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!

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!

Because he wasn't going to celebrate...

Lemon bars are absolutely not a Jewish tradition...just plain tasty.

Obligatory Thanksgiving Post

The best job in the world. A supportive family that is one member larger than it was this time last year. Dozens of  loving Moldovan friends and family members. Phenomenal friends, both old and new. A beautiful language. This day of thanks!

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.

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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. 

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!

Ziua Independenție Americii

I celebrated Independence Day three times over, this year. First off was the western themed shin-dig (complete with country music) hosted by the American Ambassador to Moldova and his wife. The photo above is a group of PCVs with  Ambassador (center) and a prominent member of the Moldovan government (grey suit). Recall,  that the Ambassador and his wife are Washington State Cougs, so my colleauge asked that I not embarrass him by bleeding crimson and grey at this party. "Don't be weird, Melissa" he demanded. But I got my sweet sweet revenge when the Ambassador actually asked if his WSU colleague (yours truly) was attending the party! Haha! Go Cougs! 

We ended up dancing the night away with the Ambassador's wife, a dance instructor in the U.S. Marine Corps, and the Embassy's social secretary (a Moldovan women decked out in boots, a red skirt with white polka dots, a flashy red bandana, and ladies Stetson knock-off). The woman in the center of this photo is our brand new Programing and Training Officer, who we absolutely LOVE! Welcome to the team, Margaret!

The next night, the American Chamber of Commerce in Moldova hosted their annual event. This year I recognized more of the American ex-pat community at the party, because I've been working or playing softball with them over the last year. But the majority of the non-Americans are alumni of the various programs Moldovan students participate in when they go on exchanges in the good ol' US of A. This was also our chance to sit in the grass, getting acquainted with some of the new volunteers. There are some pretty great people in the group! We had a blast dancing the night away (wait? again? yup!) to tunes like "Route 66," "Shout," and "Don't Stop Believing." 

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!

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!

Primul Craciun in Moldova

Since Moldovans primarily celebrate Orthodox Christmas in January, I had no hesitation about racing down south a bit for a more American celebration on December 25^th. Not only was there great food, wine, and company over the holiday, but showers too! Merry Christmas to me!

We actually had our celebration in one of our colleague’s work places—an elder care facility. On Christmas morning, the center and some of its beneficiaries put on a little Christmas concert…the grand finale…a special act in English language carols by Peace Corps Volunteers!

This particular gathering of volunteers was primarily attended by a group of volunteers who can count their number of days left in Moldova in two digits, their group finishes their service in April. The best response I’ve heard yet to the ever popular “ what are you going to do when you get back” question is only one word: “Drive.”

Winter Holidays in Moldova

There are so many religious holidays in my host country, that most of the time, no one really mentions them. Except of course, on the big ones, and St. Maria Day (because people bring my host mother roses from their garden in honor of her namesake). On these days, Moldovans can show respect by not washing, working, or eating meat. I have a few colleagues whose host families take this so far as to mean, no knitting. Even if it’s for recreation. But most often, the days are just like any other in my town. Back when I was in my training village, my host mother was much more likely to go to church on these days or observe the respective rituals.
In 2000, the religious make up of Moldova consisted of 98% Eastern Orthodox, 1.5% Jewish, and 0.5% Baptist (meaning all variations of Protestant). In fact, in the city just north of my town, there is a substantial congregation of Mormons as well.

I mention religion as an introduction to a discussion about winter holidays in Moldova. In a western style supermarket (in the capital city) I saw a few Christmas decorations, but that is all of the commercial hoopla I have seen thus far. I have not heard “jingle bells” or “silent night” once, not indulged in a gingerbread latte, or helped Mom put up the Christmas decorations (but I guess that means I don’t have to help take them down!). I don’t pretend to make any assertions as to whether this is good or bad, it just simply is.

Just last week, Moldova declared December 25 to be a “non-working day.” But this is a new and western shift in Moldovan culture. Following the Orthodox (“Old”) Calendar, means that Christmas is celebrated on January 7, and New Years on January 14.

New Years is something Moldova started celebrating on January 1 quite some time ago. I know for a fact, because I have seen the pictures, the youth in my town celebrate by building a bon fire from old tires on December 31. Wish me luck trying to open minds about this one! My host mother was also very sweet when she tried “educating” me about her family’s New Year’s tradition: champagne at midnight. “It’s very special,” she said.

There is a difference between our two customs worth noting for those who really do enjoy “jingle bells” and “frosty the snowman.” Caroling is really important during the winter, but it is done for the New Year, not Christmas. The youth I work with depend on this activity every year to raise money for the organization. They carol at the local intuitions and private homes, collecting money to sustain them through the next year.

The take away from what I learned to date, is that winter holidays in Moldova share a central theme. Both cultures place a heavy emphasis on spending time with family. Be it with special meals, events, or times of worship. Though I have to laugh, because my host aunt says those American families are just far too small!

Thanksgiving Weekend

No matter what, my first Thanksgiving weekend abroad was bound to be memorable. But I think overall, the weekend managed to stand on it's own as a memorable moment in my Peace Corps experience.

Friday night I hitched down to the city where some gal pals and I rented an apartment for an evening of girl talk, good food, tons of laughs, and little sleep. This view from the 14th floor gives the city a whole new identity at night time. If this was the only photo you ever saw of the city, you wouldn't recognize it in the day time. Cities are the same all over the world I guess. In the bottom right corner you'll note some juice boxes sitting on the window seal. Although there was a refrigerator in the apartment, there didn't seem to be anywhere to plug in the ancient contraption.

After a hot shower at the Peace Corps office and stopping to buy some OJ, I headed out to the main event in the southern city of Cahul. The bus ride down took about three hours, but in reality the trip is only two. The buses stop in several cities along the way, and in between to pick up waiting passengers.
It was really foggy on my way down, but I got the impression that the middle of the country is quite rich with hills that we don't have up north. On the way back up north, when it was less foggy, I was easily reminded of the agriculture dominated, rolling hills of the Palouse. Or, wait a second, was I just passing through the five stages of grief upon hearing this year's Apple Cup score....probably a little of both.

When I arrived at my colleague's apartment in Cahul, some PCVs were still lounging in their PJs, the turkeys were being pulled out of the oven, the mac and cheese (which tasted like it's value in GOLD!) was being topped off, Na'Ima was prepping her cornbread for stuffing (I am now, and forever will be on team corn bread stuffing), the scent of sage was filling the whole apartment, Suzette jumped in to peel fresh yams, Kyle was making both of his pumpkin pies with lots of love, and Pan arrived shortly after to start pouring the homemade peach brandy. This spread was overwhelming even before Jessica and Vince arrived with homemade Pecan pie and carrots sauteed in organge juice and cumin. The fastest way to a PCV's heart is through his or her stomach. No doubt about it!

As we sat and ate, we discussed, with no apprehension or sense that this conversation was a-typical of a holiday movie, the things we were thankful for in our lives this year. Among the most popular responses were our friends and family back home who care about us, support us, and send us amazing care packages. Peace Corps staff was up there too, along with a general consensus that we were all happy to be together on this holiday. Shortly after we dove into one of the most intense game of charades I have ever been a part of, followed by two rounds of Mafia (another game), before the sleeping bags were pulled out and we found our respective places on the floor, pull out furniture, and air mattresses. The following morning we lounged for a couple hours drinking coffee, eating pumpkin pie and apple crisp, and thanking Na'Ima for having us! Could not have asked for a better weekend!

Work Update and Thanksgiving Greeting

I planned to wait and write a little Thanksgiving note later this week, but now I can't wait. I just found out, we won the grant to facilitate volunteerism seminars in our district's villages. We plan to help develop local youth councils in the villages of our district. As the local youth council in our town has shown, an active youth population greatly affects the attitude of the community.

Writing grants is, in my opinion, not one of the most sustainable means of fundraising because the community doesn't always have to support the project, the writer just has to be pursuasive. However, our project is among those that invests in human capital, neither infastructure nor material. We are hoping to educate young people about their opportunities to facilitate their own change. Afterall, "if you don't manage your change, your change will manage you." On one hand I am very excited about this project, but I do not neglect the responsibility that comes with us receiving this money. It will be a great lesson in accountability for the youth I am partnered with. I will keep you all updated as the project progresses and would love to answer any questions along the way!

This news comes just in time for Thanksgiving. A holiday I won't actually celebrate until Saturday with my colleagues, but can't help but celebrate all week since I'm accustomed to having a whole week off from classes for it! Oh how I miss that drive from Pullman! I know, crazy...but true!

I am incredibly thankful for all that I have experienced and learned since this time last year. Five different mailing addresses, a second language, and a taste of the D.C. political arena...Oh, and I guess somwhere in there I graduated college. Did that really happen? HAPPY THANKSGIVING!