A Couple Stories

As is my custom, I’m guilty of waiting too long since my last post. Part of my excuse is that life has been pretty uneventful since Christmas. My days have been full of teaching and planning lessons. Not much to report there. Since nothing unusual or extraordinary has occurred, I’ll have to settle for a couple anecdotes.

Evil, Thy Name Is Mud
Mud and I have always had an amicable relationship. In the past I usually encountered it in places like camp or park trails, when I was wearing sufficiently grubby attire. I never minded getting dirty.

Alas, those days are long gone. For the past month, the weather here has been unseasonably warm. Instead of snow, we have gotten a steady supply of rain. As a result, there is mud everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. Only the main street in my town is paved, which means most of my trek to school is on un-paved roads or foot-paths.

This wouldn’t be so bad if I could walk around in galoshes or barn boots. But I live in Moldova, which means I have to be “frumos” whenever I step foot outside my house (for you non-Romanian speakers, “frumos” literally means beautiful, but it’s kind of like “nice”—it gets applied to everything). This means dressy black boots, preferably with heels (I draw the line at stilettos). And to make matters worse, my host mom practically attacks me with a rag and bucket if I don’t clean my boots every day. Never mind that they are mud-soaked the minute I step outside the gate. It’s just not proper to leave the house with dirty shoes.

So, every night I clean my shoes, and every morning I arrive at school with mud up to my ears (I’m exaggerating a little, but you get the idea). The Moldovans, however, manage to arrive virtually mud-free. They seem to have some magic ability to walk on top of mud. I think it’s genetic. Which means there’s no hope for me.

Mud—100, Katie-0

Love Is in the Air
Upon learning that I am 23 and still “unattached”, most Moldovans advise me to find a nice boy and get married before it’s too late (apparently I’m running dangerously low on time). Other than that, they leave me alone to go on my merry single way. So I was beginning to think I might make it through my time here without any serious match-making attempts. I should have known better.

Last Tuesday, I came home from school to find two men from the telephone company outside our gate talking with my host dad. I knew they would be coming to set up Internet at our house, so I didn’t find this strange. When one of them grinned at me and said, “Good evening,” I thought nothing of it. I’m used to people practicing their English on me. I smiled and responded back, “Good evening.”

But then my host dad turned to me and informed me that the young man standing in front of me wanted to marry me. When I started laughing, my host dad replied, “Why are you laughing? I’m serious. Don’t you think he’s good-looking? You should marry him and take him back to America with you.” At this point I realized I had walked into an ambush. The only thing to do was cut and run. Putting on my best “I-don’t-understand-because-my-Romanian-is-still-bad” face, I carefully avoided making any further eye contact with my potential suitor and fled into the house.

I’m safe for now, but lover-boy still has to come back to hook up my Internet. Here's hoping I won't be home!