I officially feel a year and a half older after being in Moldova for two weeks. Somewhere in my fermented mind I had convinced myself that it wasn't actually possible to drink for 15 straight days. Then Moldova laughed at my naivety, handed me a bottle of wine and promptly stole my remaining dignity (yes, I still had some left besides what you may know of me from my college days). Before this week I could count on one hand the number of cigarettes I've smoked in my lifetime, but once again, there's just something about this place that makes you need to abuse your body. So, I also promptly took up chain smoking as a nice accessory to my new drinking problem. Commitment is my middle name.
In attempts to have a nice sober day (though you know how this is going to turn out...god damn Moldova) Weird Kate, after feeding the family goat, played tour guide and showed us around her home town Soroca. There happens to be a rather large Gypsie population on the outskirts of her town, so we went to go see the infamous Gypsy houses. On a side note, apparently it's no longer politically correct to call them Gypsies, but I'm fairly certain none of you would know what the hell I was talking about if I referred to them by their new (more respectable?) name; the Roma people. So I will maintain my general asshole status by continuing to refer to them by their mystical name that conjures images of flowing scarf dresses, gold bangles, those little ankle bracelets that jingle when you dance and, of course, the TLC series "My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding" (if THE LEARNING CHANNEL doesn't have to be PC, I surely don't see why I should have to either). I think we can all agree, Gypsies it is. Anyone who still feels offended can take it up with my editor (kelly.brittan@gmail.com).
Unlike their caravanning cousins in the UK, the Moldovan Gypsies build these gigantic, gaudy monstrosities that take 50 years and several generations to complete since the family member who commences construction certainly does not have the money to complete the over-the-top mansion. And if you've ever seen the show, "My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding" then you know "over-the-top" should never be taken lightly. These are people who thrive on outdoing one another and if that means putting a Pantheon sized gold dome on the top of your house, then you better have the shiniest damn dome on the block.
So while enjoying the sites, one of the local Gypsies noticed us appreciating/snooping around the neighborhood. When she called out to Weird Kate in Romanian, I thought she'd put a curse on us. Ok, I'm not that thick, but I thought we were going to get chewed out for our voyeurism for sure. Instead of a tongue lashing, we got the best surprise I could have hoped for when she asked us if we'd like to see the inside of her house. Um, yes. If we thought the outsides of the houses were ridiculous then the inside was even crazier (and this was one of the more "modest" houses on the block). If RuPaul was a house, this is exactly what her/his insides would look like. Theatrical window dressings, bright pink formal dinning room, chandeliers bigger than the couch and gold accented everything. Liberace couldn't have asked for a better. We thanked the woman profusely and were about to leave when she insisted we stay for a shot of vodka (oh here we go again). How could we say no when she had graciously satiated our curiosity? After hydrating us, she insisted that her daughter would heat us up some food and bring us fresh vegetables from their garden. Then the house wine came out and then more vodka and then there went my sobriety before noon again.
You can start to see how this lapse into alcoholism is not my fault, though Weird Kate has her doubts as to our innocence. While Moldova does tend to have a semi-corrupt police system, Weird Kate luckily has never had a run in with the police in the two years she's been in this country. Within a week and a half of our visit, we've already been detained...twice. In both cases it was minor and there were never any official arrests nor did they even check our papers (mostly because we never had them on us, but that's not the point). It seemed just to be a case of bored cops wanting to talk to the pretty ladies, but then again, I don't speak Romanian, so you'll just have to trust Weird Kate on this one.
The second run-in with the policia was simply a misunderstanding. Weird Kate, another Peace Corps volunteer named Raymond, Kelly and myself had all gone out for some afternoon drinks and realized (after several bottles of champagne) that we should probably have had dinner hours ago. The responsible people that we are, we cut ourselves off and headed out to conquer the drunk munchies. Out of no where a police wagon screams up to the side walk and four cops pile out like a god damn clown car and demand we get in the car. Our translator, Weird Kate, advised us to stay the hell away from the vehicle. No problem. Knowing how things work in that country, she told them that they were required to give us a reason for picking us up. The police unconvincingly told her it was because we were being loud and drunk. Us? Hardly! So, while Weird Kate is working her magic, Raymond just jumps into the police car and they take off with him in tow. Fucking Raymond. So now we have to go down to the police station just to pick him up. Sure enough, when we show up, the cops are waiting outside for us. After some arguing, they are able to convince Weird that it is necessary to come inside the station to collect Raymond. The police usher us up to an office where it becomes clear that Raymond has already been released and now we are going to be held for questioning. This would be easier information to swallow if I hadn't just drank two bottles of champagne and if we weren't in a completely foreign, non-english speaking country. I am not prepared to be a part of Broke Down Palace Part 2.
The police station is in an old soviet union building. In the drab room we are taken to, the walls are yellowed from years of smoking indoors and tonight is no exception. The typical interrogation style lamp dimly illuminates the room through the cigarette smoke coming from all five officers who have accompanied us. I guess us three girls must have been a huge international threat to ward a 5:3 officer to detainee ratio. Kelly and I try to keep the giggles in check while Weird Kate argues with our captors in Romanian. After half an hour of arguing the officer behind the desk finally offers Kate a cigarette and I can't help but feel a swelling pride as my friend continues to go toe to toe with with these police men, yelling in Romanian and jabbing her lit cigarette at them to punctuate each insult. In the end, Weird Kate's winning line was to shame them by asking them how dare they treat guests this way in their country; a country that might possibly have the lowest tourism rate. The officers conceded that they only thought we were pretty and were just hoping to talk to us. By detaining us? Good fucking move. I wonder how many of them have found their wives that way. I can now see that it doesn't matter what country men are from, they all have bad game. Needless to say we were finally released (more like walked the hell out of there while they continued to protest) and, the worst part of all, we went home without dinner.
Ok, not a professional smoker yet
No comments:
Post a Comment