Favorite Conversation of Yesterday

I have finally found an “in” with my local magazine (grocery store…confusing, I know).  They are always very friendly, but we never seem to have an actual conversation.  They don’t ask why I’m buying what I’m buying as they do everyone else. Although, I’m sure the entire village knows that I buy cookies and those little orange baked peanut things on a regular basis.  And now you do too.

So I’ve started going to the децка градина or children’s garden or better yet kindergarten to teach English.  The owners of the magazine have a granddaughter in the class who is always at the store and asks when I will be coming again for English.  This has opened up conversations with the grandmother about how smart the little girl is and how important it is for them to begin learning English at that age.  It’s been lovely.  So last night the little girl was coloring next to her grandma and watched as I checked out…

Little Girl:  Kaka Callie you don’t need those cookies and orange peanuts.  You should just leave them.

Me because I didn’t understand at first: What should I do?

Little Girl: Don’t take the cookies and peanuts, leave them.

Me: Leave them where?

Little Girl: Well, here, by me.

She was right, I don’t need them. But I took them anyway.

When I leave Bulgaria I will miss these peanuts whose only ingredients are flour, salt, peanuts, and either water or milk. I can’t remember. No matter what, the magical part is that with those few ingredients, they turn an amazing bright orange color that I’m sure has an amazing effect on my digestive system.

Favorite conversation from yesterday(or least favorite depending on how you see things).

As I was returning from a late afternoon walk…

Old Baba whom I don’t know:        Where were you?

Callie:      On a walk.

Old Baba:      Up in the hills?

Callie:      Yes.

Old Baba:  By yourself?????

Callie:    Yes (with a smile).

Old Baba:  Don’t you have any friends????

Callie:   Thanks Grandma, that was a real confidence booster.

(What I actually said to her was ‘of course I have friends, I just like to walk alone….at which point she just waved me on my way.)

Unisex toaletnas.

I went to the cafe today. Big surprise. I know. Actually, the biggest surprise was that my insanely large bladder needed to be emptied before noon. So I walk into the cafe in search of the toilet.  A man who entered the cafe behind me passed me and entered the bathroom first. I realize it’s a unisex toilet. I’ve always hated this.  In any public restroom, especially in Bulgaria, you run the risk that the door won’t lock. This leaves open the possibility that anyone can just walk in on you. This is a huge nightmare for someone who has “bathroom stagefright” and requires putting myself into a different state of mind…which basically involves me closing my eyes and chanting to myself…go pee, go pee, go pee.  Needless to say…the man who passed me walked into a stall. I abruptly left and told everyone outside that the toilets were “zaeti”–busy.  Leaving me with an incredibly full bladder for the next two hours as we walked around shopping.  Later, I was able to pay the 30 stotinki to use the Turkish toilet at the bus station.  Ahhh…Turkish toilets. This leads me to my 2nd Bulgarian issue of discrimination of women.  Briana can attest to my Turkish toilet abilities….the back of both pant legs soaked in my own urine.  Until I master the ability to pee into a TT I will forever think that they were invented by men to curse women.

Reflections after a walk in the valley.

                                                                                                                                      

This place called Bulgaria.  It’s a place where I go for a walk in the evening and watch the shepherd in the field with his goats or sheep while he stands leaning against his staff with his rucksack of no doubt rakiya and yet return  home to high speed internet. It’s a road where an old man and his wife are driving a horse drawn cart full of tobacco they’ve just hand picked from the fields being passed by a Russian Lada which is in turn being passed by a Peugeot.  It’s a place where I look at the mountains on this same walk as the sun’s rays begin to seperate into a million rods illuminating each hill and crevice into a million different shades of grays and blues,  reminding me of how I’ve always envisioned Paradise.  Yet next to me is a pile of garbage and I wonder why the people do not take care of this paradise.  It’s this amazing place where modern meets the ways of the past to form the present.  It’s where  I see God everyday. It’s where I see my current life everyday. It’s where I am discovering who I am and who I want to be.  And it’s so amazing beautiful.

Little Stories.

Well, I was trying to think of things to blog. You know big meaningful things that have been happening…but quite frankly I’ve just been sitting in an office translating websites….well, and other exciting things. But I keep thinking of these little experiences I’ve been having. So I’ll just share them for now.

1. In neighboring Gotse Delchev there is always one street right after you get off the bus that has vendors selling produce, clothes, shoes, and other household items like an open air market. I mean sort of. Anyway. One day I stopped and decided to buy some apples. The lady asked how many apples I wanted and I said 5. Ambitious…I know. I didn’t pay attention to which 5 she picked out…she weighed them….I paid…and went home. Later as I was unloading the groceries I was taking out the apples and thinking to myself how huge they were. ENORMOUS!!!!  And then it hit me. They know how to trick you in the slyest of ways.  I don’t remember exactly how much I paid for those five apples. I think it was less than three leva, which is less than $2….so I think it was a good deal no matter how much they weighed. 

2.  The other day a man walked into my office and my counterpart was not there. In true Bulgarian “I’ve never met you before so I’m going to be shy” fashion he would not looked at me and mumbled something to me for a good five minutes. While I sat there patiently waiting I caught only two words which were mayor and letter.  And this is how you communicate cross-culturally. I tell him to wait one minute…go and find my countpart…and tell her this man is looking for a letter from the mayor. And I was dead on. They must have been so impressed with my language skills. ha!

3. Last week, I had gone to bed relatively early, but was woken around midnight by gunshots. This is common in my neighborhood. I think it’s something like friendly revelry to begin shooting the guns off around 9 in the evening. However, at midnight the gunshots would not stop.  After a while I realized that they were getting close to my apartment and now wondered what I had done or mistakenly said to someone. My kitten (if you don’t know I have a cute little Bulgarian kitten…actually they say she’s Turkish or Persian…why not?) is now thoroughly frightened and knocking everything off the shelves trying to hide. I realize as the sound gets closer that there is lots of shouting and people involved.  So I just think it’s a bunch of drunk people walking around the streets. THEN! It gets closer yet and I hear the traditional Bulgarian band playing with the accordion and drums and that it is not just gun shots but fireworks as well.  It is common to rent one of these bands at weddings…and I realize that they are celebrating something. So I tried to think of everything.  Their birthday?  Full moon? I went back to sleep.  The next day I asked one person at work what happened and they all new that a baby had been born to Maria (they said Maria as if I should know her…there are at least three that work in my office alone, so I’m pretty sure I don’t know which Maria it is).  And then I realized…can you imagine telling your child that on the night of their birth people celebrated in the middle of the night by shooting off guns and fireworks and walking through the streets with a band??? It was so amazing to me. So I thought, I’m going to have children in Bulgaria just for that reason (sorry mom!). But then I thought why couldn’t I just bring this tradition to America?? And then I realized that shooting off guns in the middle of the night might be a little illegal. So now I’m back to having kids in Bulgaria. :P

I’ve got a song stuck in my head. It goes something like “Where in the world are you now?”

Quite a few weeks ago I left my training site and traveled to my permanent site for a visit.  I returned to Rila to discover that I no longer had internet.  Well, I’m now in Garmen, Bulgaria to live for the next two years and so much has happened in between that first visit and now.  So…I’ll try to hi-lite a few.  Ok, shoot, I can’t remember anything anymore.  What I do remember is having good friends in Rila that I was sad to leave,  giving a speech in both Bulgarian and English at the Peace Corps Swearing in Ceremony, and now.  I’m spending most of my first few days here studying the language, meeting people, and following my counterpart around. 

Yesterday was the opening of several youth centers that were funded by grants from the European Union.  The first was in the village of Ognianovo, which is home to several resorts because of natural mineral springs.  The second was in the village of Ribnovo.  So, the mayor, assistant mayor and an entourage of colleagues traveled to these places for a ribbon cutting and ceremony.  Ribnovo is part of the municipality but lies higher up in the mountains.  It was featured in the July issue of National Geographic for maintaining its Muslim wedding traditions.  Some of them involve the women having her eyes kept shut with dramatic makeup on and the groom and bride never kissing before the ceremony. Although, I know a few people in the U.S. who maintain that tradition. haha.  (If you have an extra copy of an Enlglish version I’d love to get a copy. I only have the Bulgarian version.)  The people there are very beautiful, as well as the nature.   

My municipality is very diverse consisting of Bulgarian Orthodox Christians, Bulgarian Muslims, Turkish Muslims, and Romi (gypsy).  There is a lot I could say on that subject but I will save it for later.  Today, as of right now actually, I’m experiencing one of my first real differences between American and Bulgarian women.  I’m sure this is a strong generalization, but I have experienced it many times.  The printer just jammed.  My first reaction was to fix the problem myself.  My colleague immediately told me to leave it and called a male colleague to help.  I’m use to figuring things out for myself and fixing problems.  I’ve noticed here that quite often the male is quickly called upon.  In the end this is just subtle little difference that I’ve noticed.   

I’m also watching the children playing outside and realized that in American schools the children are not given as much freedom.  Every break they have, including lunch, the children leave the school and head to a local magazine (store)-yeah that was confusing at first.  What we would have given for such freedom in school and how we would have abused it.

And Ashley–I just now saw your comment about our JBU goat experience.  That night will forever remain as one of my favorite JBU memories, and I’m so glad we experienced it together.  I’m also grateful for that Burger King on the west side of Springdale.  Oh, and I love the pictures from that night as well.  And to make sure that I make sure I mention Briana in this blog…I hope my friend who is also figuring out how to live life in a foreign country is feeling better…my headache is gone for now. Lastly, if there are any spelling mistakes, I apologize.  After learning a second alphabet I can no longer boast to be a good speller.  I’ve noticed that I keep making mistakes with words like there/their/they’re, no/know, etc.

Baba Keva

For those who know Bulgaria…they know Baba’s.  They are generally any woman who is old enough to have grandchildren. In fact, Baba translated into English is grandmother.  However, here you walk around greeting them as a Baba.  For example, my morning walk to language class consists of “Dobro Ootro Baba Snezha,” “Dobro Ootro Baba Tino,” “Dobro Ootro Baba Maria,” and finally “Dobro Ootro Baba Keva.”  Now, Baba Snezha is my Baba. But Baba Keva I met one of the first days with my host family.  I could tell right away that she is one of those poor individuals that exists in small towns where people put up with them, but hope they don’t show up when you have guests.  I could also tell that my family is very charitable with her.  As in…she was fed dinner, but sat at the little miniature table in the driveway.  Now, Baba Keva I’ve always been able to communicate with better than even member’s of my host family.  I could never figure it out….especially the day I learned that she drinks alot and is basically always drunk.  I learned that two ways.  (It’s funny how you learn thing when you can hardly speak the language.)  The first was the day she was walking next to me and made that universal signal of drinking alcohol…you know, you make the hang ten sign, throw your head back, and pretend to drink from your thumb.  She also said the Bulgarian word for beer (this was easy to learn, considering you just add an a to the end of beer).  I thought she meant that I had been drinking so to save my Peace Corps volunteer status I indicated that ”nay, nay piya biera”.  And she said back, “nay ti” (not you), “mi” (me). I felt relieved…and immediately realized  her situation. 

Now the real story is the day I was running late for class and as I walked out the gate I met Baba Keva walking into town.  In her excitement to see me she grabbed my hand and started walking into town.  Now, on a daily basis everyone stares at me as I walk through town.  That day was worse…even the tourists, who didn’t know I was an outsider in the town, stared.  And several comments were made.  I grinned and beared it, pretending to be so engrossed in our conversation that I couldn’t understand and could therefore pretend to not notice all the stares.   We made it to the chitalishte where my fellow volunteers were standing giving me even more obnoxious stares than the townspeople.  At least I was able to explain things to them.  The best part was going home that evening and re-enacting the days events to my host family.  I’d never heard them laugh so hard.  Oh, and this is where they also gave me that universal drinking sign to indicate that Baba Keva drinks a lot.  But that’s ok, at least I can understand her. 

I tried to put her picture up…but I think it’s stuck in the gallery for awhile.  At least until I can figure this out.  Lastly, in an attempt to mention Briana in as many posts as possible I’d really like to thank her for the Red Dwarf quote that brought back lots of good memories and made me laugh on a day where everything else made me want to cry.  And for the record, mostly in case someone named Cynthia Bertsch ever reads this and feels the need to worry, today was a much better day.  After language classes I went with Joe and Theron (two other volunteers) to find what apparently is one of the oldest churches in the Balkans. It was very interesting and we rummaged through the old cemetary for awhile.  It was good to do something with them outside of class.  When I got home I helped Baba Snezha take the dried beans (bop) out of their shells.  Dyado Vassil and another Baba came to help out near the front bench.  When I’m doing things like this it reminds me of why I so much love other cultures…and experiencing them.  It got better after dinner when I was able to converse in Bulgarian with Dora.  We talked about my permanent site and how much I would love to stay in Rila and when I would find out where I’m going.  We then…somehow…amazingly…discussed the ranking of occupations in Bulgaria.  Just because I know I’m going to list them: 1. Attorney 2. Architect 3. Engineer 4. 5. 6. 7. and somewhere way on the bottom is teacher.  I told her it was very similar in America.

Koza

I wish I had some pictures for this post.  But I don’t.  I don’t journal very well.  But there is one topic I’ve needed to keep track of.  So I’m posting my personal journals here.  No worries….they don’t really delve deep into my personal life…I’d never write that in a journal entry…that all stays tucked away in my head and heart. 

21.08.08

I love goats.  They’ve started showing up everywhere…which is great when you love something so much.  Everyday I step in goat poop on my walk to and from class.  No worries, it’s just grass, eh?  During my first week here Dyado Vassil walked past the house while I was gossiping on the bench (well, ok, I was try to understand the gossiping ladies and pretending that I too was gossiping with them) with his herd (it’s a herd, right?) of goats. Because of that I decided I love Eastern Europe.  Pretty early on during my stay in Rila I somehow agreed to warm goat’s milk in the morning.  There’s a language barrier thing that I’ve been dealing with here lately.  But it’s ok.  I’ve decided I love warm goat’s milk for breakfast.  And mostly I just love goats.  Now, two days ago one of the goats was slaughtered and we’ve been eating this fantastic soup with goat meat in it for lunch the past few days.  I don’t mind  all the attached fat and ligaments…because I love goats.  We even had Krem Karamel for dessert…Georgi’s specialty.  It was fantastic.  Ahhh….but tonight.  Oh tonight.  I walked down the driveway and saw it on the outdoor stove.  I thought to myself…”man, there’s no fricken way.”  I’ve dissected enough animals to recognize an animals heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, and intestines….and there they all were in the frying pan….and shortly thereafter piled high on my plate.  There’s no way I’m about to offend my family so I started to chew….and chew….and chew.  And the more bites I chewed the more the innerd’s of the goat seemed to be on my plate.  At one point the taste of the food resembled the smell of the goat poo I step in everyday.  I have a floss fetish.  It’s because my back teeth are really close together and food, especially meat, gets stuck in them easily.  So now, after enduring “Obeachash li?” (Do you love it?) from my family…and my responses of “nay, nay obeacham.” (no, no I don’t love it.)  And then ”Haresvish li?” (Do you like it?)….”da, da haresvam” (yes, yes I like it)—I didn’t want to offend!  Anyway, now I have the aorta stuck in my 3rd upper molar and the liver in my 5th….the taste of poo lingering on my tastebuds…and I’m wondering how it is that I have no problem eating the muscle…but give me the inner organ’s and I’m gagging.  This is the great part of culture.  I want my host family to come to America so that I can figure out what it is that we eat that they would want to throw to the dogs.  The goats are redeemed, however, when the kreme kacao from goats milk appears.  I really do loves goats…and Bulgaria…and Bulgarians….and Bulgarian food…and goats.

24.08.08

I love goats.  Today I hand washed my clothes using soap made from goat fat.  It was fantastic.

 

Enough of the Koza.  Yesterday and today have been a little rough.  Mostly hormones, I believe…rather, I know.  I think if I write about it things may get better.  I found myself really disappointed tonight because I had expectations of my host family and of myself that did not occur.  Now I learned from a great friend whose name is Briana that most of my disappointments in life come from me expecting other’s to behave or think in a certain way.  When they do not, I’m let down.  Tonight it was great for me to realize that this was the problem…and that I needed to change my behavior and attitude and take things for what they were.  So anyway, one day I will write more interesting things about my life in Bulgaria as well as the development work that is taking place.

Bulgarski???

Languages amaze me…or more so the brain’s capacity to learn more than one.  As I learn Bulgarian I’m amazed at the ability to actually remember words I’ve heard.  And how is it that Bulgarian’s have phrases like “see you soon”, just like American’s.  To me this is more a fascination of human nature…that two different cultures would come up with a similar phrase.  Why do they not say “upside down dog!” when they mean “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  What’s even more exhausting is partially knowing a third language.  One day my Bulgarian host family was asking me about myself.  Out of frustration I started out in Bulgarian and ended up spewing out a bunch of German phrases.  That’s when I found out that much of the older generation knows a minimal amount of German because of the wars.  To my surprise they answered in German.  So imagine my host grandmother asking a question in Bulgarian, me answering in German, and another “Baba” translating the German back to Bulgarian.  And this is how you survive learning and living a foreign language.

I decided to add a little extra for something that happened after I previously posted.  I went with my “host sister’s” brother (my host brother???), his wife, and another volunteer to the river to swim.  When we were done they didn’t want me to be cold so I was directed to the car to change into my clothes.  Soooooo….needless to say I had only worn the swimsuit underneath.  And I though, hey I can handle this…no bra or underwear til I get back home.  To my horror we turned the opposite direction from the river and headed to the restaurant their daughter works at for tea.  Now…some people are endowed with beautiful breasts…other’s need the support of Victoria’s Secret…I am one of the latter.  To the cafe I went…with my arms crossed in front of me…remembering the advice of my friend Mary from Whidbey Island: “No one can embarrass you…you let yourself be embarrassed.”