March 06, 2005
Worth the Squeeze
I spent last week on Vitosha, a mountain just south of Sofia. It's famous for its summer hiking, cheap winter skiing, and actually being on the capital's mass transit system (Although bus 66, from what I've seen, could probably be replaced or retired at this point). I was there with about 2/3 of my school's faculty, using the holiday weekend to have a seminar or 2, eat some dinners together, and (shhh! it's a secret...) ski. The reason? Thursday was the day marking the anniversary of Bulgaria's freedom from Turkish rule. Friday was also a national holiday, so the school decided to let Wednesday slide as well.
We left at the ungodly hour of 6:00 AM last Wednesday on two chartered buses. One (the larger one) was for the smokers, and the non-smokers all piled into a smaller minibus. Two other English teachers were on the smaller bus, so when we reached Obnova we had a great chat over sandwiches and Danon Za Piene. 20 minutes north of Pleven, Obnova is the northern half of Bulgaria's rest stop. Not a rest stop in Northern Bulgaria, but the rest stop. If you're travelling from Sofia to Ruse, Silistra, Varna, Shumen, or any other city in the region, you will stop there. I figure that, outside of Silistra, I've been in Obnova more times than any other place in Bulgaria.
I brought this up over our small brunch and mentioned that I had no idea how many people lived in the town, how large it was, or what it looked like beyond the small block-long stretch of restaurants and cafes that make up the rest stop. Vanya, one of the English teachers, asked the waitress how many people live in the town.
"Sehlo." The waitress corrected. At 2,000 people (If I remember correctly. A lot of numbers were thrown around that morning), Obnova is a village, and if not proud of it, at least resigned to the fact. So that got us to talking about one of the bigger differences I've notices between America and Bulgaria: this fierce, yet mostly indistinct line between town, village, and city seen here. They asked what the system was in America, and, after thinking about it for a second, I replied that a village was a name taken on by a community; a voluntary thing that a town in America uses to keep itself quaint if it feels urban claws reaching in. Sometimes it's a name a small part of a big city uses to mark itself as a community, like Westwood Village, or Greenwich Village.
They then told me that the system in Bulgaria is a little more practical. The funding and attention levels given a municipality depend entirely on whether that place is a village or a city. When there's a graduation, there's apparently a big celebration. Interestingly, they both said that they've never noticed the snottiness that I've seen divide the two. Some of my students here in Silistra (A town of 25,000 in a tiny corner of Bulgaria) have insulted students from outlying communities for being villagers. The same attitude I remember Juneau students giving Sitkans occasionally back in high school. After telling Vanya and Aleks about it, they did admit that it happens off and on. Unavoidable, probably.
So after Obnova, we travelled to Sofia and took a quick tour of a Sofia school (Which had some really nice TV and video equipment. But it was the multiple copy machines that made the other teachers envious). And started the climb up Vitosha. It was a stormy, snowy day and our van was blowing back and forth across the road, but we finally made to Hotel Hyundai.
Hotel Hyundai has an interesting history, which I'll let its all-in-English brochure explain:
"The hotel was built in 1963 by the enthusiastic efforts of the workers and employees of Vassil Kolarov Power Engineering Plant as a rest house. Later it was reconstructed into a hotel and called Hyundai after the name of the main shareholder of the recently privatized Power Engineering Plant."
Ahh, Capitalism. Further up the hill, you may find the Mitsubishi Ski Hut before coming on the Aleko-Yamaha Ski Resort. Silly names aside though, the hotel was mostly great. It had a fantastic restuarant, and comfortable rooms. It would have been nicer had our room's heater worked, but as I understand it, no one else had the problem.
On the morning of the first full day on the mountain, half of us gathered to go up to the slopes. I'd never gone skiing before, partly owing to the fact that it's not my family's cup of tea, and partly owing to the fact that my feet are much larger than the boots ski resorts keep on hand. I wear a 17 in America, which is a 52 here in Bulgaria, and be it in America or Bulgaria, places don't have boots in my size. But this time I was going to crush my feet trying, or if I couldn't even get my feet into boots, I would mull around the hill for the day and figure out something to do for the rest of the week.
The first shop we tried, the shop where everybody else managed to get their boots, only had boots going up to 47, or 13 in America. My foot didn't get past the front door in those. So we went up the hill to the next shop where we heard they had 48 1/2, or 14s. After grunting and squeezing, those worked. I certainly wouldn't want to be wearing them for more than a few hours at a time, but I was able to get my feet in them and, just barely, close them up. That led to this--
Which, inevitably, led to this--
I got the moving and standing still bit down very well, very quickly, as long as I was on a reasonably flat or uphill surface. As soon as things started going downhill though, my instincts just did not cut it. I fell about 5 or 6 times before finally figuring out what had to be done to keep myself from crashing into snowdrifts or other people without falling down. Each time I got up frustrated but determined, and the other teachers (all of whom were also trying to learn how to ski) gave me encouragement and pointers in Bulgarian. Finally, I figured out how to consistently slow myself down when I needed to and was able to remain standing for most of the last hour of skiing. As soon as I was done, I returned my stuff, joined the others in the restaurant and wolfed down a big lunch.
Since this was the first big day (And, as it would turn out, the only big day) of skiing, the review I have to give is pretty darn great. My feet hurt like heck afterwards, but the falling was fun and the grand accomplishment of even the slightest control, which was met with applause even by strangers who had stopped to watch the giant American struggle, made me happier than I've been in a long time. Sometime, when I have money to burn, I'll have to get specialty boots and whatever other special things I may need and just go at it for a month or two. It's a fun sport. Who knew?
So, tired and sore, we all waddled our way back to the hotel and I finished reading Sideways, which I had started on the bus the day before. Great book, entertaining, highly recommended for anyone who likes buddy novels or movies. I haven't seen the movie yet, but as I understand it, it's intensely faithful to the book. I'm now waiting patiently for the chance to see it. It's supposed to be coming to Sofia relatively soon.
When dinner time rolled around, my roommate Momchil and I rolled down to the restaurant to join the others. Momchil's a French teacher at the school and we usually hang out on weekends. I let him remember his high school English and he lets me pretend to remember my high school French. Most of the time we just speak in Bulgarian. It was Momchil's birthday eve, and we were developing a mood to celebrate. After dinner and some terrible live music, the live pair started playing some slightly-less-terrible Bulgarian National music and all the teachers began to dance (as in the first photo of this post). I was tired--
And in no mood to learn any new steps. So, until midnight rolled around Momchil and I played it pretty low-key. Then, when the hour hit, everybody let fly. We sang "Happy Birthday" and Momchil was showered in snow from a bucket. We stayed up celebrating until 2:00 or so, and then went to bed with the expectation that we'd be able to ski in the morning.
Well, we tried. I stuffed my swollen feet back into the boots, Momchil even got up on the slopes for the first time. But there wasn't much there. There was a heavy wind across the mountaintop, so most skiers were laying low anyway, and even though I got a few good slides down the hill in, my skis weren't really cooperating with me so, not wanting to top a great experience with an annoying one, I called it a day with everybody else after an hour of skiing.
I went to bed earlier that night and decided to head back to Silistra Saturday morning, before the rest of the group left today. I just felt like I needed some me time. So, I went to Sofia with some others who were taking the day off from the mountain, and I strolled over to the movie theater to see The Aviator, which was excellent and worth every one of its three hours. Can't see how it could lose Best Picture, or Scorcese Best Director, but I guess I'd have to see Million Dollar Baby, which still hasn't arrived here.
So after the film and a Subway lunch, I caught the 5:00 bus home. The bus driver made the run in an incredibly impressive 5 1/2 hours on a trip that normally runs 7. And I came home to find the cat in heat. Again. We're going to have to make a special snip-snip trip to Sofia sometime soon or I'm going to go nuts with her yowling and slinking. But it's good to be home early, anyway. And it was great to ski.