Nothin' like a feast of boiled lamb

On Friday morning, I got a phone call from the deputy mayor. He wanted to know if I'd like to accompany the municipality employees to the smallest of Straldja's villages for the community's holiday. Since I never turn down an invite to "the celo," I agreed and woke up early Saturday to meet them.

The day was perfect...One of those beautiful November days with a slightly warm sun, a low crisp breeze and not a cloud in the sky. We drove past all the dying fields and the mounds of overturned earth until we reached the far edges of our obshtina (municipality) and turned right. In the groove between two rolling hills lay a community of about 40 homes, a church and a shop.

The median age of people in Bulgarian villages is 60, and this one had a population of about 100 people. Most were kerchiefed old women or their husbands, whose skin had turned to leather after years of working in the fields. There were about two younger families, with kids who most likely use the village as a playgroud (I know I would have).

So the holiday went off as expected...There was a folk singer, old people dancing hours of horo, and the boiling of a freshly-slaughtered lamb. There was a dedication in the church where I got soaked by a bunch of holy water-drenched branches the priest was flinging around. And all the while, my camera was snapping away. (If I can manage to upload my video clips to YouTube, I'll link them here...This might be too high tech for me).

Around 2 in the afternoon I was tired of trying to discern country Bulgarian dialects and opted to return to town with the deputy mayor. There I hibernated until, well, tonight.