Eastern Bloc

Only recently have I become sensually aware of the reality that I am living in Eastern Europe. Most days I live and work here like everyone, not focusing on the nuances that differentiate my life here from my life back home. I even joke when people ask me if I’ve gotten used to living here yet and say, “yea, I’m already a townie.” I think the more appropriate response is people have finally gotten used to me. I was at a seminar yesterday with my counterpart along with a couple other organizations. She was praising me to the other attendees and went on to say, “but Amy can sure be stubborn. When she really wants something she doesn’t budge, but she makes it happen.” I’ve fallen into routine here. I work out, I meet with the newspaper staff, I eat with Tamara, I watch dubbed bootleg films with my friends in apartments. My father pointed out that my writing less implies that I’m busy just living and working, and that’s a good thing.

But now that the weather is changing and the summer season is illuminating, I’ve been noticing my surroundings and people more as an outsider looking in. Yesterday, on the street by my apartment a man in professional clothing had his shirt up at his shoulders to fight the heat. The mothers and their baby carriages can start gangs, claiming turfs and hours in the park. Girls walk with overflowing bunches of lilacs in their hands, boys smoke cigarettes on park benches. The lilacs! The smell around town flows in and out of my walk to work or to the gym. Everyone’s house has vases full of the lilacs. Back in Farmington, the best place to smell lilacs was by Babulya’s condo complex on Farmington Road, and that was about it. But here, they’re everywhere.

I have gotten used to the fashion out here; the nonsense brands and lettering on shirts, the over-accessorized pants and shoes, and everything really. I don’t really notice the difference between fashion here and in America anymore until I see the kids who really try to do it up. There are the skaters, with those big skater shoes and their long hair. The hip-hop guys sag their pants and wear oversized shirts, the girls dress slutty because they are. The punk girls have black hair; wear ironic t-shirts, and too-tight jeans. It’s all the same really, just a little different. Unfortunately, to me, the general fashion is not very innovative or inspiring in terms of trends or norms. However, ladies do dress it up, and since I’m a lady, I do too.

Today I was standing in the balcony off my room here at Tamara’s and looking out the window. At first I felt insecure that someone may notice me overlooking, but then I realized, I’m in Eastern Europe, this is what people here do all day and no one cares enough to ever look up and check. While watching my somewhat busy street I noticed two high school guys walking; one was holding a large boom box blasting something, like Limp Bizkit, the other was dance walking next to his friend, drunkenly. Boom box boy had a ponytail, acid washed tight jeans, and Converse, the other was wearing it all baggy. A stray dog ran in front of them, another ran behind them. They passed an old lady with a scarf tied around her head, wearing her house shoes and housedress outside. She didn’t even flinch at the volume of the obnoxious music; she just kept along her way.

Behind my apartment are small lakes and lots of trees. I’ve started making a habit to go running around the lakes or just hanging out in the woods. Today, after my first private kickboxing lesson, I went to the lake, and fell asleep for an hour in the grass. Though the lake is right off the town, all that can be heard are maybe kids playing somewhere or the occasional car, otherwise it’s all birds, bugs, and in the evening, frogs. During the day, while everyone else works or is in school, I am more or less alone, enjoying the Earth with myself.

I was dozing off and a car rolled up near me and the driver asked me the time. I answered and he asked if I was lonely. I said no. He asked if I might like some company. I said no thank you! Then he drove away. Later, another man asked me the time, he was on foot. I answered. He said I needed a bathing suit to go swimming. I said next time! He kept walking. When I left the lake, I past five women working in a field, wearing long sleeves and scarves around their faces. One woman asked in Russian if I could tell her the time. I told her. She told the rest of them in Romanian. Then she yelled to me to tell her again, to make sure. I told her again. She told the rest of the ladies again.

I think they were harvesting potatoes or something. Apparently, it’s time for harvesting potatoes, and unfortunately the apricots won’t grow this year because it was too cold in their season. It is still a little too early, but during the summer, they say, there are more raspberries than there is time to eat. Strawberries too. And I can look forward to the end of the summer when the walnuts and grapes are ready, just like they were when I had first gotten to this country almost ten months ago.