Getting Aquainted

There are three key things I like to do when getting acquainted with a new place. I like to learn the public transportation system. I like to buy food in the local market or supermarket and cook a meal at home. And I like to peruse the town on foot or on bike… generally at high speeds. Two weeks in and I’m getting my bearings.

I have to take the routiera (a public bus) into Chisinau every Thursday (and sometimes more) and I’m already comfortable and familiar with the route. Though there is no set schedule (the locals seem to know otherwise but can’t direct you where to find one), if you wait long enough, or walk far enough to another station, you can catch a ride. The total trip one way, which takes about an hour, costs 10lei, which amounts to about 90cents. The first couple trips I was jetlaged and emotionally exhausted and managed to pass out despite the potholes, stops and swerves. This was one of the moments I appreciated Peace Corps “holding our hands” as we assimilate to our new surroundings. I would have been lost for days if they only showed us the route once. But now, I’m excited to play musical busses in town and see just where I end up and what I can find.

            I eat a lot of brown hewed food. Potatoes. Bread. Rice. Rice pudding. Boiled chicken. Biscuits. Processed chicken dogs. Oatmeal. Malt-o-meal. Black tea. Coffee. I’m happy and appreciative to be so taken care of, especially with such long days in language and technical training. But, I also wonder what my host family is doing with all those carrots, onions, and zucchini they have sitting in giant bags outside. One night I got home before my mama-gazda (host mom) and was elated to have the chance to cook something myself. But by the time I had figured out the kitchen and where things were, mama-gazda came home and made mashed potatoes with bread for dinner (there is bread at e.v.e.r.y. meal, they take their carbs seriously here). So the next night, Haley (another volunteer who is living with mama gazda’s daughter Veorica), got reeled into staying at our house for dinner. Nothing had been started, and we were both ready to be hungry, so I asked if we could make them a meal. Everyone liked the idea. There was chicken that had been de-thawing all day, and all the tantalizing vegetables waiting to be chopped and cooked outside. We made a stir-fry seasoned with basil and pepper and roasted the potatoes and chicken in the oven with garlic and rosemary. There wasn’t enough chicken for everyone though, so mama-gazda went somewhere (not sure where) and brought back the biggest hunk of beef I’ve ever seen. She put it directly on the table and asked me (through sign language and Romanian I couldn’t understand) how to cut it. I showed her through sign language and useless English) I wanted it cubed. In the end it got done and we simmered it in the stir-fry until it was cooked all the way through. In the end, everyone enjoyed the meal. But, they did say it could have used more salt (you would love the salty food here Pops ;). Turns out salt and dill are their main seasonings. And sometimes, one might think their only seasonings.

            Tonight, I went for my third run thus far in Moldova. I’ve been sticking to the roads I’m familiar with, or following friends to their houses, or running to places I know how to get to. But I live near the top of a hill, and I prefer to end my run going down not vise versa. So tonight, I took off as the air was cooling off and ran to the top of the hill (there are seven total in Costesti). I took a right and ran towards the sunset (it was fantastic). I ended up on a wagon wheel, two rut, road that wound down towards the lake. It got less and less clear the further I went, but I was already committed. “The Naked and Famous” was blaring in my ear and I couldn’t wipe the ear-to-ear euphoric smile off my face (I may also have been laughing out loud, but I was in the middle of the hills and there are no witnesses to testify). Near the end of the hill, I came across a younger farmer reaping a field of tall grass. I didn’t take much time to observe the scene as I was by myself, not exactly sure where I was, and seemingly alone with a man holding a giant reaper. He was staring, because a) no one runs here and b) where the H*$# did this chick just come from? So I took out my ear-buds (now blaring some Kanye) to say “Buna Seara”. He responded in Romanian (as to be expected), I had no idea what he said (also to be expected), so I replied “nu vorbesc Romaneste” as I slowed to be polite. He lifted his reaper (why? I will never know, but it wasn’t the most welcoming gesture) and motioned for me to come over to him (yea right Mr. Moldovan Grim Reaper, you put your weapon down), to which I said “exercitiu” and made ridiculous running motions with my arms before continuing on my way. You know that super ditzy girl in scary movies that’s usually the first to go? I felt like her until I got to a place I was familiar with, and admittedly looked over my shoulder more than once until I got there. (It’s not as bad as it sounds Mom, Moldova is safer than most places I could have been assigned and it was more my creative imagination getting the better of me than any real threat). Turns out my exploratory run landed me right at the center of town with the same daunting hill before me I was trying to avoid. No matter, I still loved every moment of that run.

I want to add a fourth category to my “get to know you escapades”, but it’s not one that I can’t create or plan. The unexpected adventures. They always make a trip better, more memorable. Last week Haley and I got caught in a torrential downpour a thirty-minute walk away from our trolley stop (the number 10 trolley in front of Tucanos and next to the giant flower bizarre). The shoe salesman whose store we were in implored us, in the kindest and most concerned of gestures, to stay inside and wait it out… because that’s what you do here. I gave him a smile, pointed at my wrist, shook my head and said “nu tempul” (totally wrong grammar, but I think it got the point across). He gently shrugged his shoulders and watched us exit into the storm. One of my favorite moments thus far has been that crazy twenty-minute sprint through a heavy shower of spring rain. We laughed our crazy laughs and giggled our irresponsible giggles as we ran past Moldovan’s wisely waiting under covers and in stores. The rain lightened up about as soon as we got to our destination, and we sat soaking wet all the way home. But it was awesome, and I smiled all the way back to my house.

the comfort of hârtie igienică (toilet paper)

Day three here in Moldova, with less than a week away from home, and I’m comfortable, safe, and enjoying the adventure. There are moments (I’m embarrassed to admit) that I get grumpy at the idea of this being my new home for the next 27 months, but I find solace in the fact that my fellow trainees share my sentiments. One of the most comforting things my Aunt Donna told me before I left home was that the people I would meet during my service would become some of my closest friends. I didn’t doubt her, but I also didn’t realize how quickly that would become a reality. While I miss home already (it’s too easy to let the longevity of this commitment settle in my heart and mind), I am now actually looking forward to the development of new friendships (but I swear they’ll never replace what I already have and cherish at home!). My new fear now (aside from the continues one of Moldovan winters), is finishing training and having to live away from these people I am now building bonds with. But alas, when I am focused enough to remain in the very present of each moment, I really am able to enjoy the adventure, beauty, and newness of Moldova.

Yesterday, we were shown around Chisinau, that capital city, for a couple hours. The market was hussling and bussling with foods, spices, home items, clothes, and craft items (oh the stimulation)! Sun flower oil is in high abundance and I’m looking forward to doing some of my own cooking. My host mother feeds me three meals a day, and they all consist of items in a brown hue. I’m incredibly grateful to be taken care of so well, but I do miss my fruits and veggies. Last night, my family asked me what I like to eat, and I told them fruits and vegetables. Tonight, they brought home a big juicy watermelon. I cried on the inside from joy. But it looks like I’ll finally be using that outdoor, hole in the ground, outhouse tonight (the indoor bathroom is for flushable liquids only).

One interesting thing about Moldova (I’m sure I’ll be sharing more) is that they don’t often provide toilet paper in bathrooms, private or public. I’m still learning the hard way to bring my own as I have yet to find a good alternative in the bathrooms that I do use. I don’t know whether it’s bathroom stress or good timing on my part, but I’ve so far been able to stave off using the outhouse. My fingers are crossed I don’t get the dreaded giardia we have already been warned about in excess. They’ve (Peace Corps) has told us to stay away from strawberries, cheese, and mushrooms… yea right! Not when that motzarella looks so juicy or those berries look so fresh. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger right? …If no one hears from me in a week, it’s probably because I’m spending it in the outhouse.

            We’re incredibly taken care of while still left to learn a lot on our own. Yesterday while traveling in our EE (English Education) group, Chanel and I were almost stuck on a bus to who knows where (we couldn’t pull our money out to pay in time) until a local yelled “Opri! Opri!” (stop) at the driver. Today I wondered through rows of houses in my neighborhood peering through gates and fences until I finally found my home after being dropped off by the bus. I’m the only English speaker living with my host family, but they take care of me like I’m their relative and I can already recognize how much quicker I’ll pick up the language. Two months here and I’ll be more proficient in Romanian than I am in Spanish after studying it for three years. Today I made earrings with/for my host sister Cristina because she saw pictures of the ones I’d made on Facebook (loved that moment). This morning my host mom woke me up with a booming “Bună dimineaţa!” because my alarm had not gone off and all I could respond with was a bewildered “good morning” as no Romanian was flowing through my mind after a dead sleep (how long does jet lag take to fade?).

            In conclusion, while I miss so much about home already, I find comfort in the beauty of new relationships and adventure… and toilet paper, when I remember to bring it with me.

Welcome to Moldova

Today, as in the past 48 hours, has been exhausting. We started by packing up all out stuff at the hotel in Philly and lugging it onto two giant charter busses headed for JFK. Peace Corps gave us nine hours to get there, get checked in and find our gate. We had about 5 hours to spare when we got through security, but it’s better safe than sorry. I was able to check my carry on as a third piece of checked luggage for no fee and was relieved not to have to lug it around with me.

JFK time flew by with the only thing really making me bitter being the prices of food. Ten dollars for a tuna wrap and another ten for a Stella? Not on my dime.  New York to Munich was over in a flash. Sitting next to Liz (a health education volunteer) the whole way, I didn’t leave my seat once. I watched “Identity Thief” (loved it), listened to my iPhone music (that can either make me homesick or comforted), read Brothers Karamazov on my kindle (thanks Mom and Dad) and slept real hard. Other volunteers were impressed by my ability to just pass out… I told them it’s a blessing and a curse.  I woke up to breakfast in front of me and only an hour left in the flight. At Munich, we had just enough time to change, freshen up and stretch out before boarding our final flight to Chisinau. I sat next to Chanel and found my Peace Corps kindred spirit. We talked most the way about our shared anxieties of making our time worthwhile, justifying the sacrifice of leaving friends and family behind, worrying about career progress, and reminiscing about ended relationships (both coincidently five months in duration).

Upon landing in Chisinau, greetings and the beginnings of PST was a whirlwind. Current volunteers took such good care of us, hauling and packing and stacking our luggage into a transporting truck and getting us situated on the bus to our hub site. Pizza and soda for lunch, then a couple hours of country briefing and director/manager introductions. I don’t remember most of it as my  blessing/curse for sleeping overtook me and I submitted to head bobs and fluttering eyelids. Oops. After this exhausting “sit” time, we were shuffled about, given phones or sim cards (I kept my iPhones with the intention of maintaining my 3G network here) given “walk about money” (25 lei a day, or $2) and an envelope of cash to give to our host family. All the English Education volunteers were shuffled off to one village and given the luxury of a rutirea (generally a jam packed public transportation bus) all to ourselves. Five of us to one, our suitcases were stacked to the ceiling as we set off.

I was less anxious to meet my host family than I was to stay awake much longer. But upon arriving at my new home for the next ten weeks, I was encouraged and delighted to find that I would be living with a mother and daughter (Domnica and Cristina-16) who appeared to also be caregivers to their grandson/nephew of 15 months. This little guy was the icebreaker of any awkward language barrier tension as we were all happy to give him our attention and affection. Any wink or gesture I sent his way gave him the biggest smile and he couldn’t keep his eyes off this new guest in the house.

Cristina, who speaks more English than I speak Romanian, showed me to my room and around the house. I have definitely been given the largest and most private room of the house, which was humbling upon realization. My bed is larger than what I’ve been sleeping on the past 5 months and more comfortable than I could have hoped… though I will have to get used to the sticky starchiness of the sheets. The closest think I can relate their feel to is that of a hospital beds. But I am so happy for it! Domnica and Cristina made a mashed potato and meatball dish for dinner that was absolutely delicious but all I could say was “multumesc”, which means thank you, as the only two Romanian words I knew were that and buna (hello). We picked and ate cherries off their cherry tree outside and Domnica showed me the outhouse, apparently only necessary for dumps as there is a full bathroom inside (another first world problem relief). I soon released myself to my room to settle in and unpack, looking forward to a bit more language training starting tomorrow. Host families were all informed that we would be exhausted from travel and mine was so kind and accommodating in letting me have some personal time to debrief while still remaining available for any questions or help I needed. Once settled, I sat on the bed with my legs up the wall to help with the swollen ankles (first time kankles) I’d developed during flight and travel over the past few hours. They have since vanished and I am ready for some deep, horizontal slumber.

I always have the travel bug. But recently I've been complacent enough here, in a good way, that my itch to get away has temporarily subsided. However, in the past couple of days, this pushing aside of ambitions abroad has ended. I spent the day alone and doing whatever I pleased (this consisted of Watching four hours of Gilmore Girls while working on my burlap enterprises of sewing backpacks from scraps). In the evening, I skipped out on small group to have some more alone time and went for a jog through Nampa. The weather was perfect, the air was crisp but not cold and the lighting was golden. Running through the neighborhoods of this city I live in made me appreciate the life I am a part of here. But, considering my solitude today, the simple exploration of little streets I had never run down before wet my travel buds for a grander adventure away from all this I've known for the past three years. When I got back to the house, I climbed on the roof to take down the Christmas lights but ended up just stretching and watching the sunset over all the buildings blocking the majority of the view. It was one of those moments I never wanted to end and I couldn't stop myself from smiling as my eyes remained glued to the evolving picture in front of me. I was filled with joy and begged the question "is it enough to just exist?". In that moment, my answer was "absolutely." I want more of those joypiphany moments, and I want to seek them through travel endeavors that I am always dreaming of. So. I'll make it happen.

Chicago take 1

Chicago was a blast! Once we actually caught the train from Joliet (some ridiculous form of miscommunication combined with the dynamics of group accountability would have it that we stood on the platform and watched our 10:24am train leave without us onboard. But spontanaity took us on a ride through Joliet where "if it's fun, it must be [there]"... we had lunch at a cool local coffee house, Jeff and I played a game of chess (he won) and caught the 12:24 train out), we were on our way to a day of adventure in the city!
We spent most of the day on Madison Avenue, hitting up the trendy urban shops and walking around in the snow. Big fluffly flakes were part of the weather pattern on and off all day, and they were beautiful to watch floating through the city. It was cold and slushy, but an average Chicago winter day... so we got a good taste of the city's culture. On the subway to Bellmont, we met a friend wearing a stylish plaid coat and he hung out with us for the rest of our evening. We parted ways on our way back to Madison street, but "Chris, good luck with performance school!". Our last hour or so was spent in the warmth of Barnes and Nobel (mmm Books), and then we wound our way back to the Metra station we started from earlier that day. Tired from walking all day, we were a bit part slap happy and just sat... staring and mumbling a bits of conversation here and there... always a good test of a day well spent/used.

And So it Began

When big plans are made and their completion is pursued, I'm always wary of a rocky start. I had spent all night, and the majority of the early morning hours packing and re-packing my life into a backpack and a carry on. I'd gone over and over everything that I was brining and was sure I had it all. And I did, well sort of, the only thing I forgot was my brain. My early AM flight came around, we threw my cement packed bags in the van and drove to the airport. Dad dropped Mom, Ariel and I off in front of Frontier Airlines so he could park the car. When he met us inside, we were moving from the Frontier counter to the US airways counter, apparently I wasn't in the right system. Confident I booked my Boise to Chicago ticket on my favorite airline, I was skeptical upon approaching the US Airways desk with my memorized itinerary. Sure enough, they sent me back to Frontier, at which point my heart was drooping with the anxiety of missing my flight. Mom pulled out the itinerary she had me send her the week or so before, and my heart skipped a beat in panic. I already missed my flight! My memorized schedule was off by a day, it was the 20th and my booking was for the 19th. Where my brain was while I checked the itinerary, or disgarded the idea of printing even the flight number or even in my months of preperation for this trip, I couln't tell you. And so I re-approached the Frontier counter, my words all a blubber, and tried to explain my absense of thought. I don't know the agents name, but before I could even ask if there was anything they could do, she was booking me on standby. I was fortunate enough to have such an early flight that standbys were no issue at all, and I made my connecting flight in Denver with no problem as well. While a seedy start may make me anxious adn doubt the security of the rest of the plans, in this instance, I like to think of it as the first of many adventures. (I've already double and tripple ckecked my coming flight itineraries and I'm keeping a close eye on my passport. :)

Once in Midway Airport, I wandered out of the terminal to claim my checked bag, and then proceeded to the CTA station. The Orange loop took about half an hour in which I enjoyed the sights of South Chicago's brick suburbia, as well as the company and conversation of a local Boise(ian) (what a small world). His last words to me were "Get a move on" or something to that effect as I raced the subway's closing doors and jumped out onto the platform of Quincy Station. With my soccer-bag hung over my right shoulder, backpack layered on top of that and my sweatshift sleeves rolled up, I looked around at where I was and contmeplated where I needed to go. Counting it better safe than sorry, and taking advantage of no language barrier, I asked two business men the way to Union Station. They pointed me towards the stairs with the revolving floor-to-ceiling exit gate. I thanked them and smiled as I thought about the sceen I was about to create. Yes, I got stuck, but only briefly, and I was on my way again. I only had to walk three blocks west, and I was at the station. By chance I choose the right tunnels and was sitting, waiting and relaxing for an hour before my Amtrak train departed for Bloomington. During my wait, I conversed about travel, train travel, plane travel, foot travel, bike travel, car travel, maybe even boat travel with an old man whose name I didn't catch. He was going back up North after having visited his daughter for the weekend. He had a rugged, worn complexion, was not a dentist (not probably friends with too many) and smelled more than slightly of alcohol. It's intersting the people that God has us meet, and even if we did have little in common to share, I still smile at our conversation. He bid me a good trip as I left for the line with a grin and a "Later Baby", which didn't creep me out as much as other such fare-wells may have.

I was one of the first on the train, so I piled my stuff under my feet and cuddled up to the seat to catch some lacking Z's. I don't remember how long I was asleep for, but when I woke up, I caught the reflection in my window of a little girl looking back at me from the seat behind me. We exchanged hello's and for the rest of the train ride, she left me little more than 10 seconds of no conversation. Her name was something cute and unique to match her, and I remember her favorite food is strawberries and bubble gum. And while she doesn't like sea-food, she likes shrimp, and crab, and fish :) (you think sea-food is just one of those names we're trained not to like? Kinda like lima beans or brussle sprouts? When in all reality, we may really love them if they were just given a new, fresh name?). When I told her my friend was picking me up from the station, and then described to her what she looked like, she was sure my friend was the same girl that sat next to her on the train last time she rode it (I guess all white people really do look alike). I was once again happy with the conversation I was able to share with a simple aquaintance, and will remember the joy at hearing her little city accent as we chatted on the train.

Caitlan picked me up at the station right as I got off the train. We split a plate of Chinese food (always a good way to start off a sleepover) and went back to her dorm to plan Saturday's "inditastic" adventure in Chicago.

Procrastination

It would appear that I am a professional procrastinator. Whether I continue to put myself under the false impression of limitless time, or my subconscious holds it all off till the end because I work best under pressure, I couldn't tell you. But here I am with a week left in Idaho and the last two months worth of work left to do. Oops. While I'm not worried about getting everything done, I do regret my last few days at home being stressful, rather than blissful time with family and friends. However, economics and I are tight like spandex, so what more do I need? Ha, this extremely extended time of rest and relaxation has given me the chance to be reflective and think… more than I usually do about the deep ponderings.
I have come to grasp more completly my identity in Christ. More often than not, I have defined myself by the world's standards rather than God's. I degrade myself by assigning my worth to what I can do in comparison to the rest of the world. In my time of solitude and activity confinement, I've found a peace I've been lacking in my pursuit for such worldly gain. While mediocrity will continue to be absent from my self-describing vocabulary, I will no longer let society's definition of the word be my guide.
(This post was started two weeks ago, I just finished it today. Procrastination?)