing since the end of school.

Almost There

2007-06-22T01:29:00.000-05:00

Still alive. My Mom and Dad are flying out in a few hours here, and I'm going to Odessa tomorrow night with a friend to decompress for 3 days. Everything has been great here, but I'll need a ton of time for a full review. It's coming. Don't worry . . . .

Finally, A Hitch

2007-06-13T05:09:00.001-05:00

I met my parents in Istanbul last Saturday and had an amazing time stomping around that city with them. It being my second time there, I was able to function as a defacto-guide of sorts, navigating the streets and sights and mosques without any problems.

Actually, the whole trip was without a problem. It was great to be around my Mom and Dad again, talking and walking around and just being in the presence of each-other was awesome.

The plan for yesterday, June 12th, was for me to fly to Moldova at 10:00 on a Turkish Air flight with my parents following in the late afternoon on an Air Moldova flight at 4:00, when my host brother would pick us up and take us to the village where my host Mom would, in turn, be waiting for us.

Things went well for me until about 10:00 AM yesterday - my flight in was harmless, getting through customs was like normal. When I passed through, though, I turned around to check the "arrivals" screen out of habit. Next to their flight was written something in Romanian (as there are only seven flights a day, it was easy to find). My heart instantly fell and I prayed quickly that it didn't say what I thought it said. The next second it flashed over: CANCELLED. Ouch.

I quickly left for the Peace Corps Moldova office where I penned an e-mail telling them to alert me of their plans. I've been waiting 26 hours now and still no response. I have no idea where they are exactly, although logic would dictate that they will be on the Air Moldova flight today from Istanbul.

So I'm off to the airport in an hour, hoping and praying that, despite the lack of contact, they will be getting off the plane. If so, great. If not . . . I have no idea where to begin to start to look for them. Let's hope it doesn't come to that.

One Year Down, One To Go

2007-05-30T10:01:00.000-05:00

Per tradition, the last day of school here in Moldova will be this Thursday, May 31st. Actually, school basically shut down last Friday and we teachers are in school now to 1)Give out grades to all the students, and 2) Hold together some semblance of order.

It's amazing for me to believe that I've been here almost a year (51 weeks to the day of me posting this, but who's counting). I still remember my first day of school well, as it was easily one of the most terrifying days of my life. I knew absolutely no-one, had no idea of the skills of the kids, could barely communicate in Russian, and stood alone in a corner of a square in front of the school while all these odd kids whom I didn't know put on a big show for everyone. Now I walk through my school, know the names of 75% of the students, have met a handful of their parents, know each and every one of their skill levels almost better than the kids themselves know it, and I communicate almost exclusively in Russian. The level of comfort is 100 times higher than it was a mere 9 months ago.

In Peace Corps Moldova there is no-doubt that the TEFL program is the hardest of the four present here. For starters, the topic we teach is simply difficult, as English is far from an easy language. We work with kids, which is far from easy (every day the 1st and 2nd graders hover around my classroom in between lessons, and it's just exhausting to pass through them a few times a day; kids that young are like energy vampires). And the educational system in which we have to work is also totally foreign from the system in place in America. And to top if off, the recognition of our work is far less obvious than in other programs, where volunteers maybe aide greatly in the building of a park for everyone to enjoy – and that everyone can see – while we are teaching Past Participles and and the Present Perfect Progressive tense, the results of which only we, the teachers, can see.

On the other hand, however, the skills that we are teaching are likely to be far more helpful to these kids in life, at least the ones who want to learn English. While something like a park is great, it simply can't help these kids break out of the life-cycle of poverty that many of them are stuck in and will be stuck in unless they give themselves the skills necessary skills life themselves up. English just happens to be one of these skills.

Throughout all the hardships that Peace Corps service has to offer, the one thing that carries me through everything is my students. While the majority have totally zero interest in learning English and don't need to do anything during lessons, there are a handful who really work, who I can see want to learn English and who really hold me here. One of the things that I'm most looking forward to in the next year is getting in with these kids and continuing to work with them, continuing to give them a huge tool that they can use in their futures to greatly better themselves and hopefully, their lives.

Until then, summer is here. On Thursday at school we will have a little ceremony called literally the “final bell”. It should end about 10:00 in the morning, after which I've decided that I will go to my classroom with a celebratory cigar and bottle of beer, lock the door, and just sit and decompress for 15, 20 minutes while I think of all the things that I've been through in that room, good and bad, throughout this last year. Frankly, I haven't been this excited about something in a long time.

Notes:
- I've written before about how there are four of us TEFL teachers from my group who gather together in each-others villages (if you'll remember, when we met the last time it took six hours and forty five minutes to travel a distance of 95 miles). Well, last weekend we all got together in the fourth and final home of ours, a town up in the north by the name of Riscani.

I actually took off from my village on Friday morning at 7:00 and pulling into my friends town at 12:30. It was a time-consuming but fairly easy trip with me passing through Chisinau and stopping for 45 minutes on my way at the Peace Corps office. We ended up having a great time together, as usual, passing the time just strolling around. Also, my friend there plays basketball with some guys every Friday night, so last Friday we dropped by with the intend of just seeing the facilities there (they are actually really, really nice) and ended up playing a 4 on 4 game against four Moldovans for a half hour, which turned out to be one of the funnest times I've had in the last year, especially because we won 21-18. We were actually supposed to play to 31 but it was raining and water started to leak through the roof. Not wanting to snap any ankles, we quickly decided to end it.

As good as Friday night was, Saturday morning was brutal because we had to wake up at 4:00 to leave the house at 4:20 to get to the bus-station at 4:45 so we would be guaranteed seats for the 5:00 ride to Chisinau. We got by OK in the morning basically going on fumes, but by the time we got to Chisinau at 8:30.

On the way to the bus stop however, we saw a concrete example of the type of mentality that we feel holds back many people in Moldova. While walking to the bus station and worrying about being late, we walked by a taxi driver. My friend asked him if he could take us to he bus station so we wouldn't be late. The driver told us that he had finished his shift, hopped into his car, and pulled out while taking a turn in the direction of the same bus station that we were going.

Now, the driver had two options: to go home without us because he didn't have to work, or to pick up a fare and earn a little money because just happened to be going that way and would have had to spend an extra one minute out of his free time. He chose the former.

- Next week the next group of TEFL and Health Education volunteers will fly into Moldova. I'm lucky enough to be a member of the Volunteer Mentor Program, where by for a month or so I've been in contact with 3 individuals who are on their way and, during the summer months, I can be used as a support for them if they have any questions of issues. This also means that, when the group arrives at the airport, I'll be there with eight other current volunteers to properly welcome the rookies here and then we'll escort them to the hotel and through Chisinau for their first day here. It should be a great time. I remember arriving one year ago, looking at these people who had been here for one year, and thinking about how they were these grizzled veterans and not being able to comprehend how much they knew simply about life here. Well, as hard as it is to believe, I'm a veteran now. Wow.

- On Friday morning on my way to Chisinau I got a ride in with a guy from the village. We were racing through the village next to ours on the one street. As happens sometimes, at one point a guy on a tractor pulled out in front of us from a side-street very late, causing the driver of our car to slam on the brakes and swerve a little. This happens fairly often and the driver usually rolls down the window to say a few words or simply wags a finger at the driver of the intruding vehicle.

This time, our driver started to do the same. He slowed down to get on pace with the tractor and started to roll down the window with a scowl on his face. When our driver could see the face of the tractor driver, however, he (in a village where everyone knows everyone) started to smile, gave a little wave, and turned to us – all four of us others in the car – and said, “It's just Vasia.” All three others simultaneously said, “Aahh, Vasia,” like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Jinx On Me

2007-05-24T08:30:00.001-05:00

Two weeks ago, while walking around, I spotted a group of people working in their yard, hauling water back and forth between their well and the place they had planted some crops. They were all bent over and covered in sweat, and it looked like hard work, exhausting really, and I definitely remember giving thanks for the fact that I was spared such a task.

Well, I spoke (thought) too soon, as literally two days later my host mom asked me one day if I could help her with some work. Always glad to help, I quickly jumped into action – I was outside for two second before she explained to me that nature of the work – that's right, drawing water from the well two buckets at a time and hauling them the thirty yards to the garden where tomatoes and cucumbers are growing, and my host mom scoops water out, one tea-cup at a time, until all the plants in the 100 square yard are fully fed (interestingly enough, they bought the vegetables already partially grown, as they couldn't plant seeds due to the fact that our literally free-range chickens would make really quick work of anything like that). It's not the most difficult work in the world – far easier than pulling corn from the husks and hauling 100 pound sacks of the stuff through a field or literally picking grapes until thumbs start to cramp-up.

The work is actually made necessary by the lack of rain. One sure sign that I've been fairly highly culturally assimilated here is that I definitely feel the locals pain on things like a lack of rain. Here they're really worried about it and it's effect on corn (I'm sure other crops come into play but corn is always what I hear about). It's rained only once in the last nine days – rained weakly too – but my host mom really picked up yesterday when I reported that, according to weather.com. We're supposed to receive a lot of rain this week, which is exactly what we need.

In fact, I think my weather-indoctrination process came fully complete on Wednesday of this week when I, while playing on my computer, realized that rain was coming and felt my mood instantly sky-rocket. I then went outside and watched the rain with a smile spread across my face (before I was scolded by my host mom for not wearing something to cover my head) . . .

Notes:
- On of the sports channels we have on our satellite is the Italian official sports channel, fun to watch because it shows the highlights between the sports priorities of American and Italy. For example, when glancing at it one can see sports ranging from water polo to cycling, with plenty of soccer to go around.

So you can imagine my surprise the other day when I flipped it on only to find a baseball game. That's right, Italian professional baseball, complete with a dozen people in the stands. I remember reading a while ago about the presence of this league and how the quality of baseball can be compared to junior-college, a comparison that seems dead-on. But nonetheless, having not watched any baseball of any quality for almost a year, I was hooked.

- We also receive the ESPN of Ukraine, which is actually one of my favorite channels (aside from the Georgian HBO that shows nothing but American movies dubbed in Russian and BBC World). And you know who is constantly being showed on TV, playing professional basketball for a team in Lvov? That's right, basketball legend from my hometown of Minneapolis Khalid el-Amin. I thought at least a few people reading this would find that fact mildly interesting.

- There is a new favorite drinking establishment for a lot of us Peace Moldova volunteers – McDonald's. We just realized a few weeks ago that beer is sold there for 10 lei (80 cents) for a half liter. It's fresh, cheap, and it's one of the few places where we can sit outside and drink. Plus, it's centrally located and a great place for people watching.

- It's the time of the year for grades, and it's been a fun process. On Tuesday I had a friend of mine call me and he told me that his motto – which he repeated like a mantra – was simply, “I'm not emotionally invested in your grades.” I loved it and repeated it to my classes again and again on Thursday, especially when they started to complain.

For my 8th, 10th, and 11th graders their task was simple: to write 10 sentences using 10 pieces of grammar we've learned in the last year. I gave them plenty of time to complete the task and was more than willing to help them. Of course, about ½ the kids simply copied sentences from the various textbooks around, not realizing that 1) I know what each and every student is capable of producing – I know what they know – and 2) That their efforts at simply taking other's work would not be well received. I gave all the kids two scores, on a 1 to 10 scale (as the national system goes), the first mark for effort and the second for usage. This is also after I told them at least a dozen times that it's not important to me what they know, it's important what they try to do and produce.

Of course, there is always the kid who simply gets it and who simply got destroyed by me. And when they started to complain, I just told them (in Russian so it would be clear), “I'm like a machine here – I see what you do, what you write, and I register grades. I don't feel anything. I don't favor one student over another.”

The results – 2 kids brought to tears. Can't say that I felt too bad.

- My favorite moment of the past week was Friday evening. We had a dance at my school which was supposed to start at 8:00 but rain started so a lot of kids waited at home for the end of the rain – as a result, I and our gym teacher and another old guy who watches the school at night all were waiting when I realized that I could go for a beer – half liter (16 ounces), sold for 65 cents at our local store.

So I went to the store, got my beer, and stood on the little veranda there watching the much-needed rain come in, thinking about the week. I also ran into one of the women who was a housing option of mine when I first visited in July and had a nice little talk with her. Good times all around, the perfect end to the week.

Victory!

2007-05-14T14:09:00.000-05:00

Perhaps the most celebrated (and, arguably, important) day in this part of the world came and went on Wednesday, May 9th. Victory Day. Russia over the 'fascists'.

The amount of human sacrifice that went into this effort is staggering (13 million dead soldiers, 7 million dead civilians in the USSR: my Russian teacher told me last summer that 25 percent of the population of Belarus was killed). Not only are numbers like these hard to believe but one must also consider the impact on society that this loss of live incurred. When I was in Russia, for example, literally everyone I knew had a relative who died in the war, and there are literally countless stories of people going to villages after the war and finding one or two men under the age of 50. So as you can imagine, this day (and the war in general) is held rather dearly in the hearts of those who's soldiers served in it. As anyone who travels through Eastern Europe will quickly find, every village and city, no matter the size, has a WWII Memorial with something written in Russian, a statue of a solider with or without a pistol, and the names of those from the village who died. And every May 9th, the people from the village gather at this monument to remember the accomplishments of the veterans.

With strong interest I went to our ceremony that we held last week ago, and it was a good experience. Maybe 100 or so people were gathered at the monument in our village at 10:00 in the morning, almost everyone standing and with the nine living veterans from the villages around here all sitting on benches, some of the them still wearing uniforms. The day started with a speech from the mayor, then a priest showed up and changed some prayers for 20 minutes, then some more speeches and skits done by kids from school.

The whole time this was going on various old women in the village were passing around bread and wine for everyone and anyone who wanted it, with of course special emphasis placed on the veterans. This gesture was especially touching to see – my village is rather poor, and it's clear that these women don't have much. But nonetheless, they go out of their way to prepare something to honor not only those living who fought in the war but also, in a way, to honor those who died over sixty years ago.

And after the ceremony all the veterans were invited to our school where they had prepared a huge feast in their honor. I didn't go (veterans only . . . ) but our director told us a meeting today in school that all the veterans really liked all that was done. As my host mom would say, it's the least we (they) could do to recognize what they did.

Notes
- As you well know by now, spring is well in the air, and with this has come the birth of animals; earlier I wrote about the animals being born all around here. Well, this last week my host family hatched eggs, chickens and turkeys. They are amazingly small and delicate. While chickens require only feeding twice a day and can be left to roam around the yard all day, mother-hen in tow, turkeys require constant attention for their first two months They have to be fed every two hours so my host mom runs home twice a day between classes at school, and while they're out our their little pen they have to be watched closely because if one gets away they can very quickly – within minutes – die from the cold, even though the temperature is around 60 degrees. My host mom told me that's it's much better if they are born in March because you don't need to worry about temperature – they just sit in a pen under mom and are let out for 2 minutes to be fed.

They die so easily, in fact, that my host mom said she doesn't count them until they've been alive for a month. Sunday, for example, we lost six by 10:30 in the morning. I walked outside and saw all six bodies placed in a cardboard box, two of which were still breathing what was clearly their last breath. As cold as it sounds, you just get used to it. And it's important to keep in mind too that as small and cute they may all be at first, within 18 months the family will have used an axe, cut off the head, and eaten all of them. It's nice to keep a little perspective on things . . .

Speaking of the life cycle, however, last Wednesday, our cow gave birth – for the 14th time, I learned. Thankfully, I wasn't around to see the birthing process. But I did see the little lady (it's a girl) about a half hour after later, trying to figure out how walk. It's a sight to see.

- There is really no doubt that my English skills have slipped a bit. I've stopped using articles sometimes (there aren't any in Russian), and there have been a few times when I've absolutely forgot words. Once, about two months ago, my students asked me what a 'wild pig' (as they said in Russian) was called in English, and it took me a while to think of the word 'boar', and last Sunday I was on a bus to the regional center in the afternoon and a guy got in with a bundle of flowers. I could only remember that the flowers are my grandma's favorite but 100% forgot their name, and it took me literally 30 seconds before the word 'lilac' entered my head.

- Due to 1)The building of a new tower, and 2)My old cell-phone company being bought out and a new service provider coming in, I now have cell phone service in my village. So if the mood should strike anyone, feel free to call me at 011-373-698-258-27. Just don't forget the 8 hour time difference.

- Last Friday evening I was taking a walk through my village (my new habit) when I spotted a group of five guys sitting around in the shade – they quickly started yelling towards me and invited my to sit with them and drink a little wine.
Now, this is a situation that plays out quite often actually. Normally, however, it is a group of 20
– 30 somethings already very drunk at noon a Sunday, and always I refuse their offer. This time, however, was different – they were not drunk, it was clear they had just finished a hard day of work, just a bunch of blue-collar guys relaxing on a Friday afternoon (the Moldovan equivalent of American construction workers gathering for Happy Hour and dollar taps). Realizing all of this, I for the first time accepted their offer and ended up having a really nice time. I sat with them for a half hour, drinking a few glasses of wine and talking about life in Moldova. Good times all around.

- Best moment (it's actually happened many times): the mother hens are, naturally, highly protective of their young. The turkeys just ignore humans – we can do whatever we want – but the mom-chicken used to get a little excited and charge me when I got too close until I kicked it.
That taught the bird who's boss . . .

But the cats are a different story. There's nothing more entertaining than watching the cats accidentally wander a little too close to the roaming chicks then waiting for the birds to lower their poise and charge while the cats flee in terror. I could watch it all day and not get bored.

Pictures from Kiev

2007-05-12T07:58:00.000-05:00

Per request, the first request picture is of Independance Square which has housed a lot of different events over the years, the second picture is of the protests that we saw in Kiev in the center square, and the final is of a picture of a church we stumbled upon one day.

A new blog entry to follow in the next few days . . . .

The Toughest Thing . . .

2007-05-04T09:05:00.000-05:00

One of the most common questions we are asked as Peace Corps volunteers is simply, What is the most difficult part of Peace Corps service? Outhouses? Strange food? Lack of washing abilities? No, no, and no.

The answer: loneliness.

For the most part, we're very geographically isolated. We have to contend with language issues. As a general rule, we volunteers don't really have any friends in the village (more in a moment on why) – when asked, I always say that my students are the closest thing I have to friends around here, but because they are my students they can't be classified as 'friends' (a sentiment that most other volunteers agree with). Yes, we have host families, but for the most part they are doing their own things and have their own lives to live.

As for me, the most difficult times I have are holidays and family gatherings like the one we had on May 1st, my host Mom's birthday. The language problems I have are becoming less and less, as the more Russian I learn the more I am able to understand the Ukrainian dialect they speak here. But because they all speak the dialect, I find myself reluctant to speak up because in doing so I will be speak the 'second' language of everyone (case in point – on Tuesday my host sister was talking about how she needed to be in Chisinau on Wednesday at 7:00 in the morning and didn't know how to get there so early. Well, one of my fourth graders fathers is a driver who goes to Chisinau every morning with apples for selling and leaves the village at 5:30 and often taking passengers. I actually have the man's phone number and could have easily given it but was reluctant to speak up because they conversing in the dialect and I didn't want to admit just how much I know). Also, I told my host mom that I don't really like our gatherings because no-one really talks to be and she responded that they always talk to each-other because they see each-other and always want to catch-up on news.

As for the lack of people to be friends with, I would say that the majority of young men in my village ages 18-25 are, for the lack of a better word, kind of losers. They are the type of guys who work in the field a few days a week or in Moscow three days a week in order to earn just enough money to buy vodka and cigarettes for the rest of the year, then just sleep and dink around the house. They have no idea what they want to do in life and don't really have a plan – in short, they don't have their things together. In my village I've met about 15 guys in that age group and only two – my host brother and cousin – know what they are doing and what they want from life.

As a result, this loneliness can build up to the point that it can be almost crushing. The more a person thinks about being lonely, the more they think about why, and the more they think about why they more they think about the loneliness, a cycle that build until it can be almost crippling. Fortunately, there is a simple solution – waiting. If we simply wait, any feelings we have will be sure to pass. We simply need to wait through the dark before the light presents itself . . .

Notes:
- Last weekend I went up to the north of Moldova to the village of a friend of mine from my group. I went up there for two reasons: 1) There are four of us in my group who gather in our respective villages/towns and it was finally the turn this friend, and 2) There was another volunteer there and it was his last day in Peace Corps so we timed it up to celebrate his final day in the village.

I actually took off from my village on Friday morning, got a ride to the regional center from a guy waiting near the bus-stop, took a mini-bus from there to Chisinau for a doctor's appointment (nothing serious, they just need to draw blood for the AIDS test required for our document renewal), another mini-bus to a city in the north, Balti (the second biggest city in Moldova), where I met another friend, we took another bus from there to a city of Drochia 30 more miles to the north, and we finally got a ride from there to the village with the family of my friend. It was a lot of trips but relatively harmless (as opposed to the ride back).

On Friday night we sat around eating and talking and drinking wine. At the dinner table there were four Americans and the host parents, and we had one of the weird linguistic situations that can be found here, as four of us spoke Russian, four English, and four Romanian, so we played language-tag with each-other but for the most part emerged unscathed.

The next Saturday the volunteer who was leaving took off finally, and it was a hard day for the family. He had been there for over two years and had accomplished a lot of work, helping everyone immensely (they kept speaking about how he was a part of the village and how this part was leaving), and on his way out tears were shed. The volunteer, however, took it amazingly well, and my friends and I all agreed that he took it better than we will when the time comes for us to leave. We then spent the day just walking around, throwing a baseball and visiting the school where, it turns out, they had lessons to make up for the Monday before May Day when they don't work, much to the surprise of my friend who had been told nothing.

Sunday, we stomped around Drochia, the regional center, for a while before I headed home.

- Speaking of the ride home, one of the realities of Peace Corps life is that we have to rely on public transportation to get around, a inconvenience but one that is usually OK to deal with it.

However, on Sunday I left Drochia on a bus at noon and rolled into my village at 6:45 in the evening. The distance covered was 95 miles. Yes, between slow rides and waiting for options, it took me six hours and forty five minutes to go ninety-five miles, an average of just under 15 miles an hour.

- My brother left a note saying I should post more pictures – I will the next time I'm in Chisinau with my notebook. Sadly, that probably won't happen for a week or two because I haven't stayed in my village for a weekend in a month or so and I think it's a good idea to stick around. But they'll get put-up eventually, likely pictures from Kiev.

- I write the names of these places where things happen in part because if you have Google Maps, you can find any and all of them. It's a great way to kill 20 minutes on your computer.

- I have mentioned several times here how one friend of mine from my group has a cousin who starts for Manchester United. Well, one of the most surreal things that has happened to me lately was watching a Man U game on TV Saturday night with my friend who was watching his cousin (whose phone number he has programmed on his cell) play live.

- Finally, there was a lot of great moments from the weekend, but two stand out. The first: we met the mayor of the village on Saturday, having bumped into her on the street (there have been several volunteers in the village and all spoke Romanian, and there some tension there between people who speak Romanian and Russian as a first language). My friend who speaks Romanian started to introduce me and the other Russian-speaking volunteer to the mayor and when he got to the part of how we didn't speak Romanian, a woman in back of her said in Russian, “Thank God one of you speaks Russian.” My friend laughed and laughed when we told him that.

Secondly, while there is no doubt that being an American has it's advantages here, it also pays off to look like Americans. Case in point: to get from my friends village to the regional center we had to hitch-hike, so on Sunday we all went to wait by the road and start the process of flagging down cars in hopes of a lift. Also waiting there were at least 20 or so people, all with the same idea, so we knew that competition for cars would be tight.

We were all spread out over 40 yards or so and there was about 20 yards between the four of us and a group of women from the village, all wearing the village clothes that are tough to describe but basically look like you would expect from old Moldovan village women without a lot of money. After about 30 minutes of waiting a rather nice car pulled up between us and the women, opened the door in our direction, and asked us if we were going to Balti – while they were stopping the women started to descend on the machine. We quickly responded that we were going to a different location and the car quickly slammed the door and pulled out before the villagers approached too close. It was clear that they would take either us or no-one.

One of the advantages of at least looking like an American.

Bringing It Home

2007-04-26T13:58:00.000-05:00

A few months ago I liked this article about the plight of much of the youth in Moldova. As I stated at the time, the article is written about a regional center in which a girl from my group words, about 50 miles south of Chisinau.. The girl in my group actually was interview for the story but not quoted, as the article is also about her school and the girl in the article is also her student.

Statistically, 25% of all Moldovan's of working age work abroad. The vast majority are in Moscow or, of all places, Italy, while many more are spread out among countries like Ukraine, Romania, Greece, Turkey, and Portugal (Italy and Portugal are high on the list because the Romanian language reads a lot like Italian but sounds a lot like Portuguese, making both languages easier to pick up for Moldovans.).

Well, to bring the issue to my village, I had a conversation about this topic with one of my students last Thursday. She told me, for example, that of my 13 students in the 10th grade, 6 have both parents at home, 5 have only one at home, and two have neither. And of the two with neither, one guy lives with his grandparents and another girl, 16 years old, lives alone, although in the winter she moves in with Grandma so as not to freeze. Not only are these parents not at home but they also come home rarely, as transportation costs make it prohibitive to get to Moldova from the majority of these nations. Also, because a fair amount of people are there illegally in the first place, any attempt to return has to also be done illegally, making the costs higher. The exception to all this is Russia, which only grants visa to Moldovans for a length of 3 months.

Many problems result from this diaspora. While there are clear economic benefits behind the decision to leave (money being sent home), the negative results are equally as clear, as these kids are left with only one parent – or none – to guide them through their youth, the most important time in the development of these kids. From a teacher perspective, this lack of a guidance figure can be seen the lack of motivation of kids, because (believe it or not . . .), most teenagers are not the most efficient self-starters. Without parents, they become that much more likely to not do anything. And on a different note, most of these kids have massive amounts of work to do at home, work that needs to be done my someone. Without the parents, the work just trickles down to kids, leaving without much time even if motivation to do work is present.

And there is no real easy solution to the problems, as people leave not really for money – as salaries are not huge abroad – but because of the lack here of job options. For example, in walking through my village and the one next to it, I count maybe 80 positions for work in a village of 2000. People can go to Chisinau, but there are 100,000 other from villages with the same idea.

Notes:
- I found out why my host family didn't take me around for Easter in the cemetery (actually, two reasons):1) They thought I would be bored there, although as I explained to them, there are a lot of things we do in America that I am amazingly bored by but they would likely find exciting, and 2) (The stronger of the reasons): People there are expected to drink a lot of wine – they all give it to each other – and because a lot of people come home only once a year for this day, she was worried about people sort of ganging up on me, a reason I totally understand. But they have promised to take me next year . . .

-One of the greatest fears we have as Peace Corps volunteers before service is about missing things in America, our families and friends and American life in general. But when we talk about it, there is a general feeling amongst volunteers here that we don't really 'miss' our lives in America, families and friends. Yes, we think about everything often and we have a sort of nostalgia for our lives in America, but the word to say that we 'miss' our families is not correctly (for me, the exception is Grandma. I miss my Grandma a lot). It's a different feeling that can't totally be described unless you happen to be in the our position.

Once in a while, however, we all have things that make us think strongly of home and really miss everything. For me, it happened when I, of all things, watched the movie “A Prairie Home Companion,” the brilliant dialog between Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin, which instantly brought me back to Minnesota (the movie was borrowed from a friend). I felt like I was sitting around, listening to my aunts talking about the recent developments in their lives – one one hand, it made it for a really tough few days, but on the other hand it made me realize that the last year has flown by and the next, according to everyone here, goes twice as fast.

- Spring has finally arrived, and with it has come the birth of all the barn-yard animals, all of which are totally adorable. Baby cows just kind of run around like dogs, baby horses are are like four long, awkward legs with a brain on top of them that is all the time trying to figure out what to do with these odd four appendages that it has to control, and baby goats look exactly like stuffed animals and don't walk around but kind of bound.

- From my village to Chisinau there are three options in the morning – a bus at 6:00 and two mini-bus like things at 7:00 and 7:45. I used to be, by necessity, a fan of the bus. But last Saturday I became a convert to the 7:00 option (more in a second), which gets me into Chisinau only 15 minutes later than the bus but allows me an extra hour of sleep. The reason I took the bus in the past because, while slow, it was simple, as I just sat down and two hours later was in the capital, while the other options go just to the regional center, where I have to get off and take another mini-bus to near the center of Chisinau, where need to take another trolleybus another 15 minutes.

- Finally, the highlight of my last week – I actually didn't take a mini-bus from my village last Saturday, as I walked to the one bus stop and found a man there waiting with his car for passengers. The going fare is the same as a bus but the time is better by 10 to 15 minutes.

We quickly filled two people and headed for Calarasi, the regional center, but on the road we stopped to fill the two other seats. As we pulled up to one man on the side of the road the driver asked him if he was going to Calarasi or Chisinau, and the man said we was waiting for the bus to Chisinau. Our driver informed him (correctly) the the bus had left 45 minutes ago and no matter what, the man could not go right to Chisinau, but the man insisted that he would wait, which prompted the driver to instantly start yelling, “Who knows better, me or you! The bus left 45 minutes ago! I'm the best option!” His volume scared off the waiting man and we sped away, while the driver and the other passenger traded insults about our potential car-mate.

I, meanwhile, was listening to my Ipod but too it off long enough to simply say, “I guess he wants to wait until next morning.”

He's Back

2007-04-17T07:50:00.000-05:00

I have officially returned from Kiev and finished one day of lessons at school (only 33 more days, but who's counting . . .). It was a great Easter break, a chance to recharge myself for the final home stretch of school. A quick recap:

The ride to Kiev last Monday was harmless – 18 dollars and only 8.5 hours on a bus, surprisingly do-able. We even went through the break-away region of Transnestria that is supposed to be dangerous but turned out to be amazingly painless; an 9 lei (40 cents) transit fee, four passport checks which involved nothing more than a guard stopping the bus, checking all the passports, and letting us off. At the Ukrainian border we had to get off and show our bags to two control officers, but being Americans they basically let us off easy. Actually, just getting to the Ukrainian side of the border took 2.5 hours of the time, odd because its only 100 miles. Once we hit Ukraine we all stopped to use the bathroom and we then took off for Kiev, not stopping once and rolling into the bus station at 5:30 in the morning. (This is a far cry from the return trip, when we were on the bus for twelve hours do to excessive amounts of stopping and time spent at the border. The distance between Chisinau and Kiev is about 300 miles, meaning that we averaged 25 miles an hour. It was a torturous, made worse by the fact that the guy in front of me put his seat way back, jamming me in).

Wanting to wait for sunlight, we started at 7:30 to walk to our hotel in the direction of the center of the city, directed there by a map in our Lonely Planet guide book. However, do to some mis-reading by me what we thought would be 30 minutes quickly escalated into 3 hours, all on foot with a vague map to guide us.

Having found the hotel, we spent our three days basically walking through the center of the city, checking out all the sights. Highlights:

- We made a beeline for the center of Kiev where all the protests over the governmental struggle are happening, and I can say with confidence that it's as peaceful of a protest as can possible – any talk of potential violence is merely hyperbole. Basically, all of the three factions are in a large square mixed together – all their flags are intertwined – and people just listen to speakers on a large stage. Speakers from one faction will stand up, give a speech, then sit down to applause from everyone. Then a speaker from another faction will give another speech, and again sit down to applause from anyone There's not so much as a 'boo' heard. In a way, it can be described as “social disobedience” without the “disobedience.”

- We ate at TGI Fridays, quite possibly the best 20 dollars that could be possibly spent (with one exception – see next). It was like a restaurant in America that was simply reconstructed in the center of Kiev – all the waitresses spoke English, as did half the patrons there.

- We also went to the ballet – without a doubt, it was the best 4 dollars we spent the whole time. We were debating between the ballet and the theater, but we figured that the ballet would be without words so it would be a more pleasant experience for everyone. As it was my first ballet experience, it was especially stunning for me.

- All of the volunteers who had been to Kiev told us that we needed to go to the Chernobyl Museum, which we decided to save for our last night. Unfortunately, we had no real idea where it was, as our book was old and the museum had changed locations. I though I had a vague idea of where it was so I led us to the appropriate neighborhood but after walking for a half hour with no luck (and after asking 4 people on the street, including 2 cops, where the museum was was, with no-one having an idea), we decided to just hail a cab, where I simply asked the driver if he knew where the museum was and how much it would cost to get there (5 dollars).

The museum was split into two parts, one about the disaster itself and what happened then and the other about the impact of the blast on the communities in the area, which was really powerful. The hole experience, actually, was amazing.

- For one of our evening we spent a few hours in the company of a woman – and her husband - who I was introduced to by my uncle, who used to work in Kiev often. She is an assistant to the Minister of Energy, and both her and husband were very kind in taking time out to walk us around, showing us various sites and landmarks. Turns out, her parents are in the diplomatic corps, having served both in the UN as well as the Ukrainian ambassadors to a number of nations including Belgium, Holland, and The United States, a revelation which certainly left us guests in awe of the host.

- Not to sound my own horn here, but it was great for my friends to travel with a person who spoke Russian (which turned out to be the more prominent language of Kiev, heard there much more than Ukrainian). While they would have been fine without me, it just made life easier. In most of the service industries people spoke English but they were far more comfortable speaking Russian (like at the hotel, where the woman greeted us in English, I responded in Russian, and we commenced to do the whole transaction in Russian). And at night the only thing open for water or food were little kiosks on the street, where with English it would have been tough to do anything but was a breeze with Russian.

- It was a very interesting experience to go from Chisinau to Kiev and back and to subsequently compare the two cities. In short, Kiev is what Chisinau could become in 20, 30 years time, with the biggest difference between the cities being the presence (and lack) of money. This is present not only in the types of cars and clothes that are seen but also in things like the shops lining the roads, the reasons being 1) History, as Kiev was the first capital of Russia and is over 1500 years old, and 2) Connections between Russia and Europe, as the political situation in Belarus (the logical choice) necessitates that most of the money go through Kiev, an influx of Westerners, and some of the advantages that comes with.

As a result, the people there are just different. The main example of this could be seen in the service sector, as people not only help you but are actually willing to do so and seem happy to be, a far cry from the common experience in Chisinau, where people are thrilled take money but seldom do so with more than a minimum amount of effort. The reason for this, I realized while talking to my Dad on Sunday night, revolves again around money.

In Kiev, there are a lot of restaurants and a lot of shops and a lot of people with enough money to spend at such restaurants and shops. As a result, people actually have to make an effort to please the customer, because if the customer doesn't have a good experience he/she can simply take his business elsewhere, at a loss to the establishment. It creates a different mentality in the minds of the attendant. In Chisinau, however, the lack of money means a lack of choices in places like restaurants and shops, meaning that the quality of service can be fairly low, the experience for the consumer less than ideal, but because of the lack of choices, the customer really doesn't have the ability to take their business elsewhere because there are no options.

Notes:
- Easter, the biggest holiday of the Eastern Church Calender, has come and gone here. The first Easter, on the 8th, was interesting. We all went to my host grandma's house at 9:00 in the morning for a big feast that broke the strict fast of Holy Week, the relaxed all day before going to a dance at night (which I left at 1:00 because of my early wake-up call the next day but which featured a massive brawl about 3:00 AM). The Saturday night before, too, I was told about a big event that was a fire on a hill near the village where they would burn tires and drink wine. Expecting much, I went and was met by one of the most over-hyped event's I've had here, as there was simply a small fire to which, when it shrunk enough, was added a small tire. Amazingly boring.

Then on Monday of this week was the day I was most looking forward – Easter in the cemetery, when people bring food and wine to the cemetery to memorialize the dead. I had actually heard about this a year ago from a blog I was reading at the time, and I was really excited about it. So on Monday morning I woke up early, got all ready, and stated to wait while the others were preparing themselves. But around noon my host mom came in and said, “Andy, were going to the cemetery,” which got me excited, only to follow it with, “But you'll stay here.” That was shocking – it was without explanation too (my theory – because the host father had been dead under a year, they wanted it to be a private thing, which I totally understand).

Maybe next year.

- Finally, we are told as Peace Corps volunteers that the quality of medical care in the villages is less that adequate and that, barring an emergency, we should get to Chisinau for our medical care.

I saw this medical 'care' first-hand on Friday when I returned from Kiev to the village. I was sitting and eating dinner when my host aunt came in and told me excitedly that I needed to go outside to help and that 'something happened.' I walked outside to see a group of people huddled around my host brother, who had fallen from a horse on his head and had thrown-up – he was huddled in a fetal position. The 'doctor' from the village came and her first reaction was to give him a shot and then, while my host mom was, through tears, saying that they needed to get to a hospital right away. The 'doctor', on the other hand, was saying that we should wait. It was stunning to watch, and if I knew how to translate “blunt force trauma to the head” I would have spoken up.

Host brother, it should be noted, is OK – he was in the hospital for 3 days but returned home yesterday, a little shaken and with a heck of a black eye, but generally ok.

Problem Children?

2007-04-04T13:19:00.000-05:00

If there is one main problem with the Moldovan Educational System, it's that the system contains no restraints on behavior – there is absolutely no structure of discipline present. There are no detentions, no suspensions, (in theory) the lack of ability to kick kids out of class. And worst of all, there is no chance to punish kids in the way that matters the most and would be the most effective – through grades – because kids are always automatically promoted to the next grade, no matter what their skill level. If a kids fails, it is largely viewed as the fault of the teacher. As a result, social promotion is far more than the norm – it's the set-in-store rule – meaning that most volunteers (myself included) have many kids who have been studying English for seven, eight, nine years and still can't form one complete sentence. And needless to say, classroom management is one of the biggest problems of Peace Corps volunteers and among teachers in general, as my host mom comes home at least once a week with words about how difficult her kids were.

There are many reasons for the prominence of this discipline problem. I think the biggest reason comes from the lack of discipline in the structure of the schools themselves. Between classes, for example, kids are allowed to basically do anything to each other that they want; they are given free reign to slap, hit, beat, chase, and do any number of things to each-other. As a result, 1) This aggression is hard to just turn-off once the bell rings, and 2) It creates a lot of situations where kids feel they have to reciprocate for actions just done to them. Thus, just about of the previously mentioned actions that happen between lessons are known to happen with some regularity during the lessons themselves. My first reaction, naturally, is to blame the kids: then I have to remind myself that, while I was a fairly well-behaved kid, I can't imagine what I would have been like if I had had the free reign that these kids have.

I actually consider myself lucky from a classroom management standpoint in that my kids, for the most part, like me and as a result, self-discipline. Plus, my kids know that there will be consequences for their actions. Playing football is my new ace-card, as the kids know that if they want to play they have to do certain things in the classroom – even when we get out on the field, they have to treat each-other and me with respect. They also know that if I see them between classes in school – not in a classroom – then they get to take the day off from playing football, and if they get riled up enough and start complaining, then they can wait more and more. On Monday of this week, for example, I had a kid outside on the field complain about getting let into the game, so I finally relent and let him in. He had been on the field for 30 seconds when he decided to be funny and kick another kids, which just doesn't fly, so I kicked him out for the day.

He kept whining and whining so I at last told him that if he said another would wait two days to play. Thinking I was joking, he tried me again.

So guess who has to wait until after Easter break (two weeks) to play? Thats right, the kid who thought he was smarter than me.

Notes:
- A few of my friends from Peace Corps came here to my village last weekend, three TEFL guys from the group I came in with (Aaron from Maine, Peter from Cincinnati, and Chris from Roanoke, Virginia). Their trip led to the following highlights:
1)We all came to my village on Saturday evening on a mini-bus, and while conversations were going on when we entered, once we started speaking English everything stopped. In the midst of our talk two guys turned to each other and in Russian said:
“What language is that?”
“They're all speaking English.”
“Did you study English in school?”
“Yeah, eight years.”
“Do you understand any of this?”
“No, nothing.”
2)After we got off and were walking through the village we were talking about how we gave all the people on the bus a story they will tell for the rest of their lives when the kid from Kentucky said, “Yeah, they'll all go home and talk about how there were these Germans on the bus all speaking in German to each-other.”
3)There is a little (very little) stream that requires crossing sometimes, but the only 'bridge' is wood laid down that starts at 1 inch wide but extends to about 7 inches. My friend, not trusting the wood, decided to jump and ended up getting all wet when he didn't make it. We laughed until we cried about that one. We then proceeded to the local disco/mayor's office for a few minutes, and on the way out my friend became so frustrated with his wet socks that he decided to take them off and throw them into the forest (in front of everyone), which caused more questions in school on Monday than anything else.
4) At one point we looked at an animal and thought it was the biggest dog we had ever seen before we realized it was just a very small cow.
In short, it was a great time. We all plan on doing it again in one month's time and the home of my buddy from Virginia.

- On Tuesday of this week I was watching a football game on the dish – Utah vs. Tulsa in the 2007 Armed Forces Bowl – and my host mom walked in. Her reactions were classic, a combination of shock and disgust. She couldn't believe that people play a sport that physical and violent and that, least of all, I would play such a sport.

- Russian State TV loves to take TV shows from America – there are countless examples. There is even a Russian Wheel of Fortune that is quite possible the worst show in the history of television. The words they guess are no longer than 8 letters, they only guess one word at a time as opposed to the phrases in America, and they spend countless amounts of time just talking, with all of the contestants giving gifts to the host and talking with him. It's terrible.

I mention all this because my host grandpa (who was with us for 2 weeks but has since moved out) absolutely loved the show and when it wasn't on TV last Friday at the normal time, he was really really bothered. I told him why it wasn't on (because of the satellite dish), he didn't believe me and we had to wait until my host mom came in to explain it. Not that he was any happier though.

- I'm heading out for Kiev on Monday night, the day after Easter, going with two girls from my group who are health volunteers. Should be an amazing time, despite the massive amounts of protests going on there due to the battle between the president and the prime minister.

And speaking of Easter, it should be really to see how it's conducted here, as Easter is a far more important holiday in the Eastern church than it is in the Western. Today and Friday we have a fast where-by we aren't able to meat or any sort of dairy product – basically a vegan diet.

- In closing, I'll write a few words about how I'm spending my spare time now – learning about soccer.

We have a lot of channels devoted totally to the sport (like the Real Madrid channel), and we have a Ukrainian sports channel that shows a lot of games as well as two channels devoted totally to the German League and a few that show games from the Spanish 'La Liga.” And to top it off, all of our news channels are international, so soccer is usually the first sport highlighted. I can say with pride that I already have favorite teams in England (Liverpool, Blackburn, Tottenham Hotspur) as well as Spain (Vallencia).

I've also decided that when I get back to America the first thing I'm going to do when I get a job with money is to start a collection of jerseys from soccer teams in Europe.

Can't wait to get started – only 17 more months.

Gripe Session

2007-03-27T13:59:00.000-05:00

As much as I really like my life in Moldova, in my village, and my Peace Corps service in general, there are a few things that drive my nuts, especially in the last week. Here is a list:

- I have never, in my life, seen people (and an educational system in general) waste as much time as I have here. Case in point: On Tuesday of this week – the 27th – the 11th graders in my school were to write a test for Romanian. They were to start at 9:15 and take until 2:00, the end of the school day – yes, almost five hours for a three hour test. How is this possible? I wish I knew. It also created a problem for me because the 11th graders also have a test on Friday for English and I desperately needed to prepare them. However, according to the the schedule it would not be possible, because they would be busy writing the test during our planned lesson. This would be maddening enough if not for the fact that, for some reason, they didn't start writing the Romanian test until 11:00, just sitting around for two hours in the morning, again without appropriate reason, before going home at 2:00 as I watched in dis-belief as they walked out the doors. Had they actually decided to start on time, we could have maybe used one of the two chances I have to get them a little prepared. Insane.

- My host mom is great – I couldn't be happier with my selection for host families, as they are actually all great. But (like any mom), she does things that drive me nuts. The most interesting? If I'm watching TV people talk all the time, without a cafe of convern for me. This doesn't bother me really. But if my host mom is watching a soap opera on Russian TV, she has a tendency to start a conversation by asking a question and 'ssshhh' me when I start to respond. And while they are more than happy to talk when I watch something, I (and my host brother too) can't so much as think about talking without getting told to be quiet (this problem is not isolated to my family here – as anyone in my family in America knows, if my mom there is watching “Lost” or something of that sort, it's in the best everyone in the house to stay away for fear of causing even the slightest disturbance that will incur wrath).

- Last week saw the strongest wind I've ever seen in my life – 3 straight days of literally 40 miles per hour, so strong that it actually took part of the roof of our school. By the end of the 3rd day there was so much dust in the air that it was like a fog.

Well, as you could imagine the wind did a number of our satellite dish on the roof of the house, making the TV literally unwatchable as the signal couldn't be recieved. The reason was clear to my host brother and I, as we just looked at the satellite and saw it swaying back and forth in the wind and the answer was simply to wait. My host mom (who knows almost nothing about technology more complicated than a phone), however, was not happy with that answer and instead on Friday evening called the guy who installed the dish who, in turn, told her that someone needed to bring the receiver box to Chisinau so he could look at it. My host mom, knowing that I was going, volunteered me to meet that guy when I got off the bus at 8:00 in the morning so we could go to his shop together. That actually turned to out to be a painless effort, because while we had some trouble in meeting (resulting in my needing to call him on his cell phone), he was a really nice guy. No gripe here.

However, there were two annoying things. 1) One of the reasons for my trip was to get some pictures for my 11th graders, which I had promised them I would do for a while. So while I the aforementioned gentleman was working on the TV satellite receiver I went to the Kodak store in Chisinau to get these pictures, walking a half-mile through driving rain to the location only to find it closed, locked totally up at 9:00 in the morning (when it was supposed to have opened at 8:00). That was annoying. 2) At the Peace Corps office there were a ton of volunteers there, all of whom wanted me to sleep in Chisinau because we were going to go out and celebrate the birthday of a volunteer here. I would have loved nothing more than to stay, but because of the situation with the satellite dish that wasn't option, as my host mom would have been slightly peeved with me had I not come home on Friday eve. But of course, upon my return they quickly plugged in the box and we found that the situation was not only better but worse, much to our surprise.

That's it for the gripes. It felt good to get that out . . . .

Notes:
- On Friday of this week some friends of mine are coming to the village for the weekend, and it promises to be a good time. We have a dance at my school on Friday and believe me when I say that if we, all four of us, walk in together it will be like in a western film where the music stops, things break, and every neck in the gym will get whiplash from snapping their heads around.

- The satellite dish (now that it's working – my host brother and I repaired it by him going on the roof and moving it around until we found a signal, which I relayed my tapping on a window) is amazing for showing very odd sporting events. You can imagine my surprise when I turned on one of the Polish sport channels this week only to discover a replay of a 2006 NCAA Division II football semifinal game between Grand Valley State and Delta State, replayed in Polish. That was odd.

- I mentioned before about how we've started to play football with my kids a few times a week after school. It really is great fun, and it also allows me the chance to realize what it will be like to have kids one day and teach them sports, because there is little more frustrating that I've endured (including the complaints at the top) than throwing perfect pass after perfect pass to these kids, only to watch the ball slide through their grasps time and time and time again.
Thankfully, I received a lot of training in my summer as a T-ball coach when I was the only person staff patient enough to be a pitcher to the kids.

- Finally, highlight of the week (actually, two weeks ago, but who's counting?) - On Wednesday a doctor from the Peace Corps came to my house to look around and make things were fine here from a health standpoint (they are). Peace Corps pulled up in a white Toyota SUV, the likes of which have seldom been seen around here.

Well, the next day during my lesson with the 4th graders they asked me when my parents had arrived – I quickly asked them what they were talking about, as my parents aren't set to arrive here for another three months. They told me that they heard my parents had arrived (which one kid in the school no doubt just made up after seeing the SUV), and when I asked who told them that my parents arrived they all pointed to one girl near the window and said, “Nastya! Nastya told us your parents were here”, to which the girl responded, “It's not my fault! It's not my fault! Someone else told me!”.

Maybe you just have to have been there to appreciate it . . . .

Short But Sweet

2007-03-19T14:42:00.000-05:00

On March 15th I called a friend of mine in the states to congratulate hims on his birthday, and he gave me one piece of advice – 'self-edit your blog.' I decided to take his advice and see what happens. It's actually a good week to try because not much new has happened.

1) On St. Patty's Day I went to my regional center of Calarasi and met with the two other volunteers there for a little celebration on our own. One of the volunteers (a TELF teacher) lives in a village in the region, while the other lives with a great family in the regional center and has plenty of space available for all of us. We ended up at a bar for 5.5 hours, until 3:30 in the morning, chatting away with the various people who came in. There was nothing more shocking to these people than meeting me, a Russian-speaking volunteer, because while most of them have seen many volunteers before, all of them in the past have spoken Romanian.
We were in one bar when one guy and I started talking about, of all things, grapes, which ended up in all six of us going to this guy's house at 3:30 in the morning to sample his wine. That was interesting.

And on an interesting note – the volunteer lives with a family that consists just of two daughters and a grandma, the mom and dad having moved to Paris twelve years ago and come home two or three times a year.

And in closing this section, hitch-hiking is one of the more common ways to get around in this
country for volunteers, as sometimes public transportation options are lacking at crucial times. I personally have never done it, but in coming home from the regional center on Sunday I was, in a way, reverse hitch-hiked. While I was standing in the bus-station waiting with the two volunteers (one of which was heading home in a matter of minutes), a man whom I've never seen before came up to me and asked if I was going to Hirjauca, my village. I responded with a yes, and he told me that he was going there too and offered to drive me (it was either that or wait anothet two and a half hours for my next public option). Worrying about getting screwed by a sly taxi-driver, my first question was how much I would have to pay him. When he told me it would be 15 lei ($1.16), I quickly departed from my friends and had an incident-free ride home.
2) My host grandpa has moved in with us, as of my arrival Sunday afternoon when I returned from our St. Patty's Day meeting. He's old and always speaks to me in the Ukrainian dialect that they always speak here and moves really slowly, but it's not too bad to have him around – we spend a lot of time watching sports together on TV. It's also a great help to my language, because while my Russian is coming along nicely, my accent is really strong and the grandpa doesn't understand me unless I focus hard on my words and try to minimized my accent.
3) In closing, I've started playing football with the kids at my school (I'm all time quarterback), and it's safe to say that it's about as much fun as a person should be allowed to have. I actually got the ball a few months ago from my parents but just now pumped it up, and the kids were chomping with the chance to play. So last Thursday I explained to my kids the rules and we went at it, 6th grade against 7th grade, for an hour.
The kids are constantly yelling at each other, especially if they drop the ball or if the person a kids is guarding scores – they also yell at me (not disrespectfully) about how they were open and about how I should have thrown to the ball to them.
And of course, I also love to give them a hard time when they drop the ball of something like that, and the kids really like it when I started joking with them about their performances. Like said, it's about as much fun as a person should be allowed to have.

Andy's Moldovan Vacation

2007-03-13T04:58:00.000-05:00

I write having spent one of the most interesting 10 day stretches I've had in my time as a Peace Corps volunteer in Moldova.

It all started on Thursday the 29th of February – about 1:30 in the afternoon while I was doing some work in my classroom I noticed that all the second graders were in my classroom, running around and eating a little. I kept joking around with them, asking them where my food and candy were. Well, about 2:00 they all were standing around the door to their classroom and they asked me to come in, where I saw all of their mothers (8 women in all) sitting around with their teacher, food and wine everywhere with one open chair and a glass of cognac placed in front of it. I ended up sitting around with them for four hours, eating and drinking wine while listening to them all speak the Ukrainian dialect (a one point one woman was telling a story and another turned to her and told her that she needed to speak Russian so “our guest”could understand, to which the woman telling story responded, after a moment of thought, “I want to speak our language”).

On Friday the 2nd of March we celebrated International Womens Day at our school (It's a holiday that they celebrate like mad in this part of the world but is non-existent in America). The day is actually celebrated on the 8th of March but because we have a vacation on that day, we did things a week early at my school and most schools in Moldova in general. Being not only a holiday but that last day of school before vacation, they actually canceled that last two lessons of the day, the fifth and sixth lessons, ironic for me because I have only the fifth and sixth lessons of the day and meaning that I was totally free. We ended up sitting around eating and drinking wine until 5:00 in the afternoon, dancing the 'hora' and having an overall great time.

On Saturday morning I woke up at 5:00, got on a bus at 6:15, and arrived in Chisinau at 8:15, my trip made necessary by a seminar for all the TEFL volunteers in my group and our partner teachers, with the theme being “Environmental Education in Moldova.” We were in meetings for nine and a half hours on Sunday, followed up by trip to the disco until 3:30 in the morning. We wanted to go to the disco near our hotel that had “Hip-Hop Sundays”, but upon arrival we found the place totally closed. All ready to go, we quickly flagged down three taxi's and within 10 minutes were at another disco in the area, where we celebrated until the early morning. We left from the disco about 3:00 AM, and with a 7:30AM wake up call waiting for us, we decided to test the theory that it's better to sleep 3 hours than to sleep 4 – we arrived at the hotel at 3:30 and four of us sat in one room for 45 minutes, just talking about life.

We had more meetings the following day, Monday, although I was only there for the first half because I thought my wallet with credit cards and ID's was stolen so I had to go to the bank to cancel my cards and get new ones. Our meetings on the environment ended on Monday evening but we had language classes on Tuesday and Wednesday morning, followed up by another language exam. In the afternoon I took a little bus to the village were I lived in the summer, Ivancea, to see my family for the first time since the middle of August. It was a great time there, chatting away with everyone and talking about my life here. It was also really interesting for them because my language skills have grown amazingly since that time. One thing I was most looking forward to was talking to my host brother there, who left for Moscow about two weeks after I left. Turns out, he didn't make one dime in Russia – he got caught in a scam. He was supposed to earn 800 dollars a month (he was there for six weeks), but at the end of his time he went to get paid and they told him that he had a lot of 'hidden' charges, meaning that in the end he made out with enough to buy a ticket home. And of course, because he's Moldovan, his chances with the police were absolutely non-existent.

Anyway, when I was in Ivancea a friend of mine called and invited me to his place in his regional center of Teleneti for a few days, an invitation I was more than happy to accept. So I went there on Thursday afternoon, meeting my friends (another was also invited) in a town of Orhei at the bus station so we could travel along together. We arrived in Teleneti and had a relaxing time, first getting a tour of the 'city' that took about ten minutes (I use quotations because it's the smallest regional center and feels very much like a big village). My friend had just moved homes so we were joining him in his first night there – his lack of furniture meant that we slept on the floor using our jackets and sweatshirts for blankets and t-shirts stuffed into other t-shirts as pillows. It actually was relatively painless for me once I figured out what to do, how to sleep.

On Friday two girls – volunteers who live in the region where my friend live - came in to spend the day, and we killed time just walking through the piazza, eating together. We also met with a Moldovan guy who has a chance to work in America – he gave us the list of potential jobs and we offered our commentary (my personal favorite – working as a valet at the Mohegan Sun Casino in Connecticut, a job I myself would love to have). In the afternoon another friend of ours came in, making four in all, and we killed the time by again walking around before the girls left, leaving the four of us guys to spend the night at a bar, meeting some Moldovan's, students of my friend, and just relaxing in general.

Saturday – another slow day spent walking around the place. We had all decided to go home on this day so we could rest on Sunday before the start of classes on Monday, and I was in the situation of trying to find a ride home. My village is only about 30, 35 miles to the south of the town I was in, but because of the lack of public transportation between regional centers (which are directly north and south of each other), my options by means of buses were: 1)Go in basically a 120 mile circle, taking 3 hours, 3 buses, and a mile walk through Chisinau for the purpose of going only 30 miles to the south, or 2) Take a bus 45 miles to the north only to return 70 miles to the south to my regional center, where I could have a caught a bus home another 15 miles to the north. Clearly, neither option was ideal. However, my host brother told me that if I was willing to pay for gas he was more than happy to come and get me. Naturally, I chose that option, which while saving time also gave me a glimpse of just how bad roads can be here, as it took us 45 minutes to, at one point, go about 25 miles because of the condition of the roads.
I returned home and promptly slept 12 hours straight. Not only the most relaxing of vacations, but one that I certainly enjoyed . . . .

Notes:
- I returned home to probably the most exciting development that's happened to me in a long time – my family, in my absence, purchased a satellite dish. Our channel options have gone from 4 (only two of which worked more than 8 hours a day) to somewhere around 200, including ESPN Classic, VH1, the BBC, and Al-Jazeera International, and the Real Madrid Channel (which I spent about 4 hours watching on Sunday alone). As I told my Dad on the phone Sunday night, despite the growth in options I quickly realized that only 15 channels are actually watchable.

Actually, satellite dishes here are a sweet deal, as my family spent about 180 dollars – a one time fee – to have permanent access to all the channels.

- On Wednesday I had my second exam of my Peace Corps service, with the first coming after my training during the summer. If you'll remember, I was horribly shocked and frustrated with the results of my first exam. This time, to say the least, things went far smoother. The format of the test is basically to talk and talk and talk and there are two things that will increase a score:1) To talk in generalities as much as possible, and 2) To compare things with each other as much as possible – it doesn't hurt to show a master of the language by playing with words, making, jokes, and the like. My tester and I ended up talking for 10 minutes over the time limit, with me drawing the question (designed to test our language skills), “You have just discovered that your money and documents are missing. Go to the police station, explain the situation, and find out how they can help you.” I was able to answer it without problems.

- If you want to know what is perhaps the biggest problem facing Moldova today is, go to here. It's one of the most important challenges we face as Peace Corps volunteers.

- We have another vacation here in four weeks, Easter Break, and it looks like I'm headed to Kiev with some friends for three or four days – only 16 hours and 15 dollars away on a train. Actually, for all intensive purposes there is only 8 more weeks of school, as we have only 6 weeks after this break but from what everyone says, school basically shuts down for the last two weeks of school.

On A Related Point

2007-02-26T13:58:00.000-06:00

A few weeks ago I wrote about my own personal language here in Moldova, but a far more interesting topic is the issue of language as it applies to the nation as a whole, particularly the issues people have between the speakers of Russian and Moldovan and how this nations runs as a bilingual society (I tell people here all the time that if I knew more Spanish than the words for 'beer', 'book', 'girl', 'on fire', and 'no more', I would go back to America and get a Fulbright scholarship to compare multilingualism in a place like this and in a place like New York, Southern California, something like that). I live it what is, for all intensive purposes, a fully functioning bi-lingual nation.

Officially here the language is Moldovan, basically Romanian (the difference between the languages is like the differences between American and British English). However, as I was told within two hours of arriving in Moldova, being a Russian speaker is a huge advantage because everyone knows Russian – whether a person wants to or likes to speak the language is a different issue (more in a second), but at least every person over the age of 25 or so is fully able to communicate, with most people under 25 having a solid grasp of the language because 1)It's taught from the first grade in most schools, and 2) As odd as it sounds, a lot of the television channels are in Russian and most of the DVD's traded around are in Russian too, so children from a young age are are bombarded with the language and their comprehension is solid.

The history of the Moldovan language here is a long one – I may be off on some of the facts but basically, under the Soviet Union Russian was the only language, officially, and all the Moldovan was not only forced to the background but the alphabet of the language was also changed from the traditional Latin alphabet to the Cyrillic, Russian alphabet, an especially touchy issue (this also means that a person over a certain age could get by just fine just knowing Russian but would have huge issues just knowing Moldovan). At the end of the Soviet Union, when Moldova was about to declare it's independence, the first thing that the people of Moldova reclaimed was their language – as an example of how strong passions were, look no further than the Moldovan national anthem, “Limba Noastra,” which in Romanian means “Our Language.”

With this surge of nationalism for their own culture by the Moldovans comes a backlash against all those who were responsible for the original oppression – in this case, the Russians (who, in turn, have returned the tension to the native Moldovan speakers). There are numerous examples of tensions between the people, usually with Russian speakers showing high disdain for their Moldovan counterparts (my favorite examples – a teacher from Peace Corps once was told by a Russian speaker that “Moldovan is a language for the animals” and our former Training Coordinator once, while asking in Moldovan for a person to move so she could get off a bus, was told in Russian, “why don't you speak a normal human language”). I myself have also found my self in the presence of a surprised Russian speaker who thinks it only natural that my friends have a firm grasp of Moldovan after having studied only eight months (with Moldovan being considered a 'simple' language) but are more than surprised to learn that not only do I speak Russian but double surprised that I too have a firm grasp of the language after an equally small amount of time.

However, despite this fact the Moldovan speakers are not to be let off the hook totally, as there is a huge dislike for Russian speakers who are not fluent in Moldovan, who do a lot of mistakes. For example, if I'm with friends in a bar or in the market or something and a friend of mine makes a mistake, it's usually actually appreciated because it's known that the person making the mistake is an American and, frankly, not too many people go out of their way to try and master a language like Moldovan. However, if a native Russian speaker is in the same situation and makes the same mistake, said person can be laughed at because they've lived in this nation all their lives and are unable to speak the native language. In fact, this point to me is especially interesting – all the kids in my school who are in the Moldovan classes - 100 % of them - are fully functional in Russian, while I would say that the number of kids in the Russian classes who are equally functional in Moldovan is in the low teens.

And while it should be noted that much of the disdain shown for Russian speakers is justified, it should also be noted that most of this tension is mainly amongst the older set, amongst those old enough to remember the treatment of the Moldovan language under the Soviet Union. Amongst the youth of Moldova, the problem is minimal.

The language situation in my host family is a little interesting. My host brother, for example, understands about 80% of Moldovan but I've only heard him speak it twice, both times on the phone and both times to the same person. If he's in the market selling apples in Chisinau, there's no doubt that he's fully able to help a person and speaks Moldovan well enough to do so, but he simply won't do it for fear of making a mistake and being a point of amusement (see the above note on Moldovan speakers not having much patience for Russian speakers and their mistakes). My host mom, on the other hand, told me (we had a big conversation about language here on Friday evening) that she understand about 50% of Moldovan language, that unlike a lot of native Russian speakers she has the utmost respect for the Moldovan language and the people who speak it, likes Moldovan culture in general – she simply never had the chance to learn the language and as a result, can't speak it (a point of embarrassment for her, actually). She told me that often she's in a place – in a store in Chisinau, for example – and the person helping her simply refuses to speak Russian despite the ability to do so, which drives her crazy. Also, she's found herself in situations where someone will ask her a question in Romanian, she'll fully understand the question and respond in Russian, upon which the asker of the question will turn to another and make some smart comment about how she really didn't understand the question.
And in closing, her inability to speak Moldovan has another huge downfall – we have our mayoral elections in the village coming up in a few months and there's nothing more she would like than to become mayor .However, her ability to speak the language immediately removes the option for her, as it's one of the few requirements of any would-be mayor.

Notes:
- The weather here has taken another turn for the worse – it's officially cold. During the day the temperature hasn't been over 30 degrees in a week or so, and at night it gets to as low as 10 degrees below zero. In my room at night it gets really cold, down to the low 40's – thank God for the four inches of blanket I lay under. However, all signs point to the weather turning warm within a few days, the snow melting, and the mud coming with it . . . .

- Last week brought one of the most . . . interesting experiences I've had so far here. On Wednesday my host mom told me that she wanted to get on the Internet because she needed to find something that had to do with Biology. So Wednesday evening we spent an hour and a half working together, pumping words into Russian search engines and seeing what came up. The low . . . er, highlight for me was typing words into the engine one letter at a time, toggling between a overlay of the Russian keyboard, finding a letter, then toggling back to the Internet site to enter the letter – this is how sentences were built. Can't describe how fun that was. And it can be frustrating to communicate with a person who knows something about computers if both people speak the same language fluently – just imagine how tough it can be when one person knows absolutely nothing about computers and their communication is limited by language.

On the bright side (really), we did manage to find out exactly what she wanted without either of us hurting the other. That's a plus.

- We have our first vacation of second semester coming up next week (after eight weeks of lessons), and I'm off to Chisinau at 6:00 AM Saturday morning. I have two days of lessons for teachers (in which my whole group will be together for the first time in 6 months, all 35 of us), two days of lessons for Russian, then on Wednesday I'm off to the village where I lived in the summer – they called me two weeks ago out of the blue and invited me back, so I'm off. Should be a good time, especially because my language skills have grown immensely since I last saw them in August. My host brother from the time went to Moscow to work a week after I left and has since returned – he said the work was very, very tough. I can't wait to see them all again . . . I think I'll return also with my friends from the summer who I studied with, all one group returning together. Promises to be a great time.

- Highlight of the week – on Saturday, simply walking between villages after a tutoring session in the village next-door. It was one of the classic winter days, about 10 degrees without cloud in the sky, the sun shining, a little wind, the air cold, fresh, and clean with a new six inches or so of snow covering everything. “Brown-Eyed Girl” was playing on the Ipod – the top 15 minutes of my week.

Help!

2007-02-18T03:16:00.000-06:00

If you are at all interested in helping my basketball team/league here, please go here to make a tax-free contribution. It would be greatly appreciated by all . . .

I'll tell you up front, in advance, that the status of my own personal team is up in the air because of the status of my gym floor, but that hopefully won't deter anyone from giving.

Thanks in advance.

A Sickness of Epidemic Proportions?

2007-02-17T01:10:00.000-06:00

At my school last week there was a severe lack of . . . students. On Tuesday, for example, I had only 3 of my usual 9 11th graders, with similarly low numbers arriving for other classes. On Wednesday during the day we had a meeting with our director in which he told us that there was the potential for a flu epidemic sweeping through our school (25 percent of the students had stayed home) and that they had invited a doctor to assess various children and, if it turned out that they had the flu, we would have had to close school on Thursday and Friday and make up for lessons on Saturday and Sunday, an option no one was really interested.

So it was much to my joy when, in a second meeting that day after school, the doctor gave his opinion and announced that flu was not the cause of sickness and that instead it was just a wicked strand of a cold (of course, potentially hurting his credibility a bit is the fact that he also went on to list one of the causes for the cold as being that children drink cold water at school . . . ). But nonetheless, it was music to our ears.

However, I use quotation marks around the title because I have a really strong feeling that all of the sickness in the students was as serious as they would want us to believe. On Friday at school I had the 11th graders again, the whole class together (usually I have half and my partner teacher takes half), and only eight of the 19 were in school. Later on that night, however, I went to the disco with some of my kids, partly as an experiment and partly because I was really bored at home, and I found that there were six kids who were not healthy enough to go to school but were healthy enough for the disco. It was a shocking but not surprising (if that makes sense), to say the least.

My first instinct is to blame the kids, of course – I really want to just blame them for not showing up. Then I have to remind my self that these are, after all, 17 and 18 year old children, and that if they don't want to come to school it should be the job of the parents to send their kids to school. So then I want to shift blame to the parents. But then I realize that, for at least of the two kids how were too sick for school, their family situations are not exactly what would be descried as 'normal,' as the mother of one works in Turkey and the other lives with just his grandma in the next village. Really, there is no one to blame.

Notes:
- Last Sunday was the “Olympiad” in the regional center for English and a handful of other subjects. I knew about this Olympiad a week or so ago and choose what student from the 110th and 11th grades to go – I thought that was the end of my responsibility. However, on Saturday evening at about 5:30 my host mom told me that the vice-director of my school had called and told me that I needed to go to the regional center with the kids, that the director of Foreign Languages for schools in the region requested that I go along, meaning that my normal schedule of sleeping for 10 hours a night on the weekend (me being tired combined with the amazingly fresh air and lack of noise besides chickens outside makes it all possible) was broken violently by a 6:53 wake-up call.

Well, as it turns out, the reason why we (me as well as the other TEFL volunteer in the region and a non-TEFL volunteer who lives in the regional center) were wanted was to correct the essays when the students were done. The questions were on topics like, “What is the role of education in the future,” and the answers were often stunning in their quality (like, senior level in college-quality work, only the answers here had fewer mistakes). It was a great opportunity for me, not only to spend the day speaking English but to also see just how far my kids have to go and how good the may be able to become one day. And it was hilarious for the non-TEFL volunteer to listen to the two teachers talk and how we kept talking our 'kids' when talking about our students.

And, for the record, my kids both finished dead last in their respective groups, results that I'm sure to not take personally.

- I received a question on the entry a little bit ago about the role of corruption in Moldova, using Russia as an example. I can say with confidence that the situation here is not as bad as in Russia, where according to all reports, corruption in so prominent that it's now the rule, a sort of modern feudal system (according to Newsweek). That's not to say, however, that the situation here is great.

For example, my partner-teacher told me a story about just how prevalent it can be. Every year, in every school, students have to take exams at the end of the 11th grade (or 12th, if the school goes that far), the results of which not only insure that a child can graduate from school but the results are also forwarded onto potential universities or colleges. Well, last year she said there were four kids who didn't work at all for eleven years of school, who could care less about learning English. As a result, they received a '4' on the exam, a failing grade, and they had to travel to Chisinau to re-take the test with at a school. There they simply paid the director of the school they were at 700 lei (a little over 50 dollars) for a score of '7'. Problem solved.

There are also massive problems with corruption in, of all fields, medicine, with there being a need to pay doctors for the 'real' care (if not, you might receive a pill for a problem like a broken-leg). There are two reasons for this, the first being that the salaries of doctors are so low (about 180 dollars a month) that they are much more likely to accepting a bribe than they otherwise would be if their salary was normal. The second problem is that the system simply sets itself up for the possibility of corruption, as most of the time it's encouraged to pay the doctor him/herself – in cash – for services rendered. There is a system in which a person can pay a desk – in which the money goes to the hospital itself – but that is largely ignored, the ignorance of which drains precious money from the hospital coffers, meaning that the salaries of doctors can't be raised, and because they can't be raised they have to take bribes. It's cyclical, a downward spiral.

Of course, there are frequent attempts to alleviate the problem. I can go on for 4 pages about something called the Millennium Challenge Account program started by George Bush II (Google it if you have the time or curiosity), but while Moldova has largely met some of the criteria, the one thing keeping them from receiving all the potential funds is corruption, leading to several attempts to fight it. The US Ambassador to Moldova, over Thanksgiving weekend, told us how in his opinion a key to solving the problem was simply taking away the need by raising the socio-economic status of those who might be tempted, and two weeks later I saw him on Moldovan State TV Russian news presenting new cars to a large group of new police officers.

And there are commercials on TV fairly consistently warning of the dangers of corruption, my favorite of which shows a students paying 1000 lei for a grade from a professor, then showing the professor on an operating table with the same student hovering over him with a scalpel, leading to a look of shock on the face of the bribe-taker as the gas is applied – then a message comes on in Russian saying something like 'don't let this happen to you.'

- I've written about the odd medical beliefs of many Moldovan's, and last week my host mom told me three different . . . interesting ideals regarding health:1) That I shouldn't lay on a cold floor because I'll hurt my kidneys, 2)That I shouldn't eat sun-flower seeds whole because I'll get appendicitis, and 3) That a person shouldn't eat when they are sick because the food feeds the sickness.

- We eat all the parts of the animals here, from the intestines of chickens and pigs to the feet of turkeys (as a result, I can say with confidence that the neck of a bird is very tender). Two weeks ago I saw something that was very surprising, however, as I watched my host mom eat the comb of a chicken head that had been boiled for a while.

At first I was shocked and thought it was amazingly odd and a little gross until I re-read one of my Newsweek's in which it was written that “El Bulli” in Spain, largely considered one of the top three restaurants in the world, a place where they get 30,000 requests a year for 5,000 tables and which takes reservations as much as six months in advance, one of their signature disks is lamb brain cooked with the head chef's signature 'liquification' technique. If given the choice between the two (boiled chicken-comb or liquified lamb brain), I think I'd choose the Moldovan delicatessen (my host mom's words).

- Two highlights from the last week (which, if they are existent, I like to end on):
1) On Saturday night on Russian 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire' there was a question about which city is across the Bay Bridge from Oakland, with the answers being San Francisco, Chicago, Richmond, or Pittsburgh. I knew the answer right away (of course) and I told my family who was watching, which they responded to with questions of “you think so?.” “No”, I said, “I know so.” The guy walked away with the money, but first he said we would have guessed “Richmond.” When I told me family that he was “5000 kilometers from the answer,” they thought it was absolutely hilarious.

2) I wrote last time about my birthday party at a 4th graders house with her cousin in 2nd grade occupying a lot of my attention while all the men argued about politics in the Ukrainian dialect. Well, the second graders at school have a had a habit of a while of just hanging out in front of my door watching me work in-between lessons (as 7 year-olds are prone to do), terrified to go in.

On Monday of this week, however, they were all hanging around when the girl I met (her name is Zhena, short for Alexandra) confidently strolled through the center of them up to me with a little smirk on her face while the eyes of her classmates opened wide. That led to them all quickly following her inside and the start of the routine when, after every lesson, about 5 second graders drop into my room while we talk about their day's, how their lessons went and what not (I should say that only three talk while two little girls just smile, stare, and giggle incessantly when I talk to them). It's officially the best part of my day, every day up to now . . .

Slow But Sure

2007-02-07T14:07:00.000-06:00

In my group of three of the TEFL teachers who speak Russian, I'm the only one who no real experience studying another language, apart from three years spent in a Latin classroom in high-school. Therefore, it's a little difficult for me to judge my language development, as I have no previous experience with which to compare this one. In fact, over the summer there were plenty of times where I would be amazingly frustrated with my progress while the other two in the group (who are proficient in 5 languages between them) would be totally comfortable with out progress, knowing that it just takes time. My problem is that I've never really studied anything as extensive as a language before – everything I learned in college, including the semester of Calculus-based Physics, could be figured out with no more than an hour of hard focus.

Russian, however, is a step-up, to say the least.

Now, the vocabulary in any language is tough and just required work to manage – there is no doubt about that, and I can't actually complain about the alphabet, which just takes some time go get used to (although Russian does have a bad habit of having huge words with 6, 7, 8 syllables. My favorite example is the verb 'to earn.' In English, we say the plural form, 'you earn', two syllables. In Russian, it's вы зарабатываете – believe me when I say it's 8 syllables). Russian grammar, however, is a far cry from most sane grammar systems. I could give you literally dozens of examples on how tricky the grammar can be, but instead you'll read just one – in Russian there are 4 words for the word 'for' in English: для, meaning 'for the purpose of,' на, meaning 'with the plan of' (which I understand when said but have no idea how to use) за meaning, 'for obtaining,' and за for the rest of meanings (yes it's the same word twice, but the first form takes the Instrumental Case, the second takes the Accusative Case – there are six cases in all). As a result, you can have the statements, 'this is a book for the lesson', 'I'm going to the well for water,' and 'I was at school for six hours' and have three different forms of words in Russian (plus the aforementioned form I don't know how to use).

On one hand, it's amazingly frustrating, yet on the other hand it's very interesting for me to, slowly but surely, make feel myself slowly getting more and used to the language, feel my mind getting programmed to the grammar, to the gender of words and all that fun stuff.

The best analogy I can think of in learning the language is that it's like building a house, with the grammar being the tools and the vocabulary being the materials – you can have all the materials you need but what you have is far from a house. Instead, you need to appropriate tools to put all the materials together in a way that works. It's a slow process, building the house – picking up various tools and materials here and there, some important and some less important but all service the same purpose.

Of course, with all the development there are still plenty of moments when I say something and I see the eyes of the person whom I'm speaking search around for a while, trying to pick up the meaning of what I said before they finally figure it out. And about once a week I'll talk to some kid who's not one of my students (and therefore not used to how I talk) and after I say something they turn to one of my kids ( whose used to hearing my often) and ask what the heck I'm talking about, although that usually happens when I'm telling them to get out of my classroom or something like that (I have to admit and say that my classroom management Russian is pretty good). The other problem I have is that I hate when I do simple mistakes – it drives me nuts, especially when I make a mistake on grammar I learned in June or August. Most volunteers who have been here for a year or longer say that you simply get used to making mistakes. I hope so . . .

As for the ulitmate test, I remember in linguistics in my junior year of college that our professor told us that when a person starts to dream – consistently – in another langauge, it means that such person has had a breakthrough of sorts. Well, I actually dream in Russian on a rather consistent basis – if I dream about a person in my host family or in a person in my dreams speak Russian, that person invariably speaks Russian in my dreams, with me responding in kind. I think this alone means that I've reached a certain base-line comfort with my language.

Notes:
I had a great time at 'class reunion Saturday' in Moldova last Saturday night. People packed our school theater to the brim and we all watched a show put on by our 11th graders, featuring lots of singing, shows, contests between. They also added a nice touch of inviting various parents up in front of everyone and asking them questions like, “what is your wives favorite color?” and what not. A good time all around . I also spent some time in the room of our gym-teacher with some other teacher's, their families, and various other people drinking vodka, cognac, and wine before I finally retired home at 3:00 in the morning.

In the room with all the teachers was a man who works as a taxi driver in Chisinau and who was convinced that he could understand English, that it was an easy English – he then challenged me to ask questions and he would answer them. I was more than happy to oblige him and of course, he understood nothing that I said to him.

It was also interesting because my partner teacher was there and every time we talked to each-other, the whole room went totally silence. They all went on to talk about how beautiful of a language English is, a thought that as a native speaker never occurred to me. But I'll accept the compliment on behalf of all native English speakers everywhere.

- Because Russian State TV is one of three channels we get with regularity here, we are exposed to a high does of President Putin. Now, no matter what a person's thoughts on his leadership style and where he's taking Russia, there is no doubt that he can be highly charming with the press. Last week he held his annual press-conference in which he sits in a huge auditorium with several hundred reporters and accepts their questions on all topics – he answered 606 questions in three and a half hours and was very charming in the process, greeting reporters from Al-Jazzera, China, and Azerbaijan with words of 'hello' in their own language. It was quite the spectacle.

- In November I went to a birthday party of one of my students in the 10th grade and had a great time, and yesterday I went to the birthday party of one of my 4th graders and had a great time also. I knew it was her birthday and went out of my way to wish her a Happy Birthday during the day at school, and about 4:00 in the evening after classes she called my house and invited me to come to her for dinner to celebrate.

It turned out to be a great time. There were her parents (her mom is a teacher in the school) and various other parents, coupled with a great friend of hers, a girl in the second grade. After about a half-hour of dinner the men all started going at it talking about politics (and the Russian curse words were flying), so I ended up talking with the 2nd grade girl for about 20 minutes. Really, I can think of no better way to spend time . . .

Who Knows What the Future Brings?

2007-01-31T06:20:00.000-06:00

At my school right now we are in a bit of a transition. In the Moldovan school system there are three types of school, one called a gymnasium that goes up to grades 8 or 9, one called a school up to grades 10 or 11, and the final called a lyceum, the most academically prestigious, that goes up to grades 12. Where I work now is a school going up to grade 11.

When I first arrived in August, at the first teachers meeting, it was brought to me and my fellow teachers that our school would no longer be a 'school' after this year, that there is not enough students (and money) for us to maintain our current status and that we would likely become a gymnasium next year, meaning that I wouldn't get a chance to work with my favorite 10th graders again and that it would be a general disaster for the community in general. The problem, as I've written before, is that if we become a gymnasium all the students after 9th grade would have to go to Chisinau to live and study, away from their parents and family and community that have been with these kids all their lives. As my host mom said, it's a hugely important in the development of these kid's lives, and to be away from home after the age of 14 is just about the worst thing that could possible happen. In short, it's a disaster.

It's also a disaster because the village two kilometers to the east and three kilometers to the west also have gymnasiums, small ones with fewer than a hundred kids each and going up to only 8th grade. As my host mom and I agree, the absolutely best solution for everyone would be to close the other schools in the area and turn our school into a lyceum, absorbing teachers from the other schools to fill in the gap in teachers that would come with the influx of kids. The families in the other villages might not like the situation because they would have to pay to transport their kids to this village, but has my host mom says, transportation would cost maybe 500 lei a year (about 38 dollars), while a year in Chisinau would cost around 20,000 lei (about 1538 dollars a year). Money is perhaps the other huge reason why it's a disaster for the school to close, because it's basically giving these families (about 97 percent of which are on a very income) this massive, seemingly unavoidable expense. Yet despite the fact that we all seemed regulated to the fact that the future of our school was not good, in recent weeks we've learned that there is a chance that we could become a lyceum if enough teachers agree and the community wants one. The community seems fully behind the idea, but much to my shock, the a fair amount of the teachers are totally against the future becoming a lyceum.

The reason? Scrutiny.

As a lyceum, because it's more academically challenging, us teachers would be under far more scrutiny that we are now, meaning that many teachers would be forced to do more work to prepare lessons and things like that and and would, in general, have more of a presence watching over their shoulders, something that (much to my frustration), many teachers are totally against, to the point that they prefer the school become simply a gymnasium to say their-selves the extra work. It's not that I'm really in a position to complain or strongly voice my opinion, as all these teachers have been in the school for more years combined than I have days (no joke). If asked my opinion I give it, but so far only my host mom has asked me what I think. We should know the future of the school in a little while, but until then it's just a matter of waiting and and hoping.
Notes:
- You know what the Russian title of There's Something About Mary is? Without Wisdom About Mary. I saw this about ten seconds ago while I was writing and thought it needed to be retold.
- Last Saturday I did something I thought I would never do in the village – I went to the local disco with a few of my students. No, the world didn't end, and it actually turned out to be a good time for everyone.

I told a few girls I work with a while ago that I would go with them eventually to the disco, but I tell people here all the time that I will do something I don't want to do, knowing that whoever I tell will just forget – frankly, it's earier than saying 'no'. These kids, however, forgot nothing and instead just kept telling me that the day I wanted to go to the disco with them I just needed to tell them and they would be happy to go along with me. Naturally, I just waited and waited and didn't say anything, but Friday after school, in a momentary moment of weakness, I told them I would, at last, join them for the evening.

But after waking up at 5:10 Saturday morning, taking the 6:00 bus into Chisinau, stomping around the city doing the pictures for my eleventh grade class (which all turned out wonderfully) and returning on another bus at 6:30 at night, I was in no real condition or mood to go – however, being a person of my word I felt I couldn't back out then. So I called a student of mine with whom I was going (per the student's directions), and we agreed to meet at 9:10 at the intersection near my house. Naturally, being exhausted I fell asleep with one of the kittens and awoke at 9:20 to the sound of one of the kids banging on the window outside, waking me and beckoning me from my slumber.

From there we went to the disco, (I really should use quotation marks around the word 'disco' because it's just the village's House of Culture - mayor's office, post-office - and they bring in some speakers on the weekend, some bright lights, and turn it into a disco). To make a long story short, I just spent a good hour and a half or so hanging outside of the building with my older students, drinking home-made wine from a jug and shooting the breeze with them for the whole time. It actually turned out to be a great opportunity to get to know the students outside of the classroom setting, learn about their families and the like, as well as to practice my language. A great time all around.

- This Saturday is Class Reunion Saturday in Moldova – one the first Saturday of February every year those who graduated from a school return to chat with teachers and with each-other, while all the while the current students at a school preform some sort of show(s?). Should be in interesting time for me, as this is my first event.

- The weather here has officially turned nasty. Up to now we've been blessed with temperatures in the 40's and 50's, but on Monday the wind blew like I've never seen before and yesterday the snow started. Now, it's not supposed to break 20 for a few days. I can't complain really because I really like the winter, but as for my family who spends a lot of time working outside . . . a lot of their lives just became a lot tougher.

- I'll end by simply telling that if you've never seen kittens around a vacuum cleaner, it's something to behold. My host mom on Monday night was holding one of ours and told me to hold it while reaching for the vacuum. Thankfully I was holding on tight because when she started up the machine the cat became terrified, trying to scramble from my hands before finally just settling in with it's eyes wide. The other kitten in the other room instantly sprinted under the bed and refused to come out for a while. When the vacuum was finally off I picked up the little one and it spent the next ten minutes with eyes wide and neck craning back and forth, totally terrified.

It was, without a doubt, the highlight of my week (although it is only Wednesday).