Mexican dinner night photos, and the sexiest coat in Moldova

I won't be writing an actual blog for this particular entry, though given the exclamations I've heard over my blog's size, I'm sure that can only be a good thing. Plus I think I made enough people nervous about my state of (un)happiness via recent emails and blog entries that I'd like to post something 100% positive and fun. Because I do have fun here, and am lucky to be sharing this experience with a great group of volunteers, many of whom have become good friends and really make the difference in getting through the rough spots.

So now, without further adieu, those pictures. We had chile rellenos, nachos, refried beans, tres leches cake, bean salad....marvelous. Though take it from me, the voice of experience (and contrary to the directions in the Joy of Cooking), that making corn tortillas from scratch is the most ridiculous and exhasperating process to prepare a food item you could ever have the poor luck of experiencing. My mood at the time only worsened when I thought of all the Mexican babas who probably churn out mountains of them daily using only their bare hands and a outdoor fire. Bah.

So as I was saying, all the Balti volunteers gathered 'round, as well as Anna and Adam from nearby villages, Nic's host family, and my local friend. The delicate Moldovan mouths, unaccustomed to spice levels beyond that of a sprinkling of black pepper, were promptly lit on fire. Thank goodness we had plently of homemade wine to keep things under control.

Oh, and then there's me and my Moldovan coat. Those of you who've seen Legends of the Fall might remember Anthony Hopkin's character, who, following a stroke, takes to wearing a giant bear skin and keeps a chalk board around his neck for communicating. Remember? That image invariably came to mind each time I donned this 10 pound furry monstrosity. This particular model was quite popular this winter, and variations on it could be seen all throughout the city. Enormous, fuzzy, and most importantly, capable of blocking out the -15 degree snot-freezing winds that we experienced in January and February. Capable also of clearing entire tables and knocking down small children in one awkward coat-sweep.

The night of the dinner party, we couldn't help but make references to Puff Daddy and the large brightly-colored minks he and others in the hip hop world can frequently be seen in, hence me in gangster pose. Although what was I thinking with that sign, I mean, everyone knows Puffy isn't westside, he's from New York. Geez.

















Oh, one last thing. A belated posting of a photo of me, Nic and Ari on New Years, a couple minutes past midnight, and more than a couple cocktails past squiffy. It was quite an evening. It's not every day that one can 1) fall on dance partner, knocking both self and partner onto floor, then attempt to blame it on him even as one is quite clearly sitting on him and thus the guilty party; 2) watch as friend hands out US dollar bills to everyone in bar, and mysteriously find dollar in pocket the next day; 3) watch as other friend, in burst of drunken international goodwill, distributes his PC-logo-emblazened business cards to fellow bar revelers. Though as Nic pointed out to me one day, two of the three PC goals are just to share culture, so I could spend my days getting drunk with locals and, as long as they were left with a favorable impression of me, and, by extension, my country, I would be doing my job. Hear hear.