Author: cgeahiga

I think the that Moldova and the U.S. are portrayed differently through Hofstede’s D6 model, especially on the spectrum between individualism and collectivism. Having lived in Seattle, I have witnessed just as much vitriol as charity for/against the poor or homeless. Every homeless person is a drug dealer, a thief, a bum, etc. In Chisinau, a homeless person is always a tragedy, in my experience. When they ask for money, people immediately give it. This comparison does have a few limitations. There are thousands of homeless in Seattle, occupying sprawling homeless camps. A homeless person in Chisinau is a rare sight, and they almost always have a disability or are elderly. It very well could be that both societies are equally communal, but the charity of Washingtonians is stretched so thin that it is invisible.

Moreover, the family and religious community is strong in Moldova. Tenets are strict, and overall patriarchal. Even in the all female nunnery I visited, they bring in a priest every Sunday to give mass. America is not so different, but there is a noticeable erosion of these conservative tendencies, especially within the family, where the man is no longer always the breadwinner. Moreover, it is clear when walking on the street, that despite poverty, families still choose to have children. More and more Americans expect to never have kids. In this sense, American’s have increasingly abandoned the generational community, for one reason or another. This does not appear to be the case in Moldova.

For a deconstruction of a critical moment in my travels, I will use a conversation from my excursion to Russian Orthodox Monasteries in the area. D – I started speaking with a plump, older-looking woman. She said she was from Ukraine, and started telling me about how there are Russians in Ukraine who want to become part of Russia. There was a woman sitting next to her, perhaps half her age, but still probably in her late twenties or early thirties. I was told that this was her daughter. I – It soon became clear that this mother was trying to pawn off her daughter on a western tourist. When she started asking about my love life, it also became apparent that she was unnerved by the fact that I already had a girlfriend, but she nevertheless remained persistent. V – I was fairly certain this was the case because one of my friends understood the situation similarly, despite the fact that she understands even less Russian than I do. E – Following from this evaluation, I persistently rebuffed the mother, saying I was very happy that I was in a relationship and that the reason she isn’t travelling with me is because she is doing fantastic travels of her own. This was a funny encounter, because the daughter squirmed as her mother spoke about her. It felt almost like an arranged marriage negotiation, or perhaps closer to haggling at a bizarre, except for the fact that I wasn’t buying what was being sold. It was mentioned that the deep-dive exercise was an enunciation of an instinctive process, and I would happen to agree. In the moment, an evaluation occurred following an initial observation.

I have had the rare opportunity to travel to a country which cannot be identified by the average American. As such, few stereotypes can be formed about Moldovans, save for generalities of Post-Soviet Eastern Europe. Even then, I reckon that the average American consumes too much lead to even identify that Moldova is in Eastern Europe. That said, I did have a lengthy conversation with a Moldovan native about Moldovan stereotypes. First, there is a stereotype that Moldova is just a part of Romania. The languages are essentially the same, and the economies are intertwined. I even had a tour to local Moldovan monasteries, guided exclusively in Romanian (rather than English, Moldovan, or Russian). Second, there is a stereotype that Moldovans hate their own country, and that everyone wants to leave. I, personally, have very much enjoyed Moldova. It is a quant, humble country, with a generous and kind people. Although the levels of alcoholism and a weather forecast may speak to the contrary. I have also heard from my mother and uncle that Eastern European women are like hawks, ready to swoop down and prey upon western foreigners, that Eastern Europe is the birthplace of models and mail-order brides. I can safely say that my loyalty and commitment to my girlfriend has not been tested in Moldova. I can only assume that the beautiful have already emigrated.

Regarding American stereotypes, these are well known. We are known as fat, materialistic, superficial, and above all stupid. Every stereotype is rooted in some truth, and the American obesity rate and largest economy (pending China’s rise) would substantiate such claims. Facts regarding America’s status as a first-class university-education provider challenges at the very least any claim that Americans are stupid. There are positive stereotypes that are just as well known. Americans are known for being industrious, inventive, independent, and loud (sometimes helpful for being heard). Of these, the factual record similarly gives credence to some of these claims. I think that stereotypes hold little weight, but when travelling, I am sure to be cautious that I am not being taken advantage of. This entails checking receipts, confirming instructions, etc. I think it would be difficult to tell that I was an American by looking at me, but it becomes clear immediately that I am a foreigner of one breed or another. I was asked by this same Moldovan native why I don’t brazenly advertise my nationality, and I simply responded, “some people don’t like Americans.” I have found it best to divulge my personal details only after a baseline of trust has been established. It seems obvious when writing it down, but it is trickier in the moment. I would of course dread being the cause of an all new American stereotype.

Moldova is a quiet place. Even the capital seems smaller than South Bend. The airport customs control was less strict than a standard domestic trip through TSA. My travels have remained limited in scope, as I am still (many days later) recovering from jet lag, the bane of my existence. I might have perished already from hunger if it were not for the more than generous portion sizes my host mother serves every time I eat with her. The food, while delicious, is in unmanageably voluminous, and it is a battle every meal to clean my plate. It really is a struggle for survival. Of course, I have on a number of occasions attempted to prevent my own accommodation. I say “хватит” or “достачно” to signal that my appetite has been eradicated three-fold. Undaunted and unrelenting, my host mother pulls out another dish, with yet another thousand-calorie delicacy. I simply don’t have the heart to deny red caviar for breakfast (even though it’s one of the only seafoods not to my liking).

It is likely a cultural difference, and my own inability to communicate fluently and politely, preventing me from communicating at all, or rather, with the necessary forcefulness to convince my host family that I really am nearing the end of my ability to make food disappear from the table. For of course, a culture of hospitality seems to be ever present, a palpable sensation in a friendly country. Kindness lurks behind every corner. for instance an “инвалид” stepped onto the bus today, and an outflow of change erupted from the pockets of the bus-goers. I have never seen as much generosity from so many people all at once in the U.S. I’ve learned that prosperity, or a lack thereof, has little bearing on man’s ability to act from kindness, although this theory has yet to be tested to any really substantial degree. My readings this year from the biographies of Russians who served time in the GULAG, note a pattern of hatred and apathy towards one’s fellow man, and there no doubt comes a point where a need for survival precludes generosity, as generosity becomes sacrifice. I therefore resist the temptation to claim that Moldovans are more kind than other ethnic groups.

Likewise, I resist the temptation to say that Moldovan’s are more superficial than other ethnicities or cultures. That being said, it seems as though there is a distinct subset of the population dead-set on mimicking their Western counter-parts in an effort to give the appearance of wealth and grandeur. Three instances come to mind. First, I saw an expensive car with bald tires. This is a litmus test for superficiality, because the replacing the tires costs little in comparison to the car and in comparison to a low-end life-insurance policy, but they are not seen, and therefore not a priority for a superficial person. The car exists to be seen, not used. Second, I was touring the Moldovan National History Museum, and I saw a pair of young women in nice dresses having their own little photo-shoot in the stairwell of the museum. It baffles me why they would pay the entry fee just to not look at the exhibits. Third, imagine for a moment that you are going to a McDonalds, and out of the corner of your eye you spot them, a couple, in a suit and dress, eating a couple big-macs at a table not far from yours. Speechless, you can’t help but stare awhile, perturbed by such a stark juxtaposition. Watching for a moment, you notice that they are not speaking to each other. In silence, they eat. Now I was eating at a local fast food restaurant, and there I see them. No need to imagine it. They are real, and their image will live on in my memory. I asked myself, why would they feel the need to dress up to go to the Moldovan version of McDonalds? These of course, are mere anecdotes, nothing but a tiny glimpse into the cultural trends of a generation of Moldovans, seen through one pair of foreign eyes. Who am I to make sweeping judgements about others as Tocqueville once did? Perhaps I don’t feel entitled to do so because I’m not French.