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.
lostpaddle 