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.

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.

The annual family reunion: Memorial Easter

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

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

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

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

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

Celebration in the Village

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

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

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

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

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!

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!

Meeting the in-laws

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eastern Orthodox New Year

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

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

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


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

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

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


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

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


So how about a verse for the animals too?

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

Gifting the Third Goal

I wrote this post before leaving for Christmas vacation (I’m back HOME for a few days, meeting the newest member of my family)! If all goes according to plan, it should be published the day after Christmas, so as to not spoil any surprises from under the tree!

Peace Corps’ third goal is to share host country cultures with Americans back home. Thus, I offer you some of Moldova’s best, which yesterday you would have found under my family’s Christmas tree.

House wine and a single shot glass:

This wine is a gift from my oldest host brother, Mulțumim Vitalie! Typically, Vitalie bottles at least a portion of his wine in glass bottles, but he is one of the few that practices that for house wine. To be perfectly honest, most simply can’t afford it. What you see here is quite typical, a recycled plastic water bottle that he has filled from the barrels in his cellar. Everyone in Moldova will tell you that their house wine is the best. Though, I’ve had Vitalie’s several times now and the pitcher always seems to run dry...

The shot glass is something I purchased at the local market for three Moldovan lei ($0.24 USD). I procured this glass to accompany our wine because, as explained before, one glass is really all you need! Passing the wine is a customary. It doesn’t really matter if the guests are attempting to leave your house after a feast, it doesn’t matter if people are headed to a wedding celebration next, or if you are the host/hostess and you are exhausted. The passing of wine completes any engagement.

One person, usually the head of the household, is in control of the wine pitcher, and a circle is seamlessly formed. The controller of the pitcher will take a shot of wine and give an event appropriate toast. Toasting to health and happiness is always appropriate, but if it’s a wedding celebration,  then most people toast to lots of children, health for those children, and for the bride to acquire all the skills of a good housewife.

After that person drinks his/her shot, the glass is refilled and handed off to the next person. And so the passing of wine goes until at least one pitcher has been emptied. If people are having a good time....it’s always easy to run to the cellar and fill another!

Hand woven carpet:

Given the number of sheep in Moldova, it’s no wonder that carpet-making is held in high-regard. In most Moldovan homes, carpets cover both the floors and walls.

This carpet is small, so I don’t imagine my mother will hang it on a wall anytime soon, but it was custom made for her by an acquaintance of mine, Ecaterina Popescu. Check out her site here, in Romanian or English, but be sure to have your pop-up blocker disabled. Hoping that my Mom will actually display the carpet (either in this house or a retirement cabin on a lake in the woods), I asked Ecaterina for something incorporating the color blue and one of her less busy patterns.

It’s winter time too, so check out the snowy carpet washing I learned from my host family.

Chocolates and tea:

Moldovans love their novelty chocolate and their tea. There is really only one candy company from Moldova, so that is where I collected this variety of sweets to share with friends and family back home. I also snagged some “Green Melissa.” Melissa is a fragrant herb that many women grow in their gardens for tea. Unfortunately, this Melissa isn't originally from Molova, but I think the idea still counts (Russian, I believe). 

Sometimes when people ask me to repeat my name, I say to them “Melissa, you know…like the tea.” 

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!

Duckling's Ball

Last night I attended the "Duckling's Ball" at the local high school. In this case, duckling is a metaphor for the tenth grade class, who entered the high school last month. I felt like I belonged in high school every time I giggled as the "ducklings from class 10A" were called to the stage, but the whole event is rather steeped in tradition and esteem. It truly is a rite of passage.

On a semantic note, I'd like to explain that this ball did not include gowns and king's of Siam dancing the night away with English teachers. The event actually took place in a theater, and students from the tenth grade class performed songs, dances, poems, and skits.

As I sat in a room packed with adolescents, flash backs from every high school pep rally came whizzing by. I liked high school a lot, but it's probably best for humanity that all good things come to an end.

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. 

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

Remembrance with respect

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

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

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

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

Sergiu's Church Wedding

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

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

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

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

Couple: "Yes"

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

Nash: "Yes."

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

Nash and Couple: "Yes."

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

Everyone: "Yes"

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

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

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

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

Memorial Easter, a village, and my family

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sometimes I know what I'm doing, sometimes I don't

[+] On the last weekend in February we finally celebrated youth week in my district (it's actually in October, but was cancelled because of H1N1 outbreaks). This ceremony honored the youth who have produced the most 'beautiful' results in our community. The president of my youth council was honored along with the national champion judoist (the sports specialist's speech relayed his utter amazement that a girl could be so strong), a young soldier, and another youth volunteer. I also agreed to help the district's newspaper man revamp the youth newspaper known as "Generation 9." More on this project to come...

[+/-] There were four days in a row I didn't see my partner at all. But, the weather was gorgeous and I took great walks, took my bike out for the first spin, and hung out with the neighbor kids. We played uno, a Moldovan card game, and ate rice krispy treats. Special note: there was only one of those "doamne feresti" phone calls home during this down time.

[-] I continue to lose the card game that requires you to make animal sounds because I can't remember how the kids here make the noises. They thought cockadoodledoo was just ridiculous.

[+] We had a concert for the March First holiday that marks the beginning of spring. For a country that glorifies disco and Lady Gaga, I was really surprised how many of the teenage acts involved a bass, guitar, and full drum set. The concert was also honoring a famous singer from our raion, so all the songs were his. His wife and son were in attendance as well. My favorite part of the concert was the very beginning, when the Star Wars song was blasted from the speakers so loud the vibrations put the ride at Diseneyland to shame.

[+] Martisor is my new favorite Moldovan holiday!! There are several legends about the Martisor (the red and write strings that get pinned to your left lapel). They all involve a princess named Primavara (spring), a dragon, and blood being split in her honor. On the first of March, we give the Martisor to mark the departure of winter (the white), and the coming of spring (red). Spring is here!! With the youth council, we gave out about a hundred of the Martisoare. Here is Marcela pinning Victor at the district government offices.

[+] I recently had a fabulous weekend with fellow PCVs. It involved three very productive meetings, a whole lot of socializing, eating great food, and sadly, starting the goodbyes. A group of PCVs is about to COS (finish there service), and a Dutch volunteer (left, third picture) heads our this weekend as well. It's been great getting to know Sarah. She arrived in January and has been working at a Dutch NGO for elderly people, she most enjoys the activities room. She leaves Moldova on Sunday for Israel, where she will be spending another couple months volunteering at a hostel. It's people like Sarah that making work abroad so much fun!

[+] On International Women's Day I got a free bus ride. I will remember that kind bus driver next time I run across a less amiable one.

[-/+] A fellow volunteer and I decided that since all the deadlines for grad school in 2010 have passed, it's time to start getting serious about applications for 2011. Yikes. But the more I read, the more I'm certain that I know what I want to do with my life. Which is exactly what I hoped the Peace Corps would help me determine.

[+] I love Moldova.

Praznic cel mai mare: The biggest meal in memory of a loved one

Moldovan traditions, as readers of this blog can attest, tend to rely on the presence of food and wine. But then again, that might not be all that different than ours. Although I attended a praznic back in my training village, this was the first one that was hosted in my home. On 8 January, 2010, we celebrated the life Maria’s husband who died six years ago. This tradition usually goes on for seven years after someone passes.

In the largest room of our house, though not very large indeed, 25 family members, colleagues, and neighbors came to pay their respects. Every inch of the table was covered in food. There was a lot of toasting in memory of family members, lots of house wine, and lots of leftover food. Which is why when the main guests left, Maria and I quickly rearranged the food to prepare for the second wave of guests. I vacuumed the same rug four times that day! There simply wasn’t enough room to have everyone at one table, one celebration of life.

I have known for some time that Maria’s husband was a well-respected man in town. When I tell people I live with Maria, someone inevitable will refer to how they knew her husband and what a good, honorable man he was. As you can see in the pictures, part of the tradition also involves going to the cemetery. Costel’s grave site conveys the importance the community placed on his life. His grave is the first inside the gate, and quiet large. I went with my “brothers” to the cemetery and here is a short summary of what we did:

-We poured wine (taken from the church) in the shape of the crucifix on the grave.

-We built a small fire to burn incense with, and carried the canister of fragrant smoke around the grave, clockwise.

-Each time someone walked by, we served them wine and candy (it doesn’t have to be candy, just some kind of food). The person drank the wine after saying a phrase that translates to “may God forgive him.” You can also pour the wine on the grave if you chose not to drink it.

-We lit a candle at the head and foot of the grave.

-We placed yellow flowers in the vase. Yellow flowers are only given for death related ceremonies.

-We took an offering of wine, bread, and candy to a home near the cemetery. The man of the house came out and kissed the bread, drank the wine, and extinguished the candle in the bread after saying a few words in memory of Costel.

I truly enjoyed witnessing this tradition. After helping Maria cook for three days and going to the cemetery with her sons, I feel much closer to Maria and her family. This is a tradition of much love and respect.