You can have all the Ketchup you want, and, for free!!!! I mean, yes you have to order food to get the ketchup, but still, it’s part of the ordering food deal! At most restaurants, a bottle of the delicious red stuff will probably be waiting for you on the table as you sit down. In fast food joints, you receive heaps of little packets full of ketchup from absentminded counter employees. No where on the bill are you charged for this condiment, or are you limited if your bottle runs out. Yes, in the fancier places they will bring it to you in a little dish, with a charming spoon, in lieu of placing the bottle on the table, but you are still getting more than you can use. In America, ketchup flows freely (as does barbeque sauce). Do not take this for granted.
In Moldova, this is not so. (one of a few fundamental differences I’ve found between Moldova and America). Here, restaurants charge you for ketchup. And on top of that, they dole it out in small, controlled amounts. For a ketchup addict, this is a problem. If you think that one person ordering ketchup would be cause enough for the waitress to bring enough for the whole table, you would be wrong. I’ve seen fights erupt between Peace Corps Volunteers over the use of the ketchup that one person ordered (and thus will pay for) and another person used. Usually the fight will break itself up, we are civilized, but still, people are edgy. From these experiences, I have concluded Americans are spoiled by the availability of ketchup. Even if you don’t like it—you take it’s presence for granted. (just like traffic signals).
As readers of this blog (and my friends) know, I was in America for this past month getting all kinds of medical tests and treatment. Now that I am back in Moldova, (I’m fine now, by the way, thanks to the help and support of a super fast Peace Corps medical staff), I have come upon this ketchup conundrum the hard way. During the brief time I was in America, I, undoubtly, had slipped back into my old life—besides the excessive doctors appointments—I got used to wearing what I wanted to, speaking English, going to restaurants where people can’t smoke, slurpees, take out and ketchup. As a girl who once drenched steak in ketchup because she hated the taste, I can honestly say, nothing has changed. I thought I could live without ketchup in Moldova, in fact, I got used to doing without it, but once at home, I fell off the wagon, big time. I guess what that means is I need to better work on my addiction, instead of assuming it is gone just because I am eating less of it. Hmmph. More to work on… oh well, I have 19 more months!
Okay now about the real stuff. Being in America was weird at first—my first reverse culture shock moment was at the airport in Washington DC, filing into a line to get a cab. It was so orderly. No rushing, no pushing, and the fees were all tacked up on the window. I got in the cab and asked how much it would cost to go to the hotel. The guy just pointed at the meter and said, “we’ll see”. No more of that bargaining stuff. Also the roads, so complex and smooth- like an asphalt miracle! But America slipped back to feeling “normal” very quickly.
Anyway, I know the term “med-evaced” which is what Peace Corps uses to talk about bringing someone out of their country of service, briefly, for a medical reason conjures up images of helicopters and rush emergency landings, but that is not so. In fact, if such a life or death medical emergency were to arise, it would be at that time when Peace Corps would actually treat the volunteer in country. Many countries where Peace Corps serve have adequate medical treatment facilities, but I think, they bring people to America for “peace of mind” for families, and also for patients—who wants to be talking about medical issues in not their native language? Or through a translator?
So the Peace Corps flew you all the way to Washington Dc and back to Moldova? Yep. It’s kind of a part of the deal. Peace Corps, as an organization, can’t have volunteers getting sicker, complicating or even dieing (worst worst case scenario) of conditions that, had the volunteer been in America, could have been treated perfectly fine. So they gamble that most volunteers won’t get so incredibly sick—which is why they put you through so much medical screenings during the application period. And the ones that do get sick, they take care of. Which was good for me—My doctors in America all said they had never seen an insurance provider with so few hassles and roadblocks. To Peace Corps, it seems, you are an investment – they want you to heal and go back to post healthy. My only problem with doctors was not having a cell phone for them to call me on.
Also, while in DC (why dc? Well that is where the peace corps office is) I got to meet many volunteers from all over the world who were in DC for medical reasons. It’s interesting to exchange stories, tales, triumphs and laughs. And every time a newly evacuated volunteer would show up in Washington, we would indulge him or her with whatever food it was that they were craving. It made for many an interesting dinners. I know the first time I went to a grocery store my cart had no less random things than: olives, cookie dough, pecans, pears, bagged salad, salad dressing, string cheese, cheetos and sliced wheat bread!
Anyway, I am better and back in Moldova now. It’s hard to come to grips with the fact that so much time has passed. Time already moves funny in Moldova, but add in a sickness and a surprise trip to America, and you have really screwed up your frame of reference. My friends here in the Peace Corps were good about keeping me updated about what was going on, but still, it’s hard to believe I was gone for so long. Before I left I hadn’t had the time to tell everyone that I was leaving. While most people found out that I had left, but was coming back (thanks in part to Mike and to my host mom), some people still didn’t know. One woman yesterday told me she thought I was “lost.” Great.
Another testament to how small Moldova is. Another volunteer, who lives about 30 minutes away from me in another village, was talking to his bus driver last week. The driver asked this volunteer if I was feeling better. Apparently this driver had spoken to a driver who works in my village, who knew that the American girl was back in American because she was sick. His driver just assumed he knew me—we are both Americans of course. That’s a small country for you.
Also in my village, Mike introduced me to this girl who is around our ages, yesterday. She said – oh I am glad to finally meet you. I heard about you—the girl who is a bad eater and had to go back to America! Splendid. This is where I grin and grate my teeth. Remember living in a fishbowl? Yeah, it’s all rushing back to me.
Anyway, I’m still settling back in. It’s harder than it looks—and boy did my Romanian suffer. Hopefully I can get back on track because people are looking at me like—what do you mean you don’t understand, you knew this word before you left!!! Either way, I’m happy to be feeling better, and oh so happy that I got to see my family and friends, and for Easter! What perfect timing! (if there ever is a perfect time to get sick!). Anyway. I also learned about new people reading my blog that I didn’t know were (Aunt Gloria and friends, “Grandma” O’C, and the Roosevelt Ave crew!). Miss you all. And you might be happy to know, that even though I have no blog postings for the month of April, I did arrive back in Moldova on April 29th. Yay for two days in April spent in Moldova! More to come soon.
