Thanksgiving of the North!

November 28, 2012 at 10:40 pm (food, Moldova, Peace Corps, travel)
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This is a description of my first Thanksgiving in Moldova.

I love Thanksgiving, more than Halloween, way more than Christmas, possibly even more than April Fools Day (even when I’m on the boot end of the ass-kickery). Thanksgiving actually means something. No amount of Hallmark sponsored “sales-a-bration” crepe paper nonsense can ruin the fact that it is nice to sit down to a thoughtfully prepared meal with people you love and give thanks. *In theory. I have heard that Thanksgiving dinner can be a contentious prelude to a drunken fistfight in the driveway. Fortunately, my family gets along really well and I am, well, thankful for that.

This year, just to mix it up a little, I decided to spend Thanksgiving in a developing nation. Not so much in the shadow of the former soviet empire as in its hip pocket. Luck is yet again with me, however, as I share this wonderful country with the hardworking Moldovans, and my fellow Peace Corps volunteers, who, (in my oh-so-humble opinion) represent America at her finest.

I was able to secure two turkeys from a neighbor, and David Smith, one half of the “Proprietors of the Lodge,” our social and philosophical hub in the north, agreed to come up to assist with the preparations. My host mom let us use her stove to boil water on, and it was really quite painless for all. Although the turkeys were suspiciously quiet towards the end. We caught the new train for the 2-hour trip south to Balti, which was very plush. (I have heard that the new train was a gift from Romania, if that’s true, it is an amazing gift.)

That night was pie night, and we stayed up until 4 am getting the desserts all cooked. Technically I lent moral and beer support.  Saturday we were up shockingly early, cooking pretty much anything you can imagine from the best Thanksgivings ever. At one point, I swear I saw Martha Stewart walk in, look at all our food, and say “not too shabby.”  In addition to the aforementioned pies, (2 pumpkin, a pumpkin chiffon, a pecan pie (walnuts) 2 types of cheesecake, and a ginger pear crisp) we had green bean casserole, stewed tomatoes, corn casserole, stuffing and much, much more. That sentence was getting to be too much of a run-on even for me. We had an ocean of mashed potatoes and lingonberries in place of cranberries, candied carrots and sausage balls. (Aside from an unfortunate name, they were delicious.) And much more as well.

The best part of all, of course, were the people. Matt Stahlman, the other Proprietor of the Lodge, is a great host and friend. John and Shelbi Rucker brought tons of food and “Settlers of Katann” (German game of the year 1992), and always have time to squeeze in one more game. Walter Diller cooked the turkeys to perfection, and Stephanie Hoffman helped a bunch too. Julie Frieswick  made my favorite desert,  Joseph Wittig and Jonathan Richman attended, two of the best guys in the world. The Texan, Phillip Snorbauck (yes, that is his real name, although it is probably spelled differently.) And many more, including several Moldovans and my new German buddy Ausmond. (also not spelled anything like that, probably. And also no relation between him and the “Settlers” game)

Two more highlights: after dinner we sang Christmas carols, led by Warren Kimmick, who has an amazing voice and , it turns out, a hell of a repertoire of carols, including several in German (still no relation with the game, although I’m beginning to think we may have been infiltrated by Germans at this point). -Little known fact about me, I love to sing. Primarily in crowds, where my terrible voice is drowned out by actual singers.  So that is my new tradition.

The other guest of eminent distinction

One side of our “L” shaped table arrangement. The room filled up considerably. I think final count was in the 26-27 range. Sadly, the people on the far side of the table became trapped and are still trying to get out. I wish them success.

Jana and her beloved pickles. Their was a brief scuffle when it was suggested she might “pass” the pickles, but we were able to put a butterfly bandage on the bite mark, and Phillip has since regained full use of his hand, so no real damage done.

Walter, some of the potatoes, and some of the pies. I think he was just about to declare his undying love here, so this is a pretty special moment for all of us.

at Thanksgiving was Emily. She is the oldest volunteer in the world and has served in more countries than I have eaten lunch in. At 83 years old, she has more gumption than any 10 regular folks, and talking with her for any length of time is a good lesson in humility and what can be accomplished with two hands and perseverance. She left Moldova the following week to spend a rare Christmas at home in Knoxville, and regroup for the next adventure.

So there you have it. The North rules and the South drools. I think that’s the super grownup way to express the utter dominance that is the North. And Christmas is coming up, so get ready. Maybe we can have a country wide snowball fight, or a sled dog race. Enough taunting, the south isn’t up for a challenge anyway.

In closing, I miss my family and friends back home, but I am proud and honored to be among such good people.

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More Machines of Moldova!

November 19, 2012 at 9:45 pm (cars, Moldova, travel)
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(this photo is from the internet, I try to not take pictures of people I don’t know, a. because it is rude to take someones photo without permission, and b. because I try to not look like a tourist.)
So these things are a legitimate form of transportation here. Basically it is a roto-tiller without the tines, hooked up to a small wagon. (Roto-tillers, for those of you who don’t know, are machines used to turn the soil in gardens.) Some of them have a hand cranked flywheel starter like a model “T” Ford. I think this picture is from the Philippines, where my pop lives. They seem to be used strictly for transporting goods in Moldova

I have no idea who makes these beauties, but they are definitely based on a Lambretta design. They have a 2 stroke motor that sound (and smell) like my beloved Vespas. The fixed front fender and motor is all Lambretta though. Lambretta officially ceased production in 1972, but they are still manufactured in India, and, apparently, somewhere in eastern Europe…

Stylistically, this is my favorite Russian car. It is a Zaparozhec. (Try saying that three times fast) It reminds me of the 60-63 Ford Falcons, without the grill. Seriously, how did these cars keep from overheating? Actually, that might be one of the problems. I have only seen two of these cars, parked in yards, this one is my neighbor Valentins. I have offered to help him get it running, so hopefully at least one will be operational when I leave.
This is a “Moskvich.” I think they are a little more upscale than the Lada, primarily because there are less of them. Also, they have small fins and are just nicer looking. Notice the spoiler on the back of this bad boy. Somebody has seen “The Fast and the Furious” a few too many times. I can just imagine how much this car hugs the turns while “drifting.” I would bet anything this beast is tricked out with a 7 inch exhaust tip. You know, for the enhanced performance.

Oddly enough, I had a request for more photos of police cars. Hopefully I’m not being duped into contributing classified information. If so, these Lada police cars are a really poorly kept secret. I have noticed the model numbers start at 1200 and go to 1600, I don’t know if that is engine size in c.c. or different carriage options. They all seem to be the same to me. Also known as, a terrible vehicle. Seriously, what incentive would a criminal have to stop if they were being chased by one of these? Low on gas? Also driving a crappy Lada? Laughing too hard? It just doesn’t make any sense…

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The people of Moldova

November 15, 2012 at 9:31 pm (Moldova, Peace Corps, travel)
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I have been in Moldova for six months now, give or take a week, and I was recently struck with how my perception of the Moldovan people has changed. I feel like I have just started to notice them laughing on the street, or exchanging pleasantries with strangers and friends alike. It seems almost like the advent of spring, so subtle it’s more of a feeling than any visual clues, but there it is, undeniably, people say hello to me in the park, or tell a joke I probably can’t understand, it is a truly wonderful feeling. I think I may be, to a tiny extent, getting acceptance by the townspeople.

Which isn’t to say that I thought Moldovans were terrible rude robots. (is there any other kind of robot?) In Crickova, where I lived for 2 months, I was averaging about 20% returns on my “Good day’s,” or “Good evening’s”. (Although often I would say “good evening” at noon, so some of the lack of response could be chalked up to pity or confusion.)  I figured out older ladies were more likely to respond, never, ever acknowledge someone younger than myself, and the older men were more inclined to look through me at something very interesting just over my shoulder than speak with me. I believe this distain has three general causes:

1. I was a stranger, there is no way they could have any idea who I was, or what I was doing in their town, other than walking a lot in the blistering heat in long pants and shirt. (interestingly, I have come to realize there is something distinctly foreign about me, I literally could not fool a Moldovan for a second about where I’m from. Fellow PCV Thomas Richman says it’s my shoes.)  2. Crickova is a suburb of Chisinau, and city folk are naturally more reserved than country people. And that is why country people make better music. (possibly not true) 3. I was too wrapped up in my own classes and schedule to appreciate the generally slower pace of life here. I didn’t have the time to stroll, or sit on a bench in the park. (Which is a major social outing here.)

In Donduseni, where I live now, I see the same people all the time, I buy my eggs from Veronika, I stop to chat with the two nice ladies at the market who think I’m crazy for moving here, I see my reporter friend Andre, well, everywhere. I don’t think that I am accepted fully, that may never happen, but most people know who I am now, and a general notion of what I’m doing.

This is where heartwarming comes from…

So back to my earlier statement, about how the Moldovans have suddenly blossomed into funny, joyful people in my consciousness. I still hear a lot of yelling. Life is not easy for people here, and it has been rough for a long time. But I think they are beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I can say without any hesitation that Moldova, and her people will be just fine.

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It takes two to judo…

November 13, 2012 at 10:23 pm (judo, Moldova, Peace Corps, travel)
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In Donduseni, we have a “palace of culture”. Every other town in Moldova has a “house of culture”, but Donduseni is classier than every other town. It is a huge square building of the soviet style so favored here, when the soviets were footing the bill, of course. It’s four stories tall and as big as a high school gymnasium, with columns along the front to clearly earn the “palace” title.

The lady who works at the guards office (I don’t know if that is her job title, she watches the front door, but she also mops the floor) was one of the first people to seem genuinely glad to see me here, so of course I stopped by all the time. She always had a slice of watermelon to share, (i do not actually like watermelon, however) so I ate several slices with her, and still consider her my first Moldovan friend.

Many traditional folk bands practice there, as well as classes for piano, violin, accordion, sadly, the beginner classes are for ages five and under (!)  The art department (actually one lady) is shockingly advanced, considering the classes are mostly for ten year olds. But they put out some beautiful paintings, mainly of the religious variety, with landscapes and floral arrangements coming in a close second. But super good. (On a related note, Jana’s school had some cut paper mosaics on display that were amazing, done by little kids, it must be something in the water.)

For whatever reason, I am drawn to the judo lessons, in fact I was so excited when I heard the palace had a European judo master instructing classes, I scurried everywhere trying to find him. But because the gym area is through an outside door, (and I didn’t speak the language very well) I could never find it. I finally saw a car with a judo sticker on it,  figuring the sticker was there on purpose, started watching for that vehicle near the palace. (In hindsight this sounds a lot like stalking behavior.) So I finally tracked him down and went to an afternoon class, which is, as it turns out, for kids. The coaches name is Oleg, he is a gym teacher at the Russian school and a bit of a stereotypical Russian judo champion. The first time I met him, he was wearing sunglasses inside, a little weird, but not I figured he was being cool, perhaps. Not so much. I saw his face from the side and he had a gigantic cut on his eye, swollen, black and blue, horrible. Even weeks later his eyeball is still full of blood, but I’m not about to bring it up.

I found a gi in Chisinau and started going to the adult class, at 7pm. The thing is, it’s just me and him, usually there are some kids lifting weights while talking on the phone, (I imagine my nephews doing that exact same thing, in another language) for 2 hours. OK here’s the secret, I hate judo. It is terrible, and I am terrible at it. I hate the throws that I am unable to do, and Oleg’s coaching style is not the gentle encouragement I am used to. (when someone has a hold that cuts the circulation on your carotid artery, or threatens to dislocate your elbow, for example, the protocol is to “tap.” Oleg and I have revised this system, where I now do a preliminary tap when I’m worried about getting hurt, and then another tap when I am slipping into unconsciousness, or really thinking my elbow is going to break.)  A hundred times I have gotten so angry that I want to shout something offensive he wouldn’t understand and walk out the door. But I always stick it out. For one thing, sometimes it’s like Brazilian jui jitsu, which I love, and I really, really want to throw Oleg.

I keep coming back though, and now I think I am competing in a tournament. I’m not exactly sure, but Oleg said something was happening in two weeks, and that it was triple elimination, and that I should work on my cardio. So I am assuming tournament. My main fear, (ok, one of my main fears) is that the “tournament,” is going to be me and Oleg, and he is going to destroy me for an afternoon. Maybe in front of an audience consisting of more bored teenagers.

At least my new life is never boring…

(P.S.) I had the tournament tonight, nothing to be alarmed about,I got a phone call at 6pm from Oleg saying I needed to go to class, which was perfect because I didn’t have time to get nervous. There I found two young kids who were really good at judo. I would put them in the 15-17 age bracket. I only competed against the bigger of them, and honestly he whipped me pretty good on my feet, with trips and the like. I did well on the ground though, getting a submission with a not so nice choke. Now I can’t lift my right arm over my head and my left leg is killing me, but all in all I feel great!

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Of cabbage leaves and kiings…

November 8, 2012 at 9:07 pm (history, Moldova, money, Peace Corps, travel)
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This is banii, the Moldovan coins. It comes in 5,10,25,and 50 bani denominations. all but the 50 bani are made of aluminum, and probably float. People often don’t even bother picking up the 5 bani coins, kind of like eating celery for the nutrition. I am saving mine to make a suit of armor!

This is most of the paper bills, I’m missing the 20 lei in green, and the 200 lei in another shade of red/brown. The Kings head on the money is “Stefan Cel Mare,” or Stephen the Great. He ruled Moldavia from about the time Constantinople fell in 1453, to 1504. The amazing part of that is, the Ottoman empire wasn’t just hanging out in C-town, (Constantinople, sorry, trying to be cool,) eating halva. Nope, they were one pesky country away from taking Europe, and Mr. the Great held them off for FIFTY YEARS! Earning himself a sainthood and a place on a bunch of money, even though he was BFF’s with a certain Vlad the Impaler. Dracula, to you literary types. But nobody wants that guy on their dolla’s, yo. I noticed many of the older towns in Moldova are from this time of relative stability. He also has hundreds of statues, and the main street in EVERY town is his. So if your looking to get famous, anyone, that’s what you have to do.

My whole point with all of this is that these two bills look crazy alike. One is worth $0.12, and one is worth $8.20. I bet I have paid ridiculous amounts for many, many, candy bars. I think it’s kind of poor planning though, on their parts, am I right?

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Adventures in babysitting…

November 4, 2012 at 9:02 pm (goats, Moldova, movies, Peace Corps, travel)
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Jana and I returned from Balţi (pronounced Belts) this morning after  attending The Halloween party of the North, and seeing some of my favorite friends here. A brief list; The Ruckers, Joeinmoldova.wordpress.com, Jen Ianuzzi, the mighty Demmel, Thomas Richman, our hosts, Matt Stahlman and David Smith, to name but a few.

So as usual, we got stuck in Balţi and hired a cab to take us the 70 km or so. It really wasn’t that costly, and took only 45 minutes, rather than the 2 hours a bus sometimes takes. Since this happens every time we go there, I’ve stopped pretending to be surprised.

Today was beautiful and warm, so we took a walk with the two girls our host mom watches while their mom works in Russia, Sabina, and Andrea. We saw a squirrel (which is really rare here, and actually beautiful) and played on the playground equipment at the Russian school.

A brief departure about this equipment. Remember how in the cinema classic, “Rocky 3”, Ivan Drago is this unstoppable Slavic killing machine, determined to singlehandedly wipe out capitalism? Well, you should remember, it’s a great movie. Anyway, looking at what eastern bloc kids have to play on, I realize that he was not an anomaly at all, just a guy who spent more time on the jungle gym than most. And every other kid has a broken back and a raging case of tetanus. I am not using hyperbole when I say that these rusted steel contraptions are a million times more dangerous than the playground equipment of my youth. Imagine a huge swing sets with no swings, and angled ladders welded to the sides, and the odd broken pipe set in the ground below.  And that’s it for fun. These are some tough kids.

Anyway, we went after that to see “Reef 2” at the local cinematograf, which is our movie theater. I will try not to spoil it for you but, whatever you do, avoid this movie. It is a terrible waste of the oceanic/talking mollusk subgenre, which I mentally improved by pretending I was listening to my 6 year old nephew Cooper making fun of it.  At least avoid the Russian dubbed version with 20 screaming Moldovan kids.

The Russian style of dubbing is to leave the original dialogue intact, but record over it in Russian, slightly louder, a single voice for all the parts, with all the passion people usually reserve for double paned window seminars.  Add to this the unsupervised kids who were really proud of the English they knew, (Halloo, my narm is…) and repeated it to me every 9 seconds. Suffice it to say, I won’t be going back, until next week anyway, when they are playing “Tangled 2!” The theater was really nice though, about 30 seats and a screen slightly smaller than a regular multi-plex screen. Not to shabby. And it was free, I tried to pay, I really did. I guess regular shows are 10 lei, about $.80. The non kid movies seem to lean towards the slasher b-movie genre, which I am not at all into, but maybe I will check one out to see.

Oh yes, before the movie, my host mom had said she was buying 2 goats, which to a rational person should have been a red flag, and I clearly remember thinking to myself, “huh, I wonder where she will keep them?” In hindsight, my naiveté is shocking.

About 7pm as I was literally tucking my napkin into my shirtfront before beginning to eat my soup, she knocked on my door. (The napkin bib part isn’t true, although I did run away from home once with a stick and a bandanna tied to the end of it, containing the obligatory peanut butter sandwiches.)  Maria asked me to cut some goats, so I change into my goat killing uniform and head over.

Fortunately, the goats came pre-killed and skinned, so I just had to reduce them to meal sized portions on her kitchen floor. I would have preferred to stand, of course, but she didn’t want to get blood on the walls. So much for my dinner. Anyway, I really enjoy talking with her, now that I have a decent vocabulary, and am super happy to help her with these whimsical little projects she comes up with. And she has pledged to help me find a turkey for Thanksgiving of the North! in Balţi, although the prospect of transporting a turkey alive or dead on a ruteria doesn’t sound appealing, at least it will be an adventure, like so many others…

This equipment is at Jana’s school and is much nicer than at the Russian school, or at least much bluer.

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