Hello,
I hope summer is going well in your corner of the world.
I guess this is my last “Moldmail”. It’s probably more appropriate, though, to
call this “MoldUkrmail” or “UkrMoldMail”
because it is about saying farewell to both
This mail is divided into the following sections:
*The
*Farewell to
*Journey from Khmelnytsky to Chisinau
*Saying Goodbye to Chisinau
*Epilogue and
If all has gone well, there are pictures connected with these trips and other
places not mentioned in the MoldMail on my photos.yahoo.com/reisefrau page.
Bridget
http://oocities.com/reisefrau
THE
I suppose the goodbyes began in May when I announced the schedule of the final seminars to teachers. Many of the teachers were sad to hear that I’d be leaving. One said, “what will we do without you?” I was flattered by that statement, and at the same time I thought to myself that if the teachers felt they couldn’t live without me then I hadn’t done my job properly. My purpose in the program (and on this planet in general, so my mother tells me) is to share what I have and move on, allowing people to continue to grow on their own.
A university teacher came to me around this time to discuss the formatting of the certificates I would be giving out at the end of the month. We spent much time negotiating the language of the certificates, which he said should be printed in both English and Romanian. It was difficult to get agreement on terms that were identical or nearly identical in English and Romanian and still fit the purpose of the seminars. We spent a good half hour before and after a seminar discussing the matter.
Another major negotiating factor was who should sign the certificates. He wanted four different people to sign, but I rejected that idea. For one thing, I didn’t think all of those names would fit on the on the certificate. Also, some of the names didn’t seem relevant to me, like the head of the faculty of foreign languages. The ETRC was part of the university, not of the foreign languages faculty. (Note for Americans: “faculty” in this part of the world means “school” or “department”, not the people who teach there). I wanted the ETRC director’s name on there but Larisa, the new ETRC director, felt it wasn’t her place to sign.
The worst part for me though was when the teacher requested
that the university rector sign it AND that the university stamp be included on
the certificate. I’ve known for a while
that in
I decided in the end to ask the Public Affairs Officer (PAO) at the U.S. Embassy, since she would be signing it as well and would be very likely to have an authoritative opinion on the matter. She said that she too would feel more comfortable giving out certificates in the same manner as last year’s—with only her signature and the Fellow’s signature, and no stamps.
A week before the certificates were to be given out, I told
the teachers what the Embassy’s decision was.
There was an uproar. Teachers complained that the certificates
would not be valuable. One teacher said
that she had convinced her university to rearrange her teaching schedule so she
could attend the seminars. If she got a
certificate without stamp, it wouldn’t be as useful. I tried to tell them that in
The resistance continued, however. The same teacher who helped write the language
for the certificate even suggested that having a certificate with a stamp could
elevate the political status of the English language in
Overwhelmed by the response, I had told the teachers I would email the Embassy again with the litany of complaints and concerns. The lead negotiating teacher thanked me for my efforts on the teachers’ behalf and said that I was between the hammer and the anvil. Nevertheless he continued to talk to me for another hour about the issue of certificates.
The PAO wrote back that evening and said I could ask the rector to sign and stamp the certificates, but that if he said he wouldn’t do it I shouldn’t push the issue with him.
I spend much of the weekend deciding how I would pitch this to the rector, and practicing how I would say it in Russian. I had to look up the words “sign” and “stamp” in the dictionary. I wondered if the teachers had considered the imposition they were placing on me when they made their demands for certificates. When I went to the rector on Monday, I started by telling him how much things had improved since the last time I’d gone to him with a list of concerns and problems with the center. I then added that I was there simply because the teachers wanted this certificate signed by him. He agreed without giving it a second thought.
I went back to the ETRC and printed out all of the certificates. Then I took them to the rector’s office. The rector’s office was locked, but a prorector’s secretary led me back down the hall to a classroom and opened the door. The rector was inside with a group of students, teaching physiology from a textbook he wrote. He stopped in the middle of his class to sign the certificates on both sides for all 63 teachers who would receive them. I was both embarrassed and impressed that he was giving up class time to sign the certificates for me.
After I left the rector’s office, I went to the “cancellaria”. The clerk there led me upstairs to another office where there was a lady who had the university stamp. She put the stamp on both sides of all the certificates while we had a nice chat in English and Russian about her days studying English and law in Kyiv. Then I went to the Embassy and dropped off the certificates for signing by the PAO.
Despite this victory and despite how cool I thought the certificates looked in Romanian, I was still sick to my stomach at the thought of seeing these teachers and giving out these certificates. The certificates didn’t seem like they were from me, but rather from something outside of myself. I knew intellectually I was experiencing culture shock, something I didn’t think I could have after 3 years in this part of the world. I also knew that these teachers who had pushed so hard for the certificates had been very active and inquisitive throughout the year, and I trusted that they weren’t in my seminars simply to get a piece of paper. But all of that intellectual knowledge didn’t change the way I felt.
To appease my inner American, I prepared questions for teachers to respond to in writing about the seminar series. Not quite an assessment and not quite an evaluation, but something in between. I asked if the seminars were useful and if so to name three seminars. I asked if they used activities learned in seminars in their classroom, or if seminars inspired new activities in any way. I asked if their teaching changed in any other ways as a result of attending the seminars.
For the next three days, I gave the questionnaires to teachers, collected the anonymous responses in a brown envelope, and took them home or to a restaurant to read. Each stack of papers had comments from teachers about how their teaching had changed because of me. Their students were more motivated, their classes were more entertaining, and the relationship between teachers and students had changed. Their classrooms had become more “free” and “democratic”. Teachers discussed things with students more, and students discussed things more actively. If you’ve seen traditional classrooms in this part of the world where teachers lecture or at best students read isolated sentences or “retell” texts, you know what an amazing thing this kind of change is. So each day I cried because I knew I had done something special with special people, and it was coming to an end.
FAREWELL TO
The night after my last seminar, I began a very Bridget trip
(a whirlwind, cross country tour) of
Twenty minutes and three mobile phone calls later, Grigory, Diana, and Sandu arrived
at the house. Diana gave me a quick hug
and ran into the house with Sandu. Grigory and
I arrived in Kyiv at
That evening I boarded a train for Lviv. I was participating in an American Studies conference there. I took an overpriced taxi to the hotel--I was a double victim I’m sure of asking for a taxi at a train station with a foreign accent. Nevertheless, I’m glad I took it because like the conference I went to in January, this hotel was a former apartment building that had been converted. And as usual, it was impossible to find a place in the Soviet apartment block maze without multiple stops to ask for directions. The hotel was totally worth the trouble, though. It was established by a technical school for hotel management and tourism. The lobby, dining hall and rooms had been completely renovated with new furniture. There was hot water on demand AND a shower curtain for the shower. Progress is possible.
The first day I arrived was Sunday and a holiday. There were special church ceremonies on TV and many people were carrying green branches. Even trams and marshrutkas (minibuses) were sporting them. The conference program for the day was lunch and a tour of the city. I had been to Lviv twice before, but it was nice to see familiar sights again. I also went for the first time to the clock tower at the top of City Hall—408 steps up a winding wooden staircase to a bouncy, scrap-metal platform overlooking the city. An experience not to be missed or repeated. From there we went to a park with re-creations of Ukrainian village homes.
The next two days of the conference went quickly. I gave 4 presentations and 2 co-presentations. I ate three large meals a day. I hung out with colleagues in the evening drinking beer and talking about our lives and our colleague’s death.
I had originally planned to hire a car (my friend Tina has a
friend who drives a taxi) so that I could leave Lviv
at
I had one last fabulous breakfast Wednesday morning, and said goodbye to program participants as they headed off to catch the bus to the conference. Many were surprised that I couldn’t stay. One teacher, Alexandr, had tears in his eyes. We had met at the TESOL Ukraine conference in January on the way to a workshop, and we ended up singing a duet of “Oh What a Beautiful Morning” in the hall. We had been communicating semi-regularly by email until that point and I considered the Lviv conference our swan song. I sang one last song to him and told him not to cry. But after he left I went back to my room and broke down.
On a more upbeat note, I was able to share a taxi to the
train station with another colleague based in
When I arrived in Khmelnytsky I went straight to the university. I was lucky to run into two of my former students whom I wanted to see while I was there. They hadn’t read my emails, so they had no idea I was coming to town or that I was leaving the region. One girl said that every time she sees me she is sad, because she knows the time to see each other will be short. I taught her the word “guilt trip”. At the time I had resented the remark—didn’t she understand how much trouble I went through to see her and others as much as possible? But then I started to think about it more and I started to think maybe she wasn’t the only person who felt that way. Maybe it is selfish to drop myself into other people’s lives at my convenience, and then remove myself from their lives a few hours later.
Anyway, we made plans to meet up that evening to go to the park. I went into the university office and had a warm reception from the teachers there. The person in charge of the keys, Mikhaila, saw that I had three bags and knew everything was normal with me. I had a nice chat with the department head about distance learning and suggestopedia. It just felt good to be in the department office, in that space. There was something homey about it. I went downstairs the next day for lunch, and the lunch ladies remembered me and my usual table for dining. That felt good too.
I had a chance encounter that afternoon in the department with another former student. He had always been a little “odd” and somewhat weak in English (but very interested in computer games). Nevertheless I had liked him and was happy to see him and did as much as I could to convey my positive attitude towards him. It wasn’t enough, though; I found out that about a month after I saw him, he hung himself. I had noticed at the time he was stressed but I assumed it was typical exam-time stress, not life-or-death stress. I find myself now at Penn watching my students for the odd person out, the one who seems a little unhappy and a little less socialized than the others. And I pray and do what I can to encourage him or her, and watch for signs that he or she might be slipping away.
JOURNEY FROM KHMELNYTSKY TO CHISINAU
I went to my friend Tina’s one last time to meet her best friend Twila, and to attend a pizza party being thrown in Twila’s honor. I saw many of Tina’s English and art student friends whom I knew. I saw a Peace Corps volunteer as well. Tina made the pizza dough herself and the students took turns adding sauces and toppings. Sometimes a pizza would come out with tomato sauce, cheese, and sausage, other times it would be corn and mayonnaise.
I had planned that night to take an overnight train to Odesa, spend a few hours saying goodbye to the town, and
then brave a train across the Transnistrian border to
Chisinau. I said goodbye to Tina at
I got in a taxi and went back to Tina’s. Fortunately, she hadn’t fallen asleep yet and there was room on her floor to sleep on throw pillows. Both Tina and Twila commented separately that it was a good thing Twila didn’t get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom; she might have stepped on me if she had.
We had Tina’s homemade cinnamon rolls for breakfast, then went downtown to get money and shop at the bazaar. We got a taxi (another taxi friend of Tina’s) to pick us up from the bazaar. I asked if along the way we could stop at the train or bus station or both so I could see what was available to get back to Chisinau. He said, according to Tina, he would do whatever my pleasure was. Tina joked that I should ask him if he’d drive me to Chisinau.
If you know me well enough, you know that if you make a ridiculous proposal to me about travel, I will take it fully seriously. And when I found out (after waiting several minutes and getting laughed at by two people standing in line for my Russian language skills) that I couldn’t reserve train tickets to Chisinau from Khmelnytsky and was told at the bus station that there was no evening bus that night, the possibility of going by car seemed very real and very necessary. I probably could have taken the train and gotten a seat, but I had to be in Chisinau the next day for a final meeting and I couldn’t take the risk of missing it, not to mention I was really irritated with the train system at that point.
We negotiated a price, and Greshka (short for Grigory) said he had to go home and pick up his passport. First we dropped Tina off and got my bags. I suddenly realized this goodbye was the real Mcoy and broke down crying. Tina told me not to worry though; we’ll see each other again.
I got in the car and we drove to Greshka’s house. It was a typical village house: two dogs, a chicken, a rabbit, two TVs, a VCR, and no indoor toilet. Although I’d already eaten lunch with Tina and her friends, Greshka’s wife insisted on offering me soup, fried pork with kasha, tomatoes, and homegrown strawberries. We wouldn’t eat again until we arrived in Chisinau and anyway turning down the food is difficult if not impossible to do in a Ukrainian household, so I stuffed my face as best I could.
After lunch and after Greshka
changed the oil in the car, we started off.
I found out that he wasn’t just a cab driver; he had been a “sheriff”
(perhaps more like a highway patrolman?) for 20 years. He drove a cab to pick
up extra money. I also found out that he
had been to Chisinau once many years ago (perhaps as a child). He and his
mother had driven from
In one town we ended up picking up a hitchhiker. This is
quite common in
As we neared the Ukrainian border, I asked Greshka if he was aware of Transnistria,
a breakaway republic between
At the Ukraine/Transnistria
border, we had to pay $10 for Moldovan car insurance. They wanted $20 but he was able to bargain it
down. The Transnistria
crossing went fairly smoothly. It only
took the guard 5 or 10 minutes to decide to open the gate for us--some people
reportedly wait for hours if the guards are on break. We each had to pay 6 lei (about 50 cents) to
enter the country. There were only two
scary things. One, Greshka
made the mistake of calling the border guards Moldovans. The guard said quite firmly that Transnistria was not part of
Perhaps the scariest part though was when we reached the Moldovan border. The guards there wanted $50. Greshka bargained it down to $20. I went to the guards and said, “is there a problem?”. By being nice but clear I didn’t think I should have to pay, I got it down to $10. When I heard the exchange rate though from dollars to gryvnias, I blurted out, “banditi!”. I quickly apologized, though, and we managed to get out of there without getting arrested or shot.
For Greshka, things got a little
bit worse. First, he was dismayed by the
borders. He asked me how it would feel
if suddenly the states of the
I heard a few days later from Tina that he made it home safe
and sound, and that he enjoyed it so much he would be willing to drive her to
SAYING GOODBYE TO CHISINAU
I had a farewell party for myself at the ETRC the Saturday before my departure. I had been around enough to know what to buy for such an event. I went to the opera house and ordered a small truckload of placintas--tube-shaped fried pastries filled with either cabbage, potatoes, a goat cheese called brinza, pumpkin, cherry, or apple filling. Svetlana had taught me that the opera house had the best ones in town and that they could be ordered for parties. I also bought bread, cheese, cucumber, parsley, and pastrami and made “butterbrot”—single slices of bread topped (in my case) either with pastrami and parsley or cheese and cucumber. I had lemon slices with sugar sprinkled on them. I bought water (with and without gas), juice, and champagne for toasts.
It was decent turnout—about 15 people. The Fulbrighter and
his friend gave me a beautiful floral arrangement made out of sugar. Many people gave me boxes of chocolate. Moldovans who had
been to the States and back and understood the word “luggage limits” gave me
smaller tokens. One woman floored me
with a silk cloth embroidered with a star of David and the words “Hannukah” in Russian and something else in Romanian. Another woman who had lived in
We took turns giving toasts, and when it was my turn I spoke
and then I sang. I had shown
I take my zeama with smîntana, dear
si mamaliga cu brinza
But you can hear a funny accent when I talk
I’m an American in
You’ll never see me in stiletto heels
I leave large tips in restaurants
In winter I don’t sledge or slide
I’m an American in
Whoa hoa
I’m American, yes I am American
But I’m living in
Whoa hoa
I’m American, yes I am American
And I’m living in
In Moldovan society
There’s no need for sobriety
Better to enjoy some homemade wine
Let me raise a glass to you
Say “La Multi Ani” and then we’ll all feel fine
If beauty’s in the eye of beholders
Then all I see round me is gold
I’ll close my eyes and see it each night in my dreams
It shall be so until I’m very old
It shall be so until I’m very old
The following Tuesday, I hugged the embassy people goodbye at
our last advisory board meeting together. Then I went home. I was taking the family out to dinner. When I got home, though, Grigory
said that he should stay home with Sandu (who would
not be able to control himself in a restaurant) and I should go with
Anyway, seeing my reaction Grigory
made some arrangements and was able to come with us but Sandu
wasn’t. We went to a place
As we talked and laughed we talked about trips and how Grigory was able to get into
After dinner we walked to Stefan cel Mare and tried in vain to find locally produced ice cream in the store. We had no luck and in the end, we ended up getting individual cones at a store near the house. A note for American readers: this isn’t like Thrifty where workers put the ice ream in the cone fresh for you. These cones come pre-packed with vanilla or chocolate ice cream, topped with a piece of paper (nothing convering the sides), and thrown into a freezer case for people to pick up. The cone can get a little soggy but if you can get past germ- and soggo-phobia, it’s pretty good stuff. And it usually only costs 1 lei (1/13 of a dollar).
The next night, my last night, I went next door for a few
hours in the evening to hang out one last time.
I went upstairs to say goodnight
to Sandu; I would leave at
The next morning, Diana and Grigory
were up at
Diana was worried about whether I’d have problems at the airport with four pieces of luggage (i.e. if they’d let me on the plane with all of that). But there was only room in the car for me, the driver, and the bags. We could have squeezed Diana in, but the driver was worried a police officer would see us. (He was right to be worried—we passed one on the way to the airport).
In the end, the family decided to come to the airport in their own car. I had tried to tell them from the beginning that only ticketed passengers can go in. But it worked out better than I’d imagined. They were able to help me get my luggage to the area of the airport where people wrap luggage in what I call Saran Wrap—plastic wrap which protects luggage from being tampered with by airport workers. They also helped me weigh my luggage again and repack things from heavier bags into lighter ones before wrapping.
The whole family waited in line with me and two luggage
carts to get into the check-in area.
While waiting, Grigory ran into three people
he knew—the rector of the medical university and two visiting lecturers from
EPILOGUE AND
As I sit here a month later, I’ve been wondering why the
airport goodbye wasn’t more dramatic or emotional. I can only offer two explanations. One, most of my emotions had been expressed
in the days leading up to and the morning of my departure. Two, I don’t think I’ve completely said
goodbye to
Other than these things already mentioned,
it’s been pretty easy to adjust to living in
Living in Philly is okay if you ignore the mice, the lack of
a working landline (telephone line), and the fact that my poor roommate was
mugged at gunpoint. The food is as good
as ever--hoagies and cheesesteaks and cheese fries
and vegetable crepes and Chinese food and breakfast hoagies all for $2-5 (a
bargain in
I also had a guest recently—my friend Nick came from
My students are intermediate-advanced students. Half are
from
This MoldMail is dedicated to the memory of Joshua Haglund and Sergey Rudik.