April. This has not been a very forgiving month, thus far. I have been having trouble wrapping my head around what has been happening with the weather. My host family said that it would be weird and windy, but this is wild. The last 4 days have been nothing but everything. We get all four seasons in this short month of April. Yesterday was the culmination. The morning started out at +2 C. It was a cold road to school. Some might say that I’m weak, but whatever. I’m from California and that was freezing. Once at school, it started getting windier and windier. Then, it unexpectedly started to rain. It rained little snowballs. Yes, it hailed and continued to do so for about 10 minutes. Then, the sun came out. Then, the winds acted up again. At about 2 in the afternoon, it all calmed down and the sun came out. It was beautiful. This only last for about 30 minutes because soon after, the clouds came out again and ruined the sunshine. Soon after came the rain. The afternoon continued like that for another 2 hours. I had to wait until 4pm before I decided to go home and make it their without the rain. It was gloomy and windy and sad. I thought that spring had arrived. I was wrong. Sources say that this month will be like this for another two weeks. However, I know that soon it will be so hot and humid that I will wish it was like this. We’ll have to see. As of right now, I’m ready for the heat. Bring it. I’m not a big fan of mud.

On a good note, I got home and was pleasantly surprised to find that my couch had been spruced up a little bit. Typically, there is a thick blanket cover that has the design of a floor rug. It’s not the fanciest, but it works to cover the couch and keep it from the elements of human coming and going. However, today was totally different. Zebra print! Not really my cup of tea, but I’LL TAKE IT! Have a good day! : )

April 1, 2011Hello. It has been so long since I have had the time or the mind to get here and write anything. I have certainly been busy with work and getting my life in order so that I can end this school year on a strong and good note. Furthermore, with recent events culminating in the visit by the Vice President, I have surely not had time to make an entry. I will work harder. Early last month, Joe Biden came through Moldova on his way home from a region to east of Moldova called Transnistria. There have been debates dating back nearly 50 years as far as I know as to who belongs in that region and how it should be used. As of right now, it is primarily inhabited by those that identify with Russia. The politics of that region is not the clearest to me at the moment and as I see it not the clearest to many of those that I have talked to. This does not mean that many people don’t have opinions, but their intel on the situation is not corroborated. His visit meant a lot to many volunteers. Some had doubts about him. Some were already in his favor before we met him. Some had no opinion at all. However, after, many agreed that he was a “stud.”Today was quite an interesting day. It happened to be second of many Peace Corps events that we call 365 Days of Peace and Friendship in commemoration of 50 years that the Peace Corps has been in operation. My job for the day was to record my day as it usually occurs. I was lucky enough to score April Fool’s Day.

Their grasp of this event was very wholesome. I went to school thinking the worst. I was afraid that I was going to get paint on my seat or something. Nothing. It was relaxing, but not very exciting. However, at the end of the work day, I substituted for my partner and taught her 3rd form English class and at the end they barraged me with multiple attempts at making me a fool. It was really fun and endearing. They were very funny. I closed the beautiful spring day with a fellow volunteer who works at a local institution that gives support to children and young adults who need a stable place to live and in a way escape their bad home situations. The walk home along the Nistru River was a great closing to the day. I can see the sun setting right now outside my window at 7:09 pm. Today was a good day.

It is weird to date these entries as 2011. Time is really flying by this year. I arrived on June 10 and as of yesterday it was officially the 8 month mark. I only have 19 official months left and I don’t know if I can handle it. Just this morning I was trying to measure how integrated I really was. I was walking on my way to the bus stop. No dogs barked at me. I considered myself integrated. Hah. It was really a good feeling. It was the first time in 6 months that no dogs barked at me on my way to the bus stop. However, it was really cold. We’ll see what tomorrow will bring.

As of lately, not many eventful things have happened at work. We had an essay contest that will reach the national level and I am one of the judges for the contest. I have no doubt that some of these students will fare well in the competition. Many of them had lived in the United States for one year. There English has excelled tremendously to the point that conversationally, they are more advanced than the teachers. They may not know all the rules and names for every tense and why the grammar is the way that it is, but neither do many Americans. I am proud of them. Just today we had our English Song Festival. I will talk more about that later. Other than that, we had a disco with a disco last month and we were supposed to have another one, but two toilets got broken, so we have to hold off for one month.

Coincidence. So last month, well about two weeks ago I was eating dinner with my host mom and brother. We eat in the kitchen and can see the television from the kitchen table. We happened to be watching a music station and a song called Ali Baba came on and we got to talking about the story of Aladdin and the magic genie. I told them about the joke of three friends who had to share three wishes upon finding a magic lamp. The first friend went to Paris, the second to Italy and the third didn’t want to be alone without his friends so they all came back *poof.* She followed it up with a similar Russian variant in which a fisherman found a golden fish and was awarded three wishes as well. His first was to have a house of gold, his second a young beautiful wife and third to be youthful once again. However, since youth have not the time to develop their wealth and fortunes, he lost both the house and the wife. I thought that her story was relevant and happy that we were able to relate, which didn’t happen often. I finished my dinner and had some work to do so I went back into my room which shared a wall with the kitchen and gave her the remote which I never do. She flipped it to a channel that my host brother likes to watch because of the cartoons that are shown. We guess at which of the few selection will be shown and it happened to be the Russian variant of classic cartoon that my host mother used to watch as a child. It was the equivalent of the wolf and the road runner only it was a rabbit not a road runner. It just so happened that the wolf met a fisherman who was pulling in a net and found a yellow fish, which was actually gold and the wolf stole the fish made the first two wishes and climactically the third just as my host mother had described. It was really scared that this had happened. We never talked so much and definitely never told each other jokes. Very weird.

English song festival. Today we had our English song festival. I recorded all 11 songs and will post them on my facebook pages soon. Being an English teacher I was selected to be one of the judges of the festival. There were 6 indviduals, one of which sang two songs and four other groups. It was sort of a talent show. I really enjoyed it. All the songs were obviously sung in English and some perfected over days of practice. We have many very talented young individuals. My English club participated as well and sang a disco song called “Sunny.” It was really cool. So retro. I had a nice walk home.

Sauna. Once I arrived at home, my host dad had prepared the sauna as promised and I did the sauna the right way. I went into our bathroom with clothes on and saw that my host dad had none and my host brother was removing all of his. I didn’t want to look like the freak with clothes on, so I followed suit, or no suit. It was super hot in there. It was well over 100 degrees. I’d fare to say it was about 135 in there. It was hot. I could barely breathe. Even being one foot closer to the furnace made it four or five degrees warmer. It was super hot. After five minutes I came out and rinsed off in warm water then sat on the couch in the veranda of the bathroom. All this time I am still naked. My host dad, cheerful as ever, comes out and pats me on the back with pride, not so much for me but for the awesomeness of the new furnace that he built a week earlier. The old one was a lot weaker. He soldered this thing and installed it manually. He’s one handy dude. After two minutes he says “Hai incodata” and we go back into the sauna, but this time with a bunch of wet oak tree branches that have been soaking for some time. He tells me to lay down and proceeds to, gently at first, pat me with the branches from head to heel, then he did it stronger with every pass. It was wild, but surprisingly relaxing. I spanked him with the branches and we were done. We sat back down on the couches and he told me see if any dead skin was peeling, but I was sure that I had bathed well enough two days before so I wouldn’t have much, but I did. Now my skin is as soft as a baby’s. I feel like I bathed with salt water. So cool. I am gonna sleep good tonight. Speaking of which.

Good night.

Back to school tomorrow. I have to admit that I am a bit jealous. I opted to stay in country with the thought that I would be travelling this two-week vacation. I didn’t. I stayed home. This whole past weekend I admit that I jealously read and scanned through albums and albums of pictures from countries abroad. I definitely have to make it out to those countries soon. They look “picturesque.” We start school, tomorrow. Bleh! I am doing my best to ignore it. I will reply how it goes. All my clothes are clean. Dry is another story. However, I am ready for tomorrow. I just have to shave my head and face, then I’ll be fully ready. I hope all your returns to work were well.

The Art of Woman

(The art of man) Please let me preface this title with the fact that I don’t presume to assume the position that man is or ever was at the heart of any position therein occupying the position of literary object. That being said, I only write the title as such because it is shorter and sweeter (no pun intended) and it is in lieu of the manner of which I have read “all of humanity” addressed. However, I know that, even though or especially because I know that the previous generations mistakes is no excuse for mine there really is no excuse for me writing the title as such. So I will change it, thus.

Up until this fine evening, I thought I had laid my warm wishes to rest with the end of 2010. It seems that upon this night I was called by my old Romanian teacher to meet with her and her husband for our usual drink and quick catch up. It was headed in that direction when they invited me to celebrate the Orthodox Christian Christmas that takes place on January 7th. So, I did. I went with them to the house of her parents and met her son, sister and her boyfriend and her mother. Her father was apparently on sort of a vacation. In their most authentic manner they politely excused themselves for “a simple meal” which was actually far from simple. On the table were laid out eleven different portions: 7 for the meal and 4 for dessert. There was pizza, minced meat egg-shaped and battered, battered and beaten fried chicken and a type of fish that was very fresh and sweet. On the side were two types of salad one which was peculiarly close to my mother’s macaroni salad. I was in quite the heaven. One of the desserts offered was a form of bread pudding that I couldn’t stop eating. It was so close to home, I didn’t know what to do with myself. There was also a type of macaroni with sweet cream cheese that I only had a bite of. Cake, there was definitely cake made from hazelnut that I didn’t have room for. To top it off, I had a wonderful pastry that would look like any other pastry. At any other time, I would have passed it like a hot potato without blinking an eye, but further encouragement led me to try it and I am glad that I did. I had never really tried anything like it, but it was a pastry that on the outside looked like a folded bread roll with powdered sugar sprinkled on top. They told me it was made with “roz” which literally translated means “rose,” but when I bit into it there were rose petals in the pastry and it tasted like I had bit into a rose. It was fantastic. I was so full, but I couldn’t stop eating them. It was such a phenomenon to be eating a rose pastry. Fantastic.

Everyone at the table was very polite. The seating arrangement was around a rectangular table with me at the lower right corner, or edge (because if I sat at the corner I would never get married) and to my right was the sister Vica with Raia, the mother, at the head of the table, Radu my teacher’s husband at the top left and Nadia across from me with Vica’s boyfriend, Igor at the base of the table. All in all, we were six. It was a full table and perfect for the space and entertainment that was in store for me. Sitting around the table, I was able to talk about my experience as a volunteer and even more simply a foreigner in Moldova and how much I adored the people, the traditions and the food. It was all fantastic. They all just sat quietly letting me talk about myself. I learned that the father was away on sort of a social vacation with his colleagues and that usually he brightens up the parties so there was room for one more, which profited me very much. I was trying to stay away from small talk, but the conversations about the food had expired and worn out. I was desperate so I looked over to the sister and asked her to kiss me. She looked at me and…hahaha, NO, I didn’t ask her to kiss me. I asked her if she also lived in Balţi near her sister or with her mother. She said that she lived in Chişinau with her boyfriend Igor, who was sitting to my left at the base of the table. I, obviously not asking the right question to get conversation started, asked what she does there and she said that was studying for music. I was fully surprised. The answers that I typically get are either Engineering, Teaching or Finance. There were not many music students that continue onto the university level. So, genuinely interested, I asked her was instrument she played and she said the violin. She also noted that her boyfriend, Igor, also played the violin and that they had been studying the violin for at least 12 years. Soroca, by the way, is pretty much the epicenter for adolescents interested in the arts. There are high schools that are geared specifically towards the arts. It is really amazing. Anyhow, I asked her how to say “to record” and she told me that it was “a registra” so I asked her if she had registered any of her music. She said that I could find it on YouTube. Then my teacher, Nadia, interjected quickly with something in Romanian or Russian that I didn’t quite catch. Vica, her sister, nervously looked at me and I assumed that she was asked to play the violin for us. I immediately got really excited and sort of skipped a little bit in my chair slapping hands on my knees to subtly suggest that I wanted her to play. She got up and skuttled into the other room. I heard shuffling and clicking and within a minute the sounds of tuning nothing else than a violin. How special was my excitement, I couldn’t really tell you. She emerged and stood in a corner of the 7’ X 10’ kitchen and played a slow Latin ballroom dance song, then another. She seemed quite satisfied with her contribution to the night, but I wanted to hear more and so without pressuring her, I looked to her boyfriend, Igor. The whole night he was quiet and this was no different, but I continued to tell them how special it was to hear live music because you can see faces and the emotions that radiate and not only from the instrument, but from their face and the way that they move their instrument around. The live experience is something far different than what any studio rendition could offer. I was very happy. So, I asked Igor again and this time he gave a pause. I always take pauses for a “yes” back home and it was no different here. He was in. As soon as he paused, I said “yes” and made room for the violin to be passed over. He agreeably reached for it and played the tune for Bhaga Vad Gita. That was awesome. Then Vica closed out the performance with another number. It was very special. The whole night was special.

So as far as the title is concerned, this musically inclined couple sat around me so unassuming. They didn’t have golden violin broaches on or treble clef earrings and jewelry. No, they were very modest about their talents. None of them said anything to me about it voluntarily. I had to elicit the information. Thus, so is that of any person around me. I have been accustomed to not assuming that every person around me has no artistic talent to share with the community, however, for all I know the person next to me could be the next Picasso or Schubert. I don’t know. What I do know is that even though my neighbor may not be a prolific artist or dancer or may not have even taken art classes at all, but I know that every person is predisposed with ability for art. Everyone has within oneself the intellect to become an artist. It need to only be harnessed.

Happy New Year! After an eventful New Year celebration, I am really tired. I have had a wild week. I went to the capital to celebrate the New Year with those others that stayed in country for the new year. We had dinner together and went to a local new year party. It was fun to spend time together. However, the party we were at didn’t have a television, we had a watch, sparklers and music. That was more than sufficient to celebrate the new year. Tinsel scarves helped a lot, too. Though they weren’t that necessary as it had warmed up to about -5°C.

I got back into my town a couple days ago and today there was a 70% eclipse that hadn’t shown itself for approximately 11 years. Awkwardly enough our puppy happened to choke on some cotton that it had found and slightly foamed at the mouth. Though no causation has been verified, the coincidence is rather interesting.

It is unfortunately cooling off again back to -12°C, bleh. It’s a good thing my sister sent me some warmer gear. Socks, beanies, a scarf and some long underwear were definitely helpful. Joan, I wear that Beanie everyday. It is cool and warm. I am still, as of yet, waiting for my mother’s and coworkers’ shipment. It is no doubt on its way. I guess I will just have to wait a little bit longer. Moldovan Christmas is in a few days. We’ll see what happens. Happy New Year.

Winter has been nice to me. I thought that I would be braving snow storms with a frozen face. I thought that my fingers would turn blue and as documented in “March of the Penguins” that my eggs would freeze as soon as they touched cold snow. I, did, however, manage to break a glass plate that I was told could be just as old as I am. I ignorantly put a boiling pot on it while it was in the veranda that had reached freezing temperatures. It cracked soon after I ran back into the warmth of the main house. Other than that little incident, nothing has really hit me hard. this is not to say that winter here has been really really pretty. I have taken many walks after a good snow and some good sun and it has been just beautiful outside that just really begs me to know take pictures. So I did. Everything was white and just beautiful. The ground was white, the trees, faces, streets, cars, clothes, sometimes the sky was white, the fortress, rooftops, smoking chimneys were white and even the dogs' faces were white. One of my walk I took a series of pictures for your viewing pleasure and on my journey through the center of town I found many such 3 foot strips of frozen water that had made a slick surface for kids and adults alike to slide across. It's sort of like finding a lollipop on your desk or getting one from the dentist. It's like a little bit of childhood. Winter here is just really really pretty. However…,

Christmas 'season' is another story. This is where I felt the burn the most. I have spent so much time here and have thought myself lucky that when I had read this would be the ‘hardest job’ I ever loved, I was not really sure that I was feeling the burn that my peers in other nations were feeling. However, I tell you, I was having one heck of a difficult time with this past Christmas season. It was truly one of the hardest times here. The two weeks leading up to the Western (pagan) Christmas is usually met with tinsel and spiced pumpkin candles, but this season was, ironically, a bit colder. It doesn’t usually happen that I find myself lonely or even sad at this time. I always have family or friends that I have to warm myself up. However, these two weeks have been a bit tough. No trips to Macy’s to get gifts, Barnes & Noble visits or even Salvation Army soldiers doing their service. It was just different and without too much self-pity, I am sort of glad that it is almost over. I miss my family dearly.

School-life has been my saving grace. Though different, the spirit of happiness and vacation waiting is still alive and kicking here. The last two weeks at school have been a little crazy. Sometimes a class won’t be there at all due to their holiday duties, such as travelling to almost each of the some-80 classrooms in the school and singing one of the many traditional “colinz” or carols. I really hope that I spelt or spelled that correctly. Last thing about school, British English is really tearing me up, but I am constantly improving my grammar. Such as “spelt” being the British perfect participle for ‘to spell’ or even as far as spelling, “catalogue” is the British for ‘catalog.’ Maybe this is common knowledge, but it was new to me.

The last two weeks have been pretty interesting. The whole country has been in focused attention preparing for today – the elections. The past two weeks have been non-stop political programming and propaganda. Here in town, I have been to three street concerts that were essentially advertisements for each party. These were nothing simple. Professionally constructed stages, lighting and sound technology were procured for each party’s celebration. Each party has their loyal artists who performed at each celebration and they were nothing short of fantastic. I suppose it wasn’t the safest place for me to be because these elections were pretty charged but I generally stayed at a safe distance. This past Friday’s celebration ended with a 5-minute display of fireworks (focul de artificii) which in their own right would rival what I’ve seen from Disneyland. They were pretty extensive.

Furthermore, the weather has been steadily declining, in my opinion. The daily highs and lows are getting lower and lower. This past Friday, the same Friday as the concert here in Soroca, was a cold morning. On my morning visit to the restroom, I checked the thermometer and it read -3°C. I went to check if it was correct. It was. The water bucket for the ducks was frozen over. Poor duckies. I took my shower and went on with my day as usual. It was freezing cold, but not a real big problem, however, I didn’t know how I would handle the future to come – like during first period. At 8:50, 20 minutes into our first period, it snowed. Heavily. I had my head down in my notebook from where I was following my day’s lesson plan and my partner, Stela, said, “Raymond, Congratulations!” I did not really let that affect me too much as I was focused on what I was doing, and upon noticing that I made no substantial gesture of acknowledgement, she said it again and told me to look outside and wow! It was snowing so hard. I ran to the window and just stood there. Everything was slowly turning snowcapped. The flakes (fulgi) were one inch in diameter. They were large and complex. At the break, I went outside to see all the children running and slipping around, gathering the first year’s ammo for the snowball fights to ensue, eating falling snow or just simply standing there while it all fell around them. It was a real sight to see and, unfortunately, I didn’t have my camera. I really regretted that, but my class assured me that I would have many more opportunities to take pictures. I just wish that I really had it for my first snow fall – ever. I have never really seen snow fall that big and definitely haven’t experienced it for the first snow of the year. It was really pretty and spectacular. I hope it snows tomorrow. We’ll see.

P.S. Luckily I slept in and my host father was very considerate of my sleep because I was scheduled to make a duck head fall for dinner. Needless to say, there’s no blood on my hands.

P.P.S. The heads are still on the chopping block as peaceful as ever.

I forgot to relay how my Turkey Day went. First of all, they don’t celebrate Thanksgiving all over the world. What?!!! I know. I felt the same way. So, my Thanksgiving didn’t start very festive throughout the whole day. I am used to waking up and definitely not having to get up on a schedule. I have never in my life had to get up and go to work. This was a change. I am used to waking up at about 10 or 10:30 and having a nice big breakfast with my family before the family party whether it be an omelette, kielbasa in ketchup and Worcestershire sauce or simply an apple pie, it was fantastic. And coffee. There was definitely coffee. Good coffee. Oh, fresh ground coffee, I miss you. Anyhow, I went to work just as usual and had my lessons just as usual. One of the lessons that I joined in on was about Thanksgiving, but the students could really care less. At the end of the day, I celebrated a pre-scheduled party with my English club. We met, got our 1 or 2 dollars together and purchased some snacks. Then we wrote what we were thankful for. It was a nice little celebration. I wish I took pictures, but I didn’t. After that, I had a masă with my other two site mates and other local teachers. They purchased a turkey from the streets and procured all of the necessary refinements while adding some local flavor which for me was all part of the experience. It was really nice actually. Throughout the dinner my family and friends called me. Thanks guys. It really brought the whole day full circle.

The weekend before turkey day was something similar – a disassembled form of what I know as Thanksgiving. All of us volunteers got together in the capital and potlucked it. It was really cool. Again, I don’t know where the turkey came from, but it was there and we even had head dresses. I was debating whether to put it on for PC purposes, but I decided that since they are feather from the bird that we ate, I put it on. I remember one moment when someone said, “Eww, somebody didn’t fully squeeze all the blood out of my feather.” That was tough to hear, but it made it all worth it. After our dinner, against our better judgements, we all went to a local restaurant where a band was playing classic American rock ‘n’ roll and blues. It was fantastic. We had a night cap at the karaoke bar. I had a good time that night. I think that might be that last time for a long time until something like that will happen now that the weather is about to hit with a vengeance. It has held off long enough. Well, at least that’s what I hear. Eek! We’ll see.

This past Friday, November 12, we celebrated Halloween. Halloween doesn’t seem to be included in the cultural traditions that has been adopted from Western culture by the residents of Soroca. In general, Halloween is recognized and practiced, but for us, at our school, it was something else. The teachers and especially the students were not ready for it. Other than the lunch break, our third break is the longest so until then, the student council was doing face painting on the first floor near the entrance. When it came time for the third break, everyone had their scary faces on and pumpkins were lit. Well, one pumpkin was lit. It was supposed to be a pumpkin carving contest, but not many people participated. (It was rumored that not many people were interested because the monthly disco was not approved this month by the director.) I think the rumor was true because I could feel the sorrow throughout the day. Other than that, the day went fine. There were actually a few costumes about the school. I wish I had been able to capture more of them with my camera. I caught some, but not all. The break ended with an invitation for everyone with a costume to take a picture with the director. Woops! We were wrong. The student council actually got lectured because three of the younger students fainted because they just couldn’t wrap the idea of having a face painted like a dead person around their head. Poor kids. These are instances where cultural differences sneak up on me. Tonight we are showing Paranormal Activity. I haven’t seen it, so I guess “o se vedem” (we’ll see). In two weeks is Thanksgiving. I am participating in a presentation about the American tradition of Thanksgiving and the other volunteers are having a masă in the capital. That should be fun. This past week’s weather has been a dream and the future week should be just as good. After this week, though, I have no idea. Eek!

Fall hit on the first of October, but I didn’t really feel it until the morning of October 9. I went outside to use the restroom as always across the backyard, but this time I couldn’t see the ground. Every inch of it was full of fallen leaves from the hazelnut trees. On my way back into the house from the restroom I read the thermometer and it read two below zero Celsius. On my way to work or school, the humidity had frozen on every leaf and blade of grass and every car window had frosted over. Fall had truly arrived. On my way back home, there were hazelnut leaves everywhere. The funny thing is that only the hazelnut tree leaves fell that day. They couldn’t hang on long enough. Oh well.

In my attempt to play catch up, I need to recap Teacher’s Day. I am not exactly sure if Teacher’s Day falls on the same day, but I am definitely sure that it isn’t celebrated in the same way. So, our Teacher’s Day fell on a Tuesday. The Monday before Teacher’s Day, I was told there was going to be sort of a welcome the next day so it would behoove me to be on time if not early. I decided to arrive 30 minutes ahead of time and boy was I happy that I did.

Upon arrival, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but everything seemed to be just as it always was. There were no banners outside, no loud music, the same few kids on the same yellow or white benches, but the still of the morning was a little different. I walked up the steps as I always do, but this time through the glass doors I could see many students in their national dress. There were probably about a dozen of them – all members of the Student Council. Behind them was a line of about another 20 wearing their finest black and white. When I passed through the veranda, the dancing started and the music never stopped. I was immediately offered to eat bread and salt which is a national tradition, then dragged into the dancing. This happened for every teacher that walked through the doors. It was a good start for the day. Classes continued, but were difficult to get into the normal groove because it was normal for students to interrupt classes on Teacher’s Day to bring chocolates or various gifts for the teachers. Parents even came in to offer gifts to either me or my partner teacher. It was a good day. It ended with a big masă at a local restaurant.

It had rained the day before. I found myself in a local town with a student that I had come across here in Moldova. He was very intelligent and didn’t shy from narrating every new event that sat on the forefront of science. To his best ability, he spoke to me in English. Knowing that I am here to teach English he did his best to accommodate me. I could hardly understand what he was trying to explain in English so I cannot even imagine what I would understand had he spoken in Romanian. It was much appreciated. We were making our way to the monastery in a village called Cosauţi. Upon arriving there, I was very impressed by its obvious calm. Not a leaf a made a sound. Not a duck a flap. All I could hear was the running from the creek that flowed fresh spring water, rumored to have healing properties. Walking through the monastery property I began to hear the hum of service: bells, hymns and the murmur of prayers sent. Further on, the hillside offered a small orchard of about 50 apple trees and what is approximately five or six acres of land all maintained by the monks that lived at the property.

Throughout our walk we discussed everything we saw. He told me how in the summer at a specific table that we happened upon he, with his three or four other friends whom had all come on bike, would sit there and eat watermelon. He told me how another time they asked everyone in town where else they could find watermelon, but to their dismay found none and sat on a dismantled light post by the river. He was full of stories and experiences of this place. His last was about a little man-made wading pool typically used for making wishes. I equated it with “throwing coins into a fountain,” but he said he did that, as well, for added luck. Amuzing. The pool, when full, was used for making wishes. Apparently, the water that springs from the mountain is very cold and when flowing doesn’t have the chance to freeze in the cold seasons and if daring enough one would have to walk to the other end of a 12 foot pool and back three times and upon completion your wish would come true. He said that the one time he tried it he couldn’t do it and when he got out he couldn’t feel his legs. I paused, raised my eyebrows and looked away. He is an interesting young man.

Finally, he brought me to the chapel that could be found beyond a grassy flat full of trees that brought a magical quiet to the area. In the chapel is a shrine to the bible and simple spigot from which flowed fresh spring water. In ritualistic fashion he picked up a cup from the altar, poured water into the cup, raised it three times, took a sip, put his lips to the altar and finished by splashing water on his face. I sort of followed in suit. I sipped the water. We left.

On way back to bus stop, we were quiet and simply enjoyed the day’s fresh air. The roads were exactly what I would imagine in an old preserved European village to be. Each house was constructed of materials from the land with walls made of stone which had sit there for some time that the moss creeping up from ground knew its path from seasons passed. He broke the silence asking, “what was your work before you arrived here in Moldova?” I told him that “I worked in a preschool.” I continued to tell him about how my day operated with the long busy days. I wasn’t sure if he understood everything that described about my work, but I was sure that my serious tone was more than a signal to the gravity of my workdays. I, then, hit a wall of silence, which I broke by telling him that my work was serious, but it was a good thing that I had colleagues to work me. “That is great,” he said. I told him that it was because we were all together and that after work we would sometimes have parties together. He was surprised. I supposed that teachers are typically not as friendly with their colleagues. More excited and proud, I described how sometimes one of us would throw a house party and invite all the other employees to have dinner and a few drinks. Even more surprised, he asked if we did this all together. I said, “of course.” I told him how close we were and sometimes, if needed or if the conversations ran too late, I could sleep on their couches. Surprised, he asked, “you would sleep there in their house?” I told him that sometimes it is not safe to drive late at night and illegal if anyone is drinking. “You would drink?,” he asked. “Yes, sometimes.” “Everyone?” “Yes, all of us. We would have a couple bottles of wine. We enjoy drinking wine together.” In a most inquisitive tone, he asked “even the priests?” “Priests?,” I responded. “Yes, the priests.” I had to clarify, “What priests?” “From your work, the priests from your work,” he said. In a final attempt to clarify, as agreeably as possible I said, “No, there were no priests at this school. There might be some at other private schools, but not at this one and not typically at the kindergarten level.” He, then, asked “what is kindergarten?” “Oh, kindergarten, uhm….” I finally decided to translate, “you know, gradiniţa?” “Gradiniţa? I thought you worked in a school for priests.” I laughed. “Nooo, not a priest school. Pre-school!” We had a good laugh.

I wish I had taken better pictures, but not too long ago, there was a school dance at my school. Believe me when I say that it was not your run of the mill school dance. This thing was pretty extraordinary. As I was walking through the halls to tape a posting on the wall for the English club that we started, I couldn’t help but notice an ever bigger, brighter and more outrageous advertisement for the first school dance. I immediately thought to myself cheesy streamers, old school disco ball, pastel suits, Lionel Richie or Boston, perfectly frumos shoes and probably about 3 dozen balloons without helium that are destined to be kicked around or popped by the first bored patron to the dance. My imagination was slightly halted when I heard that it was a “white party.” Oh man, I began to imagine nothing less than Montell Jordan, white suits with perfectly white t-shirts, tight sweaters and a few pairs of pants that would rival those worn in areas of less gentry. Nonetheless, I had changed my general predictions a little to a slightly less tacky situation. No sooner than I made mention of my growing curiosity to see such an event did I get the numerous barrage of “come” or “so you’re coming to the dance.” I thought it would be a good defense to say that I did not have any white clothes. “Oh, it’s not that serious. You don’t have a white t-shirt.” Now, I did not want to be the one teacher that was there who looked like a student, but I sure did not want to have to buy a nice white shirt. I also did not want to be the only one that was not frumos enough. So, I went on the hunt for a white shirt. It was rather last minute when I decided to search for the shirt and I was rather anxious not to be stuck purchasing an overly expensive white shirt. I didn’t know if a simply plain white shirt would suffice or would it be better to be buy a white shirt with a little style. I had no idea. Then, I began to think that it would be cold anyways so it wouldn’t really matter. And if it didn’t really matter, then would it matter that I didn’t wear such a nice shirt. I walked on and on in this manner. After about one hour of walking and window shopping and only 30 minutes to get ready, I headed home – empty handed. I still needed to cut my hair, shower and walk 20 minutes to the school. I did my best to cut quick and shower efficiently. I ended up wearing a white t-shirt that said “I *wheel* Moonshine.” It suited me just fine. I was approximately 40 minutes late when I arrived. The awkward thing was that the sun shone brightly in the sky. It was no later than 6 pm and the sun did not go down until about 8pm. To my surprise, there was not major gathering outside of the school campus. As I walked up, only a few of the Student Council welcomed me to come in. Once inside, I met two high school staff and was urged to go upstairs to the Festivities Hall. Once I reached the third floor the whole area was booming. I did not know what I had gotten myself into. When I got to the door, I was amazed at what I saw. It was dark in the hall, with smoke, colored lazer lights, Moldovan house, a lazer show that wrote the words “White Party” on the walls, a real DJ and entourage. I was so very ready to see what I was getting myself into.

So, if it wasn’t clear before I live in the neighborhood that used to be a knitting district. This neighborhood used to service those employees who fittingly worked in a knitting factory. It is situated in between two neighborhoods or “cartier” that are generally considered to be either the older Soroca or central Soroca and the new Soroca. It is quiet and actually a little piece of the neighborhood that I lived in at first, Razeni. I have a modestly small home which can be split into four equal squares. The bottom left square would be split into both my room and the kitchen sharing a “soba” wall used to heat the house in the winter with a fire, sort of like an efficient chimney. The top left square is my host brother’s room. He is thirteen. The two right squares are a little different. There is a salon style room with a width of half a room and the length of both rooms from top to bottom. The top right square is split into the parents’ bedroom and the salon. The bottom right square is split into a spare room and the other length of the salon. I hope that made sense.

When I have time and the weather permits, I take a nice walk along the River Nistru, pass the fortress and head towards the center of town. I am not exactly sure where the center of town is technically located but I usually consider the fountain in front of the mayor’s office to be the center of town. A walk through the “park” can be different every time. Sometimes you can find four or five tables of people selling anything from knick knacks to AVON products. Now don’t tell me that’s not special to see AVON being sold here. Other days one can walk through and only find a few lonely souls sitting on the various benches that line the walkways while they watch their children run around or wait for friends. I don’t really know what they do. I usually walk through quite quickly without being able to find out what they actually do there at the park. I do know that it is peaceful there. Many places here are rather peaceful and at times it can be a little to peaceful.

Luckily, I have the company of my fellow site mates to keep me company. We have a weekly get together at one of the local cafes in the area. It helps to keep us in the know about each other. We have turned into a pretty strong support group. I am proud of us. Outside of the meeting days, we rarely see each other unless there is a big event in town in which case we are willing to make certain exceptions. For instance, it just so happened that about a month ago, it was the country’s yearly celebration for their independence which consisted of multiple days of festivities. Here in Soroca, there was an outdoor concert held in front of the mayor’s office. I did not know how big it was going to be, but I decided to go and asked my site mates if they were interested and, of course, one of them said “yes.” When we showed up, we were ultimately surprised to find a rather professionally arranged concert stage full with speakers lights, canopies and everything or anything needed for a concert in the park. It was fantastic to say the least. At other times, other volunteers who do not have the opportunity to live in such a lively city will make the trek out here to see the sites (the fortress, monasteries and candle of gratitude). In those instances we are more than obliged and happy to welcome them to our town for the day.

A taste of what is to come. It has been one month since I have posted. I am sorry family and friends. This past month has been a little crazy. About 4 weeks ago, back at my Pre-Service Training (PST) site in Razeni we started practice school. It was a grueling 3 weeks of intense planning and executing. I was able to see what my days would be like when I started working. The children were really cool and interested in American culture. There were moments when I thought that they could really care less about learning English and really just either wanted to learn about America, where I was from and how to get me to smile and laugh instead of working. They really wanted me to be there friend and that was pretty cool, I’d have to say. My first 10 working days of school consisted of planning for and teaching the 6th Form or 6th grade. Grammar structure and rules are much more specific here. My grammar is improving. It was something that struck as odd that even though I am a native speaker and even studied English and language – grammar rules have never stuck as they have stuck for me since I have been here. Needless to say, it was new, different and something I think I needed to get my head back on straight. My second set of 10 working days consisted of planning for and teaching the 10th Form. This was a little harder for me and for them because the textbooks are the same throughout the country and are planned for learning and mastering the language at the same rate for every individual in Moldova regardless of background, exposure and / or proficiency. So, it was assumed for instance that writing a short essay using the grammar rules accumulated until the 10th Form including countable or uncountable nouns, conditionals, noun derivations and noun formations would be included. This was not the case in my town and furthermore may not be the case in many villages throughout the country. Fortunately the school that I will be teaching at will have more students with higher English proficiency. Unfortunately, it is at such a school where skills that the Peace Corps can offer are not as much in need as other institutions. It is a give and take. I will have to go with the flow for a while before making any real judgments. When all the work was over, all of us in Razeni were able to get a little party going with our students from all 20 days. It was a fun-filled day of food, drinks, music, sports and games. We had a lot of fun.

Imitation as Flattery. Our final week consisted of closing language lessons and preparing for the concert that we were to put on. I am in the English Education program. All other EE volunteers that arrived with me this past June were in my town of Razeni. Four others were in the city center learning Russian, and in three other villages volunteers for health, community development and agricultural business were also grouped together. All in all, there were four to six villages working independently on their respective volunteer schedules. At the end of our PreService Training, each group prepared a sort of a concert as a form of “goodbye” for our respective host families and cities. We, in Razeni, did a little concert as well in full traditional garb, song and dance. It was really interesting for lack of a better term at the moment. The final two weeks of PST were spent practicing nearly every afternoon for our presentation of 3 dances, and 3 songs. It was really fun. We capped it off with our swearing in ceremony at the capitol with embassy and country director. I am officially an employee of the US government and therefore property of the US government. I never thought I would say that, but I am.

A New Home. 10 days ago, I arrived in my new home town. It is very beautiful and I am very excited. I have been able to spend the last week relaxing and site-seeing. It has been a blast. Coming from 3 weeks of straight work and planning. I think I and all other volunteers needed this time off. This past weekend, the whole country had their independence celebrations. Here in my town, there were concerts throughout the day and one final concert on Saturday night. School starts on September 1 throughout the country. This is the day that my work starts. I should have been planning all the this time, but as things go, I am learning to take my work in stride and plan to expend my energy efficiently. So, for right now, as many teachers are still on vacation or wrapping up grades from the previous year, I have had the chance to settle into the Moldovan lifestyle as much as can be had in a matter of 10 days. A river. A fortress. A border. A forest. A tower. Some flowers. And air cleaning showers. That pretty much sums up what has consumed my time here. Tomorrow, I will have an administrative picnic at a park named after one of the quintessential poets in Moldovan history, Mihai Eminescu who was an author during the Romantic period, awesome! Then on Wednesday starts work day #1. Anxious, to say the least.

More to come….

Today is the day that I have actually internet in my room. This is really really weird. I usually have to go to the school. Although I have much work to do still, I am choosing to blog simply because this is awesome. The rain is coming I think. This post is devoted to the Razeni rain. May you always be in my heart. Here are a few pics that have not been fortunate to post.

Today was an awkward day. My PST house is just behind a major market. Across the street from the market is a newly built restaurant that is named something I cannot remember. Sorry. I write this at midnight and music is my saving grace. Thank you Death Cab for Cutie.

Restaurant. The restaurant opened today. My host brother is training to be a chelner (waiter) there. He woke up this morning and dressed uncharacteristically black and white complete with black slacks, white shirt, clip on bowtie, jacket, but no belt. Ten minutes after my alarm rang, he knocked and asked for a belt to borrow. I had to let him borrow mine considering I had to buy one in the capitol market because I, too, did not have one. As soon as he tried it on, I could see that it would not fit. So I took out my pocket knife and began to stab and twist vigorously; he was on a time budget. This knife of mine was not meant for stabbing and I learned this the hard way as the knife slipped at one of my twists and snapped to shut position with my finger in the way. Couple with the weight of my thrust I sliced my finger open a bit. I still had to finish, but now I was spewing blood everywhere, so I grabbed my sweat bandana and quickly tied up my left index finger. I finished, he put it on, and he was off. I was left with a bloody finger and a now red and black bandana. Not quite the start of the day that I had in mind.

LPI. Language Proficiency Interview. This is the test that all volunteers take at least once during their PST to gauge what level of language learning they are at and to gather information regarding the quality of the language learning process. I thought that this was supposed to take place after the tenth week of PST, but no, it was today at the end of our sixth week. It is really hard to imagine that we are almost done. These next few weeks are going to fly by. Not cool. So, I arrived at school with my mind on my blood finger, but luckily I was thirty minutes early so I had the opportunity to calm down and gather myself. Typically, the first floor would be alive with Language Training Instructor (LTI ?) and students dispersing to their respective language rooms, but not today. Classes are off for the day because of the LPI. I found a quiet room in the school and began to review my past/present/future forms of the more common verbs including the reflexive forms. If you did not know this already, as an English major, my grammar is no good and Moldova of all places is going to put it back in order. Occasionally, a profesoară would pass through, and reassure me that the interview will be okay and that it means nothing. I think this is where I say that volunteers are required to attain an Intermediate Mid Level in order to be considered “passing.” IMid consists of being able to speak effortlessly and use the correct conjugations of the past/present/future forms of all common verbs. Believe me, it was not an easy task. So I was definitely nervous. If I did not pass, the consequence would be a required reassessment after 3 months which in retrospect is not really a big deal. I will still be sworn in as a PC volunteer regardless of my LPI assessment, but I am trying to get it done in one shot. So, at 8:20 I started to make my way up to the classrooms where the interviews were being held for my 8:30 appointment and met a colleague of mine who said that he was done and that they were ready for me.

Interview. I went in and nervously said my hello’s. I sat down in front of my LPI interviewer and proceeded to discuss my day thus far in an informal and generously offered warm-up. It really helped. When she felt that I was ready, she turned on a tape recorder and I was asked to discuss about my family, what I liked about my community, what I planned to do in the future, what I was going to do after the interview, what I did yesterday, what I will do as a volunteer, how my future site visit was and she topped it off with a scenario of about 30 possibilities. I was lucky enough to discuss a birthday party that I was expected to attend and had to ask questions regarding the party. I nervously asked about where, when, for whom the party was, what gift I should bring, how I should dress, and who was going to be there. After that scenario, the interview was over. I am not sure how I did, but before I left she asked me how I felt about the interview and I said that I did not know. She said that I did okay and that I would know how to feel after I see my final assessment score. I did not really know how to react and I guess I am still not sure. I guess I will have to find out on Monday.

Partenerul meu. My partner. As a teacher and as part of the objectives of the peace corps, I am expected to work collaboratively with a partner teacher. For the next two weeks I will be working with a Moldovan teacher with at least 20 years experience in teaching English as a foreign language. After sweating the day out, I had an additional three hours of technical sessions. I met my partner for the next two weeks. We will be expected to teach students from the community as if it was real school.

Şcoala practică. Practice school. Beginning Monday and continuing for the next two and a half weeks we will be partner teaching students in the community in mock school settings in order to acclimate ourselves to the Moldovan teaching regiment. We will have to build a long-term lesson plan for the next two and half weeks as well as two lessons plans per day for those fourteen days. Prior to this, we learned how to build one. In our experience, it took us individually approximately five hours in total to complete a sufficient lesson plan. These five hours were fit among two or three exhausting days. I could not imagine doing twice the work in half the time. If this is too confusing to follow, believe me when I say that it was confusing just to think about it, no less to have to describe it.

Eu sînt obosit. I am tired. I am sorry. I am exhausted from the day’s events. I think this is my mind’s way of saying, “Lights out!” So with that I leave you. Noapte buna.

Yesterday, I went to the pădura (forest). I forgot my camera. In my excitement to embark on my first excursion to the forest, I only packed the essentials, music and speakers. I still regret rushing. Nonetheless, I left. Upon arrival, we were just over two miles away from our PST village. We had walked up a hill and found a cozy spot on the edge of the forest overlooking the valley that lies between us and our village hill picturesquely complete with rotated crop farms of various produce from sunflowers for their oil to grapes for their suc (“suke” or juice). Many thoughts came to my mind, but peaceful quiet was the victor. We stood there, still but moved, in utter silence. Fixed on my view, as the breeze blew through me, I smiled. Inspired, I reached for my bag and decided to break up the awkward moment with some music.

Michael Jackson. Man in the Mirror. It didn’t get any better than that. I was worried about how my fellow mates might receive my jukebox selection, but they transitioned to the melody seamlessly. After 10 minutes of quiet relaxation, we had compiled our supplies of cucumbers, bread, cookies, cheese, hard-boiled eggs, sunflower seeds, apples, and of course some vin (wine) – thanx to Kelley. Thanx lady! We took a picture and let the time pass. After four hours of talking, drinking, snacking, dancing, grooving, card-playing, jesting, climbing, wrestling (with the Knowles’s dogs), feeding (the Knowles’s dogs), urinating, and picture taking, we made our way off the hill on our two-mile trek back to town. The road we took on the return trip was conveniently situated in the center of town. It was awesome!

The Big Lebowski. Later that night, after showering and dressing, a few of the forest goers went to a fellow trainee’s home and watched The Big Lebowski from his laptop that sat outside on the dinner table while we lay on floor on three layers of blankets and propped our heads up on pillows supported by logs that sat under the rugs. Though it was foarte cald (very hot) during the day, the night time was spectacularly comfortable. It was one of the raddest home theater setups I have experienced. It was a great night cap to a perfect day in the pădura.

Sometime in the near future, I will hail from a respectively large town called Soroca. It is situated rather uniquely on the northern border (hotar) across from the Ukraine. 35 paces from the Nistru river, which separates the Ukraine from Moldova, sits the Soroca Fortress (Cetate de Soroca, “Che-tah-teh”). Though much of what I currently know about Moldova can be ironically found on Wikipedia, I will do my best to deliver what I know as naturally as possible. It was built a long long time ago. The date eludes me right now. You can find it quite easily. (Note: If I had internet at this house, research would be no problem. I have electricity and all other amenities. I am definitely not complaining.) When I was driving into Soroca on the highway, I could clearly see the Nistru River, and as soon as I understood what I was looking at, the director of my future pointed out that the fort was on the banks of the Nistru. He didn’t say “fort,” but simply pointed. I said “Oh, the castle” and the little English that he knew was sufficient enough to correct me. “Nu! Cetate! Not castle.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I didn’t remember what “cetate” meant. I was sort of embarrassed inside, but played off the embarrassment with a corrective, “Ah, da! Am uitat. Cetate.” Now I know. Now I will never forget it. And it’s a funny thing, language learning. I never know when or how my language will develop, but it does as long as I put myself in its path. There’s no stopping it.

The “city” of Soroca is a raion center which is why I placed city in quotation marks. I am a city boy and I suppose I would equate a raion as a county and a raion center as the city that distributes resources to surrounding cities. I’m sure my peers who grew up in a similar setup would know better than me. That said, Soroca is a raion center, or oraşul, with approximately 7 or 8 villages surrounding it and obviously to the south because north of Soroca is the Ukraine. I currently live in a village whose raion center is Ialoveni (Yah-loh-ven). Raion centers are usually more populated with a more developed infrastructure. Soroca’s history can be traced back to the times of Stefan cel Mare, a medieval king of Moldova. He is regarded as Moldova’s national hero for a number of reasons including protecting Christianity during his reign and limiting Turkish growth and expansion. Up until 1812, before the Russian Empire took over, this land was already called Moldova, but was changed to “Desarabia” by the Russian Empire. The city of Soroca dates back to the time of these medieval upheavals.

As I walked through the fortress halls and staircases, I could not but guess what life would have been like. To know that I was walking through the halls of a structure that was build approximately 500 years ago simply blows my mind. I get real excited every time I think about it. (Btw, “excited” in Romaneşte is not “excitant” as I thought it would have been. =)) From the top of the fort, I can easily see the Nistru and the borders of both countries, Moldova and the Ukraine. The countrysides for both are gorgeous. I cannot wait to travel across, which apparently for Moldovans is very difficult.

Border crossing. If a Moldovan from surrounding cities or villages wished to cross the border at Soroca, they would have to present their passport and visa, which in themselves are an ordeal. However, if they can prove that they have lived in Soroca for more than 3 months, they are officially a Sorocan citizen and can cross the border with simple identification card that states their current residence as officially Soroca. Otherwise, they would have to travel 4 or 5 hours south to a different border crossing town and enter through their depending on how strict their respective immigration laws are. It is very interesting.

Off the topic, on a real note, my current host little brother who is no older than 6 just knocked on my door and gave me a green balloon that is made for balloon flowers. He was very excited to give it to me. His older brother sells balloon flowers in the capitol of Chişinâu. I am going into the living room to say thank you. Have a good night. Noapte bună.

(I forgot.) I had a title for this post, but I forgot it. It is July 13, 2010 approximately 7:30 pm. I am not sure what the rest of the world is doing right now, but I am listening to a shared collection of Death Cab for Cutie that I ripped from a friend. In one month, he will be going to a city that is pretty much one of the furthest southern cities that we are sent to. I am surely going to miss him. I cannot believe that we are about halfway done with our training. The first week went by so slowly. It was as if each day were two days and so accordingly after the first week it felt like two weeks had passed us by. Now, upon realizing that it is already our fifth week, I am starting to sadden. I never thought we would make it this far without it feeling like an eternity. I have become such good friends with my fellow magaziners. I call us magaziners because we used to frequent the local version of 7-Eleven which is nothing more than convenience store that sell the basics as a 7-Eleven should. It is generically called a “magazin,” thus magaziners (a little Romanglish for my audience). Here, as in many places that Americans have not made an appearance, women are not allowed to drink in public and teachers of any gender do not usually do the same. It is a cultural caveat for one of the larger wine-producing countries for eastern Europe. In any event, I have become friends with my fellow magaziners and I do not know howlife will be once I am separated from them. I have not, as of yet, really felt what it is like to be alone. I have had friends with me for most of my life. I made friends with them very quickly so I have not been without friends as of yet. I guess we will see. The comfort I have is that I really love this country. If I may, without the intent of demeaning the integrity of the proud people of Moldova, I would like to say that if I had to speak directly from my gut reaction’s impression of Moldova I liken this ţara (country) to what I expect an Italian country village to have been 50 years ago. The rolling pastures of sunflowers with horse-pulled carts drawing dust into the freshest of air I have ever lived in has made this country picturesque without reservations. If the words that I use seem to be coming from a trying source attempting to form poetic prose believe me when I say that this prose is not trying at all but flowing freely from the spigot that I have recently learned can be roughly equated with the Moldovan “robinet” (faucet). It flows fast as a stray dog is called to a chicken bone. Fittingly, we have called the local dog that meanders around our language school, Corpul Poochie. Corpul Pâcii (pronounce “core-pull puh-chee”) is Romanian for Peace Corps. That dog will forever be in my memory as I am sure in all the memories of my colegii (colleagues).

On Sunday, I returned from my visit to my permanent site at which I will spend the remainder of my time approximately two years depending on whether I extend. That is a whole other post upon itself. I’m checking out. Good night.

(Dylan with Corpul Poochie)

I have officially româneştetized my keyboard by assigning shortcuts to all the letters that require diacritics and other specific add-ons, as such:

Â,â = “uh”

Ă,ă = “uh”

Ţ,ţ = “ts”

Ş,ş = “sh”

Î,î = “uh” (grammatically different)

(Note: all “uh” sounds are actually phonetically distinct, but I pronounce all of them the same)

Those are the major ones.

Right now, I am sitting in my room listening to my torrented Kid Cudi, staring at my fuchsia and reflecting on the night sky that I just saw. I was outside with tatal meu (my dad gazda) at the one and only local restaurant that is currently getting renovated. It has a large banquet hall and he is anticipating that it will be finished within a week or two at the most. As we sat there waiting for the bosso to finish his conversation with his workers and investors I could not help but to notice how many frogs were just flopping around everywhere. I counted approximately two dozen frogs of all different sizes and abilities. Some were jumping lazily. Others would skip, flop, then crawl. Frogs here are in abundance. I hope their not poisonous because I am about to grab one and keep it for a while. Frogs are awesome. I have not seen this many in my life. They are everywhere. I don’t know why there aren’t more Moldovan t-shirts in the area with frogs on them.

So, I did not really have the time to wait for the bosso to finish his conversation. I decided to walk back home which means traversing the wet mud by myself. It rained unexpectedly this morning. That was not cool. On my way home, I stopped in a place where there is no light pollution. These spots are not hard to find. There aren’t many lights outside except for maybe the one market in the area, the magazine which is like a local 7 Eleven, and the club that sits at the base of the market. It can be really dark and slippery in many places just after the rain. It is really fun to walk and slip around. Though, I shouldn’t talk. I am sort of the few that live near our school. Others have the situation of living at least a quarter mile away and others live approximately a full mile away not to mention that they have to walk through the most unaccommodating roads of mud, sludge, manure and a type of dirt that is definitely not your run of the mill soil. Bleh!

Stele. Dangit Raymond! Get on the ball!!! Stele is Romaneste for star. I actually think that is the plural for it. I looked it up and the singular is stea. My tata gazda said “stele” when I asked him, but I was pointing to the whole sky when I asked. I am learning so much Romantic grammar right now, it is killing my English. I am not sure how it is for my friends in other states but in LA we get so much light pollution that seeing this many stars is not typical. Many of my colegii come from towns that are not too far from the situation that I have here. The night sky is just really really pretty and fully of heavenly bodies. I don’t really know how to describe how awesome it is. It fills me with a lot of warm feelings primarily because I know that my family and friends are pretty much on the other side of the Earth, but relatively, we are not that far. If need be, I could be home in approximately 24 hours. I call my mom back home every chance I get. It is really weird how much slower time moves here. I was talking about this with a friend who received her first package. I think it is the first package for Razeni volunteers. I got very homesick when I saw it. *sigh* I cried my second night here. I hope it’s not my last time. My biggest fear here is losing my hometown mojo. I fear the day when I don’t get homesick.

The stars are aligned tonight

I traverse the road

Traversez la strada

This mush is not my mud

I could use my friends

I could use my buds

Am I the moon man?

I’ll do what I can.

Noapte buna.

Good night.

In my rush to keep everything as live as possible, I was not able to tell how my trip to Moldova went.

Pennsylvania. On Wednesday, June 9, I woke up quite early in the morning. With my bags packed and my clothes set aside, I quickly got dressed and dragged my two large bags to the elevators to find 69 of my peers waiting downstairs with their respective bags. The lobby was a modest 40 ft. by 100 ft. So, if you can imagine, there were 69 young adults with twice as many bags squeezed into an area that was not logistically made for us. Within an hour of my arrival we had successfully: organized our bags to make a path for other patrons and guests, accounted for every volunteer to be downstairs and ready to go, eaten breakfast, placed our special white yarn on each of our bags which costs us $4 (and now as I am here in my humble Moldovan abode, I find that we in America live rather lasciviously), checked out of our room, mailed our financial deferment papers to their respective lenders, said final ‘goodbye’ to our staging coordinators, called our parents to say that we are shipping off in a matter of minutes, laughed about the night(s) we had before, and finally loaded our bags onto the 3 buses that were to take us on our 2 hour trek from Philadelphia, PA to our airport in New York.

New York. This was an interesting few hours. Separation. Our instructions as far as New York were to gather ourselves and in an organized fashion disperse both passports and plane tickets from New York to Moldova. Needless to say, gathering ourselves was not successful. La Guardia airport in New York is extensively confusing. We had to essentially take an in-house train to another location within the airport to get our tickets and wait at the terminal, but we were not all together. The responsibility of dispersing the tickets and passports was left to a privileged few. Those unnamed few were nowhere to be found. We were ready to go, had no tickets, and no leader. But believe me, we are a collection of born leaders and many stepped up. In a short time, our leaders arrived with our tickets and passports. Stand-by. Whew! Tickets and passports in hand, we were more than ready for a change of scenery. Not so fast, buddy! There was yet another rift in the wormhole. Apparently, booking of our tickets was a little shifty. We were on stand-by. For those that don’t know, stand-by pretty much means that a passenger waits for the next flight with a vacancy and is allowed on the plane when it is pretty much clear that there is an available seat. So, imagine 69 of us with tickets that are stand-by only. Not so fun. We were more than confused, but despite the confusion rather patient. Approximately one hour later, the stand-by status was lifted and our line began to move. We got our boarding passes, through security, and were finally at our terminal.

Airplane. The airplane was a whole other environment on its own. It was a blast. People were very restless, but again very patient. We had 69 energetic young adults in a confined aircraft. Too much fun. With my seatbelt on, I had successfully: shared dozens of stories, put stories and voices to faces and names that we only knew from Facebook and briefly in Philadelphia, had a few celebratory toasts, played a game of iPad Monopoly, and almost started a company right on the airplane. It was pretty fun.

Germany. This airport stop was very interesting. I learned a lot about the Euro and other nefarious adventures that you can have in a German airport. If New York wasn’t fun enough, then Germany was the place for it. They, at least, still spoke English. Our airline had successfully found seats for all of us and room for our bags, except for one of us. Suckage! Her bags did not make it to the transfer. They were taken off of the plane and we had to arrange for her bags to be readmitted without having to pay for them. It really sucked. Nobody had any problems except for one friend. With common airport hospitality, we had to wait for approximately 3 hours. Finally, we worked it out and then proceeded to hour purgatorial wait for an additional three hours in which time we had shared more stories, took pictures, serenaded eachother, played theoretical drinking games, and most importantly napped. At the end of our 3 hour stint in the airport we made it to the plane and within another few hours we were in Moldova. Wow!

Moldova. It was hot. We were in a place that spoke zero English. It was very real. We made it to the airport security check with no problems. Already, I could see my colegii scrounging for the language translations that we didn’t bother to study up until this point. Buna ziua! Me cheama Raymond. These phrases had escaped my vernacular. I studied them at home as did so many others but with so much going on, learning Romaneste was the last thing on our minds…up until now. We landed in the capital of Chisinau (keesh-now, if I hadn’t already posted this). We found our bags, except for one other friend. Apparently we had better luck than other generations (we are M25’s). It surely did not feel like it. It felt like someone/thing was out to get us. We stayed two days one night in Chisinau in which we got our initial hazing which, for the guys, consisted of having a moustache that rivaled Don Jose’s, took our first language lesson in limba Romana, exchanged money, received our first installment of the local currency (lei), spent a lot of lei on bere (relatively $0.85 for a liter), met our mentors whom are responsible for bring us up from mentees to successful volunteers. We are currently classified as “trainees” not yet “volunteers” until we are officially sworn in after our PreService Training (PST aka purgatory aka limbo).

Now, after two weeks I am sitting in my room rather comfortable with my situation. I have all the amenities that I would have back home in the states. I requested to live with a big family and boy do I have a familia mare. I have a mother, step-dad, brother (who is in Odessa), sister and another little brother. It is like having cousins that I have not met yet. They treat me very very well as if I was their long lost own. It is really comforting. I can get into details, but that would have to be in private. For now, just know that I am very much at home and I definitely am feeling the love here. Btw, the fuchsia in my room are doing so well. It is really very amazing. I have two potted plants of fuchsia and they are as my mom would say are thriving. Mom, I miss you so much. I love you!!!

Socialization is good and key to practical survival. This is a small town of approximately 5,000. As of right now, I have been in the country for just over one week. I have been in my PST (PreService Training) site for about 5 days. It is has been an amazing ride so far. There is an average of about 20 trainees that are working towards becoming sworn in as volunteers. The swearing in process will happen after we have successfully survived two months. Key to that survival is the social aspect. By this, the Peace Corps strongly urges us to essentially integrate into the community without forgetting our national ideals in our attempt to share the American culture with Moldovans and share the Moldovan culture with Americans. I am very fortunate to have this opportunity. I just recently found out that after successful completion of my two years, I will have an official Peace Corps degree in TEFL which is recognized internationally. After our lessons each day, we typically get together and either go for a walk to explore the countryside or go out for American amenities like an ice cream or a soda pop which is something that many Moldovans do not take for granted. I have not met so many like-minded people in one area. It is certainly overwhelming.

Each day that I wake up, I am welcomed by the sound of a breeze blowing through the grape leaves outside of my window. On the sill of this window sit two potted plants that I think are the last plants I would have seen in my life. Back home in Buena Park, I recently lost the most beautiful and abundant of flowers called a fuchsia. I arrived in my home at about 6 pm and found two potted plants of fuchsia waiting for me on my window sill. I am looking at them now through my translucent white curtain. It is rather amazing and peaceful.

After I bathe and eat my big homemade breakfast, I walk about a quarter mile to the local school which might be the only high school in the area. I am not sure if this is true, but I have a strong inkling that it is. I will find out and report back. On my way, I must pass the local market which is apparently the equivalent of a Walmart. In this store you can find anything you need but the perishables from gum to bikes to washing machines. Simple amenities can be obtained in a store close by at the local magazine, the equivalent of a local 7-11. The road is firm, but dry and can be dusty when a car speeds by. When I arrive at my school, I sit down with three other Peace Corps volunteers and continue with Moldovan language lessons. There are three other sessions with four volunteers each. Lessons last from 8:30 – 1pm. After language class, I am lucky enough to walk home and have a home cooked meal waiting for me. The meals here in this house are great. When this meal is finished I have to make my way back to the school for another three and half hours of technical training which typically consists of learning how to be a more effective teacher of English while incorporating the ideals of the Peace Corps, the Moldovan school system and the site schools.

Today is June 16, 2010. It is approximately 5:45 pm. I have just finished my third day of technical training. I am stationed in a small town south of the Moldovan capitol of Chisinau, pronounced and incorrectly transcribed as “keesh-now.” I have a small room with a traditionally aged bed with as much genuine character as can possibly be had. My window overlooks the next door neighbor’s personal garden with dimensions of about 60ft. X 20ft. In these gardens are carefully grown necessities such as corn, cucumbers, dill, onions, potatoes, green onions, garlic, chamomile, mint, Melissa (herb for tea), and various other necessary plants. The one crop that I never get bored of seeing or taking of the bountiful plenty that it offers is the cherry tree. The cherry trees in Moldova and other parts of Eastern Europe have a classification of cherry trees that splits them into two basic categories based on skin color, meat color, and tart. When I get better at this classification, I will definitely share it with you. Other than the cherry, the grape is used in multiple ways for juice, jelly, and no doubt for wine.

The family that I am living with has put up with so much of my American interests. I am not so sure how they keep their head on straight. I have a lot of questions and many more comparison-contrast constructs than I know how to do with.

Returning to my bedroom, my family has been kind enough to set me up with a television, a personal refrigerator, a desk at which I am typing this post, and three cabinets of which I am trying not to scratch. The emphasis that my family puts on cleanliness, orders and rules is immense and I am very grateful for their adherence to cultural tradition in the face of the foreign diversity that I bring. They are the most tolerant, warm and interesting people that I have met in a very long time. I have amenities here in Moldova that I am not sure I would have had in the states. I am really falling in love with this Moldovan town.

Hello all. I thank you, everyone, for the warm wishes and hopeful transmissions. I am actually writing this in my room which, at the moment, has no internet. From the few times that I have been able to access the internet I have read nothing but warm messages and for that I am grateful. In the short time that I have spent here in Moldova, I have learned more about myself than I thought I was capable of. I am more responsible, more aware and definitely more tolerant of differing points of views. The unique point about this is that I have experienced more curiosity on the part of my American colleagues than I have of my Moldovan hosts. As of right now, I am in a place that is somewhere across the world from where I was born and raised, Los Angeles. It was my initial impression that I would be learning more about this part of the world and that my attention would be focused primarily on finding out what it is that it means to be Moldovan. As time passes, however, I am noticing that I am actually doing more exploring of my peers. Although we are all from America, I have found that the disparity between a Moldovan individual and me is the same between me and an individual from anywhere in America such as the south. It is blowing my mind how different and yet tolerant and accepting we are of each other. That said, I am amazed at the beauty of the human individual to not only be themselves when in their element, but the resilience of the human spirit when faced with challenges and a possible realization of what their lives might become. To witness this in both Americans and Moldovans fills me with the highest level of hope that I have not felt in a long time.

So, I did it. I got up and moved out of the house. It was rather an awkward thing to get packed. I don't know what time is going to have in store for me. I just got into Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. This town is pretty cool. I arrived in the late afternoon and the sun is setting as I type this. I can still smell the southern California on my clothes. Sort of weird. I couldn't tell you what tomorrow will bring, but I can tell you that it will bring me farther from my home as I knew it.

Here are some pictures that I was taking throughout the big move.

My bags in the backroom, empty. This is supposed to contain my life's belongings for two years.

My view from the Hampton Inn, Room 912.

As I am beginning to prepare for my trip to Moldova, there are many things that have been consuming my time. I have to balance many things throughout my days. There is no limit to the surprises that life can throw at me. As for right now, I have a packing list that gnaws at my ankles every waking hour. Within that, I am still arranging my electronics and consequent accessories: laptop, camera, phone (unlocked), watch and media player. Clothes are another issue. Restrictions include: 1) finding clothes that can handwash well 2) finding clothes that can handle not being washed 3) finding cloths that will strong enough for cold weather 4) finding clothes that will not make me look like an imperialist American that hopes to make change without living the life of those that I hope to offer the opportunity for said change 5) of course, style and comfort. I am sure that I am missing something, but I will find that out later in the form of an expected surprise. Furthermore, there is a going away party that I am lightly involved in planning. Actually, outside of inviting friends via Facebook, I am only being updated of the party plans as they are finalized. My awesome friend Debbie is taking care of me proper in that respect. Her house. Her party. Her birthday – May 14? I have family parties every Saturday and Sunday until I leave. That’s a lot of time to coordinate for my family while attempting to make time for my friends. This does not even include what I have done to prepare myself for the most important issue yet… My Life in Moldova.

I will keep you posted. For now, I will live with my head in the sand, head in the clouds, but definitely not on solid ground.