You have betrayed me. You have proven yourself to be unreliable. My trust in you no longer exists. You have absconded with a portion of my meager wealth. You have forced me to undertake tedious journeys under adverse conditions. You have mocked my decision to purchase you in America. I can no longer sing praises of your glory for your glory has vanished from my world. I look at you with contempt.
What came upon you when you decided not to power up only 12 days after your one-year warranty expired? I treated you like a brother (my real-life brothers might think that that might be a problem) affording you with a place of prominence in my castle (you know the saying – “my home is my castle”). I protected you from electrical surges. Neither food nor drink could approach you. You never lost a challenge to gravity. You were my most prized possession, more so than my wife and sons (who probably don’t consider themselves possessions anyway).
Your Maker - the Toshiba Corporation- refused me the opportunity to bring you back to life under their Goodwill Program that would have enabled you to have been repaired at no cost, reasoning it was so close to the expiration of the one-year American warranty. I came to learn that laptops purchased in Europe have a two- year warranty and three years if purchased in Japan (or is it Germany?). You have rubbed salt in my wound and mocked my fellow consumers in the “home of the free and land of the brave” (or is it “the home of the brave and the land of the free?”). Why only one-half of a European warranty for Americans?
Your doctor gave me a choice to get you back to where you once were. I could pay 300 Euros for a new motherboard or 140 Euros to get the burned out components replaced (how did you manage to “burn out?”). I chose the latter since that was only ½ of my monthly subsistence allowance and I would be able to eat at least every other day. A somewhat easy decision.
You forced me to undertake a six-hour perilous round trip on a bus with neither air-conditioning nor operational windows in 90 degree heat to the only repair facility in the entire country. Three times! You subjected me to waiting hours in a darkened bus station for the next bus departure to my hometown in Probistip. Three times!
So now that you have robbed me of both my treasure and my trust, and have stolen three days of my life, I find myself sitting once again before you, composing this dispatch. I do this not knowing when you will choose to betray me again.
Maybe someday I will no longer point to the heavens – as does an enthused baseball player after hitting a home run– when you respond to my request to power up. Maybe someday! Till then: Toshiba – Caveat Emptor!
(N.B. Knowing that I would be in Macedonia for 27 months, I purchased a Toshiba Satellite laptop computer, considerably more expensive than other comparable laptops, relying on what I was told regarding its reliability. My experience has proven to me that “It” is not reliable (13 months before a major problem). I also raise the question as to why the Toshiba Corporation has different warranty standards. Are they enabled by weak consumer protection laws in the USA to offer a minimal one-year warranty. Based on my experiences and if I were to be so asked, I would not recommend this brand of laptop to anyone considering purchasing a Toshiba brand laptop in the USA.)
Monday, July 27, 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
"You're Under Arrest!"
It’s July 4th and Phil and I are in Skopje visiting “Naistar” (the Oldest) Michael. There are six Michaels in Peace Corps Macedonia – I am Postar (the Older) Michael. We are there to attend an afternoon picnic organized and sponsored by the American embassy and open to any American citizen that happens to be in Macedonia.
We had spent the morning shopping for stuff that we can’t find in our communities. I purchased a muffin tin and a Bundt pan so that I can continue my quest to introduce “new” foods to my Macedonian friends and neighbors. We had taken many photos of a musical group that was performing in the center and of other interesting things that caught our interest. We had taken off on our 20 minute trek back to Michael’s apartment (79 year old Michael wasn’t with us because he didn’t want miss his workout at the gym) and had three hours to get ready for the 4 o’clock picnic. It was a quiet Saturday and there were few pedestrians or shoppers about at this time on a summer day.
We were walking down the main boulevard and as has happened on numerous occasions before, noticed ahead that the traffic lights weren’t working at a major intersection and that a police officer was directing the flow. Nothing we haven’t experienced before. We got to the intersection, started to cross and stopped on the middle island, checking for oncoming traffic.
It is then that we saw in the distance, a motorcade approaching . Great timing we thought and got our cameras ready for when it passed by. Who was it – the mayor, a foreign dignitary, a rock star? We had no idea but got are cameras ready and took a few pictures in the less than 5 seconds it took for the motorcade to pass. We put away our cameras wondering who it was that was totally obscured from our view behind the blacked-out windows on the vehicles. We proceeded on our way.
Our way was less than ten steps before we heard a whistle and the police officer who was directing traffic and next to whom we were standing when the motorcade passed, heading towards us. He motioned for us to stop and asked us in broken, yet understandable English, of what we were taking pictures (a rhetorical question perhaps because he already knew the answer). “The motorcade”, we answered. He asked us for identification (we gave him our Peace Corp ID’s) and he called for backup. Within minutes there were eight more police officers on the scene – four plain clothes and four uniformed in four separate squad cars. They asked for our passports which Michael brought, after our call, from his apartment. They confiscated our cameras and refused to talk on the phone to our Peace Corps Security Officer who speaks perfect Macedonian considering that he is a Macedonian.
So Phil and I were standing around, trying to guess what we did that merited such an overwhelming response from these law enforcement officials. We ruled out jaywalking. Then the Paddy Wagon (politically incorrect term nowadays but I don’t know what else to call it) arrived and Phil and I were ushered into it. We were told we were “under arrest for photographing the President’s motorcade" a seemingly serious offense in this developing nation. (The Paddy Wagon appeared to be brand new, so Phil and I believe that we were the first prisoners to utilize it, somewhat of an accomplishment in and of itself).
Earlier on I had called the Peace Corps Duty Officer and told her of our predicament. She in turn called our Safety and Security Officer, and he in turn called his contacts at the American Embassy. Within the hour a Peace Corp staff member and a representative from the Embassy arrived and sat with us in the waiting room while the police inspectors examined our photos and did whatever it took them two hours to do.
By four o’clock (the picnic starting time), after signing statements that we didn’t need a lawyer now, that we wouldn’t need a lawyer later, that we needed no medical care, and that we were treated well, and after signing a couple of other innocuous papers, we were given back our cameras and credentials and on our way back to the apartment, already late for our sole reason for being in Skopje. All this was accomplished with the Embassy representative translating and guiding us through the process.
In the end, the police inspectors and the police commander apologized for what had happened and for the use of the term “arrest” when it should have been “detained”. His officers speak very little English. He had to follow pre-established procedures and we got the impression that he felt it was foolish to forbid taking pictures of a motorcade, regardless of who is in it.
At no time during this adventure were Phil nor I concerned about what was happening. We knew the Peace Corps and the Embassy had our back and they kept in constant contact with us during the whole time. The “arresting” officers were low key, yet professional. They didn’t take our phones; they didn’t search our bags, and they didn’t handcuff us on the trip to the stationhouse. In the end, they asked us to please erase the pictures of the motorcade, trusting us without supervising us, to do so.
One of the main requests of the Macedonian Minister of Education is that we assist teachers in improving the critical thinking skills of today’s students. After witnessing us openly take photos of the motorcade and realizing that we were Americans ignorant of the law, the traffic officer had two choices. He could have informed that one can’t photograph the President’s motorcade, asked us to comply with the law in the future, and asked us to delete the photos. Or he could have called in reinforcements “according to procedure.” Option 1 would have been the proper call in this situation if the officer had the option. But“according to procedure” is how many things are governed here in Macedonia, often in cases where common sense would dictate a more sensible approach.
So Phil and I, serving together in Macedonia, have now broken the law, been detained by a squad of police officers and have ridden together in a Paddy Wagon - boasts few if any Peace Corps Volunteers can make. The brotherhood has been strengthened and a solid reminiscence has been engraved in our story telling repertoire.
I am unable to support this episode with any photographs, for aforementioned reasons.
We had spent the morning shopping for stuff that we can’t find in our communities. I purchased a muffin tin and a Bundt pan so that I can continue my quest to introduce “new” foods to my Macedonian friends and neighbors. We had taken many photos of a musical group that was performing in the center and of other interesting things that caught our interest. We had taken off on our 20 minute trek back to Michael’s apartment (79 year old Michael wasn’t with us because he didn’t want miss his workout at the gym) and had three hours to get ready for the 4 o’clock picnic. It was a quiet Saturday and there were few pedestrians or shoppers about at this time on a summer day.
We were walking down the main boulevard and as has happened on numerous occasions before, noticed ahead that the traffic lights weren’t working at a major intersection and that a police officer was directing the flow. Nothing we haven’t experienced before. We got to the intersection, started to cross and stopped on the middle island, checking for oncoming traffic.
It is then that we saw in the distance, a motorcade approaching . Great timing we thought and got our cameras ready for when it passed by. Who was it – the mayor, a foreign dignitary, a rock star? We had no idea but got are cameras ready and took a few pictures in the less than 5 seconds it took for the motorcade to pass. We put away our cameras wondering who it was that was totally obscured from our view behind the blacked-out windows on the vehicles. We proceeded on our way.
Our way was less than ten steps before we heard a whistle and the police officer who was directing traffic and next to whom we were standing when the motorcade passed, heading towards us. He motioned for us to stop and asked us in broken, yet understandable English, of what we were taking pictures (a rhetorical question perhaps because he already knew the answer). “The motorcade”, we answered. He asked us for identification (we gave him our Peace Corp ID’s) and he called for backup. Within minutes there were eight more police officers on the scene – four plain clothes and four uniformed in four separate squad cars. They asked for our passports which Michael brought, after our call, from his apartment. They confiscated our cameras and refused to talk on the phone to our Peace Corps Security Officer who speaks perfect Macedonian considering that he is a Macedonian.
So Phil and I were standing around, trying to guess what we did that merited such an overwhelming response from these law enforcement officials. We ruled out jaywalking. Then the Paddy Wagon (politically incorrect term nowadays but I don’t know what else to call it) arrived and Phil and I were ushered into it. We were told we were “under arrest for photographing the President’s motorcade" a seemingly serious offense in this developing nation. (The Paddy Wagon appeared to be brand new, so Phil and I believe that we were the first prisoners to utilize it, somewhat of an accomplishment in and of itself).
Earlier on I had called the Peace Corps Duty Officer and told her of our predicament. She in turn called our Safety and Security Officer, and he in turn called his contacts at the American Embassy. Within the hour a Peace Corp staff member and a representative from the Embassy arrived and sat with us in the waiting room while the police inspectors examined our photos and did whatever it took them two hours to do.
By four o’clock (the picnic starting time), after signing statements that we didn’t need a lawyer now, that we wouldn’t need a lawyer later, that we needed no medical care, and that we were treated well, and after signing a couple of other innocuous papers, we were given back our cameras and credentials and on our way back to the apartment, already late for our sole reason for being in Skopje. All this was accomplished with the Embassy representative translating and guiding us through the process.
In the end, the police inspectors and the police commander apologized for what had happened and for the use of the term “arrest” when it should have been “detained”. His officers speak very little English. He had to follow pre-established procedures and we got the impression that he felt it was foolish to forbid taking pictures of a motorcade, regardless of who is in it.
At no time during this adventure were Phil nor I concerned about what was happening. We knew the Peace Corps and the Embassy had our back and they kept in constant contact with us during the whole time. The “arresting” officers were low key, yet professional. They didn’t take our phones; they didn’t search our bags, and they didn’t handcuff us on the trip to the stationhouse. In the end, they asked us to please erase the pictures of the motorcade, trusting us without supervising us, to do so.
One of the main requests of the Macedonian Minister of Education is that we assist teachers in improving the critical thinking skills of today’s students. After witnessing us openly take photos of the motorcade and realizing that we were Americans ignorant of the law, the traffic officer had two choices. He could have informed that one can’t photograph the President’s motorcade, asked us to comply with the law in the future, and asked us to delete the photos. Or he could have called in reinforcements “according to procedure.” Option 1 would have been the proper call in this situation if the officer had the option. But“according to procedure” is how many things are governed here in Macedonia, often in cases where common sense would dictate a more sensible approach.
So Phil and I, serving together in Macedonia, have now broken the law, been detained by a squad of police officers and have ridden together in a Paddy Wagon - boasts few if any Peace Corps Volunteers can make. The brotherhood has been strengthened and a solid reminiscence has been engraved in our story telling repertoire.
I am unable to support this episode with any photographs, for aforementioned reasons.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
School's Out!
I learned a lot about the educational system here in Macedonia over the last seven months and I still have a great deal to learn. But I am not sure I will ever understand it. The students who went to “summer school” last week finished up and so it won’t be until September that we’ll have students to work with. That doesn’t mean the teachers won’t be seeing each other. Their attendance is required for a few hours each day until the 5th of July. I’m still not sure what is expected of the teachers during this time, now that the cumbersome grade reporting system has been completed. I understand they report back to school in August, weeks before the students return.
Most students in the fifth through eighth grades take 14 or 15 subjects each year, so documenting and accurately recording each student’s progress is a monumental task. But the teachers know the routine and get the job done in a timely manner. The students pick up their promotion certificates and final grades about two weeks after the last classes and exams. During this two week period while they are completing all the paperwork, the teachers receive calls from concerned parents asking the teacher to please consider giving their child a higher grade. There is also a formal appeals process that enables parents to actually challenge a teacher’s final grade. So grade inflation is a chronic problem.
Directors at the high school and primary schools dictate that every child will be promoted much to the dissatisfaction of the teachers. I’ve been told that not one student has had to repeat a grade in at least the last eleven years at the Nikola Karev Primary School. Classes are filled with students who are years behind their peers, somewhat neglected and lost and who present a great challenge to the teacher who must teach in a de facto multi-level classroom with no resources. Using a 7th grade English textbook with a student who has the knowledge base of a 3rd grader is the only course of action that the teacher has.
Other little quirky things (from my perspective) that I’ve observed include the fact that, by law, teachers are not allowed to collect money from the students. So when her class went on a field trip, Alexandra had to watch over the shoulder of a student who actually touched the money and counted it. Students must pay for the paper upon which the teachers prints their exams. The money collected, of course, by one of the students. Students who get a One (a Five is the highest grade) as their final grade must attend “summer school” which entails a five day/ten hour opportunity to make up for a school year’s worth of non-learning . A student who receives three Ones must repeat the school year (there are plenty of candidates who have these credentials) but as I mentioned above, no student maybe left back. So one of the student’s teachers is “asked” to inflate the One to a Two. To compound the issue, teachers receive no stipend for teaching “summer school” so any borderline students who could possibly benefit from an extra week of class, are upgraded to a Two, limiting the “remedial “class size.
The upbeat news is that today’s leadership in Macedonia is aware of many of the issues that I mentioned. Efforts are being made to change those aspects of an educational system that has been in place for decades. It will take some time to accomplish but the 20%’ers will see it through.
I did get to employ some of my wrestling skills that I used to use on my brothers when we were growing up on Long Island. I had to break up two different classroom fights during the last weeks of school. In both cases two boys were going at pretty well. They watch a lot of WWF wrestling here and the boys were head-butting, choke holding and attempting to throw chairs, ignoring the potential consequences of their actions. They wouldn’t comply with the Alexandra’s demand to stop. I reluctantly stepped in and employed my infamous Half-Nelson (that used to bring my brothers to tears) on one of the boys so that I could immobilize him momentarily and position myself between the combatants, thereby preventing any serious injuries. My technique worked and there were no tears or cries of pain or running to mommy like my three brothers did.
My standings as a martial arts expert rose considerably in the eyes of the students who witnessed the events. I received kudos and high fives and word of “Michael’s moves” spread amongst the school population. Ironically, Alexandra has a martial arts Black Belt but she let me handle the situation. As is the case in Probistip, the boys who were fighting were seen later in the day, once again good friends, hanging out together. Perhaps they were relieved that their altercation was broken up by the referee and there wasn’t a winner or a loser.
Most students in the fifth through eighth grades take 14 or 15 subjects each year, so documenting and accurately recording each student’s progress is a monumental task. But the teachers know the routine and get the job done in a timely manner. The students pick up their promotion certificates and final grades about two weeks after the last classes and exams. During this two week period while they are completing all the paperwork, the teachers receive calls from concerned parents asking the teacher to please consider giving their child a higher grade. There is also a formal appeals process that enables parents to actually challenge a teacher’s final grade. So grade inflation is a chronic problem.
Directors at the high school and primary schools dictate that every child will be promoted much to the dissatisfaction of the teachers. I’ve been told that not one student has had to repeat a grade in at least the last eleven years at the Nikola Karev Primary School. Classes are filled with students who are years behind their peers, somewhat neglected and lost and who present a great challenge to the teacher who must teach in a de facto multi-level classroom with no resources. Using a 7th grade English textbook with a student who has the knowledge base of a 3rd grader is the only course of action that the teacher has.
Other little quirky things (from my perspective) that I’ve observed include the fact that, by law, teachers are not allowed to collect money from the students. So when her class went on a field trip, Alexandra had to watch over the shoulder of a student who actually touched the money and counted it. Students must pay for the paper upon which the teachers prints their exams. The money collected, of course, by one of the students. Students who get a One (a Five is the highest grade) as their final grade must attend “summer school” which entails a five day/ten hour opportunity to make up for a school year’s worth of non-learning . A student who receives three Ones must repeat the school year (there are plenty of candidates who have these credentials) but as I mentioned above, no student maybe left back. So one of the student’s teachers is “asked” to inflate the One to a Two. To compound the issue, teachers receive no stipend for teaching “summer school” so any borderline students who could possibly benefit from an extra week of class, are upgraded to a Two, limiting the “remedial “class size.
The upbeat news is that today’s leadership in Macedonia is aware of many of the issues that I mentioned. Efforts are being made to change those aspects of an educational system that has been in place for decades. It will take some time to accomplish but the 20%’ers will see it through.
I did get to employ some of my wrestling skills that I used to use on my brothers when we were growing up on Long Island. I had to break up two different classroom fights during the last weeks of school. In both cases two boys were going at pretty well. They watch a lot of WWF wrestling here and the boys were head-butting, choke holding and attempting to throw chairs, ignoring the potential consequences of their actions. They wouldn’t comply with the Alexandra’s demand to stop. I reluctantly stepped in and employed my infamous Half-Nelson (that used to bring my brothers to tears) on one of the boys so that I could immobilize him momentarily and position myself between the combatants, thereby preventing any serious injuries. My technique worked and there were no tears or cries of pain or running to mommy like my three brothers did.
My standings as a martial arts expert rose considerably in the eyes of the students who witnessed the events. I received kudos and high fives and word of “Michael’s moves” spread amongst the school population. Ironically, Alexandra has a martial arts Black Belt but she let me handle the situation. As is the case in Probistip, the boys who were fighting were seen later in the day, once again good friends, hanging out together. Perhaps they were relieved that their altercation was broken up by the referee and there wasn’t a winner or a loser.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Some Things I’ve Come to Know
Not a day goes by here in this wonderful place where I don’t learn something new or get a different perspective on living in this world. I always thought that roosters crowed only at sunrise, because in the stories I read as a child, that’s what they did. But the fact is they crow all day. And so the crowing roosters, baying donkeys, squealing pigs, singing birds, barking dogs, and yowling cats create an auditory environment that at times is enchanting and at times annoying.
Now as you know, if you’ve read my previous blogs, I live near the center of the town in the apartment complex built for the miners’ families. So on warm days, the women (and some men) on my street sit outside at hastily built tables of scrap wood and talk about whatever women talk about. I am now a familiar face with a wife, and so upon my return from school, I walk a gauntlet of smiles and “Dobar Dens” (Good Day) from the groups sitting in front of each apartment. It’s nice to know I’ve been accepted into the neighborhood.
The men in my neighborhood have been busy the last few weekends cutting, splitting, and stacking recently delivered wood for next winter’s heating and cooking. I still marvel at the fact that, for the most part, each apartment in each building has its own woodpile. But wood is less expensive than electricity, so I can understand the rationale behind it. Luckily my apartment has been retrofitted with an electric heater and the Peace Corps picks up the tab for electricity.
The bread here is crusty and chewy on the day you buy it. But the next day it is somewhat dried out and tasteless (the result of having no preservatives). So after six months of enduring day old bread, I figured out that maybe if I toasted it, it would be more enjoyable. Not having the luxury of a toaster or an oven broiler, I discovered that I could put a slice of day old bread on a stovetop-heated pan without oil and it would manufacture a pretty good piece of hot toast, so good in fact that I plan on throwing away our toaster when I return to the States.
I take lots of pictures. Occasionally I will get a good picture of a student and have it developed at the local photo shop for equivalent of about twenty cents. When I present it to the student, they are so excited and so appreciative. The smiles are immeasurable and the rest of the class seems to share in the joy of the recipient. Twenty cents can buy much, much more than a pack of gum here in Macedonia.
Soda is the drink of choice among the children. Coca-Cola, Pepsi, Fanta and many locally produced sugar laden beverages take up more shelf space in the shops than any other product. Sadly, many of them advertise themselves as “energy drinks”. Diet sodas are almost non-existent in Probistip. Needless to say the prevalence of sugar drinks has contributed to the need for more dental care than is available to many of the students. I recently read or viewed somewhere, that one measure to help reduce the enamel eating effect of soft drinks is to sip the beverage through a straw. This, as I understood it, would help eliminate the “bathing effect” on the teeth that drinking from a glass or bottle creates. Mad sense to me. So yesterday for the first time in the 8 months I’ve been in-country, I thought I’d try a locally produced cold soft drink. I purchased a “Cola”, bottled in Macedonia. Much to my surprise, when I opened the bottle, there was a straw in the bottle from which to dentally-healthfully (you know what I mean)enjoy the “energy drink”. Cutting edge – straw IN the bottle!
Cabbage is a staple, much like bread. I will see people purchase 10 cabbages and twenty onions at the Wednesday market (pazaar). All sorts of fabulous salads and dishes can be made with cabbage and onions but I always wondered how a person could use so many cabbages and onions in a week. One cabbage and one onion will last me a week. As it turns out, a person buying that many cabbages and onions is probably picking up them up for family, friends and neighbors. Question answered. Next question: How much do 10 Macedonian cabbages(not those whimpy cabbages they sell in American supermarkets) weigh? Answer: Too much.
Strawberries and cherries are in the market now. They are picked when they are ripe and at the market the same, or no later than, the next day. Deeelicious! Tragically, In their 3000+ years of existence, Macedonians have never tasted a strawberry or a cherry pie (USA style). Strawberries with rhubarb – nope!
I tried to find a pair of sport sandals herein Probistip but the only ones I could find were either “not my style” or were the flip-flop kind that I always struggle to keep on. Leather shoes are very expensive in Macedonia, so most available footwear is made of synthetic materials. So through the convenience of on-line shopping I ordered a pair of Made-in-China sport sandals from the All-American company in Freeport, Maine – LL Bean. As usual, they were great and despite the $35 shipping fee and the $4 pickup fee at the post office (Powsta), which were fees beyond the control of the Bean Corporation, I am very pleased with my purchase. Besides owning one of the most expensive bathrobes in Macedonia, I now own the nicest pair of leather sport sandals in Probistip.
The new U.S. Embassy is now open in Skopje. It’s a fortress-looking structure, located in a prime location in the capital. It’s quite ostentatious (my personal opinion). Previously , the various Embassy offices were scattered about the city. Now everyone on the staff is located in one place which improves the security for everyone involved. Sadly, with the world situation the way it is, you can’t just drop into the Embassy. You need to make an appointment at least three days in advance to gain entrance.
The Embassy staff is very supportive of PCV’s. They invite us to many of the holiday events that happen at the Embassy, let us have access to the swimming pool , and provide us with access to the Skopje Scoop- a newsletter that keeps the Embassy community attuned to what’s happening in town. The only catch is that unless you’re a PCV serving in the capital or in a nearby municipality, you really can’t take advantage of their hospitality.
I remember when Yugo’s came to America when Yugoslavia introduced them to the American car market. They weren’t a big hit and became somewhat of a joke because of their poor quality construction. Well here in Probistip those babies are still on the road. Those four cylinder, diesel engined marvels , along with their sister Zastava’s, are workhorses. They all have tow bars to which are attached trailers that transport everything from mattresses and household goods to cement and fieldstones. These vehicles have been on the road for over forty years. So much for poor quality, America!
Now as you know, if you’ve read my previous blogs, I live near the center of the town in the apartment complex built for the miners’ families. So on warm days, the women (and some men) on my street sit outside at hastily built tables of scrap wood and talk about whatever women talk about. I am now a familiar face with a wife, and so upon my return from school, I walk a gauntlet of smiles and “Dobar Dens” (Good Day) from the groups sitting in front of each apartment. It’s nice to know I’ve been accepted into the neighborhood.
The men in my neighborhood have been busy the last few weekends cutting, splitting, and stacking recently delivered wood for next winter’s heating and cooking. I still marvel at the fact that, for the most part, each apartment in each building has its own woodpile. But wood is less expensive than electricity, so I can understand the rationale behind it. Luckily my apartment has been retrofitted with an electric heater and the Peace Corps picks up the tab for electricity.
The bread here is crusty and chewy on the day you buy it. But the next day it is somewhat dried out and tasteless (the result of having no preservatives). So after six months of enduring day old bread, I figured out that maybe if I toasted it, it would be more enjoyable. Not having the luxury of a toaster or an oven broiler, I discovered that I could put a slice of day old bread on a stovetop-heated pan without oil and it would manufacture a pretty good piece of hot toast, so good in fact that I plan on throwing away our toaster when I return to the States.
I take lots of pictures. Occasionally I will get a good picture of a student and have it developed at the local photo shop for equivalent of about twenty cents. When I present it to the student, they are so excited and so appreciative. The smiles are immeasurable and the rest of the class seems to share in the joy of the recipient. Twenty cents can buy much, much more than a pack of gum here in Macedonia.
Soda is the drink of choice among the children. Coca-Cola, Pepsi, Fanta and many locally produced sugar laden beverages take up more shelf space in the shops than any other product. Sadly, many of them advertise themselves as “energy drinks”. Diet sodas are almost non-existent in Probistip. Needless to say the prevalence of sugar drinks has contributed to the need for more dental care than is available to many of the students. I recently read or viewed somewhere, that one measure to help reduce the enamel eating effect of soft drinks is to sip the beverage through a straw. This, as I understood it, would help eliminate the “bathing effect” on the teeth that drinking from a glass or bottle creates. Mad sense to me. So yesterday for the first time in the 8 months I’ve been in-country, I thought I’d try a locally produced cold soft drink. I purchased a “Cola”, bottled in Macedonia. Much to my surprise, when I opened the bottle, there was a straw in the bottle from which to dentally-healthfully (you know what I mean)enjoy the “energy drink”. Cutting edge – straw IN the bottle!
Cabbage is a staple, much like bread. I will see people purchase 10 cabbages and twenty onions at the Wednesday market (pazaar). All sorts of fabulous salads and dishes can be made with cabbage and onions but I always wondered how a person could use so many cabbages and onions in a week. One cabbage and one onion will last me a week. As it turns out, a person buying that many cabbages and onions is probably picking up them up for family, friends and neighbors. Question answered. Next question: How much do 10 Macedonian cabbages(not those whimpy cabbages they sell in American supermarkets) weigh? Answer: Too much.
Strawberries and cherries are in the market now. They are picked when they are ripe and at the market the same, or no later than, the next day. Deeelicious! Tragically, In their 3000+ years of existence, Macedonians have never tasted a strawberry or a cherry pie (USA style). Strawberries with rhubarb – nope!
I tried to find a pair of sport sandals herein Probistip but the only ones I could find were either “not my style” or were the flip-flop kind that I always struggle to keep on. Leather shoes are very expensive in Macedonia, so most available footwear is made of synthetic materials. So through the convenience of on-line shopping I ordered a pair of Made-in-China sport sandals from the All-American company in Freeport, Maine – LL Bean. As usual, they were great and despite the $35 shipping fee and the $4 pickup fee at the post office (Powsta), which were fees beyond the control of the Bean Corporation, I am very pleased with my purchase. Besides owning one of the most expensive bathrobes in Macedonia, I now own the nicest pair of leather sport sandals in Probistip.
The new U.S. Embassy is now open in Skopje. It’s a fortress-looking structure, located in a prime location in the capital. It’s quite ostentatious (my personal opinion). Previously , the various Embassy offices were scattered about the city. Now everyone on the staff is located in one place which improves the security for everyone involved. Sadly, with the world situation the way it is, you can’t just drop into the Embassy. You need to make an appointment at least three days in advance to gain entrance.
The Embassy staff is very supportive of PCV’s. They invite us to many of the holiday events that happen at the Embassy, let us have access to the swimming pool , and provide us with access to the Skopje Scoop- a newsletter that keeps the Embassy community attuned to what’s happening in town. The only catch is that unless you’re a PCV serving in the capital or in a nearby municipality, you really can’t take advantage of their hospitality.
I remember when Yugo’s came to America when Yugoslavia introduced them to the American car market. They weren’t a big hit and became somewhat of a joke because of their poor quality construction. Well here in Probistip those babies are still on the road. Those four cylinder, diesel engined marvels , along with their sister Zastava’s, are workhorses. They all have tow bars to which are attached trailers that transport everything from mattresses and household goods to cement and fieldstones. These vehicles have been on the road for over forty years. So much for poor quality, America!
Monday, May 25, 2009
An Excursion
On Friday the 22nd I had the opportunity to Skype the sixth graders from the Blanchard Memorial School in Boxborough, Massachusetts. I had taught there for 33 years and retired two years ago so it was great to see the faces of so many students that I last knew as fourth graders. They grow so fast. My former colleague, Rob, set up the meeting with the help of the Blanchard staff. Although there were audio problems, I was able to answer their very-well thought out questions. Next school year, when the computers are finally installed at the Nikola Karev school, we’ll have some great opportunities to have the students from both countries interact and work together on some fun projects.
On Saturday the sixth and seventh graders from the Nicola Karev Primary School went on their end-of-the-school-year class trip and I went along with them. At 7AM five home room teachers and about 80 students on two busses, took off for a day of travel to five different points of interest in the surrounding towns and villages.
The first stop was in Radovis, an agrarian town where we stopped to view a new church that was recently built by a Macedonian gentleman who had made a fortune in the U.S. Upon his return, he built this beautiful church for his community in thanksgiving for his blessings (This is my understanding of the story. If anyone reading this blog has more knowledge on this topic, please feel free to post your comments at the end of this blog.) The church is exquisite and will be around for many centuries.
We then boarded the busses for Smolari, where there is a waterfall that is well worth seeing, hidden in the mountainous forest or forested mountain. We had to pass through a small village, and hike up a steep trail to get to the waterfall. It was well worth the challenging effort to spend a few Kodak moments on site. On the way down, we bought freshly picked cherries from some of the local youths who had set up a lemonade-for-sale style stand in the forest. Needless to say, they were delicious although I question whether they had been washed. The students found a vendor that sold ice cream and so as to blend in and since it wasn’t winter and I wouldn’t catch a cold from eating one, I contributed to the local economy and bought a bar- an ice cream bar that is.
Our next destination was Bansko, another agricultural town where the plan was to have lunch. Bansko is also known for its hot springs and there used to be numerous places to use the water to treat various health issues. It was about lunchtime and the day was heating up and the farmers were coming into the village on their tractors to grab some refreshment at one of the cafés. The students wanted to wait until the next stop before eating lunch and so they refreshed themselves with ice cream and soft drinks from the local prodavnitza (convenience store).
The next, and as it turned out to be our last, stop on our excursion was the town of Strumica – established in the 2nd century B.C. There were parks , and amusements, and shops and malls and cafes and fast food. The students from Probistip were set free and told to report back to the busses in three hours. The teachers found a nice outdoor restaurant where we rested and leisurely dined, and when the bill came, I was told that I had been treated to lunch. Macedonian hospitality again.
After a brief stroll through the center and a few minutes of throwing in the park, the frisbees that I had brought, we departed for home.
I learned a lot more about Macedonia on our trip. I witnessed how well the students got along with each other and how supportive they were of each other and how they are so much like the students in the USA. I got to practice my Macedonian and they were able to practice English in an informal and relaxed atmosphere. I was able to drive Alexandra crazy with questions about agriculture, business, education and law in Macedonia. I discovered they grow rice and mine gold here.
One of the neatest things while traveling on the bus through the” food belt” of Macedonia was witnessing areas where ancient farming techniques are still being practiced. I saw hectare upon hectare of tobacco fields where each tiny plant was tenderly hand placed in the ground. I saw a farmer scything a field while another worker was pitch forking the dried hay onto a horse-drawn cart. I saw more horses and donkeys than tractors and cars. I saw a fish farm. I saw shepherds and goat herders. With the exception of a passing motorized vehicle every now and then disturbing the setting , one would come to believe that he had been transported back to the 16th century.
I also learned that farmers can grow poppies that are used in the production of morphine. I saw many blossoming poppy fields while busing through this area. The growers must sell the whole plant, not just the pods, to licensed pharmaceutical companies.
Luckily, Monday was a National Holiday – Saints Cyril and Methodius – a relatively new holiday (you couldn’t celebrate saint’s days during the former communist days) which also recognizes the country’s teachers. The long weekend was needed to rejuvenate body and mind in preparation for the final weeks of this school year.
While I was writing this blog, my apartment building shook a few times. The area experienced some earthquake tremors from a seismic occurrence whose epicenter was in a town some distance from here. Not to worry I’m told, it happens all the time. So the next time my walls sway and the sofa vibrates, I’ll be sure not to be concerned.
On Saturday the sixth and seventh graders from the Nicola Karev Primary School went on their end-of-the-school-year class trip and I went along with them. At 7AM five home room teachers and about 80 students on two busses, took off for a day of travel to five different points of interest in the surrounding towns and villages.
The first stop was in Radovis, an agrarian town where we stopped to view a new church that was recently built by a Macedonian gentleman who had made a fortune in the U.S. Upon his return, he built this beautiful church for his community in thanksgiving for his blessings (This is my understanding of the story. If anyone reading this blog has more knowledge on this topic, please feel free to post your comments at the end of this blog.) The church is exquisite and will be around for many centuries.
We then boarded the busses for Smolari, where there is a waterfall that is well worth seeing, hidden in the mountainous forest or forested mountain. We had to pass through a small village, and hike up a steep trail to get to the waterfall. It was well worth the challenging effort to spend a few Kodak moments on site. On the way down, we bought freshly picked cherries from some of the local youths who had set up a lemonade-for-sale style stand in the forest. Needless to say, they were delicious although I question whether they had been washed. The students found a vendor that sold ice cream and so as to blend in and since it wasn’t winter and I wouldn’t catch a cold from eating one, I contributed to the local economy and bought a bar- an ice cream bar that is.
Our next destination was Bansko, another agricultural town where the plan was to have lunch. Bansko is also known for its hot springs and there used to be numerous places to use the water to treat various health issues. It was about lunchtime and the day was heating up and the farmers were coming into the village on their tractors to grab some refreshment at one of the cafés. The students wanted to wait until the next stop before eating lunch and so they refreshed themselves with ice cream and soft drinks from the local prodavnitza (convenience store).
The next, and as it turned out to be our last, stop on our excursion was the town of Strumica – established in the 2nd century B.C. There were parks , and amusements, and shops and malls and cafes and fast food. The students from Probistip were set free and told to report back to the busses in three hours. The teachers found a nice outdoor restaurant where we rested and leisurely dined, and when the bill came, I was told that I had been treated to lunch. Macedonian hospitality again.
After a brief stroll through the center and a few minutes of throwing in the park, the frisbees that I had brought, we departed for home.
I learned a lot more about Macedonia on our trip. I witnessed how well the students got along with each other and how supportive they were of each other and how they are so much like the students in the USA. I got to practice my Macedonian and they were able to practice English in an informal and relaxed atmosphere. I was able to drive Alexandra crazy with questions about agriculture, business, education and law in Macedonia. I discovered they grow rice and mine gold here.
One of the neatest things while traveling on the bus through the” food belt” of Macedonia was witnessing areas where ancient farming techniques are still being practiced. I saw hectare upon hectare of tobacco fields where each tiny plant was tenderly hand placed in the ground. I saw a farmer scything a field while another worker was pitch forking the dried hay onto a horse-drawn cart. I saw more horses and donkeys than tractors and cars. I saw a fish farm. I saw shepherds and goat herders. With the exception of a passing motorized vehicle every now and then disturbing the setting , one would come to believe that he had been transported back to the 16th century.
I also learned that farmers can grow poppies that are used in the production of morphine. I saw many blossoming poppy fields while busing through this area. The growers must sell the whole plant, not just the pods, to licensed pharmaceutical companies.
Luckily, Monday was a National Holiday – Saints Cyril and Methodius – a relatively new holiday (you couldn’t celebrate saint’s days during the former communist days) which also recognizes the country’s teachers. The long weekend was needed to rejuvenate body and mind in preparation for the final weeks of this school year.
While I was writing this blog, my apartment building shook a few times. The area experienced some earthquake tremors from a seismic occurrence whose epicenter was in a town some distance from here. Not to worry I’m told, it happens all the time. So the next time my walls sway and the sofa vibrates, I’ll be sure not to be concerned.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Wherefore Art Thou ?
When I awoke on Wednesday morning, I immediately realized that I was once again living in MY OWN domain. “Wherefore art thou my sweet Lee B.?” There are no longer half-full coffee cups abandoned in each of the three rooms. I find a horizontal surface, no longer cluttered with the concoctions fabricated to hide, suppress, inflate, deflate , accentuate, diminish, cover, uncover, remove, straighten, curl, color, highlight or otherwise improve what God gave a woman when she was born. I proceeded to check my e-mail without waiting for my turn to use my computer. It was back to normal – normal being a relative term.
But then I realized that my best friend (and wife to boot) had departed Macedonia for the warmer climes of Egypt to meet up with her best friend since high school, where they will see for themselves if there really are camels, pyramids and sand in Northern Africa.
(An aside: When my Macedonian acquaintances and the students were asking me where Lee was going, I would respond in Macedonian that “she was going on a vacation with a friend. I was unknowingly using the word “priatel” which is the masculine form for “friend”. Many a Macedonian and quite a few students initially looked a little confused at such an American tradition of letting one’s wife go on vacation with another man, but they accepted it as the way we do things in our country. Once I realized that I should be using the word “priatelka”, (meaning a female friend) people seemed to respond without the quizzical look on their face.
While Lee B. was here, we had a wonderful time. We were wined and dined by the families of my counterpart (Alexandra), my tutor (Jasmina) and my colleague (Dobchay). We visited my wonderful host family in Negotino and got a tour of Kocho’s vineyard. We were given a personal tour of the ancient city of Kratevo by Trichay, a news journalist who lives in Probistip. We picnicked in the beautiful mountain village of Lesnevo. We quickly toured the cosmopolitan capital city of Skopje (the weather was too warm) and stayed with Michael F.(PCV). We visited the lakeside town of Dojran and stayed with Phil (PCV). We were invited into a neighbor's apartment to spend an hour conversing in languages that none of us understood but with each of us comprehending what the other was talking about. We drank home-brewed rakija and wine. We spent hours together at outdoor cafes (not during school hours) drinking expresso and beer (not together) and talking with Maceonians who wanted to practice their English. We sampled Macedonian cooking at local restaurants where you could order an appetizer, a salad, a bountiful entrée, drinks, coffee and dessert for less than $8. We rode on buses, in taxis, and in privately owned vehicles. (How come you ride ON a bus but IN a taxi or IN a car?)
We accomplished all of this in addition to spending hours at the school with the students who seemed to be infatuated with Lee, especially the girls who had many questions to ask an American woman. They were somewhat disappointed when they learned that she had to go back to America so soon but relieved to know that she would be returning again in the autumn.
The three goals of the Peace Corps are: (1) To help the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and woman. (2) To help promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served and (3) To help promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans.
Goals two and three were positively and unquestionably addressed with Lee’s visit to this land of beauty, hospitality and friendship.
But then I realized that my best friend (and wife to boot) had departed Macedonia for the warmer climes of Egypt to meet up with her best friend since high school, where they will see for themselves if there really are camels, pyramids and sand in Northern Africa.
(An aside: When my Macedonian acquaintances and the students were asking me where Lee was going, I would respond in Macedonian that “she was going on a vacation with a friend. I was unknowingly using the word “priatel” which is the masculine form for “friend”. Many a Macedonian and quite a few students initially looked a little confused at such an American tradition of letting one’s wife go on vacation with another man, but they accepted it as the way we do things in our country. Once I realized that I should be using the word “priatelka”, (meaning a female friend) people seemed to respond without the quizzical look on their face.
While Lee B. was here, we had a wonderful time. We were wined and dined by the families of my counterpart (Alexandra), my tutor (Jasmina) and my colleague (Dobchay). We visited my wonderful host family in Negotino and got a tour of Kocho’s vineyard. We were given a personal tour of the ancient city of Kratevo by Trichay, a news journalist who lives in Probistip. We picnicked in the beautiful mountain village of Lesnevo. We quickly toured the cosmopolitan capital city of Skopje (the weather was too warm) and stayed with Michael F.(PCV). We visited the lakeside town of Dojran and stayed with Phil (PCV). We were invited into a neighbor's apartment to spend an hour conversing in languages that none of us understood but with each of us comprehending what the other was talking about. We drank home-brewed rakija and wine. We spent hours together at outdoor cafes (not during school hours) drinking expresso and beer (not together) and talking with Maceonians who wanted to practice their English. We sampled Macedonian cooking at local restaurants where you could order an appetizer, a salad, a bountiful entrée, drinks, coffee and dessert for less than $8. We rode on buses, in taxis, and in privately owned vehicles. (How come you ride ON a bus but IN a taxi or IN a car?)
We accomplished all of this in addition to spending hours at the school with the students who seemed to be infatuated with Lee, especially the girls who had many questions to ask an American woman. They were somewhat disappointed when they learned that she had to go back to America so soon but relieved to know that she would be returning again in the autumn.
The three goals of the Peace Corps are: (1) To help the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and woman. (2) To help promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served and (3) To help promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans.
Goals two and three were positively and unquestionably addressed with Lee’s visit to this land of beauty, hospitality and friendship.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
A Wife's Impressions II
As a guest writer on my blog, Lee Barber writes:
“Aj Dobra” (roll the ‘r’) I said aloud as I touched the sheets hanging on the sunny balcony off Majkl’s stan (apartment). It was indeed very good that the laundry had dried in record time and I would have a dry pillow case to use tonight.
Then I realized with a start that I was literally talking to myself in Macedonian. The village of Probistip is tucked deep in a mountain valley in northeastern Macedonia where there is little need to learn English. Michael has made three good friends, all under thirty-something, who speak it well and generously share their time as translators for him, but for the rest we rely on his entry-level command of Macedonian. After 3 ½ weeks of hand gestures, charades and simply talking until I stumble on a word or two that are similar in both languages, I’m starting to get the hang of it. Not so much to speak it, but I’m continually surprised to find myself catching the general drift of a conversation in a language I don’t speak.
For the most part this is because the Macedonian people love to socialize and aren’t about to let a little thing like lack of a common language stop them from inviting a stranger in for coffee and a visit. As they bustle about making Turkish coffee and setting out platters of home-baked goodies and meats and cheeses , they talk a blue streak and don’t seem to mind if your responses are either unintelligible or consist exclusively of “Nay rahz bay rum” (meaning “I don’t understand”). They seem to take the attitude that we’re talking, therefore we’re sharing, a lovely approach to the world, eh?
The talk is not always of good news, though, as there is great unemployment in the village since the mines started closing and the textile factories have slowed to a crawl. Many of the women have so much time to bake, can vegetable and preserves, and tend their gardens because they have lost their jobs.
A mining engineer who is worried that his job too may be cancelled at any time explains that his wife, whose degree qualifies her to teach high school physics, has not been able to find a job in the eleven years since they graduated from college.They are glad she can be home with their two young children for now, but she would like a life outside the family, too.
A young woman with a degree in food chemistry considers herself fortunate to land a job as a nanny and housekeeper in Italy because she does not have the political clout required to get one of the scarce professional positions available.
They speak of these problems with disappointment, but not despair. In some ways they were better off under Communism because the government provided jobs and social welfare, but many of them see these times as a passage to better ones they hope will come when Macedonia is accepted into the European Union.
Americans are such a rarity in the villages that we are picked out instantly, if only for the aggressive way we walk. After five months working in the schools, Majkl is treated like a celebrity by the children of Probistip, who all seem to know everything about him even if they have not had him in class. Any reservations the women of the town may have had about him seem to have vanished with my appearance: the fact that he has a wife seems to make him a safe bet, so even the baba’s who peered suspiciously at him in the past are inviting us in at every chance.
Next time: there are a few things I’m looking forward to back in the States…
“Aj Dobra” (roll the ‘r’) I said aloud as I touched the sheets hanging on the sunny balcony off Majkl’s stan (apartment). It was indeed very good that the laundry had dried in record time and I would have a dry pillow case to use tonight.
Then I realized with a start that I was literally talking to myself in Macedonian. The village of Probistip is tucked deep in a mountain valley in northeastern Macedonia where there is little need to learn English. Michael has made three good friends, all under thirty-something, who speak it well and generously share their time as translators for him, but for the rest we rely on his entry-level command of Macedonian. After 3 ½ weeks of hand gestures, charades and simply talking until I stumble on a word or two that are similar in both languages, I’m starting to get the hang of it. Not so much to speak it, but I’m continually surprised to find myself catching the general drift of a conversation in a language I don’t speak.
For the most part this is because the Macedonian people love to socialize and aren’t about to let a little thing like lack of a common language stop them from inviting a stranger in for coffee and a visit. As they bustle about making Turkish coffee and setting out platters of home-baked goodies and meats and cheeses , they talk a blue streak and don’t seem to mind if your responses are either unintelligible or consist exclusively of “Nay rahz bay rum” (meaning “I don’t understand”). They seem to take the attitude that we’re talking, therefore we’re sharing, a lovely approach to the world, eh?
The talk is not always of good news, though, as there is great unemployment in the village since the mines started closing and the textile factories have slowed to a crawl. Many of the women have so much time to bake, can vegetable and preserves, and tend their gardens because they have lost their jobs.
A mining engineer who is worried that his job too may be cancelled at any time explains that his wife, whose degree qualifies her to teach high school physics, has not been able to find a job in the eleven years since they graduated from college.They are glad she can be home with their two young children for now, but she would like a life outside the family, too.
A young woman with a degree in food chemistry considers herself fortunate to land a job as a nanny and housekeeper in Italy because she does not have the political clout required to get one of the scarce professional positions available.
They speak of these problems with disappointment, but not despair. In some ways they were better off under Communism because the government provided jobs and social welfare, but many of them see these times as a passage to better ones they hope will come when Macedonia is accepted into the European Union.
Americans are such a rarity in the villages that we are picked out instantly, if only for the aggressive way we walk. After five months working in the schools, Majkl is treated like a celebrity by the children of Probistip, who all seem to know everything about him even if they have not had him in class. Any reservations the women of the town may have had about him seem to have vanished with my appearance: the fact that he has a wife seems to make him a safe bet, so even the baba’s who peered suspiciously at him in the past are inviting us in at every chance.
Next time: there are a few things I’m looking forward to back in the States…
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