Craciun (Christmas)

So this year was definitely the most interesting Christmas that I’ve ever had. I rise as usual bright and early, but this year it is not to run downstairs and see what Santa has left under the tree. Instead I get dressed and head out to the ‘highway’ where I wait about 5 minutes before being picked up by a nice little old Russian-speaking man (yes, I hitchhike on a regular basis, but it is an accepted means of transportation here, and I only do it during the day if there is another woman in the car). We pick up a mother and son in the 4 kilometers between my village and the city of Soroca, and upon arriving at the bus station, I pay the man the customary 3 lei (about 27 cents) and walk the ten minutes to the center of town.

I meet up with a fellow volunteer by the huge Christmas tree, which kind of looks like some high school kids tee-peed it with red and green toilet paper, but is beautiful nonetheless. The two of us then continue on to the internet cafe, which is located in a basement near the town hall, and based on the dim lighting and bass thumping that you hear upon approaching, one could be fooled into thinking it is actually a disco. The teenage boy who works here, who dreams of one day visiting California, greets us in broken English that matches our broken Romanian, and set us up. All of the computers are in Russian, so he sometimes has to help me out when I can’t figure out where to click. Although, to my own credit, I am getting pretty good and sounding out Cyrillic. Anyhoo, I receive a call at 8.30 from my family, who have just arrived home from midnight Mass, and we are able to exchange Christmas greetings. (Side note – I love the fact that I can talk for hours with people thousands of miles away and not pay a dime!)

After the internet cafe we move on to the piata, which is always guaranteed for interesting times. Just outside the piata we stop to admire the sale of chickens. They are all just hangin’ out, not restrained in anyway. Some of them are stuffed inside pungas (rectangular, sturdy plaid plastic tote-bags). Others are calmly being carried away, one leg and wing being held, the other just dangling there. Doo-de-doo. The piata consists of hundreds of little booths with tin roofs all smashed together in aisles with room to almost comfortably fit two people across, but are almost always jammed with five. As much as I want to, I just haven’t gotten used the lack of personal space. Anyways, the piața is divided into clothes/shoes, food, and household items. You can find everything, including live fish, glittery cosmetics, Pantene ProV, Snickers bars, hundreds of pairs of knee-high black stiletto boots, extension cords, underwear, buckets, tiaras with gaudy gems that light up (I pick up one of those for New Years), and random car parts. Really just about anything imaginable. My favorite place is what I like to call the brînză barn, a large covered room with ladies all lined up behind tables with their scales and huge chunks of homemade goat cheese. The smell of the stinky cheese reaches the nostrils quickly, and the sounds of the ladies trying to get us to buy their cheese call out to us – ‘Fetele! Gustati!’ Girls! Try This! At the end of the row is the Unt Om (Butter Man) with his gigantic block of butter (there is no such thing as margarine here). Today he has chocolate butter! As I’m planning to make chocolate chip cookies this weekend, I buy 400 grams of the regular butter. And then I decide to get some of the chocolate butter too; perhaps I’ll join my dad in eating bread and butter with our tea tonight.

We head back to the Christmas Tree to meet up with another volunteer, and as we’re waiting, I hear my name (or rather, the version of my name that Moldovan’s manage to make out – Kait!). I turn and see Doamna Valentina, an active older woman from my village, accordion slung over her back, leading her gaggle of kindergarteners to the cultural center for a little Christmas concert. Viniti cu noi! Come with us! she calls out to me. We follow, but in staying consistent with Moldovan time, the concert doesn’t actually being at 10.00, as was planned. At 11.00 it still hasn’t begun, and we move on. I need to make a copy of my office key, so we head to the shoe-repair shop. The lady there only speaks Russian, but this is no problem. I point to my key, and to the key-copy-maker-machine-thingy. She holds up one finger, and I nod. She hands me the copy and tells me ‘ПЯТЬ’ (pee-at) which I know is 5 because I watch the figure-skating show all the time and hear them read off the scores – 5.8, 5.9, 5.8! I hand her five lei and thank her, СпaСИба (spa-see-ba). I am pretty proud of myself after that one.

Now it’s time to head back to my village and go to work. Kinda weird to be going to work on Christmas. But I have a plan to make it a little more interesting than usual. I pack up my laptop, with a playlist of Christmas songs ready to go, as well as a slide-show of Christmas pics from home. I throw in some candy and cookies, as well as a bottle of champagne, don my santa hat, and head to the primăria. My partner and the social worker are there when I arrive. Merry Christmas! I greet them as I enter. I pull out the laptop and plop down the bag of candy. They tell me that the mayor is not here today. Good, I say, because I have this too, and pull out the champagne. Haha, they say, good indeed! and my partner pulls a huge bottle of homemade wine out from under the desk, while the social worker takes a two-liter of beer out of the cupboard. Haha, they are prepared for my Christmas too! My fellow volunteer arrives from Soroca, the social worker’s adorable 6 year old comes in, and pretty soon everyone from the primăria is crowded into my little office having a grand old time. I impress them with my vast knowledge of the Russian language, as well as my mad caroling skills (I learned the Romanian translation of Jingle Bells). They admire my pictures from home, but aren’t too impressed with Bing’s White Christmas. All-in-all, it is a pretty successful little ad-hoc celebration.

Back at home, I prepare to resume the normal day’s activities. I hand wash some clothes (I can never seem to get all of the soap out!), and I’m sending out Merry Christmas text messages when I receive a call from my partner’s daughter. They want me to quick come over and help them out with something. I throw on my boots and coat and make my way in the dark down the dirt road to my partner’s house, and ten minutes later I am speaking on the phone with a nice old lady in Germany. Turns out my partner and her husband are friends with a couple in Germany, but now that the German couple’s son is away somewhere, they don’t have a translator. My partner wants to call and wish them a Merry Christmas, so my German-speaking skills are called into action. So here I am, Christmas night in Moldova, translating German into Romanian, and vice-versa. Interesting. After the call I try to excuse myself, since my family is waiting dinner on me. Oh no! Of course that is not an option. Now that I’m here I have to stay! My partner calls my host-ma.

I hear the dog barking outside, and in comes a young woman with a little boy in tow. My partner’s goddaughter and her son. A few minutes later, in comes her husband, who turns out to be the goofy guy who works at the primăria. I didn’t realize he was married, let alone had a kid. His wife is very friendly and talkative, 6 months younger than I, and inside I entertain the hope of making a friend my age, even though she is a married woman with a 1.3 year-old. We eat a delicious meal, talk a lot, and while-away the night. It is nice to spend some time with my partner and her family, away from the office. I finally take my leave around 9.30.

Back at the casa, I call one of my best volunteer friends and we exchange Christmas stories and make plans for our New Year’s night in Chisinău (one-day escape from our three month lock down!). We hang up and my family calls me again, 14 hours after the first call and a long day for me, and a good night’s rest for them! This is a wonderful end to a wonderful Christmas. I am able to talk to the whole family, including a few surprise guests – Aunt Carolyn and Uncle Joe are there too, as well as Mr R., my most favoritest theater director. An hour later I finally hang up, and as I lay my head down, I think to myself, despite low expectations, this really was a merry Christmas!