Turkey kills and Grease Fires

December has arrived with the furry. Today is definitely the coldest day since last winter. I naively stepped out of my house this morning headed to work in jeans, boots, and a fleece only to be abruptly halted by arctic winds blowing at a bone chilling 20 degrees F. Immediately I retreated back inside to imbrac mai bine and put on long johns, a scarf, gloves, and a soviet aviator beanie. Last week we had our first snow(s) and on Black Friday the clouds dumped nearly three to four inches of snow only to have it melted away Sunday with a heat wave. Today is snowless, however all the melted snow puddles left in the pot-holed riddled streets are frozen solid. The long autumn is officially over. Hello five months of winter.

Life on this side of the pond has been as caprice as ever, although now that I’m well into the second year of my service there is a more routine resonance to my life. I was right in the middle of finishing up a project to replace corroded pipes and refurbish a water tower/well when my partner on the project landed herself in the hospital. From the differing stories, hearsay rather, I have pieced together that she either had spleen surgery or a kidney transplant. Either way it doesn’t sound ideal. Selfishly irritated that the one person that has constantly been my professional guide and partner for a year and a half now is indefinitely out of the office, I am worried about my productivity and effectiveness as a volunteer for the next seven months. That sounds terrible to actually admit, but this woman, who is like my Moldovan grandmother, has been a godsend to me and is the shaker and mover in our office. We’ll have to wait a see how her recovery and my remaining service pans out.

This year Thanksgiving was much more comfortable and forgiving than the previous year’s. It might have been due to the fact that I’m now settled into my life in this country, the gathering was smaller, the food was indescribably better(sorry PSN), it was at my house, and my closest friends, except one that met up with his parents in Israel, were there with me to celebrate the holiday and give thanks to everything we are blessed with. While I’m writing this I can’t help but compare and contrast Thanksgiving to Ramadan. While we pile our plates to the brim with turkey and gravy to give thanks for our cornucopian lifestyle, our health, and our family, the period of Ramadan similarly gives thanks and recognizes the fact that they are alive, healthy, and grateful for all that they have. Strikingly enough though one culture fasts for a month to appreciate the fact that they have been blessed, and another culture binges. Strange.

This year I had five of my friends come up for a Thanksgiving meal in my village. Because of the workweek we decided to have Ziua de Mulțumire, Thanksgiving, on Saturday. Friday morning my friend Dan and I set off for the market to pick up our 8-kilogram live turkey. Talk about an experience. We paid the man, threw the turkey in a sack, and headed home giggling like schoolgirls because we were totting a live bird Santa-style. We waited for everyone else to arrive before the turkey kill, because truly that is one experience that you have to witness at least once in your life to fully appreciate where your fat, perfectly plucked turkey with a pre-inserted thermometer comes from each November. We were gathered around the chopping block with cameras out when I got cold feet and had to delegate the first blow to my old, weathered Moldovan neighbor. I was charged with the task of cutting the head off before the bird had succumbed to its sacrificial Thanksgiving grave so blood could drain out. After the turkey-kill, we brought the headless bird into my kitchen where we were instructed how to pluck the feathers, eviscerate the innards, and lightly torch the small hairs and feathers that were impossible to remove with our hands.

For two days we slaved in my ill equipped kitchen. We prepared mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, cornbread, stuffing, deviled eggs, gumbo (although that was first dinner Friday night), mac and cheese, chocolate chip cookies, chicken salad, and of course, turkey. I will never, ever, take for granted the ladies (and men) charged with preparing Thanksgiving feasts, or any celebration, from here on out after experiencing this arduous process first hand. The bird was alone a chore and a half. I would like to note that my oven is not what you would exactly consider up-to-code. Quite frankly, it’s a piece of shit. The dials on the stove are falling off, the stove has to be lit with a match at the open flame located at the bottom of the oven cavity, and it is virtually impossible to guess the setting or temperature of the stove besides gauging how high you set the flame. Occasionally the flame will go out without warning, and everything has to be removed to light it again. A meat thermometer proved to be too large a request for Moldova, so we charged forth with slight reservation but no hesitation. Three hours into the cooking time we were putting the bird back in the oven after a basting when the pan fell off the stripped guides in the oven. Dan and myself were both scrambling to retrieve the bird off the ajar oven door when an enormous grease-induced fireball exploded out of the oven singing the hairs off our arms and eyebrows. One of the girls screamed and ran looking for a bucket to throw water on the fire, but was halted by our screaming protests not to put water on a grease fire. After the fire died and the grease was left smoking, we cautiously decided to commence the cooking and we nervously eyed the oven while airing out the smoke from the house.

After five hours cooking the birded we pulled it out only to find it TV-worthy golden brown and succulent. The meal was a huge success and at four in the afternoon we all sat down to a feast fit with all the trimmings, and 20 liters of house wine that I was forced to carry around in old gas cans. We all toasted and individually shared our blessings of thanks, and proceeded to savor the fruits of our labor. Afterwards, in a tryptophan and wine induced delirium, we all took a two-hour nap before I had my Moldovan friends come over to share another Thanksgiving meal. I have never seen a group of people rally so fast from a comatose state to setup for meal number two. The second meal was as wildly successful as the first, and it was just as jovial and merry in Romanian as it was in English.

The holidays are always peculiar when spent away from family in another country, but I’m thankful to have such close friends, American and Moldovan, to share a meal and make this year a very special Thanksgiving for me. No telling what the future Thanksgiving holds in store for me. I only hope that wherever I am, whomever I’m with, it will come close to the joie de vivre that this Thanksgiving will always mean to me. Happy holidays everyone, and thank you for reading.

The Eyes of October

Timpul trece- time passes, and it passes rather quickly. The month of October has come and is soon to go. Beginning the month the leaves were just starting to show signs of autumn, and now as I sit looking outside I see nothing but yellow, orange, red, brown and green foliage. There is crispness in the air, and tenderness under foot. The weather is pock marked with cold rainy days intermittent with piercing, bluebird skies. The corn has been cut, shucked, and stored. The land is being tilled in preparation for the hard winter freeze. Fruits and vegetables have been stashed away in jars of salt water in dark corners in basements. Outside I can hear the slow, and rhythmic chock, thump, chock, thump of the neighbor chopping wood for his fireplace. Occasionally a passerby calls out the customary phrase “Doamne ajuta!” wishing the woodcutter assistance from God. Babas bundled in seven layers of wool all adorning vibrant headscarves huddle around the sunny patches in the village market totting jars of salty goat cheese and homemade sour cream for sale. Pressed grape skins sit rotting in the back-corners of peoples’ yards omitting a sour smell of fermented wine.

In preparation for the changing of the seasons my apartment windows and doors are now sealed off to the elements outside. The double paned windows have been outfitted with plastic strips at the sills and will remain locked until the hinting summer breeze comes blowing in May. Extra sets of doors have been installed as an additional barrier for the doors leading outdoors. My basement is now stocked with wood that I have chopped, carried, and stacked by hand. Plastic siding has been plastered to the exterior walls as a first layer of defense. My fireplace has now been given a makeover and is now dually equipped to burn wood and gas. Lately, I have been joking with my over-protective landlord that if it gets too cold in his gas-heated apartment that he is welcome to come live with me in my what-appears-to-be bomb shelter.

We have been doing a lot of work lately with finishing up the soba-fireplace project at the orphanage in town. We had some difficultly getting approval from the neighbors allowing the gas line to go through his yard, and then only to be slowed down further when the contractor refused to work anymore. But the good news is that that project is now finished and the kids have a warm house to come home to and keep them warm at night. We have also been rocking and rolling on my other two projects and we have started to install the gas line to the kitchen at the Children’s Center here in town. Soon we will be able to start on the project in Ratuș at the rural health center. I doubt if we will be able to start the work this late in the year, but at least that gives us sufficient time to plan for the spring. The other work that I am looking forward to is a joint project with my sitemate’s organization that focuses on child development. We are in the planning stages of starting a greenhouse to use as a demonstration plot for the kids. I’ve wanted to get involved with a project of this sort since I arrived in my village over a year ago, and I hope that I can end my Peace Corps service on a good note of this caliber.

It hasn’t been all work and no play though. I’ve been able to travel around and experience the culture quite a bit these past couple months. I took a trip down south to the Bulgarian/Russian speaking district center of Taraclia to visit my friend Aaron. It was great getting to check out his site, interact with the baba he lives with, and see traditional dances at a concert in the center of town. I also visited one of Moldova’s larger wineries and tasted their selection of wines with relish. Lastly, I was able to attend the Farm Expo in Chisinau this past weekend. Wandering around tractors and combines ranging in prices from hundred of thousands to millions of dollars is always an experience, especially in Moldova when you are used to the 50 horsepower, older-than-dirt Soviet tractors that are widely popular.

As you can see life is good. I hope you all are having a pleasant fall and are preparing for the holidays. I’ll be seeing you in November!

A Winter Worth a Thousand Words

What historical references would one have to have to claim that a winter will be the coldest in 1,000 years? The rumor as of late in Moldova is exactly that- this will be the worst winter in a millennium. This has been hard for me to wrap my brain around; maybe because I am already suspicious of daily weather reports, much less weather-claims dating back before the Crusades even began. If this holds true I will have lost all faith in my Eastern European Lonely Planet guidebook. Quoting purely from memory, “Moldova has temperate summers and mild winters.” Bullshit. I might have to make the switch to Frommers if this winter does shape up to be worst than last. Maybe it’s my southern heritage, but there is just something about a cold, gray winter day that lets you savor a bad mood.

I’m noticing a trend that I like to start off each blog post talking about the weather. I attribute that to fact that this is my go-to conversation with strangers in this country. It should be interesting to see how it all plays out. I distinctly remember my host mom telling me last spring that it was going to be a cool summer because we had such a cold winter. Tell that to all my shirts with permanent deodorant/sweat pit stains showing through under each arm. Either way it’s a win-win situation for me this winter. It’s either going to be bone numbing cold and I’ll have an extra little swagger in my step knowing that I can make it through two of the worst Moldova winters predating the Magna Carta, or it won’t be so bad and I won’t be constantly speculating how much longer by toes have got before they get frostbite.

Time has been flying by. I came to the realization that I have a hair over nine months left in Moldova. I’ve still got a long list of things on my Moldova To-Do list, and much of it has to do with harvesting and wine making. I guess I had better get to it. Even after nearly 16 months in country I still get the reply “Neal, you don’t want to go work out in the fields. It’s dirty and it’s hard. Go enjoy your time with your friends” whenever I ask my partners and friends if I can help. I’m not going to candy coat it- this hurts and is somewhat insulting. I know that they see this as a chore, but living and working as Moldovans live is one of the main reasons I joined the Peace Corps. It seems like the only chance I have at getting my hands dirty are by walking into the fields and asking a random stranger if I can help. Ninety-nine percent of the time these people are thrilled that they get free labor and I’m sure one day I’ll get strapped to a plow and that will be the last I see of the farmer. It would be nice one day to be able to help out without having to go through my windup speech of how this crazy America ended up out in the middle of nowhere, speaking pigeon Romanian, and asking to help cut corn.

I have decided that if I’m not going to be in the fields picking grapes this weekend, I might as well be enjoying the fruits of the labor. A friend and I are going to visit Chateau Vartley, one of the major wineries in Moldova that is conveniently located about an hour from me. This will be the first time going there for me so I’m pretty excited. I will be sure to include lots of pictures to make you all jealous the next time I blog. Fiți sanitoș!

What happened to fall?

Hello all. Much has gone on in Moldova since my last update. I feel like this slow Sunday evening is a good of time as any to send out an update. The changing of the weather has been a force to be reckoned with as of late. The weather has been overcast, cold, and rainy for the past two weeks, which has induced a melancholy affect on my mood. The looming presence of winter scares the shit out of me, because in no way am I prepared to battle six months of well-below freezing temperatures, snow drifts, ice patches, and canned veggies quite yet. All I can do now is sit tight, shut up, and hold on.

Several weeks ago I hosted a get together for what turned out to be nine fellow PCVs for my village’s hram. I had a great time, and I’m glad that I was able to show off my village to my peers. I might have overextended myself because my house was a rockin’ 24/7 for nearly four consecutive days with almost a dozen Americans. It seems like everyone enjoyed themselves though, and my friend Vascia that lives in a small village nearby really helped escalate the festivities by inviting us all to his family’s house for a Moldovan masa and lake swimming afterwards. The next day there were concerts in the center of town and I had the opportunity to give everyone a taste of Louisiana’s world famous Cajun cookin’. I must say though, after four days of hosting guests in a house that has hidden quarks, lack of sleep, and lots of cooking and cleaning, I was utterly exhausted afterwards. In many ways I’m glad that there is only one big event in my town a year, because I think my days of hosting that many people at my house are over.

I’m still traversing mountains at work. We are finally wrapping up the orphanage-heating project that started at the beginning of the summer, which has been a slight nuisance because I have been trying to open up another grant of the same type, but can’t have two out in my name at the same time. So, that is good news. Also, my search for finding a donor(s) for a rural health clinic has provided several potential financiers. All I have to do now is put the finishing touches on the project proposal and we are rocking and rolling. With the impending winter it seems like everyone is scrambling to get their crops harvested, finish on-going projects, and buckle down all the hatches.

As of late, I’ve had a renewed interest in cooking. I’ve stolen my mother’s gumbo and jambalaya recipes and have been using my friends as test subjects to perfect the Moldova-Cajun infusion. If anyone is reading this in country and feel like giving your taste buds a wake-up call, then hit me up. One thing that shows that I probably have too much free time on my hands is because I’ve found that making a vegetable broth, and then using that to cook rice in, elevates the flavor two-fold.

Since it has taken several days to actually write this blog post, I am sitting at work right now listening to a meeting with all our agriculture consultants in the other room. These monthly meetings are always interesting to observe from an outsider’s perspective because they will be yelling at each other for two hours, and then once the meeting ends and the masa is setup, they turn back into the best of friends. Sometimes I like to run out before the meal gets going, because I usually like to avoid midday wine, cognac, sausage, and cake. I’ve been feeling slightly removed from reality lately so I think I might stick around for this one. Happy trails everyone. Noroc.

Back to It

The following pictures are from Mereni, Moldova where I helped out with a childrens camp my friend Dan put on in his village. Poftim:

Walking to Dan's, another PCV, house.

Girl's got an arm on her.

Attempting kickball.

Choosing teams.

Sharing experiences in the classroom.

The human knot!

Gathering everyone together for an activity.

Choosing the site for Sports Day at a children's camp.

Ah yes, alas, a new blog post. I recently returned home to the States for a brief vacation to attend my sister’s wedding. While there I updated most of you (my blog’s readers) in person so you should probably stop reading now (just kidding). Summer is coming to a close and with that means the 95+ degree temperatures are soon to be over, and harvest season will be upon us. That also means all the fresh summer produce is getting thrown into jars of saltwater and stored away in basements; sad thing for me is that I don’t have a basement. I’ve lived through a winter eating nothing but canned foods already, and I’ve got to say, besides the canned peaches it’s not all that it’s cracked up to be.

Work wise I have been grinding through the introductory phases of several grants. This is very much a process- at times it can be discouraging, but every now and then the skies open up and the sunlight aluminates our dedication. Other than that, I’ve been teaching a fair amount of computer lessons, and have gotten to opportunity to work with kids in several different summer camps.

As I mentioned earlier, I recently returned from a trip back home. Well, home was only part of it. I spent three days in Baton Rouge, and the rest of the time on Orcas Island off the coast of Seattle. It was great to go home although I overextended myself and was scraping the bottom of the barrel halfway through trying to find the energy just to stand. The place itself is funny; in some ways it seems as if everything has changed, and in others it is exactly the same. I can iterate how much it meant to see my family and spend time with my friends. It was definitely difficult saying goodbye, especially knowing that after every vacation you take you experience a twinge of post-vacation blues. The worst was coming back from Turkey in the winter (In Istanbul it was sunny and 60 degrees, Moldova was -5), and I went through a two-week slump. I can finally say that I have rounded the corner and have experienced a January-in-August moment, and have set new goals and aspirations for my second year of service.

Adjustment back to the village life is actually quite amusing, it’s almost like coming back from the dead in some ways. When I greet people on the street they always, without fail, say “We thought you left for good. How was America? Is it better than here?” My answer to this question is second nature now, and I honestly believe in what I tell them. America isn’t better than Moldova- it’s merely different. Sure the level of development is lacking in Moldova, but the traditions, values, and closeness of the Moldovan culture is something to be admired. You often hear stories of PCVs returning home to America and going through a severe culture shock. I can’t say that’s how it was for me. Sure, I experienced it to a slight degree. It was quite overwhelming hearing English everywhere, flushing toilet paper in the toilets, and the endless amounts of produce in the grocery store, but what really got to me was the realization of how much time we, as Americans, spend in transit. Think about how much time you actually spend in your car per day. I had to run errands over the several days I was home and it is absurd thinking that just running to the grocery store, to a friend’s house, and back was over an hour in the car, if not more. I think back on all the trips to Starbucks for the sole purpose of getting coffee. I mean COFFEE, what the hell, I could have easily put in a filter in my coffee pot, poured in the grinds and water, pressed a button, and within three minutes have a steaming cup of quality joe in my hands (I say quality because when you subsist off nothing but instant coffee, ground coffee tastes like heaven). Instead I, like many others, decided to get in my car, drive 10-15 minutes down the road, pull through the drive thru listening to talk radio, pay nearly five dollars for a coffee, and then take the drive back. Absolutely ridiculous. OK, I’m done ranting.

A week and a half has gone by and slowly I am able to tune out the roosters in the morning, and the dogs at night. Also one of the more prominent indicators that I am adjusting back to village life is that all my clothes are starting to get that worn look again and are probably omitting a slight odor. I guess it’s time to throw them in the garden tub and get to work. Sitting here now I notice a large drip stain on my brand new pants and am paranoid that it won’t come out, no matter how hard I scrub.

I’m at work now and really need to get back on the grind. My village’s hram is this weekend and I am planning on inviting some friends up for the celebration. Refer back to my post from last August about this particular celebration. I’ll be sure to take lots of pictures and update you all. For now, adios.

Top of Mt. Constitution. Orcas Island, Washington.

Posh living, no joke

Welcome to the virtual tour of my nattily furnished apartment. Every day it exceeds my expectations and it is crazy to be living in such laps of luxury. First off as you walk up to my apartment building you will see that I am the only apartment with a corner entrance. The picture below is my apartment on the ground floor with the yellow gas line running overhead.

This is a closer shot. My garden is quite verdant right now and I need to get out there and do some serious work with my sapa (hoe).
Even closer...
The view from my patio. There is usually a bunch of chickens, roosters, geese, and dogs running around the yard. The bench in the middle is also a hot spot for me to socialize with my neighbors or read a book.
Another view from my patio. In the pots I've got seedings of cucumber, oregano, cilantro, and basil growing. This is also where I hang my clothes to dry after I hand wash them in the tub.
Below is the first room you walk into upon entering. I usually keep my front door open with the curtain pulled so I get a fresh breeze.
The room wraps around and from this view you can see my work table, my soba (wood/coal burning fireplace that will keep me warm in the winter) and the door leading to my kitchen.
Ah ha! My kitchen. That's right, I've got gaz. The oven doesn't work and the water works half of the time (it either comes out bone white or not at all).
Going through the kitchen you reach my music room. That's right, I've got a piano. It's older than dirt and the keys don't work very well, but I've still got one. In the left hand corner is my deep freezer that I don't use unless I'm having a bunch of people over and need to cool down some piva (russian for beer).
After going through my music hallway it forks into another hallway. To the left is my bedroom, the right is my guest bedroom/greenhouse, and straight ahead is the bathroom. Below is a picture of the guest bedroom.

In the window sill of the guest bedroom I have 8 cherry tomato seedlings growing. They aren't really faring too well right now, but I've got hope...

Turning around and going out the guest room and straight ahead is my bedroom. The rug on the wall sometimes trips me out, but it's too Moldovan to take down. On the left is nothing but closet space, and to the right is a mirror with pictures of family/friends, and a bookshelf.

Lastly, we have reached my bathroom. As you can see I've got a lovely swan tiled mural that helps you drift into a nebulous tranquility when you are taking a bath. Above the tub is my hot water heater that I've named Buster. We don't get along too well because Buster likes to flood the apartment on occasion. I know it sounds weird that I've named my water heater, but I live alone and it seems perfectly normal for me to scold it when I come home and find a lake in my bathroom. Oh PC, thanks for making me weird(er)...

This is another shot of my bathroom to capture all it's glory. When my water doesn't work I use the backup storage tank on the left. It's a catch 22 because this also leaks. Buster has a power cord tail that plugs into the socket in the hall to heat up. It takes a couple hours to heat up enough water for a bath, but the good thing is is that it holds the heat a long time after unplugging it. Usually about a week.

That concludes this tour. Thanks for stopping by. I have another room in the middle which I didn't show you because I don't use it. My landlord has some storage stuff in there, but he said if I have a lot of people come over and need the space I can feel free to use it. I've got plenty of room for company so anyone that wants to take a great trip off the beaten path come on over. I'll be waiting. Norok.

Coffee breaks

Vaca

My host mom posing

Host grandpa with his pigs

The fields are a growin'

Norok oameni. I’ve got a free moment to kill while I’m here at work seeing that I can’t seem to pay attention to the Word document I am working on. I attribute this fact that we just had an impromptu wine, placenta (national dish that is a fried sandwich with either cheese, cabbage, cherry, pumpkin, or potatoes inside), honey, and tomato party in our small conference room. This is a normal occurrence when my main partner Petru is out of town. The lady partner that I work with, Larissa, who is probably the sweetest old lady you could ever imagine once you get to know her, loves to invite her friends in our building over for a midday snack. Also, we occasionally have all our consultants come into our office one or two days a month, and like magic, a large masa full of food and wine appears at the end of the meeting. Business in Moldova revolves around personal contacts, and it is important that you partake in the breaking of bread. For my birthday my partners called me up at 8 in the morning and told me that we had a seminar in an hour. This is a somewhat regular occurrence so I put on my clothes, ate a quick breakfast, and hit the road. Upon getting to work I was greeted by a large table full of traditional Moldovan food and spirits. Gotta love it.

Lately I’ve been getting overrun with workmen and water and gas “controllers”. I’ve been having a problem with my water pipes in my apartment, and like clockwork once I turn on the hot water heater my bathroom floods. My landlord has been calling several different repairmen for this issue to no avail. Also, the gas and water companies have been coming by to check my meters, they call these meter readers “controllers”. I don’t know why they don’t install the meters outside of the houses, especially since these people come at the worst possible times of the day (when I’m taking a nap). I’ve decided to turn it into a tea party, and instead of getting upset that I have people barging in on me at all times of the day, I politely ask if they would like to have coffee or tea with me. To my surprise, I am yet to be turned down. This morning actually I was telling a telephone repairman about my regular visits from the water controllers, and how in America they do it differently. He got a funny look on his face and asked me if I had ever been to America before. I thought he was kidding at first and so I replied “Once or twice”, but then realized that he was dead serious. I took it as a huge complement that after ten minutes of continuous dialogue he couldn’t make me out for a phony butchering his native language.

I’ve been going into the capital regularly for training with the new volunteers. When I returned the other day the gas in my apartment wasn’t working. I figured that I hadn’t paid the gas bill yet so I went to the post office to check and see. As I thought, I had already paid for the gas at the beginning of the month. I figured the gas would come back on within a day or two, because that’s just how things work here. After three days I still didn’t have any gas and I was getting tired of not being able to cook anything. Racking my brain for a way to have a hot meal, I decided that I would try to cook pelmeni (meat stuffed pasta you can buy at the store) in my chainik (water boiler for tea). This method worked beautifully. The second day of me boiling my pelmeni in my chainik my landlord came by and asked me what I was doing; I responded that my gas wasn’t working so I was preparing my noodles in my water boiler. Man, did he laugh at me. He told me that since I had been going out of town so much that he turned the gas nozzle off just in case there was a gas leak. Worst part about it is that the nozzle is about eye level on the wall directly above the stove. Oh cultural differences…

Happy 4^th of July and hopefully everyone has a safe holiday. I will be going to the annual 4^th of July Picnic the US Embassy throws in Chisinau. Last year it got pretty wild with an open bar and a Michael Jackson CD playing on a loop to commemorate his death. Hai devi!

Water Tower pictures

The truck we got to load the PCV pipe for the water project.

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On the left is one of my Ag Extension consultants and on the right is the head of the pipe factory giving us a tour.

Drilling into the aquifer.

The good life

It’s quite a lovely day in this small, tucked away corner of Europe. The sun is shining, the roosters are cockadoodle-dooing, and the kids are merrily playing outside. For the past week it’s been brutally hot, but for the last two days we’ve been getting afternoon storms that have cooled things off a considerable amount. I know that I’ve been slacking with the blog, but instead of weekly posts I will be switching to bimonthly posts.

Last week the new group of volunteers to Moldova arrived, all sixty-nine of them. Ten mentors, myself included, and several people from PC staff anxiously waited for their arrival at the small, janky airport in Chisinau. We were all very excited for the new arrivals, and it was great being able to have a change of perspective and see what we all looked like coming in country only one short year ago. As a joke all, or at least most, of the male volunteers grew mustaches under the pretense that it was for community integration into small villages. Shortly after the newbies arrived you could hear a mummer of “They all have mustaches…” and then finally we started yielding their questions as to why. Most were quite mystified and one guy actually started panicking and saying “I mean I think I could grow a goatee, but I just don’t know about a mustache. Would that work?”

After several days in the capital we packed everyone onto their respective buses and sent them on their way. I remained in Chisinau to prepare a presentation on Social Networking and Communication for Pre Service Training and after nearly a week of being away from home I finally made it back yesterday. It’s really quite odd, but when I’m away from my village for an extended stretch of time I always experience a twinge of anxiety. It only lasts for several hours, and I usually wake up the next morning after a good night’s sleep in my own bed feeling relaxed and at peace. It’s good to be home though, and I’m glad to have saved my potted plants from the brink of dehydration. I have to keep them inside because my landlord told me that they would get stolen if I left them outdoors. I told him the world is more similar than we probably believe.

Right now I’m working on finishing up a grant for a compost demonstration plot I think I have mentioned before. Getting the information from this guy has been harder than getting a kid to take a bath, and I have come to appreciate the American “Let’s get shit done” business mentality. Other than that I am trying to start a kids summer camp that will focus on agriculture, environmental awareness, and volunteerism. The youth of Moldova also fall into the global trend away from the agriculture sector, and it is vital for the sustainability of the country that the youth be taught the importance of modern agricultural practices. Also, after all the environmental degradation that occurred from Soviet policies, they could usea good dose of environmental awareness education. Ideally, I would like to have presentations and interactive workshops teaching the kids about animal husbandry, greenhouses, beekeeping, composting, irrigation, alternative methods and fuels, recycling, tree grafting, and species varities. To finish up the camp I am going to try and get the Primaria (mayor’s office) or the Școala to designate an area that we can help clean up, paint a classroom, etc, to inspire the idea of volunteering in the community (which is nonexistent concept here). If all goes well and the kids have fun, I think it would be really cool to run with the idea and start to start a monthly volunteer club and work on various service projects within the village. If this is going to happen before school starts I’m going to have to kick into high gear, spread the word, get everyone in the community onboard, find volunteers and experts, and fundraise all before I go back to America for ten days in August for my sister’s wedding. Doamne ferește- oh my God.

If you have been following my blog, or at least have read multiple posts, I’m sure you can tell that I really like it here. Life has a slow element that focuses on interpersonal connections, and even though I am still adjusting to the business peculiarities, it has forced me to understand not only my role within my community, but also my role as a human being. I love working with people on a grassroots level, and the constant challenge keeps me stimulated and motivated to continue to work throughout developing countries. I am starting to realize all the possibilities that Peace Corps is opening up for me, and for the first time in my life I have found a passion and a dedication that I didn’t know existed within me. A year ago if you would have told me that I would be thinking about dedicating my life towards international development within developing nations I probably would not have believe you. I had it all planned out that I would graduate from college, go into the Peace Corps for two years, go to law school, start a career, get married, start a family, then thirty-five, forty years later retire. Believe me, there is nothing wrong with that and I’m sure I could be perfectly happy with that lifestyle, but I think I will take a couple detours along the way now and see if I can’t see more of the world. Lately I’ve been thinking about the possibility of extending my Peace Corps service in Moldova, or going into an Environmental Conservation/AgriBusiness program to either The Gambia, Morocco, Tanzania, Mali, Malawi, Madagascar, the Phillipines, Vanuatu, Niger, Benin, Zambia, or Miconesia. It’s pretty cool that I get to basically pick and choose the country (if they will have me) after serving an initial two-year stint in Moldova. The front-runners would definitely have to be Morocoo, Zambia, The Gambia, and Vanuatu. I’ve got about seven or eight months to make my decision so if you, or anyone you know has served, worked, or been to any of those twelve countries PLEASE drop me an email at ncolli2@gmail.com. I am going to pick cherries and work in the gradina. O zi buna!

Last Bell

Once again, another month has gone by in the blink of an eye. Eight days from now is the year anniversary from the date I waved goodbye to my family at the gate of the Baton Rouge airport and departed for my life abroad. I’ve said this countless times before on my blog, but in some ways it has flown by, and other times life here has dragged by like the last drop of cane syrup dripping out of the jar. Regardless, it is hard to believe that I am fifty percent of the way through. At times I feel frustrated because I would like to have more tangible results to show for my time here, but I understand that this is a process and I am pleased with the work I have been fortunate enough to take part in. I’m looking forward to this next year, and am anticipating great things. The most notable difference is that I have a lot better knowledge of how things get done here, not to mention I actually understand the majority of what people say to me now.

Today was Last Bell across Moldova, which commemorates the last day of school for the summer. All the kids were in their Sunday best, and the graduating classes all adorned pageant style sashes. For many of the teachers in PC, this means they went to school, listened to speeches, watched concerts, and even had to get up and say a word or two. I’m sure they are just as glad as the students that school is out for the summer. I didn’t get a chance to make the Last Bell ceremony at my village school, most notably because I didn’t know that it was going on until afterwards. I guess that’s what you get when you avoid the school like the plague. I truly admire the dedication and persistence that teachers have, because I know if I were an English or Health teacher here I would have dreaded everyday.

Works seems to be at an interesting place right now. One of my partners is going to America for the summer, and it just so happens this is the partner that is a really a shaker and a mover here, which will slightly stall most of our plans. We are trying to establish a Small Project Fund for local NGO’s through our District Council, and it would be really nice to have him here to have help with the writing of the project. If all goes to plan, this is my defining service project, and I am eager to see the social welfare benefits that could come from this. I know I’m not being very clear right now so let me explain. We have multiple NGOs, nongovernmental organizations, that are setup to serve the public and not for private interests that range in expertise from HIV/AIDS to business development. We are trying to setup a program where we would be the donors for project ideas they want to implement in the community. This will be a big job, with a big financial commitment, and hopefully I would be able to see it commence by the time I leave.

With the responsibility of living on my own, comes the responsibility of making myself food three times a day, from scratch. I know I’m not hungry now, but give me forty-five minutes and my stomach will be a rumblin’, so for now, la revedere and a happy Memorial Day to everyone.

Long Overdue

Just posin'

Dave sliding down the side of the mountain towards the castle.

One of the mountain dogs at the mountain cabana.

At the mountain cabana

Popping into the backyard of Vlad the Impaler

Old city center in Brasov

Good morning ladies and gents. I seem to be falling into the pattern of posting less frequently now, and before you go jumping down my throat seeing that this is probably the most riveting non-fiction you’ve ever read in your life, there is a logical explanation for this. First of all, the strange and awkward feelings I felt coming into Moldova is all but gone. I’m coming up on the one-year mark soon, and with the passing of the time come the feelings of normalcy and complacency. Not to fret, this is a good thing; it shows that my ability to integrate and adapt is getting better. No longer do I stop to gawk at the ladies wearing cabbage leaves on their heads in the market, now I know that this simply is a sign that she has fresh produce (most likely cabbage) to unload. As of late, I have also been quite busy with a number of things: Moving places, hiking the Carpathian Mountains in Romania, and work.

I can’t make this a long entry because I’ve got to go teach a seminar in an hour, but I’ll give you the highlights. Two weeks ago I moved out of my host family’s apartment into a place of my own. It’s on the other side of town, and instead of a four minute walk to work it’s about twenty-five, but it’s not too bad. Already I’ve been bombarded with crazy neighbors, packs of visiting Peace Corps volunteers, and friends from the village. For the most part I love the place. It’s got an awesome patio where I like to put a table to have dinner, but with that outdoor exposure it opens myself up to endless (and most of them pointless) conversations with the crazies around here. One of the neighborhood drunks now has taken to introducing himself everyday, then asking if I have five lei (About 30 cents) every time we see each other. Other than that I love it- it’s a huge apartment, I have three bedrooms, a “music room” where my deep freezer and piano reside, and a kitchen. I find myself spending the majority of my time in the kitchen now. It’s not that I love to cook; I simply forgot how long it takes to make three meals by hand from scratch everyday. For a year now I’ve been absolutely spoiled and pampered, and it’s a weird transition into having to pre-think what you will be eating later on in the day. Already I have baked pre-smoked salmon and had the smoke detector PC gave me go off two times. I’m starting to think salads, rice, and beans are the only way to go.

I took a trip to Romania last week. My close friends in the ARBD program and I took to the mountainside and decided to bushwhack our way through the Transylvania region. I say bushwhack because we had the tendency to loosely follow the marked trail and spent an entire day wandering aimlessly on some quite steep and rugged terrain. I can’t describe the astounding beauty of the Carpathians in the spring. All the trees are bursting with bright green, the mountains still have snow on the peaks, and all the fields and meadows are carpeted with yellow and white wild flowers. While on the mountain we stayed in mountain cabanas, which was like a hostel halfway up the mountain. After several grueling hours hiking up the mountain you reach small cabins, which they call cabanas, where you can pay about 3 dollars for a bed and a meal. We spent the night relaxing with the locals that ran the place drinking beer and playing dominos while listening to the Romanian version of Bob Dylan. On the last day of hiking, the trail literally dropped us off in the backyard of Vlad the Impaler’s castle. For the next two days we lounged around the town of Brasov to lick our wounds and recover from the most strenuous backpacking any of us had ever done. Brasov was nice, and we had some great food there that wasn’t your typical cabbage and potatoes from Moldova, but on the whole I was highly unimpressed and found the town a tad bit boring. If you are into eating and drinking, then it’s a gold mine, but once you have been accustomed to seeing breath-taking views at every mountain top clearing, sitting in a veranda sipping a cappuccino pondering where to eat for lunch just doesn’t cut it for me.

For three weeks now, the ACSA consultant who lives in the small village where we are doing the water project and I have been trying to meet up. On Saturday I thought I was going with one of my partners to the village to simply hand off the money to him so that the final stage of the pipeline can commence. However, early Saturday morning the president of the raion (the equivalent of a Governor) picked me up and took me to the village for a press conference. After he and the mayor spoke for 30-45 minutes, I was once again put on the spot and demanded to give a speech. I am usually no stranger to public speaking, and I don’t have a problem with it, except when I have been completely and utterly caught off guard and have been daydreaming for the past 40 minutes. To a roomful of maybe fifty people I managed to stammer out ”Thank you for letting me be here today, it was an honor to work on this project” blah blah blah, and that’s the pretty version. I made so many Romanian errors that the people were kind enough to clap for me at the end. It reminded me of the Special Olympics. The floor was then opened up for the villagers to ask questions about the project. What amazed me was their hesitance to see this project come to fruition. You would think that after 400 years of a village not having running water and battling health problems due to unsanitary drinking water that everyone would be enthusiastic. However, the villagers were reluctant because this is now another burden for them to pay for something that used to be free. Not to mention the fact that most of their concerns were about the legitimacy of the controller that will collect the money. It just amazed me that these people, living the epitome of poor village life, are petrified that now they will have to start paying for water, and even then they are worried that the collector will be corrupt and will steal the money and will cheat them. I was reminded of the book One Hundred Years of Solitude, hands down one of my favorite books, and after doing community development work in a developing nation it means so much more to me.

Paka for now.

Moving up in the world

This is going to be a quick blog update because it is an absolute pristine day and the rooster calls are beckoning me to join them outdoors. If any of you readers actually worry about my well-being here, then fret not. I’m pretty sure life doesn’t get much better than this.

Ever since the middle of winter I have been feeling great. Lately, I’ve been feeling more than great. I am experiencing my village and Moldova in new ways, and every time I think this as good as it gets, Moldova goes off and proves me wrong. Do you know that feeling of falling in love? Everything is new to you at first, your stomach is in knots, you walk around with a smile plastered on your face, and people tell you that you are acting exceptionally chipper? That’s me and my lady-love- Moldova. I don’t want to go overboard with this mushy nonsense, because just like a woman, she can really get me riled up and leave me sulking for several days. However, I haven’t had a bad DAY in a long time. Whenever something does go askew, I’ve found I’m quick to get wound up, but quick to cool down, and I can live with that.

I attribute my mood to many factors. First and foremost, the weather is absolutely beautiful. Today is 70 degrees (~22 C), everything is blooming from tulips to the cherry trees that line all the streets. I was talking to the “gardener” at the District Council today and we were talking about lawnmowers, which they most certainly do not have here. He asked if I could get him one, and I laughed and said we could talk about it later. It might make his job a lot easier, but if you could see the front of the building with purple and yellow wild flowers blooming everywhere, with nice beds of red and yellow tulips stretching towards the sun in every direction, it simply wouldn’t be the same with a nicely manicured bed of grass.

Secondly, my Romanian is really starting to kick in. I’m no where near where I want to be, but it’s like a light clicked the other day and I find myself having much more meaningful conversations without getting strange looks when I say certain things. The grammar in this language is completely foreign to English, and I have really come to appreciate its complexity, which you learn after awhile, it is logically consistent which has attributed to my “A-Ha!” moment. I was at my tutor’s house on Wednesday, and she told me me how much improvement I’ve made since beginning my lessons. Let me tell you, I walked out of there feeling like the king of the world. I got on a mini-bus to come back to my village and had a strange, but great conversation with a little old baba who was telling me all about her cow. I was having a peak Romanian moment, so I decided to bump around the village, and ultimately wound up getting a haircut. Sure enough the sky came falling down shortly after. The girl cutting my hair was absolutely drop dead gorgeous. It was one of those instances where I would have had trouble speaking in English, much less Romanian. I had gotten a haircut from her when I first moved to my village, and like a baby lamb I was timid, nervous, and barely said a word much less I screw up and look like a jackass. Well I know I’ve grown here in Moldova, because it now feels normal to blunder my way through conversations and hope people understand what I’m saying. When I sat down she said”So I hear you speak better now”. That’s all it took, I told myself that I had to make a showing for myself this time, and proceeded to try and make routine small-talk. What’s your name, where are you from, how long have you worked here, will you marry me, what do you do for fun, you know the usual. It was going pretty well, the dialogue was going back and forth, and then I started noticing subtleties of her splendor, and that’s what did me in. I simply couldn’t talk. It took me about five tries to spit out “Ce te gîndești?” what do you think, when she asked how short she should cut my hair. The straw that broke the camels back was when I asked her if she had a wife, instead of husband. The other people in the parlor were ease dropping and once I said that, everyone started laughing, including her. Oiff, doamne ferește. The worst part was that I didn’t get a response from that. Tail tucked in between my legs, I thanked her, paid, and went home.

The story doesn’t stop there, because I told my neighbor, a sweet little old grandma about this incident, and she told me not to worry about it and that she was going to fix it. With that she grabbed my hand, pulled me down the path to the center of town, and was determined that I ask her to take a walk with me in the park (the village equivalent of a date). I wouldn’t classify myself as a shy person, but asking a girl out with a little old lady moderating isn’t my style. Someone in the Big House must have felt bad for me, because ten feet from the door to the salon I ran into one of my partners. Never in my life have I been so happy to hear someone tell me that I need to come with them to finish work that was due that evening.

More big news, I am moving into my own place in an hour and a half! Four months of patiently waiting is finally paying off. I don’t know if I will have a dish, pot, or blanket to my name, but at least it will be a place to call my own. I told a couple PC friends that I was moving out this weekend, and automatically was told that they will be coming in to “lend me a hand”. I don’t know how much helping they will be doing since they are coming conveniently twenty-four hours after I move all my stuff, but I am looking forward to having friends come spend the weekend in my village. One of my PC friends coming is in the Russian language group, and it’s always interesting to see the locals reaction when you put them in the Romanian region of the country. I decided today that it wouldn’t be a party if we didn’t invite the locals, so I’ve got some of my Moldovan friends coming who really know the right things to say when you invite them to a party- “What kind of wine should I bring? You like them both right? No problem, I’ll bring both”.

Work is keeping me busy lately. Between seminars, village visits, and other projects, I have something going on everyday now. Lately, I have been working on a project that was introduced to me awhile back about composting. In the villages in Moldova, the majority of the people have animals, usually a cow, chickens, ducks, rabbits, pigs, and a dog. However, most people don’t use fertilizer or compost in their home gardens and in the fields. A Moldovan counterpart and I are trying to start a business where organic waste will be collected from the houses and brought to a demonstration plot to show the benefits of composting, and where fertilizer and compost can be sold at a reduced price. We are still in the beginning stages, but the project shows promise and I have grand plans to turn this into more than a demonstration plot, and will hopefully be able to get my hands on soil and water testing kits, and conduct on-going research in the area that will add to the educational component.

Fiți sanitoș! Paka paka.

"We live life forward, and understand it backwards"

The rolling hills of Moldova.

Too funny not to laugh.

V.I. Lenin. Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov! ...What's he talking about Dude?

I just re-read my blog post from last week, and yikes. I apologize for the incessant droning. Maybe I needed some brînza with that whine. The next day life pulled a 180 on me and everything that I was complaining about fixed itself. My program manager called me in the morning and told me he had (somehow) spoken to the landlord and was meeting us at noon to check the place out. We had a great meeting, the apartment was clean, it has a really nice garden that I’m looking to overhaul upon moving in, and we have a contract for me to move in May 1^st. Maybe the best thing I found out is that it is coming with a laundry machine! I was getting used to the fact that I would be hand washing from here on out, and that thought doesn’t really bother me, but I’m not going to turn down a laundry machine. Although now that I think about it, the last time- the one and only time- I actually used a Moldovan washing machine I ended up shrinking half my clothes to midget size since all the buttons were in Russian. I wonder what my villagers will say about me when I’m walking around in a tight, formerly-white-but-now-is-pink shirt and acid wash jeans.

I’ve been quite busy lately, although I haven’t sat in my office for more than two hours over the last week or two. It’s planting time and I’ve been kicking it with the farmers in the fields learning how to plant beans, corn, onions, potatoes, and peas, while empirically learning that strawberry plants are not weeds and you most definitely will get yelled at if you try to uproot them. This is some backbreaking work, and I sometimes feel like a wimp compared to 70 year old babas that work like horses in the fields. The most amazing part- they don’t drink water, just wine. Gee-zuhs, I can’t keep up with that pace. When I sweat all the water out of my pores I decided to get a couple pulls off of grandpa’s homemade cough syrup. Bad idea. I was hunched over, panting, trying to comprehend Romanian and plant potatoes before I imperatively had to take a pauza and find the nearest water well. Peace Corps Medical staff recommends that we don’t drink this water, but at that time I felt the trade-off of spending a couple extra minutes on the john outweighed the dehydrated dizziness I was experiencing.

For my desk job, I recently was informed that I will be taking over the newly created electronic newsletter that my village is mandated to put out since we won a Democracy grant from the US Embassy. I have only seen this newsletter one time, and what it looks like is a weekly run-down of any current events in the community, grants that are available, and any other tid-bits deemed worthy enough to be sent to a select few that actually have email (although I teach weekly seminars to change that). This is going to suck up some hours out of my week since I’ll be scouring websites in only Romanian and Russian, and then producing a three-page report, in business-friendly Romanian. Truthfully, I wasn’t initially excited about this, but have now come to realize that I potentially have the influence to suede people to look at certain material (grants and programs I’m interested in) and hopefully get community backing for my projects.

This past weekend I went up to the border of Ukraine and Moldova to celebrate the birthday of a good friend of mine and to catch up with other volunteers. The PCVs house we stayed at reminded me a lot of camping. The gas didn’t work and we barbequed outside, no running water so we drank/washed dishes from the well outside, the outhouse was overflowing and it was better to find your own spot than sit in the torture box, and we all smelled to high heavens after three days of debauchery and camp fires. At times the weekend was a little blurry from rachui- distilled liquor made from beets, and a lot of sun. Some of the more specific memories were walking through a beautiful valley full of sheep, goats, lambs, cows, calfs, horses, and ducks; eating a raw goose egg out of a feces covered egg with Moldovansș and my utter incomprehension of the dialect they speak up there. Since it is close to Ukraine they speak Horholește, a Russian/Ukrainian mixture. Throw in some deep country Moldovanește and it calls for one hell of a time trying to piece together conversations.

I can truly say that I’m having the time of my life right now. The longer I stay in this country the more I learn to appreciate and understand not only the Moldovan cultural, but also my own as well. I read in a book onetime (although I can’t remember which one, go figure) that the best way for you to know your own culture is to live in another. This couldn’t truer. Va mulțumesc Moldova!