I arrived in Moldova as a Peace Corps trainee seven years ago today. SEVEN years?! How is that even possible?? My experience as a Peace Corps volunteer in Moldova was life-changing, and I think about it (and Moldova in general) every day. My home is filled with items and photographs from my time there. I have stayed in touch with my host family and some of my former students and colleagues. Although I don’t get to talk to my host mom nearly enough, it always feels like no time has passed when we do speak. I follow the news in Moldova and try to stay up-to-date on its politics, economics, and more. My American family is probably tired of my stories. I’ve been back to the United States for five years, compared to the two I spent in Moldova, and yet those two years in Moldova take up far more space in my mind than the five since.
As I look back on the anniversary of arriving in Moldova, I can’t help but think of the very first photo I took there. It’s a horrible photo- a grainy cellphone picture of laundry hanging outside the hotel we stayed at the first couple of nights in country. But it is a good representation of my first impressions of Moldova.
We arrived on a dreary, downcast day. The airport, now a gleaming, modern space, was under construction. Passport control was a couple of desks separated from the baggage claim area by sheets of plastic coated in plaster dust. As we walked past the sheets of plastic, men in sandals and shorts stood on ladders, cutting through metal. Sparks flew directly above us and to each side of us. The buses that took us to the center of the capital wove through gray, concrete buildings, most in various levels of disrepair. The streets were bumpy, and it seems like the only color came from large political posters and billboards along the roads. When we arrived at the hotel we would stay at for a couple of nights, the rooms were a mishmash of styles. The tiles in the bathroom were broken, and everything looked quite old. It was out of that room’s window that I took my first photo.
I would come to love Chisinau, with its ample green spaces, charming European-style center, and excellent examples of Soviet architecture. I would later see the city, and the country as a whole, much more positively. I would take photos of beautiful scenes throughout the city. And I would fall even more in love with Moldova’s countryside, where I spent most of my time there.
I miss Moldova a lot. I miss the long after-dinner chats I had most nights with my host mom, snacking on tea and sunflower seeds. I miss playing with my host nieces. I miss long walks through town or to nearby towns. I miss my students, who inspired me and gave me so much hope for Moldova’s future. I miss my work colleagues, who were so patient with me as I learned their language and who included me in various events. I miss my partner teachers and their willingness to work with me, a complete stranger. I miss the village librarian, who enthusiastically supported my projects and proudly greeted American guests to the library and cultural center. I miss Moldovan barbeques and picnics. I miss Moldovan house wine. I could go on and on.
My time in Moldova wasn’t all positive. I got homesick for my American family and the United States often. There were times I was very bored and felt extremely isolated. I spent an unhealthy amount of time alone, especially in the summers. It was difficult when I couldn’t communicate the way I wanted to because my Romanian wasn’t good enough (though eventually, it was). I sometimes got frustrated by the way things were in Moldova or in the school I worked at. I didn’t really have any Moldovan friends my age. I had a lot of stomach issues, presumably from something in the food, though we never really figured it out. I didn’t enjoy “bucket” bathing for months on end.
Despite all that, I do really miss it. I hope to return to Moldova sometime in the near future.
The Oke Den 