Friday, August 17, 2012

Peace Corps Email #6

La Multi Ani

Original Sent Date: November 10, 2004

My teachers say that I am officially a Moldovan.  I passed (I think!) my language proficiency exam, which was basically a 30 minute conversation in Romanian where I had to demonstrate a knowledge of all types of verbs and a lot of vocabulary.  It was scary, but, hey, I've been living here 2 months and I've got to figure out how to communicate at some point, right?

I also hosted my first Masa (it's a party, but Masa technically means table).  I made quesadillas from scratch and my host mom made some Placenta (if you don't know what that is, you're so missing out).  We celebrated my birthday like Moldovans-- with a lot of wine/vodka.  Here, instead of spanking the number of years you are, they put you in a chair and lift it up.

Crazy, huh?  Then, they pulled my ear 23 times.  As the host of the masa, it was my responsibility to make sure NO ONE, EVER, EVER ran out of wine.  No problem, right?  I also was required to lead the Hora, a dance where you just twirl in a circle for hours.  

On Monday, I move to my site and start work.  My host family keeps telling me that I don't have to move and I can just take the maxi-taxi everyday for 1 1/2 hours each way.  It's sad, because we all keep misting up about me leaving.  I'm going to miss them, even though they make fun of me when I wear my "American" clothing: translation-- I refuse to wear high heels in the mud and instead opt for the taboo, ugly, galoshes. Eh.

Oh, I figured out how you all in the states can send me text messages for FREE!  Go to and click on "SEND SMS"  when that site pops up, you don't need this info.  In the lower box, type your messages of love and adoration.  Or, you know, hate and loathing.  Either way, it would be good to hear from you all...

Random thing: The other day my host mom killed a chicken.  No big deal, right?  Yeah... she cut off its head (a delicacy) and carried it inside on a big knife (can you picture this??).  She took the cover off the gas stove so that HUGE FLAMES where shooting out of the stove.  Then, she singed the feathers off the chicken.  It freaked me out,and I told her that I was afraid of both the HEAD and the FEET of the chicken.  (Mi-e frica de calpul si talpul puilui!!!) 

They think I'm crazy, because I don't eat those body parts or the ear of a freshly killed pig.  Hey, I figured I sacrificed when I ate pickled tomatoes (surprisingly good...).

Alright, I've got to run.  Hope to hear from you all!

Love and Smooches,


My host mom and me at my birthday party.

Other volunteers at the birthday party.

Language class with help by the cat, who I named Count Chocula.

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