The Road Less Traveled

I woke up a little earlier than the day before and had the breakfast Diana had prepared: bread, cheese, sausages, and pasta with brinza. Grigore, Diana, Sandu and I piled into Grigore’s car and drove to Lena’s school where we picked up Lena and her history teacher. Yes, Lena had school on Sunday morning. I thought it was awful but it’s all part of the “session work” that goes on at the end of a term in Moldova and other former Soviet republics.

Anyway, the 6 of us rode off to Monastery Hincul. It took about an hour to get there. When we arrived, there was a sign greeting us in Romanian. It said, “Peace to those who come. Happiness to those who stay. Blessings to those who leave.” I’m not sure if the church intended this last line to be funny, but we certainly saw the humor in it.

We walked up the rutted dirt road to the main basilica, saying hello to the goats we passed along the way. When we arrived, we found that the church was still under construction. The walls were merely bare brick, and there were plastic sheets where windows should be. Even the “gate to heaven” that traditionally separates Russian Orthodox priests from the congregation was covered with leaves rather than gold. Still, there were paintings of icons on the walls and many people were there to kiss the icons and receive their blessings. There was also a choir of 3-4 nuns who sang hymns with beautiful voices. We stayed for some of the service, then went out to see a special altar. This altar was completely finished; yellow on the outside and light blue on the inside. Inside people left food (mainly bread) and candles in memory of their loved ones.

We wanted to get a guided tour of the whole monastery, but we were told we’d have to wait 20 minutes. Meanwhile, I found out that the history teacher is very religious. She wanted me to meet a priest at the monastery who reportedly is magical, and could help my greatest wish come true. Lena said cynically that I should wish for something impossible. I tried to take the wish more seriously than that. In the end, though, my effort was not necessary. I met the priest, and he started by saying a few words about the monastery and asking if I knew anything about churches like it in America. At that point I wasn’t sure exactly what the affiliation of this monastery was, so I diplomatically said I wasn’t familiar with one exactly but I knew there many Orthodox churches in America aligned with Russia, Armenia, Ukraine and more. The priest then encouraged me to recommend Hincul to other Americans, and offered me a book with pictures. Feeling more generous here than at the museum, I went ahead and paid the 40 lei for the book. Later when I got the book home I realized 98 percent of it was a calendar of religious activities, and 2 percent of it was pictures of the Russian orthodox hierarchy and their meetings with political leaders. Oy. After that lovely experience, we went next door to the gift shop where we were told we’d have to wait yet another 20 minutes for a guided tour. After about 10 minutes of looking around I’d had enough of Hincul. We decided to go back home.

It had been pretty cold at the monastery and we hadn’t stopped for lunch, so it was definitely time to eat and drink something warm. Diana made punch—hot wine with spices. I had come to know and love this treat in Germany (gluhwein) and was happy to have it again at that moment. We had it with soup. After our late lunch/early dinner, Lena and I played “hot and cold” with Sandu, hiding things and helping him find them by saying “cold, warm, hot” (reci, cald, fierbinte). That was fun, but afterwards it was necessary (for Lena and me) to take a nap.

Later in the evening, Lena and I went out to the Cinema Club, an English language movie club. “Theater” is too strong a word. It feels like a private screening room with maybe 18 large leather seats, small tables for beer and other drinks, and a large screen with a projector. The movies were projected onto the screen using a computer. Lena assured me the club shows the movies legally.

The movie we saw was “Anchorman”. I think in the States this movie got mediocre reviews, or it seemed mediocre in the ads to me. But I have to say it was pretty funny. One of the funniest parts of the movie was when a Steve Carrell’s character, who had the IQ of a lamppost, was said to have become a top political adviser to President Bush. The saddest part of the movie was afterwards when Lena asked me, “Are moviemakers in America really allowed to say things like that about the President?”

For the first time since I’d arrived, I was able to sleep later than 6 a.m. In fact, I made it to 10:30. I had a late breakfast, then I went with Grigore to the office to get myself registered. To be honest, it was pretty painless. But I was still pleased when Diana told me that starting next year, this registration will be done on the spot at the airport.

After we got back to the house, Lena and I set out together to do some sightseeing. Our first stop was Magic Pizza, one of my favorite lunchtime and post-work hangouts when I lived in Moldova. Lena had never been there before. She decided to order a pizza with egg on top. I thought that was a little strange but then thought, eh, why not. Fortunately, there was only one egg in the middle of the pizza so I didn’t have to eat too much of it. And either it was well-cooked or it was from a city chicken because so far I have no signs of bird flu.

From Magic Pizza we walked to the museum of ethnography, but it was closed for lunch. We probably could have waited the 10 minutes for it to open again, but I knew there were at least 3 other museums to see. Thus, we moved on to the History Museum. While I kept my mouth shut, Lena convinced the cashier I was a local so I got in for the local price. I remember when I first came to Ukraine how angry I was to hear that there was a “local” price and a “foreign” price for touristy things. Now I’m not so sure it’s such a bad thing for foreigners to pay more. But I went along with Lena’s ruse anyway.

We went upstairs and first saw an exhibition/contest of proposals to build a monument to a general whose name escapes me now. Like Stefan cel Mare, he won two great battles and then lost. But Moldovans feel he still deserves a monument. I have to say I was impressed by the professional appearance of the drawings, sculptures, and models.

The next room we saw was an exhibit of artifacts from wars between the Russians and the Turks. That was interesting—swords and uniforms and battle plans and the like. We started to go to the next room, but were promptly scolded for it by a woman who said we were going through the museum backwards. Sure enough, when we went out the other door we saw arrows pointing us the right way. I thought the woman was just being controlling or picky, but then I came to understand that the intention was for us to start with prehistoric artifacts and move on to later years. Also, by moving in the correct direction it was easier for the workers to figure out when to turn on and off the light in the rooms.

The most interesting of these rooms were the rooms covering the Communist years. Lena was shocked to see a map which indicated that at one time Chisinau had been part of Romania, and Odessa (a very famous Black Sea beach city) had been part of the Republic of Moldova. It’s certainly hard to imagine that arrangement now. Perhaps the saddest exhibition was that of pictures of people who had been deported to Siberia and later killed. There was one picture with a group of children behind barbed wire. The sign in Russian above them said, roughly, “anyone who approaches these children will be shot”.

After leaving that period of darkness, we went downstairs to see a diorama of a WWII battle in Chisinau between the Germans and the Russians. Here too was waiting my punishment for not paying the foreign price. A woman who was a history major was prepared to explain the diorama—for a fee. Lena said 10-15 lei would be appropriate. She offered to speak in Romanian or French. Since I didn’t quite trust my French, I decided to go with Romanian and let Lena translate. The woman went on about the painters of the diorama, how long it took them to paint it, and the optical illusions within the diorama (e.g. the gun on a tank seems to follow you when you walk across the room). There was very little about the battle itself, and that plus the fact that Lena had to translate is why I gave the woman only 10 lei.

The woman said the scene represented a tragic battle in which the Russians liberated the Moldovans from the Germans. I asked why it was tragic, and she said it was because nearly all of the villagers died in the battle. I then asked, if nearly all the villagers died in the battle, why is it said that the Russians liberated them? The woman said, “that’s just what we say.” I told her my president says the same thing about Iraq. She laughed at that. But she laughed even harder when I tried to speak Romanian to her. I tried to tell her I was in Ukraine for two years, and so I speak Russian better than Romanian. The sentence about Ukraine came out okay (eu am fost doi ani din Ucraina). But when I tried to say “I speak Russian” it came out “Eu vorbesc limba ros,ii”. The woman laughed and explained through Lena that this translates back into English as “I speak the red language”. Of course, in one sense this sentence is highly accurate (red being another English word for Communist), but obviously that’s not what I’d intended.

Just as we were leaving, a foreigner from Finland came in who spoke neither Romanian nor French, and Lena was called on to explain the diorama in English once again. I tried to offer Lena 5 lei for all her work but she wouldn’t have it.

From there we went to the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts. We paid the proper prices and saw some nice icons and other paintings. At one point we saw a chair that had been used by Decebal, one of the founders of the first village of Moldova. Lena wanted to take a picture of me in that chair. I said I’d do one next to it, but really I didn’t think we should be taking photos. Lena said, “aw, they won’t see you.” So I reluctantly turned on my phone to use as a camera. At the precise moment Lena was about to take the picture, my phone beeped with a message. The picture was never taken.

After this museum, we were both tired and it was after 4:30. We decided to take a bus home. I found out that the rules had changed in Chisinau; rutierias (aka maxitaxis aka minibuses) are no longer allowed on Stefan cel Mare; they have to take side streets. I guess the purpose of that is to cut down on traffic through the main thoroughfare. Lena said it makes traveling very difficult. Fortunately we were already on a side street so it was easy to get a rutiera back to the their house.

When we got home, no one was there. Lena decided we should go ahead and start making placintas, traditional Moldovan pies (like a McDonalds apple pie but longer and 100 times better). Lena started looking around the house for the ingredients:
1. Pre-made dough for placintas
2. Oil
3. Apples
4. Sugar
5. Cinammon
6. Tvorog (a kind of soft cheese)
7. Egg
8. Flour

and

9. Feathers

When Lena said “feathers” I thought for sure this was a language error, or some kind of Moldovan English for something else. But sure enough, she pulled out three white bird feathers from one of the utensil drawers. She explained this is the old-fashioned way to spread oil on the placinta dough. She added, “oh, I bet now you’re gonna write home and tell everyone that Moldovans use feathers when they cook.” Of course she was right.

We started by peeling the apples. Well, I should say Lena did 98 percent of the peeling. I can peel when I have a peeler, but using a knife (especially without bloodshed) is quite difficult. Suffice it to say that a lot of the apple was peeled right off into the sink. After the apples were peeled, it was my job to cut the apples into pieces and get the seeds out. The cut apple slices were covered with sugar and cinammon.

Then came the task of dealing with the dough. The dough, which they had bought earlier at the store, came in a roll of two-ply sheets that had to be separated. Separating the sheets without pieces tearing was extremely difficult. Lena kept telling me not to worry even though there were gaping holes in the dough. With the feathers, I spread oil on one layer of dough. Then I had to lay the second layer of dough on top on top of the first and spread oil on that. (I should add here the oil was mixed with water so that it would be lower in fat.) I put some apples on the dough and rolled it up. That part I knew I could do because the procedure was similar to a streudel production I’d been involved in at my mother’s earlier in the year. I transferred the rolled dough to a greased pan, and had to brush oil on top again. Then I had to close the ends up. Again, I’d dealt with the transfer process before, but it seemed more difficult with this wet and flaky dough. Lena said the whole process is longer and even more difficult if you have to make the dough by hand. I certainly wasn’t about to try that. Lena worked on the cheese placintas herself, combining eggs, flour, and cheese by hand into a smooth mixture. As hard as it was to make, in the end the result was deliciously worth it.

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