One of my main goals for my service was to learn Albanian well. This was the main reasoning behind choosing to stay in a host family for the entire two years (I am the only volunteer out of 80 to do this). Staying in a host family was the best decision I made in these last two years and I am grateful for all the wonderful things they’ve done to me and the role they played in my time here. It is largely through their interactions with me that I was able to earn Advanced-Mid on my final Albanian test, which Peace Corps administered during our Close of Service conference. There are just two levels which are higher than my score, and overall this score is roughly equivalent to a bachelor’s degree in the language. Not too shabby.
Going forward, loss of linguistic ability is a concern. Of course I will correspond with my host family and I really intend on keeping the relationship going after I leave. It will take some effort to maintain my language though, and I’m not quite sure how I will go about it just yet.
And finally, something about the nature of Albanian: there is some element of this language that causes almost everyone’s voice to raise whenever they speak it. We’ve discussed this theory amongst friends before, and visitors have simultaneously made fun of and/or mocked me while listening to my “Albanian voice.” Carrie Ann also alleges that native English speakers who speak German as a second language also have a particular way of pronouncing things in Albanian. The verdict is out.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Coming in from the Cold
With my tickets booked and my departure from Albania set for April 28th, it’s time to lift the slight veil of denial that I’ve been living under: I am leaving and it is going to be soon. The focus now shifts to finishing up all the administrative tasks, tying up all the loose ends and thinking about ways to say my goodbyes.
At our close of service conference in February, Peace Corps glazed over what will come to be the future realities for many of us. Amongst the areas of concern for volunteers ending their service are: loss of status, loss of community (other volunteers); loss of family; a change in lifestyle and routine; and general readjustment issues. Those are a lot of things to handle, which is probably one of the reasons that Peace Corps offers a voucher for three one-hour therapy sessions if necessary. We can talk all we want about the experience but it is very hard to find actual understanding amongst the ones we left behind all these months.
I just finished watching Lost, which is easily one of the best series I’ve ever watched. One of the main messages of the show is about life’s journey and the people that make our adventures so interesting. This Peace Corps experience has been a tremendous journey – emotionally, mentally and physically. And just like the experience on the island, my time here has been marked and colored by all the personal interactions and relationships I’ve had. You cannot separate the people from the experience.
It is time to think about the end and what comes next. For many of us, these answers are not clear. It’s a fact that exacerbates the angst and anxiety. We will return to the West and be thrust back into the American way of doing things – at a pace that we haven’t been accustomed to in some time. Returning home and trying to create some semblance of structure will be challenging. We are saying goodbye to 2-3 hour work days, coffees on the beach and traveling whenever we want. For those of us that derive so much satisfaction from work, the desire for routine and purpose is even more complicated considering the weak job market.
Aside from the fear comes the excitement and the pride. The excitement of being able to let go and embrace whatever comes next, even if it’s unknown. If there is one time in my life where I can afford to roll the dice and take a risk, it’s now. It is time to start the next chapter of my life, and although I can’t see it clearly, I can see the outline of what is in store and I am moving ever closer to it. I can also look back at this experience and think about the changes I’ve made and the work that I’ve done… and be proud.
I ran into an older volunteer at our Peace Corps dentist last week. “You’re going to Germany I hear,” she said. “I think that’s great for you. I think this experience has really opened you up. I was just telling someone that the other day.” I asked her what her plans were. “I don’t know, I was going to be home and be a grandma but I don’t think they will need me since my daughter-in-law has a job where she can stay home.” I said I was scared about not having a job and all the unknowing, but that I was just trying to let go, be open and go with the flow. “It’s amazing what will happen if you just let go… things have a way of working out,” she said. These types of sentiments have flavored a lot of my interactions the past few weeks and will continue long after I leave.
At our close of service conference in February, Peace Corps glazed over what will come to be the future realities for many of us. Amongst the areas of concern for volunteers ending their service are: loss of status, loss of community (other volunteers); loss of family; a change in lifestyle and routine; and general readjustment issues. Those are a lot of things to handle, which is probably one of the reasons that Peace Corps offers a voucher for three one-hour therapy sessions if necessary. We can talk all we want about the experience but it is very hard to find actual understanding amongst the ones we left behind all these months.
I just finished watching Lost, which is easily one of the best series I’ve ever watched. One of the main messages of the show is about life’s journey and the people that make our adventures so interesting. This Peace Corps experience has been a tremendous journey – emotionally, mentally and physically. And just like the experience on the island, my time here has been marked and colored by all the personal interactions and relationships I’ve had. You cannot separate the people from the experience.
It is time to think about the end and what comes next. For many of us, these answers are not clear. It’s a fact that exacerbates the angst and anxiety. We will return to the West and be thrust back into the American way of doing things – at a pace that we haven’t been accustomed to in some time. Returning home and trying to create some semblance of structure will be challenging. We are saying goodbye to 2-3 hour work days, coffees on the beach and traveling whenever we want. For those of us that derive so much satisfaction from work, the desire for routine and purpose is even more complicated considering the weak job market.
Aside from the fear comes the excitement and the pride. The excitement of being able to let go and embrace whatever comes next, even if it’s unknown. If there is one time in my life where I can afford to roll the dice and take a risk, it’s now. It is time to start the next chapter of my life, and although I can’t see it clearly, I can see the outline of what is in store and I am moving ever closer to it. I can also look back at this experience and think about the changes I’ve made and the work that I’ve done… and be proud.
I ran into an older volunteer at our Peace Corps dentist last week. “You’re going to Germany I hear,” she said. “I think that’s great for you. I think this experience has really opened you up. I was just telling someone that the other day.” I asked her what her plans were. “I don’t know, I was going to be home and be a grandma but I don’t think they will need me since my daughter-in-law has a job where she can stay home.” I said I was scared about not having a job and all the unknowing, but that I was just trying to let go, be open and go with the flow. “It’s amazing what will happen if you just let go… things have a way of working out,” she said. These types of sentiments have flavored a lot of my interactions the past few weeks and will continue long after I leave.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Intercultural Differences Manifested in Public Transportation Etiquette
In the very first episode of 30 Rock, there is a scene where Liz Lemon is waiting in line for a hotdog when someone cuts in front of her. She is annoyed at the lack of consideration. When the person refuses to acknowledge their rudeness, Liz decides to purchase all of the vendor’s hotdogs and distributes them to all the other people who were waiting patiently in line. Liz is driven by the concept of order, respect for a set of rules and for consideration.
Which really makes me wonder how Liz Lemon would fare on Albanian public transportation.
Spring has sprung in Albania, and when I say “spring,” I really mean “the two weeks between winter and summer.” And with it comes the seasonal transportation annoyance of the despicable lot that I like to call the “window shutters.”
In German, you tell someone “es zieht,” (“it pulls,” which means “there’s a draft.”) If you are riding in a car and you open the window, of course there will be a draft. But it’s been my experience that unlike in the US, when you open a window in a car traveling in Germany, there is this really strange sound that occurs which is extremely unpleasant to the ears. I swear, I’ve never had this same thing happen in the US. So maybe it’s not the draft so much as the sound associated with it.
In Romanian, it’s “current.” Priscilla tells me of her time working in her family’s bakery in upstate New York: “…Romanians… it was 200 degrees in the bakery, and we HAD TO SHUT the door.” These rules count even in summer.
Albanians just tell you to close the window. Not only that, but they will also demand (because they speak in the imperative form quite frequently, even to strangers) that you “not open it at all.” There are two problems with that. Firstly, traveling in a packed bus or furgon with no windows is incredibly unpleasant and frequently offensive to the nose. Secondly, Albanians will still dress with dress pants and jackets well into the summer months, which makes very little sense. But the most terrible, most unforgivable, are the window shutters.
I had my first window shutting incident of the season two days ago. On an almost empty bus, I carefully scoped out a seat next to one of the rear, overhead windows. I sat there specifically because there were only two windows that opened on the whole bus and I wanted to maximize my airflow. A perfect plan that completely goes awry. Even though there are a ton of empty seats, one woman and her daughter sit across the aisle from me. The bus quickly fills up and it starts to get warm, at which point the woman decides to close the window. And not only close it, but demand that it be kept completely shut.
Now, this annoys me. There were a zillion different seats. And also, there are 40 other people on the bus. Like Liz Lemon, I get annoyed with this kind of behavior. I am hot, I am cranky and I am annoyed at what I perceive as inconsideration. If this were New York and we were in line for hot dogs, I would have bought all of them just on principle. Instead, I did the next best thing and started a verbal tiff with the woman. I’m normally non-confrontational, and my American style forces me to be polite and accept the rude behavior of others rather than call them out, even though it makes me miserable to do so. So I yelled at her and told her that she wasn’t the only person on the bus, and that if the window was a problem, maybe she should have sat somewhere else. She acted like she couldn’t understand me, so the bus boy took the opportunity to translate and lay into her a little bit too as a bead of sweat dripped off of him. I’m probably going to write it down in my final Peace Corps trimester report: “cultural exchange with host country nationals about open window travel policy.”
Which really makes me wonder how Liz Lemon would fare on Albanian public transportation.
Spring has sprung in Albania, and when I say “spring,” I really mean “the two weeks between winter and summer.” And with it comes the seasonal transportation annoyance of the despicable lot that I like to call the “window shutters.”
In German, you tell someone “es zieht,” (“it pulls,” which means “there’s a draft.”) If you are riding in a car and you open the window, of course there will be a draft. But it’s been my experience that unlike in the US, when you open a window in a car traveling in Germany, there is this really strange sound that occurs which is extremely unpleasant to the ears. I swear, I’ve never had this same thing happen in the US. So maybe it’s not the draft so much as the sound associated with it.
In Romanian, it’s “current.” Priscilla tells me of her time working in her family’s bakery in upstate New York: “…Romanians… it was 200 degrees in the bakery, and we HAD TO SHUT the door.” These rules count even in summer.
Albanians just tell you to close the window. Not only that, but they will also demand (because they speak in the imperative form quite frequently, even to strangers) that you “not open it at all.” There are two problems with that. Firstly, traveling in a packed bus or furgon with no windows is incredibly unpleasant and frequently offensive to the nose. Secondly, Albanians will still dress with dress pants and jackets well into the summer months, which makes very little sense. But the most terrible, most unforgivable, are the window shutters.
I had my first window shutting incident of the season two days ago. On an almost empty bus, I carefully scoped out a seat next to one of the rear, overhead windows. I sat there specifically because there were only two windows that opened on the whole bus and I wanted to maximize my airflow. A perfect plan that completely goes awry. Even though there are a ton of empty seats, one woman and her daughter sit across the aisle from me. The bus quickly fills up and it starts to get warm, at which point the woman decides to close the window. And not only close it, but demand that it be kept completely shut.
Now, this annoys me. There were a zillion different seats. And also, there are 40 other people on the bus. Like Liz Lemon, I get annoyed with this kind of behavior. I am hot, I am cranky and I am annoyed at what I perceive as inconsideration. If this were New York and we were in line for hot dogs, I would have bought all of them just on principle. Instead, I did the next best thing and started a verbal tiff with the woman. I’m normally non-confrontational, and my American style forces me to be polite and accept the rude behavior of others rather than call them out, even though it makes me miserable to do so. So I yelled at her and told her that she wasn’t the only person on the bus, and that if the window was a problem, maybe she should have sat somewhere else. She acted like she couldn’t understand me, so the bus boy took the opportunity to translate and lay into her a little bit too as a bead of sweat dripped off of him. I’m probably going to write it down in my final Peace Corps trimester report: “cultural exchange with host country nationals about open window travel policy.”
Stiff
I first heard of Mary Roach sometime in this past year, when her book Packing for Mars was reviewed by the New York Times. The idea of space travel and an examination on all the details into it, and it’s a book that I’m very much looking forward to reading.
In the meantime, I picked up a copy of Stiff, Roach’s 2003 work that explores cadavers and everything associated with them. Roach has managed to take a rather morbid subject and not only make it interesting and readable, but very amusing at times.
She talks to experts across the world about various topics, including: dissection, autopsies, the various stages of decomposition and how they are used by forensic scientists in crime scene investigations, cadavers and their various uses in medical schools, how bodies helped reveal what happened to TWA Flight 800, ballistics tests fired into gelatin with the consistency of a human thigh and how organ recovery procedures are done. Roach is more than capable of addressing all these issues and supplements them with extensive historical information.
Perhaps the most interesting question is metaphysical. How do we define “death”? Legally, it is most commonly defined as the death of the brain. This creates a problem in organ recovery operations, considering that doctors sometimes have to remove a living, beating heart.
Part of this is a larger, metaphysical discussion about personhood and the concept of a human soul. Are you your body, or are you your thoughts? Which one is more likely to make you who you are and how you choose to identify yourself? I’m reminded of a film that we had to watch once in enrichment called Who is Julia?. At the time, we made relentless fun of the low-quality video and melodramatic acting, but maybe the ethical issues the movie raises will actually be valid in the future. If science someday allows full brain transplants (and perhaps the spinal surgery abilities will also allow transplantees full use of their limbs), what will happen to the recipients? What might happen to a brain put into a new body? Are you still you? How, and to what extent?
“You’re dealing with an operation that is totally revolutionary,” one expert says of a potential human head transplant. “People can’t make up their minds whether it’s a total body transplant or a head transplant, a brain or even a soul transplant” (p. 215).
One thing is for certain though: death does not have to be the end. Roach points out that there are over 80,000 people waiting for organs in the US as of 2003, with 16 of them dying every day (p. 195). The organ recovery which Roach witnessed saw one donor give their heart, liver and kidneys so that three other people could have their lives extended. I can’t think of a more significant gift than that of one’s organs – it is giving a stranger the gift of time.
In the meantime, I picked up a copy of Stiff, Roach’s 2003 work that explores cadavers and everything associated with them. Roach has managed to take a rather morbid subject and not only make it interesting and readable, but very amusing at times.
She talks to experts across the world about various topics, including: dissection, autopsies, the various stages of decomposition and how they are used by forensic scientists in crime scene investigations, cadavers and their various uses in medical schools, how bodies helped reveal what happened to TWA Flight 800, ballistics tests fired into gelatin with the consistency of a human thigh and how organ recovery procedures are done. Roach is more than capable of addressing all these issues and supplements them with extensive historical information.
Perhaps the most interesting question is metaphysical. How do we define “death”? Legally, it is most commonly defined as the death of the brain. This creates a problem in organ recovery operations, considering that doctors sometimes have to remove a living, beating heart.
Part of this is a larger, metaphysical discussion about personhood and the concept of a human soul. Are you your body, or are you your thoughts? Which one is more likely to make you who you are and how you choose to identify yourself? I’m reminded of a film that we had to watch once in enrichment called Who is Julia?. At the time, we made relentless fun of the low-quality video and melodramatic acting, but maybe the ethical issues the movie raises will actually be valid in the future. If science someday allows full brain transplants (and perhaps the spinal surgery abilities will also allow transplantees full use of their limbs), what will happen to the recipients? What might happen to a brain put into a new body? Are you still you? How, and to what extent?
“You’re dealing with an operation that is totally revolutionary,” one expert says of a potential human head transplant. “People can’t make up their minds whether it’s a total body transplant or a head transplant, a brain or even a soul transplant” (p. 215).
One thing is for certain though: death does not have to be the end. Roach points out that there are over 80,000 people waiting for organs in the US as of 2003, with 16 of them dying every day (p. 195). The organ recovery which Roach witnessed saw one donor give their heart, liver and kidneys so that three other people could have their lives extended. I can’t think of a more significant gift than that of one’s organs – it is giving a stranger the gift of time.
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