[insert funny title here - and i'm open to suggestions]

A new group of Peace Corps trainees recently arrived in Moldova, the 19^th group since Peace Corps’ inception in the country. Along with other volunteer peer mentors I went to greet the trainees at the Chisinau airport and then help them settle in to the hotel before their first morning of training. The peer mentoring program is actually a fairly recent development, created by a couple of intrepid volunteers from my group following our arrival to Moldova out of the belief that perhaps it is better to greet incoming trainees with cheery posters and smiles rather than a terse “welcome to hell”.

But hey, the more experienced volunteers aren’t all bad, particularly now that I count myself among their numbers. Still, in our roles as mentors we must be constantly mindful of the temptation to share our “advice” with newbies. For some unfortunate reason, it is all too easy to turn a little healthy venting into a long, drawn-out bitch fest about everything from why they wear those pointy shoes to the locals' fear of current and elbow-jabbing babas at the post office.

In our defense, based on what I’ve read and heard from other Peace Corps volunteers around the world, I have arrived at the conclusion that this would probably happen if you sent a big pack of American volunteers anywhere for two years, whether it’s Fiji or Kazakstan. Several months into service you start to get used to your surroundings, the exotic sheen wears off, and quaint aspects of the local culture become grating. I was originally slated for the Pacific Islands, for example, and had that worked out I can just see myself now: Stupid humidity, how are you supposed to sleep here? Bugs, bugs everywhere! Gah, one's in my food! And the crappy water! If I don’t get of this freaking island, why…

I don’t think this is something specific to Americans, either. I’m sure that if you polled any insular group in the US – say, a pocket of Moldovan immigrants – who, like Peace Corps volunteers, hang out with each other much more than with locals, struggle with the language and generally are slow to acculturate, you would find the exact same thing. Stupid Americans, why are they so fat? Because they eat those damn gahmboorgers, that’s why! Pfaw! And why they smile all the time, Hello, How are you, Pleasethankyou…I no know who the hell are you! I am doctor in my country, but here I slave day and night to clean up after these loud, frumpy-dressing peegs!

And so on. I also find it interesting that volunteers in a wide variety of posts around the world dismiss their particular post as “the posh corps” and lament the availability of Twix bars and internet, wishing for the good luck to suffer a bit or at the very least eat some insects and live in a hut. I rest the blame for this phenomenon squarely on the shoulders of the hut-heavy Peace Corps marketing materials. I bet if you panned the camera a bit to the right in most of the photos on the recruiting website, there would be a pizza place and teenagers impersonating 50 Cent sitting right there, just like in my town. I think it’s time to get realistic about what, in 2006, Peace Corps is and isn’t. It is a hard job, but not in the eating bugs way, at least not for most of us. Sure, you have that whole outhouse thing to deal with, and stomach parasites, and perhaps political unrest, but the day-to-day challenges of the job are of another sort altogether. Your first year at site, you have free time. Lots of free time. Oodles. All the free time you ever wanted during those years at your boring office job or when cramming for finals and juggling endless responsibilities. And you have nothing to do, but you're overwhelmed by guilt because surely if you just tried hard enough you could be single-handedly saving your community right now, and maybe solidifying your chances of ending up on a prominent plaque somewhere. Then, a year later, free time ceases being your number one problem and instead you find yourself playing the unexpected role of community cheerleader, trying to rally individuals and organizations to get cracking on projects they may or may not see as valuable, using resources that may or may not be available, trying to simultaneously be present and plan for your future once you return home. You see your end-of-service date looming and the pressure is on to really do something, to make a difference, something to show that your community is better off for your having been there.

The above paragraph is a bit like the speech I gave some of the new trainees the other night when I was back in my old training village visiting Nic’s former host family. I don’t know whether the trainees agreed with me or not -- it’s still early for them yet. Just this past weekend I was reminded of the gulf between experienced (read: jaded and desperately craving sushi) volunteers and new trainees during a tour of Chisinau that I guided as part of my peer mentoring responsibilities.

“Okay, guys, I’ve got something special planned,” I told them. “This afternoon for lunch I’m going to take you to this great little French place I know of – you won’t believe it!”

Hours later, after canvassing a large portion of the city, wandering through the northern gara and the animal market and up past the Turist Hotel, my mentees were hot and sweaty and starving. I opened the door to the restaurant with all the pride and excitement as if I owned the place and it were the opening celebration. They even had my favorite cherry tart in stock! I turned to gage my mentee’s expressions.

“Um, could we like, go somewhere with real food?” one asked.
“Yeah, I’m really hungry.”

Sigh. Off we walked, back to the center of town, past the art market where a tourist-savvy white-bearded man trilled his clay flute at us and said, “Hello! I love you! 15 lei!”, on to a Middle Eastern restaurant. After the meal, Nic and I dug in to our berry tarts, which he had lagged behind to purchase after the French restaurant mutiny. One of the mentees looked over at us in our pastry orgy.

“So are you guys, like, really hard up or what?” Snickers.

“Pff, don’t feel bad,” Nic assured me, “give them three months and this is going to look amazing.”

[And, for your visual enjoyment -- well, not that reading this blog wouldn't qualify! -- I've included some photos taken around Chisinau during the tour. In case you were wondering, the baby doll bride perched on the front of the limo is a common sight in Moldova, part of the traditional wedding entourage seen throughout the country. As for the flag awning, I spotted this at one of the booths at the city's central piata.]