Americanca on the Routiera

Some days pass with no significant cultural mishaps, other days seem to snowball with them. Last night was an evening of routiera cultural faux pas. While I have experienced a significant amount of professional development since beginning this Peace Corps adventure, timeliness has yet to be a strong suit of mine. I often catch myself waiting for the last routiera to get home, crossing my fingers that the public transportation is reliable enough to stick to their schedule. I didn’t mean to stay as long at the café as I did, but catching up on a Skpye date with my sis took precedence. Next thing I knew, it was 9:20 and I hadn’t finished my internet chores for my lesson. The last ride home, so I’d heard and understood, was at 10:00. I wrapped my work up quickly and walked to the “bus stop”, which really just means anywhere along the road that the routiera will pass by. Routiera’s stop for any pedestrian that waves them down, full or not… but more often than not, packed. I got there early (as I really didn’t want to have to call a cab) and ended up chatting with three Moldovan men that were sitting on a bench where I intended to catch my ride. It’s not typical, nor very accepted, for women to speak to men (and vise versa, but men seem to have a little more social freedom in this standard) unless they already know each other. But, I wanted to make sure there was indeed one last routiera headed to Costești, so I asked them what they knew about it. I got an affirmative ”da”, and upon hearing my accent, some more questions... One gentleman spoke in Romanian (we’ll call him Man 1), while the other spoke in broken English (Man 2), the third guy just sat listening and laughing...

Man 1: What’s your name?

Me: Larissa.

Man 2: Do you have a boyfriend?

Me: Yes. (I’m aweful at lying, but in such cases it can save so much hassle).

Man 1: Larissa, do you live in Costești?

Me: Yes.

Man 2: You are very interesting, I want speak with you more, what your number is?

Me: I don’t give it to people I don’t know.

Man 2: But, I’m interesting in speaking more with you, we can grab coffee beer?

Me: I’m really busy.

Man 1: Larissa, how do you like Moldova?

Me: I like it.

Man 1: Larissa, how long will you stay in Moldova?

Me: Two years.

Man 2: (with gestures) We can grab a beer coffee.

Me: No thanks, but I will say hello if I ever see you again.

Man 1: Larissa, do you play sports?

Me: Yes. –we spoke about sports for a moment-

Man 2: Let’s grab coffee or beer. You’re number you give me.

Me: No

Man 2: You put number in your phone and call you me for drink.

Me: (slightly exasperated) Ok... but don’t be dissappointed when I don’t call you.

Man 2: (after dictating his number to me) Now call me so I have number your.

Me: Ha, no. I don’t want to give you my number.

... this continued for a good 20 minutes while the routiera was unforunately late. When it finally did come speeding my way, I almost missed it forgetting to wave it down. I was so relieved to catch it, I immediatley jumped on and shut the door behind me. We didn’t move. There were several people saying something to me in Romanian to which I dumbly replied ”ce?” (what?) several times in confusion. Finally someone spurted out ”open the door” in English. Oops. After I let the passenger off that I was accidently holding hostage, I climbed back into the bus and kept myself silently and sheepishly wedged into the corner. At the next stop, I couldn’t find the handle to let more passengers off for a some akward seconds, but eventually released more of my unintenional hostages. On the way back into the routiera, I hit my head on the doorway like a dork and just tried to slink back into my corner. The passengers had a better place for me though, and wedged me into the middle of them all with little options of things to hold onto. I spent the rest of the ride trying to brace myself with a hand on the ceiling while the routiera sped along dodging potholes and flying over road bumps. (I think I’ll try my luck at surfing after all this balance training on public transportation in Moldova.) In the center of Costești, the routiera cleared out so there were one or two seats available. As I went to sit down, there was a woman hoarding two seats by leaning into the second seat with a straight arm and a fist in the center of the seat I wanted. I thought to myself ”lady, I am over this routiera ride and I will sit on you if you don’t move that arm”. And that’s exactly what I did. She promptly removed her fist from my newly claimed seat, and I felt no remorse. Home felt nice when I finally got there.

            Another Rountiera moment. One packed morning on the routiera, my backpack was taking up an offensive amount of space as I was isle surfing between the seats. I slipped it off to hold it in front of me, but another passenger offered to hold it for me. I aquisced and handed over the bag stuffed with my laptop, iphone, kindle, and Peace Corps material for training. ”Hello stranger, please allow me to intrust you with my most valuable possessions and important points of contact to home”.  The ride commenced and I hardly thought about it I was satisfied just balancing and people watching. We came to one of the final stops and almost all the passengers exited. Before I knew it, the woman that was holding my bag was squeezing by me. I had a second of panic before she told me she left the bag in the seat. All was well, and I took the seat my bag was left in. Perhaps not the wisest decision made here, but the woman was a local Costeștian (new word) and I often recognize her around my house and in the village. My assumption is that she recognized me and just wanted to lend a helping hand. Risk gone good. May that always be the case. (Don’t worry Mom and Dad, I am practicing safety despite your judgements of this story J)