When the weather gets hot, hOT, HOT!...

The kids get bad, bAD, BAD! They want vacation. I want vacation. It's basically time to ride out the year with all of our egos (and our mental health) in tact. I can not say my first year of teaching was a failure, but it was not a brilliant sucess either. I have resigned myself to the fact that the most memorable, inspiring moments of my Bulgarian career will not take place within the classroom -- a fact that is somewhat disheartening considering that, in effect, that's where they're are SUPPOSED to happen...I am here as a teacher, no?

But that's how life goes. No sense in kicking yourself about yesterday.

Becca VS The Bulgarian Postal System continues.....

I had my birthday on Saturday. Since so many people looove me in America, I got 4 packages the week leading up to the big day. Four packages?!...I said. How can I carry four packages on public transport back from Yambol?!

So I employed the help of my Bulgarian friend Peter. I mainly needed him for his extra arms and muscles, but he also has a car...which came in very VERY handy. Turns out he also has wicked Bulgarian skills (being Bulgarian) and can lay the smackdown. But I digress...

On Wednesday morning I met him at the bus stop and we drove to Yambol. It was too early to get the boxes (there is, as I have mentioned, an hour window in which to retrieve them), so we left the ticket stubs with a security guard and took a bit of a walk. Once 10:30 came, we headed back to where I have always gone for boxes. There was no one around, and I think GREAT! Fast.

The ladies in the room where I always get boxes looked at me strangely. I told them I had a package to pick up. They told me to go into the next room as if it had always been that way and I must have had some brain damage to not know this.

Now I will digress a moment to explain this switch. All winter, when there was snow and coldness all around, we were forced to wait outside on the loading dock until it was our turn.

With this new room, however, we are forced to wait in this cramped little mailroom where people go to pick up mail from their PO boxes...It's hot now. All winter we froze on the dock, and now we are sweating our bums off inside this tiny mailroom. But hey, it makes sense...no?

Anyway, back to the story. All through this, Peter is flabbergasted. He can't believe I have to go to Yambol. He can't believe the time and day restrictions. He can't believe they keep yanking the procedure around and changing it on me. When we finally got called into the room (after waiting behind tons of others confused by the new system), Peter found his final straw.

The customs man was there.

This is the man made infamous by my "I am a terrorist because my parents mailed me a Koran (which was actually a children's book)" incident. He hadn't been there in a while, but this time I had ammo. I had Peter.

As soon as we walked in, Peter vocalized his displeasure at the system. The customs officer got his panties in a twist and began to tell Peter exactly why he was wrong and exactly how much power he, the customs officer, had. He then began to look through the books to find my boxes' paperwork.

He couldn't one of the packages. I showed him on the floor where four packages with my name rested. He told me I had three packages in the books. I told him I had four packages on the floor. He showed me the page in the book. I showed him the package on the floor.

In his customs officer snooty voice, he told me he would have to investigate. I told him one final time that there it was, my package, on the floor, with my name, and they had it. In the meantime, he said without even acknowledging that I had spoken, he would begin to search the contents of the boxes.

This, THIS got Peter angry. When the customs officer opened the first box, he pulled out the customs slip of contents and began trying to sound out the English words. There were two words: Books and Candy.

Inside the box was a cake mix, a tub of icing, some random candy items, a wrapped gift that felt like books, and a box...of...tea...

The customs officer grabbed everything out one by one and asked what it was. I explained the cake, the wrapped books, the candies. Then he unearthed the BOX OF TEA.

"What is THIS?!" he literally yelled at me.

"It's tea," I told him. Peter looked like he was about to go postal.

"Is THAT books or candy?!" he demanded.

"OHHHH!" Peter interjected. "Yeah, tea is really bad! Tea is a problem!"

"It was not declared!" the custom's officer yelled.

"It's TEA! You aren't even supposed to open packages!" Peter argued.

"I can open any package I want to! I can open ALL packages!" the customs officer yelled.

Not sure if that was true or not, Peter said, "FINE! Check these!" He proceeded to shove the rest of the stack towards the officer.

The customs officer had met his match. "Get out of here," he said.

The nicer lady next to him interjected lightly..."She needs to sign for them."

I put down my signature, picked up half of the boxes, Peter got the other half, and we bolted out of the room.

Let me say this much...I hate the Yambol Post Office.

How to Have a Bulgarian Birthday

1. Get lots of food (it's your treat...You lucky Birthday-Person.)

2. Get a box of chocolates to give out to people. Scratch that, get FIVE boxes of chocolates. (There's a lot of people!)

3. Put on your best smile and listening cap. People will string together some of the most beautiful (and detailed) blessings you will ever receive, all the while shaking your hand and leaving you with no choice but to nod and smile blankly and murmur, "Merci. Merci."

4. If your birthday falls on graduation, put on a nice outfit and hit up the prom. They will sing to you, stand and applaud you, give you flowers, request your favorite slow Bulgarian song and dance with you. They will give you (and all of the other teachers) whiskey and rakiya, and have you drinking until you can't feel your teeth.

5. Wear comfortable shoes for the 30-minute horos through the restaurant, the garden, the parking lot, and back through the restaurant.

6. Prepare yourself to dance the Twist, for when the DJ finds out a real live American is in the audience, he or she WILL play it.

7. If you go to bed at 2 a.m., do NOT get up at 6 a.m. to catch an 8-hour train ride.

8. If on that 8-hour train ride a couple comes into your first-class compartment with a box full of baby chickens, do not be alarmed. This is normal.

9. Celebrate with Americans at some point. It's super-fun to speak English.

10. If you can find a rugby party with unlimited beer and wine, go to it. But make sure it has a working sound system or else you will end up singing '80s chick songs to a crowd of strange (and drunk) Frenchmen.

11. Be thankful for your friends -- American and Bulgarian....In America and in Bulgaria. They make you feel loved.

Disclaimer for Pending Inactivity

I have frequently been MIA as of late, but this week I will be more so. This weekend (Friday through Sunday) I will accompany the recently-graduated 12th class on their trip to northern Greece. Once we return home I will get myself to Sofia, and from there to Bobov Dol, for three days as a resource volunteer for the new trainees. I am looking forward to meeting the fresh faces who have not yet been mangled and hardened by a year in the Bulgarian education system. If I can say one thing that they carry on throughout the coming year I will have suceeded. Wish me safe travels, and I promise a lot of cool pictures later.