Isolation

The view out my classroom window

When Peace Corps first assigned me to be a health teacher in this tiny northern village, I found a report from the volunteer who served here just before me. To succeed here, he wrote, I’d need to be confident, a motivated self-starter and — I couldn’t believe this one — able to withstand isolation.

That took my by surprise. Isolation? Where was I moving, the Sahara? What makes my village isolating? And, most important, what makes my bosses think that I of all the volunteers am best suited for this lonely spot?!

Now I know.

I spent the last month at site. Usually I leave at least once a month for meetings, trainings or even grocery shopping. (Imagine feeding your family with only two 7-11-style stores and a backyard garden.) But since I had nowhere to go this month, I stayed in.

Winters in Moldova can be lonely. The sun sets at 4, and no one wants to wade through unlit slush puddles (a.k.a. village roads) after dark. Plus, there are no veggies to pick, no fruits to prepare, no eggs to gather. Besides feeding the animals, there’s not a lot that brings people outside.

And inside, a wood/coal-burning stove heats the house, meaning anyone standing near the fire is burning up and anyone standing by the window is freezing. In these temperatures, we don’t get a lot of guests coming over just for fun.

But my village is a little lonlier than most. We’re nearly surrounded by rolling hills covered in dense forest, so just getting here is a tough. And the only people who pass through are trying to get to the camping grounds in Napadova or the Soviet separatists region of Transnistria – neither of which are huge winter hot spots.

So I ended up staying in my room for much of this month, talking to the same three people about the same handful of topics, venturing outside only to go to the bathroom.

Last week, the Peace Corps doctor and the safety guy came out to do an annual check-up. I expected them to give me tips on eating healthy or staying warm, but by the end of their visit, my doctor had two words of advice: get out. Go in to Floresti, the nearest city, she told me. This place is tiny, and you can’t stay all winter. Go. Meet with friends. Eat new foods.

So I did, and Oh, it was lovely.

I stayed in the county capital with my friend Becca. We ate chicken tacos and fresh vegetables and Hidden Valley ranch and real spaghetti and all sorts of splendid, unbelieveable comfort food I’d forgotten even existed. I haven’t eaten non-pickled veggies since summer! I thought I’d never see a taco again!

Then, we read and watched movies. Oh it was heaven. If I spend a day on my computer at home, my host family gets suspicious. They assume I’m just sleeping the whole time. They have a hard time understanding how a computer can fill up my day, probably because they don’t write lesson plans, post on a blog, Skype their family or edit photos.

I think my doctor’s prescription worked. I got back today, and I feel reenergized and ready for a few weeks of teaching first aid to my little ones, writing for our volunteer magazine and filling out the insanely burecratic from Peace Corps demands from us each year.

So maybe being able to “withstand isolation” means knowing when it is time to get the heck outta dodge and find a friend who can cook a pot of chili just like your momma used to. That’s what I’ve learned.