The annual family reunion: Memorial Easter

The Preparation
My neighbor, Zina, came to use our electric meat grinder the day before Memorial Easter. While I nibbled on a cabbage salad and she worked on her three-meat meatballs, she recalled her husband’s predictable words in the days leading up to a major holiday.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” He would tell Zina. “You are so busy making food for two days from now that you don’t have time to give me something to eat today!”

And such was the scene in our kitchen the day before Memorial Easter. Maria was fixing to stuff the lamb. A neighbor, also Maria, was wrapping cabbage rolls (sarmale). Zina went on grinding away at her pork, beef, and chicken mixture. I stuffed miniature crepes with sweet cheese and exactly two raisins each. Eventually, my host mom gave me the order to make a cabbage salad for us to eat while we worked.
Celebration in the city

The morning of Pastele Blajinilor (Memorial Easter) we raced to the cemetery in our town. The priest was to arrive around 09:00 and Maria was anxious to get her husband's grave blessed as soon as possible so that we could make it to her village celebration as well. We succeeded in getting our grave blessed first because of my host brother's close friendship with the priest's son (uh, Catholicism take note?).

In the photo above, people are lined up around a long table with their food and wine, ready for it to be blessed and offered to others on behalf of the souls of the departed. Eastern Orthodoxy dictates that the fate of the souls of the dead are the responsibility of the family. Rituals are carried out on behalf of the dead to assure their eternity in heaven. 

Celebration in the Village

Throughout this post, readers might notice the tables and benches in the cemetery. Typically, each family has a table near the cluster of gravesites they maintain. Here's a shot of my immediate family and host cousins in the village cemetery.

We stayed in the cemetery for a few hours visiting with cousins and taking part in the rituals. Each grave is decorated with bowls of bread, candy, and red-colored eggs before the priest blesses the grave. Then the family gives away these bowls, often accompanied with a shot of wine, "on behalf of the soul of [insert name]." Thus, many Peace Corps Volunteers in Moldova will tell you this holiday is something akin to trick-or-treating. I always go home with a small collection of dishes and stash of chocolate treats. 

Just like last year, we spent the afternoon at Granny Liuba's house. We had a huge meal, and spent the afternoon relaxing, playing games, and watching my three-year-old host-nephew plant onions in the garden (see above slideshow captions for commentary). 

In this picture, Vitalie (my oldest host brother) and I are playing with our food. It's a simple game, smash your boiled egg on someone else's and see whose egg implodes. Yet another thing America kids miss out on because they prefer those plastic colored eggs instead of the regular ones. 

Adopted by another community

I just got back from a week down south, helping implement a World Map Project. A fellow volunteer started this project just before she needed to leave the country for a family emergency. So while I went down to  help her partner (Liliana) finish the project, her whole community essentially adopted me as their own for the week. More times than I can count, people called me by the former volunteer's name rather than my own--a sure sign that she is missed!

I arrived the Monday following Easter, better known as "a doua zi de pashte" or "the second day of Easter." No one goes to work on the Monday following Easter, it too is considered a holiday. Thus, upon my arrival in the village at 17:00, Liliana and I immediately went to the Baptist Church where her husband (Roma) is the minister.

Ninety-seven percent of Moldovans are Eastern Orthodox. Protestant churches are both rare and grossly misunderstood. Most Moldovans say that the Baptists are not Christians. I've challenged this point a few times, but usually for the sake of not making enemies in my community, I look for an exit from the conversation before my opponent gets too dedicated to the argument.

This was my first time being invited to a Baptist church in Moldova, though I have always wanted to go and see how it compares to the Orthodox services. At the Orthodox services, practically everything the priest says is sung. Words are modified to rhyme and reflect a more perfect meter. Though I tend to understand the meaning of things, never have I understood word for word what was being said as I did at my visit to the Baptist church. What a thrill it was to understand, word for word, the Easter stories in a language as beautiful as Romanian!

And so went my week. Tuesday we went to the forest for a picnic with many of the Baptist ministers from the region, and their families. I understood everything that was said, and unlike the Orthodox Moldovans, who attend to rituals more than anything else, my hosts actually picked up their Bibles and read passages for themselves. I understood the words of the prayers before we took every meal. I understood when the pastors discussed their youth programming, fundraising strategies, and outreach efforts. It was everything you think a church picnic would be, just replace your English with my host country's Romanian.

When I wasn't at the school working on the project, I spent most of my time with Liliana and Roma's family. We visited Roma's village where I met the mayor, Roma's family, and visited the local pasta factory. We watched YouTube videos, ate really quick meals because we were perpetually running late, and drank evening tea. I fell absolutely in love with their two-year old, Diana. Last time I saw her (November 2010) she was so shy she would barely look at me. This week, the case was exactly the opposite, as I started responding to calls for "Tanti Melissa."

Given that Liliana and Roma have a full house, I actually spent my night's at another family's house. A very large house for a very large family. I participated in their second day of Easter feast. Since many people weren't eating meat in the weeks leading up to Easter, I think people are going a little protein crazy these days. On Monday alone I was served the following meats: roasted duck stuffed with fruit chutney, stuffed goose, egg-batter fried chicken, pork stuffed cabbage rolls, and roasted lamb.

My host adamantly insisted that I drink (and like!) his house wine. With only a single ingredient, grapes, he said it's the best juice around and sent me home with a two-liter bottle of his two-year-old white wine on the condition that I tell you all that wine in Moldova is delicious!

Finally, on my last night in the village, I visited my friend's former host family. Luda, the host mother, is particularly upset that her volunteer had to leave so suddenly and misses her very much. We spent the night eating all of that volunteer's favorite foods and recalling stories of her time and work in the village. They hope to have the chance to host another volunteer soon. They wanted to have their picture taken with this teddy bear the volunteer left behind, which the grandson now adores and dresses in his own clothes. 

The day I left the village was, again, a family affair. Five adults and two kids total, we squeezed into a sedan that we push started more than once. Took it as far as the district center, where we swapped vehicles with Roma's brother. Taking his van in exchange for the car, we proceeded on to the capital city where Liliana and Roma had errands to run. 

A trip to the city is an adventure for the kids, and we didn't part ways until after we celebrated (much to the children's benefit and delight!) the completion of our project over pizza, soda, french fries, and ice cream. 

Easters in Moldova: Two beautiful days

For the play-by-play of Orthodox Easter, click over to my post from last last year. I hope that post and the pictures below convey the high regard I hold for Orthodox Easter in Moldova--two of my favorite days in my whole service. The Easter customs and traditions in this faith community are some of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.


Think of a family-friendly Christmas movie in which, perfectly, the entire town carries candles to the central square and carols around a large Christmas tree. Fast-forward from that scene to Easter, and there you have it. Easter in my community means that the church courtyard is filled with warm smiles, anticipation, and candle-light.

It means that adults and children alike will squeal when the holy water landing on their faces chills their bones. It means the number of meals in a day will double. It means that sun will shine (at least that has been my luck) and we will go to the cemetery to be with those we loved and lost. It means we will greet an unusually high number of strangers we pass on the way. This is Easter in Moldova.

*Big thanks to my host brother, Sergiu, who spent his last two Easters teaching me everything I've shared in these posts. Merci mult, Serji!

Hristos a înviat! Christ is risen!

Easter is the most important holiday in Moldova's Eastern Orthodox Culture. About two weeks ago people started "Easter cleaning" in their homes and gardens. Not one tree trunk has gone without white-wash, not one carpet escaped a beating. Furthermore, the most devout have been on a 49 day "post," meaning they have adhered to a strictly vegan diet. Not many made it the whole time, my host brother did, but my host mom just picked out a few of the more important days to participate in the post. Again regarding the big build-up, Maria and I began cooking on Thursday. Basically, she does all things meat related and then sits me at the table to slice home made egg noodles, throw together "salads" of various varieties, and build this cake made of alternating layers of a thin wafer and sweetened-condensed milk with walnuts. In this picture, Maria is preparing one of the two Easter breads.

Friday, things kicked into a little higher gear and Maria recruited me to offer up some manual labor at the bread factory where she is an accountant. Everyone was pitching in for the Easter preparations, no matter one's exact title. We had been trying to find a way for me to go to the factory during the work day anyway, to observe the conditions of the workers. I am at a loss to provide a metaphor or simile that characterizes the factory correctly. The massive structure is 70 years-old, the high ceilings are supported by fading blue-tiled walls, a breeze inevitable blows the poorly constructed and aging windows, and the natural light from the opaque windows on the ceiling and the few bare light bulbs in various crevices of the factory combine to form a dull, stale illumination.

Working in the assembly line, the chatter was simple and anticipatory of the coming celebrations. I fielded lots of questions about how we celebrate Easter in the United States. My answers to these questions always begin with "it's different for every family." The similarities are evident, celebrating spring, preparation of more food than is remotely necessary, and spending time with family. But the fact that Easter isn't a religious holiday for some families, or that in fact there are families and faiths that don't celebrate Easter at all is a bit more challenging for Moldovans to grasp. Completely understandable considering how long their borders were literally locked.

Finally, preparations being complete (including these eggs that we dyed using only boiled onion skins!), Easter celebrations actually commenced on Saturday night. Some, particularly groups of men or teenagers, built bon fires in fields with the preferred pyrotechnic being scraps of old tires. As my host brother, neighbor, her boyfriend, and myself left for Church, we could see the fires' glow on just about every hill surrounding the town.

The four of us arrived at the Church about 11:30 pm, and wiggled our way to the front of the room. A few candles had already been lit and although you can not see the choir, they had already begun to sing...And then the clock struck mid-night.

It's not really worth it for me to compare the experience that followed to anything in the United States. First of all, fire marshals would never allow that many people (holding candles nonetheless), crammed into a room with one exit. So instead, I'll just tell it like it happened--they turned out the lights!

There we stood, in the dark. Not one candle lit, not one light bulb providing, crammed like proverbial sardines. I don't know if it was because I just finished reading a Dan Brown novel with a claustrophobic protagonist, or because I am an uptight American, but my heart rate noticeably quickened. Breathing became shallow. And I suddenly became acutely aware of the absence of green "exit" signs flanking the building.

This part probably lasted only two minutes, thankfully, before the priest started the official ceremony. He then entered the sanctuary from behind the closed doors of the altar caring three candle sticks and told the people (it was only my second time in a Moldovan church, but my first time actually understanding what was being said!) to take in the light of Christ. The front rows of people rushed to light their candles from his larger three, and within moments the light had been shared all the way to the back. My host brother, Sergiu, was the one that informed me how true the priest's words were. Apparently, the flame is a descendant of the eternal flame in Jerusalem. Last week the Moldovan government lit a descending flame, transported it in a plane to Moldova, whereby every region then took a flame, and shared it upon the people all across Moldova. My first reaction: what a beautiful celebration. My second impression: hmmm...not quite separation of church and state. Unfortunately, I like both reactions equally.

After taking our flames outside and walking around the Church three times, we went back inside for four more hours of fellowship. No typo folks, four more hours we stood listening to the choir, repeating some rituals, and listening to readings. This video is a sample of an event that took place several dozen times over the course of the night. [Translation: Hristos a înviat! Christ is risen! Adeverat a înviat! Indeed, he has!]

Around four o'clock members of the congregation took communion and we headed outside to prepare for one last ritual. I have been wanting to note that while I have much respect for these so strictly adhered traditions, there were many events throughout the night that not even my very religious elderly neighbors could explain. I will keep asking.

For my town of about 14,000 people there is only one Orthodox Church. So when we eventually headed toward the exit, I expected there to be a line of people out the door. Earlier I had observed speakers that relayed the events inside the church to the courtyard. However, what I didn't expect, was 1,000 people (Sergiu's estimation) surrounding the church with their picnic baskets and candles that continued to share the flame from Israel. At this point Sergiu leaned in and said, "if you thought it was interesting at mid-night, just wait. Va fi mai interesant. It will get more interesting."

This last film pretty much relays the events. The sloppy ending is my attempt to not let my camera get doused, even in the holiest of waters. With the water, the priest was both blessing us (to be well behaved) and the food in our picnic basket. As per the etiquette, we will continue to eat from this blessed food for three days.

...Which is what we did immediately after arriving home at 6 o'clock Sunday morning!

Vă doresc un Paște fericit pe toți, și săbarotile cum doriți și daca doriți!

I wish you all a very happy Easter however/if you chose to celebrate!

Why fish sales are sky high this week

According to Orthodox tradition, today is "Buna-Vestire," Catholic readers might recognize this day as the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary. It is the celebration of the day in which the Angel Gabriel told the Virgin Mary that she would give birth to the son of God.

The Buna-Vestire falls right in the middle of the Easter fasting. Those who are holding the fast are eating strictly vegan diets (which at the end of winter, with no fresh produce, is a really big commitment. I can't say I know many young people who do hold fast). Ironically though, Buna-Vestire is considered to be one of the 12 major feasts of the Orthodox Calendar.

Fast holders and pretenders alike will celebrate today by a one-day exception to the fast, eating as much fish as they like. My host Mom bought her fish supply a couple days ago. She hasn't kept fast (she made it like 27 hours until she broke down to cheese and meat again). My host aunt kept the fast for about a week or so, a common gesture in these parts. My host grandma is still a devout observer, and my neighbors and friends at the Popa house will probably eat fish today because they like it so much, but they plan to observe the fast next week.

This week, fish stalls at the market have been the envy of all other providers. Happy feasting, everyone!

Meeting the in-laws

More than any other Moldovan/Eastern Orthodox tradition, I am particularly well acquainted with the praznic. I wrote about two of them previously (here and here), so I won't spend much time explaining this tradition.

A few things made this praznic different from others I have attended. Most obviously was the new people with whom I was meeting. I finally met Maria's in-laws. This praznic was held to mark the seven years since her mother in-law's passing. Since Maria's husband has also passed, it was host by her two remaining children.

The women in the room immediately greeted me with kind words and those imperative European cheek kisses. "Finally we meet you," they said. "Yes, Melissa. Like the tea plant, yes?"

After my host brother quizzed my Romanian skills in front of the whole table, he kindly informed me that his Uncle Galaction (pictured below in the suit, on the left side of the table) is the Secretary General for the Institute of Philology, at the State Academy of Sciences. He has a doctorate in Romanian! Doamne fereste! 

As with any family gathering, the good-ol'-days stories, lubricated by house wine and brandy, eventually dominated the conversation. It just so happened that I arrived that morning in the capital city from this family's native county. I spent two days there facilitating a youth experience exchange. Hence, village tales were interrupted to explain to me where particular stories took place in relation to where I had just been.

On the whole, the stories told about Maria's Mother in-law were gracious and endearing. Her memory was revered by another of her daughter in-laws, as a hard-working, constantly in-motion, and attentive woman. Though, the stories of her two sons drinking milk straight from the source without their Mother's permission were all the more entertaining.

Though, as every village does, theirs also has tragic memories. According to Galaction, their village was particularly affected by Stalin's deportations in the late 1930s. Galaction said many people from their village were taken away in trains, fed only salt-cured fish and denied any water. Those who died along the way were never recovered, those who made it to Siberia only arrived to find hard daily work in the labor camps. Modern estimates put the total number of deportation victims around 90,000. For more on this history, click here. As Galaction spoke I was captivated, these are the moments when I wonder why the world doesn't seem to learn from it's past. Trail of Tears. Balkan wars. Holocaust. Rwandan genocide. Sudan. And all those others I don't even know occurred.

So as not to end the post on such a low note, and to get back to the story of the party. I'll leave you with this photo of my host brother and his fiancée. Let the world know the date is set! October 14, 2011 these two will finally tie the knot, in Chisinau, on the same day as the city's hram. Felicia said she hasn't started looking for a dress yet, but will do so just as soon as the weather smartens up, in spring.

Meetings with new people seems to be my elixir of choice these days. I can't seem to leave one of these parties without a rejuvenated sense of my contentment in this place. 

Eastern Orthodox New Year

According to the Eastern Orthodox calendar, I am obliged to wish you all a new year greeting. That makes today New Year's eve and tomorrow the start of the new year, marked on Saint Vasile's Day. The boys in this photo are my frisbee mates during the spring and summer. Tonight they came to wish us a happy new year in the same style as the boys in the short film from last year--by reciting one the poems that have memorized. It's called "urătura" (oo-ra-toora), and as you can see from last year, it's more of a chant really, and always accompanied by a bell. Also, as I mentioned before, this tradition resembles Halloween a bit, in the sense that after the children recite the appropriate greeting, the host/hostess dishes out candy, money, and loaves of celebratory bread (colac). They even come ready with bags to stow all the goods.

I read up on what all this sing-song is about in National Traditions (Capcelea Valeriu, 1998. Chisinau, Moldova: Evrica 70, 74.), which I received on my birthday. Below is what I learned, translated and summarized for your reading pleasure. If it sounds like an abundance of idyllic notions, it is. But imagine it full of rolling 'r' sounds and rapid-fire diphthongs and you have the Romanian language.

"The urătura is a new year's greeting extolling the homemakers, farmers, and livestock keepers. It is a greeting for those that love work, and for those that provide for the rest of us. It glorifies the work of the country people, who are charged with caring for the sanctity of the land. It is to celebrate him with  sweat on his forehead as he ensures us rich fruits and an abundance of everything. 


Modern verses may also include wishes for success in the recipient's village, and for those born in the coming year. The urătura always ends with a verse for the good of humankind, for everyone to have rich fruits, and to be happy and healthy in the new year."

Tomorrow morning, the children will come again. This part of the Moldovan New Year's celebration is called, "the sowing" (may the agrarian tradition continue as long as the soil will support it!). The children will recite another poem, and throw grain on our threshold as they do. Tomorrow's "sowing" may go something like the poem Capcelea included in my book:

To snow
To rain, 
To morning dew drops,
And for wheat to bud,
Rich with fruit!
To bring us hope
While passing through danger.
So children will grow,
And flower for many years
Like apples,
Like pears,
In the middle of summer
And in springtime.
Strong like stone,
Quick like an arrow,
Strong like iron,
Hot like steal.
To this year and many to come!


I'm sure most children will come deliver lines like this because their mothers compel them. But unlike why I can't tell you why fruitcake is an American Christmas item, I can tell you why the tradition of "the sowing" began, at least, according to Capcelea.

"In the old days, it was considered that children needed to learn how to plant the seeds necessary for bread--the source of life and joy--to love the animals, and now how to grow them." 


So how about a verse for the animals too?

For the lives of oxen and cattle
And your life also
To this year and many to come
With good health!
To be everything well!

[Orthodox] Christmas

The only thing truly Orthodox about my second Christmas experience, in Moldova, was my host brother's recitation of the "Our Father" prayer before our meal. He said it so fast I hardly understood! After that, it was just one big day of celebration. My 80 year old host-grandmother, Liuba, consistently and gently reminded us that in fact, we were given the chance to have this celebration because of the Lord's birth. Her sharp wit is a sure sign that she is feeling well and strong these days.

 For the celebration at our house, my host brothers came from the capital city, a family of cousins came from a village in the district south of ours, and a couple more cousins from here in town. This was my first chance to meet the newest addition in the family, six-month-old, Severina. Watching Liuba hold her great-granddaughter was a treat, until I started doing the math and realized just how many years behind I must be if I ever want to meet my great-grandchildren! I'm thinking that's a no-go...

While I was in the United States for western/commercial Christmas, it was brought to my attention that I have never discussed the key food that graces our celebration tables. Pictured here, is racitoare. Maria prepares it for every major holiday meal, except Easter (when we have lamb) and any feasts taking place during a religious fast. It is prepared by boiling roosters, and contains a lot of salt. The meat is arranged on the plates before the hot liquid is poured over it. The gelatin sets rather quickly, particularly if it is kept cold. To convey how regarded the dish is, let me just say that right after I snapped this shot, Vitalie scooped up half of this platter and put it on his plate. There were four more platters just like it on the table.

The medical team at Peace Corps tells host families that volunteers do not eat this dish, like we don't drink water straight from the well. Though, I know of volunteers who really like it, for my taste, it is far too salty and I only tasted it for the first time when I was visiting someone new, and it was the only thing they served besides bread. 

In my host family, we exchanged gifts the moment people walked in the door. Vitalie blew me away with this beautiful gift....two bottles of collectors' wine from Milesti Mici. In fact, he said, the wine is from the year of your birth! Although he missed the year by one, 1987 is hand-written on a special label. After spending 13 years in barrels 70 meters underground, it was bottled in 2000 (and will fly home with me in November). Merci mult, Vitalie!! Go here to read about my trip to Milesti Mici, which according to the Guinness Book of World Records, owns the world's largest wine collection. 

As my host brother's were headed to their car, the Popa Family called me to say, "Come carol to us in 20 minutes!" The night before, they taught me my first Moldovan Carol. It's a story about wanting to go caroling, but after getting to the house we realize that the hosts aren't home because they went to the market to sell a goat. In the end, the don't sell a goal, but manage to sell a cute little bunny for someone to make a man's winter hat. 

Upon my arrival, I quickly sing the song (through fits of giggles and pushing away the thought of how much better my voice sounds when I drive alone, in the car, with the music up loud and the windows down). For my effort and the second time that day, someone pushed 50 lei (about four dollars) in my pocket saying, "tradition, tradition, it's tradition, Melissa. Take the money."

The whole evening was incredibly memorable, but it is a wonder, since Aurel kept pouring and sharing the gift I brought him from my Dad and his buddy that runs the state liquor store in Purdy, Washington--one bottle of Wild Turkey. I assumed, apparently in error, that being of my gender I would not  be subjected to drinking it. The whole bottle lasted 40 minutes. Maybe Aurel just really likes getting gifts. Here, he's wearing the apron my Mom actually sewed for his wife, and holding the "best father" mug Yoel got him in Romania.

The evening's entertainment:

For the sake of not writing a novel, I'll leave the rest of the evening to be conveyed through the photo-slideshow. Check it out for my first accordion lesson, more racitoare, more gifts, and the adorable couple Aurel kept taking pictures of saying, "53 years together and they still have a marriage of love." Merry Christmas everyone!

Back to my community

After being on vacation in both the United States and Romania, I am happy to arrive back in my community today. The bus driver was rather grumpy (putting it politely), but a nice man shared a cab into town with me (since we were dropped off an hour walk from my house) and refused to let me pay. He left the money with the cabby when he got out, wishing me a merry Christmas as he did.

Tomorrow is the beginning of Orthodox Christmas.

So, in the newly rekindled spirit of holiday cheer, I called up the Popa family and invited myself over to deliver some Christmas gifts. In this photo, Aura is modeling the purse that my talented mother sewed her (Doina has one too!).  The strap doubles-up through the two silver circles and can be worn as a shoulder bag. Mom, the girls loved them!!

For Angela, I brought a made-by-my-mom apron with a poinsettia motif. She put it on right away, and then Aurel stole it! Everyone really liked the Brown & Haley Almond Roca (made in the Pacific Northwest) too.

Finally, a bottle of Kentucky's more popular whiskey for Aurel and Yoel, the men of the house. I don't really know how to drink it, my dad helped pick it out when I was home, and it's very American. There is a turkey on the front, and Yoel is very excited.

Feasting during fast

As per Orthodox custom, we host a special meal each year to commemorate the death of Maria's husband. Last year, we held the event on the actual anniversary of his death. But a combination of things prompted us to have the "praznic" early.

First, the praznic is required for the first seven years after someone dies. This is the seventh year, and as such, there are a few extra customs, including a home visit by the priest to carry out a few of the appropriate rituals. Since Costel died on January 7, Orthodox Christmas, the priest would be unavailable to come to our home if we waited to do the praznic in January.

Interestingly enough, we decided to hold the praznic during the 40-day fast leading up to Christmas. During this time, many Moldovans adhere to a strictly vegan diet. No meat. No sour cream. No homemade cheese. 

The vegan twist on Maria's usual fair limited the number of fried foods that would be gracing our table, so most of it was actually cooked on our wood stove, or what we call our "soba."

Stewed potatoes and mushrooms in place of fried meat dishes.

"Sarmale" or "Galuși" prepared without meat.

White beans with sauteed onions and tomatoes in leu of what Peace Corps Volunteers commonly refer to as the "chicken jello" was a welcome change.

This year's pickles, shredded beets, and spicy carrots.

Rolled cabbage pastries, walnut pastries, and apples baked with rose-petal jam and sour cherries. No vegan changes there, just classic Maria goodness.

Desert of boiled rice with sugar, fresh orange juice, orange zest, and white raisins. Usually this dish is prepared sans orange deliciousness and with milk, instead of water as a cooking agent.

And at the end of the day...Fedorița and I know our place in the kitchen organizing and washing, organizing and drying, organizing and re-shelving the dishes. The presence of a dishwasher in this house would actually have meant that she and I would have spent far less time together. O iubesc matușika mea!

To the edge of the region, a Greek vacation

Piecing together a post about my adventures on my almost-one-year-in-the-Peace Corps-trip is proving difficult. A retelling of events hardly seems worth it, it seems intimidatingly exhausting. Rather, I'd like to use this post to explore a theme of congruency. Greece stands as a border to this region, in many ways due to it's predominately Eastern Orthodox culture that shares immediate borders with the Roman Catholic culture of Italy. The straightforward similarities I discovered between the Greek and Moldovan cultures probably grew tiresome for my traveling companions (Mom and Dad), as every other sentence I spoke stated a "In Moldova" versus "In Greece" observation. Maybe this blog is a more appropriate venue for such pondering.

When I arrived in the center of Athens with hours to spare until my next bus to the Ionian Islands, I sought out an old comfort: coffee. After reading so much about Greek coffee, prepared with the grounds in the cup, I was a little surprised to find that actually, people tend to stick with instant coffee in Greece. Just like Moldova. Oh well, I still enjoyed a "fresh" cup before walking toward the edge of the city, and my next bus. On the way, I happened across the makeshift memorial in front of the previous week's bombing site. Three bank employees died here, and just like in Moldova, these red candles were lit and flowers (including noticeably yellow ones) honored the fallen.

Quite to my pleasure, I actually found myself riding the overnight bus and ferry to the island of Corfu with a Moldoveanca. For roughly ten hours we compared and contrasted Greek and Moldovan lives. As I am a transplant in Moldova, and she in Greece (she has worked there for two years), we swapped experiences and observations in Romanian all night long. Particularly, I was curious about Easter celebrations in the Greek region of Eastern Orthodoxy. She said in Greece there is an advantage, everyone holds a huge feast before going to Church all night...no wary worshipers longing for food and water. No shocker here, but I actually learned some new Romanian words from her too, not like I ever needed the word "island" in Moldova!

On Corfu I stayed in a large, but rather empty backpackers hostel on the beach. It opened in 1977, the first on Pelakas beach, and the price of a bed included home-cooked breakfasts and dinners by the woman of the house. The ingredients all come from their organic farm, where currently five Americans are volunteering for room and board with the WOOF program. On Confu, so many things reminded me of Moldova--house wine, green growth of spring, home made cheese every day (Moldova: Brinza as Greece: Feta), old women tending to their fields as they have done every year of their lives, special crucifixes on the side of the road where danger is considered particularly present, and big families. This is a photo of some grapes I passed on a hike one morning from the beach, through the forest to this farm-valley, to a mountain-side Venetian village, the rocky cliffs of the coast, and back down. One of the most refreshing experiences of my whole trip.

This photo is from that Venetian village, it illustrates the importance placed on potted plants and flowers that I found on the island. I had to laugh, because I recently had a conversation with a volunteer who needed to vent about how important the potted flowers in Moldova seem to be sometimes. I say Venetian village because this island was ruled by the city-state for a large period of its more recent history. You can also count the Corinthians, Sparta, Napoleon, Rome, Russia, and England in the list of former rulers. Now, the joke is said to be, the rulers are many, western European tourists.

I can't deny two of the reasons I wanted to go to Corfu were natural occurrences: the mountains and the coast. So riding the ferry back to the mainland, I naturally was eager to sit outside for the crossing...watching the sun set, taking in the salty scent, etc. Here is a short clip that shows all the people who were as enthusiastic about the matter as me.

I'm purposely not posting photos on this blog that people have likely seen in postcards and movies. This isn't the best picture of the Acropolis, by any means, but it was taken from a rock where the Apostle Paul is believed to have spoke. In Greece, the official number of Eastern Orthodox believers is believed to be 97 percent of the population. In Moldova, its 99 percent. I can't speak about Moldovan law, but Greek law still states that cremation is illegal for an Eastern Orthodox Christian. The law was recently amended to allow cremation for other faiths. Particularly, Muslim Greeks, who were sending their dead abroad for this important death ritual.

When it comes to the Santorini portion of the trip, I can't help but show you postcard worthy images. The whole island is a postcard, particularly the famous blue-domed churches, of which there are more than 250. Also, wine grapes are becoming a sort of cash-crop. While touring a small family-owned winery, the owner also pointed out the distiller used for "raki." My parents didn't know what that meant at first, but I had to laugh. I've heard of volunteer water distillers being used to make the same concoction in Moldova, known in the states as "moonshine."

As for the rest of the trip, all you need to know is that I swam in the sea, got a tan, and ate really good food.

Remembrance with respect

Marking the day of her brother's death, Maria asked me to go to Church with her and participate in the Pomana. It is a ceremony that is done every Friday at church for remembering the dead. I've been to church so much lately, I've just started carrying a head scarf in my bag.

As we placed our bread, wine, candy, and candles on the table, Maria's words marked the true extent of our friendship. She said, "Melissa, I don't know about my boys. I need to teach you this, so that when I die you will know how to do this. You have to do this every year!" She was laughing, I was not, the other women waited for my reaction, and despite being in church, all I could utter was "doamne fereste," a clear violation of the fourth commandment.

This service is short and simple. Maria's commentary continued to be colorful. She was the only woman in the room not wearing a skirt, so she said I had to stand in front of her. Last time, when the elder of our two priests was reciting the service, he told her she couldn't be there without a skirt. It's one of the many reasons we prefer the younger, red-headed priest, Sergiu, that you have seen pictured in this blog. She also said the older priest, Ion, read through the list of dead so fast she didn't hear her relative's name being mentioned. Sergiu got it just right, and even I could pick out the family name we'd come to honor.

When I go to church, I merely observe. I might repeat things I believe to be true, but I do not cross myself and do not kiss idols or the hands of priests. This time, as the line of women finishing kissing the priest's hand, he turned to me and titled his head the way our old dog used to do when he heard his name. As if to say, "well young lady, we'll get you soon enough."

Sergiu's Church Wedding

When I told a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer that I was going to a church wedding this week, he responded "That's the bad part. Why are you going to that? That's the bad part." What his reaction shows is the reality that this is not the wedding celebration most guests are invited to attend. On the first day of a Moldovan wedding, the bride and groom are married in the eyes of the Church. On the second day, in the eyes of the state (this is probably a rotten analogy in a post-Soviet society), and then that night there is a big party which is called "the wedding" or "nunta."

To mark the beginning of the wedding, the parade of three decorated cars serenaded the town with their horns as they made their way from our neighborhood to the church. From this point forward, the degree of casualty was a little suprising. The bride, groom, "nash" (a couple designated to counsel and support the newly weds) and less than five others stood in the church courtyard waiting for a baby's baptism to finish, then we all went inside just as the altar boy, in his street clothes, rearranged the materials on the pulpit for the ceremony. The groom's sister paid the woman selling the church candles and idols 500 Moldovan lei for the ceremony. Random townspeople entered the church throughout the process to prepare another ceremony that is carried out every Friday, called Pomana, to remember the dead.

A fresh carpet was laid before the couple to be wed and the nash, just as the priest buttoned his costume and walked in the room. The four stepped onto the carpet, lit their candles, and the ceremony began. My favorite quote from the ceremony was captured on video, but since it is in Romanian, I'll try to relay the humor here:

Priest to the couple: "And you promise that you have never been married?"

Couple: "Yes"

Priest to the Nash: "And you promise that you are married?"

Nash: "Yes."

Priest to Nash and couple: "And you promise that you all have been baptized?"

Nash and Couple: "Yes."

Priest to everyone in the room: "And you all heard this declaration?"

Everyone: "Yes"

Priest: "Well that's nice, but it really only matters that God heard it, and he already knew."

In this photo, the couple is crowned. According to my host mother, this is the official act that marks them as man and wife. There was a small peck at the very end of the event, but I blinked and missed the first half, also the absence of applause after that moment solidified it's non-significance.

In the video below, the priest tells the group to cross themselves, and then "let us pray." The singing altar boy is not only unseen in the video clip, but unseen to the guest as well. There is a box near the front of the room that he stands in so as to allow his voice to carry over the curved ceiling like the ominous voice of the one they have come to worship.

Finally, like all other things at church that occur in sets of three, the newly weds and the nash walked around the altar three times, stopping where they started each time to cross themselves. The second time around, the skirt of the bride was caught on something, producing a longer than short, awkward silence. In the photo, note that that bride and groom literally have their hands tied together. Also, they are trying to balance the crowns on their heads, and there is a person behind each of them trying to keep the crowns from crashing to the floor as well. The nash couple still carry lit candles. When the dress was snagged, everyone in the party literally stopped, helpless, and waited for the bride's sister to divert disaster.

Memorial Easter, a village, and my family

If you want to count how many people actually live in my Moldovan town, then you should bring one of those counting clickers that bus drivers use to the cemetery on Memorial Easter (Paște Blajinilor). I think it is also safe to say that the town taxi service makes a killing on this day since many people chose the two-dollar cab ride over carrying all of their goods to the cemetery. The picture here shows one of the two buses that operated as a shuttle. By goods, I mostly refer to wine, bread, colored eggs, candles, chocolates, candies, and flowers.

Most families also prepare several pomana, like this one. Also, many are offered on a piece of round bread called colac. These are intended to be gifts on behalf of the dead person's soul (a very important Romanian word: suflet). For instance, the Vice Mayor of our town invited me over to the grave of her father, which she had covered with food, flowers, and candles. She told me a little more about her family, then took a pomana from the grave and offered it to me with a glass of wine, saying "from the soul of my father." When taking wine at Easter, we say "Christ is risen," as well as "May God forgive him." After managing the shot of wine (Moldovans do this nice and smooth, but it takes me at least three swallows), I kissed the bread and blew out the candle. People go out and buy extra dishes and mugs to offer the pomana on/in, so I came away from the cemetery a few bowls and one coffee cup richer.

Memorial Easter is the busiest day for the year for our two priests. This picture shows the priests blessing a mountain of food and wine. Some of the food will be left for the altar-boy-equivalents to haul off to the poor and elderly, the rest people will take to their own tables (that they build next to the graves) to eat and share with family. The table is cleared and filled again as if it was never empty in between the blessings. My ignorance might come into play a little here, but I think the job of an Orthodox priest is a little harder than that of a Roman Catholic priest because everything they say is sung. I still have "Hristos a înviat din morți" or "Christ rose from the dead" stuck in my head, we heard it all week...Hristooos a înviat din Moorți! Hristooos a înviat din Moorți! ...But then again, Orthodox priests cannot be ordained until they are married, and are expected to bear children....The Vatican might have missed the mark on that one!

After the our relatively small celebration in the cemetery, I went with my host brothers (in the swanky BMW nonetheless!) out to my host grandmother's house for a much bigger party. I will never forget my host grandmother's reaction when she saw me walking up the path (she lived with us this winter for three months, and just this last week celebrated her 80th birthday), I have never had such a big hug from two such little arms! Here too, around the big table, every time you are handed a glass of wine, it is honor of someone's soul. Thank goodness offering half the glass to the soil is permitted in this sense. This is a view from the cemetery in the village (I have been in a cemetery six times since the new year!) where most of my host family's dead are buried. See those sheep in the distance? Spring in Moldova is like a movie set--"the hills are alive....!"

This is the most people from my host family I have yet to get on one picture. If I were to consider myself a daughter in the family, the woman standing directly in front of me would be my grandmother, the two men are my right are my brothers (they already call themselves that..awww), and the woman over my left shoulder is my aunt, the hardest working woman I know. The rest would be cousins, including the older man directly behind me who is a big-wig at the department of Chemistry in Chisinau. He recently earned a type of lifetime achievement award, which was broadcast on the national television station.

I wanted to make sure you got a good look at that 80 years-young lady, Luba. Also shown is Rodica (who will have her second baby in June) and her brother Gicu and his wife, their son Marin. Rodica and Gicu are the children of my host Mom's sister, who works in Italy.

Today we all go back to normal work schedules, for which I am glad, but I have to say that this past week has been one of the most cherished yet. Back in the fall, I thought I wanted to move out of my host family's house, find an apartment in the center of town, and live on my own. I AM SO HAPPY THAT I CHOSE TO STAY WITH MY HOST FAMILY. Who cares if I eat potatoes everyday of the winter? Who cares if I sometimes lack the personal space we uptight Americans are accustomed too? This host family experience is challenging, sometimes fragile, but what family isn't?

At this point, I can recite the name's of second cousins, show you the graves of many, and re-tell the story of how my host aunt used to slide through the fence and skip school, as if it were my own to tell. Sometimes people ask me if I miss my family, and of course, how could I not? Especially in times of celebration or tribulations, it is incredibly difficult to miss those moments. So I count my blessings that I was placed with such an accepting host family that is eager to accept my presence. Of course, being the third PCV helps, they already recognize there are just strange things Americans do and say, so I am in debt to Greg and Sharon both.

My host younger host brother, Sergiu, who is studying to be a lawyer in Chisinau, has been around a lot this week and we have developed quite a partnership. When he and his mom hassle me about not eating something, I now feel comfortable dishing it right back. We joke a lot in this family, and I know that is not the case for every PCV, so I know I am lucky. Anyway, Sergiu has been to the United States before, but he wants to go back to take his fiancée to Disney World and Seattle, driving from one side to the other. I hope he makes it some day. I say we snag some halibut and brew at Lowell's in Pike Place Market, who's in?

Saint John's Day | Sf. Ion

The last of the winter holidays, at least according to my host mother, is Saint John's day. Usually on these holidays that are named after a specific person, you only celebrate it if there is someone in your family that shares that namesake. For instance, on Sf. Maria day, everyone brings flowers to my host mother because that is her name too. But Sf. Ion is a bit different and as I walked in the snow showers with Maria to the cemetery on Wednesday morning we talked about the reason we celebrate Sf. Ion. She told me the story of John baptizing Jesus in the water, as if I was hearing it for the very first time. In many ways I was, because religious vocabulary is not something I hear that often in Romanian. It's difficult to tell what is going on in this first picture, but all those people are standing around a long table covered in the customary offerings (bread, candles, candy, wine). The priest is the young man with the beard in the center. Pretty much the only men with facial hair in Moldova are the men of the Church.

Since we arrived a little late, we stayed back from the big table and cleared Domnul Costel's (Maria's husband) grave of the snow and lit candles. When the second table was being prepared, Maria went to offer our bread and wine. As you can see, it was snowing pretty good that day, Maria said it deterred people from coming out to the cemetery. But to me, seeing a hundred people in a snowy cemetery on a Wednesday morning is pretty impressive. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, these Eastern Orthodox traditions are admirable. They convey so much respect for the elderly and the dead.

I have a friend that questions whether or not it is right that even people who lived life pretty inhumanly deserve to be venerated in death. It's an interesting question to ponder, but I don't care to comment on my opinion here. Though, I did have an interesting conversation with a Moldovan girl recently who criticized the Church for being extraneous. "I believe in God," she said, "but I don't need the priest to tell me how to convey my faith." I should have asked her if she just came of the Mayflower.

Anyway, later that day Maria and I went to a neighbor's house for dinner. We can't go empty handed and Maria had been asking me to make an apple crisp, so it was the perfect opportunity. My instincts were correct when I heard that the purpose of the meal was to get to know the two daughters who want to study English with me. They worked on English with another PCV over the summer. I have to be gone next week, so I told them the next week I would go back with my recently inherited scrabble board.

But in anycase, I am happy to get to know another family in my neighborhood. The wife works at a public office in town, making sure employers follow employment laws and the like. The husband is the boss of the local market where I buy (recently) oranges and pomegranates. The two daughters are 17 and 11 years old. Teenagers are teenagers all over the world, but the 11 year old still has an innocence that I adore. Quite the artist too. She crochets, cross stitches, draws, and made a collage out of pencil shavings. Reminds me of when I used to love to get those craft kits for Christmas, like the kind from Toys*R*Us.

Maria originally said she didn't want to stay long, but not until the nine o'clock hour did we finally start to say our good byes. The conversation was great, lots of hard questions that can't be answered definitively. Mostly about language, politics, and corruption. But even about how Maria's employer (she is an accountant at the bread factory) is struggling with competition--a focal point of the capitalism that Moldovans admire about America, but are still learning how to endure. I like these conversations a lot. Sometimes, if the conversation is not interesting, my mind wanders, and since it's not my native language, it's a lot harder to rejoin the conversation. I usually have to wait until the subject changes. I have a language exam coming up next month, so it's time to get my study on!