Căuşeni’s main tourist attraction (if you could even call it that) is the Church of the Assumption of Our Lady. It is the oldest building in Căuşeni and the oldest church in Moldova. There is a catch though: no one can get in. The building is badly damaged and under “restoration”, and the funding has unfortunately disappeared into some mysterious, corrupted pockets. The bottom line: the building is under lock and key and many residents of Căuşeni haven’t even seen the inside.
We were given a tour of Căuşeni on our second day in town, by Svetlana’s sister. She took us past the church and gave us a brief history as we stared at the lackluster exterior.
I’m not going to lie – I don’t remember all the specifics of the history of the church and the internet is amazingly void of information. So please don’t quote me on anything here. What’s important is the story and the experience, not the dates!! The stone structure as it stands now dates back to the 17th century, but I believe the original church is several hundred years older than that.
We enjoyed learning about the church for a few minutes, I tried unsuccessfully to peer into the windows, and then we moved on. Until a few days later…
There are several Peace Corps volunteers in Căuşeni, one of which (Laura) we agreed to meet one day after class for a few drinks. Laura is from Nebraska and has been living in Căuşeni for over 18 months now, and even though I was dragging my feet about abandoning our nightly homemade wine ritual with Olga, I’m really glad we met with her. Laura was a total riot and provided us with several hours of amusing and enlightening insights into Moldova.
As we walked up to the bar/restaurant/hotel where we were going to have drinks, a man says (in English), “Hello. How are you?” I figured that this was the only phrase he knew in English and walked past without making eye contact. Laura gave him a quick, “Hello”. About an hour later, the same man returned with a beer and set it down on the table for Laura, stating “for you.” After we gave her the “this-is-a-bit-awkward look”, she explained that she met him once “when [she] was with [her] beekeeper friend.” (Yes, this is a weird statement to make, but just go with it…it is foreshadowing). His name is Ivan, which translates to “John”, aka “Johnny”. (The Moldovans really enjoy Anglicizing their names, but that is a different story.)
After another 30 minutes or so, he returned…again. This time he spoke in Romanian to Laura, which of course we couldn’t understand. Mid-conversation, Laura turned to us and asked, “You guys want to go inside the church?” We replied in the affirmative and she continued in Romanian with “Johnny”. While they were chatting, Joe and I were laughing in the corner, making jokes about a shady situation that Laura was going to set us up on with her new beau “Johnny”. Joke was on us, I guess, because then Laura turned to us and said, “Ok, I’ll show you the place where you can meet ‘Johnny’ at 11:00am tomorrow.” Before departing, “Johnny” asked Laura for her phone number. Smooth operator.
Joe and I spent the next 12 hours laughing about how sketchy this whole situation was, if “Johnny” would really show up, if we should go at all, and how they would break the news to our parents if we never came out of the church. I really wanted to see what all the fuss was about though, and we honestly had nothing to lose, so the next day we stood at the spot where Laura instructed at 11:00am and waited. We gave “Johnny” the 5-minute-rule, then the 10-minute-rule, then the 15. As it was approaching 11:20am…we were about to walk away and up walked “Johnny”.
His English was really poor, but “Johnny” did the best he could. He walked us to a building to retrieve the key for the church, but we were turned away by the crabby key-holder lady. “Johnny’s” English was so bad that we didn’t know if we were going to see the church in half an hour, two hours later, or two days later. We followed him around the building to a kid’s library, an art class, and a (really poorly outfitted) computer lab. I think he was killing time and trying to give us some sort of tour. It was all very weird.
Eventually “Johnny” took us to the church, where the crabby office lady was waiting. They had a conversation in Romanian, about us, and she did not look pleased. I have no idea what was discussed, as “Johnny” did not translate, but she had questions about us that he couldn’t answer and she was not pleased about that either. So…we just stood there, feeling awkward, waiting for the focus to shift somewhere else.
She finally let us into the church, which is actually set more than three feet below ground level. The interior of the church holds numerous medieval frescos, all of which are badly damaged due to water retention and pure neglect.
There are several “miracles” and “myths” associated with the church. Sometime in the 19th century, when the Turks invaded Căuşeni, they put their horses inside the church. In the morning all the horses were found dead, without clear cause. Sometime after WWII, Căuşeni was experiencing a period of extreme drought and a bunch of people went into the church to pray for rain. A very short time later, the rain poured down with a vengeance. Also, there is something with the eyes in the frescos. I didn’t really understand, due to language issues, but apparently most of the angels’ eyes disappeared after some event, but Jesus still has eyes. Honestly, the walls were so badly damaged that I couldn’t distinguish any difference.
Behind the three archways in the first picture is the altar. Women are not allowed to enter at all and men can only enter and exit from the left side. Why? I don’t know. Again, lost in translation.
So, eventually the crabby lady kicked us out of the church and we stood outside with “Johnny” again. He asked us if we wanted to go to the building next door. Sure, why not? Once inside (what I thought was a school), we were introduced to a man (who I thought was the principal). The exchange happened exclusively in Romanian, but I was surprised that the man shook my hand (it is very unusual for men to shake hands with women in Moldova, if address them at all) and he had exceptionally clean shoes (the roads in Căuşeni are almost entirely covered in mud). After the fact, Joe pointed to a picture on the wall and said, “We just met the mayor.” Whoops…that went right over my head.
We walked out of the “mayor’s building” and “Johnny” handed me a dried clump of flowers. “For you”, he said. “Keep away bad.” I awkwardly accepted it. Later, when we were alone, Joe told me that “Johnny” stole the flowers from the altar in the church. I left those flowers in Moldova, an account of karma.
Next, “Johnny” wanted to get some coffee. We headed back to the same bar/restaurant/hotel where we met him the previous evening. Communication was really difficult, but he wanted to take us the next day to two museums in two other towns. Something about all this just seemed a little too sketchy. We are comfortable with a bit of sketch…but not too much! When we told Svetlana about it, she gave us a confused/side-ways look. She didn’t seem to trust the guy either. We passed on the offer.
I wish I could say that this was the last we saw of “Johnny”. He suddenly appeared in the middle of class one day, bearing an orange as a gift for me and a bunch of foreign currency that he wanted Joe to explain. He wanted us to skip class and drink…I think. I don’t know…lost in translation.
Jot this down as one of many crazy memories from a very short week in Moldova. What’s interesting for me is thinking about how I probably won’t be so open to such random/awkward meetings and adventures in my own country, speaking my own language. I wonder what I’ll be like when we move back in a few short months! One thing is for sure…we’ll never forget “Johnny” and the super awkward church tour!
There are parades, street parties, and all kinds of other festive events! What surprised me was how many store fronts covered their display windows, even during opening hours. Every once in a while I felt like I was in Miami in October (hurricane season)! I guess they don’t call them the “crazy days” for nothing!
