Posh Corps: The [not so] rough life

 I recently spent a weekend at my host brother's vila (by which, I refer to a vacation home, outside the capital city, on a lake). It is experiences like this that bring to mind the "Posh Corps" label many Peace Corps Volunteers all over the world self-apply when their service fails to resemble the savannas and stricken poverty that appears so restlessly in Peace Corps promotional material.

The vila sits on about an acre of land, complete with gardens, a hammock tied between two cherry trees, the two-story house, a large covered patio, and a cellar full of homemade spirits. I wish I could tell you that the house does not have indoor plumbing, good windows, or electricity. But it really does have it all...and then some.

After three servings of sour-cherry liquor for breakfast, my feet took me just far enough to reach one of the big beds on the second floor. The walk in the woods and flower picking would have to wait until the afternoon. My host family says the vila is a place to relax, but like an amateur, I had not anticipated the relaxation to be substance induced. Silly me.

Perhaps I should have put this photo at the top of the post. Perhaps it could have hooked the reader. Perhaps it explains more about my host country's obsession with beauty and order than I or any other blogging volunteer could accurately convey.

Three men, one ladder without legs, and a  power tool.



All you need to know is, what happened to this tree to give it the look of pom-poms on a stick, was done to it on purpose. 

Misha's 40 Day Praznic

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

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

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

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

[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!

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.” 

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!

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?

In a passing week

"Melissa, you have to try my wine. It's like grape juice--all natural grape juice--that just happens to be a bit tart." -Neighbor who prepared a random masa outside our house one night.

"You don't want a lamb, it grows up to be a sheep!"-The man who speaks perfect English after a couple glasses of tart grape juice.

"Open your eyes!"-A running joke between my host mom and I (hey, it's sarcasm and I'll take it where I can).

"One-hundred-fifty lei!"-The value of a frisbee being tossed in a lively game of five-hundred with the neighbor boys.

Melissa+Vlad+Oleg+Sasha+Misha+Slav+Alec+Daniel+Octavian=The hottest frisbee team around.

A Moldovan: "How do you say his name?"

Me: "Billy"

A Moldovan: "Like Billy Clinton?"

At the market, the woman at the fruit stand: "Stand aside people, Melissa wants something...what would you like, Melissa."

Me: "Five bananas, please."

The fruit seller: "That's it?"

Wine Day

There is a national celebration every October called Wine Fest. The main events take place in the capital city, but my raion (county/district) also puts on a show. I think it is and will be the closest thing to “Doin’ the Puyallup” that I come across in a while.
This first shot was taken early in the morning. That is my town’s “Casa de Cultura” or “Cultural House” with the balloons. People from all the villages were busy setting up their exhibition booths. Later in the day there was a concert in that open space.

Here is a small sample of the exhibition booths. One thing about Moldovan culture is that everything is said to be “frumos” or “beautiful.” On special days like this, people go even farther out of their way to make sure that is the case. These displays really were more colorful than anything else I’ve seen like them in Moldova.

Grape Picking Day!

While some kids actually didn’t have school for a week because it was time for the grape harvest, I only got to participate in the festivities one day. I have an in with the family—my partner!
This is Nadya overlooking her family’s vines. The conversations with her and her family as we worked were akin to an “I Love Lucy” episode only in that they were ridiculously hard to follow and hilarious, not in that we actually stomped on the grapes. Lucy and her man only had two languages going for them. I counted four on the hill. However, once my origin was discovered, all I heard echoing around the valley was, “Do you talk to the Ameriiicanca?” “The Ameriiicanca’s dad is a teacher in the government. The Ameriiicanca’s mom works at the hospital.” “That Ameriiicanaca’s parents let her come to Moldova??” They never have to know I was in so much shock my first three days I couldn’t eat or sleep...

After the morning work, the crowd gathered for a jug of last year’s wine and fresh placinte (pastries/pies) Nadya’s mom cooked in a wood oven fresh that morning. We had placinte with cheese and dill, placinte with apples, placinte with pumpkin…

And back at the house, the juice pressing was underway. Ten days, and it will be wine. Though I hear tasting the stuff in between is pretty good too.

Wine!

Milesti Mici is a village not far from the capital, and home to the largest wine collection in the world. It’s Guiness Book certified! We took a tour (which cost us several weeks allowance, but would cost you pennies with your beautiful American dollar) through the underground operation which totals 200 kilometers. Currently, wine is stored in 55 of those kilometers, and the rest is used for production.

The company is state owned now, and started bottling in 1968. The collection wines can go for over 3,000 USD. In the history of the company, the best wines were made from grapes grown in the summer of 1986…I am honored to share the same gestation time with the best wine in the world’s largest collection!

Though I haven’t spoken much about the wine in Moldova in this blog. I hope you can infer the emphasis placed on wine in this culture knowing that they have the world’s largest collection. Add to this that most families don’t buy wine in from a store, but merely look to their own cellars and you have yourself a cultural staple.

Wine Tour at Milesti Mich