Thanks Amir!
A Toast to Group Fifteen
written by Josh for our swear-in....


Here's to one year ago with application in hand


Not knowing where today we would stand


Here's to a 12 hour Amersterdam layover


Then trying to pretend like you don't have a hangover


Here's to our first Gazda dinner still drenched form the rain


Nervously laughing, while using our hands to explain


Here's to The Tudor and all the teachers whom we need to hug


Though, still there were times when they made us all want to burn our books in the tub


Here's to transparent shirts, black bras and tight pants


Then finding out they're way too young; even for Bazz


Here's to the Hub and those long, boring classes


And wishing to tell Terry, Marius, and Carmen to Kiss our ...


Here's to the cell phones, 4-star hotels, hot showers, and The Body Shop in Iasi


So, this why Romania is called the Corps of Posh


Here's to the ones of us who've gone RO, and to the 40% club


Just remember Dr. Dan's advice "No Glove, No Love"


Here's to the Konac and those hot Ploiesti nights


And, who can forget all those damn mosquito bites


Here's to friends for a lifetime we'll remember


I just hope we can still speak to them in Romanian come December


So, here's to Romania, the place we call home


And, here's to the unavoidable nights when we'll feel alone


Sometimes we'll forget the mission and wonder why are we here


Then, seeing the starving, glue sniffing kids; the straydogs; bad teeth; dirty roads; endless coruption; closed factories; and human trafficing


It all becomes clear


Our job is to help, our job is care, our job is to smile at everyone we meet, our job is to teach to love and to hold


And, though of course we'll get tired and stressed, just be like Charlie, Diane, and Odi, and never get old


So, in two years time ask yourself just one 'intrabare'


Is Romania better off because of me?


So, here's to the Pleasure, the Pain, and the Fun


But most of all, Here's to the toughest job that we'll ever love.

I saw the man but Sean shook his hand.


You remember Sean, my verbally enthusiastic and married site mate from training. He is the one who did a lesson plan on Energy sources. Well, if you don't remember Sean, he is a veritable encylopedia, random facts and figures stream out of him twenty-four, seven (need I say more than energy sources, who the hell know about energy sources?!) So if you can imagine Sean is all excited about seeing history in action ( which I have to admit I was as well), and after waiting about seven hours in the rain to see Dubbya, nothing was going to come between Sean and the President's hand. Screaming "He's my damn president!" bunicas went flying as Sean parted the sea of people to front. And sure enough he stuck out that hand, and like he later repeated to me "looked into his eyes for a good five seconds." "Thank you Mr. President. Peace Corps Romania, Thank You." That was all he could get out of his mouth. And like that he was sucked back into the crowd.
Faced with the same type of encounter I am not sure I would have thanked the President. Good Old Dubbya did a typical eight minute speech stretched out to 16 minutes with translation..."Blah, blah blah, freedom, blah, blah, blah terror" It was an eerily quiet rally. Maybe due to the seven hours of waiting. The crowd apathetically chanted Bush. But the funniest part of the whole event came when they played the rocky theme song as Bush decended from Air Force One to Romania. It was at that point that I felt the most assinine (however you spell it). In another one of my attempts to be a part of history, to experience something first hand, I couldn't be farther away from it. Not even 13 years ago Ceausescu stood is the same spot and conducted his last rally. Rally this, rally that. I wasn't inspired, I wasn't experiencing any transformation, I wasn't creating history, I was just wet.
more to come soon....