It had rained the day before. I found myself in a local town with a student that I had come across here in Moldova. He was very intelligent and didn’t shy from narrating every new event that sat on the forefront of science. To his best ability, he spoke to me in English. Knowing that I am here to teach English he did his best to accommodate me. I could hardly understand what he was trying to explain in English so I cannot even imagine what I would understand had he spoken in Romanian. It was much appreciated. We were making our way to the monastery in a village called Cosauţi. Upon arriving there, I was very impressed by its obvious calm. Not a leaf a made a sound. Not a duck a flap. All I could hear was the running from the creek that flowed fresh spring water, rumored to have healing properties. Walking through the monastery property I began to hear the hum of service: bells, hymns and the murmur of prayers sent. Further on, the hillside offered a small orchard of about 50 apple trees and what is approximately five or six acres of land all maintained by the monks that lived at the property.
Throughout our walk we discussed everything we saw. He told me how in the summer at a specific table that we happened upon he, with his three or four other friends whom had all come on bike, would sit there and eat watermelon. He told me how another time they asked everyone in town where else they could find watermelon, but to their dismay found none and sat on a dismantled light post by the river. He was full of stories and experiences of this place. His last was about a little man-made wading pool typically used for making wishes. I equated it with “throwing coins into a fountain,” but he said he did that, as well, for added luck. Amuzing. The pool, when full, was used for making wishes. Apparently, the water that springs from the mountain is very cold and when flowing doesn’t have the chance to freeze in the cold seasons and if daring enough one would have to walk to the other end of a 12 foot pool and back three times and upon completion your wish would come true. He said that the one time he tried it he couldn’t do it and when he got out he couldn’t feel his legs. I paused, raised my eyebrows and looked away. He is an interesting young man.
Finally, he brought me to the chapel that could be found beyond a grassy flat full of trees that brought a magical quiet to the area. In the chapel is a shrine to the bible and simple spigot from which flowed fresh spring water. In ritualistic fashion he picked up a cup from the altar, poured water into the cup, raised it three times, took a sip, put his lips to the altar and finished by splashing water on his face. I sort of followed in suit. I sipped the water. We left.
On way back to bus stop, we were quiet and simply enjoyed the day’s fresh air. The roads were exactly what I would imagine in an old preserved European village to be. Each house was constructed of materials from the land with walls made of stone which had sit there for some time that the moss creeping up from ground knew its path from seasons passed. He broke the silence asking, “what was your work before you arrived here in Moldova?” I told him that “I worked in a preschool.” I continued to tell him about how my day operated with the long busy days. I wasn’t sure if he understood everything that described about my work, but I was sure that my serious tone was more than a signal to the gravity of my workdays. I, then, hit a wall of silence, which I broke by telling him that my work was serious, but it was a good thing that I had colleagues to work me. “That is great,” he said. I told him that it was because we were all together and that after work we would sometimes have parties together. He was surprised. I supposed that teachers are typically not as friendly with their colleagues. More excited and proud, I described how sometimes one of us would throw a house party and invite all the other employees to have dinner and a few drinks. Even more surprised, he asked if we did this all together. I said, “of course.” I told him how close we were and sometimes, if needed or if the conversations ran too late, I could sleep on their couches. Surprised, he asked, “you would sleep there in their house?” I told him that sometimes it is not safe to drive late at night and illegal if anyone is drinking. “You would drink?,” he asked. “Yes, sometimes.” “Everyone?” “Yes, all of us. We would have a couple bottles of wine. We enjoy drinking wine together.” In a most inquisitive tone, he asked “even the priests?” “Priests?,” I responded. “Yes, the priests.” I had to clarify, “What priests?” “From your work, the priests from your work,” he said. In a final attempt to clarify, as agreeably as possible I said, “No, there were no priests at this school. There might be some at other private schools, but not at this one and not typically at the kindergarten level.” He, then, asked “what is kindergarten?” “Oh, kindergarten, uhm….” I finally decided to translate, “you know, gradiniţa?” “Gradiniţa? I thought you worked in a school for priests.” I laughed. “Nooo, not a priest school. Pre-school!” We had a good laugh.
It had rained the day before. I found myself in a local town with a student that I had come across here in Moldova. He was very intelligent and didn’t shy from narrating every new event that sat on the forefront of science. To his best ability, he spoke to me in English. Knowing that I am here to teach English he did his best to accommodate me. I could hardly understand what he was trying to explain in English so I cannot even imagine what I would understand had he spoken in Romanian. It was much appreciated. We were making our way to the monastery in a village called Cosauţi. Upon arriving there, I was very impressed by its obvious calm. Not a leaf a made a sound. Not a duck a flap. All I could hear was the running from the creek that flowed fresh spring water, rumored to have healing properties. Walking through the monastery property I began to hear the hum of service: bells, hymns and the murmur of prayers sent. Further on, the hillside offered a small orchard of about 50 apple trees and what is approximately five or six acres of land all maintained by the monks that lived at the property.
Throughout our walk we discussed everything we saw. He told me how in the summer at a specific table that we happened upon he, with his three or four other friends whom had all come on bike, would sit there and eat watermelon. He told me how another time they asked everyone in town where else they could find watermelon, but to their dismay found none and sat on a dismantled light post by the river. He was full of stories and experiences of this place. His last was about a little man-made wading pool typically used for making wishes. I equated it with “throwing coins into a fountain,” but he said he did that, as well, for added luck. Amuzing. The pool, when full, was used for making wishes. Apparently, the water that springs from the mountain is very cold and when flowing doesn’t have the chance to freeze in the cold seasons and if daring enough one would have to walk to the other end of a 12 foot pool and back three times and upon completion your wish would come true. He said that the one time he tried it he couldn’t do it and when he got out he couldn’t feel his legs. I paused, raised my eyebrows and looked away. He is an interesting young man.
Finally, he brought me to the chapel that could be found beyond a grassy flat full of trees that brought a magical quiet to the area. In the chapel is a shrine to the bible and simple spigot from which flowed fresh spring water. In ritualistic fashion he picked up a cup from the altar, poured water into the cup, raised it three times, took a sip, put his lips to the altar and finished by splashing water on his face. I sort of followed in suit. I sipped the water. We left.
On way back to bus stop, we were quiet and simply enjoyed the day’s fresh air. The roads were exactly what I would imagine in an old preserved European village to be. Each house was constructed of materials from the land with walls made of stone which had sit there for some time that the moss creeping up from ground knew its path from seasons passed. He broke the silence asking, “what was your work before you arrived here in Moldova?” I told him that “I worked in a preschool.” I continued to tell him about how my day operated with the long busy days. I wasn’t sure if he understood everything that described about my work, but I was sure that my serious tone was more than a signal to the gravity of my workdays. I, then, hit a wall of silence, which I broke by telling him that my work was serious, but it was a good thing that I had colleagues to work me. “That is great,” he said. I told him that it was because we were all together and that after work we would sometimes have parties together. He was surprised. I supposed that teachers are typically not as friendly with their colleagues. More excited and proud, I described how sometimes one of us would throw a house party and invite all the other employees to have dinner and a few drinks. Even more surprised, he asked if we did this all together. I said, “of course.” I told him how close we were and sometimes, if needed or if the conversations ran too late, I could sleep on their couches. Surprised, he asked, “you would sleep there in their house?” I told him that sometimes it is not safe to drive late at night and illegal if anyone is drinking. “You would drink?,” he asked. “Yes, sometimes.” “Everyone?” “Yes, all of us. We would have a couple bottles of wine. We enjoy drinking wine together.” In a most inquisitive tone, he asked “even the priests?” “Priests?,” I responded. “Yes, the priests.” I had to clarify, “What priests?” “From your work, the priests from your work,” he said. In a final attempt to clarify, as agreeably as possible I said, “No, there were no priests at this school. There might be some at other private schools, but not at this one and not typically at the kindergarten level.” He, then, asked “what is kindergarten?” “Oh, kindergarten, uhm….” I finally decided to translate, “you know, gradiniţa?” “Gradiniţa? I thought you worked in a school for priests.” I laughed. “Nooo, not a priest school. Pre-school!” We had a good laugh.
hilarious!
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