Another Day at the Office

May 8, 2012 by JeremyJWB

Often, I comment to friends and family that I feel as though every day is a workday and, to a large extent, this is true. After all, my “office” is essentially the entire country in which I serve. Summed up, our goals as Peace Corps Volunteers are to help host country nationals with skills development and for us to take part in bilateral cultural exchange. To me, this means that the second I step out of the house I’m at work and that it will remain that way until my plane touches back down in the United States in the summer of 2013. In other words, with the first “Bună Dimineață” of each morning, I try to represent America in the best ways that I know how. In our fishbowl existence, this means that every social event from weddings or parties to simple trips to the grocery store can all be trying. If nothing else, just the simple act of trying to communicate is a challenge, as I struggle to understand even small snippets of what people around me are saying, let alone expressing my own opinions. Even this blog itself is considered “work” as it’s listed on our semi-annual report as directly relating to Goal 3. This may sound like a glass is half empty conversation. Quite to the contrary; it isn’t. Since high school I knew that I didn’t want to spend my whole life in a cubical; there is no doubt that, at least for the time being, I got my wish.

In a recent conversation with a friend back home, I was asked: “What did you do today?” My honest answer was “Well, I mountain-biked 25 kilometers in the foothills of the Carpathian Mountains, explored an abandoned, centuries old Eastern Orthodox church and had a picnic with my favorite student at the highest point of my village, which overlooks hectare upon hectare of vineyards.” Since arriving in Valea Călugărească, I have wanted to explore those foothills to the north, and I’ve been able to do this now that spring has set in and the weather couldn’t be better. The first such trip was last Sunday. A student of mine, from the afternoon wine classes I had taught up until Easter break, offered to act as a guide. Initially there was a little confusion over how exactly we were going to do this. He rides motorcycles and knows that I used to, but when I explained that we would have to go by bicycle instead he seemed perplexed about how that would even be possible. Although motorbike would have been more fun, Peace Corps strictly prohibits volunteers from driving. They even insist that we wear helmets when we are riding our bicycles; I get stares from the locals as it is, but they act like I am a total alien when they see me on my bike. Regardless my student was game for the non-motorized adventure.

We met up at the village post office just past 10:00 a.m. Sunday morning, bought a few provisions at the store and, after delivering a pack of smokes back to his house and meeting his family, we were on our way. We crossed the main roadway that cuts through the village and set off straight up the hill, passing farms, vineyards and the small țuica distillery that I may or may not have mentioned in an earlier blog post. The thin, black topped roadway curved back and forth as we dodged piles of manure and chatted about his new girlfriend. From my house in Valea the hills look, admittedly, disappointingly small, but up close was a different story, as I huffed and puffed trying to keep up with my younger cycling partner. After crying “Uncle” we walked our bikes up the last 100 feet or so to our first resting point. I had been this far before when my then tour guide, and now Romanian tutor, brought me here to show off the view last May. In fact, the banner photograph of this website was taken at that time, from this point. After looking the bicycles over, hoping unsuccessfully to find an excuse to blame the bikes for our slower than expected ascent we pressed on. My original plan had been to simply summit the hill directly in front of my school and then to circle around on a path I had mapped out with Google satellite view (the roads didn’t exist on google maps), my student, however, had a different plan for us. So, rather than make a left and more or less head around and back down to the village, we went right. For a second, I thought about the other work I had planned for the day, but quickly remembered the Peace Corps encouraged mantra of “Never turn down an invitation,” nodded in agreement, shrugged my shoulders and said “Why not, let’s do it.”

A few kilometers later, riding the crest of the hill, we came across the old Eastern Orthodox Church. Surprisingly, there was no locked gate, no signs warning against trespassing, even the front door was wide open. Though there was admittedly little point in locking the place up considering the fact that a huge hole had been taken out of one side (how or why still eludes me). Being careful not to venture too far in, we could clearly make out the old icons painted on the wall; now giving way to the elements and large cracks from earthquakes. Though perhaps most interesting, in the decades old, very small cemetery was a fresh grave that had just been occupied as recently as January; old flowers having just been replaced with new ones in the past few days.

Next up was our apparent picnic destination, home to the area’s cellular phone towers and amazing views of the surrounding countryside; this would be the highest altitude we’d reach that day. As we came around the bend the landscape opened up, the trees and bushes moved away from the road and we could see an old mansion just shy of the summit. Today, I suspect this beautiful old building likely serves as equipment storage space for the adjacent mobile phone infrastructure. Once at the top, we reached a derelict metal watchtower, which provided just enough shade for the sheet my student’s mom undoubtedly packet for us. From this vantage point, we were flanked all around by abandoned terraced hillsides, once home to hundreds of grape vines. The remnants of old cement staircases still dot the old vineyard that, purportedly, the communists had destroyed. Not expecting the full day journey, I unpacked and started munching on the less than satisfying green apple I had brought. Fortunately, Romanian hospitality was, unbeknownst to me, in full swing as my student had brought plenty for two. We relaxed for a while, soaked in the scenery and enjoyed the perfect spring day air before taking off again.

Retracing our steps and heading back in the direction from which we had earlier come, we broke off to the right heading north towards a large forest. Probably my favorite part of the actual riding was off the main gravel road, through a long meadow, which led to the woods. The grass on the path had been worn smooth by occasional traffic and was a welcome change from the gravel road that had been working in cahoots with my hard bike seat to ruin my future ability to sit. As the clearing ended we slowed down and road into the forest, the air temperature around us immediately dropped noticeably as the canopy of bright green leaves blocked the sun. The hilltop quickly gave way in deep decent to a valley below. We decided better to go ahead to the bottom on foot, since getting the bikes back up the leaf covered path would have been an unnecessarily difficult task. We wandered around the forest for a while taking photographs, stalking beetles and looking, unsuccessfully, for a stream. The forest was an unexpected surprise; I knew it was there based on the satellite images that I had looked at prior to the trip, but it didn’t really register with me that we might visit it. Much like those that I explored as a youth in Maryland and Virginia, the woods here not only brought a welcome respite from the sun, but also brought back lots of good memories.

Having made our way out of the forest, we decided it was time to head back to the village. On the way back, we took the route that I had originally mapped out, so that I could see what the path looked like as recon for future bike trips. After another kilometer or two the gravel roads at the crest gave way to beautifully paved twisty tarmac which lead us swiftly all the way back down to the bottom in no time at all. We passed more farms, vineyards, a monastery and even waved to some of my high school students that were working their family’s land or enjoying a rest in the shade.

It was at the high point of the hillside, while we were snacking on lunch that I realized “This is my job.” Here I was, sitting in the shadow of a communist era tower, on land that had been confiscated from a colleague during the Ceaușescu regime, with one of my students, who speaks little to no English, talking about his life here in Romania and sharing my stories from America. We enjoyed ham and cheese sandwiches, ate sunflower seeds and drank strong Turkish style coffee, complete with a little plastic baggy of sugar, which his mother had prepared for us that morning. This is life as a Peace Corps Volunteer, even your days “off” are full of cross-cultural exchange and often, the unexpected.