A long walk and a sauna

Another busy week! It started with a LONG walk.

My best friend in Tvarditsa is 17-year-old Petya. We met one day last winter on the bus returning from Ceadir-Lunga. Petya and his friend Yura had “pre-reserved” their return seats on the bus by leaving a bag on one of them. Me not knowing the “rules” of the bus, I had sat in what I thought was an empty seat, only to discover that when there’s a bag or something saving one of the seats in a pair, it means both seats are saved. Silly me. I was reading a Newsweek when Petya and Yura came to claim their seats, but Petya, with what I’ve come to recognize as his constant curiosity and keen interest in new adventures, noticed I wasn’t “local” and decided to sit next to me to find out what the deal was. Poor Yura ended up standing for the ride home, but I think Petya found his friend’s sacrifice worthwhile.  Petya started up the usual conversation (where are you from? Why are you here?) and we chatted throughout the 40 minute ride home. I took an instant liking to him, and was really happy when he corrected my Russian at one point. Most of the people I spend time with are (a) either used to how I talk, mistakes and all, or (b) are not comfortable correcting me. As it turned, Petya also speaks excellent English and he has a strong desire to practice speaking it. I ended up asking him to help me coordinate the English Club, and he’s been one of the die-hard regulars.

He wanted more English-speaking time, though, and I offered an exchange. I wanted to get some more exercise but was getting bored walking around the village by myself. I said I’d speak English with him if he went on walks with me. At first, he thought it sounded pretty weird, especially when he saw what kind of walk I meant. Not just some lazy stroll for 20 or 30 minutes, but a brisk hike for an hour, sometimes even two. Eventually he started liking the walks, too, and he’s shown me all around the village and even a few kilometers beyond. We walked one day to a pond a couple miles away, another day to the brick factory a few miles north of the village, and another day to the Ukrainian border about 5 miles away. He’s a super smart kid, placing in the top 100 high schoolers in all of Moldova in the national Computer Science competition (called Olympiad). He’s always got some interesting story to tell me, some bit of history about the area, or something about the plants and animals here. We’ve been talking a lot about educational systems lately. He’s just light-years beyond his peers in all subjects, more advanced than his teachers in some classes, as well, especially Computer Science. School is not challenging at all for him, but to his credit he works hard and studies extra on his own. An Advanced Placement or Honors program is exactly what he needs, but in a small village school with few resources, that’s just not going to happen. I submitted his name for English Camp in July, run by PCVs and a Moldovan Teacher’s Association. He was so thrilled when I told him about it, excited most, I think, by the prospect of getting to spend a week with even more Americans.

As the weather has improved and we’ve been having a harder time finding new routes for our walks, we started talking about walking to or from Ceadir-Lunga sometime. He laughed outloud when I proposed it, but I think secretly he was keen on the idea. He brought it up a couple times over the next few weeks, and Sunday June 5 we finally decided to do it. We took the 7:30 bus there, putzed around the town and did some shopping at the market, then at 11:00 am headed home. I had expected it to take us about 2 hours to walk the approximately 10 miles, but we were slow, enjoying the view and the company. In the end, it took us 3 hours. At one point, Petya asked me what I was going to tell people when they asked me why I walked back from Ceadir-Lunga, and I told him I thought they were getting used to me doing strange things. Then I told him about the popularity of walking and hiking in America, and of places like the Appalachian Trail. It’s an interesting contrast in cultures and societies that a people who have to walk every day don’t really find it very interesting or exciting, and certainly not relaxing, and the people who travel by car every day will drive miles and miles to find a “good place” for a walk or will go hiking for a weekend getaway.

I had neglected to mention to my host family the exact nature of our plans for that day, and Anya said she’d waited for me for lunch as long as she could but finally ate without me. She was dumbfounded when I told her we’d walked from Ceadir-Lunga. Vova was eating his lunch then and nearly choked on it, then just shook his head and chuckled. Yep, they are used to me doing strange things. The conversation with Babushka was a little funnier.
“Anya said you walked from Ceadir-Lunga!”
“Yep”
“Was the bus broken?”
“No, we rode it there in the morning and then decided to walk back.”
“But the bus ran in the afternoon too?”
“Yes, it passed us on the road.”
“And you walked? Why?”
“We just wanted to, it was something to do.”
“But the bus was working?”
And so on.

I slept like the dead that afternoon, got up for dinner, and went to bed early. Man, I need to get back in shape!

Galya, the young woman who’s started working with Donna and me, had attended a training seminar the previous week in Chisinau, organized by European Youth Exchange-Moldova (http://www.youth.md), which was the first time she’s attended anything like that. She came home just dazzled. Their trainings focus on teaching young people how to conduct activities and seminars for youth in their community, and participants have to conduct a some seminars quickly upon their return home, to put to use right away their newly learned techniques and skills. A couple young girls from Tvarditsa attended a training with them in April on “how to spend your free time” and came home so energized and excited! They did a really fun workshop one Saturday afternoon, and the both of them are taking on leadership roles in our Children’s Primaria. Galya spent last week getting ready for her first seminar, on Life Skills. She made an invitation (yeah! Somebody using the ideas we taught at our Etiquette seminar!) and created a certificate to give to all the participants. She’s split the workshop into 2 parts, to be conducted on Monday and Tuesday evenings, as she said there’s just too much to do and she needs at least 5 hours for it all.

Friday, I headed to Ceadir-Lunga to meet Emily and Ross to prepare for Round 2 of our Professional Etiquette seminar, to be held in Comrat. We reviewed the evaluations from the previous week, made a few adjustments, and re-stocked our supplies. Emily and I had decided to spend the weekend in Comrat, which is the capital of the Autonomous Region of Gagauzia, located about 40 minutes north of Ceadir-Lunga. Gagauzians are a people (“nationality”) sort-of related to Turks, but their language (which uses a variation of the Latin alphabet) is unrelated to any known language. I’ve read that they are descendents of Turkish occupiers who converted to Christianity and choose to stay after the fall of the Ottoman Empire. When Moldova gained independence, one of the disputes in the early years was “the Gagauzian question,” which was eventually resolved by offering them an Autonomous state or region. I don’t really understand how it works, as they have their own Parliament but also participate in national Moldovan government. As with most things in Moldova, it’s complicated.

We had been to Comrat in December to attend an NGO conference Ross has organized, but we had been too busy (and at that point still too shell-shocked having just moved to our sites less than a month earlier) to really see much of the town. So, we decided to take advantage of the nice weather and see someplace new in Moldova. The town (pop. about 30,000) seemed positively bustling after our sleepy villages. The town center, with a beautiful church and lovely park, is surrounded by shops, markets, and cafes.

I had called the previous week to reserve a room at the small hotel there, and had a funny conversation with the desk clerk. I told her we wanted a 2-person room for two nights, and she said OK, we’ll see you soon. I paused, waiting for her to ask, perhaps, for any information about us, then said “Don’t you need our names?” “No, I wrote down ‘Two American girls’, that’s all I need.” Guess they don’t get too many foreigners! We had fond memories of the hotel from December, a big house converted into a 10-room hotel, with a bar on the first floor and an outdoor patio cafe. The clerk saw us coming up the walk and instantly recognized us as “the Americans.” She was very sweet and helpful. I don’t know if it was coincidence or not, but we got the exact same room as we’d had in December, and unfortunately it seems our memories were a bit rosier than reality. It was fine, don’t get me wrong, but just not quite as quaint as we recalled. The quirks weren’t cute this time, like the toilet that sometimes had water in it but usually not (and since the sink always had running water, we really couldn’t figure out why the toilet didn’t), and the faint but constant strange smell. Oh well, we’re Peace Corps Volunteers, it’s fine for us.

The desk clerk gave us directions to the history museum, and we stopped along the way for lunch at an outdoor café. The museum was wonderful, quite impressive, with lots of original artwork by local Gagauzian artists, as well as examples of traditional clothes, farming tools, household items, etc. I have to admit, most of it looked pretty similar to what is labeled as “traditional Bulgarian” items in the Tvarditsa museum, but I wasn’t going to brooch that delicate question of the similarities and differences between the different nationalities here with the museum staff. A sweet little old lady showed us around the museum, giving a running commentary on the displays. Our favorite room was the Natural History exhibit, with an wildlife display including 3 stuffed boars rummaging through the woods. It also included a rather bizarre small collection of bones from pre-historic times, such as something from a mammoth, and other specimens of God-knows-what preserved in glass bottles. Oh yes, and the plastic fruit and vegetable display, providing examples of locally grown produce. We have that in the Tvarditsa museum, too, and it never fails to make me chuckle.

Admission to the museum was 2 lei, and if you wanted to take photographs there was an additional 5 lei fee. Not knowing if there would be anything worthwhile to photograph, we initially passed on that. Then we came across a couple items that intrigued us and we asked if could pay the fee at the end of the tour. Emily was particularly fascinated by an item in the Education and Schools exhibit, in between an old manual typewriter and an abacus; some kind of old calculator-type thing. I decided to cough up the 5 lei to get a picture of a 1980 Olympic torch that was carried by a Gagauzian athlete.

At the end of the tour, we were asked to sign their guest book, which documented an impressive range of international visitors, including some previous PCVs. As we stood chit-chatting with our tour guide, I asked if it was possible to buy somewhere any of the work of the artists on display, particularly since two or three of them were still living Our guide asked a little old man, whom we later figured out was the museum director, and at first he would say, “Oh, it’s very expensive.” I finally convinced him I was just curious, and he offered up a sample price – 1000 lei (about $80). He then asked where we were from and if we had any American currency on us. Emily and I were both a bit taken aback and quickly said no, having no idea where that conversation would lead us.

After a few more minutes of small talk, he asked our guide if she’d shown us “the closed room,” and she seemed startled, said no, do you really want me to? He grinned rather sneakily and handed over a key. We were intrigued and gleefully followed the guide back upstairs, where she proceeded back through the Nature room and unlocked an inconspicuous door. Inside was a display of gifts given to Gagauzia on the 10th anniversary of it’s autonomy – bowls, rugs, certificates, vases, plaques, and other items from a wide variety of countries. There was also a coin display, and thus the answer to our puzzle of why he’d asked if we had any American currency.

Our tour of the museum complete, we headed back to the hotel to relax a bit. We headed back out around 5:30, planning to find a place to make some copies for our seminar and see what the town had to offer in terms of evening entertainment. To our downright shock, almost everything was already closed and the formerly bustling streets were nearly deserted. We literally could not find a single place still open with a copy machine, and even the internet café we ended up in closed at 8 pm. We eventually found a nice café for dinner, reviewed our notes for the following day’s seminar, and stopped by one of the few open shops to get some bottled water and an ice cream. One of the clerks was quite curious about us and we talked with her for a good 20 minutes. She asked if we’d been to the church yet, saying it was so beautiful and definitely worth a visit. Unfortunately, we said, we hadn’t brought scarves with us, and since women can’t enter an Orthodox church with their heads uncovered, we didn’t expect to be able to go inside. “If I remember,” she offered, “I’ll bring a couple scarves with me tomorrow and then you can go.” How sweet! We had heard that there were nice saunas in Comrat, and we asked her if she could suggest one. She didn’t remember the telephone number, but gave us the address of one and said we’d have to call early to make a reservation.

Saturday morning we got up early to find a copy place and get to the seminar location early. We ended up being even earlier than expected, arriving just as a woman arrived to open the building for us. We had time for a cup of coffee with her and got to learn more about her and her organization, which had just celebrated it’s grand opening 2 days earlier. Svetlana had previously worked in Comrat for a rehabilitation center, and had recently left that job to begin working with this new anti-trafficking center. They will operate a hotline, provide educational material and workshops for women and men to help them avoid falling victim to the human-trafficking industry, and also will help women returning from the sex slavery. They received funding to purchase and renovate a house near the center of town for their office space, and we held our seminar in their partially-completed conference room.

The seminar went well, and of course was a bit easier the second time around. We had a small group, 8 people, including 2 from Chisinau, one from Ceadir-Lunga (who had not been able to attend the previous week) and 5 from Comrat; 6 women and 2 men. They were active and engaged and the discussions were lively. This time, during discussion of personal resumes, the question came up about whether or not to include personal information like date of birth, marital status, etc. on a resume. We explained that in the U.S. it’s not only not required to include, it’s also against the law to even ask such personal questions. A heated and fascinating discussion started, with some men and women saying it’s important and even necessary to know that when you are hiring someone, and others saying it was only used to discriminate, usually against women. The reality is that many employers here WILL ask for such information and WILL use it usually against women. One participant gave an example of a job that required a lot of traveling, and said she wouldn’t want to hire a woman with kids because they would interfere with her ability to travel and fulfill her job responsibilities. “Don’t you think she could make that decision herself, whether or not she could balance the work requirements and family obligations?” we asked in response. It was an interesting discussion, and I was especially surprised by the women in the group who seemed not only accepting but also supportive of what seemed like discriminatory practices to me. A new idea for another seminar perhaps!

In the morning, we had asked Svetlana about a sauna, and she offered to help us get a reservation someplace. During a break, she took Emily and me to the sauna she’d been able to reserve for us. We’d been told it was 100 lei/hour, with a 2 hour minimum. A little steep for just three people, but apparently the price is set by the hour, not by the number of people; 1 or 10, it’s the same. We walked a couple blocks from the town square and along a residential street, stopping at a front gate. A rickety man came out, looking a bit bewildered, spacey or perhaps drunk, I couldn’t really tell. I didn’t see anything that looked like a sauna to me, but then again I really had no idea what to expect. We handed over our 100 lei deposit, confirmed the time, and turned to leave. “There goes 100 lei we’ll never see again,” I thought to myself. Svetlana paused a moment longer, talking quietly with the man, and I said to Emily “She’s telling him to take good care of us, I bet.” Then we heard him ask, “Do they understand Russian?” and we chuckled. Another nice person watching out for us.

On the walk back we asked her for more information on the “whole sauna thing.” Svetlana had been to this sauna a couple years earlier and it had been very nice, but she didn’t want to promise us anything since it had been a long time since she’d been there. She recalled that they had a pool, a kitchen, a TV. We had to bring our own towels, food and drink. I still couldn’t really picture what the place was going to be like, but the afternoon at our seminar kept us busy enough to not worry about it.

Another volunteer, Joanna, came up from Cahul to meet us for a Girls’ Night, something we’d been talking about doing for a long time but never found the time to actually do. We met at the bus station (probably more actually called a Bus Stop), and decided to get the details on our various return options for Sunday. As Comrat, and Gaguazia in general, is a primarily Russian-speaking area, Joanna needed some help communicating with the lady in the ticket office, as Joanna is, like most PCVs here, a Romanian speaker. I asked the lady about times for our three different destinations. She grudgingly mumbled the answers. Just as I’m convinced bus drivers are required to be jerks, bus station ticket office employees are required, I am sure, to not only provide as little information as possible to actually be as UN-helpful as possible. I translated the information back to Joanna and Emily, and we had a couple follow-up questions. Another customer grew impatient and pushed ahead, apparently he needed a ticket for that day, and since our questions were for the next day, he got priority. We re-grouped, and there were a few more questions remaining regarding various options. I approached the window again, and this time the lady gave me a look that could kill. I asked what time Joanna’s bus would arrive in Cahul, and instead of answering that question, the lady told me when it would arrive back in Comrat. Not exactly what we were looking for. I gave up, turned to Joanna and Emily and told them the lady was mad at us now and we’d just have to stop asking questions today. I’ve learned it’s just not worth it to keep “pestering” people like that, the more you ask the less information they provide. But we had enough to know that we could all get home easily enough Sunday morning.

We had some dinner, bought some water and snacks at a shop, and headed to the sauna. The man was waiting for us, let us in the front gate, and then a woman, perhaps his wife, showed us into a large building behind their house. From the outside, it looked anything but impressive, but inside was another world. The large entry way looked to be newly tiled and was very clean. She gave us a tour: to the left of the door was the sauna room, followed by the cold-dip pool. Back across from the front door was a shower room, and a small room with a toilet. Up the steep and kind of treacherous stairs, we found a spacious kitchen, with laminate flooring and brightly tiled counters, a sink and stove, and a large beautiful wood table. In the hall was a stereo, and doors to two “resting” rooms where you can change your clothes as well as take a nap after a good bake. We were delighted! Everything was so bright, cheery and clean. Well, everything except the pool.

The tap water in most of Moldova leaves much to be desired. In much of southern Moldova, including Gagauzia and Tvarditsa, the water is rather grayish, sometimes downright black. It’s one thing to see a small sink or basin filled with it, quite another to see a small pool of it. Joanna and Emily were braver than me, and after about 10 minutes in the sauna, they were willing to take the plunge into the inky cold-dip pool. I opted to stand under a cold shower, knowing perfectly well that that water was just as dirty as the pool water but it’s more manageable for me in shower form. For the next 2 hours, we alternated between the hot dry sauna and the refreshing cool wetness of the pool/shower. It was surprisingly refreshing, I thought.

After our 2 hours were up, we dried off, packed up our stuff, and headed out into the courtyard. The man and woman were outside with a young boy, probably their grandson, and we paid our remaining 100 lei. We told them we’d loved the sauna, and asked for their phone number so we could come back again. Their grandson was playing in a toy car with the Russian abbreviation for “USSR” on the hood. Kinda cool.

Back at the hotel, we had a fun and late night of girl talk and eating junk-food. We were up early the next morning, and caught our various rides back to our sites.

What a great week!

My contribution to Moldova

OK, it’s yet to be seen if I’ll have an impact on ALL of Moldova, but I’ve most definitely had an effect on one household in the village of Tvarditsa. I’ve introduced the Green Salad.

When we arrived in Moldova last September, I remember somebody telling us that lettuce doesn’t grow here. How strange, I remember thinking, that in a country where they grow grapes, plums, peaches, pears, cherries, raspberries, strawberries, pumpkins, squash, eggplant, peas, peppers, corn, wheat and all kinds of other fruits and vegetables they can’t grow lettuce. But then again, I thought, what do I know about farming?

Well, it turns out they can grow lettuce here, they just have no idea what to do with it. Someone gave Anya and Georghi some lettuce seeds a couple years ago and they planted them. One day I was walking through the garden, saw some green leaves and thought to myself, Geez, that looks an awful lot like lettuce! But then again, what do I know about farming? For all I knew, it could be the tasteless leaves of some root vegetable. Another day, walking through the garden with Anya, I asked about it and learned that indeed it was lettuce, and it was everywhere! I told her how great it was, how I loved salads made with lettuce, and that night she made a typical Moldovan-style salad incorporating lettuce, which means all the vegetables were chopped into miniscule pieces, including the lettuce, and drenched in mayonnaise. Not exactly what I’d had in mind.

A few nights later, I offered to make a “typical American salad.” I picked a bunch of big juicy leaves, bought a couple tomatoes and cucumbers at the market (as it’s still too early to have them fresh from the garden), shelled some walnuts and mixed up a simple herb vinaigrette. Anya eyed suspiciously the big bowl of large undiced lettuce leaves, chunky tomatoes and cucumber slices, but held her tongue. She watched how I served myself, spooning the dressing over the top (another new concept: we don’t have to drown the salad in advance; instead, each person can add as much or as little dressing as desired). She tried a little bit and chewed contemplatively, then asked me how I’d made the dressing. She commented how they were so used to chopping everything up in tiny pieces, but this way was certainly faster and easier, she noted. None of the other dishes I’ve prepared here have impressed their palettes, so I wasn’t expecting her to be too thrilled with my big salad either. But I, nonetheless, thoroughly enjoyed it. Anya laughed and told me they’d been feeding the lettuce to their geese as they’d not really seen any other use for it!

Much to my surprise, a couple nights later I entered the kitchen at dinnertime to discover a plate of lettuce (sans the tomatoes and cucumbers, which are still very expensive at the market) and a jar of vinaigrette. Anya said she’d really enjoyed the new recipe I’d shown her! She’d always thought the lettuce was kind of bitter by itself but the vinaigrette was really great with it. As the various vegetables ripen this summer, I’ll introduce some new variations to the recipe, tossing in some carrots, or a red pepper, maybe even something crazy like a bit of feta cheese. Who knows?

So, that’s my contribution to Moldova. The Big Green Salad with a vinaigrette dressing.

Feeling Good

Saturday night, after our seminar in Ceadir-Lunga, Emily came back to Tvarditsa with me. It was a warm and lovely afternoon, and we rewarded ourselves for the day’s work with a glass of wine in the garden, relaxing and enjoying the quiet sounds of a Saturday afternoon in the village. Around 6, Anya came out to collect her geese from the stream and bring them back in for the evening. We followed her down the hill, enjoying listening to her tell us about the various plants that are sprouting – the peas here, the potatoes there, the many sorts of beans. The grapevines have started to flower and she indicated which ones will produce white grapes, which ones red, which ones are old vines, which ones are young and not yet ready for cultivation. She pointed out the walnut trees she and Georghi planted 25 years ago when they moved back to Tvarditsa.

We sat on a bench at the end of the garden, listening to the adolescent geese chatter and watching them hustle about, getting the last nibble of grass or the last splash in the stream for the day. At the call of “ba ba ba ba” from Anya they all perked up and started to waddle up the hill to their pen. I suddenly recalled a book from my childhood, “The Story of Peng” I think it was called, about a duck in China who was always the last one in line to get on the boat at the end of the day and thus always got a whack on the back from his keeper. Anya’s get a light whack only if they wander off the path and into the grapevines.

Back at the house, Anya asked me if I could go get some fresh bread from the store. This has become one of my regular tasks and I always enjoy it. I still get a kick out of watching the clerk make a notation of the family’s account in her ledger and receiving in return one or two huge loaves of warm fresh bread. They must weigh at least 5 pounds each, if not more. Carrying home two loaves at once is usually a decent work-out for my arms. When the ground is dry, I’ve started walking to the store via the gardens, walking down the hill behind the house and along the stream to one of the side streets. As I returned by the same path Saturday night, I was overcome with a sense of contentment – it was a beautiful evening, the gardens were green and peaceful, I felt so comfortable and at home with my simple and common task of getting the bread. I thought about the last few days, the GLOW seminar, the NGO seminar, feeling good that I’m doing something meaningful and productive. But what I liked best that week was sitting in the garden with Anya, talking about her farm, sharing my day’s experiences with her. There are so many moments, so many days of being unsure, uncomfortable, insecure, helpless and useless; so many days when I’m not sure why I’m here or what I’m supposed to be doing. But a quiet tranquil hour like Saturday evening rejuvenates me. The confusion and struggles are part of the experience, but they seem manageable again, and I think to myself “God, I love it here.”

Something changed

Something changed, some critical point was passed, in terms of my work here. I can’t put my finger on it exactly, I don’t know precisely what happened or when, but suddenly I’ve gone from bored, unproductive and feeling altogether useless, to having quite a bit going on, being sought out for activities, and feeling like I might actually have a role here.

One great activity was GLOW Day. GLOW Camp (Girls Leading Our World) is a 9-day summer camp run by PCVs in many different countries, and it has been conducted annually in Moldova for 7 or 8 years. The camp here, for girls 13-17 years old, has earned an excellent reputation, and this year over 500 applications were received for the 120 available spots. The camp focuses on leadership, self-esteem development, breaking down stereotypes and gender roles, and lots of other interesting as well as fun activities. 4 of the 5 girls from Tvarditsa who applied were accepted, which was very exciting. We have 2 “alumni” girls in the village, Sveta, who attended last year, and Polina, who attended the year before. Given the high demand, and the desire to provide the opportunity to as many girls as possible, you are only able to attend camp one time. A new camp was started last year, TARE (Romanian acronym for Young Women – Active, Responsible, and Equal), which is for young women 18-22, focusing on career options, women’s empowerment, self-esteem, safe sex, and, of course, having lots and lots of fun. 2 Tvarditsa girls were accepted for TARE this year, including Sveta (the GLOW alumna).

The GLOW Camp directors put together some material for GLOW Day, a one-day seminar that can easily be conducted in any community. I asked Sveta and Polina if they’d be interested in planning and conducting a GLOW Day here, and both jumped on the opportunity. Much to my surprise, they ended up re-writing almost the entire program and, in my opinion, put together a much better, if even a bit ambitious, agenda. Topics included: stereotypes, gender roles, self-respect, domestic violence, and leadership. I was impressed how they put these topics together, any of which could provide a full day of activity and discussion.

For Stereotypes, we had a couple of activities. The first was drawn from some material PC had sent to us about World Press Freedom Day, called “If the face fits.” 14 descriptions/professions were given to the girls, and they were asked to write down three words that described that profession (i.e. doctor – smart, busy, man). Next the girls were given 14 photographs of different people (faces only) and asked to match the professions with the photos. Polina facilitated a discussion of why they chose the professions they did for each person, and it was quite interesting to compare their matches with the real professions/description of each person. No one correctly selected one of the women as a prime minister, and no one thought the handsome young man was a disabled person, for example. Next, Polina asked about the stereotypes they’ve heard, like boys are smarter than girls, only thin people can be famous, etc. And then she wrapped up with by asking if any of the girls had ever been the victim of stereotyping and how it had made them feel. The girls had a very thoughtful and enlightening conversation.

The next activity involved “nationality,” a concept we don’t really have in the U.S. It loosely correlates to “ethnicity” in the U.S. culture, but has a much stronger meaning of self-identity and heritage. Whereas most Americans will describe themselves as Americans, perhaps adding a hyphenated descriptor such as African-American, Irish-American, or Korean-American, in the former Soviet Union, you have both a citizenship, i.e., Moldovan, and a nationality, i.e., Bulgarian, Russian, Ukrainian, etc. As I’ve mentioned before, Tvarditsa is a Bulgarian village in Moldova. No one here was born in Bulgaria, no one has Bulgarian citizenship, yet they identify themselves by the nationality of Bulgarian, and not as Moldovans. In Soviet times, everyone had their nationality identified in their internal passport. While for many people it does identify their heritage, for others it does not necessarily refer to their “blood.” When a teenager applied for his/her first internal passport, he could choose his nationality from one of three categories: his mother’s nationality, his father’s nationality, or the nationality of the region in which he was living. Thus, a child born to a Russian mother and Ukrainian father who lived in Latvia could choose either Russian, Ukrainian or Latvian as his nationality. The whole thing is just bizarre to me, but they take it very seriously here, and the tradition of indicating Nationality on the internal passport has been maintained (although I hear the newest version of passports no longer lists it). It strikes me as simply a way of dividing people, creating distinctive categories in a society with little visual cues by which to differentiate, and thus discriminate against, people.

So, Polina led the girls in an activity about “nationality.” She assigned each girl a nationality/ethnicity (Russian, African, French, Italian, Turk, etc) and had them write down stereotypes about that nationality. The girls had, by now, figured out where things were going and, being on their best behavior, were a bit reluctant to talk about the negative stereotypes they had or knew about the nationalities, but Polina did a great job facilitating the conversation and getting them to talk openly and honestly. She then shared with them some thoughts from an article on living in a multi-cultural society.

Next Sveta took over with a discussion of gender roles. She read a series of statements, such as “A woman’s first priority should be taking care of her husband and children,” “Boys should not show their feelings,” and other stereotypes about gender roles, asking the girls to rate their own thoughts regarding the statements. They kept the ratings to themselves, with Sveta encouraging them to think about their own personal stereotypes about men’s and women’s roles. She then read some material from her high school history textbook about women in the 20th century. I was really impressed that she had found and incorporated some Moldovan-produced material into the seminar, as the rest of the material was designed by American PCVs.

The next section was mine – self-esteem. I led a short exercise called “Know Yourself,” where each girl was asked to write a few thoughts on four topics: 3 things you do well; 3 things you like about yourself; 3 things you would change about your life; and 3 things you would like to be said about you. It was difficult for many of them to even think privately about their own talents and strengths, but it led to a good conversation about why it is important to recognize and value your own abilities. Next, I talked about abstinence, having adapted the material we used in the fall for our Community Activity in pre-service training. With so many girls and young women getting pregnant and/or married at 18 or 19 years old (or younger!), and absolutely no sex education in the schools, the topic is incredibly important.

Polina and Sveta then moved on to domestic violence, leading a discussion of the forms of violence (physical, emotional, verbal) and myths and facts about domestic violence with material we adapted from the Season for Non-Violence manual. We also gave each girl a “Family Pledge of Nonviolence” to discuss and hopefully sign with their parents and siblings.

The seminar concluded with Leadership and a discussion of the characteristics of a good leader, as well as the power of girls as a united group. We played a game called “Shout!” in which a word is spoken quietly by one person then increasingly louder and louder as more and more voices are added. Polina finished the program with a meditation someone had renamed “A Leader’s Prayer” in the GLOW manual:
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.

Each girl was given a small gift at the end of the day – an American flag pencil & an Ohio State pencil (from my seemingly endless stash) and a small homemade bracelet we’d prepared in advance with materials my mom had sent me (beads and stretchy cord). We had cookies and soda, socialized a few minutes, and everyone seemed pleased.

18 girls attended the seminar, and as we’d been hoping for 20, we considered it a success! The next week the girls who attended must have been talking it up as I heard that some girls approached Donna, my partner at the Primaria, and asked her if we could conduct it again!

The following weekend was another seminar, this time for NGOs. Another EOD PCV, in his second year in the nearby town of Ceadir-Lunga, began developing and offering training seminars in the Russian-speaking communities of southern Moldova, and Emily and I asked if we could get involved. He agreed, and the three of us put together a day-long workshop on Professional Etiquette, with the main focus on being the cultural and professional expectations of Western Europeans and Americans. Ross introduced the seminar with a discussion of what the participants thought was professional and unprofessional behavior. There were many items on their lists that would match with our own, and a few things that differed. Ross carefully explained that our goal for the workshop was not to promote one way as better than another, or to criticize Moldovan customs, but rather to inform them of some of the differing expectations they may encounter when working with foreign organizations. Basically, it was a workshop on cultural differences, and of course that’s a huge topic that can’t be covered in just 7 hours, but we gave it a shot!

Ross had the first topic, which was Planning. The activities will sound a bit ridiculous to you, but let me tell you, it was REALLY challenging for them! Ross had copied out a blank week from his planner, with each day broken down by the hour. He asked them to fill out their schedule for the next Monday (the seminar took place on Saturday). It took them a good 10 minutes, with an unbelievable amount of questions – what if something started on the half hour? What if they didn’t have something planned? What if something unexpected came up? It was incredible to watch 10 adult professionals who had never once in their lives written down a daily schedule. Then Ross really threw them for a loop by asking them to fill out the rest of the week, what they were doing each day of the upcoming week. One woman laughed out loud and said quickly frankly “But I have no idea what I’ll be doing on Friday!” They labored over that for another 20 minutes or so, and then Ross divided them up into pairs and gave them the task of finding a meeting time in the next week with their partner. Sounds simple enough, and although they quickly realized it was much easier to do this with their calendars right there, it nonetheless took some pairs longer than I could have imagined possible. For the next task, Ross put them in groups of 3 or 4. The scenario: your organization has won a grant, the sponsor calls and is going to deliver a new computer to your office sometime in the next week. You need to make sure someone is in the office from 8:00 to 5:00 every day as the sponsor can’t say for sure exactly when they’ll be in the area to make the delivery. This was definitely more challenging, and took some negotiating as some people had to rearrange their schedules to ensure the office had coverage. The last scenario was the toughest: the regional accountancy agency calls Sunday night to inform you that they will be visiting your office for the next four days to audit your books. In groups of four or five, they had to find everyone Sunday night, have an emergency meeting and plan for the week. One group had some blanks in their coverage for the week, and when the “manager” said they’d had other things to do during that time, Ross jokingly informed them they were all going to jail for failure to meet with the auditors! It was a good lesson not only in the benefits of a calendar as a planning tool, but also in setting and readjusting your priorities as needed.

The next session was Emily’s, on Invitations and Thank You letters. We had written together some samples of informal and formal invitations, and she had the participants talk about the differences. One item that had not occurred to any of them – a “respond by” date. One woman said “Gosh, we always invite people and then just never know exactly who will be there!” Yet another helpful tool for that planning! The Thank You letter was a new concept for them, and one woman shared that she had recently been asked to write one to a sponsor and had had no idea how to do it. We had a couple examples for them, and emphasized the importance of thanking anyone who has provided you with assistance, whether it’s the use of a room for free or the donation of thousands of dollars, and how it is part of building relationships and developing a good image for your organization.

The next two sessions were mine – brochures and personal resumes. One of the organizations at the seminar already had a brochure of their own, and we’d brought samples from a bunch of different organizations to show them. After some discussion of the kind of information to include, language to use (i.e., action verbs; clear, concise language, etc) we had them take a crack at writing a brochure for their own organizations. Once again, it proved more challenging than I could have imagined, but overall they did a good job. We then had them present their samples and asked the other participants to pretend this was the first time they heard about the organization, and to describe what they thought they knew about it based on the brochure. It turned out to be an excellent exercise, as one group wrote mostly about what they would like to do in the future, as opposed to what they had already accomplished (part of that Moldovan modesty thing again), and only by hearing others’ impressions based on the brochure did they realize their “advertisement” did not convey at all that they were an established, accomplished, experienced and respected organization.

Next was Personal Resumes. This is also an entirely new concept in Moldova. During Soviet times, when everyone was guaranteed employment, there doesn’t seem to have been much in terms of “applying for” jobs. The application and hiring process still differs vastly from the American system, and instead of using a resume, the practice here is to have an Autobiography, which is literally an essay about one’s life. The one example I’ve seen went something like this:
“I was born May 7 1950 in the town of Ceadir-Lunga. In 1957 I started the first grade and in 1967 graduated from the X high school. In 1967 I entered the X Pedagogical Institute in the department of Russian Language and Literature. In 1971 I finished my university studies. From 1971 to 1972 I served in the military. From 1973 to 1977 I worked as a school teacher. From June 1977 to the present I have worked as a journalist. I’ve published 5 books. My wife, born in 1953, is an teacher. My daughter is in the 10th grade.”
And so on and so on. While there’s not particularly anything wrong with this format, it’s just not what a Western sponsor is looking for when s/he asks for an NGO director to include a resume with a grant application. So, this topic was both particularly relevant as well as an especially difficult concept for the participants to grasp. We reviewed for a long time the various components of a typical resume and distributed a sample. The hardest part was getting them to write a draft of their own resumes. They are not used to using the short, concise, truncated language common in resumes, and they struggled to condense their lengthy full sentences into short brief statements. But, it was a great start and I think they enjoyed the activity.

The final session of the day involved a short skit exemplifying professional etiquette. A clock showed 8:00 am and Ross sat in his business suit in his office. As I entered, we greeted each other and shook hands. Ross offered me a seat, then something to drink. He thanked me for coming and explained that he wasn’t able to meet later as he had another appointment at 9:00. We exchanged business cards and Ross gave me a brochure about his organization. Then the telephone rang. Ross offered his apologies, said the secretary had called to say she would be late this morning and he needed to answer the phone. He stated his name and the organization name when he answered the phone, explained that the person they were calling was not available and offered to take a message, which he wrote down. As he hung up, Emily knocked on the door and waited for him to reply. With his permission, she entered the office and Ross introduced us to each other. She apologized for interrupting, saying she wouldn’t have knocked if she’d known Ross was in a meeting. He passed along the phone message, explaining that someone had called requesting she fax a document as soon as possible. She left to send the fax, and then called to confirm that the fax had been received. End of scene.

This situation probably sounds like nothing exceptional to you, but believe me, each and every action was chosen with purpose, representing the opposite of how most Moldovan offices operate. Businesses and offices are rarely open at the time their posted schedules indicate. It’s uncommon for meetings to start on time as one or all of the participants are usually late. People talk on the phone or with whomever walks in during meetings; and if someone does bother to knock on a door, they never wait for a response but just walk right in, oblivious to whether or not another meeting is taking place. One of the more interesting discussions, I thought, generated from the fact that Ross and I shook hands. Moldovan men and women are taught NOT to shake hands with each other, and in fact Moldovan men will sometimes not even acknowledge a woman in the room when introduced to a mixed group. He will shake the hands and greet the men before and after the woman, skipping over her entirely. This is one of the more challenging aspects of Moldovan culture for many female PCVs, who struggle to not take it personally but nonetheless find it very insulting. One of the male participants in our seminar shared that he had once been introduced to a group of Westerners and he truly did not know what to do. He was uncomfortable shaking the women’s hands as he’d been raised that it was inappropriate. It was a good conversation, and again we were careful to not pass judgment on one culture or another, but merely to point out that Western women may expect to shake hands with men as well as women.

I spent Monday reviewing the evaluations and I was pleased that people found the seminar worthwhile and they asked for more of them. We’ll conduct the same seminar next Saturday in a different town, Comrat, for another group of NGOs. Then we’ll begin working on the next topic in the series – fundraising. We’ll probably conduct that one in August, as our summer schedules are filling up with camps and vacations. Eventually, I’m hoping we’ll end up with a group of NGO leaders who can conduct these seminars themselves, thus ensuring that the learning and development continues after we PCVs have left.

Sharing my rabbit ears and bunny tail

Pierre came to visit me from Germany for one week! It was interesting to see Moldova through a fresh set of eyes, to see what he found surprising, confusing, perplexing, and amusing – so many of the same things that baffled me months ago but now I take for granted. And it was wonderful to get to share a bit of my life here with him.

He flew into Chisinau on a Wednesday, and the contrast between his departure from the Frankfurt airport, one of the biggest and busiest in Europe, and his arrival at the Chisinau airport, which has got to be one of the tiniest in all of Europe, was his first indication that things were going to be a bit different for the next seven days. One of the very few advances Moldova has made in the realm of accommodating foreign visitors is that you can buy a visa right at the airport, and you don’t need to order it in advance via an Embassy. (Of course, it’s a bit ridiculous to have to pay $60 for the privilege of entering the country, but that’s another story.)

We took the public transport into the city, which meant a 20-minute ride on a marshuka, one of the thousands of mini-vans that operate on regular routes throughout the city. Actually, it’s incorrect to call it public transport, as the marshukas are all privately owned and operated. I’ve been told that many of the local politicians own the marshuka businesses, and thus they’ve been slowly and steadily decreasing funding to the state-owned bus system in order to increase the demand, and thus the profits, for their privately-owned transport system. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but the marshukas definitely out-number the buses by tens to one, I would guess. A ride on a marshuka is not the nicest introduction to Moldova, especially on an unseasonably hot day. As they are profit-oriented, the drivers will cram as many people as possible into one mini-van, well beyond the limits of comfort and safety. They usually have 10-14 seats and there are often at least that many people standing as well. Adding to the discomfort is the fact that Moldovans have an intense dislike, even fear, of air blowing on them; they believe it will make them sick. Thus they will not open windows in moving vehicles. For foreigners who not only enjoy fresh air blowing through a car but who also despise being slowly roasted alive, it can be a rather tortuous experience to ride in a marshuka. But, Pierre was going to get the Real Moldovan Experience, so we opted for the 2 lei marshuka ride instead of the 100 lei taxi ride from the airport. The driver charged us an extra 2 lei for the luggage, which consisted of a gym bag and a backpack. I gotta give Pierre credit for packing light!

We relaxed that evening, went to a nice restaurant for dinner and just walked around the city, through the park, and eventually stopped at a patio bar for a drink. The days are very long here now, with the sun rising about 5:30 am and setting around 9:30 pm. After so many months of long dark evenings in the house, it’s really nice to sit outside late into the night. The outdoor cafes and bars were all busy, children were playing in the fountains; it was a lovely evening.

Thursday we went to the Moldovan National History Museum. It’s an eclectic experience, with a collection ranging from 20,000 year old relics of ancient human settlements in this area, to a small display highlighting the lives of a few Soviet-era dissidents who were exiled to Siberia or executed under Stalin. The entire museum collection is rather spartan, with just a smattering of pieces from the 22,000 years of history it chronicles, yet it is interesting and provides an excellent overview. I find it particularly fascinating to follow the political history of the region via the official documents, maps, books, newspapers and other written records in the museum’s collection – changing century to century, sometimes decade to decade, between Russian, German, Romanian, and other languages. In the basement of the building is a small room full of coins, from ancient Roman coins to Soviet kopeks, and everything in between. It’s another fascinating review of the country’s jumbled political history.

Thursday afternoon we headed to the South bus station, on the edge of the city, for the 5 pm bus to Tvarditsa. Another marshuka ride to get there, only this time no extra charge for the same amount of luggage – just one of those incomprehensibilities of Moldova! There are three alternating drivers on the Tvarditsa route. I’ve concluded that it’s just part of the job description for any bus or marshuka driver to be irritable and bad-tempered, but one of our drivers really is exceptionally mean and nasty. For a while, I thought he was just xenophobic as he’d seemed particularly intolerant of me as a foreigner. I’ve seen him harass enough other people to realize now that he just hates everybody. The bus route includes two stops in Tvarditsa, one at the northern edge of the village and then the final stop in the center, driving down my street and thus right past my house. By request, the driver will often stop at a corner about half-way to the center, near a small store and the cemetery, which is a shorter walk home for me than from the center. On another night returning to Tvarditsa, I asked the driver (one of the other slightly more cooperative ones) to stop near the store, and much to my surprise he said “No, the store is closed.” I wasn’t sure what to make of that, so decided to try again with a slightly different request – to stop by the cemetery. “You don’t want to go there either,” he replied, then cracked a grin. I couldn’t believe it, a bus driver actually displaying a sense of humor! And to top it off, he remembered exactly where I live and dropped me off right in front. Holy cow!

Well, we had no such luck on the bus with Pierre, unfortunately. We got the evil driver, and I didn’t even bother to ask him to drop us off early. It’s only about a 10 minute walk from the village center to home anyway, so Pierre and I just rode to the end and walked back up the street. Anya and Georghi always know, though, that it’s been my “favorite” driver when they hear the bus drive right past the house without stopping.

We arrived to a typical Moldovan feast at home. Anya and Georghi had bought a bottle of Cricova champagne for the occasion, which is the most famous wine label in Moldova and in much of the former Soviet Union. The Cricova winery, in northern Moldova, consists of tens of kilometers of underground caverns where the wine is produced, aged and stored in the consistently cool natural temperature. The champagne was delicious, and it was a very special treat. Anya had also made schnitzels in honor of Pierre’s visit from Germany, which surprised and delighted him.

Friday we toured the homestead, walking through the green garden, visiting all the animals. We met my friend Petya, and the three of us walked around the village together. Petya, who is 17 years old and has excellent English, really enjoys meeting my PCV friends who’ve visited Tvarditsa, and I knew he’d enjoy Pierre, too. It continued to be unseasonably hot and humid, though, and pretty soon we were all exhausted. Pierre had brought a bunch of DVDs with him, so it was a lot of fun to have such a normal evening vegging and watching movies!

Saturday was a busy day, as we had the GLOW Day seminar (Girls Leading Our World). The girls who were leading the seminar had picked the date, and although it conflicted with Pierre’s visit, he was understanding about me taking a few hours to work. He and Petya spent the afternoon together while I was busy with the girls (I’ll write more about GLOW Day in another posting). In the evening, we picked strawberries in the garden, had another delicious dinner and a lots and lots of fresh strawberries for dessert.

Sunday was a quiet day, more movies, and then an invitation to the neighbor’s for a barbeque. The visit involved the usual “tour” of their wine cellar, with samplings from each of their four or five barrels with different varieties. My favorite was a berry wine like nothing I’d ever tasted before – sweet and thick and unbelievably delicious. They cooked pork shashliki, like shish kebabs, over an open fire, and we had lots of salads and plenty of wine. We stayed later than we should have, given our plans to catch the 6:00 am bus the next morning, but it was a fun evening nonetheless. Anya fussed that Pierre didn’t eat enough, but I think there is no such thing as eating enough here. 🙂

We made it to our bus on Monday morning, both of us dozing off and on during the 3 1/2 hour ride back to Chisinau. The combination of slight hangovers, little sleep, and oppressive heat and humidity made for a rather unproductive day. Our main accomplishment was checking into the hotel and dealing with the police registration. A law leftover from the Soviet era requires that all foreigners be registered with the police. Hotels, for a small fee, will handle the paperwork for you, but since we had gone to Tvarditsa for a few days, we technically were supposed to register Pierre with the regional authorities there as well. That’s anything but easy, as it involves a trip to Taraclia, a 90 minute bus ride away. Given my own hassles getting registered with the Taraclia authorities, I wasn’t about to deal with them to register yet another foreigner. We decided to take our chances. Upon our return to the hotel in Chisinau, the clerk pitched a fit when she realized we didn’t have an anexa (the registration document) for the days in Tvarditsa. I waited patiently through her lecture on the law, how it’s important to follow the Moldovan laws just as I would expect to follow U.S. law, blah blah blah. Before I had to ask the question “Is there by chance a way we can resolve this situation?” (which is code for “How much is it going to cost me?”), she said that for an extra 50 lei they would give him a new anexa covering the time he was not registered. It was a bit less than I’d expected, so I willingly slipped the extra bill in with the rest of our payment.

In the evening, we met my host brother Sasha for a beer at an outdoor café. Sasha is a bit of an amateur coin collector, and Pierre brought him a 1972 Olympic coin from Germany, which was a really considerate gift, I thought.

On Tuesday, we went to the Peace Corps office to check email and for me to take care of a couple things there, so Pierre got to see our little piece of America in the middle of Moldova. One of the staff suggested some things for us to do in the city, including walking to a park with a small lake where you can rent a little rowboat. We decided to get lunch first, and then decided to do some shopping. We went to Sun City, the closest thing to a Western-style shopping mall here in Moldova, and it’s best feature that day was that it was air conditioned! I bought a sun hat, and then we headed to Gemini, the “shopping mall” for the regular guy. It’s a large 4 story building which is basically like a market under a roof with hundreds of vendors renting stalls in the building, as opposed to the more familiar shop format of Sun City. We also went to Unic, another large, multi-floor department store. We rode the only escalator in all of Moldova, which only operates in the Up direction, and on that day was only operating between the first and second floors. Another little Moldovan quirk.

After all that walking around, we took a rest at my favorite ice cream shop and decided to wait until evening to try the long walk to the park, when it would hopefully be cooler, and headed back to the hotel to rest and try to cool off from the exhausting heat. As we were about to go out to dinner, a fabulous thunderstorm started, and we sat on the balcony watching the rain and lightening and enjoying the cooling temperature. It ended up raining cats and dogs all night, and we never did make it to the park, but it was very relaxing to watch the storm instead. We even saw a rainbow!

Wednesday was considerably cooler and much more comfortable. We had a leisurely lunch, sitting on the restaurant patio and “people-watching”, then we walked to an art gallery we had noticed earlier in the week. In the lobby was an exhibition of children’s drawings on the theme of India. The pictures were so colorful and interesting! The main exhibition of the gallery, located in one large hall, consisted of two Moldovan artists, a sculpture and a painter. The art was a bit too modern for my taste, but it was interesting nonetheless. Across from the exhibition room was another large room with paintings for sale. The clerk told us they were all works by professional artists, and most of them were quite impressive. None of the prices were displayed, instead the clerk had a large catalogue in which she could look up the ID number of the painting and find the price. We asked about one large framed painting, and it was 2800 MDL, which is about $225.

Unfortunately, it was time to head back to the airport, the week having flown by too quickly. Pierre’s last marshuka ride (again, no extra charge for the same amount of luggage!), and we arrived in plenty of time for his flight. There are lots of good stories about the Chisinau airport – the absurdly thorough checking, double checking, stalling and harassment. Pierre even had to go through a metal detector when he arrived! Departure required passing through 2 metal detectors, and an inspection of the bottle of homemade wine that made him think the worker was even going to take a swig. As we were so curious about the whole registration thing, Pierre kept the anexas in his wallet, separate from his passport just to see if he’d be asked to produce them. Sure enough, he was never asked about them. He was, however, asked how much money he had on him and even had to show the money in his wallet to one clerk. As for the anexa, it was better to be safe than sorry; I’ve heard stories of outrageous fines being levied at the airport if you don’t have the documents, and I figure the 50 lei ($4) we paid was worth the peace of mind.

It was fun to share my rabbit ears and bunny tail with Pierre for the week, even if the time did go too quickly. It’s an interesting benchmark in my time here to compare my adaptation and adjustment to someone experiencing it anew. I’m really glad he visited me.