(I forgot.) I had a title for this post, but I forgot it. It is July 13, 2010 approximately 7:30 pm. I am not sure what the rest of the world is doing right now, but I am listening to a shared collection of Death Cab for Cutie that I ripped from a friend. In one month, he will be going to a city that is pretty much one of the furthest southern cities that we are sent to. I am surely going to miss him. I cannot believe that we are about halfway done with our training. The first week went by so slowly. It was as if each day were two days and so accordingly after the first week it felt like two weeks had passed us by. Now, upon realizing that it is already our fifth week, I am starting to sadden. I never thought we would make it this far without it feeling like an eternity. I have become such good friends with my fellow magaziners. I call us magaziners because we used to frequent the local version of 7-Eleven which is nothing more than convenience store that sell the basics as a 7-Eleven should. It is generically called a “magazin,” thus magaziners (a little Romanglish for my audience). Here, as in many places that Americans have not made an appearance, women are not allowed to drink in public and teachers of any gender do not usually do the same. It is a cultural caveat for one of the larger wine-producing countries for eastern Europe. In any event, I have become friends with my fellow magaziners and I do not know howlife will be once I am separated from them. I have not, as of yet, really felt what it is like to be alone. I have had friends with me for most of my life. I made friends with them very quickly so I have not been without friends as of yet. I guess we will see. The comfort I have is that I really love this country. If I may, without the intent of demeaning the integrity of the proud people of Moldova, I would like to say that if I had to speak directly from my gut reaction’s impression of Moldova I liken this ţara (country) to what I expect an Italian country village to have been 50 years ago. The rolling pastures of sunflowers with horse-pulled carts drawing dust into the freshest of air I have ever lived in has made this country picturesque without reservations. If the words that I use seem to be coming from a trying source attempting to form poetic prose believe me when I say that this prose is not trying at all but flowing freely from the spigot that I have recently learned can be roughly equated with the Moldovan “robinet” (faucet). It flows fast as a stray dog is called to a chicken bone. Fittingly, we have called the local dog that meanders around our language school, Corpul Poochie. Corpul Pâcii (pronounce “core-pull puh-chee”) is Romanian for Peace Corps. That dog will forever be in my memory as I am sure in all the memories of my colegii (colleagues).
On Sunday, I returned from my visit to my permanent site at which I will spend the remainder of my time approximately two years depending on whether I extend. That is a whole other post upon itself. I’m checking out. Good night.
(Dylan with Corpul Poochie)
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