People waiting for relief supplies, Bagong Silang, Caloocan City, September 2009

It is nearly impossible to fathom -- let alone put into words -- the weight of all that has happened here in the Philippines since my last post in early September. Time and again, I'd find myself sitting down to collect my thoughts, ready to write. And, time and again, I wasn't ready to. Apparently I'm not so good at attaching words to overwhelming, traumatic experiences. It amazes me that many writers (including some of my favorite journalists) spend their entire careers doing just that: diving head-first into war, genocide, disaster, disease and other unthinkable human experiences, and writing about them...on a deadline. My own puny fumblings leave me in awe of these people (and remind me why I chose another profession). Indeed the past few weeks have often seemed like a demonstration of the modern Filipino experience, equal parts heart-wrenching and triumphant.

At the end of September, Manila and much of the northern Philippines received the full force mauling of Ondoy, the worst storm to hit this area in at least a half century (typically, most storms would roll through further to the South).  Water rose, dams burst, storm drains and canals were quickly overwhelmed, the vast sections of Metro Manila that sit below sea-level (and, in that sense, lend it a surprising similarity to New Orleans) found themselves under several meters of water -- water that would remain in those low-lying communities for literally weeks, having nowhere to go.  Most here call Ondoy a "typhoon" though, in reality, it never advanced beyond "tropical depression" status.  It's devastating impact came from the sheer volume of water it let loose, and the slowness of its track over land.  Add to all this the fact that local water levels were already high due to previous rains, and "perfect storm" conditions began to align.  Manila is a metropolitan area with a population somewhere far in excess of 11-million people.  No one will ever really know the true figure, due to the enormous communities of undocumented squatters and otherwise poor that comprise its expansive edges.  Communities that are constantly fed by an influx of people from the provinces, and who have nowhere to settle down but on the margins, huddling in cracks between buildings, living atop refuse heaps and marshes of human waste, balancing on neighbors' roofs, subsisting quite literally "on the brink".  Such unmentionable places generally happen to sit in the lowest-lying areas, in flood-plains, hard by rivers and canals, available simply by virtue of their undesirability to anyone with a choice.  As in NoLa, likewise in Manila.  To make a long story very short, but no less painful, it was Manila's poorest who found themselves suddenly without a home or any possessions, fighting for their lives against raging currents and toxic conditions.  Children and elderly relatives sometimes swept away.Amidst this litany of human suffering, all of us in my NGO (Gawad Kalinga) found ourselves deep into post-disaster relief efforts, 24-hours a day, for over 2 weeks -- delivering desperately-needed food, clothing, medical supplies, shelters and emotional support (what little we could offer) to disaster victims.  During that time, I was always either helping to make supply drop-offs or helping to set up disaster-preparedness systems for future such storms (Typhoon Pepeng arrived the following weekend).  As physically and emotionally draining as that type of work is, it's naturally difficult to forget how much worse the recipients of your work have it than yourself.   Indeed even now, 2-plus months later, many thousands are still without homes, and with no real hope in sight.  As I had written in my previous post, Filipinos waste little time with grief or complaints.  This is life, they tell you.  You move on.

In mid-October, exhausted by relief work and the emotional roller-coaster of Ondoy, I found myself in very different circumstances: sitting on a mountain-top in the city of Baguio, on property owned by the family of my good friend Steve from PC Romania.  I remember sitting there as the sun set, gazing at a gigantic bank of fog that ebbed and flowed over the ridge-line on which I was sitting.   The fog seemed very much a living organism, breathing in and out, eddying and flowing in random but precise geometries, alternately revealing and obscuring the next, distant mountain-top.  Weaving the last rays of dying sunlight in beautiful, curvilinear tendrils.  Then, suddenly, extinguishing them, severing the limb from the body.  Soupy darkness.I wrote in Romania about my recurring sense that the world we live in -- or at least the world I live in -- is often revealed in such brief, intense bursts of color and feeling.  As though suddenly and without presage, the curtain is pulled back, and in that instant we see the workings of the universe, and our own lives within it.  Maybe there is beauty in that moment, maybe something far less palatable -- but there is always truth, and always purpose.  In that glimpse, we can see where we stand and where we are (perhaps) going...before the curtain drops once again.  I have felt this way at various times in my life, and as unbearable as the relief work so often was for me and for everyone else involved, I knew I needed to be there, at that moment, doing that work.  I knew the ground my feet stood upon, and I knew the task at hand.  How strange it is that we can have two so vastly different responses to the same event.  As both are so utterly inexpressible, I'll give up.And the titanic ups and downs of life in the Philippines continued unabated in November: The ecstasy of seeing a native son, Manny Pacquiao, win his 7th world boxing title (a record not likely to be broken any time soon...and, in Manny, a public hero of whom Filipinos admit this country is desperately in need at the moment); And the barbarity of politically-motivated mass killings in Mindanao.  As predictable as we may find such contrasts to be in our modern world, it needn't stop us from imagining that things could be different, better.  Neither should it stop us from doing what we can to make it so.

As I write this, an enormous typhoon is sweeping through the northern Philippines and the South China Sea, unloading torrential rains, hurricane winds, heavy seas, mudflows, flooding, uprooting trees, destroying homes, washing away livelihoods (and in some cases, lives) and making an all-around mess for those unfortunate enough to be in its path. This is the rainy season in Southeast Asia. This is par for the course between roughly June and October of every year. And for people with seemingly so little control over a world that visits these biblical tempests upon them with vicious regularity, Filipinos themselves are almost supernaturally resilient, positive people. This storm may flood the low-lying village where my fellow volunteer Drew lives (as happens almost weekly), it may peel the roofs off of the plywood squatter shanties surrounding my own house -- it may ultimately change thousands, or millions, of Filipino lives forever. And yet Filipinos themselves will simply seek protection under a nearby eave, shrug, share a joke and a cigarette with their neighbors, and wait for the rain to pass. Tomorrow, the mirthful gleam in their eyes masking a steely resolve, they will go about the task of rebuilding and moving forward. Even now, with the deluge beating against my windows, I can see children doing cartwheels in the street. Tricycle-taxi drivers are firing up their engines and heading off for a fare. Somewhere in this tightly-packed "barangay" (barrio, or borough), someone is crooning a Julio Iglesias tune on karaoke. Based on the tell-tale aromas, someone else is cooking fish and rice for lunch. Indeed, most of my neighbors here in Bagong Silang (extreme northeastern Metro Manila) are abjectly poor. No health or home insurance. No running water. And for most, no public or private agencies (FEMA or otherwise) will be swooping in with aid, should the flood-waters rise, should the levy burst, should the winds rest from them their homes and few possessions. For them, this is life. You move forward.

To simply say, however, that Filipinos "move forward" is to wildly understate the reality: these are some of the happiest, most gregarious, most naturally optimistic people I have ever met (and I've met a lot of people)! They are poor, they have withstood centuries of foreign occupation, they live in a climate that is either Eden-esque or a divine science-experiment (Searing heat? Typhoons? Active volcanoes? Rising sea-levels? Sure, try it out!) Yet Pinoys are always quick with a song, or a joke, or a smile, or a San Miguel (local beer) and wonderful food. They are fiercely proud of their country and heritage, they are out-going and ebullient with foreigners and guests, they believe in the prosperity and growth that the future will bring...and heck, even if it doesn't, the current situation isn't all that bad, no? We Americans typically like to believe we are extroverted and positive. Trust me, we have nothing on these people!

Perhaps I should qualify what I'm telling you here: I live in a squatter settlement on the far outer-periphery of what is known as "Metro Manila" (a collection of large cities). The high-density urban environment that I experience every day is, I might guess, no more (and no less) a representative view of "The Philippines" than New York City is of the US. I have volunteer friends who literally live in grass "nipa" huts off the beach in the outer island provinces. I live in a neighborhood -- yes, neighborhood -- of 1-million people, the vast majority of whom are squatters living in shanties, and who were relocated from central Manila by the government in past decades to clear land for peanut farms. I know volunteers who go weeks without getting in a motorized vehicle or seeing a building taller than a single-story.

On the other hand, I and my fellow Peace Corps Response volunteers in Manila -- Charlie, Drew and Sharon (with two more arriving this week) -- spend every day immersed in the heady, intoxicating soup of sights, sounds, tastes, smells and experiences, big and little, that make up life in this city. We are anomalies here, not just because we are foreigners, but because typically Peace Corps does not place volunteers within Metro Manila -- opting rather to place them in rural areas and provincial towns and small cities around the Philippine islands. The fact that we are all PC "Response" volunteers, and here on shorter-term, more technically-focused projects, puts us in a somewhat different category of PC rules and procedures. Three of us work with a Filipino community development NGO called Gawad-Kalinga (roughly "Care-giving" in Tagalog), in many ways comparable to Habitat for Humanity. Our backgrounds are in architecture, engineering and construction management, and until late January, we are going to be helping them codify a Business Plan and Standard Operating Procedures, as well as developing standardized manuals that guide the entire Site Development and Construction process for any given project. We'll be busy, but it should be a fun and illuminating process for everyone.

I'll go into more depth in future posts about individual elements of my new life here, and as in Romania, I'm always open to fielding questions and topic requests from my loyal readers! But let me just give you a few short strokes of the experiential paintbrush to get this canvas started:

Sitting in horrendous (and non-stop) Manila traffic, packed into a Jeepney with 20 other passengers, in the sweltering heat of the mid-day sun. No mad-dogs or Englishmen about -- just a highway jammed with hapless commuters. You're breathing in nothing but exhaust fumes and human body-odor. You're shoe-horned between an old lady and her groceries and a guy with a TV, and can't move. And if you're over 5'6" you're also crouched over, since Jeepney passenger-cabins have criminally low rooflines. The seats have no padding, the Jeepney has no shocks, and the Jeepney-driver has no subtlety when it comes to accelerating or braking. Or turning. Oh, and then it starts raining torrentially, so the driver's assistant gets out and unfurls clear plastic window coverings -- so now you have no air-movement either, and are sitting in a moving human crockpot. Why is it I love Jeepneys so much?Walking through the farmers' market up the street from my house. As in Eastern Europe (and probably everywhere else in the developing world), you can find everything from fresh meat to construction tools to car batteries here. Unlike much of Eastern Europe, the sheer variety of local produce you can find at any market-stand in the Philippines is astonishing. This is a country where bananas, coconuts, pineapples, mangoes, guavas, papayas, giant grapefruits, oranges, lemons, limes, mini-limes (calamansi fruits) and a host of other wonderful exotic fruits literally grow wild on the trees (or other plants), to say nothing of the vegetables and other produce. Even for those of us who live in the city, fresh produce is always readily available from the nearby farms and groves. I am not used to this. My brain isn't wired this way. I grew up in the American Northeast, where garden plants have to be coaxed and prodded and coddled from the rocky soil like shy children, in those short months of warmth. The guardedness and resentment the plants feel towards us is palpable. Here, it's a different relationship altogether. Fruit springs from the earth with abandon, with enthusiasm, gleefully entrusting itself to your outstretched hand. In this Garden of Eden, only the apple itself has to be imported from China.Ok, that's it for now. I trust everyone is healthy and fulfilled and skipping down the road. Check out my PHOTOS, please drop me a note sometime, and COME VISIT! I'm only here until January.

Camp is very entertaining

And they say we'll have some fun if it stops raining...

Rocky Mountain Nat'l Park, Colorado, October 2008

One year ago, almost to the day, I was planting trees and laying new paving stones in a small town park in western Romania. Not long after that, I wrote what would prove to be my last blog post for almost a year -- before seemingly dropping off the face of the earth. There are myriad reasons for this, or so I tell myself. Most don't hold much water, I admit. After all, there has been no shortage of things going on in my life in the past 9 months or so. But in summation, I'm back in cyberspace, and my postings will (theoretically) resume. And for those who haven't been updated recently, here's a brief, crib-notes version of my life since Romania. My apologies for the brevity. As you read, I encourage you to browse the PHOTOS as well:

My Peace Corps service officially ended at the end of last July, and after signing some final documents and annoying everyone in the head office one last time, I boarded my first flight in over 2 years and headed to Vienna. There I spent a few days with my Romanian host-mom's brother and his wife, who have lived and worked there for years. Then it was off into the rolling Bohemian countryside for a short tour of various famous Czech beer-brewing towns (Plzen, home of Pilsener Urquell; Cesky Budejovice, home of Budvar, the "original Budweiser"). After preparing my system with wonderful Bohemian suds, I took the train west to Munich, where I met up with my old friends Eric and Will from grad school. The three of us would ultimately visit 6 countries together and taste much beer, European street-food, wine, and otherwise: South to Genoa (with a sleepless night in Milan's train-station), then to Paris, Brugge, Amsterdam and finally London, where we spent a few last days together before they flew out. I stayed on a few more days in the UK, revisiting Oxford for the first time since my junior year abroad, and then spending one last, wonderful weekend with some Scottish friends in Edinburgh right in the middle of the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. What a terrific way to say goodbye to Europe!

At the very end of August I flew back to the US, and my father and I then took another flight down to Florida to visit my grandfather -- wherein I was greeted with the first of many surprises over the following months: my grandfather, in a wild bit of downsizing, gave me his Chrysler convertible. I think his (very sound) reasoning was that having a car would help me in my upcoming job-search. My reasoning was a little different...and a lot less sound: My return to the US + beautiful Fall weather + convertible = ROADTRIP!!! I wasted no time getting going. From late September to the November presidential election, I covered something like 9,500 miles, visited 30 states, and reconnected with at least as many friends (I won't even tell you how many gallons of gas and dollars of gas-money I burned through).: Virginia, DC, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticutt, Massachusetts, Ohio, Michigan, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Iowa, Nebraska, Colorado, Utah, Idaho, Washington, Oregon, California, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Tennessee, North Carolina, Virginia. Whew! Gorgeous weather. The top down. Open road. Old friends. I can't think of a better way to reacquaint myself with my country.

Well, voting for the next president. That's another way. In early November, I found myself back in Virginia and deep in the middle of a long and protracted job-search in the worst economy in several generations. After returning from Romania, my focus had shifted to architecture firms doing work in community development, low-cost housing, disaster relief, etc., and thus my geographical focus was firmly on places like the upper Midwest and the Gulf Coast. As I would continue to find out over the next several months, the industry (like every other) was contracting, no one was hiring, and I was forced to deal -- essentially for the first time in my life -- with the physical and emotional challenges of unemployment, which are manifold. Anxiety, self-doubt, depression, aimlessness, loss of motivation -- It's difficult to appreciate how immediate, and how overwhelming, the effects of being unemployed generally are until one is right smack in the middle of it. Even after two years of struggle, improvisation and confidence-building in the Peace Corps, I found myself battling what was, in some ways, an even more difficult situation at home. There is always more that we can learn about ourselves, I suppose, and the world we inhabit. I have learned much in the past few months. And it hasn't been all struggle either. I have been working part-time at a coffee-shop in Charlottesville with some terrific people, learning how to make quad-shot mochas, extra-dry cappuccinos and chai lattes. Valuable skills, all. And I've continued to interview a variety of interesting and exciting architecture firms -- even if none have been hiring!

And the crowning event to all this is the news that I will be heading to the Philippines in mid-June for a 6-month assignment with Peace Corps Response (the shorter-term, technical wing of the Peace Corps, typically for returned volunteers). The word so far is that I'll be among a small group helping a local non-profit to design low-cost housing for residents of Manila's vast slums. And even if it means another few months of being poor, I couldn't be more excited! I ended up turning down another job offer in architecture here in the States to pursue this opportunity, so we'll see whether my choice was a good one. I've learned to trust my instincts, and I'm feeling pretty good about this one.

Well, in a nutshell, that's my life over the past 10 months. I have no overarching words of wisdom, no lessons to be gleaned -- other than the constant reality that life is unpredictable. I would love to hear from anyone I haven't talked to in a while, and I promise to keep everyone abreast of life and work in the Philippines (and after). I feel like my writing skills aren't where they should be -- perhaps I'm out of practice. I'll get over it, as I hope you will.

Keep putting one foot in front of the other...

Well, anyone who's been keeping tally of the frequency of my posts (and, I mean, why would you?) over the past 2 years will note a definite drop-off in recent months -- and maybe earlier. When I first arrived in Romania, I could hardly contain myself: the words and images seemed to flow out of their own accord, desperate to be committed to paper (or at least to computer screen), desperate for the light of day. Probably much to the chagrin of my readers, I positively fell over myself trying to document every road-sign, every pothole, every dog, cloud, apartment bloc, train, man, woman, boy, girl, chicken, doorway, gathering of more than 1 person...positively every twitch of a finger, be it someone else's or my own. And I suppose this is a natural response. I think many would agree that much of the documenting (words, images, etc.) we do of the world around us in our lifetimes isn't so much for others as it is for ourselves -- as though we need continually to reaffirm to ourselves that we were here, doing this, in this moment. After all, perception and memory are fickle, delicate creatures, products of evolution whose purpose may well have been simply to keep us alive ("don't eat those leaves", "don't enter that forest at night", "hitting yourself repeatedly on the head with a hammer. Bad"). Yes, we're all generally good at remembering the good and shedding the bad from past experiences -- even as we realize that these "memories" quickly (perhaps immediately) morph themselves to our own little editorial tweakings and revisions. Is this why we journalize, why we snap that photo, as some sort of stark, incontrovertible truth? This really happened...in this way?

What ever the reasons for why we do or don't document, I think it's true for myself and for many of my finished and almost-finished fellow Peace Corps Volunteers that we have, in many ways, stopped trying to explain the intricacies of our experiences -- at least with the same fervor we once had. There's the sense that the specific, substantive reality of the experience (good or bad) will never really be captured again, in any form. And you just become more and more aware of this as time goes by. Don't get me wrong: I've truly enjoyed trying to describe for all of you how and in what forms my life has taken shape while in Romania. But I've also begun to realize that, in some ways, it's a futile enterprise. For that matter, how could I ever hope to understand the lives even of other Peace Corps volunteers around the world -- Mali, El Salvador, Tajikistan, Vietnam. Each circumstance is so fundamentally, almost painfully specific to that place and time. Yes, it is a thing of beauty, maybe one of the most beautiful experiences of my life: living with and sharing myself with people from somewhere else in the world. And naturally it is an exchange that I hope will continue to bare fruit in coming decades (and centuries?) for myself, my Romanian friends, and for my fellow volunteers and their communities around the globe. But there is also something about that beauty that lives within that moment alone -- sharing a meal, a walk, a handshake and a glance -- a beauty that will shimmer for a brief instant, and then fade. Endlessly fragile. Indescribably brief. Our lives are all populated by these moments.

My Peace Corps service officially ends at the end of July and then, like so many other volunteers (and travelers and expats) over the years, I'll presumably find myself in that odd, "fish-out-of-water" stage of trying to reintegrate into the culture of my birth, and yet that I may not be entirely equipped for. 2 years is no time at all...and it's an eternity. Returned volunteer friends of mine tell me their stories, which are alarming and funny all at the same time: of the expansiveness and variety of an American grocery store driving someone to seek terrified refuge in her family car; of hometown friends' eyes glazing over after gamely making it through the first 5-minutes of a Peace Corps story; of a volunteer hording plastic bags, toilet paper and small-change for months after getting home (items perennially lacking during the PC years). The family of one returned volunteer once described him as wearing a permanent "deer in the headlights" look for a solid year after getting back. Hmm, maybe I should stay here a while longer.

I don't know much about history, or biology...but certain facts stand on their own, resolute, unwavering. They read as follows: a) I have spent almost 27 months in the Peace Corps in Romania; b) It has been an extraordinary and foundational experience, and I would recommend it to anyone; c) Romania is a country filled with kind, wonderful people who generally want simply to claim the prosperity and global respect they have long deserved. There. If I get nothing else across about my experience -- at least you have that. Enjoy.

I also know that, after I get back to the US in early September, I plan on hitting the good ol' American road (assuming gas doesn't surpass gold in per-ounce price). I finally have, uhh, let's just say a little opening in my datebook, and a little money saved up. Not to mention all those belated wedding-gifts I'm going to have to hand-deliver. SO: Anyone who is just dying to get a visit from me and have your ear talked-off about things you don't know or care about...let me know! Maybe my Grand Tour will make a stop in your town. And being a Peace Corps volunteer, I'll be happy to sleep in your tub, eat the green, malevolent goo on the bottom of your fridge -- and I won't even use your shower! It's a win-win situation here.

Just let me know, and maybe I'll start putting a rough itinerary together for what I may call the Post-Corps Moore Tour. Until then, don't expect any last greeting card from Romania. I mean, I never sent you anything else...so why should I start now? Check out my new photos. And keep smiling. To borrow a friend's normal mass email sign-off:

"You've always been my favorite."

Life recently has had a tendency to operate something like a bicycle that lost its middle gears: either the pace of life and work is extremely relaxed [read "slow"], with much looking ahead to future milestones and goals...or suddenly everything seems to happen at once, and all of those once-distant milestones and goals have come rushing at me together -- leaving me exhilarated, but also fighting maniacally to keep the bicycle upright!

As I've written before, the process of adapting to a new culture and a new understanding of time and scheduling generally means learning to relax, and breath, and appreciate the process as it evolves. It often means letting go of one's own expectations about how things should get done, and by when, and charting future "goals" more as focus areas than as fixed points. I have most definitely come to appreciate this flexible approach, even when it means calling up more patience than we think ourselves capable of. And so after a year and a half of preparing for our park renovation, and with the sidewalks and benches already replaced, we suddenly found ourselves with cash-in-hand, ready to buy and plant our trees and shrubs. And in the blink of an eye, it was all done (see photos) and, in my opinion, looking fantastic! Standing there, gazing around at this beautiful revived park of ours -- the young saplings stretching skyward, townspeople chatting quietly on the benches, flowers and birds set against the blue sky -- it occurred to me that these are the moments we strive for. These often too-short, too-transient instances in which everything seems to coalesce, and imbue itself with logic and meaning, and our labors are validated. These are the moments we live for, as rare and fleeting as they are. And I was (and am) supremely happy that I could be a part of it.

Of course, following this "all-at-once" theme, I had to leave right in the middle of tree-planting to attend my Peace Corps Romania group's "Completion-of-Service" Conference, which traditionally takes place 3-months before our service officially ends (in late July). All of us in PCRO Group 21 arrived together way back in May 2006. And although there were plenty of post-Peace Corps topics to discuss at the conference (employment...gulp), most of us enjoyed the opportunity to get together one last time and simply reflect on our experiences. Out of our original group of around 75 volunteers, we have lost something like 13 (for various reasons) over the past 2 years. And it's important to note that 8 from our group are extending their service in Romania, anywhere from 6 months to a full year. Whenever we have all chosen to finish our Peace Corps service, I think it's clear none of us will be returning to our "other" lives as the same people -- if we return at all.

And then of course, immediately following our conference in Sinaia (in the southern Carpathians), I headed directly to Istanbul on the train, with a group of friends and fellow volunteers. As has been written about exhaustively in the past, Istanbul truly is an extraordinary city -- one that sits astride two continents as it straddles the Bosphorus. The city and its people represent a wonderful melding of Eastern and Western culture (dating back to the melding of Byzantine Christian and Ottoman Muslim culture). Not to mention the fact that they are unfailingly, perhaps even agressively, hospitable! Yes, store-owners and restaurateurs are very vocal in their sales tactics (traditions learned from the bazaar perhaps), but once they have your business, they outdo themselves in service, generosity and good-humor...even when serving miserly Peace Corps volunteers like ourselves! As in other cities of the world I've visited, my advice in Istanbul is to not get too caught up in the guidebook "checklists" scuttling you from one main attraction to another. Yes, Hagia Sophia, the Topkapi Palace and the Basilica Cistern are all wonderful things to experience. On the other hand, I felt I had learned as much about Istanbul and its people -- more, in some ways -- by simply wandering its alleyways and neighborhoods. Sometimes I think it's easy to forget that these places we visit are not simply a collection of static monuments, but a living, breathing organism. And whether in the seething dynamism of the bazaar district, or afloat on the glistening Bosphorus, Istanbul is most definitely alive.

But I couldn't stay. I had to return to Timisoara for a friend's wedding, and after two straight days and nights on the train (and an amusing 3-hour layover in a tiny Bulgarian town), I made it. Of course 2 days after that, I found myself on the train again, heading back to Bucuresti for the Swear-in Ceremony of Peace Corps Romania's newest volunteers, Group24, whose training I had helped with back in February and early March. It's always a pleasure to see the energy and optimism that a new batch of Peace Corps volunteers bring with them. Indeed, after 2 years as one myself, I may be a more experienced and realistic volunteer -- but I would like to believe that my optimism and energy have not diminished.

All in all, these have been a hectic but invigorating past few weeks, filled with the sort of chaotic but somehow graceful experiences that have come to define my time in the Peace Corps: always learning, always improving (well, ideally), and always coming to a better understanding of yourself and the world you inhabit...even if just for a fraction of a moment.

I wish you all the best, and can't wait to see you again.

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.

It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;

It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil

Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;

And all is seared with trade; Bleared, smeared with toil;

And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil

Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod. And for all this, nature is never spent;

There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;

And though the last lights off the black West went

Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent

World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings. -- Gerard Manley Hopkins, "God's Grandeur" (1877)

As the third and final Romanian Spring that I have the pleasure of experiencing (at least with the Peace Corps) washes over the landscape here in the Central Balkan Peninsula, I'm constantly reminded of this indomitable force, this "dearest freshness" Hopkins refers to in the natural world, and likewise in humans themselves. After the desolation of Winter, life inevitably returns. Likewise, even after the "blear" and "smear" of history, and of looming forces that endlessly threaten to unhinge the world and its occupants -- a fear that has changed little since Hopkins' 19th-Century -- up rises life itself, irrepressible, resolute, to restake its claim. I suppose Spring is the ever-handy metaphor for all that we aspire to and hope for, as well as all that we hope to leave behind us. And ultimately, whether one believes that this unconquerable life-force comes from the Divine, as Hopkins does, or from somewhere else, there is little denying just how tenacious we humans are. We are somehow always able to move forward, to train our eyes on the horizon, even as we carry with us the wounds and memories of the past. I have written before about how lucky I consider myself to be living here in Eastern Europe at this moment in history -- one in which Romanians still live with the physical and mental ghosts of past decades, and yet are simultaneously able to enjoy the benefits of a rapidly-growing and liberalizing economy and society. And if the change that I have seen in just the last two years is any indication, this country has great things to look forward to in the coming years.

Realistitally, this is not a difficult argument to make these days: Romania is now part of NATO (and recently hosted the NATO summit), is now part of the EU, has one of the highest economic growth rates in the world, and is earning accolades the world over for its vibrant, resurgent film industry (anyone who hasn't seen "4 Months, 3 Weeks & 2 Days" or "American Dreamin'" should get down to the video store). As with so many other post-totalitarian developing nations, Romania is in a process of self-examination and reawakening, digging deep into the bare, trod soil left by past abuses, and coaxing forth new sprouts. As my good Romanian friend Dorel Jurcovan puts it, "we [Romanians] just have to relearn what we already knew."

And of course continuity and regeneration are also part of how the Peace Corps has always operated. In late February and early March, I was back in my volunteer class's old first home in Romania, the southern city of Ploieşti, helping to train the newest group of PC volunteers (PCVs) to arrive. Comprising all PC sectors except English Teaching (i.e. Environment, Institutional Development and Community Economic Development), the new volunteers cover a diversity of fields, ages and backgrounds. I'm happy to see that, true to the PC's current goal of recruiting more 50+ volunteers, the newest group (PCRO Group 24) has a higher number of more mature recruits, coming with a wealth of previous professional experience. I must say though that, in contradiction to what was recently written in the "Too Many Innocents Abroad" Op-Ed piece in the NY Times, there will always be a vital role in today's Peace Corps for volunteers of every age, background and expertise. Yes, continual self re-evaluation and adaptation is a necessary (and healthy) process for the Peace Corps. But I firmly believe that the technical partnerships and personal connections the PC forges with other countries calls for every type of person and outlook, "expert" and "generalist" alike.

Many have lately been asking me about the time-frame for the remainder of my PC service, and what lies beyond. The first answer is relatively straight-forward, while the second...not so much: my service officially ends in late July, and after seeing a bit of Europe with old grad school friends, I'm thinking of heading eastward, perhaps toward India, perhaps the Caucasus, perhaps even as far as Southeast Asia. Combined with this, I'd love to do that long-overdue US road-trip I've never been able to do (despite the rising gas prices). Suffice to say, there may be a fair amount of traveling later this year, and since it's not often that I have the flexibility for extended travel, I'm going to make the most of it! On the professional front, it's amazing -- and would ordinarily be alarming -- how unconcerned I am by thoughts of that next career step, the job-hunt, etc. While many of my volunteer friends are already well into the post-PC job search, I've been making a conscious effort to lose myself in the little things -- knowing full well that these minute, endearing aspects of life in Romania won't be mine to savor for much longer. I suppose this has been one of the challenges of my time here ever since arrival: how do you properly memorialize a moment when you're still living in it? For beyond the collected trinkets, and photos, and physical cataloguing, all you can really do is live it like any other moment, and hope that memory will do the rest.

I've also begun to think more about continuing on in development work, and lending my architectural skills to Peace Corps Response (formerly Crisis Corps), a special wing of the Peace Corps focusing on shorter-term (3-6 month), technically-specific disaster relief and reconstruction work around the world. Longer term, I'm considering Habitat for Humanity, USAID, the UN, the Red Cross, and a number of other aid/development organizations -- recommendations are always welcome! There are plenty of communities (inside and outside the US) very much in need of safe, healthy places to live -- and who could benefit, in fundamental ways, from good design. Largely though, I've been trying hard not to get too caught up in thinking about that next step. Fundamentally, I'm extremely content and happy with where I am -- specifically and generally -- and confident that the next step will get sorted out. I hope everyone is well, and I promise to post more photos soon (I have a trip to Istanbul coming up).

P.S.: Just as a final note, many people have been concerned about the developing situation in Serbia and Kosovo, following Kosovo's declaration of independence -- just as they've been concerned about my proximity to Serbia. Unquestionably, it's a difficult issue (Kosovar ethnic-Albanians believe in their right to autonomy, while Serbians view Kosovo as their cultural heartland), and its resolution is anything but certain. I remain hopeful though, even in the face of embassy burnings and riots. Serbia is a wonderful country, and I have truly enjoyed getting to know the Serbians themselves -- both in Serbia and here in western Romania. Let's hope that the situation gets resolved to everyone's satisfaction soon.

This post is, predictably, a little late in coming, but I want to belatedly wish everyone a Happy Holidays (Sărbatori fericite), Happy Hannukah (Hannukah fericit), Merry Christmas (Crăciun fericit) and Happy New Year (La mulţi ani)!! Although decidedly lacking in snow, the holidays in western Romania were filled with the music, celebration, sights, smells, tastes, lights, and general reflection on life that are synonymous with the end of the year...not to mention the cold. And this year-end held extra significance for this grizzled old PC volunteer, as I celebrated my much-awaited, much-feared 30th birthday. I have to say, though, that despite all of the white-knuckle anxiety and dread normally associated with the arrival of that infamous 30th year, I utterly failed in finding things to be depressed about: I have been extraordinarily blessed (or lucky) in the first three decades of my life, accomplishing goals I've set for myself (well, except for becoming a rock star and a lobsterman...but there's time yet), seeing places I've wanted to see, getting to know a vast assortment of remarkable people, and becoming evermore awed and enamored of the world we live in. Quite simply, life has been getting better for me every year, and I look forward to each new birthday kind of like I used to look forward to opening the little doors on the advent calendar at Christmas. Perhaps by the time my 90th rolls around...I'll have actually figured out what the heck I'm doing! Eh, maybe not.

Once again, I spent a terrific Christmas here in Recaş with my host family, along with two other orphaned Peace Corps volunteers from this area. My host father's oldest sister Anişoara was also visiting from Bucureşti, a woman who, immediately upon crossing the threshold of our house, began to cook at a crazed, feverish pace. Suffice to say, it's amazing that we three Americans are still able to fit through standard door-frames, after being force-fed with great Romanian holiday food for several days.

(Photo courtesy of Yale University Library Online)

Two days after Christmas, I left on the train with another friend of mine for Krakow, Poland, where we planned to meet up with several other traveling PC volunteers. Warsaw may be the Polish center of state these days (and the one Polish city many Americans would be able to name), but Krakow is and always has been the cultural heart of the country, and the place where Polish kings and queens were crowned for centuries. In the 20th Century, it very well may have saved Krakow that it was not a more important governmental or industrial center, as the city made it through World War II without damage (like Prague) and now contains what is reportedly the largest surviving medieval town square in Europe. And let me tell you, Krakow's old town center is stunning, populated as it is by medieval and baroque buildings, and ringed by a greenbelt of parks. Pope John Paul II came from here, and it's easy to see why he held a special love for the city throughout his papacy in Rome. Polish people themselves are extremely generous and kind hosts (perhaps too generous, if you happen to be sitting next to them at the bar!), and -- even after Poland's long and chaotic history as the battleground for many wars -- the Poles continue to be a very proud and robust people. Not to mention beautiful, considering the masses of blue eyes, blond hair and high Slavic cheekbones you see on the street! We began our visit to Krakow in a smoky basement bar, listening to old Polish sailors from the Baltic Sea (in the north) sing sea shanties on their guitars. And we culminated our visit by ringing in the New Year with hordes of ecstatic Poles in the streets. And if I were Polish, I'd be ecstatic too: this is a country that clearly has much to look forward (and back) to.

The second, and somewhat more rushed, leg of our trip took us to Prague, in the Czech Republic. And as anyone knows who is somewhat familiar with travel in Europe, this is a city that needs no introduction. Since the breakup of Czechoslovakia and the economic and political reforms of the early '90s, Prague has steadily grown into one of Europe's (and the world's) most visited tourist cities. And it's not difficult to see why when you arrived: the city's old center is awash in medieval churches, markets, cobbled streets, winding alleyways and tunnels, palaces, sculpture, excellent food, and quaint bars serving Czech beer (which many consider to be the world's best, though I might take issue with this). And it must be said: the city's also awash in tourists. Granted, we visited during the holidays. And granted, I have spent the last year and a half in far Eastern Europe, largely without the international crowds, bustle, bright lights and capitalism of Western Europe's or America's major cities. Yet I found it all a little overwhelming and off-putting. I'd like to believe that perhaps there's a quieter time of year in which to visit a city like Prague, but I'm just not sure that this is ever the case. And don't misunderstand me: Prague is a wonderful city. But as someone who has intimately experienced the developing world in Romania, I find myself torn. Improved commerce, infrastructure, and global "image" are things I wish for Romania's own cities. Yes, I would love to see more international travelers taking notice of cities like Timişoara, near me, perhaps because I'd like to believe such exposure could lead to increased cultural respect for Romania and its people internationally. And yet with increased exposure come those other less ideal elements: crowds, lines, tourists filling public spaces to snap photos, overpriced amenities -- in short, the partitioning of cultural "worth" into a series of trolley stops and photographs, just as one does in Prague, or New York. Lest I sound too fanatical about this subject, I'll stop here. But I suppose all that I'm saying is that we should always try to be mindful of all that is being gained through development, and equally all that is being lost. Both aspects of the equation are equally fundamental to the process.

The final "whistle stop" on our tour was Bratislava, Slovakia, a city that was for over two centuries the capitol of the Kingdom of Hungary under the Habsburgs. And until 1919, it was called by its German name, Pressburg (some still call it this). Slovakia makes up the eastern half of former Czechoslovakia, and although the Slovaks and the Czechs share much in common culturally and linguistically, the Slovaks are proud of their modern independence and uniqueness. Slovakia traditionally played the part of the poorer, less developed, more rural partner in the Czechoslovakian duo. But after joining the European Union in 2004 with the Czech Republic, Poland and several others, the country has made growth a priority, and seems (as far as my eyes can tell) to be doing extremely well. Bratislava, like Krakow, is a city that has managed to keep a lower profile on the global tourism circuits, perhaps due to it being situated that much further east. Consequently, although the city is every bit as clean, well-maintained and photogenic as any number of other main attractions, you don't get the sense that it is absolutely overrun by tourists...at least not yet. As in Prague, we were only able to spend about a day in Bratislava, but the city is truly a jewel: smaller and less bustling (and certainly cheaper) than Prague, but with much the same medieval beauty.

And now I'm back, reinvigorated, for what is incredibly my final 6 months of Peace Corps service (my service officially concludes at the end of July). I recently heard that my fund application for trees and shrubs for our local park has been approved, and so we will hopefully be receiving the money, purchasing the plants, and putting them in the ground by early Spring. My town hall has already begun to replace sidewalks and benches, and so I am hugely excited by the idea that we will have a reborn public park by the time this next Summer rolls around! In addition, my once-a-week advanced English classes for working professionals continue in nearby Timişoara, as does the publishing of our local newspaper -- which we're hoping to put out monthly now (rather than 3-4 times a year). And starting this week, I am holding Movie Night for students at the local highschool, with a movie in English followed by a conversation about it, also in English. I'll let you know how it all goes...as I usually do.

Again, I hope everyone is rested, energized, and looking forward enthusiastically to all that this coming year has to offer. As always, I love to hear from people, about matters big and small. It won't be long before I'm able to sit down with some of you in person to trade stories. And considering how many important events I've missed back home lately (at last count: 7 weddings and 4 births since I've been in Romania)...I suppose it will soon be high time for me to start thinking about those gifts/cards I haven't bought!

Peace in the New Year.

"Fanfara" music (based around a brass "fanfare" ensemble) is another genre springing from the rich traditions of Roma ("Gypsy") culture. The make-up of the ensemble is usually really simple: brass and drums. With an often blistering tempo, and enough vitality and syncopation to burn down small towns, "fanfara" bands are usually the life of the party. Just check out the onlooking German band's response! This band is titled "Fanfara Transilvania" in the video.

Romanian "muzica populara" (lit. "popular music") is a really broad category that generally refers to the many styles that make up more traditional, acoustic Romanian music. Usually it's a celebration of the whole "village" experience -- with traditional music, dress, dance, and food. And the instrument section is often comprised of strings, brass, drum(s), accordion, and dulcimer. Here's Ancuţa Anghel's "O data pe septamana" ("Once A Week").

Here's a little taste of "manele", Romanian pop strongly influenced by Roma ("Gypsy") musical traditions. Maybe a little like "reggaeton" music in the US, manele is a highly contentious subject among Romanians -- either you love it or you hate it. Here's Sorin "Copilul de aur" ("The Golden Child") and his "Ca$h Ca$h Full Full" which, as you can see, goes all out! Good luck getting this out of your head...

Well folks, my journalistic talents (or motivation) seem to be on the wain, considering the fact that I've had fewer and fewer photos to show for myself recently -- and have thus been pirating more and more from my friends (case in point: above photo, courtesy of PCV Jesse Lee). Oh well, it must all mean that I'm devoting more and more of myself to the work at hand, immersing myself in the process of international collaboration...or something.

Don't be fooled by the distinct lack of any real photographic proof: November was yet another "luna ocupata" (busy month) around here. Just before Thanksgiving, a group of us volunteers got together in Zalau (northern Transylvania) to help with the running of Special Olympics -- this being the second year that Special Olympics events have taken place in various locations around Romania. The Zalau event was organized by the Romania chapter of the Prader-Willi Syndrome Association (where my fellow volunteer Dave Donaldson works) and featured various events, from soccer, to relay races, to table-tennis. Around 100 local children and young-adults with special needs participated, and everyone received medals, certificates, and bag-dinners. The day even ended with a pretty incredible exhibition of local break-dancing skills by some of the kids. All in all, it was a wonderful time for everyone, and I'm glad that Romania's special-needs population can now benefit from the comaraderie and self-esteem that Special Olympics emphasizes. After all, we could all use some positive-reinforcement now and then.

Immediately after the Special Olympics, I headed back south to Arad, where we PC volunteers from western Romania celebrated our second Thanksgiving together, along with various Romanian friends and colleagues. The event was held at the impressive new conference center recently built within the national park where my fellow volunteer John Thompson works, and it didn't disappoint. With the help of the roughly 15 PC volunteers and 35 Romanian guests in attendance, we put together quite a meal -- with rabbit chili, grilled turkey, mashed potatoes, various salads and casseroles, cornbread, and every type of American and Romanian pie imaginable. The heavyweight champ (at least with my host family)?: pecan pie! Anyway, it was a great time, and we Yankees were happy to share just a little more of ourselves and our culture with our Romanian friends. And this being the last Romanian Thanksgiving for most of us volunteers who arrived a year-and-a-half ago, the day had a twinge of bittersweetness to it. Thanksgiving has always been such a wonderful holiday, in my mind, because it is a celebration distilled down to the basic element of "breaking bread together" -- no hypermanic Christmas-gift shopping, no race to outdo your neighbor's decorative, pathological lawn-lighting scheme, no griping that there are no more first-class tickets to Gstad for New Year's. No, Thanksgiving has always been about enjoying each other's company, pure and simple...well, that and stuffing yourself to an extent that would give your cardiologist nightmares.

Because I have no photos for you to feast your eyes on this month, I thought perhaps I'd start a little discussion on the best in Romanian music, since I'm sure this is a subject many of you are curious about. And so the next few postings will be devoted to particular types of Romanian music, all of which embody the culturally rich and diverse terrain of Romania. Enjoy, and do let me know what you think!

Peace, have a terrific December, and I'll check in with everyone around Christmas.

As I steam full-speed-ahead into my second (second!) autumn in Romania, I've long since realized that for a Peace Corps volunteer, there's no such thing as a dull day -- with the possible exception of those hours of standing in line to pick up packages at the Customs Office. Which are well worth it, incidentally...

But at any rate, October was as rich, active and colorful as ever, filled with those moments large and small that continue to remind me of what a extraordinary gift it is for me to be here, doing this. The common conception of the Peace Corps may abound with heroic images of building schools, walking on water, and stopping speeding bullets with a single, charitable glance (all of which do happen). But I often feel that the true nature of the Peace Corps is often best expressed in a series of subtle, ephemeral, all-too-easily-overlooked moments: a sidewalk conversation with a Romanian neighbor, a stroke of face-paint to a child's face, the sharing of a meal. A few days ago, I stopped along my jogging route to help a local farmer push a loaded wagon out of the road into his driveway. It would have been easy to overlook the moment as meaningless, and only later as I puffed home did I realize that it is often through "meaningless" little moments like this that mutual respect and understanding -- on the personal level and on the global level -- is truly established, even when little is said. One of our primary roles, as volunteers, is to help our home and adopted nations (both of which we love) to understand more about each other, celebrate our differences, and recognize all that we have in common. And this task is accomplished equally well in the line at the grocery store as at the office.

One of this past month's most enjoyable experiences was taking part in the American Festival organized by my friend and fellow volunteer Dan Tirrell and his mayor's office, in the town of Jimbolia (about 1.5 hours from me, on the other side of Timisoara). The roughly 20 of us PC volunteers who showed up were given the job of representing what we feel to be important elements of American culture to local school children, through a series of stations (American sports culture, American and Romanian history in parallel, opportunities for volunteerism in the U.S., etc.). The two-day event was attended by students, the Mayor and representatives of the local town hall, local media, and town residents. Romanians learned about Joe DiMaggio and Kerri Scruggs, a volunteer read from Walt Whitman, and a local food-kiosk owner specially prepared a 75-kg (150 lb.) cheeseburger that blew everyone's minds! In other words, a fun and educational time was had by all.

Following the festival, I returned to my hometown of Recas to accompany my host family and family friend Zeno on a wagon-ride through the hills northeast of my town. The air was crisp, the changing leaves were resplendent, and I came away with a newfound appreciation for work-horses and the people who take care of them. As I've written in the past, horse-drawn wagons (called a "caruţă" in Romanian) are still commonly used by Romanians in rural communities for transportation and load-hauling. And you'll often see them ambling along the shoulders of major roads and highways. Oftentimes, particularly in poorer communities, a horse-drawn wagon is the only affordable mode of transportation, given how expensive even second- or third-hand automobiles are for many families' incomes. When it rains, you and your horse (and whatever you're hauling) get wet! But anyway, a wagon-ride is a wonderful way of enjoying the stunning, traditional Romanian countryside that still blankets the vast, vast majority of this country. Electricity was a promise the Romanian government made (and largely kept) to its large and small communities during Communism, but much otherwise in these rural villages still points to a previous age. Many people, for instance, still go without centralized heating or plumbing, as in my town. When I ask particularly older Romanians about this situation, they will typically just shrug their shoulders and get back to what they were doing. "Modernity will arrive when it arrives." And too many promises have been made and broken in the past for them to get their hopes up.

In conclusion, it has been a terrific Fall thus far, and the coming weeks and months promise much, with the approach of the holidays. Will we treat our Romanian friends to a deep-fried turkey at Thanksgiving, like last year? Will I be singing American gospel music at Christmas with my local church choir (which was sent over by my saintly mom)? Will we organize a town Christmas Festival, as I hope to do with my coworkers?

Stay tuned and find out. In the meantime, enjoy the photos, and don't forget to make the most of those fleeting but beautiful moments that we all experience in our lives -- that reaffirm our commitments to ourselves and to one another. Happy November!

This past weekend ushered in my long-sought, much-dreamed-about BBQ party here at the family house in Recas. For some time now, I had this vision of Romanians, Americans and whoever else is crazy enough to accept one of my invitations, celebrating and grilling together. And considering how beautiful a month September is in western Romania, I jumped at the opportunity. Thus various Peace Corps volunteers from all over the country joined my Romanian family, friends and coworkers for some American-style hamburgers -- with a sprinkling of Romanian dishes (e.g. "sarmale": rice and meat rapped in cabbage leaves) to balance it all out.

Afterall, Romanians love to grill (and shoot the breeze, and dance, and...) as much as Americans do. And so, before the first frost of real autumn arrives, we ate, drank, and enjoyed each other's company, well into the wee-hours...and somehow, managed not to burn my host family's house down (much to the relief of the neighborhood). My friend and fellow volunteer Adam even introduced some lucky Romanians to a new use for Jell-O (ask a college student). The evening was an incredible success, and will be even more so if my host family doesn't kick me out! Be sure to check out the photos on Picasa.

Note: I've also added some online photos I recently uncovered from a Habitat For Humanity build I took part in with some of my volunteer friends last November (see "November 2007 Cont'd" on my Picasa site). I can never get tired of seeing families in need (and their children) receiving the keys to their newly-built house. And this event was an interesting follow-up to my architectural work in Charlottesville immediately before departing for Romania -- where I was managing a Habitat For Humanity house design for my firm.

Well, as usual much has happened and little has been said about it since I last wrote. What can I say? I'm not a chatty, pithy, everyday sort of blogger (not that there's anything wrong with that). You'd all probably grow bored with my ramblings anyway, and tune out...well, even more than usual, that is.

The summer has been filled with trips, meetings, and conferences, and August was no exception. In mid-August, my colleagues Andreea, Victor and I traveled to Sighisoara (central Romania) for the "Pro-Etnica" Festival, highlighting the incredible diversity of ethnicities represented in this country: Romanian, Hungarian, Roma (Gypsy), Jewish, Croat, Serb, German, Bulgarian, Turkish...there was even an American-style blues band one night (apparently Americans are now recognized as an ethnic group here, which is great news). Our plan was to learn more about the logistics of running such a festival, since my own town of Recas will be hosting its own local cultural festival next summer. Of course we had fun as well.

Next it was off to the tiny resort hamlet of Venus on the Romanian Black Sea coast, for my Peace Corps class's Mid-Service Training Conference (*the photo above is of all of us Peace Corps volunteers in the Community Economic Development sector in Romania). MID-SERVICE!! Holy sputtering Dacias, it causes me some serious pause to consider that my time here in Eastern Europe is now more than half over. It has been an extraordinary past 16 months: never have I ceased to learn, to grow, to gain confidence in myself and in my fellow humans, and to wonder at the diversity and potential of the world we live in. True, almost every moment is a challenge in some way -- very rarely does my brain stop having to work -- and the hi's and low's can be pretty intense. But I can safely say I've gained a newfound appreciation for even our seemingly most most minor victories. At the end of the day, a step forward is a step forward. Of course I've also gained an appreciation for the fleetness of time. Timpul zboare, as Romanians say ("Time flies.") I'm very much looking forward to the second year of my service, and my enhanced ability (on a good day) for interacting with my community and seeing projects through. And yet I realize it will also be something of a race against the clock. To paraphrase Dickens' Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, "There is never enough time to do or say all the things that we would wish. The key is to do what we can with the time we have." Amen to that.

In other news, I followed the conference at the beach with a quick trip to my friend Mark's village of Adamclisi in southeastern Romania. Now a quiet little village of 1,500 people, the town is known mainly for the impressive Roman ruins and monument sitting nearby (*see the photos). The ruins trace back to Emperor Trajan's final defeat of the native Dacian tribes on that spot in A.D. 107 or 108. As in other parts of the country, Nicholae Ceasescu rebuilt elements of the original structures for use in national parades and ceremonies during the '70s and '80s.

And finally, I'll be having a big BBQ/campout at my host family's house in Recas in a couple of weeks. It should be an interesting assortment of Peace Corps volunteers, Romanians, and other foreign expats. Hosting such a big inter-cultural shindig at my place (the neighborhood won't know what hit it) has been a dream of mine for a while now. I'll let you hear and see how it all goes. You're all invited, of course, though those plane tickets to Eastern Europe can get pricey.

Just as a further note: as I pass the halfway point and find myself getting just a wee bit sentimental, I'm also curious about how things are for many of you out there who I haven't heard from in a while. I'd love to get a sentence or two from everyone, outlining the who, where, what, how and why of your current lives. It could even just be: "Moe, I'm well. Stop bothering me." We volunteers treat new mail/emails like Christmas presents!

*Map courtesy of Yale University Library Online

After three terrific weeks on the road, spanning much of the western Balkan Peninsula (and most of former Yugoslavia), I am once again back in Romania -- not necessarily rested, but reinvigorated for my second year of Peace Corps work. More than anything, the trip has underscored for me how far the Balkan countries have come since the revolutions and wars of the late 1980's and 1990's , both physically and psychologically. Though they were dodging snipers and mortar shells on their way to the store less than 15 years ago, Sarajevans are prospering and ready to move on. Though beautiful coastal jewels like Dubrovnik were heavily damaged during the war, Croatians have quickly rebuilt and are flush with the profits of international tourism. And then there is Slovenia, almost indistinguishable from its neighbors to the West and North (Italy and Austria) in its advanced level of development.

Each Balkan country is having to chart modernization on its own terms, and define its own priorities in this age of rapid growth. All have unique potentials and problems, and yes, the pace of development contrasts starkly between the various countries -- but this is a testament to independence: each nation is charged with making its own way, assisted by external aid but unfettered by external control. This is truly an exciting time to be living and working in the Balkans, and this trip has revealed to me many of the best-kept-secrets of Eastern Europe that are only now beginning to attract international tourists. Following are some quick notes about the various stopping-points on our trip (*be sure to checkout the photos as well, at the link to the right):

Belgrade, Serbia:

I've described Belgrade once before, back in early Spring, and so perhaps will let you look back on that posting for a fuller picture of the city (I didn't take many photos this time either). Suffice to say, however, that Belgrade is an even more beautiful and wonderful city in the height of Summer. It's strikingly tall, gorgeous Serbian residents stroll through the parks and along the Danube, sit at sidewalk cafes, and wile the night away at the floating bars that line the river's edge. Romania and Serbia share a border and, at least from my brief observations, a similar contrast in infrastructure and development between urban and rural areas. Like Timisoara here in Romania, Belgrade is a city working feverishly to pull itself out of its recent torpor -- and succeeding pretty handily on that count. I haven't traveled yet to Kosovo, the heavily-contested region in southern Serbia, and have received varying reports about the safety of doing so. But if there is unquestionably one place one must visit while in Serbia, it is this terrific city, which has managed to happily surprise everyone I know who has visited.

Novi Sad, Serbia:

I've been told that Novi Sad, in the north of the country, is Serbia's second largest city after Belgrade. It is, however, a much quieter, more relaxed urban center, without the bustle you'd expect from a major city. Sitting serenely between the mountains and the Sava River, Novi Sad seems content with keeping a low profile, and revealing its charms in an understated way.

This being said, Novi Sad recently hosted the EXIT Festival, one of Eastern Europe's largest "Lollapalooza"-type music festival, drawing performers and camping concert-goers from all over Europe. Some fellow volunteers attended, and said it was a lot of fun. Overall, Novi Sad would make a great day trip if you find yourself with time to kill in Belgrade, but I wouldn't call it a Serbian "must-see".

Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina:

Looking back at photographs from the 1984 Winter Olympics, Sarajevo was truly one of the world's most stunning cities, surrounded by immaculate, fir-treed mountains on all sides. It is perhaps a testament not only to this latent beauty but to how far Sarajevo has come in recent years, that even after 4 years of constant siege during the 1991-95 war (with up to 300 shells and sniper bullets pummeling the city each day), Sarajevo is still stunning - even with its ubiquitous shrapnel pock-marks and the empty hulks of firebombed buildings. Since medieval Ottoman rule, the city has been a model of cultural diversity and harmony, with Orthodox Bosnian Serbs, Catholic Croats, Jews, and Bosnian Muslims (Bosniaks) living tightly together. This did not change during with war, with all of the above groups contributing to the defense of the city against the besieging Bosnian Serb militias (there were Bosnian Serbs fighting on both sides). The new graveyards established to accommodate the casualties of that war attest to the diversity of those who were fighting together.

It's humbling to walk down streets where, only 12 years ago, a trip to buy bread at the store might get you killed from sniper fire; or to stand in the surrounding hills and experience the same jaw-dropping vistas the Bosnian Serb army saw as they fired shells into the city below. It's also a testament, thankfully, to how quickly things can change. Rather than fearing for their lives, Sarajevans now concern themselves with catering to the ever-growing hordes of travelers. Sarajevo always seems to find itself at the crossroads of war (WW I, the Balkan War, etc.). I can only hope it's next chapter in history is a more peaceful one.

Dubrovnik, Croatia:

Jutting out on a spit of land into the impossibly blue, impossibly clear Adriatic Sea separating the Balkans from Italy, Dubrovnik could easily be mistaken (in all but price) for the Riviera -- like much of the Balkan Adriatic coast. And judging from its idyllic setting and strategic positioning, it's easy to see why Dubrovnik (Ragusa until WW I) was coveted by so many empires: Slavs, Venetians, Ottomans, Napoleon, and the Habsburgs. The walled old-town section is a striking Renaissance jewel: almost completely surrounded by water; defended on all sides by formidable battlements; constructed from head to toe (including streets) of the immaculate white travertine marble that is abundant throughout the region.

As you will see from the photos, the Croatian coast is an exceedingly dry landscape, comprised mainly of rock and low scrub brush (northern Mexico also comes to mind). The rocky shoreline is starkly beautiful, but won't be a welcome sight to anyone looking for sandy beaches (they've imported a few, here and there, for tourists). The thousands of islands that line the coast mean that one could spend weeks hopping from one to the next, via ferry, kayak, sailboat, etc. I got the sense that there would never be enough time to truly get to know the thousands of miles of serrated Croatian coastline. We did take a boat-trip one afternoon between a few of the smaller islands (many of which have one or more small villages of their own), and we spent one night on Korcula Island which, along with Hvar and Mljet, are perhaps the most visited islands in souther Croatia.

Plitvice National Park, central Croatia:

The elaborate series of natural terraces, pools, and waterfalls you see in Plitvice (which descend several hundred meters in elevation) are the product of the mineral travertine, which produces travertine marble as its sediments collect. Without getting too geeky-scientific here, travertine sediments in the park's flowing waters have built-up over millions of years, forming natural dams that, in turn, have created various levels of terraced pools. The high mineral content also lends the water an extraordinary clear, blue brilliance that easily comes through in the photos. Nothing here is fake!: all is exactly as it looks in real life. The uniqueness of this spectacular landscape has won for it protected status as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Any trip to Croatia should include a stop in this magnificent park.

Rovinj, Croatia:

Sitting on the western coast of the Istrian Peninsula, near Croatia's northern border with Slovenia, Rovinj is only 100km or so from Italy and Venice - and with its brightly-colored, closely-packed buildings skirting the water's edge, you can feel that proximity. Like Dubrovnik, old Rovinj (Rovigno in Italian) is perched out on a spit of land surrounded by water, like Dubrovnik it was vied for by a succession of different empires, and like Dubrovnik the town is a living postcard image. Because most (non-Italian) tourists had traditionally headed further south to Croatia's Dalmation Coast to vacation, the Istrian Peninsula was known for being a somewhat quieter and more relaxed region than its Croatian neighbors. Due to more recent coverage in the NY Times and elsewhere however, this is quickly changing. While still not as bustling as Dubrovnik or Split, towns like Rovinj are getting noticed, and with good reason: they have all of the beauty of the Mediterranean further west, while being much cheaper...well, for anyone other than a Peace Corps Volunteer!

Pula, Croatia:

Our terrific week-long amble through Croatia ended in this pretty, medium-size town on the southern tip of the Istrian Peninsula, before crossing the border into Slovenia. Pula's establishment as a Roman settlement is still evidenced by a variety of Roman ruins scattered around town: a coliseum (pictured to right), a triumphal arch, an open-air amphitheatre, a temple, and a variety of odds and ends (there's literally a heap of Roman stone artifacts next to the amphitheatre). Due to the major shipyard in town, and to the fact that the guidebook wasn't overly enthralled with the place, we weren't expecting much out of our visit to Pula -- and were pleasantly surprised: Nice pedestrian streets, cafes, restaurants, and then of course that incredible blue sea nearby. The reality is that, when you visit Croatia, you are immediately confronted with a dilemma as to which if the countless beautiful coastal towns and cities to visit (in and out of the guidebooks). Sometimes it's nice to get off the beaten path a little bit, to towns like Pula that, although not necessarily raved about in the travel books, offer quite a lot.

Note: My Romanian friends reading this will have already noticed that Pula shares its name with the Romanian term for, uhh, a crucial part of the male anatomy.

Ljubljana, Slovenia:

Slovenia is a country that, to my mind, demonstrates the absolute diversity of countries categorized as "Balkan". Although they (marginally) share the South Slavic language group, and although they were once both part of Yugoslavia, Slovenia and Serbia (for example) look and feel like completely different cultures. While Serbia has the unquestionable feel of a Slavic country and peoples, Slovenia could just as easily be Austria or northern Italy. The point has been made that, among Yugoslavian countries, Slovenia maintained the closest connection to Western European ideals and culture, throughout Communism. And today it's clear that, whatever advantages it may have had over it's Balkan neighbors, it has capitalized on them. Much the same as with Croatia, foreign money and involvement have put Slovenian infrastructure on the fast-track to "first world" standards.

As for Ljubljana itself (it's close enough to say "Loob-yanna"), the Slovenian capitol is a calm but urbane center of culture, only 2-3 hours from Vienna. It is bordered on the north by the dramatic Julian Alps, a region of intense fighting during the Second World War. You could probably spend all day (and all night) hopping between the cafes bordering the winding Ljubljanica River on both banks. And since we weren't particularly in a museum state-of-mind, this is more or less what we did! Although we were constantly awed by the jutting Julian Alps looming in the distance, we didn't have the chance to take a trip into the mountains this time. It's amazing how quickly 3 weeks can go.

Budapest, Hungary:

Budapest is another city I've covered in past postings, and since I was only really able to stop over for the night here (I had a wedding to get back for), my latest experiences wouldn't add much to what I've said about it. It should go without saying that Budapest is a terrific place whose level of development and infrastructure, like Ljubljana's, rivals any in Western Europe. As with just about any other city in Europe, I would recommend visiting in Spring or Fall, when the weather is cool and pleasant, the prices are cheaper, and crowds of tourists aren't trampling you on their way to the next tour stop. Frankly, I haven't visited many places that wouldn't be even nicer in September than in July.

Just as a conclusion to what I've said here (and in the past), I can't emphasize enough how strongly I recommend Eastern Europe as a travel destination...whether you see it while I'm here or not! And sooner rather than later. The Balkans, like so many other developing parts of the world, is changing at almost unfathomable pace -- and at this moment you have the opportunity to see the colliding of the "old" order with the new, and the positive and negative ramifications of this process. Eastern Europe is, in the minds of many Westerners, essentially a dirty word, saddled with various stigmas about Communism, corruption, and crime. And while elements of this darker side certainly persist, there is much about the Balkans that is as unknown to the outside world as it is wonderful. For every example like Croatia, there are myriad other "hidden jewels" in this region that await exposure. Yes, one must be willing to be an adventurous, flexible, and patient traveler in the Balkans: transportation, toilet facilities, and pricing charts always keep you on your toes, without a doubt. But once you have surmounted these issues, the world they open you up to is one worth the effort.

And don't believe all the rumors. After a year, I have yet to run into a black market gunrunner (though we're pretty sure they were smuggling tablecloths on the train to Serbia).

Enjoy the rest of the Summer, wherever it takes you...

Hello everyone,

Well, after yet another needlessly long pause, here I am. And as usual, much has transpired since I last wrote. As those of you who've seen the latest photos will know, life in western Romania continues to demonstrate just how diverse, joyful, and wholly unpredictable it can be.

Our park renovation project continues to progress, if sometimes in fits and starts. June 1st was especially busy with park-related activities: my colleagues Victor, Andreea, Silvia and I started the day by taking part in the celebration of Romania's "Day of the Child" at Recas's local school for children with special needs. We held a drawing competition as part of the festivities, intended to get the kids thinking about what they would want in a town park -- and they happily threw back at us a horde of great ideas and beautiful drawings, for which we happily awarded lots of prizes and candy in response. Activities for children are, aside from being important in general, a great first step in approaching a broader issue in the community. Kids can be a formidable motivating force in any community!

The second important event of the day was our first major public meeting regarding the park (see photos). Not exactly a fully public meeting, we intended this forum as a meeting of specific community representatives, and so we sent out about 25 personal invitations to the Fire Department, the Police Department, various local churches and community groups, local business owners, and other sectors of the population. Though we received only about a 50% attendance rate, we still had to view it as a success: it was, after all, an opportunity to gather together a body of local citizens to discuss issues important to the community. Organized as a public "workshop", the meeting sought to answer a variety of our questions about what people do and don't want in their park, and what they would personally be willing to do (donations, labor, maintenance, etc.) to make it happen. One group even put their design ideas to paper, and began to visualize various possibilities for the park layout. My colleagues and I really envisioned this meeting as the first (rough) template for a series of public meetings in the future about any number of topics, and we were extremely pleased even that it took place at all. Now we can move forward with the project knowing we have the public on-board.

Another important event in June was a trip I took to Odorheiu Secuiesc to consult with fellow volunteers about a future conference center two of them want to build. Nestled in the Carpathian foothills of Transylvania, Odorheiu sits in the heart of Hungarian culture in Romania -- like the Banat region in which I live, Transylvania was only transfered from Hungarian to Romanian control after World War I. In fact, many in this part of the country still consider themselves Hungarian rather than Romanian, making for an interesting political situation. In any event, the organizations with whom two friends of mine volunteer want to build a small barn structure to house a center for conferences, art openings, a community library, and various community events. And they had gathered a few of us PC volunteers with design experience to brainstorm design options with them. Sitting on a hillside overlooking a beautiful agrarian village just outside town, the building site is spectacular and will one day accommodate a terrific community resource (we hope). Do take a look at the pictures, and I'll let you all know how this project progresses.

The other big news of the moment is my upcoming trip through the western Balkans, for which I leave in a few days (and with the other John Moore, among others). A few of us plan to travel through Serbia, Bosnia, Croatia, Slovenia, and Hungary, before swinging back into Romania from the north. All will be seen by land (bus, train, etc.) and none will be reserved ahead of time, so keep your fingers crossed and wish us luck...we may be getting to know park benches rather well! I have to say: Much has been written recently about the benefits of "slow" travel (i.e. by some means other than flight) and I fully agree: after a year of traveling on Romanian trains and buses, I have come to appreciate the rich, experiential nature of traveling overland -- wherein all of the delays, complications and hangups really ultimately make for a fuller, deeper understanding of a country and its people. When you have the time and flexibility, I highly recommend going by train, bus, ferry, bike, wagon (though not possible everywhere), or horse. Your sore backside will continue to remind you that you are truly alive! But more about all that when I return.

Perhaps I'll end with a kind of a proverb (which I love to dole out, not always follow):

My continuing work and experiences here with the Peace Corps only serve to further reinforce the belief that a little patience and flexibility will take you a long way in life. I, like everyone else, love to impose my own rules on a situation, my own time-frame, my own understanding about what needs to happen and why -- only to be disappointed when those standards prove to be insufficient or irrelevant. While we all should continue to harbor a core of belief within ourselves about what is possible (in ourselves, in others, and beyond), we should also be willing to accept the fact that the mutable world in which we all live doesn't read our rulebooks. We are constantly modifying our expectations of time and place, and this is not a bad thing, as the destination at which we ultimately find ourselves is often far more wonderful than we ever could have imagined before, on our own, with our old expectations. This lesson reaffirms itself everyday for me.

Hope everyone is well.

I'm back, after a lengthy hiatus. In the time since I last wrote, green has returned in full force, along with summer-like heat (32C today, or roughly 90F). The outdoor cafes (terasas) are back in business, pedestrians once again crowd streets and sidewalks, birds are singing, schoolchildren dream of the end of the schoolyear (as everywhere on earth), Romanians find themselves in a flurry of activity to plant their gardens so as to have fruits and vegetables all summer, and canned-goods all winter...and I too begin to recognize all that I'm hoping to get done before the weather turns cold again next autumn.

I'm happy to say we had our first major meeting involving the park renovation project: this one with teachers at the local highschool. We are trying to emphasize the importance of public involvement in this project, young and old alike -- a renewed sense of public ownership of open spaces. To this end we will be: coordinating student projects and contests with the school; holding workshops for local citizens and coworkers at the town hall; and eventually getting everyone to pitch in their sweat and toil during the construction phase this fall. The general concept is that this project will be not only an improvement of an important public space, but a motivating precedent for future public actions. Of course, this is all just "waxing philosophic" until the shovel hits the dirt!

In other news, I had the chance to visit Budapest with friends several weekends ago (see photo link at right). I find Hungary to be an interesting case-study to set against Romania's own situation: both overthrew Communism and the Warsaw Pact at roughly the same time (1989) and began moving towards democratization and liberalization; both eventually joined NATO (Hungary in 1999, Romania in 2004) and then the European Union (Hungary in '04, Romania in '07); and both have seen dramatic improvements in living standards and infrastructure in the past 18 years. There is little questions, though, that Hungary's ascendancy to "1st world" status is far more advanced, at this point. Budapest, to any visiting foreigner, resembles any of Europe's other major tourist cities, with the level of polish and sophistication that that implies: public spaces are clean and well-maintained, transportation is efficient and safe...and prices are as expensive as those in, say, Berlin.

The debate over why Hungary seems to have (outwardly) surpassed Romania in these and other areas is a complicated one, and I'm no political scientist. But I think Hungary's physical proximity and deep cultural ties to Western Europe (the Habsburg legacy, etc.) have played a large role in development assistance. And in any case, regardless of the specifics, Hungary represents for me a model of all that is possible here in Romania -- given an internal will to improve, and a generous helping hand from the outside world. As with various other Balkan nations, the stigmas of Romania's political legacy are difficult to shed (inside and outside of Romania). Luckily more and more internationals and international businesses are stepping up to the plate.

Well, I guess some of my postings have to be serious! Enjoy the photos, and be in touch...

Well, it seems the thaw has finally arrived here in the central Balkans: the trees and flowers are in bloom, the sun is shining more often...and people are actually going outside!

Two or three weekends ago, I had the opportunity to take a long-weekend trip with friends just across the border to Belgrade, Serbia. Belgrade is only about 100km from where I am in Romania, but when you take the train, you have hour-long customs stops on BOTH sides of the border, turning it into a 4-hour journey. It was worth it though: Despite the fact that less than 10 years ago parts of the city were being bombed by NATO forces during the Kosovo war, Belgrade is a gorgeous and friendly city (as are Serbians themselves, who are among the consistently tallest people I've ever seen!). Like so many European cities, Belgrade was founded around a fortress, perched on a spot overlooking the joining of the Sava and Danube Rivers. It is a city easily navigated on foot, and welcoming to tourists -- so for anyone who comes to Eastern Europe, I highly recommend a visit. In my opinion, there seemed to be little evidence of bitterness or animosity about recent events. Serbians seem to want to just move forward into the future and are, like Romanians, quite knowledgeable about the world, current events, and foreign languages.

In other (minor) news, I have transferred all of my online photos over to Picasa (the link on the right now directs you there), which I think will be a better, more user-friendly way for people to see my pictures...with full captions! You can access my web photo albums anytime at http://picasaweb.google.com/jonathan.c.moore.

This was a short post, I know, but I promise to write more soon. I hope everyone is well, and ready for warmer weather!

I'm getting the feeling some of you have grown weary of looking at that fake Christmas tree in the previous posting -- wishing desperately for that update that will make your lives complete. I was about to say that nothing much has happened in the past month and a half...but that just wouldn't be true, now that I think about it. So as not to make myself a liar:

Some of the biggest news is directed toward all those of you who generously contributed (or are still in the process) to my book donation project for the local highschool, in coordination with the US non-profit organization A Thousand Books. About two weeks ago, the first 8 big boxes of books arrived (see photos), including textbooks, storybooks, young-adult fiction, classic literature, songbooks, National Geographics (a whole box...wow!), teaching materials, some adult fiction and -- I thank you personally for this -- a box with a few American food items wedged here and there!: hot sauce, peanut butter, brownie mix, mac and cheese, chocolate chips, pizza kits, and even chili mix. Yes, this past weekend, I treated my host family to their first bonafide American chili cook-up (ok, maybe I made it a tad spicy for first-timers)! Anyway, back to the books: my friend Valentin and I have begun cataloging and sorting everythin, with the aim of creating an all English-language section in the school library. Some of the more advanced fiction will probably even go to the town library, for all to enjoy.

The official word is that there are another 6-8 boxes of books already on their way, and this doesn't even count all of you who are doing book drives of your own back home. The folks at A Thousand Books wanted me to let you all know that you have been a "freakishly" generous group of donors. Thanks for pitching in, you latter-day saints. You all have my deepest gratitude. I will definitely get some photos up of the kids and the school soon.

Well, if you're still reading at this point -- and not pacing the room, gloating in your saintliness -- I guess I should go on reporting:

In work related news, some major projects have really taken off and some have, for various reasons, been mothballed for the time being. Even though the project to renovate the town farmers' market space has unfortunately been put on hold, our project to renovate the town's central park is full steam ahead. I am in the design and paper-work phase at the moment, with construction hopefully starting this summer (more pictures to come). The basic concept will be to replace and expand the existing system of walkways; replace all benches and park furniture; replace all park lighting; and add new trees, plants, grass and flowers. In terms of overall work, it won't be anything gigantic, but I think a prettier, more usable park will have a broad effect on the town center as a whole. Anyone with a craving to pass through Romania this summer or fall and spend a weekend volunteering and getting dirty...you've got the job. My degree isn't in landscape architecture, but like Kinky Friedman said during his campaign for the governership of Texas: "How Hard Can It Be?!"

Another major project well underway right now is our push to officially name all of Recaş's streets. Due to the fact that some streets are known by three names, and others by none (don't even try to ask for driving directions to my house! What, "#884" isn't clear enough for ya?), this town is something of a Bermuda Triangle of lost delivery-people looking for addresses. Thusly, it's time for new street names and signs. Because of my insistence that the public have some sort of say in the process, we sent out ballots in the last edition of the newspaper, asking people to vote on their own street's name (see above photos). After some deliberation, we divided the town into three naming "zones": Romanian historical figures, Romanian plants/flowers, and Romanian wines (this being a wine-making area). I think many people found the ballot-concept somewhat odd and foreign, but I wanted them to have the option, at least. And hey, although having 40 ballots submitted out of 5,000 sent-out may seem like a slim turnout...but heck, it means 40 people did vote! Maybe next time, it'll be 80. There's still much work to do yet on this project (I don't even want to think about the address renumbering process), but I find it enormously exciting and satisfying. And no, just in case you're wondering, there's not going to be any "Jonathan Moore Boulevard" or "Moe Lane".

Ok, gotta go. Keep the home-fires burning...

Ah yes: the holiday season has rolled into town, like those carloads of delightful, crazed relatives who are no doubt breaching the barricades of your quiet home at this very moment [fade to fruitcake jokes and tales of Uncle Cletus's kidney stones]. Luckily, I'm safe and out of reach (yes, that was a joke). Now is the time to reflect on family, friends, the exploits of the past year...and where we're going to sleep, now that the cousins have taken over all of the beds.

Thanksgiving was actually terrific here: a few of us volunteers from western Romania got together at a cabin in the mountains, along with Romanian friends and coworkers, for a nice cross-cultural feast. Because my friend Kenny is a former rancher and current agro/animal-husbandry volunteer in his village, he managed to procure two of the largest turkeys I'd ever seen -- one cooked the conventional way in a wood-fire "soba", the other deep-fat fried...which was, for the Romanians, a glorious and terrifying experience indeed. The meal was a wonderful combination of American and Romanian fare, and because I had brought a young French couple along from a nearby village, we even had home-bottled French wine to wash it all down. Considering that the first Thanksgiving was an intercultural event (i.e. the Indians providing, the Pilgrims eating), I think we really got back to the spirit of it all, here in the Romanian wilderness.

December 5th is Saint Nicholas' Day (Sfantul Nicholae) among the Romanian Orthodox, at which point you opt either to buy little gifts for loved ones or, far more entertainingly, buy a decorated stick or large wooden spoon/paddle with which to "beat" them for their failings...or both. An odd mix of the carrot and the stick, but everyone seems to enjoy themselves and the punishment is not meted out with any real conviction. My class of volunteers were all in Sibiu, a stately old medieval city in Transylvania (central Romania) for in-service training at the time, and thoroughly enjoyed watching everyone chase each other around with presents and weapon in hand.

Christmastime is a wonderful season in this country, even when many people (and local governments) have very little money with which to "deck the halls". Anything that is worth looking forward to is a good thing in this life, as far as I'm concerned. Say what you will about the commercialism and excess, but now that Romanians are at last beginning to find themselves with even a little disposable income, they are coming to learn how great it can be to spoil one's self here and there -- with a few more Christmas gifts, with a few more strings of lights or garlands over the door...or with that terrible, tacky plastic "animated" Santa that no town seems able to resist. Timisoara, our nearest city, is absolutely ablaze with Christmas lights [see pictures], and given the approach of E.U. accession on January 1st, it's an understatement to say that there is a crackle of excitement in the air at the approach of Christmas and New Year's. Romanians, in general, are somewhat skeptical of the effect that accession will have on their country, but for now, most are willing to suspend that disbelief, at least temporarily.

The other holiday tradition that you will see represented in the photos (a warning to anyone without a strong stomach) is the annual killing of the pig. Every Romanian family goes through the process of killing, butchering, and eating a pig at some point in the holiday season. I'd tend to think, though, that this is a tradition that goes back to long before the founding of the Christian church: a sacrificial offering for Winter Solstice (Dec. 21st) perhaps? In any event, it was quite an event to behold. On this occasion, the pig was actually slaughtered not at my family's home but in the next village over, and then was slung in the back-seat of the family car. It definitely gave me a new appreciation for the origins of pork, bacon, sausage, and other delectable pig products, to see this feast go from "stable to table" in a few hours. As Romanians say, pofta buna ("good appetite").

So as not to end on a sour note (or sow note, as the case may be), after spending Christmas with my terrific host family, I am due to head back to Sibiu for New Year's, where people will celebrate not only the joining of the E.U., but also the designation of Sibiu as one of two "European Cultural Capitols" for 2007, along with Luxembourg. Not too shabby.

So light the yule log, have some of that lighter-fluid eggnog your cousin makes, and enjoy those visions of sugar plums, Mos Craciun, Hannukah Harry, Kwanzaa, the Great Spirit, Nordic gods, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, or whatever tradition you subscribe to...

Happy Holidays, everyone!!

P.S. - ANOTHER NOTE ON PHOTOS (why do I feel like I do a lot of these?!): for those of you wanting captions or more information on each photo your viewing in Winkflash, just go to the "Comments" tab for each photo, where I usually put a full description of what's going on. Yes, I wish you didn't have to click to a separate page for comments...but such is life! Check it out.

I think a theme worth expounding upon this time is the wild, wooly, wonderful world of transportation in Romania, which seems to get only more interesting as Romania goes through its growing pains. Much like the food in this country, the various ways you can get from here to there make up a kind of smorgasbord of traditions, cultures, and eras (ancient and modern). In my town, for example, many residents still get their families, belongings, animals, and wares (to sell at the market) around in the "căruţă", an open horse-drawn wagon stitched together, rather Frankenstein-esque, from whatever wood and metal can be scrounged-up, and completed with four (not necessarily matching) auto or truck wheels, often with the original hubcaps intact. These wagons can be seen in just about every part of Romania, including many cities, and ignoring their drawbacks in inclement weather (got a raincoat?), they're vehicles whose simplicity and utility will probably keep them on Romanian roads for quite some time to come.

Another popular way of getting around town and around the countryside is on one of Romania's gigantic fleet of old buses ("autobuze"), many of which I'm sure represented the absolute peak of modernity back in the '60s. Many among these were donated at some point by German cities, and thus have old German signs and stickers that no one bothered to remove. Suffice to say, I've taken enough multiple-hour trips on such buses, on winding, unpaved mountain roads to know that any supposed comfort vanishes after the first ten minutes. And pray that it's not too hot outside, since many Romanians have a strong aversion to open windows (on trains, in cars, at home, at work...), as it is believed that the "current" (i.e. the draft) causes ill health. Yes, as you may guess, a bus full of people with varying perspectives on personal hygiene, coupled with no open windows...well, let's just say you feel somewhat like you're in a crockpot on simmer.

And then of course there are the ubiquitous blue Romanian trains, which date from roughly the same period as the buses, though these may never have looked all that nice, even when new. Much like the Hindu caste system, there is a caste system of Romanian trains: "personal" trains are the lowest and cheapest (and often approximate traveling in a metal filing cabinet); then there are "accelerat" and "rapid" trains, which are more expensive and supposedly better (perhaps they changed the ashtrays periodically or something). Truth be told, those names are cruel jokes, since there is generally very little "accelerating" going on, and definitely no "rapid"; Lastly, is the "inter-city" level, which is often in the form of a hyper-modern "bullet"-type train, and for which we volunteers can easily fork out half of our monthly spending budget for one trip. Since flying is prohibitively expensive for most Romanians, everyone takes the train, and honestly, if you are willing to be patient and travel with a spirit of adventure, taking the train can be extremely fun...it all depends on the people in your cabin.

Yet another major form of transportation, and certainly one of the most popular, is hitchhiking. Granted, it's not officially condoned by the Peace Corps (and I naturally would never think of it myself), but hitching a ride in someone's lovable old broken-down Dacia, whether across town or across the country, is simply a matter of sticking out your thumb on any road (major or minor) and waiting a few minutes. It is generally quite safe as well. There are actually coworkers of mine in the town hall who commute this way every day, on the 20-min. ride to and from Timisoara, the nearby city. You meet interesting people, see interesting vehicles (ever hitchhiked on a tractor?), and get to your destination much quicker than the alternatives, even if the car sounds like it's about to explode. You get used to that sound.

Romanians also walk and bike over distances, and with payloads, that you would never think possible...in all sorts of weather. I guess necessity forces one foot in front of the other. I actually saw one guy walking down the sidewalk recently with a washing machine on his back! He was whistling.

I love this country. Oh, and don't forget to check out my new photos at the link on the right.

Well, as those of you who check my blog and photos regularly (why, I really don't know) already know, waiting for my updates to arrive online is about as riveting as watching your fingernails grow. Due to the fact that my dial-up connection here in Recas is apparently powered by hampsters, and the fact that I actually am getting work done over here, I haven't been in touch as often as I would like. Then again, those of you checking my blog probably know me well...and thus know that this lack of communication is normal for me, even when I don't have that terrific "Eastern Europe" excuse! So be grateful for what you are getting.

The truth is, I have been quite busy: last week, I was running around the country by train, between meetings of Local Development Agents in various Romanian counties, along with playing host to my PC program manager (Community & Economic Development) from Bucuresti. And lastly, I made a presentation to my local Town Council on a project I am hoping to get started to renovate our public market space. And then this past weekend, it was off to another meeting/retreat in the foothills of the Carpathian Mountains (if you wait the usual 6 months or so, you can see the photos!) This week looks to be much the same: other than the usual language tutoring sessions, we are hosting a visiting delegation of Polish farmers to our area, through a sister-cities program. Heck, I may even go to a ballroom dance class tomorrow (Oct. 5) night in Timisoara. Ah yes, the solitary life of the Peace Corps Volunteer!

I promise I'll get some new photos up soon. In the meantime, start planning those trips to visit...

I realized recently that, up until now, I haven't really explained what exactly my job is here in Recas. I am working in the Local Development Office of the Recas Town Hall. In this function, my local counterpart and I are involved in everything from the upgrading of infrastructure (water, utilities, garbage, etc.) to the development of tourism, attracting new business, and applying for EU and international development funds. In other words, our office is something of a catch-all for local issues and projects. For the first few weeks, aside from familiarizing myself with the community, the major needs, and the major players, I have for instance begun to develop architectural drawings of the town hall and several other publically-owned buildings in town (for which drawings have never really existed). The hope is that I may be able to spearhead various renovation and reuse projects. Another "possibility area" is the town park, which the mayor would like to redesign (along with the introduction of a new recreational park for young people) to be more welcoming and usable by the public. If you take a look at my PHOTOS, I included a shot of the park (with the Catholic Church in the background). Another photos I included is of the existing town market space, to which the town hall would like to give a facelift. The key will be to see how much can be done for barely any money! And then there is of course the Strategic Development Master Plan for the area, which has until now not really gotten off the ground -- and yet is vitally important for plotting out how the town will manage physical growth in the coming years. So as you can see, there is plenty of work to do: some projects will be achievable in a matter of days, others may take my entire two years (and then some).

It has been nice to be busy, and feel that I am already filling a need on the town hall staff. Now if I could only figure out what people are saying to me!...

Gotta run, but enjoy the pictures, and please feel free to respond.

I've already mentioned a little bit about my new town, Recas, which sits on the rolling plains of the Banat, in western Romania. While I have a few minutes though, I thought I'd fill in the picture a little more: Recas is actually a collection of a few villages (Recas being the largest at 8500 people, and in which I live) that were only incorporated into "localitatea" (i.e. town) status two years ago. It is a town that sits among vineyards and substistance farmlands. Every morning I am awakened by the crowing of roosters, the bleating of sheep, the mooing of cows, the strangely abrasive chatter of goats, and of course the song-birds. You constantly smell the barnyard and the animals, and the fresh air from the hills. It's wonderful. When I jog, I dodge cow-pies (and what, from Romanian, literally translates as "vagabond dogs"). Recas is a town, like so many, wrestling with itself over its place in the new world -- a stronghold of rural tradition on the one hand, and a modernizing commercial district on the other. Recas is already home to Cramele Recas, one of Romania's most well-known wineries, and it will soon be home to the oddly named "Eurocheese" factory, exporting dairy products all over the continent. And yet we still buy our fresh bread every morning from the local bakery. Everyone lovingly tends their own garden plots during the warm months, saving and preserving all that they can before the cold sets in. In the past, I suppose, one's garden was one of the few sources of sustinence over which you had (relative) complete control...which leads back to the homemade liquor discussion.

All of this and I'm only a 30-minute train ride from the beautiful city of Timisoara! Gotta run--

Well, at long last, the proverbial PC van slowed down and kicked me out the door, and as of today (7/31), I am officially a full-fledged Peace Corps Volunteer (having made it through swear-in on Friday) and have landed at my site (Recas) for the long haul. Alas, I am tired, it's late, and before I put in any more text in parentheses (like now) I'll sign off. More photos soon. --Ciao

Here we are coming into our last week of the 10 weeks of training: next Friday we have our "graduation" and then it's off to our permanent sites for 2 years! Two weeks ago, I had the pleasure of visiting my site for the first time (check out my new photo album on Winkflash), Recas in the extreme west of Romania. As you will see, it's a beautiful little town of 8500 people amidst rolling farmland and vineyards. The region in which it sits, the Banat, is the former stronghold of the Austro-Hungarian empire, and thus the part of Romania most culturally connected to Central Europe (much of it was officially ceded to Romania only in the 20th Century). My new host family for the first month at site is yet another wonderful Romanian family, and as is becoming the norm, they smother me in hospitality (i.e. food)! And on that note, a word or two about Romanian cuisine:

FOOD: In so many different ways, Romania is a cultural melting-pot of Western European, Slavic, Mediterranean, and Turkish traditions and influences. From the goulashes and paprikas of the Hungarian west, to the Turkish shaormas and kebabs of the Black Sea coast on the eastern edge, to the sarmale of the south (demonstrating the Greek and Macedonian influence). There is a strong presence of spiced meat and sausage throughout the country (for instance, "mici" is a grilled case-less sausage that everyone here, including myself, loves), and no end to the bread that is eaten with each meal. Starches provide the basis for most meals, whether in the form of potatoes, rice, the egg noodles that people of the Banat like in their soup ("supa"), or sticky polenta dumplings ("mamaliga"). The "sarmale" I mentioned above is spiced ground beef, pork, rice, and onion rapped in cabbage leaves and served either alone or with rice and red or white sauce, sometimes yoghurt ("iaurt"). Romanians universally love sweets, whether in the form of pastries, cakes, filled crepes, various puddings, or ice cream ("inghetata"). Though fresh fruit can sometimes be difficult to obtain during the non-summer months, preserved jellies and sauces are always easy to find.

As for drink, my town of Recas has one of the country's most well known wineries, Cramele Recas, whose products I will no doubt be pretty familiar with before long. Aside from Romania's excellent (and cheap) wines, there is of course the plum brandy that is generally considered Romania's national spirit: "tuica". Many people, like my current host family, distill it themselves from plums they grow in their own yards. You learn very quickly in Romania to get over your silly American squeamishness with regards to the hygenics of food and drink production. The milk I usually enjoy is thick, aromatic, slightly chunky, and straight from the bovine. And thusly for the tuica: my host father distills it in old rusty barrels, over an open fire -- and it is generally served in whatever empty bottle or vessel is available. You quickly get used to "floaties" (i.e. miscellaneous particles floating around in the liquid). But frankly, not only am I still alive, but I feel great and love the stuff! A little more dirt and a little less hypercleanliness in our lives makes us all better and healthier people, ironically. No homogenization or pasteurization here! (yet...as a side note, if and when the E.U. accepts Romania into the club this coming January, there will be vast regulations about food production and agriculture that Romania will need to adopt).

In summation: Romanian cuisine is spectacular...just don't expect to find anything low-fat or low-carb here! CHECK OUT MY PHOTOS.

Well, Winkflash continues to be a headache. To further clarify: you MUST sign up for a free account with Winkflash in order to view my photos. Then, from your account page, click on the "View Friend's" tab, and THAT is when you type in my username ("jcridlinmoore") and secret word ("Moe"), which will allow you access to all of my albums. I hope this solves the problem.

In other news, I am currently on my first visit to what will be my permanent site, a little town named Rekas just east of the City of Timisoara, in extreme western Romania. For those of you motivated enough to look it up on Encarta, it is in a region called the Banat, which stretches between western Romania, Serbia, and Hungary, and represents what was once the eastern end of the Habsburgs' Austro-Hungarian empire. It is a beautiful region of rolling hills, forest, and farmland, and is made up of a diversity of cultures and languages: Romanian, Croat, Hungarian, Serb, German, and Rroma (or "Gypsy"). Anyway, my new host family here are terrific people, and I'm excited to get to know the area better, after we "graduate" from training in two weeks and become full Peace Corps Volunteers. And then, I'll have two years to settle in! I'll try to get some more photos up as soon as possible. Hope everyone is well.

I've received a few responses about problems accessing my shared photos on Winkflash. So to correct what I said before: my username is "jcridlinmoore" and my secret word is "Moe" (note that the "M" is uppercase). If this doesn't fix the problem, let me know.

Otherwise, things are good. I'm at the Peace Corps' head offices in Buchuresti today for admin stuff, and am proud to say I used the subway without getting lost (hey: minor victories are still victories). A group of us volunteers were in Pitesti this weekend doing work for Habitat For Humanity. We were literally digging ditches, but it was a fun time and we are happy to have given. Pitesti is a small city about 1.5 hours northeast of Buchuresti by train, and a pretty one: lots of parks and a nice central walking mall. As for Buchuresti itself, I haven't seen enough to report anything, but am excited to explore it more fully. Romanians certainly love their monuments! (but then, so do Americans) Signing off.