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)

          

Customer Service and Getting Around

Ninety-five percent of our time in pre-service training is spent in Costesți, so I try to make the most of my days spent in the capital. After eight hours of lectures and information insemination, I try to explore a little or grab a drink with a current volunteer to get a better feel for PC in Moldova. Chișinau also has a lot things that are not available in the villages (Walmart has yet to globalize Moldova), so I like to take advantage of already being in the city and save a shopping trip. The only two things I really wanted were a blow dryer (gotta meet the Moldovan standards of being put together) and a yoga mat (sitting all day hurts my body).

I started with the hair dryer. All electronics are conveniently sold in one store. If you want a refrigerator or a cell phone, a curling iron or an electric kettle (love those), there’s a one-stop shop for you. I found the store, not too far from the farmer’s market (piața in Romanian) and decided on the cheapest but sturdiest looking blow dryer. I told one of the wandering clerks which one I wanted and he want to get it. He told me how much it was and I pulled out my bani to pay, but he just handed me a slip of paper (without the blow dryer), said something inaudible to me and pointed towards a window with another employee sitting behind it. I walked over to the window, assumedly handed the woman behind it my slip of paper, then watched her rifle through it and stamp a couple things. I tried to hand her the money as well, but was once again sent elsewhere in the store. I ended up at a counter next to the big screen T.V.’s with yet another clerk shuffling through my papers, making stamps and signatures and who knows what else.  I was however at the end because he had me also sign the papers, plugged my blow dryer in to assure it worked, handed me the warranty, let me pay and then sent me on my way. Whew, sales clerk marathon over.

The yoga mat was easier. Found sports store. Found yoga mats in sports store. Asked sales clerk how much they were. Justified the price. Choose a color (purple, this was the most difficult part of the whole transaction). Paid the same sales clerk that had been helping me the whole time. Left with purple yoga mat in hand. All in Romanian! Who has two thumbs and was super proud of herself? This girl.

Another afternoon, I was searching the main street in Chișinau for the post office. I couldn’t find it and stopped to ask a sweet looking older couple if they knew where it was. Mind you, this was five or so weeks into language training. They were pointing and using words I had never heard. I felt like an idiot because by this point I had already learned my directions. I thought for a moment, then asked them if they were speaking in Russian. Bingo! Turns out they understood my Romanian, but couldn’t speak it? Or perhaps my Romanian was so fantastic they thought I also spoke Russian (dream big). We laughed about the language barrier and I headed off in the direction they had gestured. I found it after a local heard me asking someone else in Romanian and asked me in English what I was looking for. Mission accomplished and worth every moment.

Mare Mare

It’s easy to eat in excess here. In Moldova, the hospitable thing to do is continue refilling guests plates until the guest surrenders by leaving some morsel of food behind as an indication they are done eating. I don’t like waste, and I like to eat, so this doesn’t bode well for waist-line. On the plus side, it’s incredibly flattering to my host mother as it’s obvious I enjoy her cooking. She laughs every time I eat and comments with gestures and a word I’m very familiar with now, mare. She demonstrates an expanding stomach between chuckles of “tu fi mare, mare, mare” (you will be big, big, big). “Great and thanks a lot” I think between mouthfuls of fried meat and vegetables. Along with Moldova’s excessive production of wine, they seem to have an endless supply of sunflower oil. However, I still have a hard time fathoming how they can export any of it (and they do) when it appears as they use it all in their own food.

Today, she insisted I try something that looked fried and unappealing next to the grilled and peppered chicken, so I did. In between chewing and swallowing, I asked her what it was and wished I hadn’t. She said eggs then pointed to her head and said pork. “Awesome” I thought as I suppressed a gag, fried pig brain with eggs. When I was later putting the rest of lunch away, I saw a bowl full of uncooked brains chillen in the fridge. “No thanks”, thank goodness, is an accepted term here if I really don’t want to eat something.

In compensation for all the food I consume, I have been somewhat diligent in exercising. I run and have been practicing yoga with another volunteer.  It’s great, but without fail, the only pose my host family ever walks in on us practicing is “corpse pose” as we’re wrapping up our practice. The lights are out, I have incense burning, and we’re laying flat on our backs sprawled out to full comfort. I’ve lost count how many times Ilena (host mom) has come in to check on us, looked in curiously and chuckled in confusion. She asks “exerciț?”, somewhat skeptically and I just think “yea, yea, yea… mare”. But the coincidence always makes us laugh, and now in preparing for final relaxation, we also prepare for the familia gazda. 

The Parallels of Life

     A friend gave me some really comforting words before I left that stuck out in a different way amongst all the encouragement. She said, “this will be a challenge, but it’s going to become your new norm”. While I would still prefer a toilet inside as opposed to a hole in the ground outside, I’m really enjoying being here and know there is still nothing else I would rather be pursuing. And to be fair, I have a really nice outhouse. The spiders keep the flies under control, and I’m actually quite comfortable with my little eight legged pest controllers now. If you feel the need to clap in congratulations to my overcoming my spider fear, I approve. However, note; one recently got its web caught in my hair on my way out of the outhouse and tried to come with me, and that wasn’t cool. One spider friend at a time, and only if they stay in their corner.

     But enough about spiders, one of the things I wanted to practice in coming to Moldova (the most fertile land in the world I’ve been told since being here) was gardening. I was excited to get involved with daily house chores and work with my host family. I want to and be a part of how they live. However, we are kept busy nine hours a day six days a week in a hell of physical stagnation. Our rears have had to make similar adjustments to our daily seats (made for 8 year olds) as one might have to make to a new leather bicycle seat. I’ve never had my body hurt so much from moving so little. After language and lectures all day, my brain is in the “function without recollection” mode, and my host mom is so happy to just take care of me. She lets me help her put things away or set the table, but she prepares all the food (more of her food and its deliciousness to come later) and feels I deserve just as much wine as she does. She always insists I eat more and rest. I’ve told her I want to learn to cook some of their traditional dishes and to make wine, but wine making will happen in September and she makes all the food while I’m in school. It would appear some weekend visits to my PST (pre-service training) home will be in order.

      Life is a little more old school traditional in Costești, so I’ve had some opportunity to see the lifestyles one might expect to see as a Peace Corps volunteer. My permanent host site has amenities I might expect to find in the states (my fears of freezing in the winter have been calmed as I know my home and my school both have heat and hot water). But in Costești, my family eats what they grow in the many fields they have around the village. I’ve become a glutton for whatever is in season as I know it will soon be unavailable. Watermelon baby? Peaches baby? My stomach has expanded on account of fruit… and I’ll be real, all the new cookies I have been trying… and retrying. My host dad works hard in their family fields every day, and my host mom keeps the house in order, takes care of the grandkids and cooks every meal. One Saturday they took me to see one of their vineyards. Ilena and Mihai have such a happy demeanor in their work and support of one another and their family. It makes me so happy to see! They are always smiling and it is evident that they are very much so still in love. Living with them has been so perfect in my missing my parents. I parallels I’ve noticed in the way they take care of each other, work together, and take pride in their lives and families.

One night, they took Julianna and I out to some of their fields and brought tools to do a little maintenance on the rows. I took the opportunity to help despite their trying to talk me out of it and learned to appreciate their lifestyle that much more. Hello hard labor, thank you educational opportunity. However, I did enjoy the work, but am happy to choose another career. Ilena has since let me help her a little more with cleaning up, but I get the impression she feels it’s her responsibility to take care of everything. It’s comforting to find a similar relentless kindness and compassion that I find in my own mother. I can say the same thing about Mihai and the admiration I have for him and his incessant hard work. He shows such love for his family by the hard work he puts into supporting and caring for them. This was (and still is) always such an evident display of love from my own dad. I am crossing my fingers for the opportunity to introduce my parents to my Costești host parents.

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.