The Journey Continues...

It started back around November/December of last year…the anxiety and stress of what the hell I am going to do when my 27 month service as a Peace Corps volunteer comes to an end in July of this year. I am a constant thinker to begin with, there is always something turning in my head, some kind of idea or crazy day dream, which is good but can also be over whelming at times and lead to many sleepless nights while trying to figure future plans. To say the least I was beginning to feel the pressure as I thought past summer 2009. I came to Romania as a volunteer to see another part of the world, help others, learn a new culture and language while hopefully learning some things about myself and maybe even begin to figure out what I want out of life…in other words, to SHAKE THINGS UP a bit. Indeed I have learned a wonderful new culture, can speak the Romanian language very well, have seen parts of the world I only used to dream about and I would even dare say I have a better understanding of who I am as a person after these 27 months in Romania. As far as what I want out of life…it is a bit trickier but I want to keep being international in this ever shrinking world we live in, learning new languages and cultures, interacting with people from all around the world, help others where I can and continue to challenge myself while seeking new exciting and unique adventures. I arrived at a point where I literally wrote out a list of all the major interest, influences, skills, likes, dislikes I have regarding what I wanted to do. I have to say, creating this list was a very useful way for me to realize that I have a restless & curious soul that will not allow me to settle for anything less than I am capable of and to accept that. I was researching companies’ website from London to India, looking at requirements for graduate schools from Denver, Colorado to Cairo, Egypt and day dreaming about living on the beaches of Costa Rica all the way to the hustle and bustle of Taqim Square in down town Istanbul and everywhere in between. Meanwhile, I put my name in a pool of many other strong candidates to stay in Romania for a third year for an assignment that would move me to Bucharest, Romania’s capital city, while still working as a volunteer but not as a teacher of English. The job description explained it as a Volunteer Leadership position where the volunteer would split his/her time 50% with the Peace Corps Romania based out of their office assisting with volunteer support and the other 50% with a Romanian NGO. I have a lot of respect, pride and enthusiasm for what the Peace Corps does and represents, especially Peace Corps Romania, so I figured the possibility of sticking around for a third year could only add to my already wonderful experience I have had in Romania. While doing plentiful research into continuing my career in International Relations, I was beginning to realize more international experience with a combination of a graduate degree of some sort would be critical. Thus with my mind set on applying for a third year with Peace Corps Romania, I also decided to put out an application at The American University in Cairo, Egypt for a masters degree in International Relations. For all the work that it takes to write letters of intent, request letters of recommendation, order and send transcripts across the world, fill out on-line applications with limited internet access and complete interviews…I think waiting around to hear if you are accepted or not is even more daunting! After I sent in both of these applications and was waiting around to hear what my next move would be, I wrote out another list of what I would do if neither of these two options worked out…well the list actually turned into a small size notebook chuck full of web addresses, ideas and day dreams covering every inch of the world! Each night I would put myself to sleep with a different scenario grinding out the details and logistics…one night I would be figuring out how to get to France and learn French for a year or two, the next night it was finding a NGO to work for that would get me to Africa, after that wondering if my buddy Fever could get me a job as a pool boy with him at the Palms casino’s pool in Vegas etc. etc. Not only have I probably put a few more grey hairs on my Mom and Dad’s hair with each new idea and day dream but I think my sister and brother-in law’s as well…”You want to go where!? Just when we thought we had heard it all, you always find a way to surprise us!” they would often exclaim on our weekly Sunday conversations. Truth is, with out having them to bounce ideas off of and explain my madness too, I would have been a bigger mess than I was already…Thanks guys, you all are the BEST!! Then all of a sudden, last week just when I thought the graduate school had forgot about me…there it was in my e-mail’s inbox, I had been accepted into the International Relations masters program at American University in Cairo! The smile still has not faded away, I am very excited and proud of being accepted into their program…however I still had not heard any news from Bucharest regarding my application for a third year in Bucharest, so the nerves were still running on edge. Going into this whole situation, my primary goal was to be accepted into a third year assignment in Romania. It is a once in a lifetime opportunity that is only possible right now, where as grad school will always be there. Then finally, two days ago, I received the news I had been waiting not so patiently for…I had been accepted for a third year extension in Romania as a Peace Corps Volunteer Leader! I have deferred my admissions to graduate school for fall of 2010 and hope it will all work out for me to make it to Egypt. However, for now I am just focused on finishing up my last few months here in the village, savoring all the great things I love about this village that has been my home for the last two years! Then, once school is out in the middle of June I will make the move from this 1,000 person traditional village to the 3 million person, mega-city that is Bucharest…talk about culture shock! I am very excited and eager about the new life, challenges and experiences that wait for me in Bucharest. My “What the Hell I am going to do!?” notebook can be stowed away for now at least, but knowing how fast time slips away when I am having fun I am sure it wont be long before it is back out on my desk again…TO THE JOURNEY!!

A Beautiful City

While on the 14-hour train ride from Sighet to Bucharest, I had plenty of “quality” time to daydream and get excited about my imminent trip to Istanbul, Turkey. I have never been much on doing a lot of research and planning for trips, I prefer the “shoot it from the hip” and “I will figure it out when I get there” methods of travel. Thus, my trip to Istanbul was no exception. Besides arranging a place to crash for the first two nights, the rest was all up in the air, just the way I prefer it. Honestly, the 14-hour train ride to Bucharest on top of the 21-hour train ride to Istanbul was not as bad as I thought it would be. A lot of this had to do with the fact I was traveling with my buddy Mike, another volunteer and as chance would have it a Turkish man named Ali, who was entertaining to say the least. Ali’s topics of conversations revolved around women, politics and conspiracy theories, in that order! As we were making our way through Bulgaria, we happened to make friends with a Bulgarian train controller, who claimed he was “THE” train controller of train controllers in Bulgaria. The train stopped somewhere around Sophia, for a period of time to change and add wagons. At the station we were at, there was a little store/restaurant/bar, that “THE” Bulgarian train controller invited us to, for as he described “The Best Kebab in Bulgaria,” you don’t have to ask me twice I was out of the train before he could finish the word kebab! Just for reference, it is about mid-night at this point in our journey. Once we are seated at the table, the women behind the counter demanded while also asking us “3 kebabs, 3 beer!?” We just smiled and nodded, yes. I am no food guru, but I do know the difference between a kebab and a non-kebab. I observed the women open a freezer door pull out three white hamburger patties and pop them in a microwave. Mean while, our conductor friend was sipping on a small coffee cup, that obviously did not have coffee in it, repeating “Americans… Kebabs” with a bright white grin on his face. To this day, I am not sure what we ate that evening, but it was a damn good non-kebab whatever it was. After washing down the mystery meat with a local Bulgarian beer, my buddy Mike asked our controller friend, while pointing at his watch if we should be boarding the train soon. The controller, laughed out loud, took another sip from his coffee cup and said, “the train leaves when I say it leaves…as long as you are with me you are fine,” while raising his coffee cup to offer cheers. The man was true to his word, after a few phone calls in Bulgarian that sounded a lot like Russian, he motioned for us to board the train and I will be damned if that train did not start moving as soon as we all stepped on board…Nine hours later, hello Istanbul.
I have always respected the expression “You never get a second chance to make a first impression.” Well, Istanbul’s first impression on me was an impressive one to say the least. Immediately, I felt a soft, colorful vibe of the city. The streets were spotless and full of life. For a city the size of Istanbul, 12-13 million, it is impeccably clean…even if you want find a gum wrapper on the street you will be hard pressed to find one. As we searched for our hotel, men trying to steer us into their restaurant or store, greeted us. They were never pushy; it was all very friendly, genuine and clever, while obviously trying to make a sale. The city’s many Mosques were also another strong first impression. Structurally they are they simple, ornate and absolulty stunning (see picture.) The first time I heard the call to prayer, the prayer called from Mosques from speakers on each Minaret, chills rushed down my spine, which was what happened every time I heard it through out the whole trip. However, it is the Turkish people and culture that make Istanbul my new favorite city in the world I have visited so far. Everyone we came in contact with was friendly, warm, engaging and very hospitable. The best term I have to describe the Turkish people and culture is, classy.
I had just set foot in this city but already I had a good feeling for it, one that just grew stronger as the days went by. Finally, reaching the hotel Mike and I meet up with Liz, another volunteer, took a much-needed shower and hit the streets. First stop was to the Grand Bazaar. If I had read a tourist’s guidebook to Istanbul, without question the Grand Bazaar would be number one on the list, but if it is not, it should be. The Grand Bazaar is a giant market where you can find just about anything, and you cannot find it just ask, because more times than not it will be found for you. To be honest, it was a bit over whelming the first time walking around. First of all it is massive, with all these little side paths, all jammed pack with vendors selling everything from gold, silver, scarves, leather and the world-renowned Turkish rugs…and the whole time bargaining for the so called right price, a definite sensation overload. Again, each vendor is unique and full of personality to catch your attention and hopefully land a sale. I could see how some might find this a bit aggressive and maybe uncomfortable, but I loved it! The first carpet store we were convinced to visit was a lot of fun. The gentleman helping us, spoke excellent English, as do most in Istanbul, and seemed like a genuine salesmen, if there can be such a thing! First things first, tea…he did not mention a word about rugs or carpets until well into our second glass of tea, which is customary, piping hot, sweetly delicious and on the house. Then once we started on rugs it was all encompassing…big ones, small ones, thick ones, thin ones, double knotted, single knotted, traditional, modern and prayer ones etc. Most vendors I encountered in the Bazaar practiced the true and traditional sense of salesmanship, the customer is always right. You cannot come up with an excuse that will stump these guys…if you tell them you do not have room in your suitcase, they will wrap it right there and ship it to you, if it is not the right color, they will find you the right color, if it is too expensive, which it always is, you bargain for what you think is the right price. I enjoyed this type of consumer environment compared to just walking into a store, picking something out, paying for it and leaving, often never even talking to anyone. Not only was it entertaining but also each purchase has a story behind it.
We crossed the Bosporus river and landed on the other part of Istanbul that is settled in Asia. This was my first but not last time in Asia. The Asian side of Istanbul was much more low key, less touristy and traditional, or so it seemed. Other highlights of the trip, included visits to many Mosques including the famous Blue Mosque (see picture) which were all very welcoming as well as informative in regards to understanding Islam and its faith…each Mosque we entered was simply beautiful, ornate with an powerful sense of devotion. We also wandered in the Hagia Sophia; Takim Square that absolutely blew me away with how crowed it was especially during the off-season. Raki is the traditional drink, with a flavor very similar to Greece’s Uzo or Italy’s Sambuca. It was refreshingly tame compared to the village’s horlinka, served with equal part water and on ice. Also, it was often served with a bowl of mix nuts and or a creamy, salted white cheese. As you might expect the food was exquisite and full of flavor. Turkish coffee lives up to its reputation of strong, delicious and sweet. Smoking fruit or mint-flavored tobacco from a water pipe, nargile, was another customary tradition we enjoyed in many of the relaxed, vibrant, friendly cafes that line the streets of Istanbul. Just before we boarded the train for our return trip to Bucharest, we visited a Turkish bath, which involves getting washed actually forcefully scrubbed is a better verb as I am pretty sure I lost a few layers of skin in the process, massaged and rinsed in a sauna like room. It was a perfect way to end the trip and a great way to prepare for a 20-hour train ride back to Bucharest.
Just like any trip to a new place, the time flew by and 6 days was not nearly long enough. I am not convinced 26 days would be enough for a city like Istanbul…that’s why next time I go there, it might just be with a one-way ticket!

Quote of the Day...Maybe of the Year

Nu Mai Bine

To say I have a holiday hangover is a vast understatement! Holiday season 2008 is in the books and I have to say it went down as one of the most unique holidays of my life. If I could not have been back in Michigan with my family, then there is no other place I would have rather been, than here in the village. I was not really feeling the Christmas Cheer, as the December 25th was only a week away. I am so used to being back in Michigan, with all the decorations, Christmas songs and fighting the crowds as Somerset mall picking up last minute Christmas gifts it was difficult to find it. The Monday before Christmas Day, I was sent to Sighet, the closest big city to me about 50 km away, by my host family to pick up some last minute items. I thought the lines at J.Crew were long the last few days before Christmas, but they don’t even come close to chaos that was at one of the major grocery stores in Sighet! Literally it was shoulder to shoulder, grandmas fighting over tomatoes and old men filling their arms with cases of beer, and that was just in the aisles. I waited in line for over one hour in line to pay and they had about 10-12 cashiers open and running…it was the kind of Christmas spirit I needed! I arrived home stressed out, over whelmed and wet…it poured cats and dogs all freaking day, but it was feeling a bit more like Christmas. Tuesday morning I woke up to help put the finishing touches on our Christmas tree…which was hand cut and dragged from one of the surrounding forests, just a quick side note, we had this tree for 4-5 weeks, not once was it put in water and even the day we took it down there was not one pine needle that fell from it, talk about organic…any way, I woke up to a winter white wonderland. Just in time for the big day, the rain and mud turned to huge snowflakes and ice! A few of my friends who were staying in Romania for the holidays decided to come up for all of the traditions. As they trickled in on Christmas Eve, all the kids were getting ready for the big day of caroling. The boys I live with made the opportunistic decision of “quantity not quality”, meaning instead of focusing on the houses that traditional give the big bucks, they were just going to hit up every singe house in the village. The young children start caroling in the early afternoon so they are not out all night, followed by the adults in the evening. I had built up this caroling thing pretty big in my own head but also to all my friends who came to visit, I did not let them down! It was almost 11:03 p.m. when “our” troop of carolers arrived at our house, as we were the first of the houses on the list. As the group of about 25 villagers caroled on our door step, I was running around like a mad man on direct orders from Ion to find as many shot glasses as I could find and the largest bottle of horlinka we had, let the night begin. It was difficult to properly introduce all of my American and Danish friends…one of my Peace Corps buddies who came up brought two of his buddies from Denmark…I was not sure how it was all going to work, the Danes did not know more than 3 ½ words in Romanian, I was not sure how comfortable the others were with their Romanian and the villagers don’t speak English. As I was giving hugs and kisses to all my villager friends I noticed out of the corner of my eye, Angela’s brother Vasile, right in the middle of the clump of Americans and Danes shot in hand, yelling “La Multi Ani” I should have known better, horlinka brings everyone together, it really builds bridges between cultures and languages! It is difficult to explain in words the amount of hospitality, warmth and openness these people have in the village, you really have to be here to see it, sense it and most of all feel it. There was not one moment of awkwardness. Immediately, my friends from the village were talking with my American and Danish friends, offering them their seat at the table, their food and their drink…in their own house non the less. In total, there were nine houses to be visited, I remember walking between our first or second house and all my English speaking friends coming up to me with their cheeks a bit rosier from a combination of the crisp cool winter and moonshine strong horlinka saying they have never seeing anything like this.

One thing about strong traditions, there is not much variety. Each and every house was exactly the same thing…the same carol at the door step, shots of horlinka, followed by glasses of beer, all the cabbage rolls you could eat, appetizer meat balls and cheeses on the table all capped off with cakes and pies…don’t get me wrong, every thing I just mentioned was absolutely amazing but it was just interesting how not one house varied from the program! At the first two houses, us English speakers were making an effort to pick up a few words of the Romanian Carol that was being sung but this was made a bit more difficult after a few shots of horlinka. On the other hand, after a few shots of horlinka, the confidence and courage levels tend to rise, thus we eventually piped out a Christmas carol or two in English. However, the highlight of the night was having my two Danish friends sing Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer in Dutch, defiantly a first in the village! I was unable to complete the full circuit of all nine houses, as one of the Danes had had his fill of all the food and drink and thought it wise to head home…I wont lie it is probably best that I did not continue on to the last two houses either. I told him I would walk him back to the house, when he insisted that he knew the way back and that he would be fine, a perfect example of the liquid courage effect that is horlinka…on the walk back I asked him at each intersection whether the house was to the left or right, was it this house or the next…it was good I walked him back, if not he may have ended up sleeping in a pig trough somewhere! Needless to say we did not make it to the Christmas morning service at the church. Christmas day is just like Christmas Eve, in the sense that children do some more caroling, as do the adults who have rebounded from the night before.

I have a Peace Corps neighbor, Ben, in a village about 8 km away from my village. He also had some other Peace Corps Volunteers come up for Christmas. We decided we would all meet up on Christmas day for a little gift exchange. After shaking some of the cobwebs out of our head Christmas afternoon, my friends and I made the hike over to Botiza. The fresh air was nice and it helped to get the blood pumping a bit after the previous night. Once we arrived at Ben’s apartment, we sat around and chatted about how much fun Caroling was the night before, ate homemade Christmas cookies and eventually opened up our respective gifts...it was really nice spending the holiday with everyone there because we were all in the same boat, away from home for the holidays but together in Romania.

As the weekend after Christmas arrived, all of my friends had left, I finally had my own house to myself…I gave it up to my friends and I crashed on the couch in the dining room with my host family’s boys…I slept from Saturday afternoon until Sunday afternoon! It is a lot of work being the host and obviously I had not slept a whole lot over the previous 4-5 days, so I took advantage. When I awoke on Sunday afternoon, Bunica (my host family grandmother) thought I was sick and was really concerned,she spoils me rotten, I told her I was just tired from Christmas and she laughed and made some fried potatoes for me. A bit later in the afternoon, I found out a gentleman who was born in the village, who was a big shot commander in the Romanian Military under communism and who I had helped this past fall dig a foundation for a vacation house he wanted to build, had unexpectedly passed away. I did not know the man very well, like I said I spent a Saturday afternoon with him and my neighbors this fall and we chatted a bit about life in Romania. However, I figured it was the right thing to do to attend the service and pay my respects. I lingered in the back of the crowd allowing others to get closer and have a better view; in general I am head and solders taller than most villagers. I was holding my candle and trying to keep warm, it was an outside service and it was brisk to say the least, when the gentleman’s son caught my attention and waved me up to the front next to the casket, so much for laying low. He gave me a 3 ft tall candle with a towel to hold around it and asked me to stay up front next to the casket, next to family and close friends. All attendees of the service burn candles, most of them are short, thin church candles. However, close friends and family are given the much larger, taller, stronger candles. I was a little uncomfortable up there, next to the man’s children, grandchildren and relatives…oh and of course the village mayor and priest who was giving the service, but I took it as a huge compliment. As the casket was carried through the village to the grave yard next to the church, the gentleman’s widow came up to me and told me when her husband returned to her after working on the foundation of their new house in the village, he mentioned how there was an American out there digging with everyone else, laughing and joking along the way. She told me that he was very impressed with what I was doing in the village and that is why she had asked me to stand in the front with the candle. I thanked her for her kind words, gave her my condolences and told her how friendly her husband was to me that afternoon and that I was honored to be up there holding a candle.

Just when I had all intentions of staying in the village for New Years and helping my host family with the 8 tourists that were coming up from Cluj to celebrate the New Years, I was invited to a small cabin (see pic) in the mountains with one of Angela’s cousins, Petre. It was probably one of the best New Years Eves that I have ever had in my life. Why? Well the thing I hate about New Years Eves is that there are such strong expectations of having the best night of your life it is very difficult to live up to those expectations. Also, New Years Eve is the one night that everyone goes to restaurants, bars and clubs, even if someone does not go out the whole year, there is a good chance they will be hitting the town on New Years Eve…also known as amateur night. So when I thought about heading up to an old, refurbished mountain refugee cabin next to a mountain, I was excited for something new. My friend Petre and his buddies are big time mountain climbers, hikers, mountain bikers, skiers…pretty much anything involving the outdoors. A couple of years back they came across this old refugee, which was fully functional under communism. Following the revolution, it was striped of everything except the walls and its roof. Petre and his buddies asked around and no one seemed to claim ownership to it so they slowly but surely rebuilt it back to life. There is a strong Iron door with the craftiest lock system I have ever seen and they filled in the one widow with cement, after it was bashed out and everything with the slightest bit of value stolen. They have added 3 wooden beds, a wood burning stove, a table and a bench. There is an attic up stairs where 4 can sleep comfortably so with the 3 beds downstairs, capacity is ideally 7, however they inform me 25 is the record to date. Each day we went out for water, there is a natural spring 15 minutes down the path, we chopped wood for the fire, they had large dry pieces of wood from this fall under the beds so it was just a matter of chopping them down to size, we built a bon fire for New Years Eve, we climbed to the top of Crestul Cocosului translated into English as the Roosters peak, in reference to the shape of the peak looking like a roosters head, I learned how to cross-country ski and we just chilled. There is no electricity, so after sun down we lit candles, sat at the table, listened to a battery powered radio that we brought along, drank beer, wine and horlinka (you think my host family would let me leave the house for New Years with out the liquid gold, ha!) talked, joked, ate toast off the top of the cast iron stove top of the wood burning stove (the best toast in the world) and laughed until we were tired. There were three of us who slept down stairs and we were each responsible for waking up and different hours of the night to put more wood on the fire, so we would not freeze. Each morning, no one did anything until we all drank at least two cups of coffee. There was not a whole lot of snow but enough to paint natural scenery beautiful enough to represent all that is wonderful about life. All around it was just a great time with great people in a great atmosphere…I am thinking of creating a tradition for future New Years Eves, spending them on a different mountain side each year with outdoorsy souls and a sleeping bag.

Just as I arrive back into the village, feeling revived after my time in the mountains, trying to get back in the school mind set and thinking the holiday that has just past was amazing, I was informed that holiday was not quite over! On Wednesday January 7, 2009 was Saint Ion’s day. With half of the village being named Ion, Ionel or Ionut it is a big deal. Despite the official date of school beginning after the winter vacation being January 5th no one should up until January 8th, after Saint Ion’s day. January 5th was also the day when the priest came to every single house in the village to bless the families, houses and allow them to kiss his cross; I however missed out on this as I had not arrived back from the mountains yet. This gets us to Tuesday January 6th, officially the day before Saint Ion’s day. As luck would have it, the husband of my host family is Ion, his son is Ionel, they have uncles and godparents also named Ion and Ivan, which apparently falls under the Ion umbrella as well, and came into the village to celebrate. My buddy Petre had driven me back to the village and since he is my host family’s family decided to stay and enjoy the festivities. Honestly, I am not sure which was more of a spectacle, caroling on Christmas Eve or celebrating Saint Ion’s day the night before Saint Ion’s day…I am leaning towards Saint Ion’s day the night before Saint Ion’s day. There was an never ending supply of cabbage rolls, meatballs, ham rolls, cakes, pies, horlinka, beer, wine and I will be damned if there was not a bottle of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey on the table. We start with everyone at our house for food and drinks. After 2-3 hours, we ventured…it really is an adventure when you have 8-9 guys drunk off of horlinka, beer and Jameson walking down the street dancing and singing at the top of their lungs…over to Angela’s parents house for another 2-3 hours of the exact same thing we had experienced, ate and drank the previous 2-3 hour at our house. Out of mere survival I have come up with maneuvers of getting out of taking shots of horlinka when I have had enough…I have acted like I was talking on my cell phone with no one on the other line, went to use the bathroom but choosing the out house instead of the in house bathroom and going for a bit of a walk instead, and the ever so cleaverly act like I take the shot but only put it to my lips and never actually take a sip…however this one only works when there is a large group with everyone a bit tipsy and talking really loud, so they are not focusing on you. Also, you must be close enough to the bottle so you can offer to pour the next round of shots so it looks like your glass has just been refilled. This may sound bad and dishonest but after spending a night drinking with these guys, trust me you will understand and thank me for my advice! At some point we make it back to our house where Angela served up some more cabbage rolls and my personal favorite, apple cake, oh and just for good measure a glass of Ursus beer, the king of Romanian beers.

With Holiday Season 2008 finally in the books, it is now time to prepare for the arrival of 2009! Personally, I am looking to 2009 with a lot of hope, optimism and excitement, not to mention January 20th 2009 when Mr. President Barack Obama enters office…Peace, Love and Change!

Happy Holidays!

No need for alarm clocks these last few days before Christmas here in the village. The sound of a pig being slaughtered is one that will get you out of bed faster than a bucket of cold water. It is the most horrible, ear piercing sound I have ever heard in my life. Starting this week and probably lasting up until 2 or 3 days before Christmas Day, that sound will be waking me up bright and early. It is not just the sound of a pig getting slaughtered that sticks with you. The smell of burnt pig hair is another one of those things you will have a hard time shaking. When a pig is sacrificed, there is nothing that goes to waste, including the skin. Who wants to eat hairy pig skin!? Not me! Thus, the easiest way to get ride of those course bristles is to burn ‘em! This also gives the fat, just inside of the skin, a nice smoky flavor, because like I said nothing goes to waste and we eat that too. Seeing how I am a seasoned veteran in the village, this being my second year here, I have already been an active participant in the pig killing, butchering and sausage making ritual. I will be honest; it is not my favorite thing to help out with. That being said, I was not horribly disappointed when my host family decided to kill this year’s porker on Monday, while I was at school. I will say though, arriving home after school and being served, a steaming plate of freshly killed and cooked pork was wonderful. Monday evening, after the slaughtering and butchering, we had the traditional “Honor of the Pig” festivities. This event involves pork meatballs, organ and rice sausage (I can’t even write about it without getting uneasy, I have tried it two or three times, but the smell and taste of organs have a very unique flavor, one that makes me gag!) fried pig fat and you guessed it, Horlinka! The husbands of my host family, Ion, and his father in-law, Gheorghe, are respecting the 7-week fast lasting until Christmas Eve of abstaining from alcohol. I on the other hand, only do this on Wednesdays and Fridays, or whenever I am getting peer pressured to drink a large amount at 8 a.m. before school. After dealing with middle schoolers all day, you need a drink or two. Anyway, it would not be much of a respectful memorial without raising a glass or two in honor of porky. Vasile, Ion’s brother in-law and I picked up the slack of the others and did our respectful duty of drinking a shot or five for that pig, it was the least I could do, those meatballs were to die for!

This year the holidays, for me, will be spent here in Romania with my host family. I am a bit sad I will not be spending Christmas in Grand Blanc, MI with my family. Hands down, I have the best Mom, Dad, Brother, Sister, Brother in-law and Niece in the world! They have been so supportive in all my adventures, especially with my decision to jump into the Peace Corps and move to Romania for 2 ½ years. I love and miss them very much, but that expression “Distance makes the heart grow stronger” has never been more true for our family. It is odd that being on the other side of the globe and not seeing them for over a year could bring us closer together, but it has! As much as I will miss them during the Holidays, I am fortunate to have a great host family here in the village. I really have become apart of my host family’s family. I am great friends with Ion and Angela and similar to an older brother to the boys, Ionel, 11, and Vaslica, 13. I would be a liar if I said I did not start or at least instigate most of the pillow fights, wrestling matches or races around the house. However, trust me, they hold their own. The other night, I walked into my house to make a fire, it was pitch dark out, the lights were off and I could not flip the light switch as my arms were filled to the brim with pieces of wood. Right as I enter the door into my bedroom, I hear a soft drawn out “Boo, Boo.” Just then, something grabs my leg…I yell, jump out of my skin and of coarse drop all the wood in my arms on my floor and feet. Ionel and Vaslica saw me making my kindle and gathering wood, when they hurried with my back to them and quietly snuck in. Ionel, crawled under my desk where he made the ghost’s noises and Vaslica burrowed under my bed waiting for me to get close enough so he could grab my leg. I have to say they got me good! I gave them their credit and then tied their arms and legs together, back-to-back with rope and carried them over to the barn gate where the sheep and goat live. I sat them next to the gate and laughed in revenge as the sheep and goat licked their faces…ok so I let an 11 year old and a 13 year old get to me, a 27 year old adult, but I couldn’t just let them get away with that, it is the principle of it!

The area in Romania where my village is located is called Maramures. Maramures is known nation wide as the most traditional area of Romania. Now, combine that with my village which is known within Maramures as being one of the most traditional villages and I find myself living in the heart & soul of old Romanian traditions. Last year, I flew back to the states for Christmas and New Years, so I was unable to see all that goes on here. This year, it will be an unique experience for me to participate in such a traditional Romanian Holiday. First thing on the list, Caroling on Christmas Eve. I thought that only happened in the movies but guess not. From what I understand, the young kids go in groups from house to house, singing traditional Romanian Christmas carols. I also understand, that depending how many houses a group makes it to, they can make some serious cash along with being feed to the brim…naturally Ionel and a few of his 5th grade cronies have their route mapped out based on who the big cash givers were in years past, you have to love their enthusiasm! For the older folks, you go in groups of close friends and family. You start at one family’s house with carols, food, drink and dancing (in that order). Once you exhausted all the resources of that family i.e. once the Horlinka is getting low, you move on to the other family’s house in the group. The idea is to visit every family’s house in the group. However, Angela informs me this takes a focused leader to rally the troops out of one house and find the next…I called “Not It!” So the caroling takes you into Christmas morning. There is a major church service in the morning and maybe one in the evening too, not sure. Other than that, it is a day of rest and recovery from the night before…in village terms this means just staying in your house eating and drinking not going to all your neighbors. I am still not sure what the norm is for gift giving. December 6th is Saint Nicholas day in the Romanian Orthodox calendar and on this day he brings gifts to children who have behaved themselves and have clean, shiny shoes next to the window. The day after Christmas is also a Sabbath day in the Romanian Orthodox calendar, thus no work, no cleaning only feeding animals, feeding people and visiting friends & neighbors. Now you can understand why they wait to kill the pig right before Christmas, there is a lot of eating going on!

To help keep me up to date with what is going on in the world I have a subscription to the Economist magazine. I had never read the Economist before going to Spain this summer, where I picked it up in the airport, but I really enjoy it. It covers all world issues and obviously focuses a lot on economics, which I am trying to learn more about as we are in the middle of this financial melt down. Any way, they just published a special “Looking to 2009” issue. From what I remember, I feel like most news magazines lusually do the whole “Best & Worst of 2008” or “2008, A Year in Review” but maybe that is just in my imagination. Either way, I really liked how this particular issue talked all about big issues coming up the new year…Obama, Iraq, Iran, The World Economy, Afghanistan, The Environment, Obama, Israel’s elections, New country/president heading the EU, Africa, China, the car industries big 3 oh and did I mention Obama? I am not one for New Year’s Resolutions, but without even realizing it I have been doing a lot of my own personal “look into 2009.” My service as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Romania comes to an end in July of 2009. This will bring with it a lot of change for me. I will be leaving my village, which has not just been apart of my life, it has been my life for 2 years! As difficult, lonely and frustrating things can be here at times, it will be my hardest day as a Peace Corps volunteer, leaving this village and friendships I have made. I will not be just in search of my next adventure; I will be at the doorstep of my next adventure, whatever that may be. One thing my Peace Corps experience has done for me, is it has allowed me understand myself better, what I am looking for out of life, who I am and what direction I want to head in. I am going to give all I have to continue working within the International relations/development field . This is where I will focus my heart, soul and energies whether I stay in Romania, move to another country or back to the U.S. I will have to wait and see what 2009 has in store.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS & HAPPY NEW YEAR

PEACE & LOVE

14 hour train rides

So I just came back from Bucharest, which for me is a 14 hour train ride and does not even get me to my door step, such is life. Here is a short list of things I thought about through out my journey...I always travel with some kind of blank space to write things on, so these are some of the highlights:

- Thanksgiving Day with Turkish food, BLTs, beer and horlinka was a nice change from the traditional turkey, mash potatoes and gravy.

- Whether it is a 4 hour flight from Tucson, AZ to Flint, MI or a combined 8 hour bus ride, starting at 5 a.m. and ending in Sibiu, traveling and Thanksgiving just go together.

- Being able to know what everyone is saying about you in Romanian while acting like you only speak English is a huge plus.

- Everyone should give a free hug to a stranger at least once a week...the background for this comment comes from when I was in Bucharest yesterday and there was a group of people with signs that literally said "FREE HUGS." I received one of these "FREE HUGS" from a complete stranger and I have to say it put a smile on my face, the fact that this free hug came from a very pretty 20 something Romanian women may have had something to do with it, but that is neither here nor there! It was interesting to watch as people actually ran away from a free hug as if they were running away from a murderer, this reinforcing the point for more free hugs in the world.

- The heart of life is good.

- Someone should invent a way to freeze dry Chipotle burritos so they could be sent internationally to places like Romania.

- If there was music playing from the sky my IPOD battery would not be dead after walking around Bucharest for an afternoon...It would be really great if each person had a little ear piece that would play a personal play list so you would not have to listen to what ever everyone else is listening to, but I guess that is what an IPOD is all about, huh.

- "Keep Smiling!"... Bob Kuch, my Dad.

- Every person in the world should spend at least one year in a country other than the one they were born in before turning 30 years old.

- Sometimes the greatest risk in life is not taking any at all...

- Shake Up the World :)

Life is a Song

Of all the events, holidays and gatherings I have been to since my arrival in the Village, I had not been in attendance for a funeral. A neighbor of mine, passed away last Sunday. He was 72 years old and had been very ill for the last couple of years. I had never met him or even seen him for that matter, due to his illness he was restricted to his bed. It is custom here in the village for the corps of a body to remain in their home for three days after dying. During these three days, family and friends come by the house of the deceased to pay respects and grieve with the family, in this case my neighbor left behind his wife. All of the women neighbors of the deceased arrived with sugar, flour, apples, cabbage, meat, rice etc. to make food for visitors as well as to prepare for the gathering after the funeral. Yesterday (November 4th) was the third and final day of grieving and was the day of the funeral. As I made my way to school yesterday morning the church bells rang in unison for about 5 minutes...I am not sure the direct meaning of the bells but they are to let the village know that there will be a funeral that day. At 12:00 noon, the funeral services began. Outside the house of the deceased there was the Priest, the Mayor as well as friends and family. The corps was enclosed in a hand made wooden coffin, made by the neighboring men, with a special design cloth laid over it. On top of the cloth were candles and a cross. There was about an one hour service by the Priest, the whole time everyone in attendance burning long, thin candles. Once the Priest was done with his service the family of the dead passed out candy/sweets to the kids in attendance...they told me this represents the gift of life and youthfulness from the dead. The Priest accompanied by the children led the procession down the streets of the village followed by the pall bearers (men who were either close friends or family to the deceased, using long wooden poles to carry the coffin) followed by the men who were in attendance, followed by the women who were in attendance. Once we arrived at the cemetery, in the middle of the village between the old wooden church and the new modern church, the coffin is taken to a pre-dug grave where it will be buried. Two days before the funeral, while the women are cooking and preparing food the men dig a hole where the coffin is to be buried. There are pretty strict regulations as far as how deep and wide the hole must be, all directed by the Priest not the government. Also, it is customary for villagers to be buried in the same hole as their family, one on top of the other. Thus, in this situation, the hole must be deep enough to allow room for the widows coffin when she passes away. Before the coffin is lowered, there is one more prayer led by the priest. As the pall bearers were preparing the ropes to lower the coffin, the widow was hysterical, not letting go of the coffin while pounding her fists at the wood. Watching all of this was obviously very intense, it took three other women to restrain her and allow the coffin to be lowered...again I was told this is normal for a woman when she loses her husband, her cries were very rhythmic almost like a song. Once the coffin was in place in the ground, the Priest blessed it with holy water and everyone picks up a piece of dirt and to toss on the coffin. The pall bearers stay behind to fill in the grave while the rest make their way to the village banquet room next to the post office. I passed on an invitation to sit at the head table with the Priest, Mayor and other village big wigs, for a seat at the ˝old man˝ table. Most of these men are over the age of 70, walk with canes or should walk with canes, have not one tooth, are unable to get out of the house very much and have personalities like you would not believe. With the celebrity status that I receive being the American English teacher at school, it was very refreshing to be seated next to these gentlemen who had no idea who the hell I was! One man, yelled into my face (oh and most of the men at this table are losing their hearing as well so everything is a yell) ˝Who the hell are you?˝ As I was explaining my situation, I was cut off by another old man yelling in my general direction but not necessarily at me ˝Where the hell is the horlinka? What kind of funeral is this?˝ Luckily the horlinka arrived and I was able to finish the rest of my introduction. It was great, none of them cared less about what I was doing, where I came from, what my story was...they just wanted to talk, I mean yell. They were impressed with my language ability as they went on to tell me how much has changed around the village during their lives. ˝The kids now-a-days have no respect˝ yelled one of them, ˝The horses I see around now are weak, thin and have no power, not like what we used to have˝ uttered another, all of them shaking their head in disappointment. I just sat there listening, trying to understand all of the yelling that was flying around my head. I noticed the man sitting next to me, pulled a plastic bag from his pocket, I was curious what he was going to do but did not want to stare. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he filled his bag with all the different types of cakes and sweet breads that were placed on the tables. Another man across the table called him out asking him what he was doing. The man with his ˝hand in the cookie jar so-to-speak˝, yelled ˝That Ion was a son-of-a-bitch while he was alive! He always took things and never gave them back, I am getting even!˝ I wish I could describe to you the roar of laughter that followed in words, but it is impossible. I was in tears I was laughing so hard!

All the women prepared a delicious meal for the guests. Not only did the prepare the food they also served it to the guests. First up was a traditional sour soup (not rally that sour) with hard boiled eggs and lamb meat. Every guest each had a place setting in front of them, a bowl with a plate, spoon and napkin. As one of the women placed the large soup bowl in front of us and walked away, you should have seen all the distraught looks on the old men´s faces. They are defiantly from a different generation where women cook, clean and serve the men. So when the woman who brought the soup bowl left with out serving each of them, they were confused, dumbfounded, and a little angry. One of the them started yelling for his wife to come over (oh ya, so all the men sit on one side of the room and the women on the other side of the room)and serve the soup, I jumped up and started to serve the soup myself. Again more looks of confusion and disbelief! They got over it quick, when one man yelled to tell me I need to serve more broth than I did, I guess beggars can be choosers! While we were waiting for the cabbage rolls to arrive, another around of horlinka was coming around. It is tradition to only use one shot glass to serve horlinka. Once one person has drank it, then it goes to the next and so forth. I like this tradition in large group settings as it gives me a break while the glass is getting passed around to all the others...as for drinking out of the same glass as hundreds of others have, I have gotten over it, much more of a community feel! So as I was saying, the glass returns to our table and a man with very shaky hands manages about half of the glass and hands it back to man serving from the bottle. Another old man, even older and more shaky handed, sitting next to him speaks up ˝What the hell is that? What just because you are old you cannot finish your glass like a man!˝ He snatches the half filled glass and throws the remaining horlinka down his throat! The cabbage rolls were delicious as usual here and then it was time to go home. I shook hands with all the men at the table, thanking them for their company/entertainment, I was told to come over to each of their respective houses for a shot when I can. At the door of the banquet hall as we were exiting, the man sitting next to me who drink his as well as other´s fair share of horlinka was meet by his wife who yelled ˝How many shots of horlinka did you have? You know you are not supposed to drink!˝ He leans on her shoulder to help support him as he walks down the stairs and whispers ˝I did not even have one˝ while giving me a wink. As I walked up the hill to my house, all I could here was this mans wife yelling, ˝speak up, I cannot hear you, how many did you have?˝


PS - On a completely other note, Congrats newly elected Mr. President, Barack Obama! I love the hope & Change that is in the air!