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.

Back in the USSR

Adventures in Bessarabia is back! As I'm going to be doing research in Moldova this summer, I thought it would be a good idea to restart the blog. My research is about educational achievement and integration among the Gagauz minority community in Moldova, and I'll be returning to Gagauzia to conduct research. I'm looking forward to living in Comrat again and I already have a few trips to Ukraine on the agenda as well.

I'll be back soon with a real update, but in the meantime, I want to note that I am gratified to discover that I had 72 pageviews in the last month despite not updating for the past 2 years. I am somewhat disturbed, however, that one of my most recently viewed pages is my entry on killing a centipede. Maybe not my best work, but I'll take what I can get.

Beşalma

This Monday, I went with some European volunteers to a village about 20 km outside of Comrat called Beşalma. We went because this village is home to Gagauzia's ethnographic museum and we wanted to check it out. I took some pictures because it seemed like a nice example of a Gagauz village to show everyone.

Disney movies...they are everywhere, including the gates in Beşalma.

To quote one of my students, "I never saw such interesting cars before I came to Moldova." These Soviet vehicles keep on truckin'.

The village's medical center.

There are crosses and shrines like this everywhere in Gagauzia.

Ah, agriculture.

A lot of villages and towns in Moldova depend on well water. This is one of the less picturesque wells.

A small store with a tile pattern that I found interesting.

I don't really get how these villages depend on well water but have fountains! But here's a nice fountain. They really loved building fountains in the USSR.

A super-cool fish.

A much more picturesque well.

This one is for my dad: Beşalma's city hall. The flag on the left is Gagauzia's, the flag on the right is Moldova's.

A statue outside the ethnographic museum.

Beşalma's church, which was built in the 1840s. Beşalma isn't a large village, but it still has a gorgeous church. I am always impressed by Gagauz churches. They have great paint jobs.

I love these cupolas, it's so cool to see them as you look at the country landscape.

The museum at Beşalma was really great. It is normally closed on Mondays, but they were awaiting a delegation (which never came) so they were open. The museum was founded by the work of one man who single-handedly decided to put construct a museum in this small town. We got a great tour from a very competent guide and learned a lot about the history of the region.

Now I am cursing myself for not taking pictures of the cool ethnographic displays, but rest assured that they were pretty sweet. It was really interesting to see things like a pair of shoes that were handed down from generation to generation because real leather shoes were so rare among the peasants. It was also interesting to see a traditional stove, which people used to cook, keep themselves warm, and sleep on. Another nice display for me as a former knitter was a large loom and several examples of homemade textiles. The amount of work that had to go into one dress was amazing.

We also learned about events in the 20th century here. Moldova was a battlefield between the Nazi-allied Romanians and the Soviet army. They had a display of German helmets and other accoutrements found in the fields here after the war and a pair of shoes that were worn by a concentration camp escapee who ended up in Beşalma. I didn't know that collectivization affected this region so much. More than half of the residents of Beşalma died in the artificial famine caused by a drought and the appropriation of food by the Soviet government. Then there was a display about the second half of the 20th century, which our guide said most people remember fondly because they felt economic security. After the fall of the Soviet Union, the entire agricultural system collapsed and still hasn't really recovered. During Soviet times people didn't have to leave the villages to go на заработке (na zarabotke) abroad in order to make money. There were also pictures and articles from the times when Gagauzia gained its autonomy (they declared independence, but it never really caught on).

I think it's a great thing that such a museum exists to preserve Gagauz history. It's definitely a treasure for this community and I was glad to have visited.

The 10-Day No Water Challenge

The water stockpile

Apparently (and I say "apparently" because I only hear about this stuff through word-of-mouth), from May 10 to May 20 residents of Comrat will not have any water. Every year they clean out the pipes through a chlorination process. So far the water has been mostly shut off, but some people have reported having extremely green chlorinated water flowing through their pipes off and on.

What really knocks me out is the fact that there's no official way of notifying people about this. There's no signs, notices, whatever. I don't read Comrat newspapers because they tend to be pretty boring official government stuff written in a quite Soviet style ("Respected Students, we congratulate you on the first day of the new academic year!"), so I can't say if they put something in the paper. Actually, I don't watch much of the local news either, so perhaps it's my own fault I don't know anything. Still, in the U.S. they'd at least leave a flier for you or something.

It reminds me of a sociology class I took in the Global Studies department, where our professor explained that in traditional societies, all interactions function to strengthen community ties. In a way it's sort of logical. If the only way to get information is through your relationships, you will probably cultivate better relationships.

(As if to prove this point, as I was writing this, Jen, one of the Peace Corps Volunteers here, messaged me on Facebook to tell me that there will allegedly be water tomorrow. This is exciting news.)

Thankfully, I heard about the water situation beforehand from the Turkish girls and was able to stockpile water and do three loads of laundry before it got cut off. There are certain interesting challenges of living without running water. I saved about 50 liters of water, but it's really not enough. Without water, you can't flush the toilet, do dishes, take a shower, wash your clothes, brush your teeth, etc. You can do some of these things with bottled water, but some of them take up a surprising amount of water. I swear it takes a liter to wash one small pot! And don't even get me started on how much water it takes to flush a toilet. I may have to buy myself a bucket and use well water.

I'm already disgruntled and it's only Day 3. I may have to escape to Chisinau this weekend in order to bathe.

Making Water

Practically the first thing travelers seem to become aware of in any country is the water quality. Everyone knows, for example, that you shouldn’t drink the water straight from the tap in Mexico unless you are jonesing for a case of Montezuma’s Revenge.

Arizonans who travel abroad sometimes tend to generalize this to all foreign countries. My mother once had a student ask her if it was ok to drink the water in France. My mother, bemused, assured the student that the EU had higher water quality standards than the U.S.

What is interesting to me is how much water quality varies among developing countries. Water purity seems to depend more on accidents of nature than infrastructure development. In Armenia, where the water comes from sources high in the mountains, everyone drinks tap water. The water in Armenia tastes better than Tempe tap water, and I don’t think I ever got sick from it. My friend Derek says it is the same situation in Kyrgyzstan, which is also a mountainous country.

Meanwhile, Russia, which has a per capita GDP about three times that of Armenia and twelve times that of Kyrgyzstan, has famously toxic tap water. Even in St. Petersburg you can get girardia (a wicked parasite that will have you running for the bathroom for several months) from drinking the tap water without boiling it. The Russian woman I lived with seemed to think there was something inherently wrong with drinking water from the tap, no matter how hard I tried to explain that in lots of other countries you won’t get sick from the tap water. (Of course, her solution was boiling water and putting it in a little jar with a silver spoon in it. Never quite figured that one out, but it seemed pretty gross to me, considering all the strange sediment that collected on the bottom of the jar.)

I think that one can entirely explain the Russian obsession with tea with their poor water quality. People there seem to think it is actually unhealthy and even weird to drink plain, clean water. (I know!!!) Meanwhile, tea is the elixir of life. Go figure.

The situation in Moldova seems better than Russia, but not by much. Locals and foreigners alike avoid drinking the tap water, opting for filtered water or store-bought water instead. Today I finally bought myself a water filter so I could stop lugging 5 liter jugs of water to and from the store every week.

Once you have a water filter, you must do the activity that Stephanie, my fellow Fulbrighter, calls “making water.” First, you have to boil the water to kill all the critters. Then, you have to wait for the water to cool and the pour it in the filter. Ta-da! Potable water.

I consider myself lucky to live in Comrat, actually. In Ciadir-Lunga, the next town over, water apparently comes out of the tap yellow. People have to go to special taps in the city center to get free water that you can actually drink. Yikes.

Against the Arizona Immigration Bill

Dear Governor Brewer,

Hello, my name is Erin Hutchinson and I just wanted to write you to express my concern over the recent immigration bill. I am currently serving as a Fulbright English Teaching Assistant in Moldova, but the news from my home state of Arizona has been worrying me lately.

I had the opportunity to study in Russia in the summer of 2008. Overall, I enjoyed my visit very much, but one thing that disturbed me was the right that Russian police officers have to ask anyone for their documentation. It creates an atmosphere of fear. I personally avoided even looking at police so that they wouldn't bother me--even though all my documents were in order. The ability of Russian police officers to ask anyone for their documentation on the slightest pretext is frequently used to harass dark-skinned people from Central Asia and the Caucasus. When I was living in Russia, I was proud that such things "couldn't happen in America."

I hope I won't be proved wrong. Please don't sign the immigration bill!

Best wishes,

Erin Hutchinson

Graduate of Arizona public schools, 2004

Graduate of Arizona State University, 2009

(For more information on this bill, read this editorial from the New York Times.

To read about how John McCain has completely reversed his stance on the issue, read this blog post.

For a Catholic perspective, you can read the Cardinal of Los Angeles' blog post against the immigration bill.)

Buyer Beware

At today’s department meeting, war was declared on grade inflation.

Why?

One of the schools in Comrat hired a graduate of Comrat State University to teach English. Apparently, she’s not very good at it. Since then, officials from this school have been blackening the name of the university, saying that they won’t hire any more CSU graduates based on the performance this teacher.

So, people at the department are reasonably upset and trying to do something to stop this. They seem to think that grades are getting out of whack and so subpar students are graduating. What this means in practice is that nobody should give out perfect scores on tests anymore.

The problem?

Apparently the school that hired the CSU graduate in question never actually looked at her grades. If they had, they would have seen that they weren’t so good. They never thought to ask for references from the graduate’s professors. If they had, they would have heard that she wasn’t exactly a stellar student.

Now, I don’t want to say that the university shouldn’t put more effort into quality control. Of course we should be trying to improve the level of English instruction. That is obviously a worthy goal, and there’s certainly plenty of room for improvement in the English department (yours truly included).

But if you are going hire someone to work for you, you should do some due diligence and actually see if this person is WORTH HIRING. You can’t expect that every person holding a university degree is going to be a good teacher. If you’re not willing to go out there and do a little research on the person you’re going to be putting in front of a bunch of captive students, then it’s your own fault when the person you hired turns out to be less than what you expected.

Any time you’re going to be paying somebody money, whether it’s a teacher’s salary or a used car or a new computer, it’s best to remember what the Romans figured out 2,000 years ago: Caveat emptor.

Little Easter, Part 2

The stirring conclusion of Little Easter, Part 1!

Still waiting for the priest to come and bless us!

Once we received word the priest was on his way, everyone stuck candles into the food and lit them.

The cross bearer, a little older than they usually are in the States...

Get ready for some serious holy water.

Priest #2, doing his holy thing.

These priests take the holy water sprinkling very seriously. They get as much water as they can on their branches, and then they wind up and let it rip.

These people are recovering after getting hit with a blast of holy water.

I attended this ceremony with one of the European volunteer's host family. They were very friendly and gracious. This is a family grave. You can see the little pan with incense in it. (I snagged the shot while it was still burning.) They put flowers all over the grave and pour some water on it. It's sort of like the rapper tradition of pouring out a 40 for the deceased. Check out the little candy someone has left on the cross.

You can see people enjoying their post-holy-water meal. It's very much like the Day of the Dead in Mexico as Mary Beth has described it to me. People give food to each other in honor of the deceased. I, for one, appreciated all the wine I drank in honor of their grandmother. Thanks, babushka, where ever you are!

A close up of the Little Easter meal. The liquid in the Gura bottle is homemade white wine. You can see some dyed eggs in the bowl behind the bottle. The cakes are special Easter cakes called "Paskha" (пасха: which is the same word as Easter, actually). They stuck the candles in the cakes for extra holiness.

The family I was with put out a real spread. We had dolma and cutlets and candy and lots of cake. It was quite delicious. I got to talk to many of the family members and it was quite a lot of fun. Comrat is really small, so you always run into people you know. One of the family's kids had a friend studying at a high school in Tempe. I had heard that there was a kid from Comrat in Tempe, and now I have confirmation! I've gotta find this kid.

I decided that I like this holiday. People weren't sad, they were just happy to be generous in the memory of their loved ones. Having been to a few All Souls Day services, I can definitely say this compared favorably! It seems like a healthy way to remember the dead by symbolically sharing a family meal with them. As they partied in life, so we party with them in death.

Little Easter, Part 1

Today is "Little Easter," the day when everyone goes to Comrat's main cemetery to celebrate the dead. It's like Dia de los Muertos without the skull heads. I took some pictures for my own little photo documentary.

People walking to the cemetery. With all the cars piled up it looks like parking for a Cubs spring training game at HoHoKam Stadium.

People plant flowers, especially tulips, on the graves.

As you can see, the cemetery was abuzz with people. I think everyone in Comrat was there.

The graves usually have little fences around them, but I'm not sure why.

Here we have the priest doing a ceremony. I think he was blessing the holy water. It took over an hour.

The ladies from the choir singing.

The holy water, soon to be doused on everyone.

Food waiting to be blessed. I brought a little cake and that got blessed too!

Everyone lined up along the main drag of the cemetery, waiting for the priest to come and bless their food. It was sort of like a parade route.
End of part 1...

My Workplace

I thought I'd post some pictures of the American Center (and one of the British Center). We had a photo shoot this last week and as you can see, we had a lot of fun.

The other model besides myself is Masha, who is the hardworking lab assistant in the American Center. As you can see, from the pictures, we both have futures in American politics. We just look so good in front of an American flag.

The stuff in Greek is Happy Easter greetings from our Greek Center.

Let's see...you can also see in one of the pictures below our new flatscreen TV. Tragically, they gave us a DVD player that only plays...Russian DVDs. So, we can't really use it.

We have a lot of books. I read them. If you look above my left shoulder in the last picture below, you can see the Obama propaganda we have in the Center. He he he.