I didn’t feel particularly Christmas-y this year. It’s probably due to several factors. No one celebrates Christmas in Moldova until the Orthodox Christmas on January 7th. I wasn’t getting together with a group of PCVs as I did last year. Actually, of the 8 people who gathered last year, only 3 of us are left in Moldova. Oh yeah, and I went to work.
However, the night before I was able to indoctrinate Krista in the beauty of It’s a Wonderful Life, which she had never seen. It also seemed that events beyond my control were conspiring to put me in the mood. Our electricity was out for most of Christmas Day and into the 26th. This forced me, Krista, and my host-brother, Vitalik, to shy away from our computers and televisions and VCRs and DVDs and just entertain ourselves. I showed Vitalik and Krista how to play Texas Hold ‘Em Poker and he showed us some game that’s called some bad word in Russian that is essentially the English equivalent of “F-ed.” [Gambling and Cussing: How Jesus celebrates Christmas.] Then we cooked by candlelight – well, really it was more by headlamp, but that doesn’t sound a romantic and quaint – and ate a hearty meal. Krista and I had mashed potatoes, gravy, fried veges, and cornflake fried chicken. I know that last part sounds a little white trash, but it was damn good that I’ll definitely be making it again. We topped it off with some white Jell-o pudding, a box of mix courtesy of a care-package. [FYI, don't send any more Jell-o, which I don't really like. Pudding, however, is welcome.]
All in all, not a bad December 25th.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Thursday, December 21, 2006
By the Numbers
I have spotty dial-up service from my house, and occasionally keep up with events in America by reading a few articles from nytimes.com. Recently, I read one concerning the US Census’ release of its all kinds of findings – like the number of people injured each year by beds – yes, beds. I thought I’d disclose some numbers of my own:
5 – Countries visited this year (Moldova, Russia, Mongolia, Ukraine, Morocco)
3 – Beards grown and shaved off
10 – Computer classes taught
20 – Cost (in cents) for a great loaf of bread in my village
6 – Cost (in dollars) of a great tortellini dish at the most expensive hotel in Chisinau
4,000,000 – Population of Moldova
500,000-1,000,000 – (estimated) Moldovans working abroad
12 – Individuals (couples counting as 1) who have sent packages to me from America
2 – Cell phones stolen (from me) or broken (by me)
12 – Pounds lost
3.5 – Hours it takes for my PC-issued distiller to distill about 3 liters of potable water
1 – Bottles of shampoo purchased since I arrived in Moldova in Sept, 2005
172 – Postings on this blog
5 – Countries visited this year (Moldova, Russia, Mongolia, Ukraine, Morocco)
3 – Beards grown and shaved off
10 – Computer classes taught
20 – Cost (in cents) for a great loaf of bread in my village
6 – Cost (in dollars) of a great tortellini dish at the most expensive hotel in Chisinau
4,000,000 – Population of Moldova
500,000-1,000,000 – (estimated) Moldovans working abroad
12 – Individuals (couples counting as 1) who have sent packages to me from America
2 – Cell phones stolen (from me) or broken (by me)
12 – Pounds lost
3.5 – Hours it takes for my PC-issued distiller to distill about 3 liters of potable water
1 – Bottles of shampoo purchased since I arrived in Moldova in Sept, 2005
172 – Postings on this blog
The State of Brad
In 1997, my first year away at college, I started writing a sort of “update on my life” holiday letter for friends and family who I saw less as a consequence of living at school. These letters were a chance to take stock of the year passed, reconnect with those scattered across the globe, and plan for what lay ahead. Last year, because I was abroad, was the first time I since I started these letters nine years ago that I did not write anything. Being in a village overseas made that process a little too difficult to complete. Well, I’m still overseas and still in a village and the process of writing and mailing 50-100 letters is still too difficult from here. But being the web-savvy feller that I am, I figured I’d use this blog as a substitute. So, here we go…
Happy Holidays! I hope as you read this you’ve managed to pull your computer screen next to a warm fire or can see some snow outside your window. I, myself, have neither, but the radiator in my room is toasty and snow, while pretty, would force me to walk 30 minutes into town instead of riding my bike, so I’m fine without it.
As many of you know, I’m serving in the Peace Corps in Moldova, a small former-Soviet republic wedged between Romania and Ukraine. I work in a mayor’s office, but am a volunteer for the whole village. Some projects completed or underway include an English Club, teaching the mayor’s accountants to use Excel and running a computer class, revamping the local television station, and teaching a 3-day small business seminar about once a month. I live with a 17-year old boy, Vitalik, whose mother works most of the year in either Moscow or Germany.
Moldova is a small country with a lot of potential and a lot of problems. It’s location on the edge of Europe and its excellent soil, climate, and wine-making tradition could be huge boons for its economy. However, this poorest of the European nations is still plagued by corruption, a seeming love for red-tape, and a border dispute with a break-away region to its east. There’s a very strong sense of community, at least on the village level, and it’s been a great joy to become a part of that community.
I get along well with Oleg, my counterpart and the village mayor, who was actually elected to office 8-years ago when he was only 26. I have several local friends and most people here have at least heard of “the (strange) American” who lives in town. Though I still get plenty of stares, I now get a fair share of waves.
Living in this part of the world has afforded me the opportunity to travel a lot this year. I’ve taken the Trans-Siberian Railway from Moscow to Mongolia, stood in the world’s 3rd-largest mosque in Morocco, seen the site of the Orange Revolution in Kiev, and ridden a horse along the Mongolian steppe during the 800th anniversary of Genghis Khan. Not bad for a kid from north Jersey.
In past letters, I usually have a little bit about my family, but it’s difficult to figure out what to write here since I haven’t seen them in so long. My brother, David, occasionally emails photos of my 4-year old nephew, Gabriel. He’s really into hockey now, dressed up as Gandalf for Halloween, and looks a lot taller than I remember him. Maria, my sister-in-law was tenured at George Mason University and will be coming out with her first book - and I just found out I'm due to become an uncle a second time over in July! Mom and Dad went to Ireland for vacation with friends, and Mom has seen an upswing in her art business – though I think she needs to be a little more aggressive in her marketing (right, Mom?)
Prior to coming to Moldova, I served for 6 months in Uzbekistan until that post was shut down and all PCVs evacuated due to an unsafe environment. Depending on whether or not my time there counts towards my 2-year term of service, I will leave here sometime between June and November, 2007. I’ve started to make plans for what to do post-PC, but nothing has been set in stone. Applications to 5 MBA programs are done (thank God). I’ve received 1 acceptance (wahoo!) and am still waiting to hear from the other 4. In July, I learned that I passed the written Foreign Service exam and in February, I’ll be back in America for its second round interview. Should I get an offer from the State Department, I’m not sure about going after the MBA or taking up the life of a diplomat. Any advice is most welcome.
My girlfriend and fellow-PCV, Krista, has also made plans for returning to America, but in this, as in most things, she’s way ahead of me. She will leave Moldova soon in order to begin her nursing education, first at home in Tulsa and then at the University of Rochester in May. She’s been a big help to me during my own graduate school application process and Peace Corps service in general. I’ll miss her while she’s away, but look forward to obscene amounts of care packages (hint, hint).
That’s about it from here. I recommend perusing through this blog for greater details on the things mentioned above. Have a bagel for me, and all the best to everyone in the New Year!
Brad
Happy Holidays! I hope as you read this you’ve managed to pull your computer screen next to a warm fire or can see some snow outside your window. I, myself, have neither, but the radiator in my room is toasty and snow, while pretty, would force me to walk 30 minutes into town instead of riding my bike, so I’m fine without it.
As many of you know, I’m serving in the Peace Corps in Moldova, a small former-Soviet republic wedged between Romania and Ukraine. I work in a mayor’s office, but am a volunteer for the whole village. Some projects completed or underway include an English Club, teaching the mayor’s accountants to use Excel and running a computer class, revamping the local television station, and teaching a 3-day small business seminar about once a month. I live with a 17-year old boy, Vitalik, whose mother works most of the year in either Moscow or Germany.
Moldova is a small country with a lot of potential and a lot of problems. It’s location on the edge of Europe and its excellent soil, climate, and wine-making tradition could be huge boons for its economy. However, this poorest of the European nations is still plagued by corruption, a seeming love for red-tape, and a border dispute with a break-away region to its east. There’s a very strong sense of community, at least on the village level, and it’s been a great joy to become a part of that community.
I get along well with Oleg, my counterpart and the village mayor, who was actually elected to office 8-years ago when he was only 26. I have several local friends and most people here have at least heard of “the (strange) American” who lives in town. Though I still get plenty of stares, I now get a fair share of waves.
Living in this part of the world has afforded me the opportunity to travel a lot this year. I’ve taken the Trans-Siberian Railway from Moscow to Mongolia, stood in the world’s 3rd-largest mosque in Morocco, seen the site of the Orange Revolution in Kiev, and ridden a horse along the Mongolian steppe during the 800th anniversary of Genghis Khan. Not bad for a kid from north Jersey.
In past letters, I usually have a little bit about my family, but it’s difficult to figure out what to write here since I haven’t seen them in so long. My brother, David, occasionally emails photos of my 4-year old nephew, Gabriel. He’s really into hockey now, dressed up as Gandalf for Halloween, and looks a lot taller than I remember him. Maria, my sister-in-law was tenured at George Mason University and will be coming out with her first book - and I just found out I'm due to become an uncle a second time over in July! Mom and Dad went to Ireland for vacation with friends, and Mom has seen an upswing in her art business – though I think she needs to be a little more aggressive in her marketing (right, Mom?)
Prior to coming to Moldova, I served for 6 months in Uzbekistan until that post was shut down and all PCVs evacuated due to an unsafe environment. Depending on whether or not my time there counts towards my 2-year term of service, I will leave here sometime between June and November, 2007. I’ve started to make plans for what to do post-PC, but nothing has been set in stone. Applications to 5 MBA programs are done (thank God). I’ve received 1 acceptance (wahoo!) and am still waiting to hear from the other 4. In July, I learned that I passed the written Foreign Service exam and in February, I’ll be back in America for its second round interview. Should I get an offer from the State Department, I’m not sure about going after the MBA or taking up the life of a diplomat. Any advice is most welcome.
My girlfriend and fellow-PCV, Krista, has also made plans for returning to America, but in this, as in most things, she’s way ahead of me. She will leave Moldova soon in order to begin her nursing education, first at home in Tulsa and then at the University of Rochester in May. She’s been a big help to me during my own graduate school application process and Peace Corps service in general. I’ll miss her while she’s away, but look forward to obscene amounts of care packages (hint, hint).
That’s about it from here. I recommend perusing through this blog for greater details on the things mentioned above. Have a bagel for me, and all the best to everyone in the New Year!
Brad
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Elections
On Sunday, the semi-autonomous region in which I live, Gagauzia, held elections for their “bashkahn.” Besides having a cool title, I’m not exactly certain what a bashkahn does, but I imagine it’s akin to being the governor of a really small state within a really small country. Anyway, it was a pretty big deal here. Two weeks ago were the primaries with 5 candidates. The field was narrowed to two, both being mayors of the largest cities in Gagauzia.
In my village we had three polling stations – one at each of the two schools and another at the house of culture. All the streets are divided among those three places and each person goes to “their” polling station. They must show some form of ID, and then they’re given a ballot, enter one of three booths, stamp the ballot for the candidate they want, get the ballot stamped by one of the poll workers, and then deposit the ballot in a big box. Although I’m no official election observer – though we did have two such folks stop by during the day – the elections in my village seemed fair and orderly. They were also open enough that it was easy to see what was happening.
That, too, goes for the counting of the ballots I saw at the end of the night (polls were open from 7am to 9pm). All the ballots were put on the table, and sorted into three piles: candidate 1, candidate 2, and “hanging chads.” After being counted and recounted several times, the ballots were wrapped in their groups in thick brown paper, sealed with tape, and placed in boxes which were brought to the regional center. There, the ballots from across the region were tallied and the higher-ups decided what to do with the ones where, for example, voters stamped in between the spots for the candidates.
All in all, it was a good experience to watch. Other that the way in which votes were tallied – by hand instead of with machines – I’d say the elections here were pretty similar to those in America.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Hospitalized
[Disclaimer: I didn’t want to violate anyone’s privacy by publishing personal health information without first obtaining consent from the relevant parties. The following has been reviewed by the patient and approved for use on my blog.]
A few weeks ago my tutor and friend, Ludmila, went to the hospital in the neighboring city/village for surgery. About six years ago, during a physical most teachers have each fall, it was discovered that she had a small ovarian or cervical tumor. She delayed in having the surgery. About two years ago it started causing her pain.
As of a few years ago, teachers here have health insurance. About 3-4 percent of Ludmila’s salary is withheld for this purpose and is supposed to get her free prescriptions, hospital stays, and treatments. The system in this case worked… somewhat. Ludmila did not pay a dime for her surgery or subsequent week-long stay in the hospital. However, the surgeon when he did his rounds, would not actually check on her recovery. He told her that the surgery was very difficult, taking 3 hours instead of the typical one, and that she should think about all the extra work he did to not lose her on the operating table. He wanted $150. After she gave it to him, he checked on her daily, cleaning the incision and applying new bandages.
While I think this blog’s readership may initially recoil at the idea of this extra charge – and I myself am not thrilled about it – it’s important to at least see where the other person is coming from. I don’t know what this surgeon’s salary is, but it probably well below commensurate with his education, and he too must support (probably) a family. If he cannot earn enough legally, he must resort to other means.
[If I can go off on a tangent for a second here… this is a problem throughout Moldova in many professions. Because salaries are so small, some teachers, police officers, politicians, and others must resort to a kind of extortion just to survive. So pervasive is it that not everyone view this as anything expressly illegal – just the cost of doing business. Of course, there are those who do not adhere to this system.]
A few days after Luda’s surgery, I went to the hospital to visit. As expected, it is a far cry from the cathedrals of health that hospitals have become in America. Paint was peeling off walls and stairwells and hallways were only dimly lit. However, it did seem clean and warm. In Ludmila’s large room, there were six beds for six patients, all of whom seemed happy to chat with each other. I was offered some home-made juice by one and shared some oranges that I brought for Ludmila with the rest.
The best part of my visit came about an hour into my stay when several other teachers from Ludmila’s school showed up to say hello. At that moment, to hear the emotion in their voices and the concern on their faces, it was clear that everyone there cares very deeply about Ludmila. They, like me, brought gifts – lots of canned food, which Luda stowed next to her bed in a cabinet already overflowing with similar presents.
Ludmila is home now and seems to be recovering well. The goose-egg-sized tumor was placed in a jar and brought by Ludmila’s husband to Cahul, a city about 1.5 hours away. There it is being tested to see if it is cancerous or not. The results should likely be known in a few days.
A few weeks ago my tutor and friend, Ludmila, went to the hospital in the neighboring city/village for surgery. About six years ago, during a physical most teachers have each fall, it was discovered that she had a small ovarian or cervical tumor. She delayed in having the surgery. About two years ago it started causing her pain.
As of a few years ago, teachers here have health insurance. About 3-4 percent of Ludmila’s salary is withheld for this purpose and is supposed to get her free prescriptions, hospital stays, and treatments. The system in this case worked… somewhat. Ludmila did not pay a dime for her surgery or subsequent week-long stay in the hospital. However, the surgeon when he did his rounds, would not actually check on her recovery. He told her that the surgery was very difficult, taking 3 hours instead of the typical one, and that she should think about all the extra work he did to not lose her on the operating table. He wanted $150. After she gave it to him, he checked on her daily, cleaning the incision and applying new bandages.
While I think this blog’s readership may initially recoil at the idea of this extra charge – and I myself am not thrilled about it – it’s important to at least see where the other person is coming from. I don’t know what this surgeon’s salary is, but it probably well below commensurate with his education, and he too must support (probably) a family. If he cannot earn enough legally, he must resort to other means.
[If I can go off on a tangent for a second here… this is a problem throughout Moldova in many professions. Because salaries are so small, some teachers, police officers, politicians, and others must resort to a kind of extortion just to survive. So pervasive is it that not everyone view this as anything expressly illegal – just the cost of doing business. Of course, there are those who do not adhere to this system.]
A few days after Luda’s surgery, I went to the hospital to visit. As expected, it is a far cry from the cathedrals of health that hospitals have become in America. Paint was peeling off walls and stairwells and hallways were only dimly lit. However, it did seem clean and warm. In Ludmila’s large room, there were six beds for six patients, all of whom seemed happy to chat with each other. I was offered some home-made juice by one and shared some oranges that I brought for Ludmila with the rest.
The best part of my visit came about an hour into my stay when several other teachers from Ludmila’s school showed up to say hello. At that moment, to hear the emotion in their voices and the concern on their faces, it was clear that everyone there cares very deeply about Ludmila. They, like me, brought gifts – lots of canned food, which Luda stowed next to her bed in a cabinet already overflowing with similar presents.
Ludmila is home now and seems to be recovering well. The goose-egg-sized tumor was placed in a jar and brought by Ludmila’s husband to Cahul, a city about 1.5 hours away. There it is being tested to see if it is cancerous or not. The results should likely be known in a few days.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
General Thoughts
There is a single Russian word, привекал (pree-veek-ll), that means “have become accustomed to.” I think I am привекал to life here, and therefore haven't posted in some time because the things that used to seem novel and worthy of a blog post now seem commonplace. Nonetheless, my devoted readership demands material, so here we go with some general thoughts…
I thought I’d start with a description of some of the mundane: my morning routine. I usually get up around 6:45am. Lately, I’ve been sleeping on the floor in my sleeping bag because my bed, a fold-out futon, leaves something to be desired in the area of lumbar support. About a month ago I found some real, albeit expensive, cereal at one store in the capital and stocked up with five boxes. So, most mornings I eat a big bowl of Nestle Fruit & SOMETHING.
I ride my bike to work because I just don’t want to walk for 30 minutes. I pass by school children walking to work, who sometimes shout out a “Hello!” and then laugh at their own English, or at my Russian greeting to them. Shepherds lead sheep or cattle from somewhere out into the fields that surround the village. I have to slow down to push my way through the flock or go around it. An old women, бабушка (ba-bush-ka), hunched with old age and wearing the typical headscarf, stockings, and housedress uses a short broom to sweep the dirt yard in front of her gate. I wonder for the zillionth time whether the short brooms of the country are responsible for the bent stature of most senior citizens or if the poor posture makes the short brooms more comfortable to use.
There are ducks and geese that waddle all over the village, and they always hang out at one particularly muddy spot. I always try to navigate carefully through here since my bike has no mud flaps; they broke off long ago. I’ve found that if I just go slowly, the dirt from my bike wheels won’t be tossed into my face – and more importantly, onto my clothes – by centrifugal force.
I’m not really sure why, but at work the electricity goes off about once an hour, and then 2 minutes later it comes back on. I think it has something to do with the system being overloaded with electric heaters, radios, and computers.
December is nearly half complete, and we’re still experiencing an extension of fall instead of a true winter, not that I’m complaining. Today, however, is the first day that I’ve seen the sun in about two weeks – and it’s not because my host-brother locked me in the basement. There’s been an overcast, foggy weather to the last 14 days that I’m glad to see has finally been blown away. Apparently they’ve had some snow up north, but we have yet to see any of the white stuff down south.
I will mention one thing that was out of the ordinary: a group of PCVs had a swank Holiday Party a couple weeks ago, complete with fancy dress and a Secret Santa Swap. I walked away, literally, with these puppies – my first, and hopefully last, pair of pointy-toed shoes. I can’t wait to sport these around my village. This is the popular style in Moldova, though I can’t for the life of me figure out why.
I thought I’d start with a description of some of the mundane: my morning routine. I usually get up around 6:45am. Lately, I’ve been sleeping on the floor in my sleeping bag because my bed, a fold-out futon, leaves something to be desired in the area of lumbar support. About a month ago I found some real, albeit expensive, cereal at one store in the capital and stocked up with five boxes. So, most mornings I eat a big bowl of Nestle Fruit & SOMETHING.
I ride my bike to work because I just don’t want to walk for 30 minutes. I pass by school children walking to work, who sometimes shout out a “Hello!” and then laugh at their own English, or at my Russian greeting to them. Shepherds lead sheep or cattle from somewhere out into the fields that surround the village. I have to slow down to push my way through the flock or go around it. An old women, бабушка (ba-bush-ka), hunched with old age and wearing the typical headscarf, stockings, and housedress uses a short broom to sweep the dirt yard in front of her gate. I wonder for the zillionth time whether the short brooms of the country are responsible for the bent stature of most senior citizens or if the poor posture makes the short brooms more comfortable to use.
There are ducks and geese that waddle all over the village, and they always hang out at one particularly muddy spot. I always try to navigate carefully through here since my bike has no mud flaps; they broke off long ago. I’ve found that if I just go slowly, the dirt from my bike wheels won’t be tossed into my face – and more importantly, onto my clothes – by centrifugal force.
I’m not really sure why, but at work the electricity goes off about once an hour, and then 2 minutes later it comes back on. I think it has something to do with the system being overloaded with electric heaters, radios, and computers.
December is nearly half complete, and we’re still experiencing an extension of fall instead of a true winter, not that I’m complaining. Today, however, is the first day that I’ve seen the sun in about two weeks – and it’s not because my host-brother locked me in the basement. There’s been an overcast, foggy weather to the last 14 days that I’m glad to see has finally been blown away. Apparently they’ve had some snow up north, but we have yet to see any of the white stuff down south.
I will mention one thing that was out of the ordinary: a group of PCVs had a swank Holiday Party a couple weeks ago, complete with fancy dress and a Secret Santa Swap. I walked away, literally, with these puppies – my first, and hopefully last, pair of pointy-toed shoes. I can’t wait to sport these around my village. This is the popular style in Moldova, though I can’t for the life of me figure out why.
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