Notes from a Small
Country
(with continued apologies to Bill Bryson)
Hello
friends, and welcome to another super convenient opportunity for you to waste
another thirty minutes or so with us as we regale you with adventures from
abroad! No need to thank me… So grab an iced tea or lemonade, stake out a
spot on the hammock, and enjoy!
Время Летит! / Vrem-ya Le-teet! / Time Flies!
Well friends,
welcome to August.
This
means – incredibly – we have been in Moldova for a year already. Half of our tour is complete. It also means that, for those of us who are
preparing for a third tour (or beyond), bidding time is just around the corner.
“Bidding”
is the process of finding a new job for the next tour. The first two tours in the Foreign Service
are considered “directed” tours, where the State Department basically chooses
your post for you, with only a little input from the Officer. Bidding is essentially like looking for a new
job in any other professional environment:
finding an available job you like, learning about the specifics of that
job, contacting and lobbying the necessary parties who make the decision,
interviewing, all that stuff. Well, and
learning about the country it’s in and the major issues important to being
there; that part’s a little different, I suppose. From now on, the State Department will have
little to say about those posts on which I bid.
Ultimately, however, the Department can put me where they need me, as I
have agreed many, many times to serve wherever, based on “the needs the
Department.” Reaching this level (a
promoted, tenured, about-to-be-third tour Officer) simply means I have quite a
bit more say in the decision, but of course it’s not total.
Once
the employee and the decision makers at the onward post have an agreement, it
is called a “handshake,” and generally means no one else will be considered for
that job any longer. It’s like a
conditional offer of employment, and other bidders can see what handshakes have
been offered using a special State Department program we all access. It’s conditional because, as happens in this
life, things sometimes change that upend the process. After I receive a handshake, I could get hurt
riding my bike after a sudden, unexpected arboreal stop, or there could be a
coup d’état in the country I agreed to serve in, causing the closure of our
Embassy there. So it’s never official
until you actually have agreements on all sides, the right time has passed, and
you’ve officially been assigned to the position. And even then things can still change. (Like that unexpected coup d’état, for
example.)
Officially,
the handshakes can’t go out until a certain date, but there is a lot of talking
between the various parties that goes on in advance of this date. Often it gets to the point where the two
sides ask one another – in essence, and before that date – when the time comes,
will you accept? So the post or bureau
says, “Would you be likely to accept the job if we offer it to you?” and the
Officer says “Would you be likely to actually hire me if offered?” When the answers are yes, these little
overtures can result in kind of an unofficial agreement, informally known as
“air kisses.” Seriously.
Handshakes
and air kisses. There’s no way I could
have predicted that was part of State-speak when I joined almost five years
ago…
Anyway,
we will be hot and heavy into this process over the next couple months, and
hope to know our onward tour come about October or so. At the moment, we’re busy researching
potential jobs, countries and regions. Soon
I’ll begin reaching out to people in the places on which we’re most likely to
bid. And for those at home getting out
the atlas and planning their next trip abroad, our current top choices include
Mustachistan, Elbonia, Equatorial Kundu, Brobdingnag and Freedonia.
So excited!!
The Grind
There are elements
of every job or career that are, shall we say, not the most fun. I know there are some people out there in
Foreign-Service-Officer-land who love doing non-immigrant visa (NIV, most
commonly known as a tourist visa) interviews, that staple of Consular work
around the world. I don’t know who they
are, but I’m sure they must exist. However,
I have yet to meet a single colleague who has ever said anything remotely like,
“You know, if I could spend my entire career just adjudicating tourist visas, I
could die happy.”
Some
new officers (because it’s almost always new officers, as once you’ve reached
the mid-level of this career you manage other Americans and local staff, and
typically don’t spend much of your day interviewing applicants for tourist or other
visas) spend an entire two-year tour doing nothing but NIVs. They typically find themselves assigned to
posts in one of the Big Four (Brazil, Mexico, India or China), because the
volume of applicants in those countries is, well, pretty ridiculous. Officers in China, to use the most extreme
example, issued 2.6 million NIVs in 2015 (out of 10.8 million issued
worldwide). The vast majority of these
were of the most common type, the tourist, or B1B2, visa, and a very large
percentage of these required a face-to-face interview with an officer. (For comparison, in Haiti there were 37,000
NIVs issued that year, 7000 in Moldova, and – because you know you want to know – in the Federated States of Micronesia there
were 5.) Also consider that this
statistic is for issuances only, and so of course does not include refusals, of
which there were 3.1 million worldwide in 2015.
That’s a lot of talking: Fourteen
million three- to five-minute interviews around the world, and in places like
Mexico City or Brasilia the interviews aren’t even that long, often lasting one
minute or less.
So
the NIV is the bread and butter of Consular work, but it’s exhausting. Well, I find it exhausting to interview
between 50 and 70 people, most in Russian, during my work day. (Admittedly, I’m not the fastest
interviewer. Those Officers in the Big
Four are likely doing somewhere around 200 a day, if not more.) It’s a big part of the job, but not my
favorite part of the job. Some unicorn
Officer out there will probably take issue with me on this, but that’s the way
it goes.
While
in Haiti, I conducted just over 7000 NIV interviews during my eight months
working in that unit. Here in my little
corner of Europe these days, officers (well, only me at the moment) don’t work
in one unit for months at a time like in bigger posts, rather we do a little of
everything (NIV, IV and ACS) every week.
NIV is important, to be sure, but my personal preference is for
immigrant visa (IV) work, as well as American Citizen Services.
IV
work is more interesting to me, particularly because the people I’m
interviewing are going to move to the US permanently (if their visa is
approved), and they tend to be pretty happy at the conclusion of the
interview. [For a refresher on some of the
various immigrant visa categories, take a trip down amnesia lane here: http://nyij.blogspot.com/2013/10/under-october-haitian-moon.html.] It’s a little like having control of a
powerful magic wand which gives me the authority to decide, and then to wave it
and say, “Viola! You are now a budding American!” at the end of these
interviews.
The Lotto
In the vast majority of cases, to immigrate permanently to the United
States one must have an immediate relative already in the US who petitions for
family members back in the home country.
This is the most common, most typical way to immigrate to the US, and
these new immigrants then become Legal Permanent Residents (LPRs, or green card
holders). They may pursue citizenship
later, but there is no requirement to do so.
If you think about that for a minute, it might occur to you to
wonder about how the first guy came to America, the one
who had no family here in the first place.
Of course there are other ways to get to the US besides this process,
for example as a refugee or asylum seeker.
But perhaps one of the more interesting aspects of the immigration
process, to me anyway, is the Diversity Immigrant Visa program. The two of you who read this drivel of mine
will likely recognize this is as the so-called “green card lottery.”
The program was created by Congress in the late 80s and 90s, and
has had several iterations over the years.
Basically, it was created in order to encourage emigration from nations
which had historically low rates of immigration to the United States in the
past, and now includes all countries whose total immigration to the US did not
exceed 50,000 at any time during the previous five years. In other words, the intent is to create more
diversity in the pool of those immigrant populations seeking to become LPRs or
citizens.
Today, 50,000 diversity immigrant visas are made available each
year world-wide for native people of those countries which meet the
criteria. No nation may receive more
than seven percent of the total in a given year, and currently only nineteen
nations are not on the list of DV-eligible countries, since they already
have plenty of immigrants to the US through normal, family-based channels. And in truly lottery-like fashion, those
selected are chosen by lot once each year.
Here in Moldova, there will be about 2000 DVs processed during
fiscal year 2017. Aside from meeting all
the normal criteria like a clean bill of health and a clear criminal record,
selectees for the DV program need only the equivalent of a high school diploma
or higher. (In case you’re wondering,
Haiti is one of the nineteen countries that does not participate in this
program, so this year has been my first experience with DVs.)
I
love DV interview days. Aside from
Friday afternoons, they are my favorite weekday. In fact, I so enjoy DV interviews themselves
that I pull up YouTube on my computer at the interview window, and while I’m
preparing the paperwork and the electronic file before I actually interview the
applicants, I put “Coming to America” by Neil Diamond quietly on repeat. It’s such a cool thing to know that I’m a
critical step in the process for these new immigrants, those who are heading
off “to a new and a shining place,” as Neil sang, as it has been for two
hundred years and for untold millions of the tired, the poor, the huddled
masses, yearning to breathe free. These
interviews can be a little emotional, as you’ll understand shortly.
(Small
aside: I’ll bet that high school kid –
Johnny Kim – who put together the video to the song for Mr. Struck’s AP US
history class wonders why the views on his version of the song have suddenly
exploded. If you want to add to his
views, go to https://youtu.be/cRTHdC7k4uY.)
The
people I interview for DVs have spent about two years in the process, more if
they entered the lottery in years past but weren’t selected previously. So they’ve been at this awhile, and have come
to the most important part of the process, other than actually landing at JFK
or wherever, and then passing through immigration and customs. At the conclusion of the interview, they
learn (almost every time) if their visa has been approved or refused, and we
don’t refuse too many of these (although it happens – stay tuned).
There
is a perception in many countries – and Moldova is no exception – that getting
an immigrant visa is equally as hard as getting a tourist visa (mostly not
true), and that the process of applying for the visa, filling out forms and
acquiring the necessary documents, making the appointment, and coming for the
interview are all very, very difficult (time consuming and complicated, but not
terribly difficult), and further that the vast majority of people have their
application for a visa refused by mean Consular officers like me (more likely true
for tourist visas, but not so much for immigrant visas).
And
since perception is reality for most people, this becomes the reality for
people I see at the window. Often they
are extremely nervous (expressed in English by Russian speakers as “having
emotions”), to the point that they sometimes hyperventilate a little and their
hands are literally shaking in the interview booth (about three or four times
the size of a telephone booth – for you kids playing at home, ask your grandparents
what a telephone booth is).
I
use this perception to my advantage a little, for during the entire time with
me (maybe ten minutes, including basic introductions, fingerprinting, the
interview itself) many people are nervously thinking they will have their visa
refused. I ask them the usual questions
about their family and marriages (if any), find out if they’ve lived in any
other countries before (if they have they may need a clean police record from
those countries before I can approve their visas), confirm they have the
required educational level, make funny faces at the babies and take the “fingerprints”
of young kids (not required if they’re under 14, but they’re often fascinated
by the process, so I have them go through the motions and then ask them to
place their noses on the screen, which totally confuses them but makes them
laugh), and other general conversational stuff like what they do for work, what
they want to do in the US, and inquire about any family they may have
there. Since refusals almost never
happen, there is usually great relief – often outright joy – when I get to tell
them « Поздравляю!
Ваша виза одобрена! » / Poz-drahv-lah-you! Va-sha vi-za ah-do-brena! /
Congratulations! Your visa is approved! I’ve had couples break into tears; old women
blow me kisses; people offer to shake my hand through the bullet-proof glass;
and many of sighs of relief, including lots and lots of smiles.
I’m
amazed by these people. Some of them are
no older than my own children (twenty-something), unmarried and have no family or
friends in the United States. And they
are about to strike out on their own in a completely new nation, with no real
contacts or connections or practical language ability (some are really pretty
fluent, but others have very little), and no job prospects or apartment or car
or anything else. It’s incredible to me
that they are willing to take such risks, and completely start over when they
haven’t even started life here yet. Some
of them have only the bare minimum in terms of education and language, and I
wonder how they’ll survive. All other
possible permutations of families show up at my window as well: highly educated married couples in their 30s;
retired couples going to live with their kids in Chicago or Sacramento;
grandparents, families with three or four kids, singles and newly married
couples.
It’s
this last category (newly married couples) that provides some extra interest
and scrutiny, sometimes even entertainment.
We call them “pop-up spouses,” which involves an unmarried, single
individual who has entered the lottery as such two years ago, but then shows up
at my window with a “new” spouse. Regardless
of their age, they’ve quite often married in just the last year, sometimes as
recently as the month or two before the interview. As you can imagine, this category is ripe for
fraud. Picture a family in the village
somewhere who has a marriage-eligible but single son or daughter with few
prospects for the future. They learn of
that nice neighbor boy or girl having just won a DV, and so the parents or
families get together and work out a deal or what have you, so that the two
youngsters will quickly marry and then head off to the Promised Land together. Perhaps it’s two singles in their 30s whose
friends learn of the winner and put the two ‘lovebirds’ into contact. Like life in America, the possibilities are
endless.
I’m
sure you can imagine the line of questioning at the interview. I tend to get the business-stuff out of the
way immediately (educational credentials, clean police records and such), so as
to get down to brass tacks: the
relationship between the parties. How
long have they actually known one another?
How, where and when did they first meet?
Who initiated the first conversation?
Does she know his parents and siblings?
How many siblings does she have, and where do they live? How, where and when did he propose
marriage? Was anyone else there when it
happened? Who? Where have they traveled together? What does she do for work? What details can he provide about her
work? What does he do in his free
time? What do they like to do in their
free time? And one of my favorites: Did he ask her father for permission to marry
her before he asked the girl, and if yes, how did that go?
As
it turns out, I find most of these relationships to be legitimate. Often they’ve know one another for years, they
can speak in detail about one another and their respective families, and simply
married recently because one of them was notified of their selection in the
lottery and they just want to stay together, which is totally acceptable and
legal. If I have doubts, I can separate
them and interview them individually, pressing each on details to see if their
stories match, suss out the veracity of the relationship. And like I said, most of the time it turns
out they are legit.
But
not always. I had a young couple not
long ago who had to be refused. She was
the DV selectee (the lottery winner), spoke decent English, and more than met
the other minimum requirements.
Unfortunately for her, she married a guy about four or five years
younger than her (culturally unusual here), and when I interviewed them
together, they showed no normal signs of being in a relationship, none of the
usual verbal and non-verbal stuff you might expect of a young, newly married
couple. This one was particularly
difficult because she was clearly qualified all on her own, but likely this guy
and his family and friends convinced her to enter into this marriage for his
sake. They had little in common, and he
knew almost nothing about her. She
didn’t know much either, and when I separated them, I could see in her eyes the
struggle she was going through.
Nonetheless, I believed she did not have a true and legitimate
relationship with this guy, and therefore I believed she had entered into the
relationship with the intent to fraudulently gain an immigration benefit for
him. These interviews are not fun,
despite my finding that fraud was committed, because she was likely pressured
into this situation, and in a sense is a victim. Yes, she agreed to it, but still.
Another trend has been to submit fraudulent or fake documentation to show a DV applicant meets the necessary minimum criteria. The most common recent example is for applicants who did not actually graduate from high school to purchase a fake diploma showing they did. We verify all diplomas with the Ministry of Education, and when one comes back as not existing in their database, the applicant is refused, and has created for themselves a permanent ineligibility to enter the United States. Just the other day I had two cases to refuse in this way, including one guy who was married and had a teenage son. After some additional hard questioning, by me and by our Regional Security Officer (a US federal law enforcement officer), he ultimately admitted to having purchased the document from a vendor because he knew he did not have the necessary education required, and the vendor assured him this would work. Immediately after he left the interview in tears, the next guy entered and basically fessed up before I could even ask any questions. I suppose fortunately, he was unmarried and childless, so it was just his future he was messing up.
Thankfully,
these are not very common, and I usually get to make new Americans with the
wave of my magic wand.
Moldovan Potpourri #1 – Things You Never Considered Before
I don’t really like getting
haircuts. Frequently I find myself in a
salon somewhere, surrounded mostly by women who are happily chatting away about
this or that, and I’m slumped in my chair, working hard to avoid conversation,
just waiting for it to be over. It’s not
that I’m anti-social, exactly. It’s just
an uncomfortable situation for me. I
like the washing of the hair (who doesn’t?), but maybe that’s because I’m never
going to be expected to hold a conversation with soap suds filling up my
ears.
With
that in mind, add to this pleasant little scenario that one occasionally might
need a haircut when living in a foreign country. Perhaps you speak a little of the language,
but when you plop down into the chair you realize that none of your language
training prepared you to speak about things like where you usually part your
hair, what size razor guard to use for the back, or what the Russian word is
for sideburns (ба-ки/baki, just in case you were curious).
When
you’re a Consular Officer, trivial things like haircuts and dentist
appointments can get even trickier, at least they do in my mind. I can never stop imagining that the woman
wielding sharp instruments around (or in!) my noggin, will at some opportune
moment point out – in the gravest of tones – that I had just refused her a tourist
visa the other day.
Sometimes
life is hard.
Moldovan Potpourri #2 – Verbal Excellence
So it’s no
secret I’m not the mostest bestest language learner, but after sufficient time
(usually by the end of a two-year tour), I manage ok.
Of
course mistakes happen. And when you’re
me, they happen quite often. Mostly it’s
the grammar stuff that I just haven’t managed to commit to memory, or the
reverse, I’ve memorized it, but it was never correct in the first place, stuff
like the gender of a noun or the wrong conjugation of a verb.
Sometimes it’s more, well, horrifying or entertaining, take your pick.
In
a stellar example of my linguistic abilities, I was interviewing a guy one day
who told me that he had a small transport company in town, a very common job
here. I was asking him this and that, prodding
him about how many vehicles he had and other details. Unfortunately, when I asked him about his
marshrutka (a small minibus which carries about ten to twenty people), the word
which came out of my mouth was matryoshka, which is that classic Russian
nesting doll. As happens with these
things, I then repeated the error a second – perhaps even a third – time, and
had one those moments of realization at exactly the same time I also realized
my local colleagues were quietly giggling behind me. It was all good natured, and we’ve had a
laugh about it several times since.
Sometimes
it’s not so much a linguistic error as … just an error.
Before
interviewing applicants, we must preview the electronic version of the
application. My colleagues have access
to these applications as well, and sometimes in advance add helpful notes to
help guide the interview. For example,
they may note the connections between this applicant and family who may have
interviewed for a visa in another city, details about previous refusals or that
the applicant has noted an income level that is suspiciously high. One day I was previewing the application and
read a note indicating the applicant had a broken arm.
In
my congenial, disarming way, when I called up the applicant and began the
interview, I very casually and very conversationally asked her what she managed
to do to break her arm. She smiled
quietly to herself, and then uncovered her arm from under her coat, showing me
that not only was her arm not broken, it simply wasn’t there. Whoops.
Moldovan Potpourri #3 – The Salute
So when driving
around town in our super fancy 2006 Toyota RAV4, it sometimes happens that we
will pass another Embassy, or maybe the residence of the Ambassador from France
or Westeros or wherever, or some other diplomatic building of some sort. The Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations
and the Vienna Convention on Consular Relations requires the receiving state to
provide protection to diplomatic missions in their nations. In practice here in Moldova, this means that
the local carabinieri are stationed 24/7 outside the various diplomatic
locations, ostensibly to assist with protection from things like barbarians
coming over gate and such.
Mostly
it appears the members of the trupele de carabinieri
(a quasi-military force with civilian policing duties, like the gendarmerie in
some other countries) are all about 16-years-old, and appear to be armed with
air rifles. Of course that’s not true,
entirely, but that’s kind of how they appear to me.
So when driving past one of these installations these young men are protecting, when they see a vehicle with a CD plate on it – which identifies our vehicles as belonging to someone in the corps diplomatique – they are supposed to salute.
I’ve
never been quite sure how to respond to this, and I know some colleagues have
expressed the same. Do you smile and
wave a friendly hello? Ignore it? Salute back?
I was never in the military, so it’s a little odd to do, but I’ve taken
to saluting back when I notice them saluting me. It feels even stranger to do so when in
shorts, a t-shirt and a baseball cap, but there you go.
Communists Are No Match for Old Wives
Europeans this far
east, and Russians in particular, are a superstitious lot. Of course this might be said about many
nations and their people, including every baseball player who ever lived.
By
their nature, superstitions have managed to outlast the development of
scientific knowledge. However, consider
that superstitions in this part of the world have survived two other extremely
powerful forces: a thousand years of Orthodox Church influence, and seventy
years of Communist Party rule. In other
words, they’re pretty powerful. Not even
the Russian or Moldovan Bill Nye can convince them otherwise, and they are
often taken very, very seriously.
Superstitions
are very common in this region. Many are
familiar to most Americans, such as black cats crossing paths, broken mirrors
and knocking on wood. Others, however,
are more unique to this part of the world.
For example, it’s considered bad luck to whistle when inside the house,
and before leaving on a journey one should sit for a spell before
departing. (What exactly one is supposed
to do while sitting is unclear to me.)
Young unmarried women aren’t supposed to sit at the corner of a table or
they won’t marry, and certainly should not sit on the bare ground – or worse, a
cold rock – or they will become infertile.
We wish an actor or performer good luck by saying “Break a leg!;” in
Russian the same sentiment is expressed by saying «Ни пуха, ни пера!»
/ “nee pukh-a, nee per-a!” / Niether fur nor feather! – to
which the only proper response is «К чёрту!» / “k-chior--tu!” / To the devil! Makes about as much sense as wishing harm on
someone, I guess.
There
is one, however, that I find most intriguing.
People in this part of the world love to be outside. Couples can be seen strolling through the
parks and along the streets in the city center whether in the heat of summer or
the dead of winter. Perhaps due in part
to fewer cars per capita, many people walk to the store, to work or wherever
all year around. Unless one lives in a
high-rise apartment, it seems everyone creates as much useful outdoor space in
their yard as possible, filling every square inch with gardens and fruit
bearing trees. Private homes often have
entertaining space in the outdoors such as terraces and patios, which often
feature built-in brick barbeque areas. Another
very common outdoor feature is the беседка / be-cyed-ka, which doesn’t exactly have a
full equivalent in English, but is like a gazebo or alcove, the use of which is
principally for rest and conversation (беседa is one word
for conversation in Russian, the root of the word above), of course made much
better with food and drink.
 |
| Our backyard беседка. |
So
people like to spend a lot of time outdoors, which is what makes this
particular superstition all the more puzzling.
Clearly if one is outdoors in all seasons, one is exposed to, you know,
air and stuff. Sometimes the air moves, often
resulting in a pleasant breeze. However,
if one happens to be in the house and two open windows or doors create a cross-breeze,
or a draft, there is a serious problem.
This is called сквозняк / skvoz-nyak, and it can kill you.
Evidently
there is a strongly held belief in the region that this particular type of
breeze – not, you know, bacteria or viruses – is the source of runny noses,
colds and illness. (Similar to the old
wives tale about wearing a hat in winter to keep from getting sick, I
suppose.) Not long ago Kate was home and
the housekeeper was here helping prepare for one of our parties or something. Kate had both the front and back doors open,
creating a nice flow of air through the house.
Iulia insisted Kate’s recent cold was the result of the deadly сквозняк.
This
might also explain the practice of our friends in Minnesota (who grew up in
Moldova) who regularly keep doors and windows closed on those beautiful spring
or fall days in Minnesota. Sometimes it
extends to the outdoors, such as the little old ladies Kate saw one day while
walking RTWD in the neighborhood who, upon noting Kate was hatless, abruptly
reached over and pulled up her hood so the cool breeze didn’t bring on the
onset of imminent death. Moldovans love
the outdoors, but work very, very hard to protect against the evil breeze by
rarely going out without a scarf or hat, even on beautiful spring or fall days,
and kids are bundled up like Death Himself is lurking close behind, just
waiting for the opportunity to strike once that hat or scarf is removed. And then there is air conditioning, which has
its own particular evils, along with drinking anything cold, which helps
explain why ice for water or soda is not at all common.
One
day earlier this summer I rode the bus to work. It was only 730 am and already it was pretty
hot. Of course none of the windows on
the bus were open, so it was like a sauna in there. Immediately starting to sweat through my
shirt, I thought to myself “Would it kill ya to open a window
here??" and then I realized where I was, and that yes, it probably would. I guess not even surviving several millennia
of long Russian winters hasn’t inured many people here to a nice breeze or to the
cold.
До встречи! / Until Next Time!
Once again there
go thirty minutes of your life you’ll never get back. Hopefully, it wasn’t time completely wasted.
Since
we were last together, you and I, Sophie has completed her six weeks of work in
the Public Affairs Section of the Embassy, and has now returned home. At one point I recall her saying that she
felt, among all the things she’s “started” in her young life (multiple new
school years, several summer jobs in Minnesota, and three summer internships at
two US Embassies), this was the best start she’s ever had. Fortunately, it stayed that way the entire
six weeks, and she had a wonderful experience working with great local
colleagues in the PA Section, meeting with numerous Moldovan young people, and
of course, hanging out with her awesome parents. But that time has now passed, and she’s
happily back home in Minnesota preparing for her final year of college, and
catching up on all the news that is news with her pals.
Tommy
continues to work his way through “A-school” (Advanced training school) at the
Center for Information Dominance in Florida, anticipating a full-time
assignment come October, about the same time we’ll know our Post for tour
#3. Kate will have the good fortune to
visit him there later this week, in fact, although for me it looks like my next
visit will have to wait until November, unfortunately.
Kate
and I had some nice travel opportunities with Sophie, including a really nice –
but way too short – weekend in the beautiful and fascinating city of Istanbul, and
a trip to Kiev and Chernobyl since Sophie wanted to see it before she left, because,
well, who wouldn’t? In September I have
a short training in Rome and Kate will fly to meet me in Florence for a long
weekend, so we’re really looking forward to that. We’ve done some additional exploring around
Moldova, visiting a few wineries and various historical sites, and hosted some
guests from the States, introducing them to this quiet, beautiful little
country. We both continue our work as
normal, and try to perfect our role as morale boosters by hosting parties and attending
CLO-sponsored dinners most Friday evenings.
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| Fields of Lavender punctuated by poppies. |
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| Enjoying a sunny day at the Lavender Festival, outside of Chisinau. |
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| My girl, the Lavender Princess. |
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| Cliff in Old Orhei. |
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| Orthodox church in Old Orhei. |
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| The view from cliff-top looking down at the entrance to a hidden monastery. |
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| Old barefoot monk inside the hidden monastery. |
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| Entrance to the hidden cliff-side monastery. |
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| Chateau Vartelly winery. |
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| Chateau Vartelly tasting room. |
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| Inside the Blue Mosque, Istanbul, Turkey. |
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| Courtyard of the Blue Mosque, Istanbul, Turkey. |
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| Hagia Sophia, far left and the Blue Mosque, far right. Istanbul, Turkey. |
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| 3/4 of the Team entering the village of Chernobyl. |
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| Memorial to the heroic firefighters. |
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| Control room for the Duga radar installation near Chernobyl. |
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|
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| Inside the school in Chernobyl. Surely the setting was staged. |
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| The abandoned swimming pool in Pripyat. |
Other
CLO events Kate has organized include periodic Happy Hours at the Embassy,
Saturday morning Story Time for kids and parents, a Fourth of July picnic for
about 100 Embassy staff, and back in March an Easter party for the kids, which
is where this photo originated.
In
it, I’m competing in a silly contest called Easter Egg Roulette, a play on the
Egg Roulette game made famous by Jimmy Fallon on The Tonight Show. Several dozen eggs are placed in the center
of the table, with about ¾ of them hard boiled.
Players take turns grabbing an egg and smashing it on their foreheads (as
you do), and howls of derisive laughter erupt when one turns out to be
raw. As happened to me several times
during the competition. It’s all great
fun. I recommend you try it sometime!
And
thus ends this edition of Notes. Life for us in this little corner of Europe
is good. We hope you can say the same.
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