Backyard Barbecue

At the last minute, I decided to host a cookout for American Independence Day. Doina (left) came to help me skewer teriyaki veggie kebabs and whip up a batch of homemade marshmallows. Thanks to a care package I recently received, I also served up smoked salmon on toast. I am happy to report that at the end of the night, two lonely marshmallows were all that remained. Since the kiddos made themselves miserable with sugary indulgence, they simply couldn't bring themselves to finish the last two nuggets of gooey goodness. 

My host mother couldn't understand why I wanted to host a party outside, and spent the afternoon fixing up the dining room just in case I changed my mind. Thankfully, by evening, she understood how much backyard barbeques really are better than indoor parties. Most of the neighbors stayed late into the evening, sipping wine, eating until only those two marshmallows remained, and socializing, despite that fact that the celebration fell on a Monday night.

Just when my host Mom started bragging about how this adopted daughter learned all the Moldovan customs for parties (meaning I arranged the food in a frumos or "beautiful" way and served up at least one dish containing mayonaise), I failed miserably. I was trying to offer people beverages. There was a table covered with house wine and beer that the neighbors brought with them, but no one was drinking any. 

"Melissa," said my neighbor, shaking his head, " you can't 'offer' people things. You have to give it to them!"

He's right. For the past two years I've sat on the receiving end of whatever my insistent hosts managed to put on my plate or pour in my glass. [Hint: always too much.] So, I picked up a stack of cups and a bottle of wine and made the rounds. For those that didn't want wine, I came back with beer. For those that didn't want beer, I came back with vodka. Finally, for the kiddos, carbonated water.

Making a spectacle of myself in this way garnered cheers and encouragement from my friends and neighbors, plus approval in the "like that, yes, good" statements from all sides of the fire. 

The next day I was riding a city bus and I heard my neighbor's voice. Perhaps she saw me before I saw her, but the sentiment is the same. I recognized her voice because she was telling another woman about this great party she went to the night before. This American girl served the most delicious kind of fish and cooked vegetables on the grill instead of meat.

I.LOVE.MY.NEIGHBORS.

High school graduation and prom

Rather than having a prom and graduation ceremony on separate occasions, the local high school orchestrates a one night affair to take care of both events.

In the school's auditorium, 94 graduates received their diplomas in front of their friends, families, and teachers. In Moldova, classes are divided up into small groups based on their track of study. For instance, classes 12-A and 12-B are "humanists" and 12-4 are "realists," which is a more science-based course load. Class 12-C is pictured above, receiving their diplomas from their homeroom teacher. After each class received their diplomas, they presented a few poems or songs. The homeroom teachers also spoke about their students, wishing them happy trails. 

After the ceremony, students, teachers, and even a few parents made their way to the fanciest wedding hall in town. I suppose technically, it's a "banquet hall," but everyone just calls it a wedding hall since that is the most important event in Moldovan culture. Here, Doina and I are waiting to go into the party. The flowers I'm holding were given to me by a graduate I don't even know. Practicing her English, she said, "We thank you for coming to our [high school]. Thank you very much." I reciprocated in English, congratulating her on her graduation. Later that night, my new acquaintance came in handy when looking for a friendly face in the hora circle (see video).

Like at Moldovan weddings, there was feast accompanied by live music, hora dancing, and a generally good party all night long. This video is a perfect portrayal of the night. 

I.LOVE.THE.HORA.

Earning my stay in cherries

Here are some of the fruits of my labor this week (pun absolutely intended here). This morning I picked what I hope will be the last of the sour cherries, but chances are my host mom will find another sketchy ladder/branch combination for me to try out as we attempt to reach the highest fruits on our trees. Picking fruit for my host mom became my sole duty this week. 

It's one of those things you have to time just right. If you pick the sour cherries too early, then well...they are S-O-U-R! If you wait an extra day to pick them, they get too sweet, soft, and rot quickly on the branch. At least, that is what she tells me as I pick cherries from the highest rungs of our three-legged ladder and she eats to her heart's content from the bucket five feet below me. I did manage to fall off the ladder once this week...ouch.

On the plate, clockwise from the top, are the sweet, sour, and black cherry varieties I've harvested this week.

The fall from the ladder earned me an afternoon off, but the next morning we started again on the neighbor's sweet cherry tree. We didn't have to take our three-legged ladder with us, my host mom said, citing that the neighbor has her own we could use. Turns out, that wooden ladder has one leg and resembles a Pogo stick that can't bounce. 

Again, I worked while my host mom feasted. When a particularly soft and juicy fruit suddenly fell on her shoulder and left a red stain on her shirt (to which I was oblivious), she called up: "Hey, what did you do that for?" Then left me on the Pogo stick that can't bounce to finish the work. 

As I said in the post Weekend with the Popas, my friend Aura and I recently made a sour-cherry pie. Someone snapped this picture right as the serving began. A little juicier than desired, but the almond extract my Granny sent last fall made a great touch. Today, Aura's older sister has invited me over to help make a sweet cherry pie. Wish us luck, my pie crust skills leave much to be desired.

Weekend with the Popa's

We'll readers, the end is near. The last post from Moldova is just about a month away, as I'll be jet setting for home, my kayak, and auntie time with my niece. 

While a few small projects and day events do remain, most of my engagements for the next month are of the social variety. Take last Friday, for instance. I spent the afternoon teaching my 14 year-old neighbor, Aura, how to make a sour cherry pie. We picked cherries in the rain, pitted them in the kitchen, and baked the beautiful lattice-topped pie in my one and only cast iron frying pan. [Eat your heart out Teflan!]

Through the rain and thunder, dressed in inadequate sandals, and laughing the whole way, Aura and I managed to get the warm pie to her house just in time to watch her father start the barbecue. Aurel may not have a gas grill on a covered patio over looking a fairway, but this flame torch seems to do the trick on those corn cobs. 

Despite the heavy rain and thunder, Aurel managed to grill up some tasty chicken while Angela tossed a salad with fresh cucumbers and tomatoes from their garden. Good conversation and house wine flowed as per usual at the Popa house. The Peace Corps Volunteer who lives there had two family members visiting from Kansas, so I spent the night trying to show how much there is to appreciate in Moldova, explaining inside jokes, and thoroughly enjoying my time with a family of Moldovans that has been so good to me these past two years. 

The Popa family then invited me, perhaps even insisted, to go with them the next morning to the capital city for their niece's graduation from dental school. 

My favorite quote from a graduate speaking at the podium: "We are going to accomplish such beautiful things that the only things that could be more beautiful are the clouds we will pass on our way to heaven."

Natasha's graduation from the State University of Moldova for Medicine and Dentistry was similar to graduation ceremonies in the United States. I appreciated how not every graduate walked across the stage to get diploma's, but they all stood at once together and changed their tassels from right to left.

 Despite the rain, we did our best to show Doina and Aura (far left and far right, respectively) some of the highlights in Chisinau's city center. This was Aura's first trip to the city. She's 14 years-old and the farthest she's ever been from home was this 90 minute bus ride. In this photo we are standing in front of a monument in the city center.



Spending this day in Chisinau watching Aura try to be independent, always walking at least 20 meters ahead of the rest of her family, reminded me that being an awkward, confused teenager is pretty much the same experience universally. Thank goodness that's just a phase!

At Doina's insistence, our last stop before heading home was to Moldova's largest pizza chain. Neither of the girls had ever eaten at this chain, but Doina insisted, "Andy's Pizza is the best pizza in all of Moldova."

Wedding negotiations

On my soon to be [host] sister-in-law's birthday, all gathered in her family's home for a six-hour dinner party that was much more about her upcoming wedding than her last birthday as a maiden.


In this first photo the bride's father is standing near the center of the table, offering a toast to the couple sitting across from him. He served this night's guests the wine that he will serve at the wedding, of which he has already purchased 60 liters.The couple he is toasting will serve as as the godparents of the newlyweds, an Eastern Orthodox tradition. It is their role to counsel the newlyweds, and with that role comes a few wedding day duties as well.

The negotiations were textbook:
Father of the Bride: "I want you to be really active at the wedding; give lots of toasts, lead dances, and basically never sit in a chair."
Godparent: "Well, I'm not much of a public speaker, but I can dance."
F: "Be really active."
GP: "How about the first speech and a few dances."
F: "Deal! I knew we could come to an understanding about these things. Let's have a drink."

After the meal with so many courses I lost track, and sometime after dusk started turning into dark, the mother of the bride (pictured above, third from the left) took the women on a tour of her home. After seeing the bedrooms, garden, and cellar, the tour ended in the kitchen where "woman talk" continued for a least an hour. Basically, until my host brother came looking for his bride (pictured above, second from the left).

The bride's teenage sister (first on the left), told me a few secrets about the dress she helped her sister find. She might be more excited than the bride, saying with great excitement, "She only gets married once!"

After dessert and a surprise serving of Greek coffee (they really should teach this to their fellow Moldovans), the bride's sister played a few pieces on the piano, much to her protest and Father's persistence.

Misha's 40 Day Praznic

My neighbor passed away on March 22nd. He was only 50 years old. As per Eastern Orthodox custom, we held a feast in his honor on the day marking 40 days since Misha's death.  

Alina, Misha's daughter, knocked on our door at 09:00, inviting us to the feast that was about to begin. Just then the priest came to bless the home. By 09:15, we were taking our first glass of wine toasting Misha, "May God forgive him. May we live to memorialize him."

Given the early hour, our hostess was not too persistent with wine, though the World Health Organization's recent assessment of Moldova as the world's largest consumer of alcohol did come up in conversation. Usually, people tell me the report's not true: "How could they know how much I take from my cellar?" or "But  what about the Russians?!" But on this morning one woman offered a completely original response. With a single shake of her head and her right hand passing from one side of her body to the other she said, "Eighteen liters? That's nothing."

Not that Praznics are usually happy feasts, but this one was particularly tough to swallow. The room was just barely filled with our neighbors and Misha's colleagues from the local water-bottling plant. But his son is away in Siberia, working. His daughter is home caring for her ill mother, despite she herself having a rough time with her first pregnancy. Misha was the glue that held that family together, Dumnezu sa l-ierte!

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. 

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!

American groom, Moldovan bride

Their story: Natalia goes to the United States on a “work and travel” visa and meets Casey at a barbeque. His mother introduced them. It’s love. Casey and Natalia get married in a small ceremony in the States, but save the real celebration for Moldova. Weddings really are great here.

As shown in the photos throughout this post, Natalia and Casey had their wedding in a very elegant, very modern Moldovan, wedding hall. This is the newest wedding hall in my town, and understandably the most popular. The photos also have great examples of Moldovan fashion, so look out for that too!


Having played the part of assistant to the maid-of-honor last summer, I was well prepared to go to this wedding and understand what was actually going on around me. 


For instance, as we walked up the massive pho-marble staircase to the wedding hall, under a four-tier chandelier, I heard an unmistakable crescendo . 
"Ha! Guys," I said to the three other Peace Corps Volunteers in attendance, "that music is for us. We are entering to the trumpets." Erika wanted to turn around and go home immediately.


A few times I took a moment to chat up the groom's mother. Once, while dancing the hora, I asked her what she thought of the hora. "What's a hora, dear?" She asked. Helping other Americans understand Moldova's intricacies, especially when  you know they already have an appreciation or investment in the culture, is a thrill. Maybe the youth council doesn't always consider me an expert on leadership trainings. But Americans visiting Moldova pretty much consider those of us who live here, work here, and speak one of the local languages to be just that.

This wedding also conveys one of the things I am most proud of about my service: my community integration. I knew the chances were pretty high that I would know a few other people at the wedding. Of course Maria Crigan was there, Ion  Crigan too. I took a turn around the dance floor with the Mayor. Katia (who I worked with before she left last January to join her husband in Italia) and I hugged immediately upon seeing one another. I am so happy we got the chance to see each other again. An eleventh grade girl and I sang all the words to one of the Moldovan songs that just happens to be on my i-pod. My partner from the district council, a middle aged man, apparently likes to boogey. And then there was the woman from the post office. Because I have experienced this part many times before, it's a sure bet that next time I go to the post office she will say, "You are the girl from Natalia's wedding."

We stayed until the "undressing of the bride," the custom marking the bride's transformation into a homemaker. Her veil is replaced with a head scarf and she sits on the groom's lap while the older women shower them in all the fixings for a home (blankets, towels, cookware, etc). But given that Natalia and Casey already have a home in Alaska, most people just took the chance to put some money in Natalia's head scarf. Oh, and right before this I caught the bouquet! 

Congratulations, Natalia and Casey!

Never ceasing celebration

The 

Popa

Family 

celebrates 

for 

six

straight

months,

from 

both

New

Years, 

and

both

Christmases, 

through 

every 

single 

birthday.

Happy birthday, Aurel! Enjoy your new watch!

[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.

This perfectly normal thing I do

My absolute favorite Moldovan hobby is called "going as a guest" or "plec in oaspetia." Some families (like the Popa Family) actually get upset when I don't invite myself over often enough. Yes, inviting myself is a perfectly normal thing I've learned to do. And...after separately running into three different members of this family, last week, and trying to explain why I haven't been to their house in a while, I decided to make the call.

But there is a catch. Guests should never go empty handed. In the summer, I might take a basket of apricots or bake a sour-cherry pie. Last winter, this family got introduced to a slew of American baked goods...Aurel digs banana nut muffins, and if her mother isn't in the room, Aura can eat five rice krispy treats really really fast. 

On this occasion, I baked nothing and brought nothing we grew in our garden. Instead, I picked up a box of chocolates and a bottle of Moldovan champagne at the corner store so that we could celebrate my Mom's birthday. Make no mistake, I don't mean my host mom, Maria. I mean MY MOM. Maammmica! This too, is a perfectly normal thing, in Moldova. I took a bottle of bubbly to another family's house to celebrate someone's birthday that couldn't be with us today.

Mom, the ladies of the Popa family (and the walking Kansas adversitsement, Yoel) wish you a wonderful birthday. Health. Happiness. Everything you wish in the coming year!

Embarrassingly generous, much appreciated

*Last post ever about birthdays, see 'holiday' posts for more*

Here's my PCV colleague Craig putting some remarkable mayonnaise art on the little tomato and eggplant stacks. My idea for a simple, American-style dessert gathering with the neighbors turned into a full-blown Moldovan masa. Maria was having none of that American nonsense this time around! Instead, she dedicated about a day and a half work to preparing this meal.

The menu went something like this: cheese pies, potato pies, chicken/pineapple/olive/cheese salad, beet salad, cabbage stuffed bitter-peppers, smashed beans, walnuts in about every dish, walnut pie, a roast chicken with potato wedges, adjika, those tomato and eggplant stacks, a dozen beautifully crafted pepper flowers, and homemade cake.

I can't really put into English words how much I appreciated this event. As I told the guests in my toast, last year I was in Chisinau, with other Peace Corps Volunteers, on my birthday. I thought those people were my friends. But all day my Moldovan neighbors called me to wish me well. So for over a year, it's been decided that I would do something with them to show how much I appreciate getting to know them.

Though, for all my efforts to make this evening modest (failed) and as little work as possible for my host mom (utterly failed), my friends and neighbors still managed to trump me. In the photo below is a snapshot of the beautiful table cloth eight women pitched into to buy for me. EIGHT! As they hoisted it above their heads and started whooping in high pitched tones, I knew what was coming next.

"Dear Melissa, we probably won't be able to give you this at your wedding. So we wanted to do it now," Svetlana said.

"It's for your home someday," Eugenia said.

"Get married soon!" Aliona lectured, again.

"To remember us at every special occasion," Maria said.

"I don't know what Mrs. Svetlana is talking about, I'm coming to America when you use this table cloth," Fedorita said, winking as she did.

What's left to say? I love Moldova. I love Moldova. I love Moldova.

Semi-surprise birthday

There was a small, modest, birthday event planned for me today at work. As per Moldovan custom, I planned it. It was to involve a double-batch of chocolate chip cookies, a game of spoons, and hopefully, a hora or two. As we were walking to my center, a fellow PCV said to me, what if they surprise you with something more. Immediately I said, "no, they won't do that," and backed it up with a short list of reasons why. 

But of course, he was right. There ended up being a far from modest table arranged by my partner and some of the other youth. There were balloons, notes, flowers, and a delicious cake (mulțumesc frumos Doamna Brashovsky și Alina!). Check out this video I managed to capture while the youth council sang a Romanian song, equivalent to "happy birthday."

By the way, we did eventually get to that game of spoons...we literally played until someone's fingers bled! They are a little intense!

Friday night fun

People tell me blog is "so positive," but to be honest, what is the alternative? I love Peace Corps life. Particularly, how far it takes me back to social square number one, and how deliberate my effort to establish friendships needs to be. Thus, my relationship with the Popa family (neighbors, dear friends, and host family to the newest Peace Corps Volunteer in town), is one of the most rewarding fruits of my service.

On Friday night, friends, colleagues, and a couple extra Peace Corps Volunteers crowded into the Popa family's dining room to celebrate our sitemate's birthday. That's him, Yoel, with the fork. If anyone left this table hungry, my mother would have told them it was his/her own fault. This table was literally overflowing with kebabs-style chicken, salads, bread, sliced meats, and veggies. My contribution: a double batch of lemon bars. Happy birthday, Yoel!

To my absolute pleasure, the party turned to song and Aurel to his accordion. Now, Aurel isn't exactly someone you'd pay to play at a wedding party, but I would most certainly drop a few coins in his pitcher if I saw him at the local pub. If not for his music, then the way he wears his music on his face. As if the notes aren't quite conveying his efforts, he manages to illustrate the rest in the furrow of his brow and the upward and downward turn of his smile. In this clip, he's just warming up you see...so when he says "my repid" and starts over, he's really begging the rest of us to pick-up the pace. The song title translates to "this is my life, and I like it this way."

Again, one of my favorite traditions at these celebrations is the long winded, adjective bloated, speech giving. For Yoel, I plagiarized a toast from the last birthday party we had in my neighborhood, wishing him "one horse cart full of good health, because if you have that, then you can have at least two horse carts of happiness." Yes, please, roll you eyes now. 

The man in the blue sweater really pulled out all the stops though. Explaining the family tree to the extent that Yoel could be called a legitimate nephew of the family, he told Yoel, as many Moldovans do at these events, that he is waiting for the next generation of nieces and nephews. Better him than me!

Yoel and Aurel have literally become "buddies." It's something I've heard around town, but finally observed after all the other guest had left and my attempts to help Angela clean up resulted in her re-setting the table for us. Aurel playfully messes with Yoel's hair in that "noogie" kinda way. They give each other high-fives when they make jokes, and slap each other on the back. If Yoel learns to play the accordion, he'd go down in volunteer history.

---

The members of the Popa family are recurring characters on this blog, you can learn more about my experience with them here, here, and here. 

I had plans, then suc happened

I really did have good intentions about LSAT studying and email writing tonight. But how could I turn down an invite from my favorite neighbors to help make the last batch of this year's adjika (a spicy tomato sauce)? The whole process starts with tomato juice ('suc') pressing, and as you can see in the photo, Aura and I took the lead on that little project. Later, we ended up pressing hot and sweet peppers, garlic, and a ginger-like root too. It took all night!

Getting to know this family has been one of the highlights of my service (as if I haven't already explained that here, here, and here). Through our tears of laughter tonight, Doina, the oldest daughter, put into words exactly how reciprocal this relationship has been. "Melissa," she started, "even if I'm in a bad mood and I think I don't want to see anyone, when you come we end up giggling and I forget about everything else!" If only you could have all been there to see her point around the room and mark the ridiculousness of the evening. She was sewing plastic sacks together to haul the corn in from the fields tomorrow, on little Singer machine, while her kid sister walked around the house with shaving cream on her hand because she supposed it would sooth the hot pepper burns she received from the juicing process, and their shirtless father somehow manages to nail every single punch line in-between the adjika taste-testing.

So, I guess the LSAT studying will still be there in the morning. People keep asking me how much longer I have in Moldova. I've heard it so much it makes me want to scream A WHOLE YEAR, STOP ASKING! But, I guess it's actually less than that now. At the risk of sounding sentimental, today was a really great fall day for my book of Moldova memories. 

Oh, and in this last photo is my new site-mate Yoel. He happens to be living with this awesome family. I don't think he was much into the juice pressing, but he does impress my host mom by wearing that fancy suit everyday. That's Doina and Angela sitting in front of him...they are reading the fancy article published about him in the local newspaper. The article is 40% about Yoel's awesome experience thus far with his host family. How's that for warm and fuzzies?

Wedding Day/Night/Early morning!

My partner, Nina, picked me up in her boyfriend's car and we headed to a village I've only been to once, to a home I've never seen, full of people I'd never met. Yet, despite Nina being the only mutual connection to any of this, the bride welcomed me to not only her wedding, but her wedding party. Nina served as Cristina's "vornicica de onare," a role similar to a maid of honor. Months ago, Nina asked Cristina if I could tag along and see a Moldovan wedding from the inside out. 

And so it was set, I helped the rest of the girls dress the bride, decorate cars for the motorcade, destroy beautiful roses to create bags of petals we needed for tossing over the love-birds at various points in the night, create the arch of flowers (with the ones that survived) for the couple to walk through, and welcome the guests with a voice-snatching screech that accompanied our hora dancing.

Oh, and I also was given a special corsage to wear. If you knew what you were looking for, it literally proclaimed, "Hello, I'm Melissa, a very unmarried, eligible, single young-lady." Opa!

It also turned out that my camera was the only one present for most of this 18-hour experience, so I really didn't see it all night. One of the groom's friends just kind of took it over until the battery gave out sometime between the "first meal" and the "undressing of the bride." This slideshow then, is mostly of his creation, but is unfortunately incomplete.

      

As things wrapped up around 4 am this morning, we could barely walk to the car. All night long we danced, and we danced, and we danced. Unlike many American weddings, it would have been a huge taboo to shake the shoes off under the table. 

Overall, I must say the experience was incredibly memorable, a perfect example of everything I love and still quite don't understand about Moldova all at once. I wish Cristina and Viorel all the best. 

For scoop on the religious part of most Moldovan wedding's, see my previous post Sergiu's Church Wedding

Embroidery Lessons

Twelve year-old Aura has been teaching me to embroider for the past few weeks. When we first got to know each other, her craftiness with needles immediately reminded me of my Grandma Glenace. She stitched her way through life and my sister and I are both recipients of her beautiful work. 

Above is a snapshot of my work thus far, and below a little creation that Aura whipped up in a matter of minutes for her hard-working pupil.

Hram--A day of city celebration

Hram (a celebration every Moldovan loclity has depending on it's patron saint, our Hram is on Saint George Day) is no different than other Moldovan holidays in that food preparation starts days beforehand, "ne pregatim pentru oaspteti!" It just so happened that our preparations for this day coincided with a visit from my host Mom's best friend. She is a Georgian woman that used to live in my town, but now works in Moscow. To tell you just how much fun this night was, I have to describe the converation method. I would pose a question or comment in Romanian, Maria's friend would respond in Russian, and then Maria would translate for me in Romanian if she ever stopped laughing long enough.

My hram was quite eventful, topped off by the fact that I needed to pack for the vacation I'm leaving for in 6 hours. At visit to a neighbor's house to borrow something turned into a two hour stay, eating apples and homemade rasins from the cellar, learning how sheep wool is hand processed for weaving carpets, and looking at old photo albumns. Moldovan (pre-digital) photography looks so much older than it is. For instance, Leonid, my neighbor, served his Soveit military service in Germany in 1982. All his photos are black and white, very rustic in appearance. Eugenia and Leonid were married eleven months after my parents, and every photo is black and white (to be fair, there are also several photos of them in front of a Lenin statue that used to stand in my town). That curtain truly was made of iron, it can't be said enough.

Eugenia and Leonid know that I'm headed out on vacation and sent a special message with me for my parents--who I will see next week--so maybe I'll fill in that story after I fill them in.

Having stayed far longer than I planned with them, I then raced home to change my clothes and go to a masa (meal/party) at another neighbor's house. But wouldn't you know it, my host aunt made me eat before I went!

This family has two hilarious daughters (the younger of which giggles even more than me) and their father, Aurel, is one of the best Moldovan men I know. This is a picture of him after he managed to steal the acordian back from his younger daughter. We had the party in his drinking room, it's all decked out in pho-vineyard cave or something. Even the door behind him is really just a fancied up cement creation. He gets a lot of laughs telling people to head down to the cellar.

After a few glasses of wine and sour cherry crepes, we girls got out the eye-shadow case of the century and got the girls all ready to go to the city center for the real party.

After dark, it was only music and hora dancing for this PCV. I'm pretty sure that's why I'm here actually, to dance it out every chance I get!