Reconsidering...

Part of me tells myself to cut ties from this blog entirely. That chapter in my life is over. I’m no longer living abroad but much to my surprise, living back at home…I often find myself in a foreign land, amongst a foreign culture and yes, even amid foreign languages. It is wonderful to be back with my amazing family but there are enough days that I’m nostalgic for my life in Romania. So 5 months after being away, I’ve come to the conclusion that part of me will always be Lost In Transylvania. Something will always be lost in translation (despite no difference in language), and at any given point in life…I will be lost.

But I don’t want to live life always seeking, for seekers never see what’s right in front of them. However, writing allows me reflect on this “lostness”, more so what is often lost right in front of us…the little aspects in life.

Starting entirely over in a familiar place has its advantages. There’s people you still love, there’s people who still love you, there’s people who you no longer have anything in common with other than a past, you see old parts of life with new eyes and remember how much you treasure certain aspects, and there’s some parts that you can’t quite grasp why you ever enjoyed it so much before. It’s invigorating, it’s exciting and it’s emotional.

Surpriza Ciobănașului

Post #70…my final dispatch from the land of Romania. It’s my second to last night in Cȃmpulung Moldovenesc: so many goodbyes behind me and yet, the hardest ones are still ahead. Although I’ve been giving away my things like they were the hottest items on the market since the Beanie Baby, I haven’t been able to make the jump to the actual packing stage – and anyone familiar with my superior dilly dallying skills knows that I could easily fill my last 48 hours doing just that. While it’s still not entirely clear to me what I’m packing for, I realized it needs to be done if not for the sole reason that it’s on my To Do list. Finding a pauza from my distractions, I finally began the daunting task of packing my life back up into 2 bags…but of course not before fac’ing my very last foc and turning to my bestest and most consistent friend…Europa FM, which is conveniently playing The Final Countdown as we speak…she never fails me.

Obviously I’ve stayed focused on the task since I’m now writing but I’ve already painted my toe nails and was running low on procrastination antics. But as the ole saying goes… “Procrastination is a lot like masturbation; in the end…you’re only fucking yourself” …so… I’ll keep this short.

One of the aspects that I have enjoyed the most of being in Romania is the pure spontaneity…that element of surprise that never once missed a day. At least once a day, something (good or bad) made me ask myself if this was really happening and in the end never failed to bring a smile to my face. Aside from the wonderful friends I’ve made here and the breathtaking landscape that I got to wake up to each morning, I will bar none miss the flabbergasting shenanigans the most. The constant exposure to newness creates an amazing stimulation in life. Just yesterday, 3 days before I depart my home in Bucovina; for the very first time in my life I heard a real live Cuckoo Bird and used a tampon without an applicator! You see…they’re not always huge affairs, in fact they rarely are but they are simply new and with the right frame of mind (or perhaps a catawampus one)…quite exciting!

I’m not sure if it’s been merely the fish out the water phenomenon, the Peace Corps experience or Romania but I’d like to acknowledge all three and thank everyone who has crossed my path along the way – I’ve truly had the time of my life. Baga mare!!

Lăcrima

Of all the times I could have publicly cried…the tears came today. I didn’t expect it nor could I fight it. Today was a hard day of goodbyes, not only to the people but the way of life.

Although much time has passed and I can now pick up the general direction of conversation, I found myself unconsciously blocking out the foreign sounds of the language as I did exactly 2 years ago when I first attended the cenaclu. Ironically, I might have even been wearing the same outfit (yes, I’m looking forward to new clothes). My mind wandering and thought hopping as it attempted to address the mental disarray; particularly…what have I gotten myself into this time?

At the end, the members thanked and presented me with a traditional homemade cloth; and that’s when I suddenly realized that this would possibly be the last time I would attend an activity…the tears began and despite my best efforts (and trust me they were, as much as I hate talking in front of people I hate to cry in front of them even more) they wouldn’t stop. Regretfully, I was not able to compose myself to say more than Vă mulțumesc.

The situation was slightly awkward because the majority of the people in attendance today were new patients from the hospital that I had never met before; and although the members I did know were saying kind words, I knew they weren’t feeling the same intense sentiment as I but that’s easily because I’ve gained so much more than I was able to offer.

Also in attendance was the curator of the local ethnography museum; he shared some of his experiences and upon finding out that I was leaving presented me with a wooden spoon (fairly traditional to the area, and remember, Cȃmpulung Moldovenesc does host the largest wooden spoon museum in Europe…if not the only!) I’m not sure if I was more in awe by his pure generosity or the fact that he just happened to have a large carved wooden spoon in his briefcase.

Afterwards, some of the students who I’ve spent the most time with came to the Blogging club and gave me a thank you note that they had all signed. One girl who’s in the process of slipping through the cracks and hasn’t attended any activities in almost a year came today…her mere presence impressed me but then I read what she wrote;

“Să nu uitați niciodată că mai aveți o familie și în Romȃnia.” -Andreea

“Never forget that you also have a family in Romania.”

What more can I say…today it was hard to say goodbye.

Filling Voids

Walking through the streets I use to see people who I could have sworn was someone from home; and since I often had the time and was always in need of a friend I took the next step past the double take, which of course, would rationally be stalking. However, one can only stalk so many people and join in random funeral processions out of curiosity for so long…so I’ve finally wrapped my head around the concept that the coincidence rate of bumping into a previous acquaintance in the same small logging town in the Eastern Carpathian mountains is quite low and frankly, not reasonable thinking of a sane mind. Not wanting my new (potential) friends to think that I didn’t possess a sound psyche; I learned to semi-surrender the stalking and simply continue the conversation with myself, “oh, there’s the Romanian version of Ralphie or crazy Aunt Linda.”

Today I started thinking of how I’ve replaced those faux-friend sightings with new faces and images. It’s kind of strange how some of the hardest things to leave will be the ideas and people that filled the voids of what I missed the most and had the hardest time adapting to when I first came to Romania. This only further strengthens my belief that to quit an addiction or habit, it must be replaced with another. Yet, some relationships and aspects are irreplaceable, so I adapted, stretching my emotional and mental creativity. I may not have done many things right or accomplished much but I found what I needed to survive…and sometimes, they even found me.

My neighboring bunica was one of two people who sought me out. Okay, one of three but that third man might be a few sandwiches short of a picnic basket. The other was a neighbor girl. Literally, they were the only two people in the past 2 years who made that first move to introduce themselves to me. Those two individuals helped fulfill the grandmotherly and sisterly bonds that have always been an important constant in my life. I’m sure bunica and girl will never know how important of a role they have played.

As I’m starting to say goodbyes, there seems to be a surprising theme developing; a request that I send them a wedding invitation. The first time it happened, I responded, “But I’m not getting married.” Bunica says, “No, when you go back to America of course,” as if upon re-entry to the country I will be assigned a fiancée. After spending some time in another culture, I’ve gotten quite good at stifling a smirk and just agreeing to the topic at hand…whether it be that I’m going to freeze my ovaries because I’m not wearing slippers, fall ill to the curent or that Palinka really is incredibly healthy for you. So I agree to send Bunica my wedding invitation, only to realize that it wasn’t particularly because she wanted to celebrate this occasion with me. The request was more so a threat, making sure that I do in fact get married because what else could I possibly do next.

As I’m starting to pack…okay, I’ll be honest…I started consolidating months ago…thanks to my ever trusty soba, my Peace Corps manuals were the first to go. Nevertheless, the bookshelf on my porch has become the rack of my unwanteds and even some of the wanteds that just aren’t going to be making the cut for the 2 bag limit home. It’s quite obscene what I have amassed in the short time I’ve been here…not so much the amount but the absurdity of the what. Regardless, I have shamelessly started leading my visitors to this enchanted shelf to see what they would like to take off my hands. This activity has quickly become my new favorite…as I demonstrate the gloriousness of post-it flags, shower caps and decorative holiday oddities. Today, my landlady asked when my “store” would be open again.

Cafea - Not Just Caffeine

Over the past few weeks I’ve started writing a million and one thoughts but haven’t finished one. I just couldn’t find a way to accurately transfer what was in my head onto a sheet of paper nor a blank computer screen. Partially because half the time I didn’t know what was in my head and the rest of the time I felt like I was in a glass cage of emotions. It wasn’t until a friend read my coffee grounds that I even knew where to begin… “it appears as if someone has pooped on your heart but then…there’s also someone dancing next to your heart.” It made perfect sense - why hadn’t I thought of that? It’s all true. One day I’m terrified to go back to all the things that once seemed normal – speaking English, waiting in lines, things that I had often desired for a sense of comfort - but now are no longer my norm. Yet the next day, I’m tickled pink by the simple thought of soon being able to mow the lawn.

Counting Sheep

Although I lay beneath the protection of the Iron Curtain (my 92 pound comforter that I like to think was made 92 pounds for cold winters but is actually 92 pounds because it is in fact 92 years old), I still lay awake at 5am. At this point, I just don’t think sleep is meant to be. Perhaps it’s the warmth of the room that keeps me awake, or perhaps the strangeness of being in only a t-shirt and a single pair of pants. It’s been 3 days since I’ve worn a pair of long underwear. Furs are dwindling. Yesterday the temperature of the bathroom was tolerable enough to shave my legs. My fac’ing foc (making fire) efforts are slowly diminishing. Bunica’s are beating their rugs. Vin fiert is hard to find. The dogs are getting friskier. I think…just maybe…that spring has finally decided to grace us with her presence.

Traveling Beyond Barriers

Two years ago when I was assigned to be a volunteer for both Fundatia Orizonturi and Centrul Scolar, I truly had no idea what was in store for me. Little did I know, I would get to work with the best of both worlds; adults and children, nongovernmental and state entities, small and large work environments, volunteer and paid employees, and the list could go on forever. Not only have I gotten to experience these aspects individually but I also got to see them come together through various collaborations.

Our project, Traveling Beyond Barriers, created a unique experience in that rarely do the groups described above get to work together, let alone successfully. I consider myself fortunate for I believe that I am among few, not just in Romania but throughout the world, who get to participate in such an opportunity.

However, through all these differences and observations, not just in this project but also from my work experience prior to Romania, there is one significant similarity; the successful impact of social integration. Anywhere you go, people are labeled, categorized and treated accordingly. Inevitably the mind applies labels in order to file information but it us, as individuals and as a society, that choose to exclude someone. Regardless of our own label, we all simply want the opportunity to be a part of the world that surrounds us... and when social inclusion presents itself, we flourish. The following link leads to the project magazine that was developed to demonstrate how the project participants thrived in their own community but fails to entirely illustrate the illumination of their souls!

A Case of the COS Blues

I’m not sure what it is… Life has entered the state of continuous evaluation; evaluations of projects, of my service, of my time spent, of the people I’ve met and the memories I’ve made.

Yet life is in limbo… A period of transition, where it’s difficult to not live preparing for the future…difficult to not dwell on the gloriousness of the past two years…and difficult but so very important to live in the moment.

I remember the feeling all too well… A constant state of anxiety and excitement for what’s to come and sadness for what’s about to end, wondering each time I do something, go somewhere, or see someone if it will be the last.

Closing Time

When I joined the Peace Corps, I expected to spend the next 27 months with the Tree Hugging Granola types but I was instantly proven wrong when we all met for the first time in Philadelphia two days before departing for Romania. There were people from all walks of life; from 21 to 70 years old, recent college grads to retired lawyers, as well as liberals and conservatives. It was a grand mixture of characters, each of us a misfit in our own way. I mean how could we not be...you gotta be a little quirky in the head to do something like this! So there we were, on our own little Misfit Island…all searching for new red lights to guide the way. It was strange how fast we all gelled and got to know each other; it was and has been like no other experience. Truthfully, I’ve become friends with people that I would have never been friends with at home. Strange situations bring strange people together, and I’m so very grateful for such an opportunity to see into the minds of so many unique people. Akin to my situation at site, not having many people my age in Cȃmpulung, I have generally befriended mostly much older and even some younger Romanians. However, I wouldn’t trade them or the opportunity for anything else! I fancy that the majority of the social norms that I grew up developing were so easily pitched out the window. There is an indescribable greatness that comes from the unexpected…even if it is simply for the pure ridiculousness that the expected cannot foresee.

Ironically, during the last two months I wanted to go home more than any other time since I’ve been here. So needless to say, I was really looking forward to going to the COS (Close of Overseas Service) Conference; and even more so for the opportunity to take a long hot shower and finally shave my legs in a heated bathroom (much to our surprise the ritzy hotel had swanky bathrooms with frosted glass walls and showers that didn’t exactly “frost” your unmentionables.) Any who…we all (minus the 10 fallen ones, and by “fallen ones” I mean they’re still alive they just went home early) met again one last time for our COS Conference. All of us changed by our own experiences here; some physically and some mentally (including maturely, intellectually & emotionally), most for the better but even some for the worse. We had our final language test, sang a little Kumbaya, celebrated making it to the end and said goodbye one last time.

However, now that it’s over and I’m in the homestretch, I don’t want it to end. As difficult as it may be, I love how many people can come in and out of your life, leaving irreversible impacts along the way. It seems like the good ones always get away but I know that’s not always true for I suppose the good ones are the ones who have stuck with you through it all. Nevertheless, it just seems that there is always a new beginning that never flourishes because it comes at an end. For the time being, I’m riding the train back to Camp Mo and I can only hope that life continues to be as bright as the hot pink Hello Kitty T-shirt being sported by a fellow passenger.

Connecting

Last week I had the opportunity to help translate the thoughts of one of our blogging participants in an interview for Rising Voices, who funded our Blogging The Dream project. I feel as if I’m often walking through a fog of confusion because I’m never confident that I really know what my Romanian friends and co-workers are saying. In sitting down and directly translating Geta’s words to English, I was able to see so clearly. After working with her for 2 years, I felt like I finally understood and could connect on a new level, a level that you generally share with only a few. Her words moved me and her strength inspired me.

Geta explained that she titled her blog Singuratate (Loneliness), “because loneliness is the most profound feeling in which I have. I’m convinced that there are many people in the world with this feeling, people who live alone, isolated, without friends, without people nearby to open a door or to say an encouraging word.”

As we hoped to achieve through Blogging The Dream, blogging has become an outlet for Geta; “I would like readers to know that it’s hard to fight with a shyness that prevents you many times from externalizing. It’s hard to keep inside your concerns, thoughts, fears, joys and even enthusiasm. And when I manage to get this all out, I feel more free.”

See Geta’s interview article here.

A Ray of Light

A few weeks ago I helped some friends move into a new bloc apartment. The other people helping were some of the most welcoming and happiest people that I have met in Romania. One in particular won me over and became my new best friend…a 3 year old name Amelia. Between carrying in loads of whatever, I played an array of games, including piața and hide-n-seek (she never did quite understand why I couldn’t fit in the armoire.) Since then I’ve only had one other brief encounter with my new BF, as we passed in the streets, and I haven’t had much reason to be chipper…but that’s changed and she’s done it once again.

During my tutoring session yesterday, my tutor’s wife came home and asked if my life has drastically improved since meeting Amelia. I had to sit and think for a moment because the past little while hasn’t been that particularly grand. Seeing my efforts to think, Lori offered some help… “Because Amelia has been praying for you every single day. If she forgets to say your name at a meal, she’ll drop to her knees as soon as she remembers ‘and Betsy too!’” I was brought back to life. I hope I never forget the small individual moments that make life worth waking up to every morning.

Let's Talk About Sex

Today brought many smiles. We finally implemented the last big project with which I’ll be assisting; a 10 week sexual education initiative at the school. What makes this project unique is that sex ed. does not exist in the Romanian school system…period, end of sentence. At this particular school, the majority of the students come from low socioeconomic and unstable homes that lack positive role models; and they tend to get trapped in the perpetual cycle of becoming extremely young parents. We had four groups of children, starting at 5^th grade and up to 11^th. And it’s true…kids say the darnedest things! “Doamna, învățăm cum să facem sex? (Missus, are we learning how to have sex?)” It was fun to hear what they had to say and see their giddiness in talking openly with an adult about the topic – I often had to bite my cheek to keep from giggling. The other aspect that left me in amazement was the classroom management and skill of the trainer that came today…it was like a breath of fresh air!

Taking One Step Back

After discussing my soon to be bitter sweet return home; I realized there was a deeper meaning to these anxieties that have been building up over the past few days. There is a great possibility that I won’t get into grad school and I’ll have to figure out a plan b, which I suppose would be the job route. Then I start the panic mode of no job, no money, and no car. Then I start remembering all the pesky things I don’t have to worry about here, like health insurance, car insurance, etc. I won’t lie, in terms of those things, life here has been easy; simple but easy. Peace Corps takes good care of us; it probably will be the least hassle free life I lead. Then I remember the fast pace life I left two years ago. There are aspects and activities that I miss but definitely not all the little stressors that come with it. Here I have time to take care of myself and lead a healthy life. I have the time to cook meals, exercise, and not to mention, breathe. Then I get thinking of how confident and content I have become….but only as an extremely independent individual. Will I be able to continue that when I return home? Sure I won’t be isolated anymore but will I resort to the bad habits that the fast pace life drives you to? I don’t want to get sucked back in… I’m afraid to return to how I was.

I’m anxious I won’t get into school because I’m not ready for the job route but I’m also anxious to get accepted. Of course going back to school puts you into a whole different mode but as I dig deeper into my soul…I realize the real reason is that it brings me back even further to a time I wish to never relive. Most people will tell you college was the best years of their lives….sure I had some good times but honestly, those were the worst years of my life and I really don’t care to rehash any of those days. I’m afraid to return to that mental and physical state….a constant state of falling…a state of desperation…a state of wanting out.

So all these feelings of the past are resurfacing…and I’m afraid to take even one step back, including back onto the plane, back over the pond and back to “real life.”

Nobody's Business But the Turks!

Note to Self: Get a Turkish Bath before you die! Why? Well…because it’s awkward! Not to mention, you’ve never before been so clean and smooth. Even the Turkish vendors will yell… “Hey, shiny ladies!” instead of the regular “Hey spice girls” as you walk through the Spice Market or “Hey yellow lady” to your blond friend or “Excuse me, you dropped something. No really, you did drop something…Oh! It moved inside!” while navigating your body through the Grand Bazaar.

Since this would probably be the only time any of us would endure the gloriousness of bathing in Turkey, we decided to splurge and go all out. In Istanbul, we went to Cağaloğlu Hamam and purchased the Sultan’s package. We figured we couldn’t go wrong given that this particular Hamam has been in use since 1741, has served the likes of people such as King Edward VIII, Florence Nightingale and Cameron Diaz, is claimed to be in the top 5 bathhouses in the world, and listed in the book 1,000 Places to See Before You Die.

Step one, we can have lots of fun. After selecting the Sultan’s package, we were given a kese (a coarse mitt) and led to the women’s corridor. There are cubicles surrounding the corridor lounge; and we were each led to our own little cubicle to change our cloths – we each came out of our rooms with a miniature peștemal wrapped around us and wearing wooden sandals that were so large we had to shuffle along like Geishas.

Step two, there’s so much we can do. At that point, we are each greeted by our own personal bather, who led us through the soğukluk (an intermediate room with a temperate passage from the changing rooms to the hararet (the hot room). Once in the hararet, our ladies sat us around the outside of the room next to a fountain of hot water. There we sat on the hot marble

ground in just our underpants and were instructed to pour the hot water over ourselves. This part would have been far more awkward if I hadn’t had the practice at the

Black Sea last summer. We chatted, splashed and giggled amongst our harem.

Step three, it’s just you for me. After steaming our skin for a good 25 minutes, our ladies returned in swimsuits and led each of us to one of the edges of the giant marble octagon in the center of the room. There, we were gently laid onto our backs, with someone else’s feet at my head, and my feet at someone else’s head. We then handed our coarse loofah type mitt over to our bather and she went to town. I thought that maybe we would have started laying on our stomachs while we got to know each a little but nope, we jumped right into the deep end of the awkwardness pool. “Lady, it okay?” As she scrubbed my arms I could see the dead skin coming off in massive amounts…I wondered what I would be left with. I was then motioned to roll over. However, as I sat up the small of my back suctioned to the wet marble slab and as I pulled away, it made a giant farting sound. “Lady, no problem.” Still giggling to myself, I rolled over and soon found more to smile about as she yanked my underwear down to get the top of my butt and then made them into a thong so she could get the bottom. After the de-skinning, she stood me up (underwear still in a homemade thong) and led me back over to my fountain to get rinsed off. The Geisha shuffle proved to be even more difficult on the wet ground so I was nearly hanging on my much shorter Turkish lady. During the rinsing, I glanced over to my friend who was getting water dumped down the backside of her underwear. I’m still laughing just writing about it!

Step four, I can give you more. We were led back to the marble slab for a massage and then back to the fountain for another rinsing. “Lady, Sultan for you.” Which apparently meant, lay down next to this fountain so I can give you a foam massage with a horse tail. If I had to choose one thing to do with out, it would have been that, but nevertheless, it was still wonderful. After another rinsing, she shampooed me up and surprisingly combed my hair! “Lady, you like.” We were shuffled along to an even hotter room to sit for as long as we wanted. Upon leaving the hot rooms, we were given a towel and directed back to our changing cubicles, that also had hair dryers and beds, if we so desired to take a nap.

Step five, don’t you know that the time has arrived. By this point I was so relaxed, it was as if nothing in the world could ever be a problem. We all walked out squeaky clean as if we were floating on air. Ignoring the instructions to go home and rest, we headed to the best kebab house in town. I’m sure ingesting the delicious eggplant-garlic-yogurt combination and an Efes beer was far better than resting. Thank goodness we didn’t bath until our last day (in the Turkish sense) otherwise I would have never overindulged in Apple Tea, been awed by the Ayasofya, crossed the Bosphorus Straight to Asia, been dizzified by the Whirling Dirvishes, learned Rugs 101, discovered the long-armed Ottomans of Topkapi Palace or heard the call for morning prayer.

Înghețat but Thawed by the Serenading Sheep

Although I found frost in my bathroom and couldn’t seem to get warm anywhere I went, today was definitely one of the better days I’ve had in a while. Lots of new and “only in Romania” moments that reminded me of why I stayed.

Since there isn’t any heat in the old house where my organization rents a room it had completely frozen over by the time participants had come for cenaclu, the literary club. Only those who came in from the villages opted to stay and much to my surprise for the entire 2 hours. So there the 6 of us sat fully dressed head to toe, not staying anywhere near warm but having a grand time. One of my favorite ladies, Steluța, was wearing a giant coat made from an animal – perhaps even two. She kept saying, “I’m not cold, I’ve got this little sheep keeping me warm!” and then proceeded to sing traditional Romanian folk songs the entire time. If you could only see this lady in action, you too, would be grinning from ear to ear! I found a jug of water in the protection of a cupboard so it wasn’t frozen solid. We opted to make some coffee and since no one else had ever used a coffee maker with a filter before…I got voted most likely to know what to do. For the record, I never really made coffee until I came here and even now it has never been with a filter. Anywho, I gave it a whirl, adding the slushy (ice chunky) water into the apparatus. It eventually came out hot but they all asked if I had made tea. Apparently we Americans drink our coffee entirely too weak. More than anything, I was impressed by their enthusiasm to simply be there together despite the circumstances.

While the day progressed, only my heart continued to thaw out as I made my rounds to my tutor, running into little Amelia and her mother who I had recently met and were full of nothing but kind words, spending some time with a good friend’s family, having an English lesson with my neighbor girl and finally over to my landlords, who always insist I come in for at least 1 glass of țuica. For the first time, it felt like home everywhere I went. Days like this, even just the individual moments are what I’m going to miss. When I left home it was difficult but I knew I’d be coming back; but this time around, I’m not sure if I’ll ever have the opportunity to return.

Ode To My Soba

“I was still cold: not the pleasant, temporary cold of the West, where you get warm as soon as going indoors; but the grinding, continuous cold of Eastern Europe, where your stomach and ribs ache from clenching your muscles for hours on end, bent over, trying to keep warm.”
– Robert Kaplan, Balkan Ghosts

I stand corrected; this has been the coldest week of the winter. Although my entire life has been filled with far more frigid winters in the Land of 10,000 Lakes the cold I experience here is on an entirely different plane. Until now, I’ve never had the good fortune of being able to walk to all my daily destinations. It makes for a less stressful commute, not to mention having to worry on those cold mornings whether or not the car is going to start or if all the doors are going to be frozen shut so you have to climb in through the miniature hatchback window. Back at home, I never had the luxury of a garage but even so, once I got all those car windows scraped I could get out of the biting nip and sip my hot coffee while I waited (or most likely didn’t) for all the windows to defrost before heading out. After finally arriving at work, school, the mall or anywhere really…I could best be assured that I would be greeted by a ridiculously overheated building (unless of course it was my father’s home). So really, winter boots, big jackets, snow pants and long underwear were reserved for outdoor activities and well, quite frankly, old folks. However, I now bear all just to go into my bathroom. After a brisk walk to the foundation or school, one is not necessarily welcomed by a great sense of warmth (in terms of temperature); and it’s not uncommon for people to keep their winter gear on inside throughout the day. Yet, I don’t have any complaints because this is what I have been waiting for…the frosted trees that are absolutely breathtaking and the squeaking snow under my footsteps. Perhaps I’m still cold but quite content.

Even though I struggled with my soba (mostly on account of wet wood) my first winter, and slowly accepted the early onset rheumatism the continuous cold brought, I fell in love with the ceramic tower. The adoration has only grown now that I have mastered the ole girl (AKA I have dry wood). Except on the days with Sub-Siberian temps, the clenching muscles are now set aside for shower days, however sparse they may be. But even then, I have my soba awaiting with warm socks and undies!

Okay, it’s true. I really did try to write an actual Ode to My Soba but it was beyond lame and I will not display it to the world…I frown upon my lack of creativity.

Looking Back...

Coming up on the two year mark, it’s hard to imagine that I only have 3 months left. Given I have not been back to the Motherland since I left two years ago, I am ecstatic to go home. If it weren’t for that one key factor (never going home), I truly believe it would be beyond difficult to leave. As I’ve mentioned several times before, I like life here. I have made new friends, new hobbies…essentially, a new life. Regardless of any frustrations and negative aspects…even if had all been negative, it would still be hard to leave because nevertheless, this has been my life and let’s be honest…change is hard.

I’m sure I’ll have many more reflections to come before I leave but looking back, I started to think about all the opportunities that I have encountered. So far… in 2 years I have:

*Fallen in 0 holes in the streets of Cȃmpulung

*Pooped my pants Once

*Received 1 dog nip

*Found a cat in my house Twice

*Gone through 2 pairs of Yak Tracks

*Probably eaten 3 pigs entirely on my own

*Slipped on ice numerous times but have only fallen 4 (first into a giant puddle of slush, second carrying my wood, third trying to rapidly sprint up my front steps & lastly, trying to catch snowflakes on my tongue)

*Owned 5 pairs of long underwear

*Hosted 7 visitors from home in four rounds (Megan, Mom & Dad, Missy & Brittany, Meghan & Lindsay)

*Studied 8 Jehovah Witness magazines in Romanian

*Hitch hiked on 9 encounters

*Used 10 cubic meters of fire wood

*Been to 11 Countries (Romania, Ireland, Hungry, Poland, Bulgaria, Macedonia, Albania, Greece, Austria, Germany and Turkey)

*Had at least 12 successful sewing encounters (zipper replacement, crotch patch, slipper repairs, hemmed pants, duvet cover fixing & holy socks)

*Drunk approximately 18 liters of homemade booze (țuica, afinata, palinka, vin, etc.) but lets be honest…it was probably more

*Finished reading 19 books (that I can remember) and quit 2 (A Thousand Splendid Suns, Living Poor: A Peace Corps Chronicle, Middlesex, Breakfast of Champions, Bury Me Standing, Atrocity at Auschwitz, Santa Cruise, Night, 19 Minutes, Balkan Ghosts, Dracula, The Painted Vail, some Bulgarian spy book, 112 pages of War and Peace, Siddhartha, Pillars of the Earth, Innocent Traitor)

*Listened to 20 “This American Life” Podcasts

*Taken 21 four hour round trips on Maxi Taxis to Suceava for packages

*Posted 55 Blog Entries

*Slurped 99 bowls of Ciorba Radauțeana

*Maybe (keyword being maybe) taken 336 showers

*Spent Hundreds of hours on trains

*Used Thousands of matches

*Experienced ∞ awkward moments