To blog or not to blog, that is the question.

FRIDAY

I have homework. It may be Friday night, but I have homework. This is because I have class tomorrow. At 9am. And because it's a Saturday it means that I won't get a ride halfway, which means I actually have to wake up earlier than I would on a weekday.

In Romanian, Friday is "Vinere." The joke is, the word for wine is "vin," so Friday is wine day.

But since I have yet to go out to an entertainment establishment, and due to the said practice of Peace Corps scheduling language lessons at 9am on Saturday mornings, I have yet to experience the wonder and joy of that joke.

Goodness they do work your hynie off (also, incidentally, the word for clothes wardrobe in Romanian ... Ha!). The first week the group in Perecesina had to do a community mapping project - find out all the important things in your town, infrastructure, gender differences, government, etc., and then do a presentation. Now, we have to identify any worthwhile non-profit entities and work with them to throw a fundraiser before we leave PST in 8 weeks. We actually have about 7 weeks to pull this off, because the last week we have to throw a party for the entire town.

All this, of course, while having 5 hours a day in Romanian lessons for 6 days a week, plus optional "super happy fun time" outings, etc., on Sunday.

But no pressure or anything.

On Sunday, we actually have a semi-non optional optional outing to Chisanau, the Moldovan capital. But today, I got a sneak peak. (Not that we haven't all been there before, mind you. We were there for three days - we just saw about two blocks of it). I went in a rutiera (I'll explain later) with o sora gazda (my host sister), a lovely girl all of 14 who's allowed to go into a bustling 700,000 people capital by herself, into the central market.

The central market is huge, and sells just about everything. O mama gazda (my host mother) actually works at the fruit market there, so we said hello to her...

the purpose of the visit was to find a present for... o tata gazda. I think everyone gets the picture now, so I'll skip the explanation. It's his birthday tomorrow. I also had to buy laundry detergent and toilet paper, and I bought some tea to contribute to the household since I'm drinking so much.

So much being 1-2 cups a day using the same tea bag, mind you.

Anyway the central market is bustling, crazy and cramped, like most outdoor markets. If you stop too long in one place you'll either a) get run over, or b) have someone vigorously try to sell you something.

I'm a fan of neither a nor b.

After a few minutes of looking around, I saw this box of shaving lotion and cologne that was designed after Rambo. This, I thought, was the perfect gift for my tata gazda.

You see, Ion was in the Russian Army, and a few nights ago he showed me pictures. They were in this huge leather bound amazing thing that had paper inserts that had cartoons on them, and oh, my goodness, were the cartoons amazing. At some point, I will be taking pictures and uploading them (con permisso, already granted) because they are just remarkable. Some of them are generic soldering types - he was in the balloon corps, so they showed pictures of that, some of girls, and then, some of like, Russian tanks bombing American submarines and the like. He served from 89-91, by the way.

He actually colored them in himself, but at some point when he was talking at me in Romanian, he looked at me and pointed at a picture of a cartoon that depicted a very muscular man that was barechested and had obviously russian paraphanelia on it and said "Rambo."

It was a cross-cultural moment I will never forget.

So I thought the Rambo cologne and shaving creme would be perfect. Even if it didn't smell good, it would be freaking hilarious.

Alas. Katya did not agree with my choice. The cologne, I agree, was undeniably gross, and she forced me to get the cologne with a bare chested Brad Pitt on the cover that says "Brett Pidd." The bottle however, actually says "Pacino." Who the cologne is meant to emulate, the young and hip Brett Pidd or the every dignified Pacino, I suppose we'll never know. And I always regret not buying the Rambo cologne set.

But I digress.

So I've gotten this sneak peak at Chisanau. I went to the main market, walked up the main street (which I actually did do a little when I was here before) and observed things around me. Then, I waited for the rutiera.

A rutiera is a minivan that may or may not have seats that are secured to the floor that are crammed with people(kind of like an incredibly full Chicago bus during rush hour). People stand for long periods of time.

We waited for the rutiera to arrive, then literally rushed the door to get seats. I only got one because mama gazda elbowed her way through and saved me one, and I wasn't about to argue with an hour ride in front of me in a freaking van with low ceilings.

I don't know if the crampness was due to the time (5pm on Friday) or if this is a general state. I will report back.

As I rode home, I thought a lot about myself. It would have been a great time to eavesdrop and try to understand what people were saying but, whatever.

I realized that, in many many ways, I'm totally a second city kind of girl. I might even change the name of the blog to reflect this realization. Or maybe just my tagline.

I hated that market. I don't like being bombarded with data on every turn. I don't like having to decide between 47 of the same products. Especially in huge, tight places. They make me nervous.

I like having the option of doing nice things, but I'm really a neighborhood lass, when it comes down to it. I like my local grocer (shout out to La Primera!) and I like my local bars that are small and have the same people over and over that I can see all the time.

So if I'm placed in a smaller place (smaller place, I mean smaller than Chisanau - I think anywhere upwards of 40,000 would be good maybe? Maybe 60,000? That was my ward size...) that might be okay. It might even be better.

So this second city realization will also greatly affect the places I want to travel or, where I go in the places I travel. If I go to Morocco, I'm not sure I want to go to that crazy largest market in the world.

As dirty as I feel saying this, I kind of like malls. Or at least stores, particularly places like Target (oh target, i love you so) with impersonal sales people who don't give a damn and will only help you if you ask them.

The people who run the local stores in Peresecina (called magazines, by the way, imagine the hilarity that ensured when the kept asking me "you want go magazine?" and I was all "do I want a magazine? do you want a magazine?") are super friendly without being overbearing. Although, everytime you walk into one, I do feel like you have to buy something.

Which brings me back, oh so very nicely, to my homework.

We're supposed to go into a magazine and ask the vendors what ten things cost. Not necessarily buy anything, just ask what they cost. Part of this exercise is to get us used to the kilogram system. The teacher flat out laughed at me when I asked for 1/4 of a kilogram of sugar.

But how was I to know? Christ, I got a 1/2 kilo of cookie biscuit things the other day and it was like a full bag's worth. And the only experience I had with kilo's and grams, etc., in the states was hearing about drug sentencing and the discrepancies in cocaine vs crack, and when they show it on tv, a kilo of drugs seems like a lot! Can I get an Amen from the Americans??

Somebody said that they think a kilo is roughly 2 american lbs, which, hell ya, I think a kilo is quite a bit.

But possibly the confusion might be that people here aren't used to buying food just for themselves? They buy food for a family. Maybe a family does go through 2lbs of sugar quickly. Hell if I know, I can't even remember the last time I bought sugar.

So yea, this homework assignment, I'm not so into it. I actually did ask the prices of stuff in Chisanau - I had no choice as I was actually asking for the prices of things in Chisanau. And, just to be on the safe side, I asked the prices of castraversti's, and rosii's, and ceava's and cartofii's... so, part 1 of temru pentru acasa accomplished, I guess, because I'm not going to annoy the shopkeepers in Peresecina, that's for sure.