I've been to my fair share of Moldovan cultural events: baptisms, funerals, birthday parties, Easter and Christmas feasts--but never a wedding. I was beginning to think that I would leave Moldova without having this particular experience. But, a couple weeks ago, my PST host sister (from the family I stayed with my first 2 months in Moldova) called to invite me to her wedding. So, I went, partied my heart out, and saw a Moldovan wedding (nunta Moldovaneasca) at last. I'm feeling particularly lazy, so I will abbreviate this post into a list of observations I made.

Moldovan weddings are long.

I arrived at the bride's house at 10am Sunday morning and left the wedding at 6am Monday morning. According to my host mom, modern Moldovan weddings are much shorter than they used to be. Her wedding lasted two full days.

Moldovan weddings usually happen in 3 separate increments: the civil ceremony, the church ceremony, and the reception.

The civil ceremony is the actual legalization of the marriage. Usually only the nasi (godparents, who are the main sponsors of the wedding, rather than the parents) and a handful of other witnesses are present for this part. At the church ceremony, only immediate family and close friends come (at the wedding I attended, there were about 20 of us). Most guests are invited only to the reception. In fact, the word 'wedding' in Romanian, 'nunta,' actually refers to the reception. There are other terms used to refer to the civil and church cermeonies.

If you have a fear of public speaking, Moldovan weddings are not for you.

At about 1 or 2 am, the nasi typically walk around with a basket to every table. Each person stands up, gives a toast/inspirational speech to the bride and groom, and announces how much money they are giving as a gift. (Yes, you read that right. Full financial disclosure.) I was one of the last people to speak at the wedding I was at, so I had a good two hours to observe how Moldovans did it and then figure out what my own speech would sound like. I became quite the hit of the wedding by throwing in a comment about how beautiful Moldovan weddings were and that Americans could learn a thing or two from Moldovans in that area.

If you dislike dancing, Moldovan weddings are not for you.

It doesn't matter if you're 8 or 80, skinny or fat, coordinated or not. Everyone dances at Moldovan weddings. At the wedding I was at, we did a lot of the Hora (the traditional Moldovan dance). At one point, the entire wedding collective--all 150 of us--formed one giant circle and danced. By far one of the coolest things I've ever seen.

Weddings in Moldova are a big deal.

In Moldova, everyone is expected to marry (and have kids). Thus, a lot of importance is placed on weddings. When you plan a Moldovan wedding, you are under tight scrutiny. Small, simple ceremonies or elopements aren't an option. The bigger, the more elaborate, the better. As glad I was to be able to participate in a Moldovan wedding, I am very glad I don't ever have to plan one. (That is, unless my host mom gets her way and finds me a Moldovan groom. She only has 5 days left...)

1. I was recently visiting some friends, and the mother asked her 7-year-old son to bless the meal before we ate it. Knowing I would be leaving soon, she also asked him to pray for my safe return home. He bowed his head and promptly asked God to grant me many American entry visas.

2. My host brother, Vasile, (who works for the local police) and his work colleague, Iulian, stopped by our house the other night to grab a bite to eat during their shift. My host mother, never one to miss an opportunity to marry me off, suddenly looked at Iulian, turned to me, and said, "Katea! You're going to a wedding in a few weeks, aren't you? You should take Iulian as your date! He's single. That way he can buy the wedding present, and you won't have to pay anything. He'll even bring you flowers!" After extracting myself from that proposition as gracefully as possible by insisting that this wasn't necessary and I was just going with friends, she dropped the subject. But she then spent the rest of the meal hinting darkly at the fact that one month was still plenty of time for me to find myself a Moldovan husband. Thankfully, Iualian seemed to know what was good for him and kept his mouth shut.

This past week I was at a family camp organized by the church I attend here in Moldova. It was a wonderful week, filled with the same activities integral to the Christian camps I had grown up with in America (swimming, playing games, lounging in the grass, long conversations with friends, nightly worship services). As the week progressed and more and more people started to tell me how much they would miss me when I was gone, I started to get panicky at the thought of leaving.

All of a sudden, a month seemed like no time at all. Before, when I spent time with a Moldovan friend or went somewhere new, there was always the possibility of seeing that person again, of visiting that place one more time. Now, with a month left, the reality of my leaving became painfully apparent. I'm no stranger to change; growing up, my family moved a lot. As a result, I've gotten quite good at saying goodbye. In fact, most times I'm downright stoic about it.

But this time isn't like all the others. This time there is the real possibility that I will never come back. Not only that, but the life I have here (the language I speak, the culture I live in, the food I eat, and the people I share my life with) can't come with me to America. A profound sense of loss came over me this week, and I'll admit--it scared me. I've never felt anything like that before. All of a sudden, I felt this almost urgent desire to somehow slow time. To make 30 days stretch into 60. I began to be overwhelmed by the sheer number of people I have to say goodbye to, by all I have to let go of.

I'm just now starting to realize how different this goodbye is going to be.

I'm not very good at remembering to bring my camera along when I go places (or for that matter, taking it out of its case when I actually do), but I did manage to take some pictures in the past several months. I finally got around to posting them online. Feel free to check them out by clicking my photos link on the left side of the page.

As my time in Moldova is drawing to a close, the nostalgia has started to kick in. But nostalgia or not, I would be a liar if I didn't admit that there are a lot of things I won't be sad to leave behind. So I decided to make a list of everything I won't miss about Moldova. No worries--I haven't suddenly become bitter and cynical. I've also compiled a list of some of the (many) things I will miss.

I will not miss...

● eating soup 4 times a week, even when it's 80 degrees out

● common displays of public drunkenness

● living under a magnifying glass, and all the well-intentioned advice (criticism) that comes with it

● having to discipline my students in Romanian

● widespread corruption

● being asked if I'm married, why I'm not married, if I plan to get married, and would I like to meet a nice Moldovan boy and get married?

● being hit on by male students

● having to keep track of my students' attendance and grades by hand, in pen

● hearing European techno music everywhere I go

● living in a culture where it's socially acceptable for 14-year-old boys to smoke

● being shoved/cut in line as I try to wait patiently at the post office, bus station ticket window, etc.

● spooning with strangers on crowded public transportation

I will miss...

● my host mother's coltunasi, sarmale, placinta, mamaliga, and homemade donuts

● being able to speak 3 languages in one day

● buying 25-cent ice cream

● being greeted by "Hello, Miss Kate!" everywhere I go

● living in such a small country

● walking everywhere

● Moldovan holidays (Moldovans know how to party!)

● being able to travel abroad so easily (and cheaply)

● being able to fit all of my possessions into 2 suitcases

● striking up conversations with random strangers on a regular basis

● getting all of my fruits and vegetables from a garden, not a supermarket

● passing by goats, cows, ducks, and chickens on my daily commute to and from school

**Note: It goes without saying that the people here I've built relationships with are, by far, what I'll miss most. Since I'm sure I'll be writing more about them (in length) in upcoming posts, that's why I didn't mention them here.

So I recently had an article written about me (I know, I know--I'm a big deal). Two other Peace Corps volunteers and I were interviewed because a new Chisinau newspaper was doing a feature on the Peace Corps in Moldova. The article itself is a nice tribute to the Peace Corps, and the other two interviewees and I were able to talk a lot about our experiences in Moldova over the past two years. When the article came out, it was, naturally, published in Romanian. I wanted my friends and loved ones back in the States to be able to read it, so I decided to paste the entire article into Google Translate to see what would happen. Now, for those of you not familiar with Google Translate, it's a program that allows you to type a word, sentence, or--it turns out--an entire webpage in a certain language, and it translates it into another of your choice. As far as individual words go, it's fairly accurate. But if you try to translate more than that, it starts to get sketchy (as my lazy students who try using it to translate entire essays have found out the hard way).

So when I pasted in the article, the result was a much more interesting article than the original. For those of you who are interested in reading it, just go to http://translate.google.com and type in the following url in the text box: http://ziar.jurnal.md/?p=3351. I hope you're as amused as I was.

When I arrived at my lyceum two years ago, I kept hearing references to a "Miss English" competition that had been held the previous year. I asked my colleagues about it, and they explained to me that "Miss English," which was styled in the format of a beauty contest, was a chance for English-speaking girls in the upper-level classes to compete in various contests requiring creativity, memory skills, and--most importantly--a good command of the English language.

The second installment of "Miss English," which I wrote about in a blog entry last March, was an extravagant affair. Eight different girls competed, each of them representing a different country (presenting information about the culture, showing national dances and costumes, and even preparing a national dish for the jury to sample). Each contestant also had to answer a series of trivia questions and perform a scene from a movie of her choice. All of this, of course, was done in English.

When those of us in the English department started planning for this year's "Miss English," we decided to do it a little bit differently. We narrowed the field of contestants to five girls, none of whom had competed in "Miss English" before. And in place of countries, we gave each girl an American/British holiday (namely, Valentine's Day, Easter, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas). In addition, each girl was given a script of a fairy tale (written by yours truly) to act out, but with a modern-day twist. We chose Little Red Riding Hood, the Princess and the Pea, the Snow Queen, Cinderella, and Snow White.

So as the second semester got underway, two of my partner teachers and I began to prepare in earnest for "Miss English." I was flattered to be so involved in the planning process this time around, especially since I got to show off my creative side by crafting the modern-day renditions of the fairy tales. But as "Miss English" approached, my stress level sky rocketed. I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off, helping not only with the general planning but also helping Larisa, one of my students and a "Miss English" contestant, prepare.

Each of us English teachers was responsible for overseeing our respective students to help them with pronunciation and translation, and to keep tabs of their overall progress. Larisa had always been one of my stronger students, but this year she started to shine. When I asked her if she wanted to participate in "Miss English," I had no way of anticipating the result. She threw herself into it, telling me that she didn't really think she had any chance of winning, but she wanted to have fun and to make her friends and classmates proud. What most impressed me was her self-motivation. Not once did I have to prod her to practice more or to stay on top of things. She organized her own rehearsals, tracked down a slew of classmates and other random students to participate in her presentation, and spent countless hours assembling costumes and drawing and painting posters and pictures to use as visual aids (including a Halloween mural literally the size of an entire wall).

Even though I was excited to see Larisa's presentation take shape, I was becoming more and more disgruntled with the planning. It seemed to me (and it might just be because I am a slightly anal American) that too many things were being left to the last minute and that there was no possible way that everything would come together in time. In addition to that, "Miss English" was postponed on three separate occasions due to scheduling conflicts and sickness. By the time last Monday arrived, I was past the point of caring about how well it would turn out. I just wanted the stupid thing to be over with.

Somehow, miraculously, the program turned out beautifully. It was two hours long, which compared to last year's 3+ hour performance, was a welcome change. Other than a few minor technical glitches, things went smoothly. Our festivities hall was full, and even though a good portion of the audience didn't really speak English, there were enough decorations, music, and humorous elements (such as opening our show by having four of my 6-foot-tall 9th form boys dressed in drag come onto the stage, pretending to be "Miss English" contestants) to keep them entertained.

I watched proudly (and slightly nervously) as Larisa performed each of the elements of her program. As she introduced herself and gave her presentation about Halloween, Larisa talked to the audience as if they were a few friends sitting in her living room. Her English was clear, and she spoke so effortlessly that I almost forgot that she was speaking memorized lines. After a rousing performance of Cinderella (where she displayed some serious acting chops), it was clear that she was the crowd favorite. Still, I wasn't quite sure who our jury (comprised of two former "Miss English" contestants, two teachers, and my school director) would pick. When they said her name, the hall went absolutely wild. Larisa's face was priceless. She was utterly and completely shocked. When she came forward to give a brief acceptance speech, it was clear that she still couldn't believe that she had won. She spoke slowly into the microphone, trying to find the right words in English. And when she thanked me for all I'd done, I smiled so hard my face hurt. Who needs the Oscars when you've got "Miss English"?

I decided to dedicate my latest blog entry to Easter. Even though this holiday has come and gone, Paşte (as Moldovans call it) is by far the biggest holiday of the year here. And, just like Christmas in America, its celebration extends over a period of time much larger than a single day. So, a bit belated, here is my take on it all:

Pre-Paşte

Preparations for Easter start several weeks ahead of time. Just as many American Christians observe Lent, most Moldovans also "ţine post" (keep a fast) in the weeks leading up to Easter. Those who are serious about their fasting refrain from all animal products during this entire time. The handful of Peace Corps volunteers who manage to stay vegetarians during their stay in Moldova--a feat in and of itself--love this time of year because all kinds of soy products start appearing in markets and grocery stores. Moldovans also work hard to make everything "frumos" (beautiful)--putting fresh coats of paint on fences, benches, and trees, clearing fallen branches and leaves, and scouring clean every square inch of their homes (thus my host mother's recent cleaning rampage). The last couple days before Easter are the busiest for Moldovan women, who are baking and cooking as if their lives depended on it.

Paşte

The truly devoted are at church all night long on the eve of Easter, but most people get up around 3 in the morning to take baskets of pască (a sweet bread made only at Easter), colored eggs, and various other foods to be blessed by the priest. Sunday morning I woke up at 2:30 (never again will I complain about having to wake up early for an American Easter sunrise service!) and accompanied my host mother and sister to church. By the time we arrived, the yard was already crowded. We joined the silent line of people and stood huddled over our Easter basket, trying to stay warm. Almost an hour later, the priest finally emerged from the church. As he made his way down the line, he doused everyone with holy water. After that, we made our way back home.

I napped for a couple of hours, but I was woken again at 7:00 for our Easter feast. Moldovans, celebrating the end of their fast, go a little crazy on the meat. As I stared at the table before me, I saw mounds of ham, beef, chicken, fish, salami, and racituri (rooster jelly). Almost as an afterthought, there were a couple dishes of pancakes and potato salad placed along the edges of the table. Present at my Easter feast were only the immediate members of my host family, but many Moldovan families travel to visit relatives on this day. Even those who are working abroad will come home at Easter time to be with their families.

After I dutifully stuffed myself with meat, I went to the Baptist church in my town (which I frequent most Sundays) to see how the non-Orthodox celebrate Easter. Their service was actually quite similar to an American Easter service, and I found myself thinking of the Easter traditions I had grown up with.

Post-Paşte

Perhaps my favorite part of Moldovan Easter is that the celebration doesn't stop on Easter day. Starting with Easter morning, Moldovans replace their usual greeting of "Buna ziua" (hello) with the phrase "Hristos a înviat!" (Christ has risen!). For the next 40 days, they answer the phone, wave to their neighbors, and greet colleagues and friends with this phrase. As a response, the other person must say, "Adevărat a înviat!" (He has risen indeed!). Then, on Ascension Day, they greet each other with the phrase "Hristos s-a înălţat!" This marks the end of the Easter Season.

Coming from a culture so saturated in commercialism that even religious holidays have become excuses to buy needless "stuff," I must say that I wholeheartedly love the Moldovan approach to Easter. And no, I didn't miss the Easter Bunny one bit.

A couple of weekends ago, my host mother approached me with a look of motherly concern. I've learned that in such situations, I'm usually about to be the recipient of a well-intentioned lecture. Sure enough, she proceeded to tell me that when she was in my room the other day watering the plants, she noticed I wasn't being vigilant enough about keeping it clean. She then outlined for me step-by-step what I needed to do in order to meet her expectation of a clean room. Now, I make no claim of having a spotless room. But in my defense, I make my bed every day (which I've done faithfully for the past 2 years--by far my longest consecutive streak in that area), I keep my books and papers fairly organized, and I vacuum on a regular basis. So even though I decided to keep her happy by scouring the corners and crevices of my room (when it comes to my host mother, resistance is futile), my internal self was not so obliging. In my mind I rebelliously waged verbal battle with her, arguing that even if I were living in squalor, it was my right to since it was my room. Furthermore, when I returned home this summer, I planned to start leaving my room in whatever state I wanted to because I am, in fact, an adult. So there.

Fast forward to this week. It was early evening, and since I had gotten most of my lesson planning done for the next day, I decided to take a break by playing with my host nieces, Viviana and Sorina, aged 4 and 3 respectively. Their current favorite pastime with Tanti Katia is to learn English. So upon request, we settled down to learn colors. When our electricity went out a little while later--one of the joys of living in a developing country--we sat in darkness, singing songs in English (another thing they get a kick out of) and waiting for the power to come back on. A little later my host dad wandered in to keep us company, and feeling inspired by the sight of me with the girls, gave me a 10-minute monologue about how it was his sincere wish for me to find a good husband and have well-behaved children. He said that he and my host mother thought of me as their child, and one day, just like them, I would have children of my own to look after. As I sat there smiling at his earnestness and at the "Moldovan-ness" of the whole evening, I realized with a pang of sadness that I wouldn't have too many more days like that one.

I find myself increasingly thinking about the fact that my time in Moldova is almost up. Some days, when I'm sick of being treated like a 13-year-old, that's a comforting fact. Other days, when I'm listening to my host niece Sorina belt out "Heppy Bursday tooo youuuu" at the top of her lungs, I don't want to leave. The question is--am I still going to be so torn 4 months from now? I can't help but think my life would be a lot easier if I could just make up my mind one way or the other. Sigh.

The inspiration for this post comes from my friend Alicia, a fellow PC volunteer who recently showed me the music video for the song "Hora Din Moldova." I have heard this song dozens of times over the past year, thanks to its success in the 2009 Eurovision song competition, but I had never before seen the video. What is Eurovision, my clueless American readers want to know? It's basically Europe's version of American Idol. I can't even begin to describe how hugely popular it is on this side of the Atlantic. Last year Moldova made it to the final round of competition and ended up taking 14th place, out of 42 participating countries. That was a huge feat for our little country.

Upon seeing this video, I immediately fell in love with it. In only three minutes, it gives the viewer a colorful taste of Moldovan life, focusing specifically on Moldova's national dance--the Hora. As you can see in the video, the Hora is a group dance that kind of looks like a circular grapevine. The footwork can get a lot fancier, though, depending on the music and the skill of the dancers. If the video makes it seem like Moldovans will burst into dancing anywhere and at any time, it's because they will. All they need is a little bit of music and an energetic person to yell out the first "Hai la hora!" ("Let's do the Hora!"). I've done the Hora at welcome ceremonies, birthday parties, Hrams (village/city days), baptisms, picnics, and even at a disco crowded with teenagers. One thing I can say for certain about Moldovans: they know how to dance.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTeZlfs2NVY

There are many things I love about Moldovan culture. One of my favorites is their propensity to share food. When Moldovans have anything edible or drinkable, even gum, they will never fail to offer a portion to those around them--no matter how much (or little) they have. It would be unthinkable for them to do otherwise.

The other day I had a free period, so I was chatting with Ana, one of my 11th grade students who was on bell duty (in my school there is no automatic bell system--students take turns camping out by the bell for a day with their cell phone and ringing the bell at the appropriate times, or not so appropriate, depending on the accuracy of their cell phone clocks). I then decided that I was hungry and wanted to walk to a nearby store to buy myself a snack. When I got to the store, instead of buying a Twix, which was my original choice, I opted instead for Peanut M&Ms. It occurred to me that Ana would probably like a snack too, and it would be easier to share M&Ms then a Twix. So I went back, and we resumed our conversation over a bag of M&Ms.

The purpose of this anecdote is not to paint myself as this perfect example of selflessness. The reason I'm writing about it is because, after that experience, I had a realization about myself. The pre-Moldova Katie would have bought the Twix without a second thought, and when walking past Ana, kept it hidden safely in my pocket until I had reached the teacher's room, where I could eat it in privacy. It wouldn't even have occurred to me to feel guilty about this small act of selfishness because, according to my American mentality, what's mine is mine. I earned it, and it's my right to use it (or eat it) as I see fit. Now, after living in Moldova for over a year-and-a-half, I'm embarrassed by such a mindset. I'm grateful to the countless Moldovans who have helped me see that generosity isn't any less meaningful, just because it's done on a smaller scale. Current Katie has no desire to return to Pre-Moldova Katie. I don't want to be the person who looks for excuses not to share. I want to be the person who always chooses M&Ms over Twix.

It's been almost 2 months since I last wrote in my blog. I usually manage to write an entry every 2-3 weeks, so I apologize for getting so far behind. I've had good reasons for not writing, though, so I'll share them...and try to tell (as succinctly as possible) what's been going on the past couple of months.

No Place Like Home

At the end of December/beginning of January I surprised my family by coming home for a visit. Other than my parents, no one knew I was coming. I was able to surprise all of my siblings, several friends in New York, and my extended family members in Michigan. In order to get home by Christmas, I had to survive a 10-hour bus ride to Bucharest, an overnight stay in the Bucharest airport, a somewhat panicky layover in Rome after I was informed that due to an overbooked flight I was on standby, a 9-hour flight to New York City, and another stressful layover in JFK while I waited in vain for my baggage to arrive, almost missing my final flight to Rochester (I seriously felt like I was trapped in a bad Christmas movie). But I arrived at my house at 11pm Christmas Eve, and the look of utter amazement on my siblings' faces as I walked through the door was worth all of the stress and frustration of getting there.

I had wondered beforehand what it would be like to be back in the US after a year-and-a-half away. I had become so accustomed to my new life in Moldova that I had a hard time imagining what it would be like to re-encounter my "old" life. It ended up being a lot less stranger than I anticipated. With the exception of jet lag, it only took me a couple days to feel at home again. I was able to see most of the friends and family that I wanted to, and even saying goodbye to them was relatively easy because I knew that I'd be coming back in the summer. When I returned to the Rochester airport 2 weeks later, I was ready to head into my home stretch of Peace Corps service and meet my final semester of teaching head-on.

Loss

In some ways, I hesitate to write the second part of this entry. Due to the public nature of my blog, I usually shy away from getting too personal with my writing. But I also want to be honest about my time here, and everything that happens to me (or to those around me in my community) is a valid part of my experience in Moldova.

A couple weeks ago, something profoundly tragic occurred in my school: a student killed herself. Although she wasn't in my section of English, she used to come to my afterschool English club. I also taught several of her classmates. When I heard the news, I was in complete shock. She was the last person anyone would have suspected of suicide. In fact, I would have described her as a girl who loved life. She was vibrant, outgoing, excelled in all her classes, and had an amazing sense of humor. I took it for granted that she was as happy as she seemed to be.

The week that followed her death was a trying one for our entire school. Teachers and students alike struggled to come to terms with what had happened. I was often at a loss for what to say and how to act. Trying to give comfort to grieving people is a daunting task in and of itself, and it's made even harder by having to do it within the context of a foreign language and culture. I felt especially burdened for my 11th form students that had been her classmates. Perhaps more than anyone else, they were the ones who had experienced the deepest loss. And all I could offer them was my willingness to sit with them and listen (but, as people wiser than me have pointed out, sometimes that's the best thing you can do).

Throughout the past week, I learned a lot about how Moldovans react to death. Not only did I learn about their customs and perceptions, but I also witnessed how those at my school dealt with such a tragedy. This was never a cultural learning experience I wanted to experience firsthand, but I did. And I can say without a doubt that this has been one of the most profound moments that I've had in Moldova. I have been so grateful to be a part of a school community that has grieved so openly and honestly, all the while supporting its members who were hurting the most.

I never could have anticipated what forms they would take, but I knew that my two years here would have their share of dark moments. Now that they've come, my prayer is that I will be able to share the peace and hope that I've been given with those around me. It doesn't seem like much, but it's all that I can do.

I realized yesterday that I have been in Moldova exactly a year and a half. A year and a half might not be much in the grand scheme of things, but to me it's a pretty significant amount of time. And since I always write about things I have done, I thought it might be fun to make a list of all the things I haven't done for the past 18 months.

--driven a car

--written a check

--gone a full day without speaking two languages

--cooked myself a meal

--worried about my finances

--used a dishwasher or dryer

--scrubbed a toilet (or done any household chores beyond cleaning my own room and washing my own dishes)

--drunk tap water

--played euchre (anyone who knows me well realizes I'm choking back tears as I'm writing this)

--bought myself clothes

--showered two days in a row

--paid a bill

--raked or mowed a lawn (for that matter, had a yard made of grass)

--picked up medicine at a pharmacy

--worn shoes inside a house

The funniest part about this list is that I actually had to think for awhile before coming up with it. These activities may have been things I once took for granted, but I certainly don't anymore!

In my naive mind, I envisioned my second year here in Moldova as a seamless succession of good days. I had heard other volunteers gush about how much easier their second year was, and amidst my first year-struggles (learning Romanian, discovering the ins and outs of the Moldovan educational system, figuring out how to consciously teach a language I took for granted, etc.), I imagined that once I reached the midway point of my service, the rest would be smooth sailing.

In many ways, that has proved to be true. Several of the struggles I had last year are gone. But what I didn't anticipate was that this year would come with its own set of challenges: new classes of wildly misbehaving children, new partner teachers who have proven difficult to work with at times, and now a government-imposed H1N1 "quarantine" that has left me sharing crowded classroom space with fellow English teachers who have to try to teach their own group of students alongside mine (as if teaching a foreign language wasn't hard enough to begin with).

And I've come to the realization that year 2 isn't going to be all sunshine and rainbows. Before, when I was waiting for things to calm down, I was impatient for my charmed life to begin and a little disgruntled about all my so-called interruptions. But now I've come to terms with the way things are, and--as a result--I'm a lot happier. I may have a lot of bumps in the road, but I also have a lot here to be thankful for:

--my 11th graders, who beg me all the time to stay in Moldova another year, so they can have me as their teacher until they graduate

--my two host nieces, who grin a mile wide whenever they see me and fight over who gets to sit next to Tanti Katea at the dinner table

--my church, which has happily adopted me into their congregation as their American-in-resident

--my trusty old computer, which functions just well enough to give me the Internet I use to keep in touch with family and friends back home

--my main teaching partner, Irina, who is my closest Moldovan friend and an amazing teacher

--my fellow Peace Corps volunteers, who truly understand the highs and lows that are Peace Corps service

--my daily walk to and from school, which lets me stretch my legs, clear my mind, and feel a little more alive in the process

--my Friday English club students, who speak better English than I do and never fail to make my day better after just 5 minutes with them

--my adopted country Moldova, which has some of the most hospitable and generous people in the world

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

As the swine flu has made its way around the world, I've been resting easy over here in Moldova. One of the advantages of living in a small, fairly isolated country is that things like global epidemics tend to get to you later rather than sooner. So, as I've heard stories from back home in the U.S. over people hosting swine flu parties and researchers scrambling to produce a vaccine, I've thought, "Man, I'm glad I'm in Moldova."

But last week when I was in the capital, Chisinau, for a Peace Corps conference and I started to see people walking around in public with surgical masks, I figured something must have changed. Sure enough, our numbers have started to spike. I wouldn't exactly call it an epidemic, but the panic part is real enough. As a preventative measure the Ministry of Education has prolonged our fall vacation by another week. Pharmacies can't keep up with the demand for masks, and preschools are requesting that parents send garlic with their children to school to be placed around the classrooms for protection (I'll admit, this seems like a strange precaution to my Western way of thinking, but maybe they know something I don't. And at any rate, at least it'll keep the vampires away).

The funny thing is that I'm not worried about all of this--even though I take public transportation on a regular basis, work in a school (filled with children who think washing their hands is non-essential), and fall into one of the vulnerable age categories. I think Moldova has rubbed off on me. Rather than thinking I need to do everything in my power to prevent the swine flu (as if I really can choose whether or not to become infected by a highly contagious virus), I've come to the realization that either I'll get it, or I won't. For those of you germophobes out there, don't freak out. I'm still going to use hand sanitizer and keep my distance from the man hacking up a lung next to me on the bus. I don't have a death wish. I just think you gotta keep it all in perspective. After all, it's no fun if you let the pigs win.

There are times when my job drives me crazy. The past couple weeks have been filled with headaches of misbehaving children, lack of classroom space, miscommunications with fellow teachers, and dozens of other stressors. But thankfully, my job is also filled with moments of sunshine. Sometimes those moments are poignant. Sometimes they're just plain funny. My 11th graders just took their Unit 1 Test, and as a part of the test they had to write a letter to an imaginary American pen pal (Ben/Julie). The following are a few gems I found hidden among the run-of-the-mill grammatical mistakes.

Dear Julie,

My baby. Did you miss me? I did. [written by--in case you couldn't tell--a boy]

Dear Ben,

Hello! Omg. I have so much to tell you about me. [written by--in case you couldn't tell--a girl]

Dear Ben,

In my free time I love to dance. Nobody on the face of this earth can stop me from moving my feet to the music. That would be like trying to stop a natural disaster.

Did I mention that I love my job?

This post is dedicated to cell phones. Those of you who knew me pre-Post Corps are well aware that I've never been crazy about cell phones. In fact, I didn't even get my first real one until coming to Moldova (I know, I know--the irony). I hate that they restrict a person's privacy (what if I don't want to be found?). And I hate that people now feel entitled to ignore/annoy those around them by talking on cell phones anywhere and everywhere.

My problems with cell phones didn't get any simpler by coming to Moldova. Upon arriving here, I discovered a couple things about this invention. 1) Few Moldovans have reservations about cell phones. Whether it be a 70-year-old farmer driving a horse-drawn cart, or a 10-year-old student, just about everyone here happily uses them. 2) Cell phone etiquette, while sketchy in America, is practically non-existent here. I have been in teacher's meetings, conferences, and even churches where people not only answer their phones in the middle of what's going on, but they also then proceed to have a conversation.

And of course there is my ongoing battle with my students over cell phones in class. No matter how much I beg, threaten, and confiscate, they just don't seem to understand why I get so upset over this particular topic.

There are many days when I see a cell phone and start seeing red. Or wish I was Amish. But, the truth of the matter is that I can't hate them, at least not completely. Because I too am a cell phone addict. I may be more polite about turning my phone off when I'm in a meeting or keeping my phone conversations short when I'm with other people, but I honestly don't know if I could live without my cell phone. Not only is it the Peace Corps' main method of contacting me (in case of emergency, etc.), but it's also my lifeline to other PC volunteers. If I couldn't stay in regular contact with my fellow Americans, I just might go insane.

So, I guess this post is as much an admission as it is a rant. Cell phones aren't going anywhere, and my dependence on them is also staying put. Thanks to Moldova, I've joined the dark side. Aşa e viaţa.

Yesterday was one of those truly awful days as a teacher, one of those days that made me question my desire to one day have children. My 5th grade class behaved like little monsters (and I'm using monster in the literal sense here) for a solid 45 minutes. And then during my 10th grade class (a new class that I picked up this year), I had to chase down two boys--both a foot taller than I am--who were trying to skip English. By the end of the ordeal, I had managed to disillusion them from their belief that the young American teacher was a pushover, but the effort left me wiped out.

I've learned quite a few things about being a teacher over the past year, but the thing that has struck me most is how truly exhausting it is. If you care about doing it well, you wear yourself out. Not only do you have to worry about planning and teaching effective lessons, but you also have to deal with behavior problems, grades, and a myriad of other challenges that arise during the course of each day. I really am starting to understand why so many teachers give into the temptation of doing a mediocre job, performing the bare minimum and going home at the end of the day without giving another thought to their students.

The truth of the matter, though, is that teaching isn't a 9-5 job. And if you take it seriously, you feel the full weight of responsibility on your shoulders. In a country where so many children are essentially parent-less, having one or both parents working abroad, a teacher's responsibility is painfully clear. Whether we like it or not, we are filling in as caregivers and role models.

A fellow PCV here in Moldova recently told me that one of her 6th grade students tried to commit suicide. Both of the girl's parents are abroad, and she is basically on her own. When I heard that story, I was immediately sobered by the fact that that girl easily could have been one of my own students.

I know just how easy it is to focus all of my energy on teaching the right nouns and verbs, yelling at kids when they act up, and filling in grades in the catalogue. And I'll admit that some days that's all I can manage. But more often than not, I need to strive for a higher standard. My hope is that, in doing so, I'll succeed in being more than just a teacher in name...because I certainly didn't come here to do the bare minimum.

I've managed to check quite a few Moldovan traditions/events off my list, but a couple still elude me: a wedding, and a funeral. Now, let me be clear about the latter--I'm not crossing my fingers for this one (the more people that stay alive the better). But still, I know that were I to attend a funeral, I would learn a lot about Moldova's cultural and religious values. Even though I haven't yet witnessed how Moldovans bury their dead, I have seen how they remember them. This past weekend was the 4-year anniversary of the death of my host mom's father. We marked the occasion by holding a masa de pomenire, a memorial dinner. Moldovans have such memorial dinners at regular intervals after a person's death (3 days, 1 month, 1 year, 2 years, etc.).

I've heard stories from other PC volunteers who have been to them, and they differ depending on how long it's been since the person died and how old he or she was at the time. Apparently at some memorial dinners, they watch home videos and look at old pictures of the deceased--an awkward thing to be a part of if you're a PCV who had never met the person being remembered (or in some cases, the family who was giving the memorial dinner). Thankfully, the one I participated in was mostly free of awkward moments.

The night before the dinner, I went to our local Orthodox church with my host mom, host sister, and two host nieces. We brought a small "meal" of cake, fruit, cookies, and champagne (first time in my life I've brought alcohol into a church!) as a sort of freewill offering, and the priest prayed a blessing for health on behalf of my two host nieces. I can't say I quite understood all of the symbolism of the event, but I liked that one way of remembering deceased loved ones is by praying for the future of those loved ones whose lives have just begun.

The next day we gathered at my host brother's house for the dinner. It was scheduled to begin at 12, so in true Moldovan fashion, we sat down to eat around 1:30. At the beginning of the meal my host mom passed out a round loaf of bread, a lighted candle, and a towel to each of the people present, announcing that she was doing so in the memory of her father. I later asked my host sister what the significance of the gifts were, and she said that my host mom was wishing us light for our paths, bread to fill our stomachs, and a towel to clean our hands with (I get the symbolism of the first two, but I'll admit she lost me on the last one).

The rest of the meal felt like a gathering of friends. The guests talked a little bit about the deceased, but mostly the conversation revolved around the present. It seemed natural to me, considering it had been 4 years since he had died.

The only real awkward moments at the meal happened--as usual--when my host dad decided to embarrass me by asking me in front of all the other guests if I had found a nice Moldovan boy to marry and if I would like to stay in Moldova. When I answered easily in Romanian, several of the guests proceeded to talk about my language skills and the plausibility of my settling in Moldova. Acting, of course, as if I wasn't there.

The next item I want to check off my list: making it through a social function without having my relationship status brought up as a topic of group conversation.

Today was my first day of school. The first day of my second year of teaching in Moldova. I'll admit that I was a little nervous to go back to school after having a three-month summer vacation (although it wasn't really a vacation for me since I spent the whole summer helping train the new group of Peace Corps English Education volunteers). I remembered how nerve-wracking my first couple of months of teaching were last fall, and the thought of going through that again made my stomach turn.

But, after completing my first day of this school year, I've realized something: a year makes a big difference. Last year when I arrived at school on September 1st, I knew almost no one. This year I greeted (and was greeted by) my fellow English teachers, other school faculty, and several of my students. Last year I barely knew any Romanian and struggled to speak on even the most basic level. This year I listened with pleased embarrassment as my partner teacher Irina bragged to a new teacher about how good my Romanian is.

Last year I showed up on the first day of school not knowing which classes I would teach and whom I would be teaching with. Today was no different, but this year I'm not freaked out by it. Last year I felt like an outsider and a foreigner. This year I felt glad to return to my school and my students.

I know this year will have plenty of its own difficulties. For the entire month of September I'll probably have to find out what classes I'm teaching the morning of, when I show up for school. I'll have discipline issues, difficulties in finding available classrooms, and--my personal favorite--endless headaches from trying to follow the impossibly meticulous guidelines for using the Moldovan grading catalogues.

But this year is different. I know what to expect this time around. I'm looking forward to making a few less mistakes, having a little more fun, and feeling a little more like a real teacher. In fewer words, I'm ready for Round Two.

Many of you know about the events that transpired here in Moldova last April. For those who don't, I'll try to give a brief summary. In April Moldova had its parliamentary elections. In such elections (which I believe take place every 4 years), Moldovans go to the polls to select their political party of choice. Each party wins a certain number of seats in the Parliament, depending on how many votes it receives. Since it is the Parliament's job to choose Moldova's president, the party that receives the most votes is the party that gets to choose the new president. So far so good, right?

Here's where it gets complicated. At the time of April's elections the incumbent "ruling" party (meaning the party that has a majority of Parliamentary seats and which the president belongs to) was the Communist party. As strange as it may sound, I live in a former Soviet republic which has a democratically-elected Communist leader. Moldovans are drastically divided on this subject. Many, especially the older generation, support the Communists because they want to retain closer ties to Russia and they want life to regain some of its former, pre-independence stability. The younger generation is anxious to ally itself with the West (i.e. Romania, the EU) and are resistant to any move they view as going "backward."

So when the Communist party won the election in April, tensions which were already running high exploded. Amidst calls of election-rigging, thousands of protesters (many of them high school and university students) poured into the capital city of Chisinau. Things spiraled out of control, with some of the protesters breaking into the Parliament building, setting it on fire and destroying furniture and valuables inside. There were also altercations between police and protesters. Dozens were injured, and two people died.

Although there was no more rioting in the following days, things stayed really tense for awhile. The Peace Corps is an apolitical organization (and we're in countries at the request of their governments), so we volunteers were instructed to stay very tight-lipped about the elections. Knowing that anything I said, regardless of how innocuous it seemed to me, might get misinterpreted, I chose not to write anything about the elections here on my blog. So why am I writing now? For two reasons: 1) Things have calmed down a lot since April. Enough that I feel like I can write about them. 2) Things haven't gotten any less interesting.

When it came time for the newly-elected Parliament to choose a new president, they reached an impasse. Even though the Communist party technically had a majority of parliamentary seats, they didn't have the 61 votes required by the Moldovan Constitution to select a president. So a repeat parliamentary election was called for. A couple weeks ago Moldovans once again went to the polls. Events unfolded differently this time around--the Communists got about 45% of the vote, while the combined total of the four main opposition parties (who have pledged to form an alliance to select a new president) was just over 50%. And this time around there was no protesting or violence. But how things go from here remains unclear.

This election's "winners" are in the same boat that the Communist party was in last spring. They have more seats in Parliament than their opponents, but they don't have enough seats to choose a president. So what will happen if the voting for a new president once again ends at an impasse? I have no idea. I don't even know if the Moldovan Constitution has instructions on what to do for occasions such as this.

The point of this post is not to share any opinions about how things have turned out. Even if I was permitted by the PC to make such statements, I don't feel like I have the right. I'm not Moldovan. Even though I live here and I care deeply about the welfare of this country, I do not have a shared history of struggle and disappointment with these people. And I won't have to live with the long-term consequences (be they good or bad) of the choices made now. I'm not a character in this story.

That being said, I think it's a fascinating thing to feel like I stepped into a history book. Even if I am just an observer, I'm watching the growth of a new nation. Coming from a country that's existed officially for over 200 years, that's a true privilege. And I just want to share a little bit of that experience. I hope you all appreciate it too.

I just uploaded some new pictures to my Picasa Web album (see link on the left). They're a random collection of the photos I've taken between January and July. Happy viewing!

After my last post, I feel the need to go back to my "normal" self. Thus, this post is dedicated to the recent happenings which have made me smile (even if after the fact).

1. Getting a puppy

My host family recently acquired a puppy. Since we already have two dogs, I'm really not sure why. But, not one to question good fortune, I have wasted no time in making friends with Muscar. Moldovans don't tend to view dogs so much as pets (as much as doorbells/security alarms), so I think my family is a little amused at the fact that I'm actually playing with Muscar. Other than his tendency to attack and chew my beloved Teva flipflops as if they are physically assaulting him, he and I get along great. So great that he tries to follow me whenever I leave the house. On more than a few occasions I have made it halfway up our street only to see him happily trailing behind me. After picking him up and depositing him back inside our gate (which he is small enough to slip under), he usually doesn't follow me again.

2. Helping my grandparents celebrate 60 years of marriage

This year my grandparents celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary. My family decided to surprise them by driving/flying from various parts of the U.S. to Michigan in order to throw them a party. Since I couldn't be there, we set up a video chat on Skype, and I got to talk to my grandparents (as well as about half of my extended family) and wish them a happy anniversary. Using a water bottle as a "glass of champagne," I even made a fancy toast in Romanian. La multi ani, Grandma and Grandpa!

3. Solving the mystery of the phantom smell

A few days ago I noticed a faint unpleasant odor in my bedroom. Thinking it was just my trash, I emptied my garbage can and thought nothing more of it. The next day the smell was back, but I couldn't figure out the source. After returning to my room later that day, the smell was so bad that I commented to myself: "It smells like something died in here!" At that moment I realized what my problem was (don't ask me why it took me two days to figure it out) and set out to find whatever rodent had seen fit to drop dead in my room. Eventually my nose led me to under my bed. After going to my host mom to explain the situation, she came to my room, armed with a broom and dustpan. Together we moved my bed, and she disposed of my little friend. Unfortunately for me, the story doesn't end there. After seeing how dusty it was under my bed (I'm sorry, but I only clean what I can see--what's the point in cleaning things not visible to the naked eye?), she insisted that we give my room a thorough cleaning. Under her direction, I spent two hours moving furniture, dusting, sweeping, and silently wishing I had just asked my host brother for help instead.

I think it's pretty clear that I am a positive person. Anyone who knows me or even reads this blog can tell that I'd rather dwell on the good stuff (or try to find the humor in the not-so-good stuff) than do the alternative. Not to say that my life is full of sunshine and rainbows. I can't tell you how many bad days and moments I've had in the past year. Moments where I was mad at Moldovans for not being as understanding of my fish-out-of-water state as I thought they should have been, mad at my fellow Americans for not acting like gracious guests in this country, mad at myself for making stupid mistakes, mad at America for being so freaking far away, and just mad at the world in general. But bad days happen no matter what county you live in or what your job is, and the last thing I want to do is to play the part of the suffering servant who is demanding that everyone feel sorry for me because I'm sacrificing two years of my life for my country.

The reason for this post is that I find that there is an all too prevalent attitude among Peace Corps volunteers in Moldova (and probably PC volunteers in other countries as well). There are those who come to Moldova, and spend two years (or one year, or however long they end up staying here) complaining. They are quick to vocalize everything that's wrong with Moldova and with their counterparts or students and feel that the demands and challenges of a PCV in Moldova are, frankly, not worth the effort. They are constantly putting down Moldovan culture and traditions and saying how much they miss America and everything it stands for. They are often cynical about enacting any real change here and often feel that corruption and societal apathy are much more powerful than the measly efforts they make toward change.

This drives me crazy. Of course there are hardships that come with being in the PC. Of course our jobs are difficult. Of course change happens slowly. But did we really expect it to be any different? Sure, it'd be great to live in France or Spain, where the culture is more Western and the living standards are more to our liking, but there is a reason why PC isn't in those countries--it's not needed. Poverty is not simple. And development work of any kind is never quick and easy. The part that any PCV plays in helping Moldova in its development will be a small one.

I'll admit that I was one of those who idealized the Peace Corps prior to joining it. I believed in the goals of this organization, and I was excited to be a small part of "changing the world." Cheesy, but true. And I'll also admit, that like every other volunteer who comes to Moldova (or Tanzania or Thailand or wherever), I've gained some cynicism. After all, the PC is a large organization funded by the U.S. government. Of course there will be bureaucracy. Of course there are policies that come from Washington, D.C. that we volunteers in Moldova have to follow even though we feel like they have nothing to do with us. And of course, like everyone else, I've had an identity crisis of sorts and asked the inevitable question: "What am I doing here?"

But the truly successful volunteers I have seen so far are the ones who realize that wallowing in misery doesn't get them anywhere. If their primary project falls through, they create another project. If they are struggling with being accepted at their school, they work as hard as they can to form clubs and reach out to students to prove that they are a valid addition to their community. They try their best to be respectful of Moldovan mindsets (even if they disagree), and they realize that playing the part of the arrogant American walking in to save the day isn't going to get them very far. They get discouraged and frustrated and wonder if they're doing anything significant, but they keep doing what they're doing.

Negativity and cynicism can end up being a self-fulfilling prophecy. If a volunteer becomes so obsessed with what can't be done, they end up becoming paralyzed. They stop caring, and they often stop trying. They might go through the motions of their job, but they often try to get by with the bare minimum. They "hang in there" for their time here, looking at that 2-year mark like light at the end of the tunnel. And in doing so, they miss so many amazing opportunities.

Please don't think that I'm claiming to be one of those Super-Volunteers who never sleeps and who always does the right thing. But I guess the point of this post is that I see the two extremes that volunteers can become, and I know the one I want to aim for. I want to look at the end of my two years here and be happy about what I was able to do, rather than be filled with regret for all of the things I could have done. So I guess this post is a bit of a public challenge to myself. I've got a year left, and I have some work to do.

One year ago today I boarded a plane to Philadelphia, where I began my Peace Corps career. It's not my style to get sappy and nostalgic, so this post is not going to be full of philosophical musings. But I will say this: one year later, I am truly at home in Moldova. I think, speak, and dream in Romanian, dodge cows and goats on my daily walk to school, and ride quite calmly and un-seat belted (though the latter is not by choice) in cars weaving maniacally through traffic and pot holes. My life has indeed changed.

As is my custom, I have a few stories about recent occurrences. Nothing earth-shattering, but important to me nonetheless. These, just as much as anything else, demonstrate the rhythms that have become my new life over this past year.

The other day as I was sitting at dinner with my host family, I accidentally dropped my fork on the floor. My brother-in-law immediately spoke up to comment. He is a bit of a smart alec, so I figured he was going to say something about my lack of coordination. Instead he remarked, "Rodica's coming home, and she'll want to eat." Rodica is my host sister, and she was at work at the time. My host mom must have seen the "huh?" written on my face because she then proceeded to explain that in Moldova there is a belief that when a fork is dropped on the floor it means a woman is on her way, and she's hungry. If it's a knife (or maybe a spoon? I can't remember exactly), a hungry man is coming instead. As an American who grew up being bombarded with the message: "You choose your own destiny," it's interesting to live in a culture where people have such a strong belief in the power of Fate.

Another recent occurrence involves my outhouse. For all PCV's in Moldova, using an outhouse quickly becomes a non-issue. We forget that in our previous lives the word 'outhouse' evoked images of Laura Ingalls Wilder and the Sears Roebuck Catalogue. There are many different kinds of viceu's (outhouses) in Moldova. We volunteers like to compare viceu's to determine who has the best one (I kid you not). My viceu is definitely up towards the top of the list. Rather than being just a hole in a wooden floor, it has an actual toilet, a tiled floor, and wall-paper. A couple weeks ago my host mom excitedly asked me to come to the viceu so she could show me something. When she opened the door, I saw that my host dad had rigged up a sort of "plumbing," so that a rubber tube coming down from a hole in the ceiling ran into the toilet. Just by turning a spicket, water (that came from a metal tub collecting rainwater on the roof of the viceu) would run into the toilet. So now, rather than using a bucket and water to "flush" the toilet, we have real-live running water. I think that safely secures me at the top of the list for best outhouse in Moldova. I'm quite proud.

The other big recent event was my last day of school. In America, the last day of school isn't usually much to talk about. Students are busy cleaning out their lockers and getting yearbooks signed. In Moldova, that is far from the case. Just as the first day of school calls for pomp and circumstance, so does the last. All of the teachers and students came dressed to a T (for me that meant actually wearing a skirt and heels for once). We teachers received flowers and kisses from students, and there was a grand closing ceremony in the school's back courtyard, complete with speeches, dances, poems, and a releasing of doves. We even had a representative from the parliament, a police officer, and the local priest as guest speakers. Go big or go home.

All of that to say: this past year has been a series of interesting, frustrating, hilarious, and downright bizarre events. And I am SO glad I've got another.

There are certain Moldovan cultural events that every PCV hopes to witness during their 2 years here. One of them is a cumatria (baptism). In the Moldovan Orthodox Church, people are baptized as infants. This is a HUGE deal for Moldovans, exceeded perhaps only by getting married. In a culture that values family so much, it makes sense that these two events are highly revered.

This past weekend, I not only got to go to a cumatria for the first time, I also got to be a part of the ceremony. A child who is getting baptized has several godparents. There are the nanas and nanasa (the main godparents) and also several "lesser" godparents--cumatra. The cumatrii are kind of like sponsors. They are present at the baptism and give gifts and money. They also are expected to continue to have a relationship with the child as s/he grows up. My host brother and his wife decided to ask me to be one of the cumatra for their son. Talk about an honor!

So on Saturday I witnessed my host nehpew being baptised (full immersion--the poor thing was screaming his head off after getting dunked). It was a beautiful ceremony. Then after the baptism we had a party at our house to celebrate. And, boy, do Moldovans know how to party! From 8 pm until 4 in the morning we were eating, talking, and dancing.

Speaking of dancing, those of you who know me (and my lack of rhythm) will be surprised to know that I was out their boogying along with the best of them. Granted, most of my fellow dancers weren't young or hip, but I think this is what motivated me to go for it. I figured if a 70-year-old man could do it, so could I. Most of the dancing was Moldovan folk-dancing (picture people holding hands, going around in the circle and doing variations of the grapevine). At first it was a little difficult to catch on, but by the end I was a pro.

At the end of the night, I was presented with my thank-you gifts: 2 loaves of bread (Moldovan tradition) and a food processor. Not really sure what to do with the latter (or how I'm supposed to lug the thing back to America), but I appreciated the thought. Hopefully one day I'll actually learn how to use it. Or be married to someone who does.

It occurred to me the other day that my friends and family back home don't know what it is that I'm doing over here. Many of them have the basic details down: Katie's in an obscure former-Soviet country named Moldova teaching English to kids. But that's a pretty vague picture. So, I felt like I should share more about what has been my "life" for the past 7 months.

I teach in a public lyceum (that's British English for "high school," in case you didn't know). Moldovan Lyceums have 1st-12th grades, and students generally start learning English in the 2nd grade. I teach 4th, 5th, 8th, 10th, 11th, and 12th grades. For some of my classes I team-teach with two different Moldovan partner teachers (part of the PC's effort to make a more sustainable impact). This means we plan lessons together and divide classroom responsibilities. I help them improve their English and offer ideas on new teaching methods. And they help me learn the ropes of the Moldovan Educational system (a daunting task in and of itself). In the rest of my classes I teach alone. My lessons are 45 minutes long, and I meet with my students between 2 and 4 times a week. On a typical day I am at school from 7:45-1:30. I go home for a quick lunch break and then have English clubs or tutoring until 4 or 5. The rest of my evening is spent planning lessons for the next day (What can I say? I lead an exciting life).

Because teaching is a truly bi-polar experience, I've compiled a list of "loves and hates" ("likes and dislikes" just doesn't cut it). I think this does the best job of conveying the ins and outs of my school life.

I love when 24 4th-graders yell all at once, "Hello, Miss Kate! How are you?" whenever I walk into the classroom.

I hate when kids don't do their homework and then wonder why I get upset.

I love that, with my older students, I get to use the English language as a means of talking about things like poverty, the environment, and racism.

I hate that when kids act up, there is no principle's office to send them to.

I love when I teach a tough grammar topic, and my students understand it.

I hate that when I discipline students I have to do it in a language that I haven't yet fully mastered.

I love when students that I had started to think of as "hopeless" prove me wrong and show a desire to learn.

I hate that here in Moldova, cheating is a generally-accepted fact, not only among students but among teachers.

I love when my students understand my jokes (especially when I attempt to use sarcasm in Romanian).

I hate when students feel they have the right to disrespect my authority, simply because I'm young, female, and "nice."

I love that my job allows me to work with 9-year-olds up to 18-year-olds.

I hate not having my own classroom (especially because that means I can't put visual aids, student artwork, etc. up on the walls).

I love when my students walk me home from school.

I hate that the curriculum and supplies I have to work with are often dreadfully inadequate.

I love that my job is different each and every day.

This post is about the English language. A big shock I know. But I spend about 30 hours of each week teaching it and about 20 hours a week planning lessons for it. It pretty much consumes my life. Anyway, I promise this post won't be about anything boring, like transcriptions or perfect tenses.

Last week my school had their 2nd annual "Miss English Language Contest." Sounds like a beauty contest, right? It was modeled after one (several girls compete publicly for a crown and a title), but thankfully, it was much more interesting and thought-provoking than a beauty contest (in other words, I didn't feel like any of my brain cells were dying as I watched it).

The first year of the contest 5 girls in the 10th-12th grades represented different English-speaking countries and had to present their country's culture (through music, dances, oral presentations, etc.)--and the entire program was done in English. The girl who proved to be the best representative of the English language was the winner. This year they chose entirely different countries (like Spain, India, Turkey), but the English theme stayed the same. In addition to presenting a country, the girls had to act out a scene from a movie and answer some general knowledge questions.

The program was absolutely amazing. The girls had clearly put so much time and thought into their presentations. There were elaborate costumes, complex movie scenes (which included sets and numerous other students to act in the scene), and slide show presenations. Some of them even went so far as to memorizing their country presentations in addition to their movie scene so that it all was done orally, rather than from a script. (If that doesn't impress you, think about how nerve-wracking it is to memorize music for a concert or lines for a play and then think about having to do that in another language.)

I was so proud of my school for hosting such a unique event (I think I can safely say that we are the only school in Moldova to have anything of this kind). And, even though I can only claim 2 of the 8 girls as my own students, I was extremely proud of them as well. As a teacher, of course I want my students to learn English. But soooo much more, I want them to learn how to think outside the box, to be independent learners, and to never stop asking questions. Seeing those girls display so much intelligence, creativity, humor, and enthusiasm--all in a foreign language--was such a rewarding experience for me.

Unfortunately, every day can't be so euphoric and fulfilling, but momements like that remind me why I'm here--and help me get through the days when obnoxious 8th grade boys and ridiculously hard grammar topics make me want to go crawl into a hole.

**If you want to see a few pictures, I put them up on my Picassa album. Unfortunately, most of the good stuff is in videos, and I can't put those up on Picassa.**

This has been a rollercoaster of a week in terms of my relationship with technology. Last Tuesday I got high-speed Internet installed at my house. Thus followed 4 blissful days of Skype, email, and online ESL resources.

Saturday morning my computer started to blink the orange light of death, indicating that I needed to plug it in and revive the battery. About 5 seconds after doing so, the converter that is built into my power cord started sparking and smoking. If I hadn't immediatel yanked it out of the outlet, I probably would have had to explain to my host family why an electrical fire started in my bedroom.

To my great dismay, there are no DELL products sold in Moldova, so I am at the mercy of my parents to order me a new power cord and ship it via the ever-so-finnicky Moldovan postal system. So, while I have wonderful, high speed Internet and a laptop that works just fine, I have no way of using either. Sigh.

In the spirit of non-plagiarism, I’d like to say that I found this on my friend Kelly’s blog. It’s kind of a life experiences checklist (or reverse version of “I’ve Never”). The bold ones are either ones I’ve done, or ones I felt like commenting on. Kind of random, but I found it entertaining. Enjoy!

●Started your own blog – Hmm, tough one.

●Slept under the stars – Many times at Covenant Acres—one memorable occasion on a water trampoline comes to mind.

●Played in a band

●Visited Hawaii

●Watched a meteor shower

●Given more than you can afford to charity – Not often enough.

●Been to Disneyland/world – Disney World (MGM and Epcot)

●Climbed a mountain – I “climbed” Pike’s Peak in a train—does that count?

●Held a praying mantis

●Sang a solo—Yep. On many occasions.

●Bungee jumped

●Visited Paris

●Watched a lightning storm at sea

●Taught yourself an art from scratch

●Adopted a child

●Had food poisoning—I drank some bad house wine once at a masa (a Moldovan feast, basically) for teachers at my school. Not fun.

●Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty—I visited NYC the week after America invaded Iraq, and security was pretty tight. They let us view it afar from a boat.

●Seen the Mona Lisa in France—Where else would you see the Mona Lisa? Does she travel?●Slept on an overnight train

●Had a pillow fight – My siblings and I were connoisseurs of pillow fights. Kenton and Sarah, remember our sumo wrestling days?

●Hitchhiked—Not yet…but I live in Moldova. I’m sure I’ll get the chance.

●Taken a sick day when you’re not ill—When I was in school, yes.

●Built a snow fort- Oh yeah.

●Held a lamb—I think so. The memory’s a little fuzzy.

●Gone skinny dipping – Gotta love the randomness. We go straight from holding lambs to skinny dipping.

●Been to a Broadway show in NY—Yep! Beauty and the Beast (on my senior class trip)

●Ran a Marathon

●Been in three states at once

●Ridden in a gondola in Venice

●Seen a total eclipse

●Watched a sunrise or sunset – The most recent one I can remember was a sunset over the Gulf of Mexico with my sister Kendra. Good times. :-)

●Hit a home run—In wiffle ball, most definitely.

●Been on a Cruise

●Seen Niagara Falls in Person- I’m from Western NY. I’ve lost count.

●Visited the birthplace of your Ancestors

●Seen an Amish community – When I was in high school I practically lived in one. We had Amish neighbors right down the road from us, and our local grocery store had a hitching post in the parking lot.

●Taught yourself a new language- Currently—Romanian and Russian (but I have help).

●Had enough money to be truly satisfied – Oddly enough, right now.

●Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person

●Gone rock climbing

●Seen Michelangelo’s David

●Sung karaoke- Yes. I’m not really a fan.

●Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt

●Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant –Actually, yes. Long story.

●Visited Africa

●Walked on a beach by moonlight—Yep.

●Been transported in an ambulance—Yes. But I wasn’t really injured, and I was too embarrassed by the hideous neck brace I was wearing to enjoy it. It wasn’t all bad though. The woman that ran the red light, hitting me and totaling my parents’ ancient minivan, footed the entire bill. And now they have a nice Jeep instead. You’re welcome, Mom and Dad.

●Gone deep sea fishing

●Seen the Sistine Chapel in person

●Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris—What’s with all the Paris questions? How about some more unique ones? How many people can say they’ve been to Moldova?

●Gone scuba diving or snorkeling- Yes to the second. Off of St. Croix. Quite heavenly.

●Kissed in the rain

●Played in the mud – Isn’t that a required part of childhood (as in, they don’t let you pass on to adulthood if you don’t)?

●Been to Grace Kelley’s grave in Monaco

●Gone to a drive-in theater – Yes! The world needs more of them.

●Visited the Great Wall of China

●Started a business—One failed attempt at a lemonade stand…the beginning and end of my sad career as an entrepreneur.

●Taken a martial arts class—A whole semester of Self Defense (aka Tai Kwon Do) at Roberts.

●Swam in the Mediterranean Sea

●Visited Russia—Yep. That’s one of reasons I’m in Moldova, actually.

●Served at a soup kitchen

●Sold Girl Scout cookies

●Gone whale watching

●Gotten flowers for no reason

●Donated blood, platelets or plasma – Yes to the first.

●Gone sky diving

●Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp

●Bounced a check

●Saved a favorite childhood toy - My favorite “doll”—a stuffed Alvin the Chipmunk, whose bangs I mutilated before I realized they couldn’t grow back. I love you anyway, Alvin.

●Visited the Lincoln Memorial – Yep.

●Eaten Caviar- No, thanks. I have had goose liver though. Equally disgusting, I’m sure.

●Pieced a quilt

●Stood in Times Square -Yep. It’s really big.

●Toured the Everglades—A few times.

●Been fired from a job

●Seen the Changing of the Guards in London—No, but I have seen the changing of the guards at the Kremlin in Moscow and at the Dolmabahce Palace in Istanbul.

●Broken a bone

●Been on a speeding motorcycle—I guess they don’t think being on a motorcycle is enough of an accomplishment.

●Seen the Grand Canyon in person

●Published a book

●Visited the Vatican

●Bought a brand new car

●Walked in Jerusalem

●Had your picture in the newspaper—Oh, yes. When I was in 4th grade I won a county spelling bee. I was quite famous.

●Read the entire Bible—Only once. It took awhile.

●Visited the White House—Yep. On a 6th grade class trip.

●Killed and prepared your own meat

●Had chickenpox – Yeah. Don’t remember it though.

●Saved someone’s life

●Sat on a jury

●Met someone famous

●Lost a loved one—My grandma

●Had a baby

●Seen the Alamo in person.

●Swam in the Great Salt Lake

●Been involved in a law suit

●Owned a cell phone –Funny story…I bought my very first cell phone here in Moldova. It only took joining the Peace Corps and moving halfway across the world to convince Katie to join the rest of “modern civilization.” Whatever that means. ;-)

As is my custom, I’m guilty of waiting too long since my last post. Part of my excuse is that life has been pretty uneventful since Christmas. My days have been full of teaching and planning lessons. Not much to report there. Since nothing unusual or extraordinary has occurred, I’ll have to settle for a couple anecdotes.

Evil, Thy Name Is Mud

Mud and I have always had an amicable relationship. In the past I usually encountered it in places like camp or park trails, when I was wearing sufficiently grubby attire. I never minded getting dirty.

Alas, those days are long gone. For the past month, the weather here has been unseasonably warm. Instead of snow, we have gotten a steady supply of rain. As a result, there is mud everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. Only the main street in my town is paved, which means most of my trek to school is on un-paved roads or foot-paths.

This wouldn’t be so bad if I could walk around in galoshes or barn boots. But I live in Moldova, which means I have to be “frumos” whenever I step foot outside my house (for you non-Romanian speakers, “frumos” literally means beautiful, but it’s kind of like “nice”—it gets applied to everything). This means dressy black boots, preferably with heels (I draw the line at stilettos). And to make matters worse, my host mom practically attacks me with a rag and bucket if I don’t clean my boots every day. Never mind that they are mud-soaked the minute I step outside the gate. It’s just not proper to leave the house with dirty shoes.

So, every night I clean my shoes, and every morning I arrive at school with mud up to my ears (I’m exaggerating a little, but you get the idea). The Moldovans, however, manage to arrive virtually mud-free. They seem to have some magic ability to walk on top of mud. I think it’s genetic. Which means there’s no hope for me.

Mud—100, Katie-0

Love Is in the Air

Upon learning that I am 23 and still “unattached”, most Moldovans advise me to find a nice boy and get married before it’s too late (apparently I’m running dangerously low on time). Other than that, they leave me alone to go on my merry single way. So I was beginning to think I might make it through my time here without any serious match-making attempts. I should have known better.

Last Tuesday, I came home from school to find two men from the telephone company outside our gate talking with my host dad. I knew they would be coming to set up Internet at our house, so I didn’t find this strange. When one of them grinned at me and said, “Good evening,” I thought nothing of it. I’m used to people practicing their English on me. I smiled and responded back, “Good evening.”

But then my host dad turned to me and informed me that the young man standing in front of me wanted to marry me. When I started laughing, my host dad replied, “Why are you laughing? I’m serious. Don’t you think he’s good-looking? You should marry him and take him back to America with you.” At this point I realized I had walked into an ambush. The only thing to do was cut and run. Putting on my best “I-don’t-understand-because-my-Romanian-is-still-bad” face, I carefully avoided making any further eye contact with my potential suitor and fled into the house.

I’m safe for now, but lover-boy still has to come back to hook up my Internet. Here's hoping I won't be home!

If you go to my photos link, you can see pictures from my trip to Turkey.

I was going to name this post “7 Days in Istanbul,” but I thought that sounded too much like a movie title (and I’m certainly not Brad Pitt!).

As the title indicates, I traveled to Turkey for Christmas. Getting there was surprisingly easy. On Christmas Eve I boarded a plane in Chisinau and about an hour later I was in Istanbul (my shortest international flight yet). My reasons for going to Turkey were several: 1) I was afraid that if I stayed in Moldova, I would be homesick and depressed. I knew traveling would be a good way to prevent that. 2) One of my best friends, Amy, was going home to Istanbul for Christmas, so it was an opportunity to see her. 3) I got to stay with Amy’s family—if you’re a poor PC volunteer who can’t afford to go back to America for Christmas, staying with an American family is the next best thing!

So I spent seven glorious days in what Moldovans refer to as Turcia. I got to see Dolmabahce Palace, home to some thirty-odd sultans of the Ottoman Empire (and their harems) and the place where Ataturk, the father of modern Turkey, lived and died. I saw the famous Hagia Sophia (unfortunately not from the inside—they were closed that day) and visited the Blue Mosque, another well-known mosque. It was very surreal to stand in a crowd of tourists, quietly observing Muslim men across the room as they kneeled and bowed toward Mecca. As a person who is used to being in Christian houses of worship, it was a sobering experience.

We also visited the Grand Bazaar—endless shops and vendors selling everything from rugs to refrigerator magnets. This was a very touristy part of Istanbul, and I got more than a little annoyed with men pestering me in English to buy something. I wished I could brush them off in fluent Turkish like Amy, who had grown up in Istanbul. As someone who doesn’t like shopping to begin with, it was all a bit overwhelming. But, happily, I got a genuine Turkish scarf out of the excursion.

Another visit was to the Basilica Cistern, a huge reservoir of water below the streets of Istanbul, which had been constructed during the time of the Romans. It was a bit eerie to be underground in relative darkness, but it was beautiful. One of the Basilica Cistern’s claims to fame is its possession of two stone heads of Medusa—one upside down and the other sideways—as bases for columns. No one knows for sure why they were put there. That added to the eeriness.

Amy’s family lives on the Asian side of Istanbul, so I had the opportunity to cross the Bosphorus by ferry on numerous occasions in order to see the sights on the European side of the city. We also visited thermal springs, went out for traditional Turkish cuisine (I’m in love), visited with some Turkish friends of theirs, went to their church (where I learned that there are only a few thousand Christians in the whole country), and explored the neighborhood around their apartment. I knew that I was getting to see much more than a normal tourist would have, and I felt very privileged as a result.

As if learning Romanian (and hoping to start learning Russian) isn’t enough, I also became enchanted with the Turkish language. I spent the whole trip learning basic expressions and sounding out every Turkish word I saw, amusing everyone around me in the process. Amy told me I sound like a Russian trying to speak Turkish—that’s good, right? ;-)

As I knew it would, the week in Istanbul passed far too quickly. It was the perfect defense against homesickness, especially because I got to talk with my own family via Skype on Christmas day. The chance to see a foreign country from the comfort of an American household was, for me, ideal.

And so I have fallen in love with yet another country. If my wallet allows, I have dreams of going back again to see more of Turkey, hopefully in warmer weather. Ah, the things I would do if money didn't get in the way...

My good friend Kristen Fuest reminded me that it’s been awhile since my last post. Which is very true. So, in the spirit of Christmas, I thought it’d be fun to share a few of my favorite things about life in Moldova (NOT raindrops on roses or whiskers on kittens):

1) being stopped on the street for directions

As strange as it may sound, here’s why it’s so great: because it means that, occasionally, I’m blending in. It means that, to some stranger, I can pass for a Moldovan. To them I don’t have AMERICAN stamped on my forehead. I look like I can speak Romanian and that I know where the hospital is (both of which happen to be true!).

2) receiving “exact change”

I went to the store the other day, and since the cashier was out of banuţi (coins), she handed me a stick of gum as change instead. I’ve also had people give me candy. You just can’t beat that.

3) new holidays

December 13th is “Saint Andrew Day” in Moldova. I’m not sure what the religious significance is (or whether Saint Andrew refers to the apostle Andrew or another historical Andrew). But I do know that boys go to the houses of girls they like in the middle of the night and steal their gates (yes, steal them). Moldovan gates are huge and made of metal, so it’s no small task. If a girl wakes up on the 13th to find her gate missing, she has to figure out who took it and—according to tradition—give him wine and food in order to get her gate back. She’s also supposed to be his girlfriend. I don’t think the forced dating part is practiced anymore, but the gate-stealing tradition is still alive and well in some villages. Ain’t love grand?

4) the “English” language

I was grading my 10th grade students’ semester tests today, and some of their answers had me practically rolling on the floor. They had to complete noun phrases, such as glass of water, or loaf of bread. One student wrote “slice of toothpaste.” They also had to create dialogues between them and their parents, and another boy wrote: “Mother, I beseech you!” There are definitely perks to my job!

My Moldovan teaching experience has been full of firsts. And now I can add to the list my first strike. When we came back from fall break this past Monday, my school voted to participate in a nation-wide teacher’s strike. The motivation behind the strike—the same as it is for most—is lack of money. Teachers are trying to convince the Moldovan government to increase their salary in order to try and keep up with rising costs of fuel and electricity.

As a PC volunteer, I wasn’t allowed to get involved in any way (for two main reasons: 1. PC is apolitical—we stay away from strikes, protests, elections, etc. We’re here to work with people, not take sides in their politics. 2. PC volunteers don’t receive salaries for working in schools. We get our living stipends directly from the PC). But since no kids came to school this week, this meant that I didn’t teach either. So I ended up participating by default.

As a result, my week-long fall vacation has stretched into nearly two (with the possibility of more days off in the near future if the government continues to be unresponsive). It’s been interesting to hear how the current grievances of Moldovan teachers compare to past ones. Two of my fellow English teachers told me that about 10 years ago, there was a period of several consecutive months that they went without a salary because the government simply didn’t have the money to pay them. And when they did get paid, it was the equivalent of 20 American dollars a month. Moldovan teachers get more than that now, but a Moldovan teacher’s entire monthly salary is still less than what I pay my host family per month for food and rent.

I’ve been asked by several Moldovans if we have strikes in America. What comes immediately to mind is that the kind of strikes that make national news in America are ones in which professional athletes are protesting the fact they’re getting $7 million a year instead of $10 million. In all fairness to them, I’m sure they’re also motivated by the rising cost of living. It takes a lot of gas to fill up a Hummer. Yes, we Americans suffer greatly too.

Speaking of media coverage, my school made it onto Moldovan national news! I’d post the video clip on here, but since that would mean publicizing on the Internet not only the town I live in but also the name of the school I work at, I’m going to opt against it (sorry to disappoint you, all you potential stalkers out there). For those of you who actually know me and who are interested in seeing some shots of teachers and classrooms at my school, just email me and I can send you a link to the video.

I grew up surrounded by one language: English. My encounters with other languages were few and far between, the most extended one being my three semesters of college Spanish. And then I moved to Moldova.

Now, there are three languages in my life.

Romanian, the official language of Moldova (or “Moldovan,” depending on who you ask), is in many ways the dominant language of my everyday world. I hear it on buses, in stores, on the radio, in the street, at school, and at home—it is my only means of communicating with my host family.

But, surprisingly (or, not so surprisingly, considering my job), English remains a prevalent part of my life. It is the subject I teach five days a week and the focus of three after-school clubs I lead. Every day I am conscious of its pronunciation, its grammar rules, and the millions of possible patterns in which its words can be arranged. In the hallways of my school and in even in the street, I am constantly greeted with an enthusiastic “Hello!” (and, if the person is feeling particularly brave, “Do you speak English?”).

And then there’s Russian--the language that all Moldovans understand and that a large percentage of them primarily speak. It’s the language of most Moldovan television channels and of countless books, magazines, food labels, and street signs. Because many of the students and teachers at my school are Russian speakers, I hear it on a daily basis. Even though my Russian is limited to the most basic of words and phrases (such as, “Good morning,” “I don’t understand,” “Excuse me, where is the bathroom?”), I know the sounds of it well enough that I can instantly tell when someone who had been speaking in Romanian suddenly slips into Russian. And since this happens quite a bit, this is a valuable skill.

I’ll admit that it can be frustrating that my knowledge of Romanian isn’t always enough to get me by (i.e. when I’m at a store in Chisinau and the cashier only speaks Russian, or when I’m trying to decipher the operating instructions of a household appliance which are written in that dreaded cyrillic alphabet). But it’s a fascinating thing to live in a country where the lines between languages are so often blurred.

I recently sat in on a faculty meeting in which I observed a conversation between two other teachers. One of the women spoke entirely in Romanian. The other teacher carried out her end of the conversation in Russian. They spoke like this for several minutes, completely oblivious to the fact that two different languages were being spoken.

And the other day as I was sitting in church, I noticed that the woman to the left of me was holding a Bible printed in Romanian, the woman to my right had one in Russian, and I was sandwiched in between them with an English Bible. A perfect snapshot of my life here.

So, yes, life in 3 languages can be exasperating and bizarre. And sometimes I miss the certainty of knowing that when I open my mouth, the person I'm talking to will understand me. But I like my new life. It's rich, complex, and decidedly more interesting.

Some random thoughts...

I visited a Russian-speaking church last Sunday (the language divide here affects even Sunday worship). I was invited by the pastor and his wife—they and I have a mutual acquaintance in America. She speaks excellent English and has kindly befriended me since they live fairly close (and by close I mean an hour and half and three bus rides later—public transportation is not built for speed). I really enjoyed visiting their church (it was the first Moldovan church I’ve seen so far where the woman wear pants—I was in heaven!) I was able to sit with a young woman who knows English well enough to translate everything for me. Still, it was completely frustrating not to understand a single word. My Romanian is pretty bad, but when people talk I can usually make out at least some of what they’re saying. Being there was literally going back to square one, and I did NOT like it. I need to learn Russian. My host mom informed me the other day that I am very well behaved. Not exactly a compliment you’re looking for when you’re 23! Sometimes I get the feeling that she doesn’t quite see me as the independent, self-sufficient adult that I feel that I am. But then I think about the fact that I can’t cook, sew, preserve fruits and vegetables, tend a garden, butcher poultry, or even heat water by myself (the pilot light for our hot water has to be re-lit with a match every time and is such a complicated affair that my host mother informed me she wouldn’t teach me how because she’s afraid I’ll blow up the house—I think she has a point there). It also doesn’t help things that I do crazy, un-ladylike things, such as walk around wearing a backpack and wipe my hands to dry on my jeans after washing them. So unless I start honing my domestic skills, I think I’m destined for eternal adolescence! This past week I acquired 3 English clubs in the course of a day. I’ll be leading two at my lyceum (5th-8th grades and 9th-12th) and one with students from the other lyceum in town. That’s in addition to the 7 different English classes I’m teaching in school. Do you think a person can get tired of her own language?

It's a happy day, folks! I added more pictures to my Picasa web album (see link to the left of the screen). The PST album has some more, and I also created a new one. Happy viewing!

This past week was my first week of school. I feel a sense of accomplishment writing those words, not because I did anything great, but because I survived. And because I accomplished small victories like communicating to the school librarian about the textbooks I’ll need and successfully reviewing past, present, and future simple tenses with my 12th graders. Such accomplishments are significant to me because I very rarely knew what was going on this week, let alone why. Feeling clueless is par for course for any new job. Throw into the mix a completely new set of cultural norms and a language which I don’t really know yet (not to mention the fact that some students and teachers at my school primarily speak Russian, not Romanian), and I was one lost soul.

Somehow I managed to show up to the right classes, do a little bit of teaching (usually with no prep time), and—I think—successfully hide my fear. I also managed to learn quite a bit about education in Moldova. The following observations aren’t true of every school in the Moldovan public educational system, but they are reflective of my own experience: There is no set schedule for the first (and sometimes even the second) week of school. Teachers find out in the morning what classes they have for that day and their times. Moldovan teachers have perfected the art of going with the flow.

Students have no textbooks the first week or two of school. This is also often the case for new teachers (myself included). For some classes students have to buy their textbooks.

Unlike many American middle/high schools, students only have a certain class, such as English, 2-3 times a week. There are 6 periods in a day, and school is done by 1:30.

Most students start learning English in the 2nd grade and continue to study it up through 12th grade.

Moldovan teachers get paid by the hour. So the more classes they teach, the higher their salary. My workload will probably be about half that of my fellow teachers.

Here’s hoping that my second week will be just as enlightening but slightly less exhausting!

It's official, folks: I am now a Peace Corps Volunteer! What was I the past ten weeks? Only a trainee. The lowest of the low. Even pond scum enjoyed a higher social status. Just kidding! Kind of. Wednesday the M23's were sworn in at the American Ambassadorial Residence. So now the PC claims us as its own. The ceremony itself was pretty cool, albeit boiling hot. We had to sit in the sun for over an hour, and I think it was a pretty hefty accomplishment that none of us passed out!

For reasons not fully comprehended on my part, I was asked to give a speech at the ceremony. Thankfully I was not expected to speak extemporaneously (my apologies to my Speech professor Dr. Stewart--I know he would NOT have approved). I wrote my speech in English, and then it was edited and translated by the powers that be. So all I had to do was practice reading it about a million times and pray fervently that I wouldn't embarrass myself. I gave it, and it went just fine. I don't think I'll be starting a Moldovan public speaking career anytime soon, but I'm okay with that.

Speaking of trying to not embarrass myself, there were tons of press at the ceremony yesterday, and I was interviewed by two different crews. My mind went into autopilot and started spitting out all the Romanian I had learned in class (Moldova is beautiful. The people are nice. I came here because I want to learn more about other cultures, etc.). I do also distinctly remember saying that I love Moldovan food and listing off my favorite dishes. I don't know if my other interview made it on-air, but here is a link to a newsclip about the ceremony. My interview is about halfway through (and if you look really hard, you can see quick snippets of me in the other parts. I was wearing a brown shirt and white skirt). http://www.trm.md/index.php?module=stiri_int&news_id=2891

Try not to laugh too hard, please! ;-)

I came home from school yesterday to discover that my host mom had killed three of our chickens. I missed the actual beheading and de-feathering, but I did get to see the bloody chicken guts laid out in all their glory. It wasn't pretty. As I stood their chatting with my mom, trying to act nonchalant and to not stare at the chicken remains like--well, an American--it occurred to me how much my life has changed in the past 2 months. It's pretty hard to describe all the ways, but let me give you my daily schedule. That might give you a taste of what life is like here for me:

I usually wake up around 6:30. Some days I shower (I'm one of the lucky ones-my host family has a shower). I have breakfast with my host mom. She packs me a bag lunch, and then I leave for school. I meet Rebeach, Erin, and Mike (3 other trainees who live really close), and we walk downhill to school. On the way we say "Buna dimineata!"(Good morning) to everyone we pass. Some people say hello. Others just stare. In addition to people, we usually see sheep, goats, ducks, geese, chickens, turkeys, and cows. At school, there are 8 of us that study Romaian 3-4 hours a day, Monday through Saturday. After language, we either go to our hub site with all of the other trainees for technical/cultural/safety sessions or we have SDA's (self directed activties--PC lingo for free time). My host family doesn't eat dinner until 9:00, so I try to get all of my studying in before then. After dinner (in which I try my best to understand the Romanian flying around me and speak a little bit myself), I go to bed.

My schedule for the past few weeks was a bit more hectic because I had practice school. During PS, every waking hour was either spent in class, teaching, or preparing for class the next day. No free time! Practice school, in case you're wondering, is the PC's version of student teaching for us TEFL trainees. We all taught two different levels of students (I taught 8th and 11th graders). Our students were Moldovan sudents who study English in school and who volunteer to come to practice school during their vacation time. As a result, most of them were strong English speakers and pretty well behaved. My students were amazing! My 11th graders spoke English SO well. I was really impressed. Let me tell you though, teaching English is not as easy as you might think. Have you ever tried explaining why we say "It is sunny" not "Is sunny"? or why "Everyone has" but "All people have"? Native speakers of a language don't know grammar rules--they just know what sounds right!

That being said, Practice School was extremely helpful. Now I have a sense of what Moldovan students are like, and I know that I have the ability to teach. The last week of PST will be pretty easy. Most of our time will be spent reviewing for our language proficiency exam next Monday. Speaking of language, let me end this blog on a humurous note. Below are some translations of phrases inadvertently spoken by my fellow trainees (one of them is mine, but I'm not saying which one). Enjoy!

"She was wearing a tomato."

[pointing to cucumbers] "Are these married?"

"I ate myself for breakfast."

"I ate my whole host family for breakfast."

"I am going to armchair grammar."

Technology has its moments. It really does. For instance, I am writing this blog that people halfway around the world can read 5 seconds after I post it. And I appreciate that. I really do. That being said, I think life would be a lot less stressful if we still used letters and carrier pigeons.

Some of you were lucky enough to see my photos before they mysteriously disappeared. That's all I have to say about that. For about 10 other reasons which I won't go into now because it's still to way too frustrating, I haven't been able to access my blog or re-upload my pictures since then. But now I have! So if you click on the "my photos" link, you'll actually see photos. Magic! I don't know if anyone is still reading this (since it has been ages- I can't blame anyone who has given up on checking back to see if I've updated), but I'm sure at least my parents are still faithfully checking. So Mom and Dad, this is for you. ;-)

Seriously though, I've got lots of things to write about since we just finished 3 weeks of practice school. I will write more again soon, I promise.

Let me start this post off with a disclaimer: I have only been in Moldova for a month. Even though I'm learning the language, and I've heard numerous lectures about the history and culture and observed quite a bit from my interactions with host country nationals, I still know very little about Moldova. If anything, I'm at the dangerous stage where you know just enough about something to think you know everything and consequently be way off base.

That being said, I'm going to go right ahead and share my opinions (isn't that what a blog is for???). Before coming to Moldova, I heard/read somewhere that Moldova is the poorest country in Europe. After arriving here, I heard that statistic again. And I am starting to understand why. Poverty is a complex thing. Moldova is nothing like sub-Saharan Africa, where poverty is so overwhleming that it reaches out and smacks you right between the eyes. In Chisinau, and in other cities in Moldova, you wouldn't think Moldova is that poor. Banks, grocery stores, pharmacies, cell phone kiosks, cars, and stylishly dressed girls in ridiculously high stilettos are everywhere.

But looks can be deceiving. Many Moldovans struggle to make ends meet. You can see this especially in villages. With the collapse of the Soviet Union, Moldova's political and economic infastructes dissolved as well. Since Moldova declared its independence, economic growth has been slow. Roughly 1/4 (I've heard slightly varying statististics) of Moldova's working-age population is currently abroad because people can't find jobs here (even teachers, doctors, and other professionals sometimes have to leave the country and find work elsewhere, cleaning people's houses or doing construction, because they can't find jobs that pay enough for them to live on). Many children have one or both parents who are away from home for months, or even years, at a time.

And to make things even more complicated, Moldova is a country torn between the East and the West. Russia has long been a presence here (for obvious reasons), and a significant portion of Moldovans identify themselves as Russian (speak Russian, not Romanian, etc.). But many Moldovans would like to see themselves united with Romania (re-united really--before being a part of the Soviet Union, Moldova was a part of Romania), especially if that means joining the EU as a result.

It's all so complicated, and of course, I've only scratched the surface. For anyone that thinks all of this is as interesting as I do (I won't be offended if you don't, but if you do--bravo!), you need to check out the recent New Yorker article about human trafficking and Moldova. From what I can tell, it's very accurate and well-researched. Just go to Google, type in "New Yorker + Moldova" and you'll find it.

I'm not sure yet how I, as an English teacher, am going to make a difference in the grand scheme of things, but I do know that I'm in the right place. I'm quickly falling in love with this country and with its people, and I hope that my role in my community will be a meaningful one. That's why I came, and I'm going to try my best not to forget that.

For those of you that don't know, in my list of links to the left of this page is the link to my photos. I just added several pictures that I've taken since coming to Moldova. Feel free to check them out!

I'm willing to bet that when most people hear the term Peace Corps, an image of a thatched-roof hut nestled in the depths of a tropical jungle comes to mind. While that may be true to life for some volunteers, it is not my current reality. While I didn't exactly expect a hut, I came into Moldova knowing that conveniences like running water and electricity might not be available at my site. Imagine my surprise when I arrived at my PST home (the house I'll be living in for my first ten weeks of pre-service training) to discover that my host family has indoor plumbing, a computer with Internet, their own washing machine, and two TVs. I'll admit--my first reaction was guilt. Wasn't I, the Peace Corps volunteer who consolidated her wordly possessions into a mere two suitcases and a carry-on, supposed to endure more hardship than this?

After talking with PC staff and other volunteers, I came to realize that our home stays during PST will probably be quite different than what we experience at our permanent sites. The Peace Corps attempted to place all of us trainees with more affluent families as a way of easing us into Molovan life. The American definition of affluence doesn't quite carry over though. For exmple, my host family has indoor plumbing, but not a working toilet (Or at least we never use the toilet. It might just be for the winter. I haven't figured it out yet). We also have so much less stuff in general than the "typical" American household (less clothes, less food on hand, etc.). And nothing gets wasted here. Any extra food goes to our animals (in our case, chickens, rabbits, dog, and cat--other families have cows, sheep, goats, pigs, ducks, geese, or turkeys).

Conveniences aside, I can say without hesitation that the people I have met here are wonderful. My host family, which consists of mom, dad, 17-year-old sister, and 13-year-old brother, has been incredibly kind to me. Other than my sister, who learned English in school and can communicate with me a bit, no one in my family speaks English. They do their best to help me with my Romanian, and I do my best not to sound like an idiot every time I open my mouth. It's not always a reachable goal (especially when I have to resort to using non-verbal communication--I actually impersonated a sheep at the dinner table the other night in an attempt to figure out what kind of cheese we were eating....but now I know that sheep cheese exists.). It is amazing though how much Romanian I've learned in two weeks. By the end of PST, I'll know enough to survive on my own. Very exciting to think about! Hopefully by then I'll have regained some of my dignity.

Okay, so I have tried about 3 different times to get online and add new posts, but I've been having a lot of problems with my flash drive (Moldovan computers don't like it). Since I write everything on my laptop (which I can't currently use to access the Internet) and save it to my flash drive, complications ensue! I will try my best to put new posts as soon as I can. I talked to someone at PC tech support today, so I think a solution is in sight. For those of you who keep checking back for updates, they are coming--I promise (scout's honor!).

Buna ziuwa! I am now in Moldova. We got here Wednesday evening after a 11 hour flight from JFK to Frankfurt (it should have been 8 but we sat on the plane for 3 hours at JFK waiting for thunderstorms to pass by. Good times!), and a 3 hour flight from Frankfurt to Chishinau (the capital city). I don't have time for a long post at this point, so I'll just list some of the highlights of my trip so far:

-getting to know the other PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers--get used to my acronymns. The Peace Corps is in love with them).

-eating some Moldovan food (Most of it is really good, My only complaint so far is the fact that they put mayonnaise on just about everything, including pizza. You haven't lived until you've eaten mayonnaise pizza!)

-starting to learn Romanian (it is a Romance language, so my 3 semesters of college Spanish is actually helping a bit)

-getting ready to meet my PST (pre-service training) host family. They don't speak English, and my Romanian consists of about 50 words at this point, so it should be fun. We meet them today (!).

-realizing that I'm in a foreign country, don't speak the language, have no clue how to get anywhere, but I'm still insanely excited to be here. So I think I made the right choice! ;-)

That's it for now. Hopefully I'll be able to email people and do more blog updates again soon. For those of you who have my mailing address (let me know if you don't but want it), feel free to write me!

La Revedere!

This is my first venture into the world of blogging. I thought it would be a good idea to create a blog for those who are interested in getting a glimpse at what my life will be like the next couple of years. I have to admit--I have mixed feelings about blogs. I don't want this to replace any individual contact I might have with people (letters, emails, etc.). BUT for those of you who want to see pictures and read heartwarming/funny/ranting anecdotes about my time in Moldova, read on! I have no clue how reliable and/or frequent my Internet access will be. That being said, I'll add posts and pictures as often as possible. Thanks for reading!