The Real World

Of course, when I type "the real world" into the Google search engine, I am offered nothing but links to information on the MTV hit reality show of the same name. A small part of me had hoped for a link that led to something intriguing. Something more deserving of the title "the real world". Over the course of my soon to be 29 years, the term "the real world" has usually had a negative connotation attached to it. Something along the lines of a damp and dreary cubicle with a bleary monitor displaying never ending numbers that are attended to by tired, dark-ringed eyes and hands burdened by carpal tunnel syndrome. A little bit of hell in exchange for being able to pay the bills. It's something that I've wanted to avoid at all costs, even after MTV glorified it, but it seems to be an inevitability according to the masses. Volunteers frequently toss the phrase around when referring to going back home and finding work. "It's time to go back and join the real world..." I wonder when the term was first used to mean "a boring job" instead of "the Earth unadulterated". If you look simply at the words and not at the current use, the phrase The Real World would, to me, evoke images of far off places. Of the African Savannah and the distant, icy reaches of Antarctica. Of the depths within the Marianas Trench and the sharks of the Great Barrier Reef. Of the red and gold striped Grand Canyon walls and the windy steppes of Mongolia. Not of computers. Not of the nine to five routine we all frequently fall victim to. I feel like being here is the most real thing I've ever done and I hope that in forty years from now, when I look back, I'll feel like I've managed to experience at least a little bit of the real world. The real real world.

The Daily Battle

If you could eliminate the biggest source of stress from your life, how would your life be different?

A while ago, I heard about a couple of volunteers who received a score of Superior on their language tests at Mid Service Training. Superior is the highest ranking you can get, indicating a nearly undetectable accent, impeccable grammar, huge vocabulary and the ability to understand everything said in a natural, free flowing and rapid conversation. All of this at MST, the half way mark of service. As I keep my goal set high on a score of Advanced Low for my Close of Service test three months from now, I can't help but wonder what it must be like for those volunteers. How different my daily life would be if I didn't have to plan phone call conversations in my head before dialing, if I didn't have to use Google Translate on a daily basis, if I could understand every single conversation going on around me, if I could converse naturally with my coworkers, if I could confidently go into every store knowing the terms for exactly what I wanted, if I didn't have to rely on an English explanation for all the "advanced" stuff. What would the difficult part of my day be, then, if I could do all of these things? If I could eliminate the stress of sucking at both Romanian and Hungarian from my life, what other worries and inadequacies would occupy my mind? I can't even imagine anymore what it would be like to live in a foreign country and speak the local language fluently. I used to think it'd be simple. "How can you live in a country for two years and not learn the local language? That's ridiculous." My, how wrong I was. Why can't my daily battle be negotiating fair vegetable prices at the piatza instead of trying to remember the word for pumpkin? After a year and a half, I feel suddenly anxious to have this nagging worry out of my life. I wish I could eliminate it by being at the Superior level, but it seems that I am mentally incapable of accomplishing that. For shame.

I'm gonna go eat a slice of carrot cake now. Phooey.

Graffiti I Like

As I made my way from the hostel where volunteers usually stay when in Bucharest to the metro station, some graffiti caught my eye that I hadn't noticed before. It was very simple, just three words: Noi Vrem RESPECT. Noi Vrem was in black and RESPECT was in red. We Want RESPECT. On either side of this piece of graffiti were political signs promoting certain presidential candidates. The political signs said things like "You and us together" or "Come on, Romania!" or some other meaningless pleasantry. The red was dripping down the wall beneath the RESPECT, as if the person spraying had gritted their teeth and pushed down on the nozzle as hard as possible, using up the entire can to get a solid RESPECT on the wall. Perhaps it took all their might to keep from turning the spray towards the silly sayings and the dowdy faces peering at them from the nearby political posters. Good words combined with the right actions speak louder than anything.

The Dog Story

There are two dogs in Reno that I would like to think I saved. The first one was this big rottweiler running across McCarron Blvd, looking lost but sniffing out something tempting and heading right into swiftly approaching traffic. I pulled over, called the obviously friendly dog to me, checked his tags, and called the owner. A few minutes later the owner showed up, apologized profusely and said thank you. I saw the second dog jumping over a ridiculously high brick fence as I drove to work on Bering Avenue. After he landed, he raced immediately into the middle of the street and I barely missed hitting him. Slamming on the brakes, I pulled over, got out, cautiously called over the huge pit bull (who turned out to be a little love bug), and drove around with the guy drooling in the back seat until I found the address because no number was given on the tag. Both times the owners were really embarrassed, apologetic and grateful. If they hadn't been, I would have been worried. I saw a few other dogs running loose in Reno, but wasn't able to get to them or was pretty sure they weren't in much danger.

Cut to today and I don't give the scrawny stray passing me on the street a second thought, other than please don't bite me. I don't like that I've grown accustomed to ignoring the plethora of roaming dogs here. I don't like that I cringe out of fear as a big dog approaches and I don't like that I pick up rocks as I jog just in case the stray dogs by the river decide to take a toothy interest in me. The animals that I would pull over back home to save I now want nothing to do with. Instead of saying that I've lost some sort of tenderness towards animals, I'm going to say that the animals here, the dogs particularly, are different. They're smart. They'll wait at a crosswalk to cross with people. They'll look both ways before stepping into a street. They'll stay out of your way if you'll stay out of theirs. And in times of dire need, they will even take the bus, to the amusement and fear of all passengers.

It's survival of the fittest, not to mention smartest, working its magic. Our American house dogs wouldn't last five minutes here on their own and perhaps the stray dogs of Romania should feel proud of their ability to integrate into society and make it on their own. They do, however, cause many problems, especially in the forms of possibly-rabies-laden bites and car accidents, but the situation is by no means their fault. Stray dogs form yet another reminder of the communist past, when landowners were forced to give up their homes in the countryside and move into apartments in the city, where dogs were not allowed. The only option, other than to kill the family pets, was to release them into the wild, where they bred and bred and bred into the iron tough and quick witted dogs we see today.

There are very few programs here like the SPCA or the humane society, so there is simply no place for stray or abandoned animals to be sheltered, meaning they remain in the wild where they breed and breed and breed. A few programs have started up recently that take in stray dogs, neuter or spay them, put a chip in their ear, and then release them, which will eventually start having an effect if enough counties and people start supporting the procedure. Therein lies a large part of the problem. Getting several people who are still recovering from a traumatic past and who are still trying to find their feet in a global life to care about the status of animals in their country is, understandably, tough. And getting several people to believe that spaying and neutering animals is a way to prevent hundreds of unwanted animals from being born, not a form of cruelty that takes away an animal's machoness or femininity, takes time. Thoughts and ideas will have to change before the packs roaming the city outskirts start to shrink. The dogs can't be expected to do it all on their own.

I think of those two dogs in Reno once in a while and wonder how they are. I hope their owners are taking good care of them and they aren't jumping over any tall fences. I hope they pause from time to time and recognize their good luck, even though that's not a possibility for a dog to do. I'd still like to think that they're aware.

Din Nou

Again, or anew. The Drama Club met for the first time today since May and I was pleased with a turn out of 17 students, most of whom were eager to participate. As I made my way from work to the meeting, I questioned my nerves. Last year at this time while I prepared for my first encounter with the Drama Club, I could hardly sleep at night. The notes in my hands trembled as I delivered my cheesy little spiel and I wondered why on earth somebody so self conscious actually thought she could teach drama. Today was different. I felt nothing but excitement as I passed through the school's gates and crossed the cement yard. I made my way up the stairs and down the stairs and through the winding corridors that now feel rather homey with nothing but bursts of glee and the unnecessary paper-copy plan for the session. A symphony of hellos greeted me as I entered the room and we started year two of "Teach the Volunteer", also known as Drama Club.

Hearts and Other Polygons

I was just beginning to think that Romania, as beautiful as it is, doesn't really vary a whole lot visually and, in all honestly, was starting to get a bit boring. Not the people, not my time here, not the culture, just the landscape and the scenery. Even so, it was a very beautiful boring that I could stare at through the train window all day - like watching the clouds changing shapes and sizes. Clouds are all pretty similar, fairly fluffy and some shade of white, but watching them slide across the sky, spotting an occasional heart or dinosaur, is never a disappointing way to spend an hour or two. But after you've seen a couple of clouds, you've seen them. Just like after you've seen a few tree speckled rolling hills dotted with quaint, pastel painted cottages and their little wisps of chimney smoke curling into the sky, like a postcard you wish you could step into, you've seen them. And after you've seen a few centuries-old, boldly painted and Jesus adorned churches, you've seen them. I don't want to say "you've seen them all" because each location and each church is unique and who am I to lump them all together? They've just gotten redundant enough now that I know what to expect and as much as I love staring out the train window, little surprises me. Then, like finding an impossibly detailed replica of starry starry night in the clouds above, I take a trip to the Danube Delta. Instead of a train, my friends and I board a tiny seven person boat, and where the tree and cottage dotted hills once filled the view, our gaze is captured by the open waters lined with lush beaches, reed-roofed houses and subdued boat docks. The grazing cows are replaced by rare species of birds and the incessant roar of the train engine is completely absent, as is nearly all sound. How silent a group of people can be, especially as they carefully approach a floating sea of pelicans. Hundreds of them bobbing gently, quietly with the waves. All sound is gone, except for the quiet lap of water against the boat, the occasional stifled sound of awe and the light swish of wings taking to the air. Romania still has more than just hearts and other polygons to show me and I'm glad I still feel like looking.

Whew!

My name appears in a local news article. Craziness! My sister comes tomorrow. Awesomeness!