Where is Moldova, anyway?

In the Peace Corps, you do things you wouldn't normally do in real life - and people, Americans, are helpful (to one another) in ways not often seen in America.

Perhaps its the intensity of the experience, the type of people PC attracts, or the fact that your "people" have shrunk in number, incredibly - but there is something about being thrown into the same boat that makes you more sensitive to others needs, more likely to go out of your way for them, and more appreciative of time spent together.

In the Peace Corps, a package of taco seasoning sent from America is enough of a reason to throw a party. You may have been waiting 3 months for those granola bars, but of course, you share. Yes, I will lug your bag of bricks from America to Moldova, because I'm going there anyway, and I know, it will never make it in the mail. Please carry this (expensive item, amount of cash, report) to Chisinau because I don't have the time to go myself. Quality time waiting in line at the bank, count me in. And of course I will ride a bus 3 hours to "watch" election results come in over the internet with you.

That's just how we are here. And I kind of like it. It's a good feeling knowing you are not in it alone. And a better feeling knowing that all you need is a supply of peanut butter to maintain friendships.

Last month, a couchsurfer stopping by my village, made a comment about the stacks of books on my floor (lack of a bookshelf led me to this make-shift organizing method). He apparently had visited other PCVs and stated that it would be nice, to "take two years off of my life, learn a new language, do things for myself, and catch up on my reading."

While his perspective was VERY off about the life of a PCV, (It's not fair to call my time in Peace Corps "not real life"), he did recognize that we PCVs do read a lot. Why is this? Well I was never much of a TV watcher in the first place, but not having a television sure does cut down the amount of time you spend staring at the tube, "not watching." Also, when you first arrive in your community, and it is winter - no one goes outside, and there really isn't anything to do work wise. So we curl up and read. In my two years here, I have read 89 books. That's an average of more than 3 a month. Some highlights have been "A Sand County Almanac," "Wicked," "A History of Love, " "Animal , Vegetable, Miracle," and "The Audacity of Hope." And there have been some that I will never read again...

I've also spent a lot of time reading books about Moldova, and Eastern Europe in general. Not too long ago, Moldova got a lot of press as it was labeled the "Least Happiest Place on Earth" in the "Geography of Bliss." The author spends a total of 2 weeks in Moldova - mostly in the capital and another large city - before making this assertion. While I can't tell you not to read the chapter on Moldova - it is slightly entertaining in its offensiveness - I will tell you this. Reading this blog, and other PCV blogs is probably a better, more realistic take on the country (hell, I've lived here 2 years already and still am in the process of formulating opinions on its culture/people). Your parents warned you that not everything you see on tv is true… but someone needs to warn you that not everything you read in a book is true either.

If you aren't planning a trip to Moldova soon, I've created a list of books that are BETTER to read to find out about this country than the “Geography of Bliss.” While only two of them are specifically about Moldova, learning about the area in general will help you understand Moldova better. Most of these books are scholarly, and I don't expect all of you to read them - they can be dry - but for those of who you are interested in some expert opinions on this country, here are my recommendations. Get yourself to a library.

1) The Moldovans: Romania, Russia and the politics of Culture, by Charles King -probably the best and most accurate look at Moldovan history, culture and development. Written as a scholarly study, can be dry. Talks a lot about identity building and the use of language in politics.

2) Playing the Moldovans at Tennis, by Tony Hawks – do not read this book if you are EVER going to come to Moldova. If you aren't, it's a good (comic) look at the ridiculous aspects of everyday life here. While he has the same limitations of Weiner's book, he is fairer to the population. Also, he travels to the breakaway state of Transdnisteria and his experiences there are really interesting.

3) Bury me Standing: The Gypsies and their Journeys, by Isabel Fonseca - traces the Roma (gypsy) people all over Eastern Europe and discusses their experiences, including in Moldova, and prejudices existing against them.

4) The History of Eastern Europe for Beginners – If you are one to say, Moldova – where? This is a good book for you. Funny and easy to understand (with pretty pictures!) this book will help you sort out the fates of the former Yogoslavia, Czechoslovakia and Soviet Union.

Also, if you find yourself interested in the region, and not specifically in Moldova, you can check out “Balkan Ghosts” and the “New Russians”. Happy reading! (If anyone reading this has any additions to this list, please let me know. English language books on the region are hard to come by... )

The leaving, the mass exodus of the 28 Americans I came to Moldova with 26 months ago. And it's hard - to watch people go, to help them pack, to say goodbye, and to be here without them - harder than I thought it would be.

I am only going to be here a month longer than the volunteer who left the earliest, yet it feels weird already, being here, in Moldova, without "everyone." It's a given that we volunteers didn't see each other on a daily basis, some not even on a monthly basis. Moldova is a small country (slightly larger than the state of Maryland), yet some volunteers were separated by two days bus trip and many, many crappy, bumpy roads. But there was something comforting about knowing there are others like you, out there, alone, being forced fed by their host moms as well.

Still. Who joins the Peace Corps to meet Americans? No one, really. It just happens. While you spend the majority of your service as the "only American" in a place, you are constantly "surrounded" by letters, emails, text messages and phone calls from other volunteers - going through the same or similar cultural and work related situations daily. Peace Corps has a way of forging fast and intense friendships -- when you are away from home, you make yourself a home, as best as you can. I got to know my American Peace Corps friends faster than I got to know most of the friends I have in America - out of need, yes, but also because we have a common thread outside of just happening to be Americans in Moldova at the same time - we all joined the Peace Corps, which makes us all a little crazy, and predisposed to getting along, to understanding each other.

I am lucky enough to be ending my Peace Corps service with many Moldovan friends, with whom, thanks to the help of the internet, I will continue to communicate with after I am back in America. I don't worry about that. What I do worry about, however ironic, is keeping in touch with my American Peace Corps friends, once we are scattered across the lower 50, and taking part in such different realities. These are the people who got me, mentally, through the last two years. Who allowed me to be so effective in my village, who encouraged me, who laughed both at me and with me, who pushed me when I needed it the most. Sappy, maybe? Honest, yes. After two years, I have earned the right to be reminiscent.

"Ain't it Amazing all the people I met... we're the volunteers of America... "

My patience for this particular gem of Moldovan culture has worn out, 2 years and 1 month into my service.

People NEED clean, fresh air. Even if it is cold, breezy air. Take that back. Especially cold, breezy air. It recycles germs, invigorates people, and keeps you from falling asleep. WIND DOES NOT MAKE YOU SICK. And yes, I'm sure of that.

Last week, a bus driver and two of my Moldovan friends somehow managed to make me feel utterly stupid for believing that cold air does not make one sick. How did they do it? "We drive around with windows open in America and don't get sick... " but you have "different air there" claims the bus driver. Really? I didn't realize that there was a border in the sky surrounding your country...

I'm not entirely sure where this "current" theory comes from. Maybe from the Greek "bad air" idea. I know my grandma used to tell me not go to out of the house with a wet head or I would "catch my death;" but this is a wives' tale on crack. I understand - being cold can make you more susceptible to germs. But being cold is not equal to catching a cold.

What made this episode the turning point in the Sharon vs. the Current battle? The fact that the driver was smoking. I don't want to breathe in his disgusting fumes, I don't want lung cancer. "Smoke is bad to breathe in," I said. "Just for me," he claimed, "you aren't smoking." "Studies have been done showing that second hand smoke is very bad for your health..." "How did they prove this?" he asks. "Through tests, of course." "Well I have proven myself that the current makes you sick. Many times. Why are your American tests better than mine?" ARGHTHIWOER!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What I wanted to say was - "How come the rest of the world thinks second hand smoke is bad, and ONLY Moldovans think that wind makes you sick?" Fortunately what little patience I had made me bite my tongue. And my friend just looked at the driver, and at me, gritting my teeth, laughed and consoled him (not me)-- "We've been trying to convince her for TWO YEARS, there is nothing you can say to change her mind. Stubborn American."

I told her the same thing I've been saying for 2 years - when she shows me a science book saying that wind causes sickness, I will re-open the topic. I'm not that stubborn. I just need some solid convincing, not popular knowledge.

This is a post I've thought about writing for a long time., but ironically, I could never find the right words.

In my lifetime, I have taken 12 years of Spanish classes -- today I can *maybe* say 12 Spanish words.

Yet since coming here in September 2006, 2 years ago, I am now fluent in Romanian. That's right, I said fluent - no exageration. I work in Romanian, shop in Romanian, express myself in Romanian, get directions in Romanian, argue in Romanian, write my weekly newspaper article in Romanian, dream in Romanian, talk to myself in Romanian, and now even, think in Romanian.

I noticed that last month when I went home for Cathy and Brian's wedding. (weirdest thing about being in America - hearing people speak English all around me, as background noise. I'm used to recognizing every voice that speaks English). I would be talking to a group of people, and in my head I would be translating my response from Romanian to English. (I know you can't believe it, I couldn't either). My "cruise control" has become Romanian.

The filler words I use while speaking English in Moldova are Romanian words, because let's face it - the large majority of the people I speak to here, in Moldova, in English, are other Peace Corps volunteers, who know the Romanian and therefore give me the freedom to switch in and out when the time is appropriate.

And that's true, sometimes the words are just better in one language or another. Some things just don't translate. Or they lose the meaning. Like for example, my host family generally speaks Romanian, but there are some Russian words they use daily because they just fit the bill better.

In Russian, after one takes a shower, you are to tell them (spelled phonetically) "sloo-kiim pahrum", which if you translate it word for word it's "good vapors." What it really means is something to the extent of "Happy awesome feeling you got from just showering." Maybe it's not the most necessary of words, like "help" or "water", but it's definitely a nice idea - to recognize and congratulate people on the nice feeling of taking a shower. Why didn't we think of that in America?

On the other hand, there are the funny situations of idioms that show up in both cultures. We have cat nap. In Romanian they have "little chicken nap." But while I can't explain why flying butter is an insect, or the meaning of the word "raincheck," Moldovan's can't explain to me why you describe a smart person as "having a chair on his head," or "cutting leaves at the dog" means doing nothing. In English we say someone is "on the phone" or ask what is "on tv" - yet when I use the same sentence structure in Romanian, my host mom laughs at me, and responds with her tried-and-true come back of "if they are on the phone, than the phone must be broken."

In Russian, the word for "red" is the same as the root word for "beautiful". Think about it. In Romanian, there are different words for "road" and "paved road." Cheeky in English is "cheeky" in Romainan - the same meaning of fresh and then some, but formed with the Romanian word for cheek of course. In Romanian, as well as in Russian, to give someone a nickname, you usually end up making their name longer -adding ita or uta or duta to the ending.

Dictionaries can often be hopeless - sending you in circles inside of more circles with their translations. The best thing, I have found, was to infer meaning from context (although that can get you in trouble, a lot). My host mom always comments that my Russian accent (the little Russian I speak) is better than my Romanian one. Why? Because I learned Romanian out of a book, with 5 other Americans trying to learn Romanian. I learned Russian by mimicking people in the street, in the piata, on the phone. My intonation is simply a reflection of theirs, not my mastering of any grammar rules whatsoever.

An interesting thing for me is to look at the different vocabulary of various Peace Corps volunteers. We start off with the same basic vocabulary - but then, depending on job, site placement, host family, the friends we make, the people we interact with - we meet again after 3 months of being at site, alone, and have completely different vocabularies. My friend Andrea can name 4 different kind of cattle. I can talk you in circles about fairy tales, pirates and monsters. Ben can tell you about banking, fixed loans and credit.

Yet even if we don't have the same vocabularies, we always understand each other - because we are non-native speakers of Romanian, and all native speakers of English. So while one volunteer is presenting something to a room full of confused Moldovans, we might be in the back nodding along - because we understand what he is trying to say, because we understand how he constructed the sentence - using English thought, but filling in Romanian words.

Yes, it is easier to learn a language when you are forced to learn it, as I was in the Peace Corps. But is it easy? No. It's frustrating, and tiring -very tiring. Even more so when you know you are saying the right word, just pronouncing it wrong, and the person in front of you does not understand you. Context clues people! Yes, maybe I'm putting the accent on the wrong part of the word - but if we are in a store and I am pointing at a bag of pretzels, you can assume the word that sort of sounds like pretzels is pretzels, and not machine gun (if that word also sounds like pretzels). I still talk around words a lot, it's not as efficient, but I can get my point across.

Even with the frustrations, learning a foreign language has been very rewarding, especially in Moldova - where language is so politicized. I look like a foreigner, and when I open my mouth and speak Romanian - people drop theirs. They congratulate you, tell you how glad they are you are speaking "their" language, how surprised they are - and then they go on to rant about so or so group that has been living in Romanian for such and such and amount of years and has refused to learn Romanian. Slackers. It makes you feel good.

I've also learned how much can be communicated without language. Not only normal "I have to go to the bathroom" or "I'm lost" body language, but as we have the thumbs up and the come here, Moldova has their own hand gestures - one for "let's have a drink" and one for "you're not behaving honestly (honestly isn't the right word - I can't think of the right word in English. It's like - 'shame on you' or something to that extent).

How long will I remember Romanian? Let's see. I'd like to say forever, because I will miss speaking in two languages. But I doubt it. In my short trip to America I already lost so much. I am afraid of not having people to speak it with and then loosing it -- I can see that happening, and it makes me sad. I'm sure my American friends and relatives will ask me the ever-popular question "say something in Romanian?!" but surely that is not enough.... :)

Right now, I am sitting here, thinking about once again expressing myself in English. And thinking about what will come with it - confidence, vocabulary, respect (as in, I now no longer sound like a 12 year old). I am also worried about the confused looks, waiting for me in America, as I try to re-train myself to speak clean English.

It should be interesting.

Something weird that happened during my trip to America. I watched the news - and heard both canidates - Obama and McCain talk about the election for the first time. It was strange hearing their voices after a year of reading news stories online.

They don't sound like they do in my head.

This week it seemed like my entire village was closed.

No one was working in the post office, half of the kids were absent from school, and the open-air market was slim pickings – moldy potatoes, anyone?. And at night, there were no people strolling the streets, or gossiping around wells - just quiet, still evening skies.

Picking grapes, that’s where almost everyone was. In the fields around our villages, where each family has a plot – or gone to the villages of their parents and grandparents, to help with the harvest there. Grapes mark the end of the harvest season (we’ve already collected cherries, tomatoes, peppers, apricots, potatoes, grain, apples, pears and corn,) and is one of Moldova’s most important, or at least most culturally important, crops.

Everyone I know here makes their own wine, “vin de acasa.” When you visit someone, it is essential that you drink at least a cup of their wine – commenting on the flavor and quality. Wine ties them to the Earth, to where they are from. My host brother, living in Chisinau, the capital, while studying law, does not drink wine produced locally near his city nor does he buy wine from the store – my host mother sends him bottles of wine from our village to drink for the year.

Wine is something Moldova can, and does brag about (although they rarely export it due to quality control standards in EU and American markets, as well as Russian bullying). Popular knowledge says that Moldova even looks like a bunch of grapes, when viewed from on the map of the world.

Picking grapes is hard. The plants are low to the ground. They easily squish and roll around. And they stain – your clothes, your hands, and your mouth. And you have a very short time to get them all off the vine before they rot, fall off, animals get them, or they freeze – like any other fruit.

Hard work, yes. But delicious work too.

(GREAT Pictures to come – my internet connection is not behaving).

Recently I have been the epitome of the absentee blogger.

Where have I been? Well, I’m glad you asked. Last week I went home for the wedding of my cousin Cathy (it was beautiful!). Seems simple enough – a trip to the States – not so.
I have to admit I am ready to STAY PUT after all of this traveling around… I think I am going to spend the last 5 weeks of my time in Moldova just being here, in my village, enjoying life in Moldova, instead of running around to “see all of the places I haven’t yet gotten to,” which is sometimes a common symptom of the last days of one’s Peace Corps Service.

Why am I fed up with traveling? See for yourself. Here is a basic play-by-play of how I got to said wedding, and back:


Moldova - NJ

1. 
   Call Moldovan friend with car to pick me up from my house and drive me out of our village to the main high way. (I normally walk to the edge of town, but it wasn’t possible with all my baggage)
2. Wait on the side of main high way for bus to come.
3. Bus stops but will not take me to Chisinau because my hiking backpack and rolling suitcase is “too much stuff” (despite the fact that some Moldovans get on the bus with crates of Chickens and pungas full of veggies/fruits/sour crème).
4. Argue with Bus Driver – say I will pay for the extra seats that my baggage takes up. He still refuses to take me, shaming capitalists everywhere.
5. Stand on the side of the high way pissed off. Watch it start getting dark outside. Imagine missing my flight the next morning.
6. Start flagging down random cars in a half-panic. (after not getting a bus to stop for 25 minutes)
7. Get picked up by a guy who is going to “just outside of Chisinau.” I’m desperate- decide it’s good enough for me – and that I will deal with my problems as they appear.
8. Guy drops me off 20 miles from the center of Chisinau, the capital of Moldova, somewhere I have never been, in the dark on a Saturday night.
9. Haul stuff 20 feet to bus stop (Moldovan roads are not made for rolly suit cases)
10. Flag down bus. Take bus to within 5 blocks of Peace Corps. Helpful bus driver tells me where to get off.
11. Negotiate with a taxi driver to take me to Peace Corps with my luggage – short taxi ride ends up costing just as much as 2 hour ride from my village to Chisinau.
12. Take taxi to Peace Corps, which although so close, requires navigating a series of one-way streets and open air markets, and takes a long time.
13. Arrive at Peace Corps. Do some email. Check on my flight.
14. Take a cab to where I will stay the night
15. Take a cab at 3:30 am to the airport
16. Have cab break down at 3:55 am, right outside of airport
17. Guy attempts to fix cab
18. Guy doesn’t fix cab
19. Guy hails down another cab, who drives me the last 3 minutes to airport
20. Fly to Budapest, transfer planes
21. Take nap in Budapest airport
22. Arrive in New York City
23. Cruise on into the 201 with the dad-mobile.

NJ to Moldova

1. 
   Dad drives me to airport, right to the door of the check in at JFK
2. Roll suitcases into line, 2.5 hours before the plane is scheduled to leave
3. Miss flight due to a number of circumstances, none of them my fault (traffic accident, mass chaos at the airport, ridiculousness of other passengers, badly trained Delta employees
4. Drag stuff over to the Delta ticketing office; get standby ticket for free – after very little convincing, and a lot of proof on my part, Delta agrees that my missed flight is indeed their fault.
5. Standby until the next day
6. Find a sympathetic employee who puts me on a flight to Paris, 25 hours after I was scheduled to leave NYC
7. Fly to Paris; nap in Paris
8. Fly to Istanbul – run to terminal of new flight just to have the terminal moved across the airport.
9. Argue with Turkish airlines about paying a “surcharge” on my ticket because I missed the original flight the day before (when my delta NYC flight was scheduled to get in)
10. Fly from Istanbul to Chisinau
11. Arrive in Chisinau – have the Halloween candy that I brought back to Moldova picked through by the security guards at airport (candy corn was especially suspicious looking). But the laptops I brought back for my village schools not even glanced at. So much for import taxes.
12. Get ripped off by cab driver from Airport to Peace Corps – don’t care at this point, I just want to get “home!”
13. Drop stuff I brought back for other volunteers at Peace Corps office; take cab from Peace Corps to Bus Station
14. Get on last bus towards the North of Moldova for the night (lucky timing! Karma paying me back…. And I avoid having to spend the night in Chisinau).
15. Get off by my village – call a friend and get a ride to my house.
16. Collapse in bed.
17. Don’t fall asleep until 4:30 am because I am still on American time.