August Notes

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.

Fields of Lavender punctuated by poppies.

Enjoying a sunny day at the Lavender
Festival, outside of Chisinau.

My girl, the Lavender Princess.

Cliff in Old Orhei.

Orthodox church in Old Orhei.

The view from cliff-top looking down at the
entrance to a hidden monastery.

Old barefoot monk inside the hidden monastery.

Entrance to the hidden cliff-side monastery.

Chateau Vartelly winery.

Chateau Vartelly tasting room.

Inside the Blue Mosque, Istanbul, Turkey.

Courtyard of the Blue Mosque, Istanbul, Turkey.

Hagia Sophia, far left and the Blue Mosque, far right.  Istanbul, Turkey.

3/4 of the Team entering the village of Chernobyl.

Memorial to the heroic firefighters.

Control room for the Duga radar installation near Chernobyl.

Control room for the Duga radar installation near Chernobyl.

Inside the school in Chernobyl.
Surely the setting was staged.

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.

The opinions expressed within are my own and not those of the U.S. Government. Please do not disseminate widely without permission.

June Notes

Notes from a Small Country

(with continued apologies to Bill Bryson)

It’s been an eventful couple of months, my friends.  The year started off in a bit of an unusual manner, including some alone time over Christmas and a little travel to Italy and Germany.  Happily, the travel pattern continued off and on throughout the spring, and two rather major events punctuated a similarly eventful season.

Travels But Not Travails

It’s certainly proving to be much easier to visit some cool places from our little corner of Europe.  From the US, a long weekend in Europe would be downright crazy under most circumstances, but from here we can be in any number of countries in just a few hours, and for about $300 per person round-trip.  Totally makes it worth leaving on a Thursday after work if you can be in Vienna two-and-a-half hours later, which is exactly what my best friend and I did back in March for a long weekend.  Because, why not??

I try, really I do.  Most of the time it works out in my favor, but sometimes I’m not as good at being secretive as I would like.  My attempted ruse didn’t quite work out as I planned as we pulled up to the famous old Hotel Sacher, right in the center of Vienna; she knew all along that’s what I had done, even though she had no hard evidence of my plans.  But no matter.  I suppose nearly 30 years together will do that.

We spent our days walking the city, tiring ourselves out by window shopping along the beautiful, clean streets. We had three full days, and we packed in quite a lot, visiting the Imperial Treasury (home of the Habsburg crown jewels, among much else) and the beautiful palace and gardens at Schönbrunn, a short train ride outside the city.  Little hidden wine bars, an Australian pub serving Victoria Bitter, and nice Italian restaurants (and one dinner of an über delicious Weiner schnitzel as big as your head) characterized our evenings.  One cool, rainy day we hopped a train and visited Bratislava, Slovakia, because it was only about an hour away, and if you have a little extra time, why wouldn’t you add another country and city to the list?  Originally, we were going to take a boat ride on the Danube to Bratislava, but it was a few weeks too early in the season for that.  We enjoyed a damp, chilly walk through this nice little city on the Danube, had a light lunch and a wonderful coffee and tort, and then hit the rails back to Vienna on the afternoon train.  The fantastic and lush Hotel Sacher provided us with a really relaxing, and convenient, spot to rest our weary selves each afternoon after a busy day of touristing, and was a welcome place to return to each night as we prepared for another quiet, enjoyable day in this beautiful European capital.  I imagine it’s even more beautiful once everything is in bloom and the city turns green for the summer.  We’ll definitely be back.

Cultural Learnings of the Capitalists for Making Benefit the Glorious ATU of Gagauia

One April weekend, a small busload of us from the Embassy ventured out to visit the ever popular Autonomous Territorial Unit of Gagauzia, a couple hours south of Chisinau.  So what, exactly, is Gagauzia, you ask?  Well, odds are pretty high that the two of you have never heard of it before (although you probably hadn’t heard of Moldova before, either), but I’ve been told that, at just over 700 square miles, Gagauzia is one of the smallest autonomous governmental units in the world.  (Most certainly that clarifies things, right?)  It amounts to several small patches of land in south-central Moldova, and its inhabitants (the Gagauz people) are descendants of either Bulgars or Turks, or maybe both, it’s still not really that clear to me.  The major city and nominal capital is called Comrat (“black horse” in the Turkic language of most of the 150,000 or so people who live there), and outside of a few municipalities, it’s largely agricultural territory, like the rest of Moldova.  They grow a lot of wine there, which can’t be a bad thing.  J

They are autonomous since the Moldovan constitution guarantees them autonomy, meaning they control their own education system and local development, and if there is a conflict between Gagauzian and Moldovan law, they have the right of appeal to the Moldovan Supreme Court.  Likely most importantly, if Moldova were ever to attempt a reunification with Romania, the Gagauz people retain the right to self-determination.   Much of this was explained to us by very helpful attendants in the little museum we toured outside of Comrat, where we were most probably one of the only tour groups to visit in months.  They were very grateful we made the effort to stop by, or so our tour guide told us.  (Her word perhaps comes with a grain of salt, as she had earlier explained to us how wonderful life was for her as a young Communist in Moldova under not-yet-ordained Soviet Premier Leonid Brezhnev, Communist Party leader of Moldova in the early 50s.)  But I believe her; she is dating an Aussie bloke, after all.

Given that they retain their own local authority, within Gaguzuia lives the last remaining “kol-khoz” in the country.  A колхоз is a form of collective farm, a holdover from Soviet times, and in fact the word itself is a contraction of the words for “collective ownership.”  (The other major form of collective farm in the USSR was called a “совхоз / sov-khoz,” a contraction of “soviet ownership,” which were state-owned farms.)

We drove into Copceac, the small town where the main building and headquarters for the kolkhoz is located.  There we were greeted by the leader of the kolkhoz, who gave out the most firm handshake I’ve ever felt.  He was quite gregarious for an old/current Communist (he even has a portrait of Uncle Lenin in his office), and very helpfully described the benefits of life for the workers in the kolkhoz and their adaptations into a form of capitalism, selling their agricultural products on the world market (meaning, to Russia).   He held court for our group of American diplomats for about half-an-hour or so, even explaining how the collective has elections.  I might have been a bit distracted by the Lenin quote on the wall just over his head, or perhaps by the juxtaposition of the cheap print of the Last Supper on the wall opposite, so it’s quite possible I missed some critical details about the glorious life on the collective farm.

We were then treated to a very nice and quite bountiful lunch at the canteen where the actual farm workers are offered several meals each day, all homemade by the actual kolkhoz kitchen workers themselves.  It really was quite a feast, with soup, lamb, bread, plates of fresh vegetables and fruits, and of course juice and wine.  Perhaps a throwback to the halcyon days of the kolkhoz in Soviet times or maybe just a show for the Americans, either way it’s safe to say no one left hungry.

The Real Italian Dish

Sophie spent the last semester of her junior year suffering through four months in the small medieval town of Perugia, Italy, and as her devoted father I felt it my obligation to go there and provide moral support.  It was a tough job, but after all, that’s what fathers do. 

The long May Day weekend was spent with my girl trudging laboriously around the narrow, cobbled streets of the town, lugging the camera and a full stomach after several small, strong coffees and Italian croissants (called cornettos), finding the "Secret Bakery," and taking in the obligatory beautiful sights that of course one must see when in Italy. 

Awful tasting hand-tossed pizzas and bitter, sour house red wines for dinner in little hole-in-the-wall joints; walking the ancient aqueduct through the oldest part of town en route to the serene, beautiful, terribly boring Convento San Francesco del Monte which we essentially had to ourselves; taking in the historical record at the dusty old National Archeological Museum of Umbria; and being forced to “train it” to visit the even smaller medieval town of Assisi to see where St. Francis and St. Clare were born.  All of these things simply had to be done, and so that is precisely what we did.  It was a real hardship, let me tell you.

The Prague-idal Daughter

After Sophie and I parted ways at the Rome airport (and after a completely unexpected chance meeting with some friends who were in Haiti with us), I returned to Moldova to retrieve the retriever and, you know, work and stuff.  Sophie proceeded on to Prague where she spent a couple of days seeing some cool sights and meeting up with a buddy from Perugia, and then she popped on over to Budapest to meet up with Kate, who was in training there for the week.  They spent a very pleasant few days together seeing the sights and generally marauding around the old streets of Buda and Pest, enjoying some much needed mother-daughter time.  And then it was off to Moldova, which led to the first major event of the spring:  Sophie will spend the summer with us and RTWD, working as a summer intern in the Public Affairs Section at the Embassy.  It’s certainly nice to have her back, and ¾ of the Team in one country and under one roof for the summer is great progress, but of course that, too, will only last a few months.  I remain, however, very grateful for the time we do have together.

Dave and Nelson’s Nuclear Adventure Through the Red Window

While Kate and Sophie spent a few days wandering the streets of beautiful and vibrant European cities, my colleague and friend Nelson and I spent a day wandering the deserted and overgrown streets of the former town of Pripyat, in the shadow of reactor #4 of the Chernobyl nuclear power plant in north-central Ukraine, about 60 miles from Kiev. 

Wow.

We left the Embassy in Chisinau on a Friday afternoon, and drove directly to Kiev, crossing the narrow disputed territory of Transnistria (in and of itself a worthy accomplishment) and the Dniester River in the process.  Shortly after passing the border into Ukraine, we drove along a bumpy and pot-hole-filled highway, bypassing the small Ukrainian village called Красні Окни in Ukrainian (Красное Окно in Russian, or Red Window in English), perhaps a fitting name for our soon-to-be adventure back into the Soviet past, 30 years distant.

We spent Friday evening in Kiev, enjoying live music and Guinness on tap at an Irish pub, and then met near the railroad station at 0730 the next morning for the start of our Nuclear Adventure, a full-day tour into the Exclusion Zone, a 30 kilometer buffer around the nuclear power plant.

Two young, good humored, twenty-something English speaking guides led our tour.  The comfortable coach bus was filled with maybe 60 or 70 tourists from all over Europe.  Another Russian language coach departed at roughly the same time, and about an hour later we arrived at the Exclusion Zone checkpoint.  Ukrainian authorities (or someone, anyway) have created two zones, the 30 kilometer outer zone, which serves as a buffer around the more contaminated 10 kilometer zone, which directly surrounds the power plant itself, along with the now abandoned town of Pripyat, among much else of interest.

In April 1986, a systems safety test of an emergency core cooling feature was to be conducted at the power plant during a maintenance shutdown of reactor #4.  Because another power plant in the region had gone off-line earlier in the day, the start of the test was delayed, and would be in mid-performance when the night crew would be on.  Due to the delay, the night crew – which would have only needed to maintain the test already underway if it had started on time – now had to carry out elements of the test instead, and they had limited time to prepare themselves.  Around 130 am, a sudden surge in power caused the team to attempt a shutdown, however another, much larger surge occurred, ultimately leading to a catastrophic increase, which caused a chain reaction of steam explosions which further led to an explosion within the core of reactor #4.  Within seconds, the graphite moderator within the reactor was exposed to air, causing it to instantly ignite, and this fire sent radioactive materials high into the atmosphere, which later spread all across Europe on the wind.  It is possible, maybe even likely, that the graphite and remaining core materials still smolder today, three decades later.

Neither plant nor Soviet authorities notified residents of the town of Pripyat (a purpose-built town for the plant workers, and just a few miles away) of the explosion, so consequently many of the residents were exposed to extremely high levels of radiation.  Once the government acknowledged the scope of the problem (36 hours later, and internally within the USSR only), the entire town of nearly 50,000 was evacuated in a matter of hours.  In fact, the government hadn’t notified anyone outside the USSR of the accident, and it wasn’t until three days later, when Swedish nuclear plant workers discovered unexpected traces of the fallout on their clothes, that any kind of problem was understood to have occurred, and was then acknowledged by the Soviet government.

Operator error is often seen as a direct cause of the accident, but the reality, as is often the case, seems to be a bit more complex.  Mistakes were made, and may have contributed to the accident, but in the end the IAEA’s report from 1992 suggests design flaws in the type of reactor played a larger role than simply human error.  Nonetheless, the release of radiation was something like 400 times the levels released after the bombing of Hiroshima in 1945.

Radiation is measured in several different ways, one of which is in units called microsieverts, or one millionth of a sievert.  Evidently, exposure to one full sievert by the human body means a 5.5% risk of eventually developing cancer, and half of all people exposed to 5 sieverts will die within a week.  We are all exposed to radiation daily, as it is all around us.  80% of it comes in natural forms, including the sun, the air and the Earth itself.  Americans are exposed to about 3600 microsieverts per year, just by existing.  (3600 microsieverts is equal to 0.0036 full sieverts.)

Most of the radiation present in 1986 consisted of short-lived isotopes which decayed quickly after the accident, and while radiation certainly still exists in the region, we were exposed to 0.003 microsieverts during our several hours within the Exclusion Zone.  Of course, this was according to our young tour guides who presented us with nifty certificates at the end of the day with that statistic prominently displayed.  I’m not entirely confident they are as accurate in their assessment as, you know, real nuclear scientists might be, but I am the proud owner of a cool certificate, so that makes it all worth it.

We drove through the checkpoint and into the Exclusion Zone, proceeding to the small village of Chernobyl, still about 20 kms from the power plant.  This is still an inhabited village, albeit only in shifts for most everyone.  Aside from about 700 permanent residents, the other people who “live” there can only stay for short periods before they must cycle out.  These people are the workers who administer the Exclusion Zone (controlling access, patrolling the 2500 square kilometers, enforcing rules and laws regarding scavenging and looting, etc.), and others who are actively working on the power plant clean-up process and the construction of a waste disposal facility in the shadow of reactor #4.  Some of the workers building the new confinement dome over the reactor and the original sarcophagus can safely work no more than five hours per day, and then they must depart the Zone for fifteen days before they can return.

We visited several areas that day.  Our first stop was to a kindergarten outside the village of Chernobyl and the town center featuring a scary monument and an interesting memorial to the 96 abandoned villages in Ukraine.  Then we proceeded directly to the power plant site, stopping near reactor #4 and to see the new confinement dome and the remains of the plant itself, including the two additional reactors which were under construction at the time of the disaster but never completed, and the canteen in the shadow of reactor #4 where we were served an “ecologically friendly” lunch.  The abandoned town of Pripyat followed, which was probably a highlight for everyone.  The police station headquarters, a school, a grocery store and the amusement park were our stops.  After 30 years of neglect, each was of course being reclaimed by nature and had suffered quite a bit of random destruction and removal of what was left behind.  In many cases, the intense cleanup effort after the disaster caused a lot of the internal damage, but looters, vandals and tourists have added their two cents over the decades, creating a very otherworldly and spooky environment.

Our final stop before departing the Zone altogether was at a previously secret Soviet military site located within the 30 km zone in a “town” called Chernobyl-2, which had the not-so-unique quality of having appeared on Soviet maps as a summer camp for kids (so sayeth our young guides).  In reality, it was the site of an over-the-horizon radar installation used as part of the anti-ballistic missile early warning network, of course designed to detect incoming nukes from the US.

It’s called “Duga-1” (Дуга-1), which means arc or curve.  It was also evacuated after the power plant disaster, yet like the power plant itself continued operating for several years after until it was finally abandoned.  This thing is massive, more than 100 meters high and almost 400 meters long, yet is nearly invisible from the road into the village of Chernobyl due to sitting low in a slight bowl and being surrounded by pine forest planted strategically to keep away prying eyes of the locals.  A small town/village was built around it to house the soldiers and their families and support staff, all of which has been abandoned.  When in operation (from the mid-70s until it was shuttered in December 1989), it broadcast on shortwave radio bands and produced a sharp “tap-tap-tap” sound, earning it the nickname “the Russian Woodpecker.”

We wandered around the base of this enormous structure, posing for the requisite selfies, wondering about Cold War and its impact on so many millions and how it has led us to where we are now.  Well, at least I wondered about these things, although perhaps I was just muttering to myself, I can’t be quite sure.

Anyway, we hopped back on the bus to Kiev, arriving late in the evening in a downpour, which luckily had avoided us during the day.  Had a late, huge steak and a few whiskies at a nice spot not far from our rental apartment, and recounted our day.  It was quite a thing, it was.

The next day we wandered along the main drag in Kiev, found a nice spot for a late breakfast, and stopped by to see Rodina-Mat (Родина-мать, literally the ‘motherland mother’ or ‘homeland mother’ but referred to as the Motherland Monument).  It was May 9^th after all, and around the old Soviet empire this day is commemorated as Victory Day, marking the end of the Great Patriotic War.  She’s quite something, standing over 200 feet tall and with a museum to World War II in her pedestal.  There was a ceremony about to be held on the lower level honoring women heroes, so it was closed to hoi polloi such as us.  We walked around the grounds a bit, weaving in and out of the crowds, snapping a few photos and taking in the scene, and then hit the road back toward the Moldova.

But then we hit the border back into Transnistria.  May 9 is not only Victory Day, but this year it was also Memorial or Parents Day.  Moldovans either visit their parents, or their graves in memory of them.  Either way, and especially near the border, many Moldovans have parents still in Ukraine.  And this day, every single one of them was lined up at the border with Transnistria in order to return to Moldova.  Seriously, there had to have been 200 cars lined up, and it was obvious that many had been there for a long time.  Like hours.  People were out talking in groups alongside the road, and some were sitting along the tree line on blankets picnicking.  I think I even saw people setting up a dining table, complete with candlesticks and tablecloths. Clearly the border crossing was hours away.

As diplomats, however, we have a neat little thing called “CD plates.”  The license plates of accredited diplomats all start with the letters CD (Corps Diplomatique, from French), and allows the drivers certain, um, privileges.  Happily for Nelson and I, one of those benefits includes the ability to jump to the head of the line at the border, and so we creeped slowly past all the people setting up camp – and staring at us quite intently – along the road toward the crossing.  I believe the news reported recently that some of them are still there…

The CCC (Co-CLO Coordinator)

The other major event of the spring, besides Sophie’s arrival, was that Kate started work again at the Embassy.  She arrived at Post in October and was offered the job that same month, but the security clearance process being the way it is, she didn’t start until four or five months later.  (Sophie finds herself in a somewhat similar situation at the moment, unfortunately.)  But start she did, and is now working half-time in the Community Liaison Office with a job-share partner and an assistant.  Her job is critical to the Mission, for the CLO is responsible for providing important support services to the Embassy community.  She is an education, community and employment liaison, and provides guidance and referral services as well as crisis management and support services.  In addition, the CLO is one of the very first points of contact for newly assigned or arriving employees and families, and is charged with building community spirit and enhancing morale at Post.  In other words, she gets to know everyone (local and American staff alike) pretty well, and is a strong advocate for employees and family members, advises Post management on quality of life issues, and recommends solutions and family-friendly Post policies.  She’s kind of a big deal. J

She’s a very welcome addition to Post, and without a doubt one of the most popular members of the community.  Of course it certainly doesn’t hurt when she brings in warm cinnamon rolls or various other treats to share with everyone, but I can’t be sure.  However, after sending that warm-cinnamon-roll-email, there is a line at her office door almost as long as the one at the Transnistrian border, so I think that is a pretty strong, clear statement.

Спасибо за ваша время!  Thanks for your time!

Well, if you made it this far, you’ve gone and wasted another perfectly good half-hour again.  Much appreciated!

Sophie has been at Post about a month already, has made some friends and hopefully will start her job soon before heading back for her senior year (!!!!) at Gustavus in the fall.  She’s thinking she might go to grad school, look for fellowships or internships after graduating, or maybe she’ll just follow us around the world as we continue on this crazy journey, which would be quite alright with her old dad.  (That last one might actually just be my idea.)

Tommy recently arrived in Pensacola, FL for his next stage of training in the Navy, where he’s studying CTM (cryptologic technician – maintenance), and where he’ll be for at least the next few months.  He flew back to Minnesota for a week back in May, theoretically to pick up one of the cars for the trip down south, but he may have had an ulterior motive (conveniently named Jenna) for that little break before the long drive toward his next stage in training.

Our NSA-like doggie continues his data collection around the neighborhood, and is generally enjoying his nice big yard and the kindness of various old ladies and children, who are the most likely to shower him with their attention as we ever-so-slowly walk the streets.  (Men tend to avoid him for whatever reason.)

As you can tell, spring has been filled with some interesting travel opportunities and adventures, which we hope to continue throughout our time here.  Lots of other interesting places not far away from here, and if you decide to join us in the area, I would recommend avoiding Air Moldova if at all possible.  Safe, sure, but on time?  That’s an open question.  But I’ll leave that for another day.

And speaking of another day, tune in then for more tantalizing tales about handshakes and air-kisses, talkin’ Turkey, being patiently impatient, winning the lottery, an American in Nettuno, and why the breeze might very well kill you in Moldova.  In addition, perhaps there’ll be a full explanation of this photo:

Thank you again, my friends, for humoring me once more.  Life for us is good, and we hope you can say the same.

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Additional photos can be found at: www.nyij.blogspot.com.

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The opinions expressed above are my own and not those of the U.S. Government. Please do not disseminate widely without permission.