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.