Alaskan Bulgarian

Down and Out in Botevgrad

I've just finished my group's close of service conference. It was great times. I got to see people I hadn't seen in almost a year. Everyone is doing well, and everyone is also pretty ready to get going home and move on. Me? Well, there may be something there, there may not. I'll keep you posted.

The biggest activity of the conference, outside of all the meetings, was Scrabble. Yes, we're all adults here. And the biggest thing I learned about Scrabble is this: It is not much fun to play with tournament players who keep a Scrabble dictionary at their side at all times. While you're thinking of great places to put "quality" for 20 points, they're thinking of places to put "qi" (The British spelling of "chi") and "aa" (a kind of rough lava. Seriously. Go look this up.) for 30 points apiece. If you play Scrabble to work your visualization skills, that's great, I suppose, but some of us play it for the words. I guess we get left with Balderdash.

The conference left me with a bunch of useful materials for post-Peace Corps life, but it also left me with a stomach virus. So instead of chancing a 7-hour trip home, I'm staying at a volunteer's apartment near Sofia, since he was kind enough to take me in. I'll probably be much better tomorrow. More news about the conference and trip home to come.

Away for a Week

Well, I'm out of town. Can't really say where. Peace Corps regulations and all. More news and a review of the week will come on Saturday. Probably. Yes, let's say Saturday.

Organs (Put on the Blinders, Vegetarians)

I just learned today, after two years in the country, that Bulgaria has something a lot like scrapple or haggis. Not that I've been desperately waiting for something like scrapple or haggis to be served at dinner so I could wolf it down. In fact, I don't remember having ever tried scrapple or haggis. So I'm really not missing anything at all.

But, as far as things culinary go, I have been willing to experiment in Bulgaria. Shkembay Chorba, for example, is something that I'd never tried before and most likely will never eat again in America. It is, however, pretty good for a late-night restaurant fix here. If you don't have Taco Bell around to get your crap, shkembay's almost just as good. What is it you ask? Well, it's stomach of some kind in a broth. I could never prepare it on my own and have no desire to learn how, but, well, there it is...stomach. Most of the time, it's customary to slop garlic and dried pepper in to make it more palatable. But strangely, I never really see the need.

This Bulgarian scrapple (the name of which escapes me at the moment), is all the usual organs packed into large intestine. If it's placed in front of me at some meal, I'll give it a go, just for tradition's sake, but beyond that...well, let's just say I won't be hunting it down on menus, just for experimentation. It's not really a standard around here and I've found that if I stray too far from chicken breast at Bulgarian restaurants, dodginess begins to come into play.

In fact, this scrapple stuff was only brought up because I mentioned that I'd taken the cultural care to try shkembay. It's like this is some kind of hard drug version of organ-based food. A step-up from stomach being every organ packed into intestine.

Anyway, there's your day's glimpse of the Bulgarian dinner table. Enjoy the picture of the Danube. In the distance you can see Hotel Drustur, the schnazzy new four-star place with terrible exterior design. I'll be going to a banquet there tomorrow to celebrate my school's fifteenth year of pushing students through the system.

Spring Poker

Today, the first day of Spring, means that the martenitsi, the little red and white strings we have all been wearing since early this month, get to come off. It also means that the two turtle doves who tried to raise a family on the sycamore outside my window last year are back, and Yuli has noticed.

Today was also the the 15th anniversary of my school's first opening. We all had the day off, and (or but) there was a two hour show in Silistra's theater. Students put on little sketches and sang, and the history of the school was read out and various past teachers and students were celebrated. Not as boring as it may sound. I had a pretty good time.

Other than that, there isn't a whole lot going on this week. A mild cold snap means basketball has stopped as suddenly as it started, but other than that, I have nothing to complain about. Or praise. It's all just status quo around these parts.

Oh, but as long as I'm filling space, it'd be a good time to bring in a brilliant little trend I may well have nourished. The card game here in Bulgaria is belote, which--having never learned bridge--I find impossible to learn. So I've taken it upon myself to spread what I understand is a world-wide poker craze to Bulgaria, where most of the population lives unaware of the rules. Unless they have a cell phone with Carribean Stud on it, then they at least know the hand order.

At any rate, after a "fun day" that introduced the rules of 5-card draw to my 10th class, the three tables that played belote during the breaks around my classes have turned into two poker tables and one belote table, where strangely, the best students are still the ones playing belote. They gamble with match sticks, which are pretty common in a school where most of the students and teachers smoke.

I've since taught them Texas Hold 'Em, since that's the game they usually see on "Eurosport 2" or "Discovery Channel Travel & Living," but they never really took to it that well. Too complicated, I imagine.

But, for some reason, I take a sense of pride in watching them play poker. Small accomplishments adding up, I suppose.

Of Mosques, Clubs, and Heat

Well, the photo-taking weekend had a significant delay factor in that, after a 60 degree day on Friday, the temperatures dropped below freezing for a short time on Saturday and there was actually a little snow involved. Things got back to sanity today. The sky was clear and crisp, at least, but it was still cool, and felt more like late fall than early spring. I have no idea if that distinction makes any kind of sense. But hopefully you get the idea.

What I came up with yesterday was this photo of Silistra's 16th century mosque. It's currently under the same reconstruction project it has been a victim of for, as I understand it, about five years. Presently, it's in the Disneyland phase and has been that way for a few months. I can only hope that somebody powerful saw what was going on with the tower and demanded the whole thing come to a halt. I'm not sure if mosques actually looked that way in the 16th century, but if they did, they shouldn't have.

There are various theories going around about that mosque. Some see its neverending rehab as a small part of Silistra's (and Bulgaria's) simmering dislike of the Turkish. Others have told me that if this isn't the reason no one has been inside without a hardhat and blueprints in five years, it ought to be. Some just shrug and say "tova e Bulgaria . . ." (That's Bulgaria [for you]). Whatever the reason, the mosque is a local landmark and sits square in the middle of town. Any visitor is going to see it, so there's some interest in getting it up and running again. And if it isn't operating, well, they can at least let people tramp through with shoes on and take photos, right?

Near the mosque is "Bar Life," an underground place that's pretty much the only place to go in Silistra for good house music, if you're into that sort of thing. Most of Silistra, as it turns out, isn't. Bar life is more of a niche club. It usually comes in third in polls behind "Insomnia" and "Easter," and during the summer it's rarely visited at all.

I mention it because you can see the sign on the left and because "Bar Life"'s main feature (other than house), is its couches, and couches came up in conversation the other night. It has two lounges that feature white couches next to glass tables. Mysteriously, those lounges are almost never reserved or filled. Everybody prefers to either stand or sit near one of the counters spread around the club.

It's a common them here in Bulgaria, couches getting ignored. You think they're the best seats in the house, so if you see them empty you tend to automatically think they're reserved. But mysteriously, they usually aren't. One almost angry explanation we got from a Bulgarian friend this weekend was that people go to a club to dance, and you can't dance if you're sitting on a couch. This would be logical and an outstanding argument if Bulgarians (and our friend, in particular) actually danced at clubs. Sure there are the half-full dance floors, but the vast majority of people at any club stand, sit, or make themselves discrete in any way possible around the tables off the dance floor.

I, of course, have no problem with this. It's my kind of club, really--the sit down and relax kind--but I still don't understand why the couches are usually ignored. Oh well, no looking the gift horse in the mouth I suppose.

Oh, and the cat's in heat again. I always thought that a "heat" was a rare thing. Monthly maybe, or something like that. But she goes into it every other week or so, it seems. I have no idea how anyone can ever have an unspayed cat for a long period of time. Half the time, she's a completely different cat set only on making loud noises and thrusting her rear at anything that seems convenient.

It would be fine if it were a broad, cyclical thing. Something to make me treasure the moments where I don't have to worry about how much noise she makes when I leave, but this almost constant thing needs to be changed. I'm starting to ask questions around town about the local vets' abilities to do the deed that no Bulgarian cat ever has done, and the results aren't too optomistic. One of my students asked "Aren't you worried about the cat getting infected by the operation?" If it's a gamble here, where I would have to worry, maybe it would be worth a trip to Sofia. Or on the really safe side, waiting until I get back to America, where reproductive organs are snipped as a matter of course, not a specialty.

No Photo Today

The days are much warmer now. The cold nights mean it's still coat weather, but all of the cafes have set their tables outside, I played the year's first outdoor game of basketball last night, and that means things are looking spring like. But it's not there yet. There aren't flowers on the trees, the grass may be green, but it isn't thick. Basically, I have no representative photos here. This weekend I'll go out and get a few. I'll make a big walking tour of Silistra. Should be fun, all the leafless tress and flowerless gardens. But there will be people, and maybe clear skies. So that should count for something.

With the lager numbers of walkers, I've been getting "Hey! What's--up--man?" yelled at me from across streets a lot more recently. This only happens with groups of people, is usually followed by giggles from the group the person is trying to impress, and continues a strange trend I've noticed among dead-end twenty-something Bulgarians: they think they're geniuses for doing stuff that, while not exactly stupid, doesn't make any damn sense. When somebody yells "Hey! What's--up--man?" with the intonation sounding like each syllable is a kidney stone they're trying to get out, what does that accomplish exactly? Are they trying to prove they know four whole words of English? Are they making fun of me for speaking English? I don't know.

Maybe it all comes down to a recent string of ads for one of Bulgaria's mobile companies--M-Tel. In the ads, set outside various discos in the midst of a snowy winter, a group in their late teens/early twenties mocks various bouncers without prior conversations or provocation. The strange thing is, the bouncers don't react until after the group has gone away. For example--One of the ads begins with a banana dragging through the snow. The bouncer follows it with his eyes until his gaze arrives on the group dragging the banana by a string. The group laughs and the lead guy makes a monkey motion with his arms. Laughing hysterically, the group drape their arms on each others' shoulders and walk off. No words are ever exchanged and the ad closes with the bouncer scrathing his head in a way that could be seen as chimp-like.

Again, it's an action without purpose, provocation, or result. The point of making fun of somebody or insulting somebody is to see them get carried away, to become offended to the point where you understand that what you've said or done means something to them, and the comedy--if you find this stuff funny--should come from the ease of overreaction. The guy getting red in the face just because you, a nobody, did something to make him angry.

None of this works if there's no reaction, or a confused look, which explains why the fake doubled-over, hysterical hyena cackle is so common around here. If what you've done isn't funny, you'd best convince your entourage that it is, and in a hurry too. Otherwise, you won't be the leader of an unemployed pack whose purpose is to yell catchphrases at foreigners they don't know.

Anyway, back to me. With the advent of basketball, the evenings suddenly became a lot busier this week. And despite (or maybe because of. I I don't know) what seems like constant exercise, I've hit a tired wall on Thursday. Maybe it's because I haven't squeezed in an afternoon nap. I'm not sure. Whatever the case may be, as soon as my head hits the pillow I've been out this week. I'm tired right now! And I still have the best of St. Patrick's Day ahead of me--without the first day of March Madness of course, but we can't ask for everything. Go Bruins!

Spring is Coming. Maybe.

The signs are all here. It's warm enough to walk around without stuffing your hands in your coat pockets. There are a few cafes tentatively setting their tables outside. The two doves who lived on the tree outside my window last year are back and bothering the cat.

But I don't think Silistra is quite yet ready to trust spring to be there when it counts. We're all still on the edge of our seats, waiting for that next mildly annoying snowfall. Hopefully it won't come.

The slightly warmer weather means that I'm back to swimming pretty much every day. During the cold snap I was afraid that as soon as I walked outside after the swim I'd catch the flu. Now, I feel good about going into the water again, and I feel good in general. I'm still waiting for the town to start playing basketball again, though. Then I'll really be swinging.

So that's the mood. It isn't happy. Yet. Everybody still has their martenitsi firmly attached around their wrists, so no one has seen a stork or any other viable sign of spring. But there's a feeling. A quiet, lingering thing in the warm wind that's replaced the freezing. Seems to be making everyone a little happier.

Jim and John

I met Silistra's Rosencrantz and Gildenstern the other night. That's a bit harsh of course, both guys are great and fun to hang out with, but they had a team vibe that smacked of the Tom Stoppard R & G and, more exactly, the Aykroyd-Martin "Wild and Crazy Guys" bit from SNL. They were hanging out at the ol' local and, since they're both relatively powerful guys in town, listerning to the music they brought.

Usually in Bulgaria, when a pair or group of people control a place's Winamp, it's a certainty that the music will be from the eighties. This includes, but it not limited to, hair bands and metal. So it was a pleasant surprise to hear that these guys love The Beatles and The Doors to the point where they know all the words. John (as he wanted to be called) says he learned all of his English from The Beatles, and it wouldn't surprise me if he was telling the truth. For several reasons.

Jim doesn't know much English himself, but when you're a Doors fan, that's understandable. Whiskey bars and snakes in the sky don't come up often in everyday conversation.

Their amazingly good taste in music also extended to film, as John was, for some unexplained reason, carrying around a small collection of films on CD. Usually in Bulgaria, this would mean "Eurotrip," "Old School," "Spider-Man 2," and "I, Robot." However, John has every Monty Python movie on CD (To date, he is the second Bulgarian I've met who has heard of Monty Python. Although it's not something I ask every Bulgarian I meet. Of course.), and he also had two classics that I haven't yet seen--"A Clockwork Orange" and "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest"--which he let me borrow. He also told me he's working on getting the Coen brothers' movies, making him the second Bulgarian I've met who has brought up a Coen brothers movie in conversation.

Between all this talk of high culture, the two of them toasted each other back and forth, and when a particular Doors favorite started playing, they gave each other high fives that definitely had me waiting for "For we are two--Wild And Cray-zy Guys!" Good times.

Times not so good passed today. The government giveth and the government taketh away and since the government had given the nation a four day weekend following last Thursday's holiday, it was nationally decided that today, Saturday, be turned into a working day. So everybody had to go to school. Well, not everybody, it was closer to half, I'd say. Attendance wasn't really tracked that well today, and a student I talked to last night said she wouldn't have classes today because none of her teachers were going to be available for teaching.

I gave it a good sporting effort and got all of my students through to the end of the day. But I have a gut feeling that a day like this, so close to spring break, may prematurely bring out the horrible laziness that seems to hit Bulgarian kids right after the April break. My worst nightmare is that, beginning next week, no one will want to work. I'll go in prepared for the worst.

By the by, today's picture is of a church that I pass pretty much every day on my way home from the internet club. Usually it's at sunset, just as it is in the photo. I wish the garbage bins weren't there, but, well, that's life.

Try...

If there's been a theme to this week (I always love it when arbitrary periods of time develop themes), it's the simple idea of trying. It came to a head last night with a Hawaiian pizza. The Hawaiian is on every pizzareia's menu here in Bulgaria, which I've always found strange since I'm the only one around here eating the thing. Despite being ubiquitous like that, my order still drew gasps of shock when the table of Bulgarian friends realized what I had ordered and looked it up in the menu.

"Ham? Pineapples? And cherries [A fine addition to the Bulgarian version]? What did you just order?"

And after many complaints about it being a dessert, or just plain disgusting, one of my closer friends here finished his second beer, said "Well, I'll either try it now or never try it." and asked to try a slice. As is the fate of all who try the Hawaiian, he loved it. Others around the table tried parts of the pizza, and all who tried were impressed. We all learn new things by trying, I suppose.

Which I'm hoping will happen tomorrow. Wednesday I asked one of my smarter, but less work-oriented classes to write a poem in English. They're all seniors you see, and can't manage to give much of a crap about anything, so I actually got a few "Nyama da pravya"s ("I won't do it"s) before I told them that their grade will depend solely on bringing in a reasonable poem in English, not copied, and none of the grade will go toward accuracy or vocab. I'm still not expecting a huge return, but hopefully some will get it done. They may like it. If the results are interesting, you'll be the first to know.

Snow Days of Yore

Today's picture comes from last month's snow storm, which cancelled school for a week. I'll admit that the snow levels were pretty high, but does it look like lots of students would have trouble getting to school here? I don't think so. I made my usual walk to school in 25 minutes, about standard. And there were plenty of people walking along the road to work at 8:00 in the morning.

But, a week of school was a week of relaxing, which was nice. I've just yesterday realized that, after about a month of teaching 2 or 3 days a week, tops (Thanks to holidays, snow days, and a week off because of a cold spell), I'll be working a full schedule until the end of the month. No holidays until spring break.

That doesn't mean that the students are taking it like that though. Today, at the end of International Women's Day, I had to parry off about 1,345,897 requests to cancel class and let the girls go home early. I did not, of course, give. Kids these days...

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.