New Years take II

Anul nou pe vechi (The old new year).

10 year old boys, dressed in grandma drag.... this is what I was greeted with when I went to visit my old host family in the central part of the country. Sounds kind of strange until you think about what kids in the states do for Halloween. Also just like Halloween in the states, kids run around from house to house, knocking on doors and getting treats from the neighbors. There were no ghouls or vampires, just kids dressed up as “babushkas” (grandmothers) and Santa. Later on the older boys from the village came around to each house to sing, reciting wishes of health and success for the New Year. They also receive treats, but with the addition of wine and a “colacul” which is a round, braided bread used in Moldovan celebrations.
It was nice to return to my training village. After a summer of sweating it out, literally and figuratively, learning language and sitting through lectures, it is nice to return and feel obligated to do absolutely nothing, save eat and drink “vin de casa”. My spot at the table has changed, and I am sleeping in the kid’s room now, but that just kind of makes it all seem even more like home. After a summer with me as a blundering mute, my family is well trained in my idiosyncrasies, including my eating habits. Luckily, unlike during most other visits to Moldovan homes, I am not constantly pressured to gorge myself into oblivion. They know I am aware there is more food than I can ever eat, and that if I want something I just have to ask.
I get to help with the cooking and dishes without a fight (the whole “guest” thing lasts about five minutes with them), and wind up making “sarmale/galuside” (stuffed cabbage leaves, the word used for this dish as well as the pronunciation varies depending on your proximity to Ukraine or Romania). They are delicious, though I shy away from drowning them in “smintina”, the ever-popular liquidy sour cream that takes center stage in Moldovan cooking (along with sunflower oil). I also get the treat of “moshdae” and “mamaliga”, the former a simple mix of oil, vinegar, and caramelized onions with garlic, the later a semi-solid corn mush that is presented as an overturned half-dome, and then cut with string. You grab a hunk of it, smash it on your plate, and mix it with whatever else happens to be for dinner. My former host father and I are the only “moshdae” connoisseurs, and thus happily and greedily absorb most of that. It is fun now that I can actually sit and understand the conversations that are taking place around the table. The admonishments lathered upon my nine year old host brother, and the teasing of my 17 y/o host sister about boys she is interested in, and her sprucing up for the “discoteca” tonight.
It is also interesting to note that despite the fact that I can understand and talk with them now, they fall into the old habits of the summer. I am politely ignored in conversations, not at all in a rude way, just the fact that in the past I hadn’t a clue of what they were saying. My former host mother also has the habit of explaining everything about my life to visitors and family, despite the fact that I am perfectly capable of doing so. This being obvious due to the fact that she wouldn’t know any of the info if I hadn’t told her. Questions directed at me are thus handled by my public relations manager, and I just get to sit around and listen and absorb.... just like this summer.
So, I hung out at my old house, ate well, and went to visit my surrogate grandparents, whom I am convinced are the happiest people in Moldova, and despite their age, some of the most beautiful people I have encountered. It is amazing what a decent smile can do for a person, especially in a land of down turned heads and scowls. I also got to have a couple of snowball fights, wrestling matches, and sample this year’s home made wine, something that doesn’t exist in my current village, despite the relatively small geographical difference (said somewhat tongue in cheek considering the 8 hour bus ride between the two villages). My host grandfather actually had crafted a very nice house white, a far cry from the sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet, purple “red” wines that abound. The only problem was that my sampling was done at nine in the morning.
No major news to report from them except for the fact that my former host dad is just weeks away from heading off for two years to Portugal. Due to the abysmal job market, most Moldovan adults will work abroad in their lifetime, this being his 5th foray out of country. He is going legally though, and thus will be able to return for visits. It is still sad though. I finally get a chance to talk with the guy, and it ends up being very likely the last time I will talk to him. The reality of almost half the nation being abroad is something that was reconciled a long time ago in my head, but this is the first time I have known somebody on this end of the excursion. Previously I had only experienced the happy homecomings or the dull ache of somebody absent. The anticipation of someone disappearing from our lives seems the hardest part to deal with.
I took the bus ride home, and then commenced dreading the first day back at school. Not that it is that bad, I just was enjoying the partial lack of scheduling, and not having to do lesson plans. All in all though, despite my reluctance, the first week went rather well, and very quickly. Only eighteen weeks to go till summer vacation. With the temp hovering around –20 right now, I am hoping those weeks keep trucking along. “Pe curind”