In the spirit of non-plagiarism, I’d like to say that I found this on my friend Kelly’s blog. It’s kind of a life experiences checklist (or reverse version of “I’ve Never”). The bold ones are either ones I’ve done, or ones I felt like commenting on. Kind of random, but I found it entertaining. Enjoy!
●Started your own blog – Hmm, tough one.
●Slept under the stars – Many times at Covenant Acres—one memorable occasion on a water trampoline comes to mind.
●Played in a band
●Visited Hawaii
●Watched a meteor shower
●Given more than you can afford to charity – Not often enough.
●Been to Disneyland/world – Disney World (MGM and Epcot)
●Climbed a mountain – I “climbed” Pike’s Peak in a train—does that count?
●Held a praying mantis
●Sang a solo—Yep. On many occasions.
●Bungee jumped
●Visited Paris
●Watched a lightning storm at sea
●Taught yourself an art from scratch
●Adopted a child
●Had food poisoning—I drank some bad house wine once at a masa (a Moldovan feast, basically) for teachers at my school. Not fun.
●Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty—I visited NYC the week after America invaded Iraq, and security was pretty tight. They let us view it afar from a boat.
●Seen the Mona Lisa in France—Where else would you see the Mona Lisa? Does she travel?●Slept on an overnight train
●Had a pillow fight – My siblings and I were connoisseurs of pillow fights. Kenton and Sarah, remember our sumo wrestling days?
●Hitchhiked—Not yet…but I live in Moldova. I’m sure I’ll get the chance.
●Taken a sick day when you’re not ill—When I was in school, yes.
●Built a snow fort- Oh yeah.
●Held a lamb—I think so. The memory’s a little fuzzy.
●Gone skinny dipping – Gotta love the randomness. We go straight from holding lambs to skinny dipping.
●Been to a Broadway show in NY—Yep! Beauty and the Beast (on my senior class trip)
●Ran a Marathon
●Been in three states at once
●Ridden in a gondola in Venice
●Seen a total eclipse
●Watched a sunrise or sunset – The most recent one I can remember was a sunset over the Gulf of Mexico with my sister Kendra. Good times. :-)
●Hit a home run—In wiffle ball, most definitely.
●Been on a Cruise
●Seen Niagara Falls in Person- I’m from Western NY. I’ve lost count.
●Visited the birthplace of your Ancestors
●Seen an Amish community – When I was in high school I practically lived in one. We had Amish neighbors right down the road from us, and our local grocery store had a hitching post in the parking lot.
●Taught yourself a new language- Currently—Romanian and Russian (but I have help).
●Had enough money to be truly satisfied – Oddly enough, right now.
●Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
●Gone rock climbing
●Seen Michelangelo’s David
●Sung karaoke- Yes. I’m not really a fan.
●Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
●Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant –Actually, yes. Long story.
●Visited Africa
●Walked on a beach by moonlight—Yep.
●Been transported in an ambulance—Yes. But I wasn’t really injured, and I was too embarrassed by the hideous neck brace I was wearing to enjoy it. It wasn’t all bad though. The woman that ran the red light, hitting me and totaling my parents’ ancient minivan, footed the entire bill. And now they have a nice Jeep instead. You’re welcome, Mom and Dad.
●Gone deep sea fishing
●Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
●Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris—What’s with all the Paris questions? How about some more unique ones? How many people can say they’ve been to Moldova?
●Gone scuba diving or snorkeling- Yes to the second. Off of St. Croix. Quite heavenly.
●Kissed in the rain
●Played in the mud – Isn’t that a required part of childhood (as in, they don’t let you pass on to adulthood if you don’t)?
●Been to Grace Kelley’s grave in Monaco
●Gone to a drive-in theater – Yes! The world needs more of them.
●Visited the Great Wall of China
●Started a business—One failed attempt at a lemonade stand…the beginning and end of my sad career as an entrepreneur.
●Taken a martial arts class—A whole semester of Self Defense (aka Tai Kwon Do) at Roberts.
●Swam in the Mediterranean Sea
●Visited Russia—Yep. That’s one of reasons I’m in Moldova, actually.
●Served at a soup kitchen
●Sold Girl Scout cookies
●Gone whale watching
●Gotten flowers for no reason
●Donated blood, platelets or plasma – Yes to the first.
●Gone sky diving
●Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
●Bounced a check
●Saved a favorite childhood toy - My favorite “doll”—a stuffed Alvin the Chipmunk, whose bangs I mutilated before I realized they couldn’t grow back. I love you anyway, Alvin.
●Visited the Lincoln Memorial – Yep.
●Eaten Caviar- No, thanks. I have had goose liver though. Equally disgusting, I’m sure.
●Pieced a quilt
●Stood in Times Square -Yep. It’s really big.
●Toured the Everglades—A few times.
●Been fired from a job
●Seen the Changing of the Guards in London—No, but I have seen the changing of the guards at the Kremlin in Moscow and at the Dolmabahce Palace in Istanbul.
●Broken a bone
●Been on a speeding motorcycle—I guess they don’t think being on a motorcycle is enough of an accomplishment.
●Seen the Grand Canyon in person
●Published a book
●Visited the Vatican
●Bought a brand new car
●Walked in Jerusalem
●Had your picture in the newspaper—Oh, yes. When I was in 4th grade I won a county spelling bee. I was quite famous.
●Read the entire Bible—Only once. It took awhile.
●Visited the White House—Yep. On a 6th grade class trip.
●Killed and prepared your own meat
●Had chickenpox – Yeah. Don’t remember it though.
●Saved someone’s life
●Sat on a jury
●Met someone famous
●Lost a loved one—My grandma
●Had a baby
●Seen the Alamo in person.
●Swam in the Great Salt Lake
●Been involved in a law suit
●Owned a cell phone –Funny story…I bought my very first cell phone here in Moldova. It only took joining the Peace Corps and moving halfway across the world to convince Katie to join the rest of “modern civilization.” Whatever that means. ;-)
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
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!
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!
Monday, January 5, 2009
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Christmas in Turkey
I was going to name this post “7 Days in Istanbul,” but I thought that sounded too much like a movie title (and I’m certainly not Brad Pitt!).
As the title indicates, I traveled to Turkey for Christmas. Getting there was surprisingly easy. On Christmas Eve I boarded a plane in Chisinau and about an hour later I was in Istanbul (my shortest international flight yet). My reasons for going to Turkey were several: 1) I was afraid that if I stayed in Moldova, I would be homesick and depressed. I knew traveling would be a good way to prevent that. 2) One of my best friends, Amy, was going home to Istanbul for Christmas, so it was an opportunity to see her. 3) I got to stay with Amy’s family—if you’re a poor PC volunteer who can’t afford to go back to America for Christmas, staying with an American family is the next best thing!
So I spent seven glorious days in what Moldovans refer to as Turcia. I got to see Dolmabahce Palace, home to some thirty-odd sultans of the Ottoman Empire (and their harems) and the place where Ataturk, the father of modern Turkey, lived and died. I saw the famous Hagia Sophia (unfortunately not from the inside—they were closed that day) and visited the Blue Mosque, another well-known mosque. It was very surreal to stand in a crowd of tourists, quietly observing Muslim men across the room as they kneeled and bowed toward Mecca. As a person who is used to being in Christian houses of worship, it was a sobering experience.
We also visited the Grand Bazaar—endless shops and vendors selling everything from rugs to refrigerator magnets. This was a very touristy part of Istanbul, and I got more than a little annoyed with men pestering me in English to buy something. I wished I could brush them off in fluent Turkish like Amy, who had grown up in Istanbul. As someone who doesn’t like shopping to begin with, it was all a bit overwhelming. But, happily, I got a genuine Turkish scarf out of the excursion.
Another visit was to the Basilica Cistern, a huge reservoir of water below the streets of Istanbul, which had been constructed during the time of the Romans. It was a bit eerie to be underground in relative darkness, but it was beautiful. One of the Basilica Cistern’s claims to fame is its possession of two stone heads of Medusa—one upside down and the other sideways—as bases for columns. No one knows for sure why they were put there. That added to the eeriness.
Amy’s family lives on the Asian side of Istanbul, so I had the opportunity to cross the Bosphorus by ferry on numerous occasions in order to see the sights on the European side of the city. We also visited thermal springs, went out for traditional Turkish cuisine (I’m in love), visited with some Turkish friends of theirs, went to their church (where I learned that there are only a few thousand Christians in the whole country), and explored the neighborhood around their apartment. I knew that I was getting to see much more than a normal tourist would have, and I felt very privileged as a result.
As if learning Romanian (and hoping to start learning Russian) isn’t enough, I also became enchanted with the Turkish language. I spent the whole trip learning basic expressions and sounding out every Turkish word I saw, amusing everyone around me in the process. Amy told me I sound like a Russian trying to speak Turkish—that’s good, right? ;-)
As I knew it would, the week in Istanbul passed far too quickly. It was the perfect defense against homesickness, especially because I got to talk with my own family via Skype on Christmas day. The chance to see a foreign country from the comfort of an American household was, for me, ideal.
And so I have fallen in love with yet another country. If my wallet allows, I have dreams of going back again to see more of Turkey, hopefully in warmer weather. Ah, the things I would do if money didn't get in the way...
As the title indicates, I traveled to Turkey for Christmas. Getting there was surprisingly easy. On Christmas Eve I boarded a plane in Chisinau and about an hour later I was in Istanbul (my shortest international flight yet). My reasons for going to Turkey were several: 1) I was afraid that if I stayed in Moldova, I would be homesick and depressed. I knew traveling would be a good way to prevent that. 2) One of my best friends, Amy, was going home to Istanbul for Christmas, so it was an opportunity to see her. 3) I got to stay with Amy’s family—if you’re a poor PC volunteer who can’t afford to go back to America for Christmas, staying with an American family is the next best thing!
So I spent seven glorious days in what Moldovans refer to as Turcia. I got to see Dolmabahce Palace, home to some thirty-odd sultans of the Ottoman Empire (and their harems) and the place where Ataturk, the father of modern Turkey, lived and died. I saw the famous Hagia Sophia (unfortunately not from the inside—they were closed that day) and visited the Blue Mosque, another well-known mosque. It was very surreal to stand in a crowd of tourists, quietly observing Muslim men across the room as they kneeled and bowed toward Mecca. As a person who is used to being in Christian houses of worship, it was a sobering experience.
We also visited the Grand Bazaar—endless shops and vendors selling everything from rugs to refrigerator magnets. This was a very touristy part of Istanbul, and I got more than a little annoyed with men pestering me in English to buy something. I wished I could brush them off in fluent Turkish like Amy, who had grown up in Istanbul. As someone who doesn’t like shopping to begin with, it was all a bit overwhelming. But, happily, I got a genuine Turkish scarf out of the excursion.
Another visit was to the Basilica Cistern, a huge reservoir of water below the streets of Istanbul, which had been constructed during the time of the Romans. It was a bit eerie to be underground in relative darkness, but it was beautiful. One of the Basilica Cistern’s claims to fame is its possession of two stone heads of Medusa—one upside down and the other sideways—as bases for columns. No one knows for sure why they were put there. That added to the eeriness.
Amy’s family lives on the Asian side of Istanbul, so I had the opportunity to cross the Bosphorus by ferry on numerous occasions in order to see the sights on the European side of the city. We also visited thermal springs, went out for traditional Turkish cuisine (I’m in love), visited with some Turkish friends of theirs, went to their church (where I learned that there are only a few thousand Christians in the whole country), and explored the neighborhood around their apartment. I knew that I was getting to see much more than a normal tourist would have, and I felt very privileged as a result.
As if learning Romanian (and hoping to start learning Russian) isn’t enough, I also became enchanted with the Turkish language. I spent the whole trip learning basic expressions and sounding out every Turkish word I saw, amusing everyone around me in the process. Amy told me I sound like a Russian trying to speak Turkish—that’s good, right? ;-)
As I knew it would, the week in Istanbul passed far too quickly. It was the perfect defense against homesickness, especially because I got to talk with my own family via Skype on Christmas day. The chance to see a foreign country from the comfort of an American household was, for me, ideal.
And so I have fallen in love with yet another country. If my wallet allows, I have dreams of going back again to see more of Turkey, hopefully in warmer weather. Ah, the things I would do if money didn't get in the way...
Sunday, December 14, 2008
A Few of My Favorite Things
My good friend Kristen Fuest reminded me that it’s been awhile since my last post. Which is very true. So, in the spirit of Christmas, I thought it’d be fun to share a few of my favorite things about life in Moldova (NOT raindrops on roses or whiskers on kittens):
1) being stopped on the street for directions
As strange as it may sound, here’s why it’s so great: because it means that, occasionally, I’m blending in. It means that, to some stranger, I can pass for a Moldovan. To them I don’t have AMERICAN stamped on my forehead. I look like I can speak Romanian and that I know where the hospital is (both of which happen to be true!).
2) receiving “exact change”
I went to the store the other day, and since the cashier was out of banuĊ£i (coins), she handed me a stick of gum as change instead. I’ve also had people give me candy. You just can’t beat that.
3) new holidays
December 13th is “Saint Andrew Day” in Moldova. I’m not sure what the religious significance is (or whether Saint Andrew refers to the apostle Andrew or another historical Andrew). But I do know that boys go to the houses of girls they like in the middle of the night and steal their gates (yes, steal them). Moldovan gates are huge and made of metal, so it’s no small task. If a girl wakes up on the 13th to find her gate missing, she has to figure out who took it and—according to tradition—give him wine and food in order to get her gate back. She’s also supposed to be his girlfriend. I don’t think the forced dating part is practiced anymore, but the gate-stealing tradition is still alive and well in some villages. Ain’t love grand?
4) the “English” language
I was grading my 10th grade students’ semester tests today, and some of their answers had me practically rolling on the floor. They had to complete noun phrases, such as glass of water, or loaf of bread. One student wrote “slice of toothpaste.” They also had to create dialogues between them and their parents, and another boy wrote: “Mother, I beseech you!” There are definitely perks to my job!
1) being stopped on the street for directions
As strange as it may sound, here’s why it’s so great: because it means that, occasionally, I’m blending in. It means that, to some stranger, I can pass for a Moldovan. To them I don’t have AMERICAN stamped on my forehead. I look like I can speak Romanian and that I know where the hospital is (both of which happen to be true!).
2) receiving “exact change”
I went to the store the other day, and since the cashier was out of banuĊ£i (coins), she handed me a stick of gum as change instead. I’ve also had people give me candy. You just can’t beat that.
3) new holidays
December 13th is “Saint Andrew Day” in Moldova. I’m not sure what the religious significance is (or whether Saint Andrew refers to the apostle Andrew or another historical Andrew). But I do know that boys go to the houses of girls they like in the middle of the night and steal their gates (yes, steal them). Moldovan gates are huge and made of metal, so it’s no small task. If a girl wakes up on the 13th to find her gate missing, she has to figure out who took it and—according to tradition—give him wine and food in order to get her gate back. She’s also supposed to be his girlfriend. I don’t think the forced dating part is practiced anymore, but the gate-stealing tradition is still alive and well in some villages. Ain’t love grand?
4) the “English” language
I was grading my 10th grade students’ semester tests today, and some of their answers had me practically rolling on the floor. They had to complete noun phrases, such as glass of water, or loaf of bread. One student wrote “slice of toothpaste.” They also had to create dialogues between them and their parents, and another boy wrote: “Mother, I beseech you!” There are definitely perks to my job!
Friday, November 14, 2008
When Teachers Play Hookey
My Moldovan teaching experience has been full of firsts. And now I can add to the list my first strike. When we came back from fall break this past Monday, my school voted to participate in a nation-wide teacher’s strike. The motivation behind the strike—the same as it is for most—is lack of money. Teachers are trying to convince the Moldovan government to increase their salary in order to try and keep up with rising costs of fuel and electricity.
As a PC volunteer, I wasn’t allowed to get involved in any way (for two main reasons: 1. PC is apolitical—we stay away from strikes, protests, elections, etc. We’re here to work with people, not take sides in their politics. 2. PC volunteers don’t receive salaries for working in schools. We get our living stipends directly from the PC). But since no kids came to school this week, this meant that I didn’t teach either. So I ended up participating by default.
As a result, my week-long fall vacation has stretched into nearly two (with the possibility of more days off in the near future if the government continues to be unresponsive). It’s been interesting to hear how the current grievances of Moldovan teachers compare to past ones. Two of my fellow English teachers told me that about 10 years ago, there was a period of several consecutive months that they went without a salary because the government simply didn’t have the money to pay them. And when they did get paid, it was the equivalent of 20 American dollars a month. Moldovan teachers get more than that now, but a Moldovan teacher’s entire monthly salary is still less than what I pay my host family per month for food and rent.
I’ve been asked by several Moldovans if we have strikes in America. What comes immediately to mind is that the kind of strikes that make national news in America are ones in which professional athletes are protesting the fact they’re getting $7 million a year instead of $10 million. In all fairness to them, I’m sure they’re also motivated by the rising cost of living. It takes a lot of gas to fill up a Hummer. Yes, we Americans suffer greatly too.
Speaking of media coverage, my school made it onto Moldovan national news! I’d post the video clip on here, but since that would mean publicizing on the Internet not only the town I live in but also the name of the school I work at, I’m going to opt against it (sorry to disappoint you, all you potential stalkers out there). For those of you who actually know me and who are interested in seeing some shots of teachers and classrooms at my school, just email me and I can send you a link to the video.
As a PC volunteer, I wasn’t allowed to get involved in any way (for two main reasons: 1. PC is apolitical—we stay away from strikes, protests, elections, etc. We’re here to work with people, not take sides in their politics. 2. PC volunteers don’t receive salaries for working in schools. We get our living stipends directly from the PC). But since no kids came to school this week, this meant that I didn’t teach either. So I ended up participating by default.
As a result, my week-long fall vacation has stretched into nearly two (with the possibility of more days off in the near future if the government continues to be unresponsive). It’s been interesting to hear how the current grievances of Moldovan teachers compare to past ones. Two of my fellow English teachers told me that about 10 years ago, there was a period of several consecutive months that they went without a salary because the government simply didn’t have the money to pay them. And when they did get paid, it was the equivalent of 20 American dollars a month. Moldovan teachers get more than that now, but a Moldovan teacher’s entire monthly salary is still less than what I pay my host family per month for food and rent.
I’ve been asked by several Moldovans if we have strikes in America. What comes immediately to mind is that the kind of strikes that make national news in America are ones in which professional athletes are protesting the fact they’re getting $7 million a year instead of $10 million. In all fairness to them, I’m sure they’re also motivated by the rising cost of living. It takes a lot of gas to fill up a Hummer. Yes, we Americans suffer greatly too.
Speaking of media coverage, my school made it onto Moldovan national news! I’d post the video clip on here, but since that would mean publicizing on the Internet not only the town I live in but also the name of the school I work at, I’m going to opt against it (sorry to disappoint you, all you potential stalkers out there). For those of you who actually know me and who are interested in seeing some shots of teachers and classrooms at my school, just email me and I can send you a link to the video.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Life in 3 Languages
I grew up surrounded by one language: English. My encounters with other languages were few and far between, the most extended one being my three semesters of college Spanish. And then I moved to Moldova.
Now, there are three languages in my life.
Romanian, the official language of Moldova (or “Moldovan,” depending on who you ask), is in many ways the dominant language of my everyday world. I hear it on buses, in stores, on the radio, in the street, at school, and at home—it is my only means of communicating with my host family.
But, surprisingly (or, not so surprisingly, considering my job), English remains a prevalent part of my life. It is the subject I teach five days a week and the focus of three after-school clubs I lead. Every day I am conscious of its pronunciation, its grammar rules, and the millions of possible patterns in which its words can be arranged. In the hallways of my school and in even in the street, I am constantly greeted with an enthusiastic “Hello!” (and, if the person is feeling particularly brave, “Do you speak English?”).
And then there’s Russian--the language that all Moldovans understand and that a large percentage of them primarily speak. It’s the language of most Moldovan television channels and of countless books, magazines, food labels, and street signs. Because many of the students and teachers at my school are Russian speakers, I hear it on a daily basis. Even though my Russian is limited to the most basic of words and phrases (such as, “Good morning,” “I don’t understand,” “Excuse me, where is the bathroom?”), I know the sounds of it well enough that I can instantly tell when someone who had been speaking in Romanian suddenly slips into Russian. And since this happens quite a bit, this is a valuable skill.
I’ll admit that it can be frustrating that my knowledge of Romanian isn’t always enough to get me by (i.e. when I’m at a store in Chisinau and the cashier only speaks Russian, or when I’m trying to decipher the operating instructions of a household appliance which are written in that dreaded cyrillic alphabet). But it’s a fascinating thing to live in a country where the lines between languages are so often blurred.
I recently sat in on a faculty meeting in which I observed a conversation between two other teachers. One of the women spoke entirely in Romanian. The other teacher carried out her end of the conversation in Russian. They spoke like this for several minutes, completely oblivious to the fact that two different languages were being spoken.
And the other day as I was sitting in church, I noticed that the woman to the left of me was holding a Bible printed in Romanian, the woman to my right had one in Russian, and I was sandwiched in between them with an English Bible. A perfect snapshot of my life here.
So, yes, life in 3 languages can be exasperating and bizarre. And sometimes I miss the certainty of knowing that when I open my mouth, the person I'm talking to will understand me. But I like my new life. It's rich, complex, and decidedly more interesting.
Now, there are three languages in my life.
Romanian, the official language of Moldova (or “Moldovan,” depending on who you ask), is in many ways the dominant language of my everyday world. I hear it on buses, in stores, on the radio, in the street, at school, and at home—it is my only means of communicating with my host family.
But, surprisingly (or, not so surprisingly, considering my job), English remains a prevalent part of my life. It is the subject I teach five days a week and the focus of three after-school clubs I lead. Every day I am conscious of its pronunciation, its grammar rules, and the millions of possible patterns in which its words can be arranged. In the hallways of my school and in even in the street, I am constantly greeted with an enthusiastic “Hello!” (and, if the person is feeling particularly brave, “Do you speak English?”).
And then there’s Russian--the language that all Moldovans understand and that a large percentage of them primarily speak. It’s the language of most Moldovan television channels and of countless books, magazines, food labels, and street signs. Because many of the students and teachers at my school are Russian speakers, I hear it on a daily basis. Even though my Russian is limited to the most basic of words and phrases (such as, “Good morning,” “I don’t understand,” “Excuse me, where is the bathroom?”), I know the sounds of it well enough that I can instantly tell when someone who had been speaking in Romanian suddenly slips into Russian. And since this happens quite a bit, this is a valuable skill.
I’ll admit that it can be frustrating that my knowledge of Romanian isn’t always enough to get me by (i.e. when I’m at a store in Chisinau and the cashier only speaks Russian, or when I’m trying to decipher the operating instructions of a household appliance which are written in that dreaded cyrillic alphabet). But it’s a fascinating thing to live in a country where the lines between languages are so often blurred.
I recently sat in on a faculty meeting in which I observed a conversation between two other teachers. One of the women spoke entirely in Romanian. The other teacher carried out her end of the conversation in Russian. They spoke like this for several minutes, completely oblivious to the fact that two different languages were being spoken.
And the other day as I was sitting in church, I noticed that the woman to the left of me was holding a Bible printed in Romanian, the woman to my right had one in Russian, and I was sandwiched in between them with an English Bible. A perfect snapshot of my life here.
So, yes, life in 3 languages can be exasperating and bizarre. And sometimes I miss the certainty of knowing that when I open my mouth, the person I'm talking to will understand me. But I like my new life. It's rich, complex, and decidedly more interesting.
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