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| Becoming an RPCVI had déjà vu with my last week at site. I remember two years ago prior
to leaving the States everything being crazy—well the same, times ten
this time around! I felt like a celebrity as I was booked completely
through the entire day, evening, and wee hours of the morning.
Here's just a tid bit of what I was busy with...
Weddings are still very traditional so I was delighted to attend one.
The Orthodox ceremony is quite different from the Catholic one.
Highlights include everyone standing, crowns placed on the bride and
groom, a lot, I mean a lot, of crossing oneself (and they cross right
to left), and rather than the future husband and wife placing rings on
each other it is the duty of the godparents. Following the religious
ceremony is when the REAL FUN BEGINS!
The reception starts around 7 pm and does not finish until 4 or 5 AM.
Course after course is served. It was a struggle to eat the pork dish
served at 2 am after all I already had soup, chicken, veal, and a fruit
platter. Chicken, veal, fish are expensive here but food plays an
important part so even a family with little money would spend all to
make sure there is ‘ample’ food at the reception.
To burn off each course the music starts playing and everyone begins
dancing. America SERIOUSLY needs to jump on bandwagon for circle
dances. After the third circle dance or Hora I finally got the steps
down and joined the young and old in celebration around a circle. Of
course other music was played. It was strange to dance a Hora and then
try to booty dance to Shakira.
I had a train to catch at 3 am so I had to leave at a pathetic early
time of 2 am. But alas good things were waiting for me in Vladesti.
Caruta time!!!!
In towns and villages a horse drawn wagon (caruta) is quite common.
Many farmers use them to gather hay and wood in the summer to store up
for the winter, and for some this is their means of transportation. I
love seeing a man sitting on top of a ten foot pile of grass driving a
horse….they can’t get off until the grass is pulled off. I sure hope
they take a bathroom break before the trip! I assumed I’d go into town
on the person’s caruta but, oh no he had different plans: the forest
trail. Caruta drivers look so peaceful but I’ve learned it can be
intense. After five minutes into the forest the guy gives me the reigns
to drive—AWESOME. Going up hill, no big deal, however going down I was
holding on for dear life and yelling INCET, DI TATA (slow, come on
father). That horse apparently loves to trot despite being nine and
having a heart condition. Oh my, sitting on a piece of wood lying
across the wagon and keeping my feet up to make sure they didn’t get
caught below in addition to guiding the horse around the curves was
crazy. I lost a sandal en route. Not to mention the fact that friends
behind the caruta were laughing hysterically as I shouted commands to
the horse. I figured the horse was not accustomed to my accent so I
yelled HEI MAH (let’s go man! somewhat condescending) which caused the
friends to laugh even more but at least the horse understood. After an
hour of holding on to the reigns and wood bench for dear life, winding
around turns and bouncy up and down as though I had a constant spring
under my butt I finally made it home safely. Whew. I now respect the
Caruta man. It’s tougher than it looks!
The rest of week consisted me not going to bed until after midnight and
getting up no later than 6 am since my To Do list kept getting longer.
I had to keep busy because each time I sat down I wanted to fall
asleep. Thankfully I didn’t get one last attack of bugs but something
else happened. One night I thought I heard raining (door wide
open--temperatures) which made me happy since I figured it was finally
cooling down. Yet going to the bathroom in the morning I had an
unpleasant surprise: it was not raining, instead water was gushing
through my broiler. Just what I needed before leaving. To add to the
mounting stress the landlord wanted me to pay for it under the logic
of: I lived there while it broke so therefore it is my fault.
Seriously… Thankfully I got PC on it to talk some sense into him. I did
not want to return to Romania in the future because I was getting sued!
Leaving site I traveled six hours via Bucharest to my first host family
back two years ago which seems so long ago! We had a lovely evening of
shooting the breeze. Following that I had to take my three very heavy
bags to the train station by myself. It took me thirty minutes of
huffing and puffing to get to the platform which meant no time to buy a
ticket. I made an educated guess of what the price was given I recently
took a similar train of same distance. Hahaha, apparently prices rose
in two months. I gave the ticket collector 10 ron pointing to my bags
and that I was in a hurry. He gave me a dirty look and then put the
money in his pocket. Oops I bribed the ticket collector; vai de mine,
have I assimilated into Romanian culture! (I found out later the ticket
price was actually 18 ron and so instead of charging me the full
amount, the collector just took the 10 ron for himself.)
I spent three days in Bucharest signing forms to the point of my hand
falling off; many trees must die when volunteers end service. It was
also a chance to say goodbye to close friends I made over the two
years.
I consider it a smart move that when I booked my flight home I gave
myself three days in Budapest to decompress before returning. After
finally giving into the need for sleep I went to this island where a
pool complex was to relax. Sitting in the massage pool, exploring the
Adventure pool (which was not very adventurous) and finally crashing in
the wave pool was quite nice, totally worth the twelve bucks I paid to
get in. Unfortunately I didn’t walk out with the same clothes as I came
in with. At one point I saw a cleaning lady pick up my bag next to my
towel and throw it in her trash bag. I ran out of the pool, politely
power walked up to her demanding my bag through a combination of
gestures, English and Romanian words to no avail. Following her to the
bathroom I waited outside of the stall—big mistake. As she came out she
dumped her bag to show me mine wasn’t there. Three hours were spent
talking to security and management, freakin’ A nothing happened! I was
pissed. Two years in Romania I’ve learned to watch my things like a
hawk. Like I said, pissed off I was. Management laughed as I explained
I didn’t want to ride the metro and then walk thirty minutes to my
hostel in just a bathing suit and flip flops…not exactly my style. So
in the end the one thing management helped me with was fitting me with
clothes. Digging through an apparent left behind box I received a
t-shirt meant for some 8th grade girl going through hormonal change and
wanting to express it on a t-shirt and large male swim shorts like
boxers. Thank goodness Budapest is a large city so strangers just
figured I was someone with one weird sense of fashion!
REFLECTIONS:
Were the two years everything I thought it would be? Oh hell no.
Things I taught myself in the thousands of hours of free time: knitting,
eating with chop sticks, karate, Carpathian Adventure (3 day non stop
race consisting of hiking, biking, rafting, caves).
Easy to adapt to not having: internet,
tv, or washing machine. Walking long amounts, stray dogs, not getting
exact change back, paying the bills at the post office.
Thank you Romania: for
teaching me to enjoy spicy food. Romanian cuisine is rather bland so
after two years of it I am SOOOO looking forward to Mexican and Asian
food when I return. For helping me become more relaxed and patient. Blackie, he was a great friend, albeit he was a dog.
My thoughts have changed: on
communism. Twenty years of a ruthless dictator, Ceausescu, remnants of
past are still apparent. Great in theory, horrible in practice has
never rang more true than now after spending two years in former
communist country.
What I’ve realized: it takes an extremely long time to break from the past, see above comment.
Ketchup: does not need to be put on everything!
Things I didn't care for: getting criticized constantly on the streets for running and the trash.
Frustrations: being
in a Peace Corps country where intangibles play a much larger role than
tangibles. (It takes so much longer assisting with intangibles than it
does with tangible projects). Not being myself at PST. Realizing that I
could have worked in a village where I could have assisted with basic
needs rather than in a city organization. Living somewhere that on the
surface resembles Western Europe but underneath is so much different on
every level, both good and bad. NEGATIVITY. Planning projects/events
only to see them fail in the last step. Peace Corps Romania while
developed far more than other PC countries is for sure, most definitely
not Posh Corps.
Dream of living in one place for two years: still going. Sadly that hope of mine prior to Peace Corps was not realized.
Announce: I
announced to colleagues that I studied in the faculty of Political
science in the university…British English I’ve adapted. Please remember
that when I return. 
Countries I’ve been to: Hungary, Moldova, Turkey, Greece, Serbia, Bosnia, Croatia, “Transniester”
What I’ve learned: I
would like to change my focus outside of Europe. Hopefully I can find
a job in helping refugees or something in int’l development. Two years
in another country, experiencing a different culture is a LONG TIME.
Will I volunteer with Peace Corps again: yes, and am seriously considering doing it after I finish my master’s and going to Eastern Africa.
What I like about Romania: open
air markets, water melon so incredibly cheap! Public transportation
(buses, trains, hitchhiking, and even the over crowded maxi taxis),
circle dances, cheap beer, untouched landscape.
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| Please email me if you want to see this month's blog. Next blog will be posted here as normal. Best, Adrianne | | |
| 20 months of waiting
(I realize these pictures are awefully small. Click on Photos above the blog and you should be able to seem enlarged.)
My house--I asked for running water but the person before me used the well for water--and Blackie:
  
Crooked bridge in Vladesti—the good thing is if one falls in, the water's not too deep…
 
A long awaited moment: true happiness at site
At
COS conference one volunteer aptly stated that it stinks that we have such a short
time left (2-4 months) to enjoy the fruits of our hard work. I can’t state how
true this is. For the last twenty months I’ve assisted on projects which have
failed, projects which succeeded, tried to no end to cultivate a social
network in town; in general I've spent twenty months doing what I think I
should be doing under the auspices of a peace corps volunteer—many a moment
frustrating! Finally, I have two good friends (I speak of Romanians here)
and yet only three months to enjoy their company! After three different tutors
and daily frustration, I can speak Romanian but again for such a short time.
The most irritating thing is that right now I’m so happy: I love where I live,
what I do and my daily schedule. Why couldn't I have had this feeling a year
ago? In short, I am happy that I am sad to leave. Honestly I didn’t have these
thoughts a year ago, nay six months ago. Some may disagree with this point but
I am sure a fair amount of my fellow PCVs here would concur: we’ll take
physical hardship over mental hardship any day when it comes to being a
volunteer in a country or at a site, or an assigned job.
Perhaps most
importantly I am happy to be ending my service on a high note, to finish strong
because that is what I’ll remember ten years from now not what my first six
months at site were like.
COS
conference/Mission Accomplişed:
A
fabulous sign made by some volunteers (the tail under the s makes the s sound
like a sh).
This is a picture of all the volunteers in the Transylvania region:
and now this is a picture of the volunteers in the Oltenia part of Romania, see
why I get lonely sometimes!
This conference is the last
time where our group meets before officially ending service and I lost my voice
there, go figure. As a result of friends living at least eleven hours away from me, no
Americans to talk to close by, I overcompensate at conferences—the lost voice
was well worth it, I had a great time.
It started off on
the right foot with the dreaded language exams. I wasn’t sure how I’d do since
my first year was basically all in English, yet I’ve had tutoring since fall so
I was a hopeful realist walking into the exam. To my joy at the end the teacher
gave me a rough score…I couldn’t hold in my grin. One of my biggest goals from
the gecko was to really learn the language--something I thought wouldn’t happen
last year, but it did! Now if only I could find a job using Romanian
What to leave behind
At the conference we had a short workshop on what to take
home and what to leave behind. Here’s my list…
Sore throat/cold/running nose: It seems for the vast majority of time
here I’ve had to deal with the above. It has become part of me because when
people remark “:oh Adriana you have a running nose” I respond with “tell me
something new”
Bugs, specifically: roaches/bed bugs/fleas.I don’t need to elaborate but
I will say my first night in America on a non infested bed I’ll be on cloud
nine.
Annoying teenagers: I run to relieve stress but unfortunately because
running is not common boys feel the need to say something…usually something
stupid. That and the general weekly female harassement I am pretty much done with.
Clothes: I’m going to have one heck of a time shopping when I return!
Ladies get ready.
Easter
This past Sunday was Orthodox Easter (90% of Romanians are
orthodox). The best way to describe the days leading up to Sunday and the
actual day in terms of chaos and celebration is to compare it to Thanksgiving.
The Friday before everyone is trying to leave the city and get to their
family’s house in the village. I mean everyone. Trains were standing room only,
the metro crowded as ever in the capital. I, as well, was trying to return home
from Bucharest. Normally
the metro route I take is deserted since the bus station is on the outskirts of
town however this past Friday no one was getting off at earlier stops. This
gave me serious cause to worry. If hundreds of people were on the metro with me
it meant one thing: they were headed to the same bus station! Bus was the only
option for me to get home and it was already 5
pm with buses running until 8. I needed a plan. Still on the metro I
did a little jig to get closer to the doors so when they opened I could jet
out. There is an advantage I have over the rest of the riders: power walking.
Walking fast is not something you’ll see here. I exited in a snap, ran up the
stairs, zigzagged across numerous kiosks to reach the station when I had to
confront a new problem: Romanian lines. While I was the first out of the metro
I was not the first to the bus station. There is no polite unspoken rule of
personal space in lines: the elderly will shove comparable to the college
student. With that said I ran to the first bus I saw and stood in line for a
ticket thinking I would have to beg the driver for a ticket without a chair
(meaning standing the entire time—only three hours but the last hour consisting
of wicked S turns, hills, not to mention factoring in Romanian style
driving).
Once home, all male residents were grocery
shopping—buying the last two dozen eggs, a random pig’s leg, lamb, or ten loafs
of bread (on top of another ten at home) because the females were tucked away
in the kitchen preparing mounds of food. On Easter rather than searching for
eggs kids play a game where one knocks a dyed red egg over the other with the
first person saying “histros a inviat,” and the second “adevarat a
inviat.” Whichever one doesn’t crack is the winner. These three days I
think it is plausible for a person to get through the day saying nothing but those two phrases.
Lastly here are some random
pictures of my birthday party camping expedition.
Spelunking, thinking, taking a leap, and enjoying a splash with a friend Julia
   
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| Quite happyI was sitting in bed last night reading with a headlamp on and under
numerous blankets waiting for my fire to grow in the wood burning stove (soba),
despite this I had a huge smile on my face. Why? No I have not gone crazy, I
just moved, again, to the village where I work. I now live by myself in a quaint Romanian village house! Romanian real estate: a dorm room with holes in walls and floors costs more
than an entire house to rent. Does this make sense??? Whatever, my rent skyrocketing at my second home (since
September) was a blessing in disguise because it gave me reason to move to the
village where I’ve wanted to live since arriving at site. Moving is a pain but
yesterday seeing the 7th graders come by to drop wood off for me and all
agreeing to stop by this weekend to help me clean the yard I knew then I made
the right decision.
It is a standard Romanian village house: small, big
garden, sobe for heat, and wells for water. Thankfully my counterpart was able
to repair the pipes so I have running water, no need for the outhouse! The
owners let their dog live at house rather than their apartment which means I
get to take care of a German Shepard/Rottweiler
mix named Blackie for the rest of the time I am here. I am absolutely
thrilled about this. Personally I would have named him Ursul—The Bear—since he
looks like one. He is a jumper and has some fangs worth bragging about but
nonetheless he’s loveable. Sadly he doesn’t understand the concept of fetch yet
but there are plenty of weekends to help him master this.
I was grinning ear to ear when my counterpart showed me the house two
weeks ago but when I came back to talk to the owners my grin disappeared as
soon as I saw four older ladies (from now on known as The Grandmothers).
Negotiations had turned to 4 to 1, hopefully I come out on top! As I walked toward them I planned out my
negotiating strategy—basically as soon as I heard ‘este draguta’ (she’s lovely,
a dear, etc) I knew they would agree to me renting the house. Seizing up The
Grandmothers I learned the true owner has a son in America, another is
quintessential Romanian using Dumnezu ajutam, sanatate(God help us, to health)
every few minutes in conversation, one of the Grandmothers is actually the
neighbor—must make her a dessert and talk about how much I love mamaliga and
sarmale (the national dishes), and the fourth I really didn’t understand since
her accent was very thick and having only a few teeth didn’t help much however
the random hug she gave me I viewed as a good sign. Conversation went back and
forth about the details, especially with me being adamant about them calling
before coming over. They don’t see a problem if they come over on some idle
Friday to see Blackie and then take a nap inside… I was in the midst of
talking to the younger one, or the lady I best understood, when I heard the
true owner tell the Dumnezu ajutam Grandmother “... este draguta...” Poftim
(what was that)? Yes I am in!!! They liked me and after a little more
discussion the Grandmothers agreed to rent the place to me. Woo hoo!
Work for the village organization has picked up a little but my org. in
the city is still the main place I work so every day I trek the 5 miles by
walking or riding my bike. It can be a pain but I look at it as constant
exercise plus I no longer have to deal with the haggling I got when I went
running in town. Rather than seeing the Carpathian
mountains in the distance while walking to and fro work I now see
the mountains to the west. This is a quite a motivator when I’m breaking a
sweat biking home to look up and see snow topped mountains. Unlike the ride home
where I’m huffy and puffy because of the constant incline—like a ramp, the ride
to town is great: fast, easy going with wind to my back.
Back to the fire. To heat my bedroom I must put wood in the ceramic
tiled stove, light a match, and let it grow which is easier said than done.
Cold and frustrated as I only had three matches left and very little
paper. I scanned my room for any possible paper I could use. Ahh Sallie
Mae letters, perfect…or not (I wish) so I continued scanning. Finally in my ‘financial folder’ of all
places I found a nice thick booklet that would do the trick: IRS Form and
Instructional Booklet: Tax Year 2006!!!
I reorganized the wood/paper in a teepee shape hoping this style would
work. I sighed, lit the paper and waited, and waited for the wood to catch
fire. After what seemed like forever my fire grew, it worked!!! Thank you IRS
for heating my room. Happily I threw up my arms in a victory sign (seriously)
knowing when I woke up the next day I’d be comfortable and not freezing.
ps. If anyone is looking for a good read, try Water for Elephants. A
delightful novel!
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| Every six months it seems I yearn for a break from the second hand smoke and surroundings, not to mention a pause helps put things in perspective for me. Greece and Moldova, here I come!
Chisinau despite the being the capital of Europe's poorest country is quite fashionable. Victoria and I went window shopping to stores comparable to America. But unlike America, more similar to Romania public transportation basically consists of zooming maxitaxis. The drivers are entertaining and impatient. As soon as we opened the door to hop in, the driver takes off. It took me some time to adjust to swinging the door open and immediately getting my balance before falling over others. Once, in a very crowded maxitaxi, 25ish passengers, the driver suddenly comes to a complete stop to ask who didn't pay. (How do they keep track, when they never see who actually hands them money, and bills sit on the dashboard???) We just wait, and wait. When no one confessed the driver yelled he was going home and we could find our own way to our destinations. Another time a driver, especially in a rush, barely let people open the door before taking off. Why the hurry? Apparently he was searching for girls. That's the fastest I've ever been between point A and point B was with that driver.
That said, one of my favorite things there was cereal. Grocery stores had actual rows of variety to choose from. Amazing! In Romania I can get (on two small shelves): bad chocolate cereal, ok chocolate cereal, or heavily overpriced fitness cereal. I smiled every time we walked down that aisle. Well let me be honest, a few times I purposely walked down the cereal aisle just to admire it! How dare the manager who tried to kick Victoria and I out before I was fully content looking at the aisle.
A visit to Moldova is not complete without traveling to the country which doesn't exist. In short, a small region of the already tiny country of Moldova decided to fight for independence. The government denied them that request and so the people took matters into their own hands. Minus citizenship Transdniestrians are independent: their own currency, security, border guards, 'national' museum, parliament, etc. Basically it is a blast into the past: communist style. Lonely Planet describes it as the last bastion of communism...indeed! After arriving in the capital city, Tiraspol we got stopped by two intimidating policemen for jaywalking. I was quite worried while they took us their little guard house (size of two phone booths). Adding to my skepticism was the fact Transdniester uses the Russian language, not Romanian so for the entire day I was completely lost in verbal communication. Thanks to my friend schmoozing with policemen for some time we got off scotch free. Next we walked past the parliament building, standard communist block building, where a statue stands impossible to miss. Any guesses for who it is? Vladimir Lenin stands proudly there, 30 feet at least! A huge block of concrete and then him.The google picture I saw before hand doesn't do it justice. It is just massive staring right at you. I particularly liked the poster joining the Transdniester president with Vladimir Putin and Ce Guevara and right next to it was one advertising the Communist Youth Group. Like I said, a blast from the past! The National museum was pretty good, especially considering Trandsniester is poorer than Moldova. One can’t forget where they are because in the room dedicated to the civil war back in 1992 against Moldova, it says: "these men fought boldly against the aggressor." Nothing wrong with that statement except when remembering that Transdniestrians are technically Moldovans, thereby calling their country of citizenship an aggressor.
After leaving the country that has a mix of Romanian and Russian, famous wines, and two autonomous regions I headed to a country slightly more touristy: Greece! Like falling in love with cereal in Moldova, I fell in love with the Athens metro. Perhaps a strange thing to admire but come to Bucharest and you'll understand. It's funny I get used to Romania, the Bucharest metro, stray dogs, smoke, and so on and then I go to a place like Greece which throws me off guard. Night and day, my friends.
Both Romania and Greece have their share of stray dogs but unlike in Romania where they are shaggy, aggressive and in general a sad situation, Athens' stray dogs are huge; I am talking St. Bernard size! Not only that, they are clean and friendly, what a pleasant surprise! I didn't have to worry about fierce barking or sprinting away from them.
Twice I had the feeling Greece is not Romania. I didn't see any one toast their friends with their glasses of champagne in public at the main square for New Year's whereas in Romania people laugh at my mention of America's open container laws and tell me how weird my country is. On a full train to Athens from Thessaloniki we had two seats for four people (fellow PCV friends Mara, Julia, and Tatiana). While in Romania I wouldn't think twice about securing a spot on the floor to sit/sleep but on this train there was no one in the aisles! Craziness, I say.
New Year's eve, we wandered around Athens and came upon a concert. However, we represented 50% of female population. There were about 8 women out of 300-400 men! We never figure out who the signer was and why it was such a huge attraction to just men. After that we decided to enjoy champagne and beer by ourselves. It was nice until a man (perhaps the equivalent of Samantha in Sex and City) asked me to be his girlfriend. Straight to the point, not even a hello!
Seeing the ancient monuments was amazing in the sense of reflection. The next time I go Greece I’ll be hiking up Mt. Olympus and enjoying lunch where it is said the gods resided.
To cap off the vacation we headed to the coast on a tour to Nafplio (Southwest of Athens). A small quaint town, I liked it. There I learned more than I ever need to know about a fortress, potato stealing, and a murder located at the steps of a church. Of course being from Wisconsin I had to represent the Polar Bear club (running in a body of water on January 1st). Proudly my friends, Mara, and Julia joined me in running into the Aegean sea. Burr.
Returning to Romania we found that winter had finally arrived. The entire country was blanketed in snow and cold temperatures. Excellent. The slow bus ride home, I stared out at the picturesque landscape of hills and mountains covered in snow hoping my last stretch in Romania is filled with adventurous tales breaking up my on and off work routine.
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