cacoëthes

Boo, life-complicating procrastination

gkb 18. June 2008 - 14:39

Back in Bucureşti again, this time for physiotherapy to treat the rapidly progressing case of plantar fasciitis in my left foot. I wasn't wildly enthusiastic about coming back down here again; the long train ride is never welcome, and the added misery of full-blown summer makes it even worse. It's been bringing back wholly unpleasant memories of training in Ploieşti last year, and I find that dwelling on that experience is never a good idea.
Owing to the need to stay off my foot during therapy, as well as a renewed sense of frugality (and aversion to temperatures in the 30's), I've been spending less time running about town chasing culinary indulgences, and more time in my room in the air conditioning, trying to get some work done. Despite having some expenses to take care of once getting back to site, I felt that by using my per diem frugally I could allow myself a small splurge--a scarf I'd seen in a shop not far from a café I tend to frequent when here. I'd spotted it shortly after I arrived in town, but the combination of waffling about the expense and bad timing meant that I put off actual purchase for a couple of days, at which point it, along with all of its compatriots in neckwear, had been sold.

Now, on the one hand, yeah, this is just a scarf. Clearly not a question of life and death. But it is a handy example with which to demonstrate an overarching tendency I have, which is to put things off until the VERY. LAST. MINUTE. Nearly everything, even things I want to do, I find myself debating, delaying, putting off, and in some way or another not doing in anything that resembles a timely manner. If I were a superhero, I'd be The Procrastinator.
When I went to Budapest, I didn't want to deal with figuring out/deciding on accommodations, so I put it off and put it off until I was scrambling to get everything arranged in time. I'd not paid sufficient attention to the fact that I couldn't pay with a credit card, so I was frantically calling and emailing banks, having money transferred to a debit account so it could be withdrawn and taken with me (mere hours before the debit card expired, no less). While I was there I found a few things I wanted to purchase and bring back with me, but I waited to do my shopping until the end of my stay ... at which point it was May Day and nothing was open. Before I left to come down here for this most recent trip I waited until the morning of my departure to do things like pay my internet bill and copy my key ... and, lo and behold, those shops aren't open on Saturdays. Every single piece of Peace Corps paperwork I sent in during my application process was filled out practically on the way to the post office, late in the afternoon on the "Must be postmarked by ..." date.

Logically, I know better than to be doing things like this; I've gotten myself into trouble so many times this way that one would think I would have learnt to be a bit more prompt and proactive. Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today, and all that rot. But I always seem to think that I'll manage it this time, that now it'll be okay, that just because it didn't work the last 999 times, doesn't mean it won't work THIS time. Unless I'm mistaken, doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result is one of the definitions of insanity. If that is correct, put me down for one huge, flaming case of it.

The slow erosion of my independence

gkb 7. June 2008 - 21:26

One of the things that's been really difficult for me to adapt to here has been the apparent loss of independence. Part of the reason I joined Peace Corps was to gain more independence, or perhaps increase my level of self-sufficiency, but it often seems that the functions of my daily life here incorporate even less self-sufficiency than I was accustomed to experiencing at home. I get the feeling the penchant for helpfulness that I've found here tends to be more of a cultural norm than a personal aberration, but at times I do wonder if it's happening simply because people are nice and helpful, or if it's because I'm perceived as being the helpless American who needs constant assistance to navigate the mysterious waters of Romanian culture and society.

I lost the key to my apartment yesterday. My host family had invited me "on the hill" (there are hills everywhere here, and they recently bought several hectares of land on one of them) with them for the day. It was an enjoyable excursion, and a somewhat representative example of leisure activities in this area. It's a fairly quick hike overland, but somewhat steep in areas, so we drove the roundabout way, left the car when the road became too rutted for motorised vehicular travel and hiked the rest of the way up, carrying an assortment of supplies, and what seemed to be a week's worth of food. Upon arrival, a fire was immediately built, several 2L bottles of beer were submerged in a nearby stream to cool, and host mom began preparing food while host dad went off with a couple of guys to survey the land.
There wasn't a lot for me to do; I helped out with the food prep a bit, but she seemed to have a pretty good rhythm on her own, and after I did the obvious things she suggested I relax and read. So I did: sprawling out in the grass on some old jackets, chatting with people as they came and went, dozing in the midday warmth, hunting for tiny wild strawberries with host brother, sitting and meditating whilst soaking my feet in the icy stream. When the fire was sufficiently hot the food was cooked, and we tucked into a pretty standard Romanian meal, of standard epic Romanian proportions: fried potatoes, mici, pork, cheese, and the always popular tomato-cucumber-onion combo, with slănina (fatback) on the side.
At this point, it started to rain. Not too badly, and as we were under some trees we weren't really getting wet. But this was motivation enough to pack everything up and take cover; there is a little herders' hut on the land, with an enclosed ground level and a roofed upper level. We holed up in there, the men upstairs, my host mom and I downstairs. The men settled in for a nap, and us women broke out our books and nibbled on a bar of chocolate.
(It seems strange to me to break things down so decisively along gender lines. I'm someone who's used to having more male than female friends, of seeing my parents' friends sitting around drinking highballs and wine spritzers and conversing in gender-neutral groups, and often finding myself preferring activities that are classically considered "male". But the schism is so complete here, that one falls into the established role almost unwittingly. The women and men have different conversations, and often split off from each other either physically or philosophically; the women never drink alcohol. And I imagine it would be seen as certainly weird, and possibly taboo, if I were to break the pattern.)

The rain cleared up after a couple of hours, and after an entertaining visit by a very drunken old man (who turned out to be the uncle of a couple of my students--it's impossible to escape recognition here, in one way or another), we loaded up the stuff and headed back. It was at this point that I mentioned the key; when we'd made a dash from the rain I realised it had gone missing. My single, "spare" key had been in the door when I ran out that morning, and I automatically took it with me instead of exchanging it for the full ring. I have no idea what I did with it in the interim; I could have left it in the door, dropped it whilst waiting for them to arrive in the car, had it slide out of my pocket during the ride or lost it at some point in the afternoon. All I knew for certain was that it wasn't in my possession when I checked for it upon leaving.
This was bad, but not as bad as it could have been. I didn't lose all my keys, just the one, and I had another copy back at the apartment. The oldness and crankiness of my kitchen window frame means that I don't go through the trouble of locking it unless it's going to be closed for quite some time. And being on the first floor (European; second floor American) and just off the entry of the building meant that it would be an easy hack to climb the rose trellis, scamper across the solid roof/awning over the doorway and pop the kitchen window open. Annoying, but not life-and-death, and not nearly as annoying as having to knock on my landlady's door and tell her I'd lost the key to her daughter's apartment.

Had I the opportunity to do it over again, I probably would have kept my mouth shut with regards to the lost key, as informing the family meant that it went from being my problem, to OUR problem. We stopped back at the apartment to verify that I hadn't left the key in the door (which I actually did here, on one memorable occasion), at which point host mom declared that I couldn't climb the trellis because of the thorns. I said it wasn't a problem as it was only about three metres, but she wasn't having any of that, and insisted that I come back to their house for the night and sleep in one of the boys' beds. Not wanting to inconvenience anyone, and also wanting to just get home, feed the cat and take a shower, I was a bit resistant to this, and voiced my intention to wait until after dark (so as to minimise the possibility of scandalising the neighbourhood/giving anyone any bright ideas), then gain entry myself. Being exhausted, I stretched out on a couch on the balcony and dozed a bit, waiting until dark.
Unbeknowst to me, there were Things Happening during my rest period. I should have realised that my insistence would not just be accepted; whereas I, and most people I know, would let the situation lie with the offer of a place to sleep, and leave the person in question to their own devices if they chose to go about things differently, decisions here will quite often inherently involve the group. So my insistence of getting into my apartment to feed my hungry cat this evening became, once again, not just my concern but the entire family's. So instead of relaxing for the evening, host dad went looking for a functioning ladder, and when the one that was located was found wanting, called host brother back home and sent him off to a neighbour's house on his bicycle to procure another one. Then the (giant) ladder was loaded into the (giant) van, and the four of us headed off to my apartment, where it was painfully obvious to all in the vicinity that we were unloading a ladder and obtaining access to an apartment. Once entrance was gained and keys were secured, they waved off my meagre thank you's with a "don't worry about it" and "it's no trouble", piled back into the van and headed home.

It was a great relief to be back inside, to tend to the yowling cat and to wash off the grit of the day. I couldn't help but continue to feel a very uncomfortable combination of gratitude and embarrassment for the level of effort they put out on my behalf, as well as irritation at myself for creating a situation that inconvenienced, essentially, an entire family for the better part of an evening.
This is an ideal example of what I've had the most trouble getting accustomed to in Romania: the fact that some people are just unambiguously nice and helpful. They don't get annoyed or put out when something unexpected happens, they don't see it as an inconvenience to help someone when they have a problem. I know a lot of people back home who would have grumbled the entire evening at the situation, or left me on my own after I'd refused the offer of a place to stay and insisted on getting home that night. But here, doing something like this for someone else is, for some people, just par for the course. It's something I'm not used to, and as a result, have difficulty just accepting and appreciating, without feeling guilty about.
It's also very strange to feel such a lack of independence, especially for me--someone who has gotten very accustomed to, out of necessity or preference, handling everything on my own. It was really uncomfortable for me to essentially turn over responsibility for the success or failure of this mission--a circumstance created entirely by me--to someone else. I couldn't dissuade them, couldn't convince them that it really wasn't a big deal to just climb up and get in. It went from involving just me, to an entire family and a couple of their neighbours. They didn't even let me climb the ladder myself; host brother was the one who went up and actually opened the door. From start to finish, the entire situation was handled for me, by other people, which feels very strange.
Which isn't a complaint, by any means; I feel incredibly fortunate to have met people who are so friendly, and I have a lot of appreciation for everything they did on my behalf. Not to mention that being able to graciously accept assistance from others is a useful tool to carry in one's bag. I tell myself that if I'd been left to sort things out on my own, I would have either broken the rose trellis or the entry roof trying to get in, that someone would have seen me climbing the building and called the police, or that something similarly awful would have happened and I would have turned myself, instantly, into the pariah of the community. But it's something that definitely takes some getting used to, and I don't know that I'll ever feel entirely comfortable with turning over responsibility with regards to personal needs to other people.

Inch by inch

gkb 5. June 2008 - 11:25

Things are pretty traditional up here. Not only is Maramureş the region that's been referred to as the most "anachronistic" in Romania, it's also arguably the most pastoral, as it escaped collectivisation under Communism, and as such the old ways have survived pretty much intact. Most people up here have at least a vegetable garden and some chickens running around in their yard, and some have additional plots of land where they grow food to sell or keep a couple of cows. Combine this with the distance from big towns and the lack of foreign influence that comes with it, and most people haven't experienced much outside of the traditional culture. I try to keep this in mind when I run up against the slightly more unpleasant experiences--getting stared at on the street for dressing differently or not being able to find certain things because they're not commonly used in the tried-and-true, Romanian way of doing things.
I've been trying to do my part to familiarise people in the area with the different cultures and customs that I'm accustomed to, such as explaining (and explaining, and ... explaining) that it's not uncommon for people in the States to go outside with wet/damp hair, and that it doesn't make us sick whenever we do so. Trying to use conversations to demonstrate differing approaches or points of view, either obliquely or directly. And, of course, using the universal communicator, food, to open up a different world of understanding.

I really enjoy cooking, and it's been a bit disappointing that I have less need to do it here than I used to. Since it's just me at my apartment, and I don't have people dropping in or coming over for dinner, more often than not something I cook will last more than a week. It's good, from an economical standpoint, but not so much from an enjoyment and experimentation approach. I went through a soup-cooking phase a few months ago, and had so much left over after testing out half a dozen different recipes that it all ended up in yogurt cups in the freezer, waiting to be eaten.
I'd hoped that cooking with my host family would be a way to offset this; my host mom cooks for several people in the house, and they go through food at a much faster clip than I do. We've had some sessions of making recipes she's wanted to try, or food preparation for a holiday meal, but she doesn't seem be as much of a fan of culinary experimentation as I am; she tends to want to make things that are familiar to her, with occasional exceptions for recipes that catch her eye in some way or another, like carrot cake or lasagne. I would turn up with a recipe for cornmeal and rosemary cake with balsamic syrup or cucumber-avocado soup and I could see the struggle between distaste and politeness playing itself out on her face as she read it over. At long last, and with no clear winner presenting itself, she'd say "It's ... interesting." On one occasion she went so far as to agree to try making something, but backed out when the time came to do the actual cooking.
But since the schoolyear ended recently, and the older of the two boys just finished middle school, I decided to do a bit of baking on behalf of the family. I found a quite good recipe for peanut butter-hazelnut brownies, as well as a few assorted shortbread selections, including sage, white pepper, and almond. I only brought over a couple of each of the shortbreads, characterising them as my "experiments" in the hopes of blunting the inherent oddness to people who were used to making desserts with tried-and-true ingredients like vanilla, lemon, chocolate and apples.

The brownies were popular, not surprisingly, as were the more traditional shortbread selections like almond and coffee. Sage and white pepper received more mixed reviews, and on first tasting I wasn't sure in exactly what context the "interesting" judgment was given. I'd given it a shot, but assumed that this was going to be the same mixed reaction I'd gotten to most of the variations I mention or proffer, be it tahini in "eggplant salad" or rooibos mint tea. So I was surprised when a few of them started asking for the pepper shortbreads. I sent one of the boys home with a box of them after an inquiry, and was informed at my next visit that they had all really enjoyed them--so much so that they actually wanted the recipe for them. I was, to put it mildly, quite shocked, but equally pleased. Not all of my culinary experiments have done very well, but perhaps I'll leave having given them a few new food ideas, just as they have me.

Cupcakes

gkb 4. June 2008 - 5:48

Whilst compiling a list of Chicago eateries for someone to visit during their stay, I made the mistake of lingering at the link for Cupcakes. Despite the fact that, during my most recent trip to Bucureşti, I went to Ikea and actually found a muffin pan (and can theoretically now make my own cupcakes), I'll never be able to replicate such delicacies as Blood Orange Mimosa or Chocolate Merlot.

A (permanent) change of scenery

gkb 3. June 2008 - 21:10

After some conversations with the PCRO doctor, and my program managers, the decision has been made that I'll be leaving my current site and moving to a different city--Târgu Mureş--probably in the beginning of August.
This has been building for a while, and has several different reasons and motivations. There have been a lot of difficulties where I am, which isn't necessarily a reason in and of itself to leave, but some are, shall we say, beyond the scope of what a PCV is expected to work within. Add to that the difficulties I've been having with things like finding a language tutor, finding people who are interested in collaborating on secondary projects, and a general discomfort in the location, and it was decided by everyone that the best decision was to find a new site.

I had a real problem with this at first. I'm continually finding myself running up against the perception vs. reality split of Peace Corps service, and this was another big one. I'd come to romanticise the "go where you're sent, do what is needed" aspect of service, and I felt that I was failing, or letting everyone down, by admitting that things weren't working out and that I would be better able to serve elsewhere. I also felt that I was giving up, in a way; that if I tried harder or became more accepting or subsumed my frustrations more completely that I would be able to make things work. That this was what a "good" PCV would be doing, and it was proof of my lack of mettle that I was rolling over and taking the easy way out.
Fortunately, the office is filled with people who are more objective than I, and after relating some of my difficulties to them they all felt comfortable in saying that this was not an ideal situation, and that a site change was the best approach to the circumstances. Which was a relieving thing to hear, to be sure, but not without its own little array of apprehension. Once I moved through the brief enthusiasm of learning where I would be moving, I started worrying about all the little surrounding circumstances: moving, assimilating in a new community, starting from scratch in a new place. I was, in a way, committing to beginning my service all over again. Finding a new apartment, familiarising myself with a new city and new region, getting to know a new counterpart and learning how to work within a new school.
I hadn't realised just how far into apathy I'd sunk until I found myself dwelling on all these things. Seeing my situation only from the negative side. On the one hand, a move will be a huge inconvenience, what with the logistics of getting from point A to point B, packing up and moving a bunch of stuff that I'd intended to give away before I left, the expenses inherent in a move. But it's also a huge opportunity, getting to start again, in a new place, learn from mistakes made and hopefully have more success in the future. These are all good things, things to be looked forward to.
These negative thoughts also made me aware of how unhappy I'd been where I was. This was also a feeling I'd tried to subsume, as I didn't come here for a 2-year vacation, and as such I felt that my being "happy" in my community was rather irrelevant. Regardless of any loftier considerations, though, I hadn't been in a good frame of mind, and this had had a negative effect on my work. It's hard to be engaged in accomplishing things when you don't like where you are. And though it's not entirely honourable to admit, the relative disadvantages of my post didn't help my enthusiasm. I don't have a sitemate; my location is remote, inconvenient to access, and on the way to nowhere (except Ukraine), so I've had no visitors, and little contact with others in my group; I've had a really hard time meeting people in the town and forging new relationships; there isn't anywhere here I really enjoy being. I've been rather depressed for a while, seeing that things aren't going the way I had hoped or planned when I signed up for this. One or the other would have been feasible; if I'd found a project I was really passionate about here, the lack of contact would have been mitigated. And if I'd had a better network, either of other volunteers or of Romanian nationals, I would have been more inspired to look for additional projects to work on. But the lack of both effectively sucked the wind out of my sails.

So here's hoping that the second year will go better than the first. My new location is significantly larger, very centrally located, more culturally vibrant, nearer to people I know and have forged relationships with. I don't know what things will be like in my new working environment, but hopefully the surroundings will be more inspiring to accomplishing something I can feel proud of at the end of my service.