It’s common here for Moldovan teachers to hold themselves high above their students.
A thoughtful Moldovan spoke to me, once, about how education practices in his country are like the bureaucratic tactics of Soviet times: ruled by distance, leaders are told to keep things calm, make their people happy, and they’d be instructed on how to do the rest. Don’t ask questions.
My head is splitting, and it’s not an ache. I’d love to reduce it to anxiety.
The questioning: we’re talking paths, perspectives, without the Universal GPS.
What I’ve begun to understand is that when I question something, I’m questioning a belief: sometimes the ethics, sometimes the usefulness of that belief. It’s hard for me, now, to think in terms of “correctness” or “rightness”: it’s a belief…
The ride in is unusual for Moldova – let’s call the village a suburban off-shoot of Chisinau. The roads are wide, the buildings well-plastered, and the trees a lush sexy. Even before the short promenade, you’re welcomed ostentatiously: a large “Cricova” arch suspends over the graveled turn-off.
The taxi driver who brought us in told us Gagarin came to visit Cricova. He spent a week in Moldova… and was all the week at the winery. (If you check on Wikipedia, the figure cited is two days: the legend does as they are wont to do.)
I’m making a list and checking it twice for those times when I (feel like I) ’m up shit creek. (If you want to skip strait to the list, go ahead, scroll down quick).
The most difficult aspect of service, at the moment, is juggling perspectives.
“They” tell us it’s a transformative experience – at least, “they” say, if you let it be. And I swear I’m trying, though some days I feel more entrenched in my former belief system, and others I’m squatting in the bell jar of those different perspectives and ideas. Some days, I appreciate the uniqueness of this country and what I’m learning. Others, I want nothing more than my freedom.
Sundry Travels 