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.

just try me rat dog

I’m really good at sleeping. But lately a symphony of neighborhood dogs has been keeping me up between midnight and 2am. They’re so cute and peaceful laying in the yard throughout the hot hours of the summer heat, but come what should be the calmest moments of the night… bark bark bark. Bark Bark Bark. BARK BARK BARK. 30 second break. Repeat. If I had less of a soul, I would feed every last one of them copious amounts of dark chocolate. Let them go out on a good note ya know? A few nights ago, I went to bed to Romanian T.V. blaring downstairs, a loud Skype conversation happening in the room next to me, a ticking coo-coo clock in my room, and the dogs… always the dogs. I took the batteries out of the clock and turned on some soothing Bon Iver right next to my head until I could fall asleep. One more night down. The worst of the dogs is my own host family’s mangy old mutt that never leaves its chain (maybe it would bark less if it had the joys dogs should be entitled to). It has a bark like it’s been smoking its whole life and is on its way to a throat injected breathing tube. Raspy bark after raspy bark all. night. long. So I’ve started training it in between my disturbed sleep cycles. It barks, I pry myself from bed with my head-lamp in hand and shine it into a huddled corner of the yard. I turn my light off and wait for the barks to return, turn my light back on and start throwing little apples at it. Problem solved. Mostly. Now all I have to do is shine my light to stop the barking all night, though I’ve also been given earplugs which come in handy when the roosters engage in their crow off every. single. morning. The newness of this adventure is fading into the reality of Moldova being my home and I’m making adjustments as needed.

The summer heat is slowing me down and I stay coolest when I am motionless… sleeping (mid day when the dogs are silent).  This only happens on Sundays as we stay busy the rest of the week with language and technical training eight hours a day. Thursdays are capital days where all the groups (English Education, Health, Business, and Community Development) meet up for Peace Corps briefings on culture and safety. Saturdays are half days in our own villages and we usually spend the afternoons getting to know our village and spending time relaxing with each other over dollar (10 to 15 lei) beers (the average price for a pint everywhere in Moldova, they’re equivalent to Coors but refreshing non-the-less).                        

Yesterday was our first day with clearance to leave our village to travel for leisure. A group of us went to Ialovin (a Raion center, similar to a county center in the States) to chill with the Russian EEs that live there. On the way home, the routira was packed, and kept getting packed tighter. I’d been warned about this, but had yet to see it in action. At our first stop, I was the last one on. I sandwiched myself between the door and Hayle, and was uncomfortably close to a short, elderly, Moldovan man. He was at about boob level and kept a steady stare on me until the next stop when a seat became available. While it was uncomfortable, I preferred the staring at my face to the eye level stare as I don’t yet know how to say “my eyes are up here” in Romanian. Each stop let on more and more passengers without any getting off, but everyone remained pleasant. The three of us that were traveling together laughed at how crammed it was getting. The locals were laughing too, but I’m not entirely convinced it wasn’t at us. Regardless, everyone in that routiera, no matter how accustomed they are to traveling on them, recognized the physical discomfort of that ride. Stepping out into 80 degree heat was refreshing, especially when a slight breeze cooled us after our natural sweat baths. I’m just releasing toxins erry day (also thank goodness for fiber pills and multi-vitamins).

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.