In the Footsteps of Catherine the Great

So I won't be posting regularly for the next week and a half or so because I'm in Ukraine! I have spent the last weekend hanging out in Odessa with Harvard and ASU folks. Odessa is even better than I remembered it. It remains the perfect combination of neoclassical architecture, cafe nightlife and seedy beaches. And, wow, have German tourists discovered Odessa.

This afternoon I'm heading to Dnepropetrovsk to visit Derek, another ASU Russian alum, and meet his Ukrainian wife. Very exciting. I've been told that honey wine and blood sausage will be served. Eat your heart out, foodies.

Then the three of us are going to Crimea to check out the Crimean Tatar city of Bakhchisarai and the Russian neoclassical city of Sevastopol. My trip has unintentionally turned into a tour of "Novorossiya," which was the name for the territories, mostly in present-day Ukraine but also including Moldova, that were acquired from the Ottoman Empire during the Russo-Turkish Wars of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. (I hope that fact is right since I haven't taken Imperial Russian history since 2006.)

So, I won't be blogging much, but I hope to post pictures on Facebook.

This is How We Roll

This last Wednesday I went to the Gagauz village of Kazaklia to do some interviews with school principals for my research project. Kazaklia is a bit out of the way, so we had to hop on one of Moldova’s many minibuses to get there.

For those who have not traveled much in the developing world, minibuses are how people get around. The usual brand here in Moldova is a Mercedes Sprinter. Imagine a big school van that has be refitted to jam in as many people as possible and you have the right idea. In the former USSR these minibuses are called marshrutky. The word actually comes from the French marche route. Russians turned this French phrase into the noun marshrutka in order to indicate that these minibuses travel along a fixed route. 

Marshrutky on Abovyan Street in Yerevan, Armenia.

In urban areas, minibuses are used for intracity transportation. In Armenia I rode a minibus to university every day. I even wrote a pseudo-poem about it which I will dig up and post here at some point. In rural areas they travel between towns and villages. 

The main advantage of traveling by minibus is the price. The two-hour trip to Chisinau costs about $3. The smaller size of minibuses means that they run trips more frequently. Minibuses also stop anywhere along the route in order to pick up passengers, which is convenient for people in small villages along the route. Villagers just stand by the side of the rode and flag down a passing minibus.

Our trip to Kazaklia on a marshrutka was...a unique cultural experience. First of all it was incredibly hot during because they had no A/C. Secondly, the thing was stuffed. The drivers have an incentive to pick up as many people as possible in order to make money. Adam counted 33 people in a bus that should really hold about 20.

This is when the minibus was moving. 

Photo by Adam Julian.

Being in such close contact with people is always...interesting. Sometimes people are nice, sometimes they are grouchy, sometimes they are a bit smelly. Come to think of it, it’s not all that different from riding the bus in the U.S., except everyone is much closer to each other. This can get awkward fast. I once had a drunk guy fall asleep on me. Not cool. When we got on the bus there was this strange political argument going on between two extremely unhappy women. One cursed out the city of Tiraspol, the other leapt to its defense, and sure enough they started yelling about the war in Transnistria in the early ‘90s. Fun.

I think marshrutka drivers are probably the former Soviet Union’s biggest badasses. There’s really no way to describe them without swearing. This particular driver was pretty cool. He managed to pick up people in one of the towns we passed while simultaneously getting himself a cold cup of kvas (a traditional beverage) from a roadside stand. All without leaving his seat. Smooth. 

My view from the front seat.

Note the icon made out of CDs. Strangely ubiquitous.

After arriving in Kazaklia after our sweaty tour through the Moldovan countryside, we were pretty exhausted. Luckily on the way back we managed to hitchhike. In the former USSR, hitchhiking is one of the best ways to travel. You just stick out your hand and pick up a passing car. It’s customary to pitch in a few bucks. The driver gets money for gas, you get a nice, quick ride home. Mutually beneficial. The only problem is that, of course, hitchhiking alone is sketchy. But doing it in groups is just fine. This particular car had what my mom calls “4 by 40” air conditioning. 4 windows down, 40 miles per hour. After our uncomfortable ride to Kazaklia, it was positively refreshing.

For those who'd like to try this form of transportation for themselves, I wrote a post about important Russian phrases for to travelling by minibus on my short-lived Russian language blog.

Making Language Learning Fun

Over the years, I’ve developed the philosophy that the most effective way to study a foreign language is to have fun while doing it. One of the main reasons I came to Moldova was that I knew it would be a good, fun way to immerse myself in Russian again. Although I’ve learned a tremendous amount from my language classes this past year at Harvard, I needed to put down the flashcards and just practice Russian in the real world. 

Early in the summer I read a post on the blog “All Japanese, All the Time” that inspired me to work towards “having wide standards, not high standards.” One of the main themes of this blog is that people set very high goals for themselves in language learning and then burn out quickly. They set a tough work schedule and then can’t live up to it. The blog post advocates absorbing the language in as many entertaining ways as possible. Even just having the TV on in the background is valuable. And you don’t have to kill yourself trying to understand every word. So I approached this summer in Moldova as a chance to put this philosophy in action.

This is what I do on a daily basis to work on Russian:

• Speak with host family and acquaintances in Russian
• Read 10 pages of the Russian classic novel Master and Margarita
• Work on Russian homework to prepare for my thrice-weekly tutoring sessions in which we discuss the philosophical implications of Master and Margarita
• Go to city library and read sources for my project in Russian for 1-2 hours
• Listen to Russian music while walking around the city
• Watch a bit of Russian TV

The problem with taking such a hardcore approach is that sometimes...you get sick of Russian! Especially considering that Russian is an integral part of my research here, Russian can really feel like...ugh...work. My latest challenge is making my Russian routine more fun.

I used to have an extremely entertaining Russian reading routine: reading Harry Potter. Although it may not compare to Tolstoy in literary value, it makes up for it in sheer entertainment! It’s easy to keep reading when you get to read something with jokes. I remember plowing through sixty pages in a day at the end of the sixth Harry Potter book one day in 2010. While my current reading, Mikhail Bulgakov’s classic satirical critique of Stalinist Russia, is intensely rewarding, it can also be a bit of a chore. The book is extremely funny, but the farcical descriptions can be hard to follow. As anyone who has read Mikhail Bulgakov in any language can tell you, he’s not easy to understand! Nevertheless, I’m determined to keep up with it because it is my life goal to someday become an honorary member of the Russian intelligentsia.

...but I will be relieved to go back to Harry, Hermione and Ron at the end of the summer.

Reading Russian sources at the city library is actually pretty interesting. I always like learning local history. It is nice that my historical research also helps to reinforce my Russian. I’m certainly learning a lot of Russian terms for “state grain requisitioning.” Can’t wait to bust that out with a babushka one day.

Another goal of mine for the summer is to turn my iPod into a Russian learning machine. Since it takes me about fifteen minutes to walk into town from my house, I have to listen to something or be bored out of my mind. First I was listening to the awesome podcast “A Taste of Russian,” but they’re a little bit easy for me now. 

Then I switched to listening to my extensive collection of my favorite Russian rock group DDT on random. I consider DDT to be something of a Russian Pearl Jam. They started making music in the ‘80s and became extremely popular in the mid-‘90s. Their lyrics are sometimes philosophical, sometimes political, sometimes incomprehensible. The lead singer Yurii Shevchuk reminds me of a teddy bear. He is certainly the most lovable member of the political opposition to Putin. 

Don't you just want to hug him?

I stole this picture of Yurii Shevchuk from Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty.

Anyways, listening to DDT is great language practice, but after 2 weeks of straight DDT I needed a break. Luckily my Fulbright friend Adam Julian (you can read his Gagauzia blog here) saved the day by providing me his extremely comprehensive stash of MP3s from Kino, another classic Russian rock group from the ‘80s. This is helpful not just from a language standpoint, but also a cultural standpoint. The late lead singer of Kino, Victor Tsoi, is a cult figure in Russia and Kino’s fans collect home recordings of Kino recordings à la Deadheads. Knowing Kino should be a good way to connect with people.

Finally, I’ve decided to take the plunge into the world of Russian podcasting. iTunes and the Russian site podFM.ru have been pretty helpful. So far I’ve found an entertaining Russian movie review podcast with the amusing title “Inglorious Film Critics.” I’m also checking out ArbatPodcast, which consists of 3 Russian guys sitting around and complaining in a cafe on the Arbat in Moscow every week. The translation of the description of the podcast on iTunes was pretty inspired:

Three friends-grumblers every Sunday, going early Sunday morning in Moscow, Old Arbat, and sip tea in one of the Arbat caffe. Sit, enjoy green tea on a Sunday early in the Arbat morning, while grumbling. Always something it's not okay. Always they are all trying to make out the bones, they are always shoved his nose everywhere.

So those are my language learning strategies right now. Anyone with additional suggestions, please let me know!

Homestay

These roses really are insanely beautiful. 

I think anyone who has ever lived for any period of time in a foreign country knows that the living situation is key. It can make or break your trip.

Back when I was living in Comrat the first time around, my friend Jen’s host parents Zina and Grigori invited me to come over and have lunch with them. Getting invited to visit someone’s house in Moldova is no small affair, and I was immediately struck by how friendly and interesting her host family was. When I knew I would be coming back to Moldova to do research this summer, I immediately began scheming as to how I could get in contact with them (they don’t have a computer) and set up a homestay for the summer. This is where my friend and former Fulbrighter Liz Lipshultz swooped in to save the day. She was visiting Comrat in early May as part of her whirlwind trip across Europe and helped set everything up.

They have all the important characteristics of a good host family. First, they like to talk! When you’re staying with a host family, they are basically your second language teachers after your professors. (Actually, my Armenian professor in Yerevan was so scatterbrained that I learned more from my host mother Tamara than I ever did in class.) It’s with your host family that you get to try out the things you learn and absorb a lot of everyday vocabulary that you will never learn in class. Basically, I just ask them questions and then sit back and absorb the Russian. 

Grigori loves to talk about politics, so I’ve been trying to drop some of the words I learned in my class on the Russian media last semester. I managed to work the term military-industrial complex—военно-промышленный комплекс—into the conversation last week. Score! By the end of this summer I think I could write an entire paper devoted to his political views. 

Meanwhile, Zina likes to talk about education and cooking, two topics very near and dear to her heart as a teacher and homemaker. I really got her talking when I mentioned making your own yeast. Remembering the word for yeast—дрожа—definitely took some mental digging, but it was worth it! I even got a tour to see their old печь (bread oven) out in the backyard.

Another essential thing for a good host family is an interest in other cultures. You’d be surprised how many host families are perfectly indifferent to cross-cultural understanding. My host-babushka in Russia was very fond of pointing out all the things I did “wrong” in life; she managed to find fault in my bathing, eating, and drinking habits. I think the only things she liked about America were FDR and JFK. At least she had good taste in presidents. Meanwhile, Zina is a geography teacher and Grigori worked in Israel, so they are both actually interested in other countries and like to talk about other cultures. This quality is as unfortunately rare in Moldova as it is in America. It also helps that Zina and Grigori have hosted Peace Corps Volunteers for over 4 years prior to this, so they are used to our America quirks.

Even if they didn’t have these other wonderful characteristics, they make great food! I’ve been getting my fill of those Moldovan/Russian classics like borsch, sirniki (fried patties of flour and cheese), fried zucchini with garlic, salo (cured pork fat) and kompot (a beverage made from boiling fruit with sugar and water. Yesterday they brought out a water bottle filled with homemade honey. On special occasions they even bust out the homemade wine. 

The garden is one of the main benefits of living here. This morning I dodged the bees in the backyard in order to pick fresh raspberries from the bushes in the backyard. (The chickens who provide our eggs were somewhat perturbed by my presence and kept squawking the whole time.) This week I also picked cherries from the tree in the front yard. In July we’re going to have tomatoes and apricots. As if that weren’t enough, Zina and Grigori also grow roses, onions, garlic, currants, grapes, and dill. Michael Pollan and Barbara Kingsolver, eat your heart out!

All of this has kept me thoroughly entertained while my research has been going a bit slowly. I’m hoping to make a research trip out to the village of Kazaklia this week, which should surely provide fodder for another post.

Celebrity Sighting in Comrat

Ben Affleck Wants You to Eat More Fruits & Vegetables!

Polyglot

A few months ago, my friend Derek posted on his blog about a homework assignment for his English class: If you were a polyglot, which 10 languages would you want to know and why? It sounded like a good idea, so I thought I’d make my own list.

English

This kind of has to be on anyone’s list. Even if it wasn’t the international language, it provides access to great culture: everything from the Red Hot Chili Peppers to Jane Austen to The Wire.

Russian

I guess this is like a no-brainer for me, considering that I study the former Soviet Union, but I want to point out also that knowing Russian gives you access to a vast wealth of poetry, novels, and ‘90s rock music. Furthermore, the initial reason I started studying Russian was for travel, and it has infinitely rewarded me in that regard. Russian can get you everywhere from Central Asia to Lithuania.

Spanish

I continue to be embarrassed by the fact that I grew up in Arizona and don’t know Spanish. Spanish seems like it would just be useful for any self-respecting resident of the Southwest (and Mexican food fanatic). I’m also just tired of seeing signs for things like Botas y Ropas and thinking the store sells boats and rope. (It took me a long time to figure out llanteria too.)

Armenian

I feel like every list should have a spot for an obscure yet amazing language. I feel like I learned grammar from Armenian. Its grammar is just so flexible and fun, and the words are incredibly mutable. Plus there’s just something poetic about a language whose idiom for saying “Don’t bore me” is “Don’t take away my head.”

French

I’m not head-over-heels in love with French literature, but I have this belief inherited from reading nineteenth century literature that it is necessary for educated people to know French anyways. 

Turkish/Gagauz

While these aren’t the same language, I think if I mastered one, I could be easily understood by speakers of the other. Turkish grammar is first of all endearing to me because it is similar to Armenian grammar. Turkey is a great place to travel and when foreigners know the language they are treated like kings and queens. Also, as Derek puts it, “What other language can be a gateway to the Middle East, China and Siberian reindeer herders?” Plus, it would be nice to be able to understand Gagauz, which is spoken by people in the region of Gagauzia where I am living for the summer. 

Romanian/Moldovan

I was fairly resentful of Romanian for a long time since people in the U.S. constantly asked me whether or not I spoke Romanian when I said I had been in Moldova. (Then they looked at me like some imperialist when I said I spoke Russian.) Although Russian is absolutely fine for getting around Moldova, since I study the country it would be great to have Romanian for reading and talking to people. Also, it would help me in everyday life. Today at breakfast I didn’t eat some tvorog (a dairy product similar to cottage cheese) because I thought it was crumbled salty cheese due to a misreading of the Romanian on the packet. 

Slovenian

Historical roots, beautiful country, great people. Slovenian is a no-brainer. It would be especially fun to speak it with my grandfather.

Bosnian/Serbian/Croatian

Although I feel I should really put Albanian on the list due to my deep love of Albania and Kosovo (I could seriously work for their tourism bureau), I think BCS allows for more travel around the Balkans, which I continue to maintain is the best place to travel in Europe.

Japanese

To be honest, I was a little saddened by the overall ethnocentric nature of this list and decided to put on an Asian language. Traveling in Japan seems more fun than traveling in China. Although now I’m rethinking this because it would be fun to do comparative communist nationalities policy with the USSR and China! Dammit, I can’t decide.

Honorable mentions: Albanian, Uzbek, Farsi, German

If I were to pick the new language I am most likely to learn next, I would say probably Spanish or Romanian/Moldovan. It depends on where I am going to be living. If Arizona, Spanish, if I’m doing anything related to Moldova, Romanian.

The Post in Which Erin Praises Peace Corps Volunteers

The garden in front of my homestay in Comrat

Since living in Moldova, I’ve always felt that people don’t have enough respect for Peace Corps Volunteers. There is an idea floating out there that Peace Corps is something to polish one’s resume. While having “Returned Peace Corps Volunteer” on one’s business card is certainly nice, I think people who criticize Peace Corps Volunteers haven’t the faintest idea of what they deal with on a daily basis. It seems to me that short of going to jail or joining the military, it’s one of the more hardcore things that a person from the States can do.

Although I’m certainly not living on the small allowance of a Peace Corps Volunteer in Moldova, I can definitely appreciate all the adjustments that one has to make to live in a town in rural Moldova. 

First, there are adjustments that have to be made for basic personal hygiene. This is probably not a big shocker to anyone, but people in developing countries do not shower every day. There’s an old, bad joke about France: “In France, they go to the grocery store once a day and shower once a week. In America they go to the grocery store once a week and shower once a day.” This isn’t an entirely inaccurate description of living in a less-developed former Soviet region. (I heard a Russian say on TV today that she showers twice a day and I’m not sure if I believe her or not. I guess that’s the difference between having a per capita GDP of $16,000 per year in Russia instead of $3,000 like here!) 

If you’re living in an apartment by yourself, of course, you can shower whenever you want—well, as long as you have running water, which is not a given! But when you’re living with a host family (as the majority of Volunteers do) you have to accommodate them at least a little bit. Right now I’m getting used to showering once every three days. It’s actually not as gross as it seems because your body adjusts to small changes like that after a few weeks. The real difficulty is when you are living in a village (or a city with chronic water problems like Yerevan, Armenia) and you can only shower once a week. Luckily I’ve never had that problem, but I know lots of people who have.

There are also adjustments to diet and exercise that can be much more pleasant! The diet here can be pretty heavy: lots of potatoes, dairy products and fried food. There’s not much spice and there is dill on everything. (One of my classmates in Russia swore he saw dill fields in his sleep.) On the other hand, in the summer you get fresh fruits and vegetables that are chock full of vitamins. It’s easy to get all your food groups. Plus, the amount of processed food is limited and everyone makes their own food. Homemade preserves, fresh eggs, and fruits fresh from the garden are the norm. I literally never drank a full glass of tomato juice in my life until yesterday when I had some home-canned tomato juice. Wow! It was chunky and delicious. Today at dinner I had cherries that were picked earlier that afternoon. How many times can you say that in the States?

Another thing that takes getting used to is exercising in a different way. I was quite used to living without a car in Cambridge but now I live on a hill and I curse it every day! I’m walking probably an hour and a half a day now. Thank God for iPods! Unfortunately there isn’t much of a gym culture in the former Soviet Union, and the gyms that do exists are mostly a male domain. I’m not sure how they’d react to Stick-Arms here trying to beef up my triceps. Meanwhile, I’m trying to figure out how to do my Pilates routine at home without a mat...

At any rate, living in Comrat isn’t very difficult compared to what Peace Corps Volunteers are dealing with in the villages. I may not be able to drink the water straight from the tap, but at least my water doesn’t have giardia like the next town over. Ugh. But I think most of the people who criticize Peace Corps Volunteers as hippies looking for a free ride have no idea what it’s like to lose control over basically your entire body! It’s not as drastic as joining the army, of course, but it does take some getting used to.

Moldova's National History Museum

The National Museum of Archaeology and History of Moldova

(Note the slightly creepy Romulus and Remus statue emphasizing their Roman roots!)

When I was in Chisinau, I decided to be a tourist and visit the national history museum. Much to my shame as a history major, I had never visited this museum. Museums can be a bit of a dodgy business in Eastern Europe since you never know if they’re going to be amazing or deadly boring. The World War II museum in Kiev, for example, has some of the most spatially creative exhibits I have ever seen in a museum. Unfortunately, most museums follow the formula of putting old stuff behind glass and accompanying them with fascinating explanations such as “Jar. XIX century.” If at all possible, I try to stick to ethnographic museums since they usually give you a concrete sense of how people actually lived.

The Moldovan historical museum was indeed on the boring side, but I enjoyed myself anyways. First of all, the ticket lady was nice, which is always a pleasant way to start off. The museum itself was interesting because it reflected the ongoing arguments that exist over Moldova’s place in history and its future path. To start, there was a special exhibit about the occupation of Moldova by the Soviets during World War II that was entirely in Moldovan/Romanian. The territory of today’s Moldova basically went back and forth between the Allies (the Soviet Union) and the Axis (Romania) during the war. The fact that the exhibit was entirely in Moldovan/Romanian lets you know which side the exhibit was on. (Hint: not Russia.)

Then there were the obligatory rooms with lots of dusty clay vessels and rusty bits of old jewelry. Not really my cup of tea, but it’s fun to see stuff that is 2000 years old. Then there were some rooms with old icons, armor, and swords. Very Game of Thrones. You can really imagine Ned Stark clomping around in this stuff. There was also an interesting exhibit of artifacts from the Ottoman period.

Next comes the fun stuff: more historical debates! The people who created the museum were not very big fans of the Russian Empire, and emphasized at every turn the Russification of Moldova in the 19th century. Meanwhile, Moldova’s absorption into the Romanian kingdom after WWI is treated as a boon for development and culture. As far as I know that’s probably true, well, as long as you weren’t Jewish, or Gagauz, or Bulgarian, or Ukrainian, or Russian. As far as the museum is concerned, those minorities didn’t exist.

Speaking of minorities, it only struck me after leaving the museum that there was only a small exhibit in the religion room that displayed a Torah and some other Jewish paraphernalia. One would never know that at the turn of the twentieth century, Jews made up nearly half of the population of Chisinau and other towns in the region. The museum is likewise silent on the subject of the fascist Romanian government’s participation in the Holocaust.

The museum did a better job of covering World War II. Since people who lived in Moldova fought on both sides of the war, the museum’s exhibits display paraphernalia from Moldovan soldiers from both sides. This seemed to me the classiest way this controversial subject could be approached. The victims of Stalinist repression are also remembered in the exhibits. Unfortunately for me, there’s not much from the Soviet period, but there are a lot of nice pictures of the tree-lined streets of historic Chisinau from various periods. (There's a Facebook page that has many old pictures of Chisinau here.)

Overall, the museum’s main sins were those of omission. The exhibits were well-presented, but it reflected the unfortunate attitude that you find in so many countries that history belongs to the majority nationality and who cares about the rest. Nevertheless, I’m glad they’ve managed to keep these museums open at all so that I can have the chance to to take a brief tour through Moldovan history for 40 cents. The next time I go to Chisinau, I’m definitely going to check out the ethnographic museum.

Thoughts from "In the Field"

When I hear the term "being in the field," my brain always jumps to images of Indiana Jones conversing with natives, dashing around temples, and kicking back shots in a bar.  As I sit typing on my computer in a comfortable house with a nice view of the rose garden outside, it's hard to conceive of myself of doing anything close to that. Nevertheless, things occasionally happen that remind me that I am actually "in the field."

I am lucky to be staying with a host family that loves to talk. I mostly just ask them questions and then sit back and watch the show. The other day I was talking to my host mom and she told me about her youth in a village near Bessarabka, which is also in the south of Moldova. The south of Moldova has been ethnically mixed at least since the late 18th century, when the Russian Empire invited Bulgarians, Germans, and Gagauz to settle here. My host mom described the families that lived on the street in her village and listing off their ethnicities:"Moldovan, Moldovan, Gagauz, Ukrainian, Gagauz, Gagauz..." She added that there were Jewish and Gypsy (sorry, no politically correct terminology here) families practically in every village as well. Her point was that in the Soviet period, you knew your neighbors' nationalities, but that didn't keep people from living together and getting along.

By the time the Soviet Union was falling apart, however, things began to change. Moldovan nationalists started chanting the slogan "Suitcase--Train Station--Russia!" in a not-so-subtle attempt to let Russians know that they weren't welcome in the country any more. Many Russians did indeed leave the country (including one of my current classmates at Harvard). Of the Jews who remained in Moldova--many Moldovan Jews died in the Holocaust--most packed their bags and left for Israel. The country as a whole became more homogeneous, although the south of Moldova remains ethnically mixed.

The very next day I was reading Nationalism Reframed by Rogers Brubaker, who challenges the way nationalism is traditionally understood through examples from Central and Eastern Europe. Brubaker suggests that we see "nationness" not as a stable phenomenon, but rather as an event, "something that suddenly crystallizes rather than gradually develops." People's sense of belonging to a national group fluctuates. It may be practically irrelevant for years, and then suddenly become the defining characteristic of a person. Almost without warning, public and private life are suddenly "nationalized."

Brubaker quotes at length the Croatian writer Slavenka Drakulic, who has an amazing gift for identifying and explaining facets of life in post-communist Europe. She writes,

"The trouble with this nationhood, however, is that whereas before, I was defined by my education, my job, my ideas my character--and, yes, my nationality too--now I feel stripped of all that. I am nobody because I am not a person any more. I am one of 4.5 million Croats... Something people cherished as a part of their cultural identity--an alternative to the all-embracing communism...--has become their political identity and turned into something like an ill-fitting shirt. You may feel that the sleeves are too short, the collar too tight. You might not like the colour, and the cloth might itch. But there is no escape; there is nothing else to wear. One doesn't have to succumb voluntarily to this ideology of the nation--one is sucked into it. So right now, in the new state of Croatia, no one is allowed not to be a Croat."

It is one thing to read Brubaker's and Drakulic's writings on nationalism, and another to see them in your everyday life "in the field." For a person like me who is interested in these phenomena, Gagauzia is a very exciting place to live.

Unwritten Cultural Rules (A Partial Compendium)

It seems like no matter how much history, political science or sociology you have studied before coming to a foreign country, the first few weeks and months are full of social faux pas. Here is a partial list of rules that I attempt to follow pretty religiously when in Moldova specifically, and the former Soviet Union in general.


1. No shoes in the house! BUT you are not allowed to be barefoot in the house. Get some slippers, or at least wear socks, you hippie.

2. Don't put your purse on the floor. All your money will fly out of it. Actually, what is really going to happen is that people are going to look at you like a crazy person and then repeat this superstition over and over again until you comply.

3. When you are a guest, bring a gift (hint: chocolate). I'm pretty strict on observing this one. I'd rather be late than come empty-handed. I actually get pretty annoyed at Americans when they forget this rule. This person has likely spent a good part of the day getting ready and making food so the least you can do is bring them something tasty.

4. Much as you might like to help your hostess wash up the dishes, they aren't going to let you so don't worry too much about it.

5. If you are a dude, it is comradely to sit in the front seat of the taxi and chat with your taxi driver (presumably about manly things). Women don't sit in the front seat of the taxi because we do not share universal bro-hood with the driver. This is why I always make guys sit in the front seat when taking taxis with groups, usually to their great consternation.

6. Speaking of gender roles, it is usually customary to walk the laydeez in your group home after hanging out in the evening. In some places (Moldova) this is not strictly necessary, but in other places (Armenia, sometimes Russia) it is. Much as I'd like to assert my woman-power, the fact of the matter is if I'm walking by myself after dark in Yerevan, everyone is staring at me, which is pretty freaky. To be honest, I avoided walking by myself at night in my Tempe neighborhood due to my lovely catcalling neighbors, so I think this has less to do with the prevalence of traditional gender roles in Eastern Europe and more to do with the fact that women in America can generally drive themselves home in their nice, safe cars.

7. People in power are definitely going to talk down to you. One of the perks of having a high position in the former Soviet Union is that you can lord it over everyone. For example, when I was first introduced to the upper echelons of the administration at Comrat State University as their new Fulbright English Teaching Assistant (read: free native speaker teacher), they immediately demanded my qualifications like I was some sort of bottom-of-the-barrel riff raff that America was trying to get rid of. Don't take it personally (and don't let it stop you from getting what you want).

8. No whistling in the house, even if you fancy yourself a champion whistler (like me).


I suppose everyone who has spent significant time in a foreign country has a similar list. The trick is to follow the rules enough in order to get by without completely quashing your free-spirited ways!

Living in Another Language

After a short delay because the library computer ate my flash drive, I have my blog back up and running with my first entry from Moldova in 2 years!


One thing that’s always strange to adjust to is living in another language. For a person who appreciates a well-chosen word, it’s initially a bit depressing to go back to struggling to express basic concepts. Today [5/29/12] my vocabulary was quite overmatched by the prospect of describing some ancient artifacts in the National Museum of History. I then got myself in quite the word tangle when I tried to explain that unlike Boston, Chisinau’s mains streets are on the grid system. Of course, five minutes after the conversation occurred I remembered a key adjective (“квадратный! of course!”) that would probably have done the trick.

The other thing that’s hard to shake is the sneaking suspicion that you’re offending everybody. My friend Andrew once told me the story of a student in Japan who attempted to explain to his host family that the air conditioner in his room was broken. Unfortunately, the passive voice in Japanese suggests that the person you are speaking to performed the action, so the host family thought the student was accusing them of maliciously coming into his room and breaking his air conditioner. Stricken by his unwarranted accusation, they apparently ignored him for a week. (This anecdote made me really appreciate the fact that people in the former Soviet Union generally keep it real to a fault.)

While I’ve never experienced anything that bad as far as linguistic mistakes go, I do have a tendency to replay conversations in my head after the fact, asking myself, “Did the use of the perfective imperative make me sound like a jerk?” When in doubt, I try to do something nice on a separate occasion in order to make up for my inadvertent rudeness. This probably makes me seem like I have a split personality, but at least it eases my conscience.

When I’m not worried about coming off like a jerk, I’m irritated by my inability to defend myself when other people are acting like jerks. Russia is the world capital of People in the Service Industry Who Hate You for No Good Reason. In these situations I am  usually so astonished at being yelled at by a total stranger that I am struck dumb with embarrassment and horror. Luckily this behavior is more rare in Moldova than in Russia, but I still haven’t overcome my inability to react in these situations. I find it somewhat comforting to remember the advice of my professor Danko Sipka, who once told us that when a Balkan waiter is rude to you for no reason, console yourself with this fact: Of all the people in world, he hates himself the most, then his boss, and only then you, the customer. You’re only third on his list of people that he hates!

On the other hand, I seem to have no problem reacting verbally when being yelled at by jerks that I actually know, but then I usually end up spitting out words that don’t quite form coherent sentences. I’m not sure if I would be any better off if I were able to craft withering put-downs for such people, but it would probably be more gratifying than the impotent rage that I currently experience.

All in all, the frustration of being unable to express oneself is certainly not too high of a price to pay for having the chance to practice speaking a foreign language. At the very least it keeps you humble and appreciative when you are dealing with non-native speakers of English. I’m continually impressed by many of the foreign students I’ve met at Harvard, not to mention the people I worked with in Kosovo. At the end of the day, you’re never going to be a native speaker, so you just have to give yourself a pat on the back for the successful interactions and vent about the negative ones to your friends.