A Very Bulgarian Halloween

(In Bulgarian) "Miss! Are we going to have Halloween today?!"

Child after child yelled this to me as I entered school today. "Miss! Miss!"

They have no Halloween in this country, but this town has had several Americans in their midst over the years, and THEY have Halloween.

I was prepared. Rosie had shown me where she kept the masks she collected from previous volunteers, and mom and Aunt Kay had brought candy corn and candy pumpkins from the states when they visited. But, as usual, "prepared" is only a misguided concept in this country.

The Halloween celebrations began in my sixth grade class. I brought the masks and the candy, and promptly handed them out. I didn't know how slim the mask selection was until I saw an entire class of Zoros and Batmans looking back at me. One by one they came to the front of the class where I was holding the bag of candy and hollared 'Trick or Treat!,' rolling their "r"s and overpronouncing their vowels in their thick Eastern European accents. One by one they ran back to their seats and tried to eat the treat without having to remove their mouthless masks.

Though it was not organized, it was managble. The next period was fifth grade, and it is safe to say all hell broke loose.

I combined both classes (almost 40 kids all tolled) and gave the limited number of masks to the best-behaved students first. They put them on, I took a photo, they "trick or treated" and I took back the masks. I then called the mediocre-behaved students to the back to go through the same process. Meanwhile, the worst of the students got fed up with waiting and leaked out of the room into the hallway, yelling at me that I was unfair. (I promptly reminded them that in the contract they signed, it clearly stated that those who did not follow the rules would not participate in holiday celebrations.)

By the time I was through with the second group, the students were restless to the point of destruction. In my ideal vision of the day, I had talked about taking the kids "Halloween Carolling" around the halls, but my 40-kid mob scene was not my ideal. The students, however, called me on it and I could not find a decent way to fink out on my promise that would not have resulted in a riot, so I gathered the herd and headed downstairs to the classes of some collegues.

They didn't know what hit them. These 40 kids dressed in masks (and some in homemade costumes) barged into the classrooms and began singing "One little, two little, three little pumpkins..." at the tops of their voices. Once the initial shock and confusion wore off, all of the teachers and students were smiling and enjoying the diversion.

When I could no longer take the noise and mob-i-ness of it all, I herded the kids back up the stairs and penned them in the room, praying for the class to just be over. Finally the bell rang, and I ended the period with a reasonably in-tact classroom and shreds of sanity.

Thus passed my first Bulgarian Halloween...Next year, I will *truly* be prepared.

When Worlds Collide

Sorry for the lack of postage, but I have had a very busy week. My mom and her sister were here! And now, as the title of this post might indicate, my two lives (for lack of better lables "My American Life" and "My Bulgarian Life") have met one another.

They arrived on Friday, Oct. 14. I got permission to skip school and go to Sofia on the 3:45 a.m. bus because I had to get my flu shot -- thanks, Uncle Sam, for trying to protect me from Bird Flu. Once that business at the office was done, I met a friend of my Aunt Kay and he took me to lunch. We then headed over to the airport with my "Welcome to Bulgaria" signs in Bulgarian and English to meet my guests. They arrived and we literally *packed* ourselves into his hatchback (the bad news: there were 9 suitcases that weighed roughly 300 lbs. for us to lug across the country. the good news: I now have winter clothing and will not freeze to death. Plus, I can make rockin' sugar cookies.)

They got their first taste of my Bulgarian skills when I had to fight with the folks on the bus to let us board and go to Plovidv. Ivcho (the aformentioned friend of my Aunt Kay) was there to help, but I don't mind saying I was suprisingly forceful in demeanor and speech. Needless to say, we made it to Plovidv, I organized our *two* taxis to the hotel, and there we all crashed.

The next morning we set out for the center of the city and killed some time waiting for former language trainer/current friend Ivan. He took us to a very nice, very traditional Bulgarian eating hole and after close to 3 hours of meal, he suggested going for a cup of coffee. As mom and Aunt Kay found, "going for coffee" actually meant taking a tour of Old Town Plovdiv, hiking to the top of the hill, wandering back down, and THEN drinking some coffee. But, it was good for them.

By the evening we crashed again in the hotel and prepared for an early day. Sunday was Krichim Day, probably the most important day of their visit for everyone involved.

At 6:30 a.m. we lugged our stuff to the bus station, left it in the luggage room (man, THAT woman did not like me much...though I TOLD her the day before that I had, "Nine really big bags.") We grabbed a bus to K-Town, and they met my "Family Phase 2."

Though I have always known the great hospitality of my "family" in Krichim, I could not have imagined the depths of it which they showed towards my biological family. I know life has been trying since I left, but on that day there were no shadows of problems. Oktai was back to being the Oktai I had known before his illness -- wild, loving, absolutely hyperactive and adorable. With him in high spirits, it seemed all the wear on Atidje and Berin had been alleviated, and life was just as it had been. Ati slipped into the role of dear friend, and Berin the role of beloved kid sister. Only Ozhgun seemed altered, pained. (Later that day she had a tooth pulled, which I am sure played some role in that.) From what I hear, she is working far too much at the moment.

Anyway, the whole day involved food, going na gosti, more food, and lots and lots of talking (which I was left to translate, except when Oktai told me to shut up and he acted it out for himself. I now realize how I survived in that house before I could utter a single word.)

Unfortunately, we had a bus to catch. Ati and Oktai dropped us at the bus station, and proceeded to follow the bus to the edge of town, waving. I really need to get back there soon.

By 10 we were in Yambol, dear Rosie and lifesaving Nikolai got us from the bus station in a station wagon, and we ended the day at home in Straldja.

The following days included me teaching, mom and Aunt Kay teaching, and na gostis at Rosie's, Nikolai's restaraunt, and Binka's restaraunt. Actually, the most consistant theme in the week was food.

I took them exploring in the town, and to the Black Sea. I took them to my apartment to play on the internet, and I took them to Sliven for an afternoon. They got me a coffee maker and then used it to make American-style coffee for themselves (Aunt Kay was not in love with the Bulgarian variation of the beverage.)

On Friday, after school, we took a train back to Sofia and Ivcho again met us and took us to yet another very traditional Bulgarian meal. Our hotel was nice, if not slightly sterile (though with down comforters, I don't think I can complain much.) Sunday was a trip to the Rila Monastery, my first time, and we really dug the fresh mountain air. In the evening I took them to sites in the center of the city, and they packed for their trip home.

When 5:15 a.m. came, we loaded into a taxi (yes, we finally fit in one!) and headed to the airport. After a short goodbye, they went through the security checkpoint and I got in another cab to go back to the hotel, where I slept a little more and then checked out.

I passed the day as I usually do in Sofia--sitting at some cafe, emailing in the Peace Corps office, etc. I took the 3:30 p.m. bus home, and here I have been since.

Today was a typical Monday with the added work of an observation by my PC boss and several meetings about his observations. Now I am relaxing and readjusting to my "normal life" here.

Learning by going

So, I am currently reading Dreamcatcher by Stephen King, and in it he quoted one of my favortie poems by Theodore Roethke, the most pertinent part being the last line "I learn by going where I have to go."

Though I am a literary purist and do not generally appreciate people taking bits of poems to reflect meaning (the whole poem reflects the meaning, I tell you!), I realized how much my current life is reflected in that one, single line.

Never before in my 23 years have I taken my education with such blind progress as I have here. Literally, every day I awake like a child, not really sure what the day will hold or how I will live it. I have no plan, no ultimate event I am preparing for. I get out of bed, get dressed, and experience an entire day of suprises only to go to bed again and awake again, prepared for nothing, and everything.

Up until now, I have generally followed a tried-and-true path toward typical adulthood -- getting things done in primary and secondary school to get to a decent college, doing decently in college to get a good job, and then BOOM! I landed myself smack in the middle of Bulgaria and found myself trying to become a teacher (for which I have no formal education) in a country I'd never been in (hell, I'd never even HEARD of Bulgaria till I got the Peace Corps letter saying I'd be sent here), operating almost entirely in a language I had never heard with an alphabet I had never seen. As the Aussies would say, WTF mate?

But day by day, it dawns on me why I am here...I am here precisly because I wanted to learn by going where I have to go. I wanted to wake up every morning with my only goals being to teach someone some English, learn a little Bulgarian (or Turkish, or Roma), manage to cook a meal for myself, find myself deep in a coversation I don't understand with a total stranger, and generally throw myself in the deep end to see if I can float.

And day by day, I find I can float. Sure, there are moments when it is not a happy thing (this trying-to-survive and learning-by-going), but it is making me the person I will be. I can feel it. Even if I find myself trudging through the mud of a messy day, I am still going. And I feel that so long as I am going, I am learning and, most importanly, I am becoming.

I look forward to seeing the result of these two years, but I also intend to enjoy the ride.

Another Day...

So it is still dark when I wake up from a comfortable, rakiya-aided sleep (my Bulgarian lessons tend to turn into "na gostis" from which I cannot leave without a glass or two of Bulgaria's national drink.)

The various animals around my bloc have been particularly loud the past few mornings...I vaugely wonder if they are protesting the slow onslaught of winter. This, however, is helpful as it will not let me fall back to sleep in the hour it will take for my hot water boiler to produce enough for a shower.

(I will admit that as the week wears on, it becomes more and more difficult to find my way to the bathroom and click the dial until the heater catches...Maybe I ought to get to bed earlier.)

With task one of the day completed, I find my way to the kitchen to accomplish task two: the procreation of breakfast. But today, WHAT?! No yougurt?! Oh no! No musli! What has happened to the world?

Spoko Becca, I tell myself. (Yes, I speak Bulgarian to myself now.) Take a chill pill. You can buy something to eat at school for like 40 stotinki. Contrary to your initial reaction, a morning without musli is not the end of civilization.

So right, no breakfast yet. Shower first, then go to school early and buy something there. And so I do. Leaving the cafe, some kid I do not know from Adam wanders up to me and, in the most perfect English I have heard out of a child at that school short of my top-level tutorees (who are 18 and this kid is like 15), "Hey Rebecca. Are you going on our trip with us next weekend?"

I no longer notice when strangers call me by name or when they string together random English words by way of greeting. I am, however, still taken aback when someone speaks actual English to me, so I cannot even find it within myself to speak English with this kid. In Bulgarian, I tell him no, I cannot come as my mother and aunt will arrive that weekend.

In English he says, "Oh, okay." In Bulgarian I say, "Maybe next time. I do want to come sometime. Where will you go next?" In English he says, "Oh, probably somewhere around Sofia." And he trots off with friends, thus ending our aquaintence.

And up I climb, up the four flights to my classroom. But, what's this? My classroom is locked. But my classroom is never locked! I didn't know there WAS a lock. Who has the key? I scurry into the supply closet to ask some of the other teachers where the key is. They answer with exaggerated shrugs and pouted bottom lips accompatied by nods (which means "No" here) and tisks of the tounge. It is the Bulgarian equivalent of an entire roomful of highly educated individuals saying, "I dunno..." in the low, sing-songy tones of various stupid cartoon characters.

Okay then. Suppose we'll have classes in the room nextdoor, if no one kicks me out of it.

So the start of today has totally thrown off any perception of reality I have created for myself here (which, though weak, was at least something.) To further confuse my personal cosmos, the "Demons Spat From the Depths of Hell Class" (aka 5b) is silent and attentive, and my "Thank God For These Kids Class" (aka 6a) has learned the phrase, "Eat my shit motherfucker," and is using it generously. (My solution: stare at them and ask them to repeat it as if I have no idea what they are saying, throwing in the occassional "Kazhi na Angliski!" -- Say it in English! -- until they transform the accent so much in trying to get me to understand that they are now saying, "It me shite mudderfooder.")

But, by 11:30 my teaching for the day is over and I take a bus to Yambol, where I meet up with a friend I met in Krichim who is in my neck of the woods performing an organic farm inspection. Together with the farmer, we drive to a random field south of the town, wander around taking pictures, then make our way back to the steel factory where the farmer works during the week. They are currently filling and order for chewing-gum sales racks, and we are given the full tour of the works and a detailed description of the process involved.

Then there is lots of paperwork, and Sudku (my friend) drives me back to my apartment in Straldja on his way to the beach. Sudku, a face I associate with Krichim, is sitting outside of my apartment. Two of my lives -- my current and my most recent former -- have collided for the first time...With this as the preview, I can only imagine what it will be like next week when I see my MOTHER and my aunt sitting in that exact spot...

Phew. Back in the hovel of my apartment, where the oddities of today cannot reach me. Cosmos of Rebecca Grudzina, calm yourselves.

*Though I am sometimes prone to exaggeration, I hereby swear that all stories related on this blog are true, without exaggeration. Yes, my life has truly become this random. Fitting, eh?*

Wacky Wednesday

So I have no idea what arrangement the stars were in today, but the result was a happily productive and social day for me.

Last night I went for my Bulgarian lesson with Rosie, and instead of a traditional lesson she taught me how to make this really versatile cake she is known for in these parts. It coincided with our chapter on Bulgarian imperatives, so basically she bossed me around in Bulgarian...

We finished the hour-long tutoring session, she brought out some rakiya made by her husband (who, I must say, is a master of the drink) and we chatted for a while waiting for it to finish baking. As we had to let it cool for several hours before removing it from the pan, we decided to turn it into a breakfast party today (our day off).

So at 9 a.m. today I headed over to her apartment. Her husband, Toshko, was there, as was her neighbor who I have met on a number of occassions (the one I really like because she speaks very clearly and I can understand her.) And sure enough, it was a breakfast party! We ate cake and drank coffee, and I gave my language skills a workout.

By 10 a.m., however, I decided it was time to shower (how long had it been? 2 days? Opah!) So I headed home, turned on my water boiler, and suddenly realized my apartment was gross. I hadn't swept in probably a week, and in these blocks you really have a lot of dust (and friendly home-loving pests) to contend with. So, I swept the big room and scrubbed the kitchen up a bit (dishes will have to come in my second wave of motivation) and THEN showered.

While I showered I recieved an SMS from one of my guy friends in Krichim (well, actually he lives during the week in Plovdiv and weekends in Krichim) giving me his ICQ address. I added him to my list (I now have a wapping two friends on it! Sudku and Rosie) and no sooner had I clicked "add" than he imed me. We talked for almost an hour -- I told him about my updates here in Straldja, he gave me gossip from the folks back in Krichim. It was overall a very productive conversation.

But, I eventually had to run to the post office to send my schedule to the Sofia office. That task completed I wandered to the business center in town to check up on an email I sent with some work I had done for them. Dichko, one of the few young people in town, was in his office and invited me to sit and chat for a bit. He asked me about school and how I was adjusting to life here. I asked him about his work, as I didn't fully understand it. It's important work -- he links traditional Bulgarian artisans with consumers all over the world. What I do for them is write up descriptions of products in English that they can put on their website.

I spent almost an hour there, and then wandered home, where people from the states and other friends in Bulgaria continued to IM me...It's just been a strangely social day for me. Good, I need days like this.

Now the evening stretches out in front of me. I have a really interesting book (Stephen King's Dreamcatcher) calling out to me, I have a pile of dishes longing to be washed (and just enough motivation to do them), I have some eggs and kashkaval I intend to make into an omlet for dinner, and fine weather to take a walk in. I think this clearness will lead to a very nice sunset over the mountains if I get my butt to the north end of town.

Overall, this breather in the middle of the week is very satisfying. Though in one way it'd be nice to have 3-day weekends (mostly for travel) I am finding that I enjoy two days of intense work, then a day to myself, then two more days of intense work before the weekend. Indeed, life is growing on me.

The Salon

It seems to me that there are few rooms in my history that illicit as much contenedness in my memory as the salon of Villdane Djanalieva my 17-year-old host cousin in Krichim.

My introduction to the room, which occupies a converted bedroom on the second story of the family house, took place on the day after my 23rd birthday, May 21. I had been living in Krichim since the first of the month, but I had never had cause to go into that particular room. The afternoon of May 21, however, was an afternoon of preparation. My host family was planning a big birthday party for me that night, and Villi insisted that her gift to me would be a makeover for the occassion.

It was one of those really beautiful spring days, so we kept the outside door to the terrace open and enjoyed the slight breeze. Maegen, the volunteer who lived with their family; Berin, my host sister and Villi's cousin; and Gulchen, Villi's 14-year-old sister, joined us and also took advantage of the mirrors, hair dryers, and other girlie tools.

Villi is a meticulous hairdresser, and took great pains to curl my then-shabby brown hair into a decently-stylish do. She then took out an overflowing bag of makeup supplies and painted away at my face.

Midway through the makeover, two visitng volunteers arrived from their other towns and joined us in the salon (yes, even boys are welcome at Villi's.) Though it is a small space, it never seems crowded when friends gather there.

From that day on, not a week went by when I did not find myself in that salon for whatever reason -- either for personal beautification or simply to visit the hairdresser.

Conversation in that room has always been interesting (but, in its own way, very comforting to me). It takes place in a hybrid of broken English, Bulgarian and Turkish, depending on the demographics of those present and their current level of language ability. Usually all three languages are going on at once, and you just listen to whichever you understand.

Since I have left Krichim, the comfort of the salon (and the people there) have come to mean so much to me when I "go home" to visit. My favorite hours are often spent there, and I can always count on feeling better when I leave than when I entered.

I think that over the next few weeks I will write about different times spent in the salon. It is something pleasant for me to think about, so I want to spread out writing the vignettes...Keep posted.

Me and the most disgusting model of a hamburger ever to be used as an ad...In Yambol this afternoon.