Flowery Language

From my own experience, mostly in college, when I didn't know what I was talking about I bs-ed. I think it's a human defense mechanism: when we don't want to be embarrassed by our lack of knowledge or understanding, we tend to puff ourselves up and try to convince ourselves and others around us that we know what we're doing [see current White House administration for demonstration of this theory]. In college, I tried to use big words and important sounding sentences. I fiddled with the margins, font size, and font type to make a 3-page paper reach the minimum 5-page length. Some of the papers I wrote were good, but some were garbage (and unfortunately for me, some of my professors knew this, too).

Fast forward six years, to my recent attempt to help a friend translate a document from Russian to English. The specifics are not important; suffice to say it was a description of an organization. I felt like I was reading one of my old, bad papers. There were grandiose and complex sentences that might initially impress, but actually said nothing. There were no concrete, measurable goals – only vague ideals of a pseudo-utopian society.

Of course, I'm not completely without responsibility for this literary "un-masterpiece." I did the translation and type it up. Though I tried to inject my translation with planer language, in the absence of the original author I couldn't do much toward creating anything with a clear strategy for how to bring about social change. As an excuse, I can only say the deadline was nigh and time was short. Sounds just like the excuse I used in college.

Fate

My host-mother, Katya, introduced me to a new Russian word – больтушка (baltyushka), which basically means a very talkative person. I think it's a bit of a derogatory term, but she uses it to describe herself. I have to agree, the woman likes to talk, but I enjoy it, and have dubbed her "my good baltushka."

Recently, our conversations have turned to fate. A lot of the people here believe in checking horoscopes, getting palms read, the evil eye, karma, and just a general feeling that what goes around comes around. Katya has told me numerous stories about how some neighbor did something bad, and several years her family hasn't had any children; or how another person didn't heed the warning in the horoscope and died. It's almost that in her mind, for every (metaphysical) action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

While this might be true for the next life – commit a murder now and you'll pay for it on Judgement Day – I don't agree with Katya's view for this earth. Bad things happen to good people, and vice versa. Priests get in car accidents, child molesters win the lottery. One's degree of piety or baseness won't protect or expose you to all the good and bad fortunes of chance.

To some degree, everything on the planet shares a cause-effect relationship; the wings of a butterfly in China may have contributed to the formation of Hurricane Katrina. But I would hardly blame that butterfly for the havoc wreaked in New Orleans, just as I would hardly blame a slight to a neighbor for the death of a relative 10 years later. I guess it just depends on how far down the "interconnectivity" road you want to go.

Having thus agreed to disagree, Katya and I moved on to foretelling the future. I told her that I don't believe in the ability of any mortal to divine it, specifically that palm reading was a crock. Nearly all attempts to do so are very general and mysterious – "You are entering a period of great difficulty now…" or "You will soon find a new business opportunity." No one ever says, "On Tuesday your car will get a flat tire on the rear passenger side." And why don't they? Because then their predictions wouldn't come true and they would be exposed as frauds. But give a general reading, and almost everyone can claim that to some degree the prediction was correct. I mean, who isn't in a period of difficulty?

Why the difference in Katya's point of view and my own? Undoubtedly, part of it is just that we're different people. I'm sure that in America I could easily find those with a similar outlook to Katya's. But I think that part of it – and I admit that this argument is a bit of a stretch – is that I am in more control of my future than my host-mother. As an American from an upper-middle class, white, loving family, who is about to enter a prestigious business school, my future seems fairly positive. Upon graduation, it's likely that I'll get a decent-paying job and will be able to raise a family of my own. Compare that with Katya's options: some of her children have had to work abroad to make ends meet; she has seen the collapse of her government; it would probably be very difficult for her to find another job should she lose or quit her current one. If I were in Katya's position, I too might be more inclined to see the cause of bad events as fate, instead of poor nutrition, lack of economic opportunity, or the results of an corrupt government. It's easier on the psyche to lay the blame at some mysterious and unstoppable supernatural force than on things that are caused by others around us or, to some degree, are of one's own making.

Part of the reason for our different views might also be a generational shift. I speculate on this because, through an extremely non-scientific process which involved asking one other young person, I can without a doubt state that two young people in the village of Copceac that that palm-reading and future-divining is "bullshit." Maybe we young'ns are just so full of piss and vinegar that we want to believe that we are invincible masters of our own destiny, and fate has no control over our lives.

Switching topics. Since my birthday was last week and someone has been clamoring in the comments section of this blog for me to post reflections on being 28-years old, here goes… I still feel relatively young, compared to the general population, but this is the first time I've ever felt "old." At 28, one can no longer claim to be in one's mid-20s. I'm definitely on the downhill slope to the big three-oh. And 3-0 is exactly how old I'll be by the time I finish business school and start working. I had always pictured myself a little ahead of that curve, finishing with graduate school and embarking on a career around 26 or 27. Nonetheless, I feel pretty good about where I am – college grad, fulfilling work experiences, really good looking – and where I'm going. Actually, though I couldn't nail down exactly what kind of career I want or where I want to live, I feel as though my life has more direction and I am more clear about my personal and professional goals than I have ever been. I think that's one benefit that comes from working at and living in a few different places since graduating college, and from spending countless hours writing graduate school applications, all of which ask "What are your career goals?"

As far as any wisdom I've accrued in my 28 years…

1. Change is hard, but necessary.
2. Travel to distant places and new cultures almost always benefits both sides.
3. It's the economy, stupid.
4. Friendship is best displayed during the breakfast scene in Wedding Crashers [minus the whole undercurrent of disingenuousness that goes with falsely representing oneself at a wedding to which you were not invited in order to bang an attractive woman]

Easter & The Tipping Point

Usually the Orthodox and American (or Anglican? I’m not sure of the proper term) Easters fall one week apart. However, every few years – including this year – these Easters are on the same Sunday.

For the most part, people get together and eat. This in and of itself is cause for celebration for many who were fasting over the last few days, or not eating meat for the last 40 days. Next week, everyone will go to the cemetery and picnic at the graves of their relatives, as documented here last year.

For my part, I had a very relaxing and enjoyable Easter. I had invitations to lots of places. I'd like to think this is because of my natural charisma, but I'm sure a large part is due to the fact that as the lone American, I'm a bit of a celebrity. In the morning, I had a huge breakfast with my host-family. Then, I headed to my friend, Feodr's, for a little English practice and another feast. Next, I rolled up to Dada Borei's (Uncle Bob's) for a sit in the sun and some snacks. Then on my way to Ludmila’s, two men I didn’t really know invited me inside for dinner. Not being in any rush, I obliged. Finally, I took my leave and went to Ludmila's for more eating, this time coupled with a fun debate with one of her guests about which country was richer: America or Russia. I don't think either of us were convinced of the other’s position, but it was fun to try. Lastly, returning home around nine, my host mother tried to stuff even more food into me. I ate a few cucumber slices and went straight to bed. The weather was gorgeous the whole day.

On Monday, I also had the day off, and I basically lounged the whole time. I also made significant progress toward completing the Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell. His basic argument is that events – the drop in crime in NYC during the 1990s, the comeback of Hush Puppies as hip footware, or even Paul Revere's midnight ride to warn American colonists of a British attack – are really epidemics shaped by three things. Those three things are:

1. People, who come in three different subcategories
a. Connectors: Individuals who know a lot of other people
b. Mavens: Individuals who know a lot of information
c. Salesmen: Individuals who can persuade
2. Stickiness – how memorable is the message
3. Context – in what situation is the message delivered

I was reading the part about context on a bench outside my gate when I had an epiphany. Before I explain my insight, first a little more about Malcolm's argument. If we look at Paul Revere's midnight ride, one of the reasons he was able to gather the colonists to fight the following day against the British was simply because of the context in which his message was delivered. Simply by waking up someone in the middle of the night, pounding on a door, that person automatically attaches a greater import to the message than if it were delivered during normal working hours. [Revere’s mission was ultimately successful because his message was also "sticky" – The British are coming! – and Revere was a Connector – many of the people with whom he was speaking already knew him.]

Another example mentioned NYC's drop in crime in the 1990s. Of course there were many reasons, but one seemingly small cause that may have had the greatest effect was cleaning the graffiti off subway cars. The context of the city’s transit system was one of dilapidation. By the so-called "Broken Window" theory, when someone sees a broken window in a house, they automatically assume that no one cares about fixing it, and therefore no one will care about other infractions of the law. By fixing the window, or by cleaning the graffiti off the subway cars, officials greatly reduced the spread of the crime epidemic. Potential criminals were much less likely to commit a crime if they found themselves in a more orderly environment.

Next, NYC cops went after fare-beaters. It was a seemingly tiny crime, costing the city only $1.25. One could argue that at a time when murderers, rapists, and thieves were everywhere, it was a significant waste of a cop’s time to arrest and spend a day booking someone who simply jumped a turnstile. But what the cops soon learned was that for every 10 fare-beaters arrested, one of them had either an outstanding warrant or a concealed weapon. By going after the little guys, they were actually catching big criminals. And, as the public caught on that even small infractions like fare-beating would not be tolerated, the entire context of the subway system changed and crime dropped significantly.

The old view of causes for crime – which Malcolm and I certainly don’t dismiss – are that they're related to education, racism, infrastructure, etc. All these are big things that require huge amounts of resources to change and years to take effect. They are daunting in their size and complexity. Yet by doing something simple – cleaning off graffiti and arresting fare-beaters – NYC made its mass transit system, and later the entire city through application of similar methods, a lot safer.

So, what does this have to do with Moldova? A couple weeks ago I was in Tvarditsa, a village that was clean and ordered. Now I'm back in Copceac, where garbage is strewn helter-skelter on streets and fields. The seeming insignificant act of tossing an empty bottle on the ground has an effect on the way people who later see it perceive their environment. Does it make them take less pride in their village? Does it lead to a sense of hopelessness, that things can never get better or that one can never have a better life or gain new skills? Does it make them more likely to believe that they can get away with a crime?

I don't have any statistics to tell you if there are actually any connections, but I found it very interesting to read about the power of context in creating change, and found it comforting that big change need not come from big events.

Spring in Tvarditsa

Our Gagauz Threesome, Bryan, Amy, and I, completed another Poosk small business seminar in the village of Tvarditsa last weekend. All previous seminars, besides the one done in Copceac, were held in cities. So, I was particularly excited when this opportunity came along because I think students in the villages tend to have fewer opportunities than those in the cities – as is probably true (to a degree) around the world.

The three of us, plus Charles, a volunteer from Chisinau, stayed with PCV Anastasia and her incredibly hospitable host-family. Perhaps I was so enamored with her family because Nastia’s host-mother was a phenomenal cook. I also absolutely loved Tvarditsa, and am convinced it is my favorite village in Moldova. The roads were straight and paved, the public areas were clean with no sign of litter, and you could tell that someone had actually laid out the village according to a plan.

I have to admit that my love for this village suffered a slight setback when on Saturday morning, which was to be the start of our seminar, only one girl showed up. I don’t know exactly why this happened, but I think it had something to do with there being some sort of academic Olympiad in the nearby city of Ceadir-Lunga. In any case, it was a bit of a downer.

Determined to make lemonade out of lemons, we agreed to pack all of the seminar into Sunday, when we were assured more students would show, and set about exploring Tvarditsa. I think we walked about 7-8 miles and saw it all. Charles and I introduced ultimate Frisbee at the local music school (which has a great soccer field out back). Instead of shirts vs. skins, we played hats vs. no-hats. Then we walked out to a natural spring where I drank freely from the cool water (no giardia yet!), and then to some small burrow-like caves where, apparently, monks spend the summer living mostly underground. We capped off the day with a tour of the local cognac factory – man, you could get drunk on just the fumes. Considering that I was there for a business seminar, it was nice to see a locally run, efficient business. All in all, not a bad day.




The seminar did have many more participants the next day. Out of the four student presentations, three involved the creation of some sort of transportation business. It seems that is a service sorely lacking – and I can certainly attest to being tired after walking around the entire previous day instead of hopping into a marshutka. We’ve been invited back for a festival next month, and I definitely want to go. There’s still a brinza (a local cheese) factory to tour, and a host-mother’s cooking to eat.

As folks in Copceac prepare for the growing season, they also prepare for the next winter. Every spring, grapevines must be trimmed to encourage new shoots to sprout. The old, dead wood – mostly twigs – are deposited in front of many villagers houses in huge piles. Here’s a woman who lives on my street, clips the vines into manageable sizes, then bundles them, and stows them away for use next winter in her pechka, essentially a wood stove in the wall of her house. For many, this is a much cheaper alternative to using gas for heating. It’s not uncommon to find monthly gas bills in excess of $75 during the winter, a vast sum when you consider a starting salary for a teacher is about $50 a month.

Also reading the Tipping Point now by Malcolm Gladwell – great book.

Also recently visited by former UZ-18 PCV Taya, on a one-night only vacation from her current post in Ukraine. Now isn't this a good argument in favor of Moldova dropping their visa requirement - she came because a visa wasn't required and brought her (few PCV) tourist dollars with her. Great to see you again, and meet Molly. Thanks for the visit.

Babel

For those who don't know the story of the Tower of Babel, I'll give
you a quick rundown… Back in the day, all of mankind spoke one
language. Folks got together and decided they would build a huge
tower to heaven to skip life and get right to the good stuff. God
disapproved, and so He caused the people to speak in different
tongues. They no longer understood each other, couldn't work
together, and the tower was abandoned or collapsed or both. [If a
greater scholar than I wants to give a better history in the comments
section, go ahead.]

The first time I watched director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu's
latest film, named after the ancient tower, I did so without
subtitles. I thought I remembered reading an article somewhere that
said he had deliberately chosen to go without translations of the
Arabic, Berber, Japanese, Spanish, and sign-language in order to
highlight the barriers that separate us. If the audience struggles
to understand, then they're more participants in the story than
simple observers – or so the theory goes. Turns out, I never read
such an article and somehow created it in my mind, mostly because I
didn't notice the "Turn Subtitles On" button in the program on my
computer I was using to watch the film. Oops. Believe me, the
second time through (with subtitles) is much better.

This film and the story from which it derives its name are in some
ways strikingly similar to my current situation. Yesterday, I went
to the university in Taraclia, a city about a 5-minute taxi ride from
my village center. I've lived in Copceac for a year-and-a-half, but
it was only a week ago that I learned that there was a university
nearby, and only yesterday, when I ventured there on my own, that I
discovered an English Department there AND that from 1992-94 some
woman from Kansas served as a Peace Corps Volunteer there! Am I
speaking some different language? How was I never told about this?
Granted, some of the blame lies with me because I never asked anyone,
"Hey, is there a university in Taraclia?" Then again, I also never
asked anyone, "Hey, is there an underground Olympic-sized swimming
pool with an unlimited supply of chips and salsa in Taraclia?" Maybe
I should.

More striking to me was a question I asked several of the students I
met in one English class. "How many of you speak Gagauz?" Not a
single hand went up. In Copceac, five minutes away, the primary
language is Gagauz. But in Taraclia, nothing.

This was, of course, only one class and not a true cross-section of
the Taraclia population, which I know has significant numbers who do
speak Gagauz. Nonetheless, it was surprising to see that in such a
small area, two villages should have as many languages. That would
be like everyone in my hometown of Fredon speaking Spanish, and five
minutes away in Newton everyone speaking Chinese. I guess I never
cease to be amazed by the number of languages spoken in such a tiny
area. Romania, Russian, Bulgarian, Gagauz, Ukrainian, and some study
English and/or German.

Beef Jerky

Those who know my brother and me will tell you that we're beef jerky
snobs (especially my brother – sorry, Bud, but it's true). We only
go for the all natural stuff – none of that artificial Slim-Jim
crap. From various care packages, I still have about 5.5 packets
left. I spent the last half-packet in self-preservation. By this I
don't mean that I was wasting away with hunger, but rather I gave it
to avoid being eaten by another.

There are two large dogs at my new host family (which is great,
BTW). One is a beautiful black German Shepard, Linda. She's well-
mannered and can even open the front door if it isn't locked and come
inside. Linda sits at the foot of the dinner table and we give her
scraps. The other dog, quite frankly, scared the bejesus out of me.
She's got a striking resemblance to Kujo and showed up from God knows
where about 2 months ago and the family just adopted her.

Knowing that the way to a dogs heart is through its stomach, I've
been tossing scraps of jerky anytime I pass by. I think the plan has
worked, and now I only mildly fear for my life whenever I enter the
gate.

[PS – DON'T send more jerky. I've got plenty.]