My Site Visit

I'm back. My 3-day visit to my future work site is over, as is the 2-day conference that followed with all PCVs and their Moldovan counterparts. Here's the story…

I left my house around 2pm on Saturday to get to Chisinau's southern bus, Gard de Sud. I had already purchased my ticket that morning and felt pretty certain I knew where the bus would be. I was correct, and after a brief discussion with the "ticket-taker" at the door to the bus, I was settled. [I've since learned that this discussion was his complaint that I had already purchased my ticket from the counter inside the bus station. Apparently, sometimes you purchase the ticket directly from the bus driver – which is technically illegal and earns the driver a little extra cash – and sometimes you purchase the ticket at the ticket window. Your guess is as good as mine as to which one is proper and when.]

To say the bus is crowded would be like saying there are a few stars in the sky. The aisles are filled with extra plastic stools so more people can be squeezed on. There is no AC, only small air vents on the roof of the bus. These vents actually worked quite well until they were all shut by the locals once the bus got underway to ward off the deadly "current" (wind). Fortunately, I was prepared with several layers and so I stripped down as I tried to understand the onboard Russian-dubbed movie, Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

Along the way the country side flew by repetitively. Moldova is a land of farms, and most of the roads I was on passed black fields of rich soil. Tiring of reading and straining to understand Brad Pitt's Russian voiceover, I struck up a conversation with my neighbors, thereby announcing that I was, in fact, an American – as if my beard, longer hair, backpack, and clothes didn't already scream "I'm not from here!" This decision of mine (to converse with my neighbors) would come to play an important role when I disembarked in Copceac (pronounced Kop-chack) 3 hours later.

As we pulled into town, my southbound bus was flanked on the right by a beautiful setting sun and on the left by a rising full moon. All seemed right to me. I thought, "This is where I'm supposed to be."

And then I got off the bus and found no one to meet me.

Fortunately, one of my new bus friends, Valeri, was neighbor to the mayor, my counterpart, and walked me to his house, where no one was to be found. So, we went to Valeri's house where I met his wife and daughter, who went next door to get a phonebook so we could call the mayor's house to see if anyone was inside. We called and confirmed no one was there. So then I think I should go back to the bus station – which is really just where the bus dropped me off, not really a station at all. We do and again, no one is there. I thought I'd use the phone nearby in the main store to call Peace Corps, but that phone like the one at Valeri's house can only call within the village. So then I start calling the phone numbers I have for the families I'm supposed to meet on this trip to pick one with whom to live. Fortunately, one was home and came to pick me up at the store. From their house, I could call PC, who then called my counterpart on his cell, who then called me at the house to apologize. Apparently, he had asked someone to meet me because he had to shuck corn on his mother's farm and my bus had come in early, so that's why no one was there. Anyway, no harm done and it made for an adventure.

I've decided to live in an apartment with a single 50ish-year old teacher. Though the smallest of all the places and the only apartment I saw, it was clean and the woman, Valentina, seemed very interested in learning about America and was open to a new culture and sharing her own. She has two older sons who don't live there but occasionally visit. I met one and he seems very nice.

Sunday I spent with my counterpart, Oleg, and his friends visiting different families and watching several football (soccer) matches in a pretty great 2-year old stadium in the village, and drinking plenty of vodka. As I mentioned in an earlier post, Gagauzia is a semi-autonomous region of Moldova. The first language in my village is Gagauz, a Turkish dialect, followed by Russian. Very few speak Romanian, the official language of Moldova. Maybe after a year of Russian I'll start working on Gagauz…

Monday I met everyone in the office, cleaned my desk, and read a lot of my Russian dictionary and "Atlas Shrugged" while doing very little at my desk, which is in a separate room from everyone and everything else. Boring quickly of that, I went into Oleg's office where it seems he sees people all day long who come to him with their problems and he makes some phone calls to fix them. I also hung out with the 5 accountants who use huge pieces of paper, calculators, and white-out to keep track of the village's finances. I see an MSExcel training in their future…

All in all, it was a good trip. I like my counterpart a lot – he's smart, funny, and seems genuinely willing to work with me. I think I'll have a lot of freedom to do what I want – sort of a big fish in a small pond – and after a few months at site improves my language and I figure out what are the needs of the village and my office, I look forward to starting my work in earnest. For now, one more month of training…

Handicrafts

After learning our sites, we took off for a tour of local tradespersons’ homes and workshops. First stop, the spryest 83-year old man I have ever and probably will ever meet. He fought for two years in WWII and then spent 6 years after the war in a Russian POW camp. Now he has four children, the last of whom he fathered when he was 51 years old. He’s a blacksmith and an engineer and showed us all these formerly hand-powered machines that he rigged for electric power. One de-kernels cornhusks and another grinds the kernels into flower. He also pounds away on an anvil over hot coals making all manner of things.

Next stop was a local artist’s home. I think at the end of my 2 years I’ll go back and buy one of his paintings. He was very good and has a style similar to that of my own Mother (see the links to the right for her website).

Next was a local honey producer where I happily tried out his various honeys before purchasing a kilo for about $3. So good in my daily tea…

Last stop I didn’t really understand, but I think it was a family known for their needlework. After touring their home they treated us to Moldovan songs and dance, and to return the favor we sang “When the Saints Go Marching In” and did the Hokey Pokey. I think we got the better end of the bargain.

My Site

Well, it’s official – at the end of training I’ll be working in a mayor’s office in a village of about 10,000 people at the southern tip of Moldova. I found out on Wednesday and on Saturday I’ll be headed there alone for 3 days to meet my counterpart (the mayor) and my new host family. I’m really looking forward to it and will let you all know how the trip turned out towards the end of next week.

Our placement ceremony was uniquely presented. A large map of the country was drawn on the floor of a gymnasium and chairs were placed at each site throughout the country with the names of cities, towns, or villages on them. As PCVs’ names were pulled out of a hat, their sites were announced and each of us went to sit in our chair. By the end of the ceremony, you could look around and see who was near and who was far away – though in such a small country no one is really that far away.

The process by which PCVs’ sites are determined is different than it was in Uzbekistan. There, PCVs had several interviews with staff members in which they answered questions about their preferences – rural vs. urban, east vs. west, proximity to other PCVs, desire to work on a particular issue, etc. Then, toward the end of training each PCV was handed a manila envelope and on the count of 3 we all tore open our packages and found where we were headed for 2 years.

Not so in Moldova. Here, we are given the applications that organizations filled out to get a PCV and have about a week to review them. [Of course, we’re only given the applications that Peace Corps approved. I don’t know how many organizations apply for a Volunteer or how many are approved or rejected, but there must be some that get turned down. Or at least I hope there are.] Then we rank our top-3 and turn in our choices. PC staff tries to accommodate our preferences, but ultimately the decision rests with them.

'Tis the Season

The season for making wine, that is… Though Moldova occupies 0.2% of the former Soviet Union’s land area, at one point it produced 13% of the USSR’s wine. To say Moldovan’s love their wine would be a gross understatement. Virtually every house here has a sizable garden and most of those include grapevines. Last week seemed to be the harvest time when the grapes were picked and crushed to being making the vino. Sadly, I was busy on the weekend and couldn’t help out (but there’s always next year… and the year after that!) I did, however, get some pictures and thought you might be interested in how wine is made the old fashioned way.

First you pick the grapes and drop them in a big bowl (pictured below). Then you squash the grapes and basically let it sit for a few days. Apparently the skin of the grape is what gives the wine its flavor, so you want the juice to marinate in the skins for a little while. Then you transfer the wine to a large holding tank that most families seem to have in their basements where you add sugar to taste. Then let it sit, or bottle it in old plastic bottles and drink over the rest of the year. Pretty simple, really.

To celebrate the occasion, there were festivals everywhere. I went into the capital city, Chisinau on Saturday to soak in the occasion. On Sunday my hometown, Ialoveni, had its own festival at which I was asked to perform what has become my pay-dirt song, “Hotel California,” and then play some blues with my harmonica-playing fellow PCV, Adam. As you can see we both got flowers, which (I’m pretty sure) means they liked our music.

A Capital Trip

October 05
Last Saturday we were turned loose in the capital, Chisinau (pronounced Key-shin-now in Romanian or Key-shin-nyov in Russian). It's an interesting place. In general, it's wealthier than Uzbekistan, but still has a wide range between the poor or middle class who shop in the open-air markets and bazaars and the rich who eat at McDonald's (there are 3 of them in the capital and it's actually a sign of high status to be able to eat at one) or shop in the rich stores - I poked my head into a Hugo Boss and Puma store where a pair of sneakers cost the equivalent of $100 - the same amount my host father makes in a month.

After picking up some hangers, oranges, and a beard-trimmer to replace the one I brought from America and somehow fried on the voltage over here, we visited the PC Office and then hit a Middle-Eastern restaurant named, "Class" for a fantastic lunch. I have hummos, tabouli, and shish taouk and can't wait to go back there! Just like being at King of Shish Kebab back in Jersey...

We also saw the US Embassy, which I cannot go into despite my American citizenship, unless I have an appointment or its an emergency; one movie theater that shows films in Russian and another that shows them in English; a place that can develop digital photos; and in general figured out the layout of the city.

Necks

My host mother makes a decent chicken soup, and there are these U-shaped pieces of meat that are very boney. Turns out they're chicken necks. The meat is good, but you really have to pick it off with your fingers - it's a little gross to try to chew it off because all these little vertebrae keep getting in the way of my teeth.