On the Farm

This weekend I went with my gazda parents to the country house where my gazda dad’s parents live. The most significant thing I noticed was the continuity with which they live inside and outside of the house. The stove (aragoz) was in something akin to a screened-in porch, but all the dishwashing was done in bowls outside on a table using boiled well water. I could say that life on a family farm seems simpler, but it is a lot of work. I was incredibly impressed by my 80 year old gazda grandmother (bunică) killing chickens, chasing the dog and pumping water from the well, while still having time to cook meals. My gazda mom was extremely busy the entire weekend as well. There was always something to do and when I tried to help, I was told I was the daughter (frată) and therefore should read the book I was told to bring - I read about 3/4 of it.


I did get to help feed the pigs and chickens - which just comprised of throwing the left over food into the pens - and was barked at a lot by their giant dog – Motu, who really looked more like a lion. They also have a large vegetable garden where they grow their own onions, tomatoes, dill, cucumbers and spinach. They are incredibly self-sufficient. My gazda dad is a beekeeper - or as his nephew put it, he likes to play around with BEES!! - Which proved to be dangerous because on Sunday my gazda bunică was stung three times!

My gazda grandfather (bunic) is wheelchair-bound, so we amused ourselves by him asking me if there are bugs and crows in America. His favorite pastime was pointing at an object and saying the Romanian word, which I would repeat and then say the English word. Did he have any interest in saying the English word? No, I suspect he was just checking to make sure the object did, in fact, exist in the English speaking world.

Another exciting "new" experience was taking a shower that did not involve buckets of water – though it was my first adventure with putting wood in a furnace to heat the water. I don’t think anyone even wants to hear about the toilet situation, so I'll leave it at that. Just another Peace Corps thing I’ll have to get used to.



On Sunday morning (dimineaţă)I accompanied my gazda mom to the cemetery to put flowers and candles at her parents' graves. While there, I had the chance to observe two widows singing what I assume to be an Orthodox mourning hymn. The experience made me both curious and uncomfortable.

This morning I got to observe the English teaching methods of two elementary school English teachers. Everyone in Romania is extremely generous - the two teachers even made breakfast pastries and coffee for us. The 5th and 6th grade children were very energetic to learn - the 5th grade class even asked for out autographs! Last Friday, we got to observe a couple high school classes and it may not be surprising that the high schoolers were much more shy about speaking in front of guests. The smaller children were adorable and since I may be teaching students from 5th grade to high school, it is good to observe a variety of possible teaching tricks - since that is still what I'm most concerned about developing during Pre-Service Training (PST).

Through the Looking Glass

The Romanian word for mirror is oglindă. For some reason, my love of musicals makes me want to call it galinda. After my first few dyslexic attempts, I finally tried to explain The Wizard of Oz to my gazda mom. This task proved to be somewhere between highly unlikely and impossible. My gazda mom’s issues with the “galinda” concept: 1) Witchcraft, in all forms is bad, and intelligent educated people do not believe in it. 2) “In Romania” there is no such thing as a good witch; therefore Glinda could not have been a good witch. 3) There is no good reason to make a film about witchcraft; therefore The Wizard of Oz must not be a good film. After assuring my gazda mom that I did not, in fact, believe in witchcraft, I dropped the subject and was content watching the Eurovision contest. (I decided it would be a really bad idea to bring up the flying monkeys).

Romanian Lessons

This week I started learning Romanian. I’ve always been somewhat of a language dork but I’m already enjoying more (and doing significantly better) than my foray into Chinese a few years ago. The way Peace Corps teaches language is through conversation. Our teachers, who are all extremely talented and knowledgeable Romanian natives, do not use any English to teach our lessons. We learn through pictures, activities and exaggerated pantomime. A lot of their lessons will be useful when I’m planning my own lessons for next year. I even enjoy the homework, even if I haven’t done a worksheet since high school. Today we learned some classroom words like chair (scoun) and paper (hârtie). The most entertaining moment was when another volunteer said she remembers thank you (cu plăcere) as “cup of cherries.”

Obviously, I’m having a lot of fun learning the language. I’m more concerned with the actual teaching component of this whole situation. There are a lot of volunteers that have experience teaching, and even experience teaching English as a foreign for second language. I’m not sure how my tutoring skills with help me with this, but the Peace Corps seems well equipped to prepare well, as long as I take initiative.

Every time I shower in Romania I get better at actually washing all the shampoo out of my hair. Bathing requires my gazda mom to boil pots of water to put in a bowl in the bathroom. Then I stand in the tub and use a large plastic mug to wash. Needless to say, my hair has looked relatively greasy the past few days. I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. I have absolutely no problem bathing this way (although I’m not sure how the boiled water stays so scalding hot for so long). I’m thinking of this as practice for next winter when the water turns freezing right after I take it off the stove.