More than five years since we completed our service as Peace Corps Volunteers, we returned to Moldova on Sunday night.
We endured flight cancellations, an all-nighter at JFK Airport, an unexpected stop in Istanbul and lost luggage when we arrived in Chișinău. In a larger sense, our return was delayed by the pandemic, the war in Ukraine and health setbacks.
But now we’re finally here, and so is our luggage. We couldn’t be happier.
Our first jet-lagged stop on Monday was at the Peace Corps office, to hug old friends and discuss the virtual project I began several weeks ago to help create a national Jewish museum.
Then we reunited with our host family in Ialoveni, just outside the capital, for a delicious Moldovan dinner prepared by our host mother, Nina. That’s her in the top photo with her daughter, Alisa, showing off their copies of Not Exactly Retired with personal inscriptions from the author.
Among our other gifts was this carved wooden picture frame from Nepal displaying a photo of our beloved Bunica, Nina’s mom, who passed away before we could see her again.
Nina’s husband, Mihai, and son, Andrei, joined us for this group photo after dinner. We left with our own bag of gifts, including some of Ialoveni’s famous chocolates.
We also enjoyed reuniting with the family dog, Boss, who remembered us.
On Tuesday morning we attended a ceremony where U.S. Ambassador Kent Logsdon announced a major grant to restore one of the central structures in Chișinău’s large Jewish ceremony. Irina Shikhova, below, with whom I’m working on the museum project, was among the other speakers.
It was an inspiring event and great to finally meet Irina after several Zoom meetings. I also met Marjory and Joseph, two Peace Corps Response Volunteers working on the project.
Champa and I are staying at an Airbnb downtown. We’ve been eating placinte and friptura, drinking local wine and exploring how Moldova has changed over the past five years. More on that later.
For now, we’re just soaking it all in. Moldova, we’ve missed you!
The midterm election gave me hope that Americans will not surrender to despair, that they will fight to once again make our country the kind of place we can all extol when living and traveling abroad. This past Sunday, Champa and I served lunch at a local soup kitchen with our friend Celeste, right, who also served in the Peace Corps, in West Africa during the Vietnam War. She reminded me how challenging it was to be asked questions then about America. Eventually things got better. I’m hopeful they can again. 
She travels almost every day from our house in Ialoveni to downtown Chișinău, where she sells handicrafts in the outdoor market in the Arts Square. She walks up a steep hill to the bus stop, then boards an overcrowded vehicle before finally arriving near the market. There she sits outdoors on a folding chair, in the heat of the summer and the cold of the winter. Only rain or a snow storm keep her home.
Watching this small woman shuffle on the road with her cane, or greet customers in the market, never ceases to amaze us. When we ask why she continues to work at her age, she smiles and wags her finger, saying la lucru! (the work). In fact, she says this to us almost every day, teasing us that we need to work as hard as she does.
Every evening I ask her how business went that day. Often she says she earned nimic, or nothing, usually followed by some choice words about Moldova’s faltering economy. Sometimes she smiles and points to the small ledger she carries, where she records her sales. Occasionally she’ll share photos or letters from customers she’s met over the years who befriended her and sent her greetings.
In a couple of weeks, I’ll teach a workshop at 
I’ve also worked recently on 
"Not Exactly Retired" 