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.

Softball Camp!

 One of my colleagues in Moldova used to coach a girls softball team. Her team sent her a bag full of equipment recently, and she is traveling all around Moldova with it this summer--spreading love of the game one village at a time!

This week I traveled down south to Gagauzia and a neighboring raion to help out with a three-day softball camp. Waking up at 06:30 to go play ball before the heat melted us away was amazing. Three perfect summer days.

 On the first day we managed work in two sessions. One in the morning which Vanea (the boy squatting in the center of this photo) attended, and one in the evening, when Vanea came back with the rest of the boys pictured.

I have to say, I did pick favorites, the two small boys standing next to me (Dima and Vanea) came to the field with a soccer ball and quickly joined our game. They were quick learners and generally enthusiastic. Dima even took the opportunity to practice his Romanian with me. See the previous link for Gagauzia and you'll understand why Romanian is not his first language.

 The second day, the Peace Corps Moldova Volunteers headed to a neighboring district to teach another group of youth about the game. Most of the participants there are part of a sports club run by Coach Mihail (pictured in red). Here is where my colleague who's traveling around Moldova is really making a difference. Not only were the kids learning the game, but this educator took the time to understand the rules, wrote them down, and even kept score. Transfer of skills and knowledge? I think so!


The sports club boys are natural athletes and picked up the easily, but there were still a few reoccurring phenomena of note:




1) Moldovans often "squat" in a very low position when they are tired of standing. All too often this meant that the person playing second base, by which I mean ON second base, was seen squatting on his perch.

2) Lots of football/soccer experience creates certain habits. Catchers and shortstops alike were stopping grounders with their feet, then reaching for dead balls. One time a second baseman stopped a grounder on his shin, realized with sincere discomfort that he was not wearing shin-guards, and that he had a perfectly good piece of leather in his hand that might do the trick!

3) We had a particularly difficult time getting across that only one player can be on a base at a time. So, when a batter would round first, sometimes he's smash into a teammate still standing on second. Mass confusion would ensure as to which direction everyone was supposed to be going to avoid force-outs.

Finally, on the third day, we brought the kids from the first village, to the second village, and fielded a game between the two. Even though one village's team dominated the other, we still went on to mix the teams and play a few more innings before the day was done.

Big thanks to the organizers of this camp who let me be a part of it. I had a fantastic time! Multumesc! Spaseeba! Merci! Thank you!

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."

Summer of Eurovision

Nelly Ciobanu's "Hora din Moldova" was the most popular song on the radio and television when I arrived in Moldova two summers ago. Now, it's impossible to attend a wedding or town celebration without dancing a hora to this song. It was the song "chosen" by Moldovans to represent their country in the 2009 Eurovision competition.

I have to include the quotation marks in that one because I have had more than one conversation with Moldovans about how the voting in this competition is often inherently skewed to those in the cities with access to things like the internet. Since most of the voting during the international competition takes place by phone, more than one person has expressed to me that Moldova's chances of winning this competition are inevitably wedded to the country's economic well-being. Perhaps when enough Moldovans are earning a disposable income, and are able to make those expensive phone calls, Moldova will garner more votes and win the chance to sing in the final round. 

Eurovision is a televised, annual song competition that began in 1956 under the management of the European Broadcasting Union.  During the summer, every pub not showing a football game on the flat screen, will be tuned to the Eurovision competition. Most songs are mostly or all in English, as participants are probably trying to become the next ABBA. Eastern Europe loves ABBA. The group got it's big break when it won the Eurovision competition in 1974.

Zdub si Zdub, one of the most popular musical troupes in Moldova, will return to the Eurovision competition this year. Making it into the top 10 songs, Zdub si Zdub represented Moldova's first entry in the competition, in 2005. I don't actually like this year's entry, but here I've included that 2005 song about a granny who liked the drummer.

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

Successful Snippets

Wooohooo! What a fantastic week, and it's only Tuesday! Okay, so remember the post about my first REAL Peace Corps Project? Or maybe the one about finding a good rhythm despite winter challenges? Or when I gushed about how much I LOVE EASTER in Moldova? Well...I lied, or I exaggerated, because what I meant to say is that this is the part of my service really love. Like really.

Yesterday, amongst the girl talk, vain attempts to extend summer vacation just a little longer, and catch up with work, my partner (right) surprised me--big time. She said to me, "Melissa, I want to have a discussion with the youth council about roles and responsibilities of the president and vice-president before we hold the next council election." Woohooo, again! Granted, it may not seem like much to the average reader, but it took unseen amounts of self-restraint not to bust out a touchdown dance (or did I?). It's small changes like this that I have been encouraging for a year, and now they are being recognized. We are hoping that by defining the roles and responsibilities before people are elected into them, we can have more teeth with which to hold people accountable. After all, you wouldn't apply for a job without knowing what the job was would you?

Yesterday evening was equally enjoyable. As it was my neighbor's birthday we headed over with the rest of the gang to celebrate. "Love thy neighbor" is not something I have to work at here in Moldova, it just comes naturally with this bunch. Since it was also my Granny's birthday back home, several toasts were said for her too. Granny, they wished you good health, many years, many grandchildren, and thanked you for sending me along to Moldova (haha...yea...I know).

Following that fantastic 24 hours was today, and the official closing of our summer leadership course. Here is a photo of the whole group in front of the district council.

Again, this is the incredible program that used the graduates of last year's course as this year's trainers. Very sustainable. Always memorable. This is the first year that the founders of the program were not involved in the planning and facilitation of the events, and as I spoke to the youth today they radiated a certain amount of pride for carrying on the proverbial torch successfully. Irena, a good friend, even commented that this year's group of participants and trainers were much more united as a group than before, being that everyone was learning together. That could be why at about 11:00 a.m. people on the street below probably heard this chant billowing out the third story windows of the district council:

A: "What are we?!"

B: "FRIENDS!"

A: "And what does that mean we are?!"

B "A TEAM!"

Gagauzian days

In southern Moldova there is a semi-autonomous region called Gagauzia. The three member raions voted to be part of this unit after the fall of the Soviet Union. There are a lot of politics involved (the photo below is the corner of LENIN and MARX streets), but even without developing an opinion, Gagauzia's mere existence makes for an interesting study. 

What is different in Gaguzia? Here are my observations from ONE short visit and the answers I got from my colleague:

[+] The Gaguzian people are Turkish descendants and have had their own language for a very long time. In Moldova, they represent a very specific ethnic minority.

[+] On the bus out of Chisinau, Romanian ceases to exist, while Russian, Gagauzian, and Turkish take over.

[+] Russian is used predominately in Gagauzia for business and government, but it's not uncommon to find personal life conducted in Gagauzian. Everything was done in Gagauzian until the Soviets entered the story. 

[+] Unless people happen to be studying it in school, no one speaks Romanian, despite the fact that the rest of the country considers it the official language of Moldova.

[+] Since everything is written in the Cyrillic alphabet, which I am only just beginning to read, I found myself walking down the street sounding out words like a second grader. 

[+] In most parts of Moldova, you say hello immediately after walking into a room, even if you feel like you are being rude and interrupting another conversation. At ONE office in Gagauzia, I observed the practice to be quite the opposite. I stood in a room while another conversation carried on for several minutes before anyone even made eye-contact with me. In this case, it would have been rude for me to interrupt. 

[+] In most of Moldova, the main street in town is named after Stephen the Great. In Gagauzia, it's Lenin.

This photo is my colleague standing in front of the new information board that was installed outside his city hall (as a result of his work with the mayor and vice-mayor). Since this was all written in Russian, he kindly read the bulletins to me. I was pleasantly surprised to see the board being used to inform people about safe migration practices, and how to avoid human trafficking. Even listing the hotline numbers for some of our partner organizations in Chisinau. Woot!

Jen's village

Upon returning from Odessa, we hopped off our transport in Jen's village, greeted by mosquitoes loving the flooded Nistru River, her host parents, and the Romanian language (which at this point I hadn't heard for about a week).

In-between three hour naps and eating, we had some really great experiences with Jen's host family. Fulfilling one of my wishes, Jen's host mom showed us how she makes her homemade brinza (like feta cheese). This is one of the last things I needed to learn, in order to recreate a Moldovan masa back home. Now the trick is to have my dad find someone with a dairy cow, because I'm pretty sure that pasteurized Dairy Gold wouldn't quite do the trick. Jen's host mom has seven cows right now (probably triple the average). In the spring she could hardly keep up with the milking, but now the heat is getting to the animals and they are eating less. Now she averages about 30 liters of milk a week.

In fact, the last night of our stay she invited me to milk the cows with her. I am not going to bother describing this in detail, all you need to know is that my tenure lasted less than ten minutes since my pour aim seemed to spray the milk directly down my leg instead of into the bucket. Opa!

From that fresh cheese, we helped Jen's host mom make dumplings. This is a really labor intensive job for one person, but for a team of four, it took less than an hour. Above, Jen is whipping up the potatoes for the second batch. When you eat this dish, you can't decide if you like the cheese or potato ones better, so you just keep testing them out until you can't remember how many you have eaten. Sneaky little things!

I really enjoyed spending time with Jen's host family. For starters, she has a host mom and a host dad. I don't have a host dad, and hers is a character. I guess he is quite the midnight snacker, and when Jen started figuring it out, they started referring to the pisica (cat) that got into the refrigerator at night. But I guess if every host family had Jen making fresh peach cobbler for them, they would all have that problem too.

The three of us (Craig, Jen, and me) are quite a team, but among us Craig is the sole Russian speaker. That came in really handy when Jen's host dad's Moldovaneasca started taking on Romanian verbs and Russian nouns. Also, Craig said her host dad speaks Russian with a Romanian/Moldovan accent. Add to this mix that the wine glass was being passed around during these conversations and you have three rather mind-blown volunteers. Off Doamne!

Over a river and through a border

Six Peace Corps Volunteers and two Moldovan ladies headed across the border for three days to fairy-tale city. Neighboring Ukraine is home to the port city, and summer hot-spot, Odessa. Much like Prague, Odessa is one of those cities whose architecture is a standing reminder of it's complicated history; ruled by this kingdom, over taken by that empire, and so on. The photo above is the beautiful opera house, which serves as a major hub for the downtown (mostly Russian speaking) tourists.

On the day we arrived, we had the chance to meet up with some Peace Corps Ukraine Volunteers, in the city for a weekend of sunshine and falafel from a sketchy blue and white shack. Naturally, comparisons between our host country and theirs became the topic of conversation. One volunteer from Ukraine, who spent some time in Moldova, observed a difference in living-allowances between the two counties, one more generous than the other. I was also interested to hear that most volunteers in Ukraine don't live with host families following PST. My host family experience is more important to me than my goal one accomplishments.

                                              

But I would by lying if I didn't admit that my true motive for seeing Odessa was seeing the sea, the Black Sea, swimming and catching some sun. Now that I'm back at site, Moldovans can't believe I swam in the "dirty sea," but ironically, I hardly even noticed. All that mattered was the sun, sand, and sea! Again here, most of the beach goers are speaking Ukrainian or Russian. I didn't hear English on the beach once. When buying an inter tube, I was reduced to rubbing my fingers together to acquire the price of the floating device. My Romanian did me absolutely no good here. 

And if you didn't find us on the beach, then you probably found us devouring yummy yummy sushi, mixed drinks, espresso, or pizza. Our taste buds were very happy on this little three-day get-a-way. 

Maria's 60th Birthday!

Maria thought she wanted a modest birthday at home, but about a week ago, she realized that wasn't going to happen. Just like in this picture, people starting calling to ask where the party was. Yesterday, she finally turned off her phones after 35 people called to wish her a happy birthday. They called from as far away as Italy and Moscow to wish her health, happiness, and an abundance of grandchildren. The day before, Sharon (the previous volunteer) and I arranged a surprise Skype call for her and Sharon to chat. 

In Moldova, if it's your birthday, you have to throw your own party, so it can be a lot of work. That's why Maria decided to rent out a space in town where the food would already be prepared and we wouldn't have to wash any dishes. In the afternoon, she had a masa (meal/party) with 17 of her colleagues from the bread and wine factories. Then in the evening, we went back to celebrate with the family. One of my favorite Moldovan traditions is the toasting. When it's your birthday, everyone says things to you like "I wish you one horse cart of health, and two carts of happiness. This comes from my soul." And then the toasts go on to commemorate those who are no longer here to celebrate with us. By now, even I can participate in this by explaining to the family that every time I tell someone I live with Maria, the first thing they say is, "her husband was such a good man. Smart. Honest. Hard-working. Loving."

When we got home, another tradition commenced. This one always just falls into place and I find myself standing on the front patio holding a plate of pies while a single glass is passed around the circle by the man pouring the wine. Toasting, drinking, and laughing go on until the bottle is gone. And true to form at my house, never before at least one hora has been danced. 

This morning, I hear at least one person wasn't feeling so well, but our house smells amazing since there are several large bouquets of flowers in every room. Tonight we go back to the cooking, as there is one more masa to be held, here at home, tomorrow afternoon. 

La multi ani, Maria!

Making Compote

This story is very typical of my house. My host aunt is incredibly hard working. A month ago she was bringing home sour cherries by the 10-liter bucketful, which we would pit and preserve nightly. Last night, it was apricots. Since Moldovans really don’t like to let fruit sit long, we decided to make a batch of compote, a boiled fruit drink for winter.

So, Maria and I went to a small birthday party, got home at around 8:30 pm, and got to work. We managed to wrap it up around 11 o’clock, with about thirty fresh liters of compote. While we worked, a few neighbor ladies stopped by to chat, we danced casually to Radio Iasi playing the Eagles, and giggled our sleepiness away.

Here is a photo slideshow of the compote making process.

In the Village with Bunica Luiba

There is another PCV that gives me a hard time for falling right into Moldovan gender roles...taking my place in the kitchen with a knife, making every kind of juice under the sun, and pitting cherries by the bucketful. But whatever, I embrace it. I love it when five women (and the toddlers on their hips) are gathered in our tiny kitchen to try a new recipe someone found. Even more, I love going out to the village to help Bunica Luiba (left) prep the winter stores of canned fruit and pickled veggies. 

As Maria and I pit the sour cherries, she teases about her mother in a quiet voice. She explains a russian proverb to me in Romanian, "You just can't please the old people." 

Later on I try to tease back, "I can't wait to come back to Moldova when you are the baba! We are to joke about you out of earshot."

 But as always, she wins, "You know, at that time, you will be 44 years-old." I quickly change the subject after declaring that will never happen and my host cousin chokes on his cherry pit, laughing and coughing.

Doamne fereste!

Celebrate Good Times

I don’t really feel the need to write a post about how it feels now that I have been away from home more than a calendar year; to have one year in Moldova.  Instead, I just have a few memories to share about all the things that happened around the date of that particular anniversary that made it memorable.

[+] A colleague and I gave a presentation to the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), at its monthly technical coordination meetings. These are attended by all the local and international organizations working to combat human-trafficking in Moldova. Specifically, we discussed how Peace Corps Volunteers can serve as partners to Moldovan organizations in this effort. Whether that be with skills transfer, the facilitation of strategic planning, or translations, we have PCVs who want to help. Thus, our task is to advertise that desire to our host-country nationals.

 [+] We welcomed the brand new batch of trainees to Peace Corps Moldova! There are close to 70 of them, the most ever to come at one time to Peace Corps Moldova. I thought I remembered those first few hours in Moldova pretty well, until I saw all these new faces experiencing it again. Suddenly, details of those moments came flooding back. That conference room was HOT. I wanted fresh air. Moldovan money looked so little.

 [+] I got invited to play in U.S. Embassy versus Peace Corps Moldova softball game (slow-pitch). I actually ended pitching most of the game…haha…that was funny. But oh how fun it was to be in little America for a couple hours! We arrived in a hodgepodge of taxis and public transportation, while the embassy gang drove up in their Jeep Wrangler, unloading coolers. Coolers filled with ice! Moms and kids sat on the sidelines. The opposing team consisted of accountants, Foreign Service Officers, and Marines responsible for the security of the Embassy. All in good fun.

[+] Saturday night we headed to the city center and the various jumbotrons to watch the U.S. and England tie in the World Cup match. Surprisingly, Moldovans root for England! Either it’s a regional thing, or our homeland really has become the big and the bad.

Cake is to cool, as pie is to perfect.

Here is a snapshot of my first “American” pie in Moldova. Like my brownies, cakes, cookies, bread pudding, French toast, and sweet breads, it too is made in our all-purpose cast iron skillet. It’s as amazing as it is heavy. I’ll admit it took longer to pit the cherries than to pick them for this pie. These are sour cherries from the tree outside my window. Big shout out to all the other gospodine (bakers) back home that helped me modify my pie crust recipe! Thanks! I can tell when my host mom likes something or doesn’t based on how quickly she returns to it after she’s tasted it. Let’s just say, those were some CLEAN plates.

For comparison, these are Moldovan pies (placinte; pla-chin-te). My host mom makes the best placinte around and she knows it too. She makes them with chopped onions and potatoes inside, or cheese ( right now she is making them with cheese and fresh dill), apples, or cherries. In the fall, everyone seeks out the pumpkin placinte. Tomorrow is Saturday, so I know I’ll be waking up to a fresh batch.

A Flower Town Visit

A snapshot from a recent start-of-summer celebration in a town named after flowers.