My first day of classes is over and, well, I’m still alive. Actually, things went quite well. Although I pretty much have syllabi for all my classes, today was just an introductory lesson. I took this idea from a book. I brought in my MP3 player and small speakers and asked the class to stand up. When I was playing the music (Jackson 5 – ABC,) the students would walk around the classroom, kind of mingling. When I would pause the music, I’d shout out a command that they’d have to complete quickly. The commands ranged from getting into groups of different sizes to working as a team to create a logo.

The logo part of the exercise was quite fun as I had the students come up to the board and draw the logo, then have other teams try to guess its meaning. It shed a bit of light on the personalities of the students, which is what I want to get to know. Then for the second exercise I broke them down into different groups and asked them to designate a secretary. Each group was given 5 minutes to write down as many uses as possible for a plastic tupperware container which I had brought in. After the 5 minutes I asked each group to say the 3-4 most interesting, and some were quite funny.

Then, if I had time, I did a similar exercise with a flower I had brought in. This one, however, was for verbs. On the board I wrote three categories: Nurture, Exchange, Destroy. The students had to come up with appropriate verbs of what they could do to/with the flower under these headings. Though this one was a little more difficult, they enjoyed it, especially Destroy. I have some more introductory classes for the rest of the week and I think I’ll stick with this format. I think it is a good creativity stimulator – something I’m sensing they get little of from most of their (older) teachers.

Next week is when I have planned lessons beginning. For History, Geography and Culture/Civ, I have pretty much come up with the topics already, with of course a few empty spots for what may come. The Conversation course, which constitutes the bulk of what I’ll be doing, is still gelling. I need to get a better grasp of the students’ levels first, so that I can decide how much “guided speaking” is necessary. Overall, though, the students’ English level is quite good, and I think my task will be to get them more comfortable with expressing themselves.

Next week is D day as on Monday school begins. Although just now the weather has been perfect every day (no rain at all,) I am ready. It has been a long road here, and it is time to get going in the place where I’ll be for a while. A few days ago, the Economic Officer from the American Embassy came by town and invited the four of us new volunteers out for dinner. It was quite an interesting talk. The man, as I found out, was not an economics person by training. He studied history as an undergraduate, and got a masters in German. He mentioned that he had a “person” to do all the number crunching work – he himself was the big picture guy. I found that very interesting. When I asked him what was the thing I needed most to impart to my students, he said, “ethics.” Although I am starting to see the signs of this, perhaps given my relative newness here, I’m not really completely privy to it; that is, the mentality here is “get rich quick,” and whatever happens to others happens to them.

I think that I received a very good education, but inexcusably, I learned little to nothing of the Communist/Soviet world and the new challenges it faces now. In Uzbekistan I got some of that, and here I’m starting to see that things are similar. The idea, primarily, that grades are given to a) reflect well upon the school and b) are manipulated with greater ease in direct proportion with the parents’ social/political/economic status. Sure, stuff like that happens in the United States, but the issue here is scale. For instance, I got an anecdote today about how at some technical schools, students will show up for the first time to the last class with some gifts and grade will be decided. I won’t face that at my school, but I know that subtle and strong pressures will be operating to reflect a sunny image.

It worries me because this generation of students is, as I see it, the make/break for a country such as Romania. Here we have a country that is less united as a whole than by regions. A mind numbing Communist past coupled with a brutal dictatorship have done great damage to what constitutes civil society. Yes, compared to Uzbekistan, things here are shiny, but underneath it is a bit nasty. The law is something to be manipulated, and it is often not merit, rather connections that bring success. Again, these things happen in the US, but here it is more blatant. That is the system, and most people accept the system. The man from the embassy told us two Romanian proverbs he had learned:

“The bowed head does not get cut off,” and, “Although the water flows, the rocks remain.”

It makes sense. He said that the real revolutionaries were either killed or have left. So I guess this is the system I am up against. I do have one great thing in my favor, though. These kids love the United States. Yeah, we are talking mostly about movies, music, and other low culture – and perhaps their admiration is misguided. But if I have that opening, perhaps that is how I begin to teach about ideas such as the social contract, fair play, and the courageous individual spirit, all positive qualities of the American ethos. And yeah, these days I’d feel like I was swimming against the tide if I was teaching these principles back home. But those kind of Americans (I am pretty sure,) don’t join the Peace Corps – they go and work for Bechtel.

Oh, and did you know that Halliburton has received a nearly 20 million dollar contract for cleanup in the storm’s wake. Ain’t it grand?

From Romunia,

Just a quick note of thanks to everyone who has dropped a line recently. I am having a little birthday party for myself that will include such luxuries as gin and tonic and tortilla chips. And it is finally sunny here, so might get to go swimming tomorrow! Aaaaah! I’m 23. Stay tuned for a surprise very soon…. Byeeeeeeeee.

Well I’ve now been at my new site for about two months. The way Peace Corps works here is that I have to live with a host family for two months before moving into my own apartment. I wasn’t thrilled about this, considering that I’ve been living with host families for the past 7 months, but things have turned out well. My new host family is quite well off and live in a brand new house (six months old.) I call it the “American Dream” house, because it is detached from others and has plenty of green space around it. And the family used to live in a soviet style block apartment, so this new house is a huge upgrade.

I am thrilled with my new site. Again, the city is called Tirgu Mures, and is absolutely beautiful. I had been waiting since the beginning of summer to go swimming, and it wasn’t till a few days ago that I go to do so. I went to this place called the “Weekend Complex” where they have two large pools, tons of snack bars, and music pumping throughout the whole place. And to most of my guy friends reading this, yes, the women were dressed (or not dressed) in the European sunbathing style…

But I think my host family (great people, more later,) wanted to show me that not all of Romania is like Tirgu Mures, so this weekend we took a trip up to the far northern part of the country, bordering Ukraine. We stayed with the family of one of my father’s co-workers. To begin with, just to get to their house was a feat in itself. When there was paved road, it seemed as if it was paved by a narcoleptic schizophrenic. We are talking major pot holes and strange grooves in random places as if somebody had come out with the intention of doing something, but lost interest after gouging the road a bit. So, sitting in our little Ford Fiesta, I felt like poor Frogger. After the 20 minute ride up unpaved roads, we came to the house. Now, let me first say that these people were quite hospitable. But truthfully, the living conditions there were as if time had stopped in the 19th century.

The kitchen did not have a gas stove; it was a cast iron affair heated by wood. There was no running water, and the pit toilet made those in Uzbekistan look like what you’d find at the Four Seasons. The stream outside the front of the house was littered with garbage, mostly plastic bottles and bags. All in all, it was a very unsanitary lifestyle, and quite frankly, a bit sad. But I could tell I was in for something like this before we even got there. See, the further out we drove, the more peoples’ clothing began to change. Here in Tirgu Mures, people dress in Western style clothing, women especially wear practically nothing. But up north, there seemed to be two styles of clothing, Romanian traditional, and the “ideal Communist man,” outfit. The former, see picture below, is quite charming, and the later, in typical Communist/Soviet style, is devoid of any colors other than gray and drab green. All the men there wore hats.

Before we left, we were invited over to the neighbor’s house for lunch. They had cooked some chicken in an outdoor grill and set up a small table by a large stack of hay in the backyard. It was delicious peasant food – greasy hearty and flavorful. They gave me tuica (swee-ka,) the traditional Romanian drink, and a beer. As I sat there in a bit of a buzz, surrounded by the stack of hay, chickens in the yard, Romanian women in traditional clothing and my host family, I felt very lucky, lucky to be able to be there and enjoy the moment, but also lucky that it would be but a moment and not a lifetime.

The previous evening I had had a discussion with my host father (in Romanian mind you,) about life before 1989, under the Communist dictatorship of Ceausescu. He was telling me all about how food was rationed and that each person was granted one kilo of beef for a month – this in the 1980’s. We spoke about transition, and how urban life and rural life was so different here in Romania. He had traveled to the Netherlands, and mentioned to me that the differences there were far less pronounced. When we returned to Tirgu Mures last night, I felt like I was re-entering the 21st century. My host father is a smart man. I’m not sure what he does, but he runs some business and has made a name for himself. He is enjoying the fruits of a Capitalist society and does not seem to be too guilty. But he’s not oblivious, and is troubled on many levels. Like the new jobs that are being created here, for instance. He understands that for the price of one American worker a company could have 12 here, and that the jobs created are mostly unskilled, meaning that the creative classes will continue to leave the country. And he realizes that within the country, the rural places will stagnate, as the best and brightest move to more cosmopolitan locales, leaving the rest behind.

On the ride back to Tirgu Mures we encountered a traffic jam in a little out of the way town. As we rolled by, a saw a man lying dead at the side of the road. Before returning to the house we stopped by the village where my host parents grew up to say a brief hello to the grandparents. Our timing wasn’t so good, however, as 8:00 PM is when the cows come home, seriously. About 200 cows were coming back from the pasture, walking down the middle of the street, breaking off one by one as each reached its respective domicile. My host sister mentioned, “stupid cows,” and I said back, “is it the cows, or is it us?” We all laughed. At the grandparents’ house there was a pear tree which had just ripened. We went around back and picked a pail as the late August moon hung low in the hazy night sky. The bats swooped overhead, sightlessly seeking their prey, and the cow in the shed munched quietly on its hay while being milked. We turned on the headlights and drove back towards the lights of the city.

End of PST2:

So, I’m officially a volunteer, again… Yesterday was the big swearing in ceremony in Brasov. I was particularly touched when both the CD and PTO mentioned we four Uzbek transfers during their speeches. Afterwords I took my gazda out for a drink, and then continued drinking with my friends… I had my first Long Island iced tea for a very long time, and then we headed to a Mexican (or at least as Mexican as you get in Romania,) restaurant where I had the very Mexican dish of pineapple chicken with mashed potatoes. We split a bottle of wine between the few of us, and then afterwords headed to another bar for digestives. I had my first grasshopper, again, in a very long time. After that we went to a bigger place where most of the group had gathered to celebrate. Considering that fact that this group is pretty sectarian, it was good to see everyone enjoying themselves. I paid like $4 for a Mohito, which was absolutely delicious. As we were trying to flag a cab to get home, a cop decided to be a jerk, so there was a little altercation which included, at one point, me screaming that he was a fascist communist pig. But we made it home, and this morning my friend and I made scrambled eggs; it was the best we could do considering that there aren’t really diners/pancake houses in this town. Come to think of it, they don’t even really have pancakes in Romania, though they do have almost everything else.

Funerals: I haven’t really been to one, but in Romania, no problem, because they come to you! The town I’m living in is kinda a mix between modern and provincial. When there is a funeral here, there is a big procession through the streets. At the front are people walking with some holding a large wooden cross with something draped over it. Then there is a band, mostly guys with big old tubas and horns, which plays a rather morose marching melody. Then comes the dead guy. He rides in a box with a plastic or canvass top, face showing, on the back of a flatbed truck, surrounded by flowers. As the procession moves down the street, people come out from the houses along the road, mostly standing by the gate or leaning out the window, and pay their respects by watching for a few minutes. It’s really surreal, especially how you hear the music before you even see the front of the procession, so you know it’s coming…

About nine in the evening last week I was walking back to my house from the bar/internet cafe (one place.) Behind me I could hear the clop clop clop of a horse trotting down the road. As it got nearer I could also hear the jingle jingle of the bells hanging from its blinders. It was pulling a wooden cart, which is common here, that was piled high with hay fresh from the field. A few young teenage boys were sitting atop the hay, talking and smoking a little. As the cart passed I got a deep smell of the hay which was absolutely beautiful and I stopped to watch the cart and the hay and the boys move down the street.