Craciun

For some reason I thought being away for the holidays would be easier the second time around…but then I realized that last year, I didn’t have a niece, my grandparents weren’t a year older, and I wasn’t missing a grand Christmas snow storm at home while it was slushy and 45° F here. I thought it would be possible to kind of ignore the fact that the holidays were happening and forget that my family was still carrying on all the traditions without me, which worked for a while because there was no snow and not many signs of Christmas in town (actually, the lights were strung but the Primaria didn’t have the money to turn them on). But then it snowed; and I was simply ecstatic, so naturally nothing else really mattered. However, that didn’t entirely blind me from all of the festive allusions; it didn’t keep me from noticing that the streets of Cȃmpulung were exploding with those coming home for Christmas (and how I wished I was one of them), it didn’t keep me from yearning for the comfort that only a grandma can provide when my elderly neighbor hugged me, and it didn’t keep me from hearing the regret in people’s voices after they asked if I’d be going home.

Despite my best Grinching efforts, the astonishing kindness of those around me simply wouldn’t allow it. My landlord put up a string of lights on my Bouse, a colleague gave me a real Christmas tree, a friend included me in her Romanian Christmas food preparations and a string of invitations from an expat, a student that I tutor, neighbors, colleagues, friends and a couple who don’t even celebrate Christmas but could sense that I was home sick. Three days of Christmas left me plump full of sarmale, salata de beouf, meats galore and the warmest heart a gal could ask for!

Falling

I’m in love, I’m in love, what a glorious day! Sometimes in the off season I wonder if I’m often glorifying the wonders of winter a bit too much but now that it’s here…I’m reminded all over again just how wonderful winter really is! I love waking up to a fresh blanket of snow and even more so, when it’s still snowing! I love looking out my window into the valley of Cȃmpulung to see smoke coming out of everyone’s chimneys against the frosted landscape! I love that I can see my breath in my bathroom and kitchen! I love wearing long underwear religiously! I love tromping through the fresh snow! I love seeing all the old school sleds and people using them to haul their potato sacks, Christmas trees and children through town! I love everyone’s giant fur hats…I only wish I had one too! I love that the workers at the post office lick and apply all my stamps! I love walking through Valea Seacă because there are more horse drawn sleighs there! I love that the horses wear red pom poms and sometimes really do have jingle bells! I love that snow makes all my old hiking routes new again! I love being in the middle of the forest and looking up into the frosted pine trees! I love that I ended up sliding down the mountain under all the trees on my ass and released a whoo hoo! I love that they were playing Christmas carols outside on the Plateau today! I love that I saw Strega Nona hobble across town! I love seeing people put chains on their cars to get up my hill! I love that one of my chores is carrying wood into the house! I especially love that my wood is dry this year! I love coming home to fac foc (make fire) and listening to the crackling while I regain warmth! I love that my hands are often stained black from the fac’ing! I love that I set up a make shift bed on the floor right next to my soba and listen to the fire as I drift off to sleep! I love that living in my Bouse is like being up at the cabin! I love being in love with winter! What can I say…I’ve fallen for it once again!

Giving Thanks

As a foreigner, stranger or misfit (insert the adjective that best suits you), you are obviously in a constant state of observation of all the newness but what one doesn’t expect is the forced analysis of your own culture. Regardless if it’s an unconscious action, you are exposing yourself and all your odd doings as well; whether it’s through language, traditions, superstitions, etc…. people are going to ask you why…and strangely, I often don’t know. I mean…what in the hell is a “shit eating grin” and why would someone be eating shit, let alone grinning after doing so? Why do we put a shoe out for St. Nick? What are some traditional American foods? Perhaps I’m more ignorant than the average bird but I’m continuously stumped by such questions.

However, as of late, various individuals have been asking me what Thanksgiving is all about and as my favorite holiday, I was a bit more confident in my explanation. Although the exact logistics of the actual first Thanksgiving is debatable and whether or not it was actually religiously conceived, we can all agree that it began as a feast of gratitude to celebrate the harvest and continues to this day to be a time to truly express what we are thankful for. Although I hate that the Pilgrims shared this first feast with the Native Americans to thank them for their help in learning to live off this new land, and then ironically proceeded to annihilate the Indians in the following years, I like to believe that the Pilgrims’ gratefulness in the beginning was genuine. For me, Thanksgiving captures all the elements that I deem important without any strings attached like many other Holidays. Thanksgiving embraces one of the essences of life – spending the entire day to just BE with those you love.

Although I hate being away from Grandma’s famous mashed potatoes and gravy and missing the family Turkey Bowl (American Football game), I have much to be thankful for. Given that my Grandpa is not here to make me say what I’ve been grateful for this past year, I’m going to make you listen. Since being away from home allows me to realize on a daily basis how grateful I am for my family and friends, I’d like to focus on all the little things we tend to overlook and take for granted. This year I’d like to give my thanks to:

* Sobas (wood burning stoves)

* People on the street recognizing who I am and saying hello

* The beautiful landscape of Bucovina

* Not having to drive in Romania

* My landlord leaving kindling and apples on my front steps

* Getting mail

* The Piața (Fresh Farmer’s market)

* Vin Fiert (Boiled Wine) & Afinata (Homemade Blueberry alcohol)

* Bunicas (grandmas, specifically really old and little ones wearing head scarves)

* Ciorba Radeautana, mujdei, sarmale and halva

* The diversity of each day

* Trains, crowded Maxi Taxi’s and caruțas

And the list could go on for pages...Thank you to all of those who have opened up your minds, arms and homes to a strange foreign misfit…you have made my experience in Romania one I shall forever remember!

"The Painted Veil"

by W. Somerset Maugham

“Do you never wish to go home again, ma soeur?” asked Kitty.

“Oh, no. It would be too hard to come back. I love to be here and I am never so happy as when I am among the orphans. They’re so good, they’re so grateful. But it is all very well to be a nun, still one has a mother and one cannot forget that one drank the milk of her breasts.”

It’s a bit uncanny how one can often relate to novels, particularly at the exact moment they are being read. I read this passage above at the airport in Germany shortly after parting with mom, Katie and baby Georgia. This for some reason was one of the hardest goodbyes. When I read this (obviously not from the standpoint of a nun but one of having a similar experience) I knew for certain that I had made the right decision of not going home during my 27 months of service because indeed, it would have been “too hard to come back.” As much as I love my life here, seeing my kin in the flesh made me second guess why I chose to be away from them.

“I should have thought that sometimes it was hard never to see again those that are dear to you and the scenes amid which you were brought up. […] All the same, when one thinks of those to whom one is so dear, it must be difficult not to ask oneself if one was right in cutting oneself off from them.”

I never wanted to be one of those people who say “oh, I haven’t seen my sister in years” but here I am…and I made that choice. In 2 years my older sister went through an entire pregnancy and the baby suddenly became 9 months old, none of which I was a part. She has morphed into a mother and I got to finally observe this new person when we reunited. Yet…much to my relief it was as if no time had passed at all, for we simply carried on as we did before I left 2 years ago. However, this new creature immediately found her way into my heart and soul. I fell in love with Baby G and I couldn’t bear to part after 4 short days. And once again, I found myself questioning my values and asking myself if it was worth it. Is it worth missing her key developmental years? Is it worth it to be away from those you hold so dear? What if I just didn’t go back?

Then I realized that I cannot not finish something – particularly something I’ve wanted to do for a long time, something I’ve put so much of my own convictions into, something that took an abundant amount of time for others to develop a trust in me and even more so, something I genuinely enjoy. So…what’s 6 more months when I’ve already done 21? I think the plot thickens because in my heart I have the feeling it won’t only be 6 more months. As of now, I’d like to stay abroad in order to continue my education. This environment simply creates an atmosphere that I’m addicted to…an eye opening newness that leads to endless observations and learning. I agree, very ironic for my personality type but I refuse to let my fears and anxiety prevent me from experiencing a life that I’m passionate about. So there you have it, a bit of a catch 22. Do you surround yourself by those you love or do you immerse yourself into something you love to do? Perhaps Waddington was correct, “Some of us look for the Way in Opium and some in God, some of us in whiskey and some in love. It is all the same Way and it leads nowhither.”

October's Occupations

The diversity, spontaneity and flexibility of being a Peace Corps Volunteer has created a lifestyle that I have come to love. Although it may mean I’ve slept in 7 different places during the past 9 nights and couldn’t wait to get home to the serenity of the crackling fire in my soba, I wouldn’t trade it for anything…for it’s all part of the adventure.

After spending a week in Bucharest I realized that I had forgotten what it was like to go out and be surrounded by young people, not to mention fun and friendly young people. This…in combination with being in the big city made for some real social awkwardness… one almost forgets how to interact. Re-entering “Real Life” should be a real treat!

Speaking of treat…

Although I didn’t get to wear a costume (perhaps only the second time in my Halloween history), this was definitely one of the more memorable years. I got the opportunity to volunteer at Ovidiu Rom’s Halloween fundraising ball at the Parliament Palace, the second largest building in the world after the Pentagon. Leslie Hawke, a former PCV and Ethan’s mother, founded this organization about 5 years ago to help increase the educational opportunities for the Roma children. For two days we were the manpower (which is ironic because as girls we weren’t allowed to lift more than paper) helping with the set-up and decorate. At the beginning of the ball, I helped out with the coat check…which was enough to prove that I was amongst some of Romania’s richest. I probably will never again even be a servant at such an event that has a small orchestra that starts right up as each new guest arrives. Later in the evening I worked at the “American Bar” which was made entirely out of hay bales and only served Jack

Daniels…can’t say I really had any complaints about the job, especially when my customers consisted of Ethan Hawke and some man wearing a kilt, who came up approximately every 45 minutes

asking for another “cup of tea.”

Betsy In Real Life

Day in and day out, my time spent in Romania has been…let’s see, how does one say this…a bit fantastical, whimsical and even sometimes like walking through a 1980’s music video. In other words, I often find myself in roles (such as Laura Ingalls Wilder, Susie Homemaker, Molly Ringwald and even Madonna - Pre-Kabala) and situations that are so surreal that I cannot believe what I’m actually seeing or doing. In fact, it’s so surreal that I’ve become accustomed to referring to it as not real life. Perhaps it’s because I build a fire to warm my Bouse that has hay in the roof for insulation or because I make my own booze or see grown men peeing in public in broad daylight or simply because I’m getting to do and experience things that one only gets to dream of doing.

Either way, I find myself referring to home and life in Minnesota as “real life.” For example; In real life, I would never spend 4 hours sewing a new zipper into my pants or fix my toilet with dental floss. During real life, I never baked goods for my neighbors or worried about the curent making me ill. When I return to real life, I suppose I’ll have to resume taking daily showers and nobody will know who I am walking down the street. So will I reluctantly return to Betsy in Real Life, continue living as Betsy in Fairy Gnome land or will I find a friendly combination of Betsy in Real Gnome Life? There will definitely be parts of me that will fortunately remain changed forever and there are parts of me that I can’t wait to have back. But why? Why can’t the wondrous whims co-exist with the rigid real?

On the contrary, perhaps they can. Recently my parents, the ones who inducted me into the real life, came to visit me here. Other than the fact that I could now pick them out as foreigners from a mile away, their mere existence seemed very real. After spending a decent amount of time in this dreamland, it was kind of nice to have some of my feelings, experiences and observations validated. Walking down the street with my parents was quite enjoyable, for my mom was far more terrified of the dogs than I and no one dare harass me when I was with a man who dwarfed most Romanians. I very much enjoyed watching my father trying to fit in the bed on the overnight train, and his enthusiasm for learning Romanian; he terrified every bunica in sight as he happily greeted them and only ordered Mexican Penis at the restaurant once. Mom quickly picked up on the irony in stating, “There should be …” and the fun in reusing disposable plastic items (not just because I’ve become worse than grandma but also because Mikey got a surprise swig of Palinka instead of water when he went to take his vitamins.) But maybe they too, had fallen under the spell. As soon as they left, it was as if they had never been here. But that’s how it works in a land where Laura Ingalls Wilder and Molly Ringwald walk arm in arm; you’re only left with a vivid yet unrealistic memory that can never quite be conveyed to anyone else.

Viaţă

Life is a lot like walking through the streets of Campulung...if you focus on tip-toeing through all the shit on the ground, you miss the beauty all around.

Blogging The Dream

Recently, David Sasaki from Rising Voices, the organization that funded our Blogging The Dream project came to visit Cȃmpulung Moldovenesc. He met with some of the blogging participants and furthered their technological experience; teaching them how to interview someone and then make a video. The highlight for me (and my parents who were here visiting) was observing the "democratic" voting process to select the topic that would be featured on the video. After clarifying that you could only vote once, there was a clear winner but that wasn't well received by the group so they decided to make a video that would apparently incorporate all 6 options. Here's the final product!



To see David's perspective on his visit to Cȃmpulung Moldovenesc please read his article Blogging The Dream: Mental Health and Healthy Communities

Curent Kills

I don’t mind that winter has already peeked its head through the doors; truth be told, I’m ecstatic, but the fact that the heat on the trains has already been cranked to the max does not excite me in the least. However, as I headed to Satu Mare last weekend my sweaty squirming brought a smile to my face. Luckily the older couple I was sitting with agreed that it was way too hot and we were able to have the window open but not the door because that of course would create Curent…

Where does one begin with the explanation of Curent? Basically, curent is created indoors when there is an open window, door or any other type of crevice that allows ventilation to enter. The change of temperature that this fresh air brings in can cause ear aches, sore throats and bad joints; essentially, any ailment that an individual might experience. Despite the temperature outside, it is not healthy to create curent. Even if it is 100 degrees Fahrenheit and you’re on an overcrowded Maxi Taxi without air conditioning and as a bonus there are raging body odors… you still CANNOT even crack a window open. Effects can be intensified by going outside with wet hair, sitting on or standing without shoes on cement, and eating too much ice cream. Preventative measures include putting cotton in your ears and keeping over-the-ears hats on young children year round. Resulting disorders can be cured by putting a garlic clove or lit cigarette in your ear and of course, by applying varza (cabbage) to the ailing area!

Meanwhile, back on the train; I was quite thankful for the sweet bliss the slightly cracked window brought to me but I still could not prevent myself from overheating. I slowly removed layers of clothing and lowered my socks over the next two hours. Even the old man complained of being too hot but his wife insisted that he was exaggerating. Seconds before I was about to go streaking, the man sensed my discomfort and said I could open the door. While I expressed my undying gratitude to him, his wife simply looked on, muttering a “Tisk, tisk, there will be curent,” under her breath. Before I knew it, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the already heavily dressed woman putzing around with the curtain. No, I thought…could she really be…yes…the curtain (the extremely dirty curtain, probably pre-Ceaușescu curtain) was now wrapped around her body and head, protecting her ears from the curent. I knew then, that the curent may lead to a slow death over the remaining 3 hours but at least I would die with a smile on my face!

Although the highlight of my trip occurred before I even reached my destination, I still had a grand time in Satu Mare. Christina, a fellow PCV, works with the street youth there, including those who huff and prostitute. I got the opportunity to go over to the center where her organization holds a day program and has room for 6 individuals to live for up to two years. We spent some time playing Rummy with a few who live there and I can’t explain how glad I am that we did. Even though the “kids” are in their early twenties, they were so appreciative and excited that we took the time to be with them. While living there, they learn a variety of Life Skills, one being cooking. The center just got a microwave and it was quite entertaining watching them learn how to use it; the genuine awe that one button would jet the door open and another would simply heat the food. I have to admit, after not using a microwave in almost two years I too was a bit mystified!

"Don't Take Life Sitting Down"

The Go Girl. If you live in Romania, you’ll love it. Are you tired of paying 1 Leu to use a Turkish toilet that you just can’t seem to master? Sick of verifying that your tetanus shot is up to date before using the train toilet? Fed up with that desire to emerge yourself into a large vat of antibacterial hand sanitizer after using those rare existing public bathrooms? Well fret no more; you too can now pee standing up! Why let the boys and drunks have all the fun? Get a Go Girl and make your dreams of playing swords and watering nature’s landscape come true!

http://www.go-girl.com/

As a lucky recipient of a Go Girl (thanks to my Godmother), I can’t wait to make an impact or shall I say, a release, in my squatting style. Thus far, I’ve performed the recommended practice round in the privacy of my home. However, I think I might do it again…perhaps it feels a little more natural the second time. When I went for the prerequisite practice round, I hesitated a moment as I faced the toilet standing up…”so, do I lift the toilet seat?” I shrug my shoulders and figure it would probably be for the best. Now…”what do I do with my pants?” I reluctantly pushed them along with my underwear down to the ground. Next… I lifted the coned apparatus to my lady bits hoping to find that so called suction I read about in the directions. No such luck; the suction does NOT exist. This is definitely a two handed job. No longer able to contain my full bladder, I began the flow and drained my lizard (something I’ve always wanted to say.) “Hmmm,” I thought,” this isn’t too bad.” Maybe next time I won’t wait until urination nation is inside my body, for the Go Girl appeared to be having a little difficulty keeping up with the flow of things. Otherwise, it was a success. Once I figure out how to push my clothing aside (rather than to my ankles) as suggested, I’ll be ready to go public. After washing up and heading into my room, I caught a glance of my reflection in the mirror. What in Sam’s hell? How in the world did that large wet spot get on the back of my pants? As I changed clothing, I replayed the entire situation in my mind. Where did I go wrong? Why do all the drunks have their wet spots on the front? Maybe I should seek counsel; who better than Grandma? She raised 5 boys! She’s bound to know! Until then, I will continue the Moving Hover Craft Method for trains and the Annie Oakley: Roll & Shoot for Turkish times.

A Winter Wonder Fall?

Who knew there could be something more esthetically pleasing than the bold crisp tree colorings of Fall or the freshly frosted landscape of Winter? Clearly the combination of both trumps all. Yesterday’s downpours morphed into flakes and by morning Cȃmpulung was lightly dusted in snow. It was actually quite surreal to the human eye; it appeared as if someone let down a life-size backdrop. In the forefront, were bright radiant colors but as your gaze moved slowly uphill, the oranges, yellows and red were sprinkled white. Further up the foothills and mountains, the still green grass had been primped with an untainted carpet and the endless pines were perfectly frosted. For me, it was the ultimate beauty, the best of both worlds – Fall at your feet, unified splendor at your eye and Winter within reach.

One of Those "Aha" Moments

Out of the various projects that I have assisted with this summer, one memory in particular sticks out. While working on the project in which we collaborated with the Mormon Church, we had to wade through a lot of bureaucracy and experienced a ridiculous amount of inefficiency in the lacking infrastructure. One day after running around in the same circle several times, the Romanian woman with whom I was working, turned to me and said, “You know…I finally understand why people from other countries are here trying to help us.” For me, that made everything we had done well worth while because not once in the 19 months that I’ve been here has one person genuinely understood why I am here; not to mention why I would choose to leave my family, country, etc. Although it had never really been a personal goal of mine (to make technical changes or cure the lacking infrastructure), it was one of the better experiences I’ve had in the “work” place.

A'Mushroom Hunting We Go

There’s something invigorating about a chilly overcast autumn morning when you’re able to sit on a porch drinking a fresh cup of coffee while simply pondering aimlessly. The light breeze through the trees and overall serenity take me back to cabin life…and all at once…I’m a bit homesick. I yearn for those long weekends at the cabin; where days are spent on the lake with margarita breaks and playing Screw Your Neighbor with grandma, and nights around the bonfire, roasting marshmallows and watching the stars above. Generally speaking, all activities you can do almost anywhere in the world but make all the difference when done not just anywhere but at home.

Regardless of how much you enjoy something, someone, somewhere…it can become too much. Living in a foreign place amongst different mentalities, methods and processes is beyond fascinating but every now and then, all those constant reminders that you don’t belong stack up too high and come tumbling down.

And on that note…I’m anxiously awaiting the arrival of my parents next week. They couldn’t be coming at a better time. I’m hoping that experiencing a little piece of home will recharge my batteries for the next 8 months but sometimes I merely miss the natural familiarity of home…the automatic comfort you experience by simply knowing what’s going on around you. Either way, I haven’t seen my mom and dad in the flesh for over a year… what if it’s weird? What if things aren’t the same anymore? What if we don’t have anything to talk about – will the long silences be awkward? Fortunately, these flashes of panic are slashed by the pure excitement and the warmth that will soon envelop my heart. The anticipation has reached its max and has left me in a glass cage of emotions.

And back to the original thought spurred by mushroom hunting…

At what point do we lose touch with nature? When do we begin to ignore the organic in order to replace it with the synthetic? Where along the life spectrum does the turning point occur? I suppose the easy answer comes down to time and money. Advantageous aspects indeed but something is lost…more than knowledge, more than survival instinct…we lose that mystical yet spiritual connection with the earth, that puts us back into our place as a small figment of the world, where in reality, we don’t really matter and thus, neither do any of our problems.

Spending my summers in northern Minnesota I considered myself to have a fairly decent grasp on wilderness wit. However, as soon as I began venturing out with Romanians – I was quickly proven otherwise - time and time again. Apparently, you can eat everything. Little did I know, I shouldn’t eat before I go hiking for there are berries, leaves, apples, mushrooms, pears, things that look like berries, plums and tree sap to ingest. Although a bit hesitant at first, I put my life into their hands. How else is one suppose to fully immerse themselves culturally? Unless there is a slow release toxin, I have survived all the outings thus far. The only minor exception was with the tree sap. Word on the street is that once sap has sat out (or stuck onto the tree) long enough, you can chew it like gum. Regrettably, my wad hadn’t sat out quite long enough. The bitter stickiness created a lock-jaw sensation between my top and bottom teeth. Despite how many other berry things or leaves I ate, my sap continued to double as an oral adhesive and that foul taste persisted. I refrained from swallowing any of it for if actual gum stays in your stomach for 7 years, can you imagine how long this gooey matter would remain?

Weeks later, I finally had my break…I found something we could eat…the Honeysuckle.

Don't Fuck With Chuck

How does something you’ve seen so many times before and have become immune to, suddenly strike you? Homeless, beggars, huffers and drunkards; I have observed that they truly do come in all shapes, forms and sadly, ages throughout Romania. Although, I can now walk by out of habit – because there simply is no possible way to help everyone – the hardest demographic to take in were the huffers, especially the adolescents. Perhaps the initial urge to gawk was because it was new, something I had never seen before but as soon as I saw the 10 year old kids, I was staring out of concern. However, like anything else, once you’ve seen or done something enough, you become immune. I had grown particularly impervious to the huffers around Gara de Nord after seeing one morph into Chuck Norris and judo kick an adult drunkard in the back. A semi-playful pursuit continued amongst this small group and somehow, my aunt and cousin (who had only been in the country visiting for 2 days and were experiencing huffers for the first time), as well as myself, became the “safe” barricade to hide behind. Since then, I’ve further distanced myself (also due to increase of summer odors) and still wondered from afar…how long can they survive like this?

But then it hit me. I was no longer under the spell of Mr. Miyagi. Happy to be leaving București after a prolonged stay, I was not bothered by the rush of city life that I’ve become intimidated by and enjoyed my evening walk to the train station. Pondering, most likely useless things, such as how it will be much cooler in Cȃmpulung, the probability of me not having to pee in the next 10 hours, and whether or not my 5 other bunkmates on the train will be snorers; I approached Gara de Nord relatively untroubled. That’s when I saw a body laying on the ground in front of the entrance. Again, something to which I’ve grown accustomed and is no longer a big ado. His friend, having a huffing bag in one hand, used her other in attempt to either awaken or move him and occasionally pulling up his pants that revealed the perpetual plumber butt. Venturing closer, I noticed the ground around his head was wet from his perspiration but the teenage huffer was out, he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I’m not certain if it was his youth, the empty look in his “helper’s” eyes, people literally stepping over him or simply witnessing the epitome of life that I gratefully will never know but my response was not only emotional. It captured me physically, I honestly felt it heart and soul – the blood drained from my face, the world around me became discombobulated and I broke out in a cold sweat. Other than those occasional morning dehydrations, this type of reaction has only happened to me once before…when I saw grandpa nearly paralyzed in the hospital after falling off the dock. Seeing the most physically fit and active 82 year old man you’ll ever meet, entirely incapacitated was not only devastating but a revelation of my existence – if the one person that I thought could do it all, in fact, cannot…who can? I couldn’t imagine why my body chose that time to react in such a manner for I had seen far worse, including death. And again yesterday at the station, why that particular huffer? For whatever reason it may be, I’m going to take it as a stern personal reminder that not one of is invincible. Not even Chuck Norris.

Becoming Miss Universe

After the disgruntling pageant loss of 2004, I realized that my answer “and to solve world peace” had been amiss. In fact, it had never been the right answer. Although it’s always been the default response in the interview portion, I’ve never truly believed in this mentality or even considered it to be a logical approach to life. So when I finally hankered down and opted to commit myself to applying for the Peace Corps, I knew my motivation was not to solve world peace.

While I have never even been remotely close to participating or interacting within the Beauty Pageant domain, and perhaps slightly exaggerate my experiences to further get my point across, I really am an honest person. Volunteering has taught and/or provided me with the opportunities to learn much of what I know, as well as greatly contributing to my even-keeled sanity (which I suppose is up for debate). Regardless, I’m a firm believer in:

“Helping someone else is the secret to happiness.” - Booker T. Washington And “Be the change you wish to see in the world.” – Gandhi

Thus, joining the Peace Corps was indeed another opportunity to serve others and hopefully be able to have a positive influence on at least one other person in some way or another. However, my true inspiration was for the opportunity to live amongst another culture. I’m not sure how my fascination of observing people (nothing creepy) began but I can genuinely people watch for hours. People are astounding morsels of existence that surrender to the society in which they live. And… I simply can’t get enough.

As I have perhaps alluded to before, I have not solved world peace (or at least not yet), probably haven’t provided much technical training or been of much help. But I realized that I’m okay with that. The cultural exchange has surpassed my expectations and has been more rewarding than I ever imagined. This, I recognize is self-serving, and kind of supports what I think almost any volunteer will tell you, that as an individual you gain much more than you give. However, I think the cross-cultural exchange and its positive effects that occur through Peace Corps are drastically overlooked. Never being a fan of missionary work, I was hesitant to join PC. Although we only serve in countries that make a request for our assistance, who are we to come in and change things around? But…by simply living amongst a foreign culture and working alongside them…there is much to be gained. You are introduced to entirely new mentalities, processes and an overall way of life. On both sides of the fence; myths, stereotypes and rumors are broken down…or even sometimes further enforced. Consequentially, you are able to provide living testimonies and share with others this new found information, whether you find it to be brilliant, efficient or ridiculously hilarious. Personally, I can’t think of or even fathom a better form of diplomacy. Except perhaps…World Peace.

Maramureș: The Ever Enchanting Excursion

Trekking through Maramureș was almost a fairy tale experience – it was like traveling back into time (or at least even further back into time than the Bucovina region). Although I finally spotted tractors versus the use of a scythe, the main road continuously led us through a plethora of remote villages, where life appeared to be at a standstill.

After our westbound departure from Cȃmpulung Moldovenesc, we attempted to pick up some additional students who live in other villages along the way to Cȃrlibaba. Unfortunately we were only successful in capturing a few others for a couple had to work (most likely in the fields or picking berries and mushrooms) and one was simply too tired after a 3 day wedding. Nevertheless, we had a van (almost) full of ecstatic kids and continued on through the Prislop Pass, who’s tightly wound bouncy mountainous roads served as a catalyst for what seemed like a non-stop puking rotation amongst the students for the next 36 hours.

We made a pit stop in Moisei to see a circular monument that was created to honor the 31 victims who were shot by Hungarian troops, who then also set fire to the entire village in 1944. One of most impressive wooden monasteries (Maramureș is known for its wooden structures, particularly churches) that we saw on this excursion was Bȃrsana Monastery. This religious compound only amplified the enchanting manner that the day had taken on. While the shingles were not made of peppermint candies nor the towers of licorice, I half expected Hansel and Gretel’esc like figures to come walking out. However, thinking back now, there was a poor little fawn named Bambi caged alongside a peacock. And speaking of licorice, I recently received an import of Twizzlers from my grandma that I brought along to share with the children. They thoroughly enjoyed them but they were like “what is this cauciuc (rubber) you’re feeding us?” Nevertheless, I was amused.

Weaving around căruțas, cows and bunici, our van ran parallel with the Ukrainian border until we reached our final destination, Săpȃnța. The attraction here being Cimitirul Vesel (the Merry Cemetery), where death isn’t so bleak and mourners are filled with hope. Since 1935, a village wood sculptor has donned each grave with a personalized carved cross displaying a painted picture and an etched limerick, providing a witty synopsis of their life. The painted blue crosses further embodied my magical experience; never before had I walked through a cemetery with such comfort and warmth in my heart. I must admit I have taken an uncanny interest in these life capturing grounds throughout this past year. Cemeteries provide you with a glimpse into the society in which it is located. Whether it is a historical, cultural or economical indicator, one can capture a foretaste of the people around.

Our last visit was to Muzeu al Gȃndirii Arestate (the Museum of Arrested Thought) that is housed in the former maximum security prison in the town of Sighetu Marmației. This museum was created “In memory of the young, intelligent people at the forefront of Romanian intellectual life who were imprisoned because they did not believe in communism and died, through torture, in this odious prison.” Walking through the cells that now display various aspects of the suffering that the communist regime caused was truly a sobering experience. The concept of eliminating a country’s intellectuals and filling higher leadership positions with the uneducated in order to secure power is honestly mind-boggling. Although I have been slowly piecing together the aftermath of communism in Romania, I am continuously astonished by the atrocities that were inflicted against their own people.

Additionally, having read Night, I was intrigued to discover that Sighet was the home of Elie Wiesel and also the place from which he was deported during WWII. It’s been fascinating (in a shocking manner) to learn that Romania use to have one of the largest Jewish populations in the world until then, when their many Jews and Gypsies were tortured, deported and sent to their deaths. The complexity of this country’s history has been utterly enthralling.

This excursion was part of a social integration project Traveling Beyond Barriers that I have been doing in collaboration with Centrul Școlar, a school for students with special needs, and Fundația Orizonturi, an NGO working with mental health service users. These individuals have limited resources and opportunities to explore their surroundings, let alone learn about the area in which they directly live. This project allows them to do so in an alternative learning environment amongst their community members. Traveling Beyond Barriers is not only helping improve the empowerment, education and health of the students and users but also invites the community to look beyond the stigmas that are so deeply ingrained in society.