Hey everyone, I haven't written anything here in a while...and I actually have a relatively long description of what I have been up to over the past few months. So, I think I will post this in two (or more) parts. The following is, as the title would suggest, the first part...
I want to say: Greetings to all, as I emerge from my winter blogging hibernation (note: there may be a similar hibernation in the spring and the summer). Anyway, I think this is a good time to write a little something about what I have been up to here in Moldova for the winter. First, I'll give you the less interesting things:
My work has been slow for many reasons that are somewhat complicated to explore fully now. Suffice it to say that I am hoping (perhaps illogically) that the change in the calendar will also help spur some changes in the organization with which I work in my village. We will see. Job difficulties notwithstanding, life here is great. My host family in Lozova is awesome, I am healthy, happy, and looking forward to the spring.
Now, let's move on to more substantive material. Maybe I should start with the beginning of December…
On December 4th Chris, a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer, and I went on vacation. We left Chisinau, Moldova by bus for Bucharest, Romania at 10 pm. From Bucharest we were to fly to Istanbul, Turkey on December 5th - where we had planned to spend six days. At this point, one may look at our travel itinerary and ask: Why did you decide to take an uncomfortable, eight-hour, bus ride overnight rather than flying out of Moldova? Well, airfare out of Chisinau is considerably more expensive than most other airports in the region. And, if you add that fact to the reality that Chris and I are not what you would consider "advance planners," the potential prices were compounded by the late date at which we attempted to purchase our tickets. So, in our opinion, the opportunity cost of spending a sweaty, intimate bus ride, overnight with each other, seemed worth (just barely) the $200 we were to save. Moreover, we anticipated a nice morning and afternoon in Bucharest - a city neither of us had ever visited before.
What happened? On a scale of one to ten, I would rate the bus ride as hellish. But, we did arrive (sleepless and disoriented) at about 5:30 AM. We killed some time walking around the city, which, indeed is beautiful. I would like to talk more about our experiences in Bucharest but…well…not now. If you would like to know if our Bucharest trip was actually worth it, you will have to ask me and Chris someday in person. After a few beers, or a small bribe, we just may tell you a particular story from our time in Romania that explains why such travel plans might not be for everyone. But, I'm not going delve into that any further at this time.
OKAY….now on to Istanbul:
I have a friend from school who is interning in Istanbul, Turkey right now and generously offered us a place to stay for our visit. My friend, Bilal, was born in Turkey but, when he was around eight-years old, moved to the exotic land known as New Jersey. He speaks fluent Turkish and English (though he still has not perfected the somewhat more complex language known as New Jerseyan). The great thing about Bilal, besides the fact that he's a good friend, is that he was a knowledgeable and adroit tour guide through a city of over ten million people and five thousand years of history. Without Bilal's ability to show us around (and, occasionally, get us out of trouble) Chris and I would have been lost in Istanbul - that is: figuratively lost, definitely, and literally lost, probably.
Bilal, lives with his grandmother in Istanbul; and for that week, Bilal's grandmother was our grandmother as well. We stayed in her apartment, which was within reach of many of the interesting destinations in the city. Unexpectedly, though, one of the best destinations was right where we stayed - with the elderly Turkish woman who spoke no English. Now, this may come as a shock to you, but I do not speak Turkish. Neither does Chris. And there were occasions during our week in Turkey when Bilal needed to go to work. This afforded Chris and me the opportunity to spend some quality time with our Turkish grandmother. Did I mention she speaks no English? (or Romanian, for that matter) Immediately Chris and I were jolted back to our first days in Moldova trying to communicate with our host families. We used gestures, expressions, mixed english words with invented sounds, and, naturally, acted as foolishly as possible. Somehow, I believe through no doing of our own, this worked great….Here's an example:
When we awoke on our first morning in Istanbul we realized that Bilal had left the apartment for work much earlier. Chris and I, still weary from our travels, and our first evening in Istanbul (which included sampling the local beverages) were somewhat confused. We sat in the living room of Bilal's apartment, where his grandmother began conversing with us. I'm not really sure what we talked about, but the discussion concluded with her serving us a wonderful Turkish breakfast (bread, cheese, olives, baklava, Turkish Tea) and helping us get in touch with Bilal so he could explain how we needed to use the public transportation. I describe this rather mundane event because it was the source of a major realization for me: Just then it became clear that there are some qualities, regardless of culture, language, ethnicity, etc., which grandmothers all have in common. As I doubt that I will ever be a grandmother, I really can not understand the source of these innate skills. It's like tightrope walking, sword swallowing, alligator wrestling, or hitting a five-hundred foot homerun: I can't understand how people do these awesome things, but, I know them when I see them and seeing them never ceases to amaze me. So, in that way, I guess you could say that grandmothers are like alligator wrestlers….at least, when it comes to hospitality and making anyone who is nearby feeling comfortable and cared for.
Our jaunt through Istanbul included eating at local restaurants, visiting famous landmarks (Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia, New Mosque), and spending time with Bilal's Turkish friends and colleagues. I was especially struck by the city's age. Over the course of its existence Istanbul has been like some sort of massive glacier of history - slowly traveling along, subtly changing through time, in its travels picking up pieces from every era, but always, always persisting with some sort of incomprehensible, implausible, and intractable influence - an influence so great, that one can hardly imagine a reality without it. As Americans (though, not, Native Americans), our geographic history exists for only about 500 years. We have no buildings or defining, domestic events that are older than this. The oft-recited, comical observation about Istanbul resonates with many Americans. The joke is that Istanbul is a city so old, it has a building called "New Mosque," which was completed nearly 350 years ago. What resonates just as much, if not more, with me, is that the cultures, religions, and traditions that have swept across this land throughout the centuries have been adopted, absorbed, but not discarded. New ideas were ineluctably grabbed by fervent collectors - the Turks, Ottomans, Romans, or any other national peoples who have populated the hills of this ancient metropole.
Moving on…
Have you ever been bathed by a hairy, middle-aged, shirtless Turkish gentleman? Every time someone asked me that question before my trip to Istanbul my answer was always "NO." But, now…well, when people ask…umm…yes… there was this one time when a Turkish fellow bathed me. And… I think … I liked it. You see, bathhouses, however different they may seem to us Americans, are not strange to the Turks. So, Chris and I decided it was worth a try. How does the saying go? Is it: "When in Rome, do as the…"? Wait, no - that's not it. I'm pretty sure the saying is: "When in Istanbul, go to a sauna and pay an ungainly, hairy, oaf to throw buckets of hot water on you and punch your spine with a fist full of acid-soap." Okay, I am kind of exaggerating…kind of. But, I was bathed by a gentleman who gave me a pretty strong, and soapy massage (which exfoliated very well). I could talk for a while on this event, but I really would like to keep moving with this entry...
Traveling through the streets of Istanbul freshly clean from my bath gave me a feeling of newness and purity. Tabula Rasa. For some reason, I began to process what I was seeing and experiencing in Turkey with fewer filters, with a new awe-inspiring, infantile interest. I brought this attitude with me on our way back to Moldova - which is where we will begin part two of my entry.
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