La Mulț Ani

Today was Sunday, the one day of the week that is absolutely free for us to do with what we please (minus swim, ride on a motorcycle, cross a boarder, cycle without a helmet, drive a car… or anything else Peace Corps forbids). I slept in an hour past my usual wake up usual. Happy Birthday to me! I walked into the wash room (like a bathroom minus the toilet, that’s outside) to find a giant bouquet of red and white roses sitting on the sink. My eyes teared up with surprise and memories of Dad’s flowers for his girl’s birthdays. I said good morning to my host family and got hugs and kisses and well wishing for the next year. Everything else in the morning was simple and pleasant. I ate breakfast with my host mom’s grand-daughter (Rebecca, age 6 and adorable) and then went back to my room to study for my language proficiency test. Susanna (another granddaughter, age 14 and brilliant) was helping me with my homework for a bit, then left to work in the magazine with her mom (magazine=convenience store in Moldova). I heard the dogs going crazy outside, but that’s all the usual so I kept on with my work. My host Mom called me outside. Me (still unassuming) went to find out what was up and found my fellow volunteers and entire host family crowded out front. There were “happy birthdays”, “la mulț ani”, a cake, smiles and some videos being taken (let’s not publish those). I was beside myself and again felt some leakage in my eyes. We all went to the lake for a BBQ and games. After cake (dessert first), my host parents poured everyone glasses of homemade liquor (made from cherries I think) and toasted to my health and to hundreds more years. Homemade wine made its rounds, placenta (homemade Moldovan pastry and pronounced “pla-chent-a”) was enjoyed, and bbq-ed meat over a smoking wood grill was also served (with spicy ketchup). It was awesome. Thanks Moldova and company for a fantastic introduction to 25.

I caught two rabbits

          My most anxious moment in my Peace Corps experience thus far has been deciding to board the plane from Philly to Chisinau just one month ago. Host family introductions were a breeze. Language training is intense, but I’m grasping Romanian bit by bit. Public transportation is unpredictable, but thus far still a fun adventure. New people and friends have been pleasant surprises. Permanent site placement was a big anxiety for most, and while I was excited to find out, I was never nervous about it (I found out yesterday that I will be working in Ciorescu –pronounced “chore-es-coo”- for the next two years BTW).

The cultural differences have been interesting to identify and adjust to. Wine is served Goldy Locks style where your stature dictates how big your glass of wine is. From infants to bunice (grandmas), everyone gets some wine at lunch and dinner. It helps put the babies to sleep, and bunice have earned their right to throw it back… and throw it back they do. Young girls drink less… unless they’re American… but the judgment of women drinking seems to pass with age. Every family in Moldova owns vineyards throughout the country that produce enough grapes to make wine for an entire year… in excess. It’s mid summer and I keep wondering if the wine flow is going to slow down as the new grape harvest rolls in, but they’re still pulling out one to two bottles a meal to share. In exploring my training village the other day, I ran towards the hills and found the most beautiful site I have yet seen here. The road went for miles through endless vineyards, sunflower and corn fields, as well as other various crops. There was a small forest at one point, but the hillsides were definitely dominated by row after row of perfectly cared for grapes. They also make their own moonshine here. One afternoon, when I was particularly tired, my first Mama Gazda (I’ve since moved to a new host family), thinking I was sick, called me downstairs for lunch and gave me two glasses of what they call cognac. She said it would calm my stomach. Is that a proven study? I didn’t care, I downed them and had a pleasant snooze… after my throat stopped burning.

Other cultural adjustments have been accepting that every driver here has a racecar driver complex. It doesn’t matter how short the drive is, or the distance from one turn to another, men aren’t men here unless they excel to the highest speed possible on any given stretch of road. This makes windy roads and a lack of sidewalks particularly tricky for pedestrians. One afternoon, I was walking up a long straight stretch of road when a teenager came screaming down the hill. He found it humorous to tease a swerve in my direction, and I bet he really got his kicks out of my shrill scream of surprise. You’re welcome punk kid. Most other drivers just honk right as they pass you, which I’m getting less jumpy at. I’m so suave in Moldova, “Ooooo, a honk for a scare and a chuckle” I say “fat chance”. Unless it does scare me… then that’s one more point for Moldova.

My favorite linguistic miscommunication so far has been my receiving a plate of cheese upon taking a picture. I counted in Romanian “Unu. Doua. Trei. Brinza (Cheese)” and they all laughed (which was the point), but they missed the linguistic humor of my attempt at cultural translation. In their generosity, they brought out some homemade cheese. A whole plateful. Unfortunately this was the kind of cheese that makes you ask “yea but, can I get some dairy with all this salt?”. But I ate it, because the moment was worth it.

I’ve also enjoyed learning the cultural idioms in Romanian. With greater language acquisition, I plan to gain some Moldovan wisdom through their proverbs. In English we use the phrase “kill two birds with one stone”. In Romanian they say “catch two rabbits”. Since starting my Peace Corps training only a short while ago, I’ve already been able to recognize growth in areas I hoped to see (responsibility and patience being just a couple characteristics to develop) and I continue to get excited about the potential of my work here and the people that will change my life. I’m catching rabbits left and right yo. My pre-service anxieties have vanished, and so far there is still nothing else I would rather be doing.