Excavation

I am torn.  There is a yogurt drink here that is very popular and highly cultural. Americans like their food too sweet or too salty or fatty or too anything else. And I don’t have the most sophisticated pallet. But Ayryan is just too harsh.  It is plain, slightly tart yogurt mixed with cold water. Also cold, like hot in Europe is not really what it is in the States. Yes, we sue restaurants for making coffee too hot but still, I am a fan of extremes. This drink is not very good.  It is not refreshing. The yogurt is diluted and so it is not creamy. It is not milk and so it is not rich. I don’t like it. I wish I did because it would mean something to me. Every day I compare every moment with some other time in another Europe country and most times, Bulgaria fails. I’m trying really hard.  I have been invited to spend the summer on a dig at one of my emporia.  I am going to pretend to be an archaeologist for a few months.  I want to go but I am exhausted from trying so much.  My best friend has become Doug Benson from the podcast Doug Loves Movies.  It is hilarious.  And I almost feel like because I can listen anywhere I want and my best friend goes everywhere I go, I can play archaeologist and stay here a bit longer.  And my plan is to get Doug Benson to mention my blog on his podcast. I don’t have a great deal of time but this is totally going to happen.

And Freedom (Свода) for me!

Today was my final day of Russian for the year.  I am more than relieved.  The lessons are pleasant enough and I feel incredibly grateful to be learning Russian, while in Bulgaria.  But I’m exhausted. The trolley is often crowded.  I don’t know when school here is in session, but leaving my apartment at 11am to go to my lesson and then leaving at 3:30 and riding the trolley back to ARCS, the trolley is always inundated with rude kinetic boys and sullen slow moving girls. The young steal seats from the old. Two heads are fused together as if one, sharing headphones.  Legs and arms akimbo, these brats are rushing off the trolley because they didn’t realize their stop was up.  It is all very obnoxious.

Riding to the lesson is actually tolerable. I have had a cappuccino, a leek banitza, and a massive grapefruit. I am listening to Doug Loves Movies podcast or reading English translations of Russian short stories. My sunglasses are on and it’s all good.  But the trip back is just insufferable.  I have a headache; I am very thirsty; I am cold, having forgotten some scarf or glove or hat. Borianka has given me tons of homework. And I want to have a seat.

This morning I left extra early to pick up a gift for Borianka.  In front of the University of Sofia in the center of the city is a WEIHNACHTSMARKT (Christmas Market). I don’t know why it is in German.  In a small, Christian way it reminded me of the Union Square Christmas market in New York.  Mostly, the various huts here sold glitzy holiday decorations, cookies and coffee. But, I saw this very sweet puppet set of the Frog Prince. It was wooden and the clothes were rich.  The frog’s wooden face turned and then was a handsome human male. There was a cardboard set that accompanied the 3 puppet set (Frog-Prince, Princess, and King-father). You have to assemble the well and princess’ bedroom.  And with it all is a small wooden gold-painted ball. I want this toy very badly. It was so sweet and lovely. I would make my child retell the story over and over. But it was too expensive and I don’t have a child. I buy enough frogs; I have enough.

I got Borianka an ornamental Christmas tree ball. It was red with silk and crystal embellishments. She loved it.  We had a lesson all in Russian and we talked about my old neighborhood in the Bronx.  I was working on gender agreement of nouns and adjectives. It was good. I recalled Arthur Avenue and the Fordham University students.  We talked about “hot, delicious pizza”; “crowded, dirty streets”; “loud, noisy Italians”.  I learned a lot of adjectives!    

Socialism for everyone!

Disclaimer: I know nothing of Bulgaria’s history of The War or Communism or Socialism or the time under kings or the change into a Republic. I am learning although it still all gets jumbled and confused.  I had a fine education, but I have never been in the midst of history in the way that my colleagues or the professors here have been.  So, when I write that I am drawn to socialist sculpture- the scale, the rough finish among the finely chiseled crease of the pants or nose line- aesthetically, I find it appealing, that’s all. I have always liked representations of those at work. Degas’ dancers are just women in a company, rehearsing and practicing. I like images of workers.  I am a fan of Muenier’s work: a Flemmish painter and sculpture who told the story of the miner and his struggle. Therefore, if I am insensitive, it is out of ignorance, not malice.  Now that this is out of the way, I went to the Museum of Socialist Art today. I took a Bulgarian with me, Julij, to explain everything. There was a massive sculpture garden, where most of the pictures below come from. Inside there are more sculptures but also paintings and drawings.  It is quite complete.  In a small room that also houses the gift shop, outside of the main building, is a plasma flat screen that shows maybe a 15min. loop of some propaganda film.

Giving Thanks

I love Thanksgiving. I have such fond memories of various Thanksgivings. I look back at meals and recipes that were awful or poorly executed and I calculate my growth and maturity from those Thursdays.  In New York, on Wednesday nights, I went to see them blow up the floats. I love the parade and the musical numbers that are shown on t.v. I love the creation of family when you spend Thanksgiving with friends.  As if I am really molding acquaintances and colleagues into relatives. It is my favorite holiday.  There are no expectations beyond dinner.  And most people have dinner most nights.  

They don't celebrate Thanksgiving in Bulgaria.  But Borianka was thrilled with the idea of a day of giving thanks, so during my Russian lesson, we ate pumpkin banitzas and (in Russian) said what we were thankful for.  It was a pleasant afternoon. After various evening plans fell through, I had dinner with Julij at a really nice restaurant. I made him say what he was thankful for and  I repeated again why I was giving thanks: I am thankful that I am in Bulgaria, and having "experiences" (good or bad), and that I am ABD, and still excited about my work and quite positive about my academic/professional future, I am glad that both my parents are well and healthy, and that my family and friends are caring or simply storing my things while away: Skala is taken care of. And of course, I was super thankful that I wasn't in my apartment working all alone on my favorite holiday.  Happy Thanksgiving! If you are reading this, I really hope you had a great day!  And Saturday I go to the Socialist Art Museum!

Personal Assessment Day

Every summer I taught in Lancaster, PA I would start the class with a clip from The 13^th Warrior.  I love that movie.  After Antonio Banderas, the Arab and titular character, joined the other men on their quest to destroy these crazy bear-men monsters, he marched along with them.  In a weird montage the Nordic men are speaking Latin and then mixing it up with English.  There is a tight shot on the Arab’s eyes and then the Nordic men’s lips and teeth.  A few seconds later, the camera focuses on the Arab’s mouth as he mouths the previously spoken dialogue.  Then in another language, made-up and unintelligible those men say something about the Arab’s mother.  The audience only knows this because in very slow and measured English, the Arab says basically, “Don’t talk about my mother”.  The one guy (and they all kind of look alike) gets up in a huff and asks how did he learn their language.  Brave and confident, Antonio Banderas says, “I learned by listening! I listened!” The Scene

Dramatically, I turn the t.v. off and tell my students that they too can learn if for these 3 weeks they listen (to me is implied).  I used to love that.  I laugh and cry a bit at my naivety now.  Today I was watching intently the mouth, lips of my Russian teacher. I was willing myself to understand so fiercely, I grew a headache. I almost fainted. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath.  It didn’t work. I knew Borianka was talking about why she loved the season of summer. It is sunny. Every day is very long.  But then there was something about fruits and she started describing the tastes: tart, sweet, sour, juicy.  There was talk of mountains. And then she said some numbers and I was busy adding by time she got to me.  I like season autumn. I like leaves, it has colors. Oh sweaters! Soup is good. Please in English. I confusing it, the entirety.

I bring this up because I completed my 30hrs. And now I have to do a personal assessment. Do I really want to continue? Do I want to with Borianka? Should I change books etc.  I think I‘m done with the conversational bit of my lessons.  We can’t go through how rainy days make me feel sad.  A big amount of pepper is good for me. Frogs are delightful!  I’m bringing in articles and we’re going through them.  Unless the ancient Greeks and Scythians were sharing their very rudimentary thoughts on weather, likes and dislikes, and the colors of their shirts, I will be lost for my dissertation research on Tanais, maybe Berezan too. 

On a little side note, we were going over the days of the week and I told my instructor about the poem “Monday’s Child” She had never heard of it and so I recited it.  She is fair of face and was quite pleased. I have far to go. I explained to her that this is not the same as “you will go far” or even “man, you’re going places!”  It means get ready for a long, arduous and often ridiculous journey.  It doesn’t even promise a great destination, just the traveling.  Borianka thought it was fitting nonetheless. Well, at least I’m not Wednesday’s child. That kid’s totally messed up.     

Musical Theater

I wish I could write that I was doing really great things that have prevented me from writing. But it was just 'the bitch of living'.  My bank decided to suspend my service because of UK transactions. This would be ok if it didn't take several false reassuring conversations long distance that ended with "your service is restored".  I don't know the language, I'm Black and a "rich" American.  I can't have my card declined in Bulgaria.  It's more than embarrassing. The bank, Wells Fargo, should have just said, yeah we're just gonna make this really difficult. This is gonna be just like hell but, the strange thing is... we're gonna do it here on earth. To fix your account is gonna be like hell on earth. Anyway, I am now an online banker with no real branch.  I never lived in a city where my bank was anyway. There were those magical 11 months in Baltimore, when I was a Wachovia customer and the branch was 3 blocks away. Oh Baltimore!

And then, to be honest, David was sending me scans of things. His death was just the perfect excuse to not work on the dissertation and just listen to iTune podcasts. This is all I do: humor, politics, television show reviews, maybe Russian, I just subscribe to every podcast I can.  I have been somewhat productive.  I wrote a few abstracts, I decided exactly which emporia to include and which economic theory I am following. By the new year, I will have the first chapter- Intro/terminology completed. 

Today, ARCS went to Ottoman Sofia, which was really just the only functioning mosque in Sofia. The other mosques were quickly turned into proper orthodox churches. Once the Ottoman Empire left, Bulgaria was redone. And then of course, Emil tells us about an Ataka protest that took place in May. These guys rushed in the mosque and did a bit of damage and interrupted the Friday prayer for the Muslims. 

But I have some fun things coming up. I have tickets for Tosca later this month. I am psyched to see how that is staged. There is another Theory and Archaeology lecture coming up. But now I am actually friends with that guy Juli and I can make him laugh out loud and we can knowingly roll our eyes in a secret friendship language translated into "this is bullshit". Well, this is my version of fun at any rate.  Lastly, Sofia just opened up a Socialist Art Museum. Yeah! So very soon, pictures from this.

an awful email

Midday in the States is my evening. Usually between 7-9pm my time, while I am busy with my Russian homework, all of UC is busy sending out emails. It makes a ping sound on the iPad and the laptop every time a message goes through. 3 emails within 2 minutes, gives off 6 pings, like rapid little menial gunfire. I have learned in the month or so, that they are not for me. Since I am away, most are not even useful. I know they are not in Russian or about Russian, so I  ignore them till the morning. Waking at 7am, I read that David Ball, the Classics librarian had died unexpectedly. He was not sick. I liked David very much.

There was never a conversation that did not begin with, "David how come, where or help me". Early in my first year at UC, I found out his sister had gone to NYU and I think I may have exploited that to my benefit. I made sure to ask how she was and what she was doing at the time. We talked about the city, Broadway, Columbo, and dreams about teeth. David was genuine and refreshingly transparent. Monday's David was the exact same person as Friday's. He never had a falling out with friends nor did he ever win people over. It was a consistency and constant that I envied and tried to emulate. It kept me honest to admit to needing help. "I don't know" is probably the most real thing I said and I got to say it all the time with David. I never even thought of not asking him for his help: which student had my book, what authors wrote about Julian, would he erase a particular fine.

I left Cincinnati owing David $2.50. He had paid the minimum of my fine for the Josephus book. Over $200 and a student loses her electronic access from abroad. David said I should pay him back when I return from Bulgaria. I told him I would and in addition, I would bring him back a gift evocative of Sofia. Ok, he said, but don't forget the $2.50. Since I have been here, I must have sent him a dozen emails, still demanding help from overseas. He continued to give help. David was the only UC faculty member that I gave my blog address to. Selfishly, I thought that was my gift to him as long as I was away continuing to seek assistance. He said he liked it but now I feel foolish.

I'm angry that he didn't allow me to pay back that money owed, or find an ideal gift so that he would know that I know him perfectly. And I'm heartbroken to think that I have to go back to Blegen and he not be there, to finish a dissertation without his guidance or his friendship. I will miss him so very much. I'm very sorry he's gone.

An Enlightening Conversation

This evening ARCS hosted their annual Eugene Schuyler Lecture. The guest speaker was former US Ambassador to Bulgaria James Pardew. The title of his talk was 'The Breakup ofYugoslavia'. It was about 40 minutes and then he took about 20 minutes of questions. It was standard fare. He used the “carrot and the stick” analogy. He didn’t say anything that I hadn’t heard before.

After the talk, Denver hosted a huge reception with waiters; small fancy food on trays. I met an Italian web-journalist, living and working in Sofia. He was young and married with fraternal five-years old twins. He loved Herodotus and gets all kinds of editions whenever he can of the text. He was surprised and delighted when I told him of the Landmark Herodotus with maps and notes and such.

Long story short… The Italian, born and raised just outside of Rome, loves Sofia and Bulgaria and Bulgarians.  Everything that I love about Italy: the quick bars for coffee, siestas, the ancient history, the warmth and boldness of their people (they always say what’s on their mind)- he found oppressive and stagnant.

Sofia is finding itself, he says, the whole Baltic region really. There is an antiquity but the modern era is all about struggle, sacrifice, and victory. It is all so exciting! He rarely goes back to Italy. He never misses it. He said that Bulgarians have a big heart but hold it away so not to get hurt. They reserve it. Italians throw their hearts all over the place, so that it means almost nothing.

I asked him how he liked Ambassador Pardew's talk and he said that there was an American movie called The Karate Kid. I told him I had heard of it. Then he quoted that speech of Mr. Miyagi about how walking on either side of the road is fine but walking in the middle gets you squished. And so karate yes, ok karate no, ok but karate guess so, squish!

I had no idea what he was talking about or how that was an apt analogy to Serbia, Kosovo, ethnic cleansing, war, NATO or the EU. I was still getting over loving Bulgaria(ns). 

Romania!

Or better and only known as Serbia. We left on Wednesday morning and returned Friday evening. We spent all of Wednesday and most of Thursday in Bulgaria. Then Friday, we woke up in Serbia at Nis and after some sights, drove the 2-3 hours directly back to Sofia.

Because I am exhausted and will be going to London next week for the IOSPE conference, I will just offer some brief thoughts on our trip to Serbia.  These are in no particular order and only a few pictures from the 100+ I took are added below.

1. A snow-capped Mt. Vitosha is easily the most beautiful landmark I have ever seen.

2. When traveling in a group, you hate the group; you love the group.

3. There will always be a boy (male) who can quote The Simpsons. This is wonderful; this is disgusting.

4. I have no imagination. Blame it on TV, Hollywood, a small mind.  But don’t forget they are called ruins. No one’s calling them integrities. Show me a fully developed replica in a warm cozy museum.

5. Everyone in Serbia speaks English.

6. Unless you are a medievalist, everything you know about that time period comes from Monty Python, The Princess Bride, and Ladyhawke (the best of the three).

7. In Greece they sell Fanta Apple!

8. Small children are, hands down, the best kind of people.

9. I should feel super fortunate to have a real shower with a shower door, and a toilet, not just a whole in the ground. I will never complain about my apartment again.

10. There are women who look like they were born with a kerchief tied under their chin; and their mother named them “Grandma”.

11. You should never feel small, when you're standing by the ocean. That is a stupid sentiment and a ridiculous song. Sure, you should acknowledge that the world is so much bigger than you. And that millions of people have their own problems. But still, things are happening to you. You are the one living through it. Feel huge and super important, when standing near anything. Everyone else does. (Forget Oprah!)

12. The simple farm life looks inviting.

13. Looks can be deceiving.

14. The only way to travel is as passenger looking out at landscape, while listening to music and questioning all your life choices.

15. If you are a classicist, for so long it has been the Rhine and the Danube. When you see the Danube, you may tear up a bit because as much as you read and study and listen to lectures and go to sites, you will never really know the lives of the ancients. Even when I squinted and tried really hard, I couldn’t be certain of what I know.

16. Eastern Europe has a very particular “charm”.

17. There is a cool way to go through customs. And there is the real way: the agent asks in Serbian “what is this Turk doing here?!” and in English another agent says “ah Whitney, like Whitney Houston huh?”

18. Breakfast is always very weird in Europe. Ok, yeah slices of cheese and some cold cuts, but roasted mushrooms. You could become very rich if you opened up a pancake house with great coffee, 24hrs a day here.

19. Social realism is the best genre of artistic expression. The lines are just so appealing.

20. All the tropes and stereotypes are absolutely true. And everything is a picture postcard.

21. Upon returning from any such trip, to steal from Sondheim, “You are sorry, grateful... You always are what you always were. Which has nothing to do with, all to do with [the trip]”  

The village for the Chiprovtsi Museum. Brain drain leaves the old and disabled to fend for themselves. The difficult answer to: has capitalism been a complete victory for Eastern Europe?

The view from the castle in Belogradchik.

A once lovely Jewish temple in Vidin.

Replica of Galerius' palace at Romuliana.

This is a photo from the Nis WWII. Concentration Camp. It was as horrible as one can imagine. I didn't take out my camera, until I saw this image of a baby in a bowl. Everything was written in Serbian, so I don't know what happened. I don't care to know. That baby is wonderful.

Emil is in blue, giving a lecture at the Chiprovtsi Museum. Joe is in the stripe shirt.

This is John a prehistorian archaeologist, enough said.

Center is Denver, ARCS' director

   

Plovdiv

After the crazy week that was, it was a treat to go to Plovdiv. Lucian’s boast notwithstanding, Plovdiv was lovely. Truth, Bulgaria is lovely; but Hadji Dimitar is not a proper first impression. I am including the dogs in this entry but still that horse-drawn garbage “truck” has eluded me. When I hear the clip-clop of the buggy, my camera is always in my bag, under books and wrapped around head-phone cords. I have tried to take it from my balcony but it is not cool to take pictures in the early morning from a height.  I’m sure you can imagine all the problems that might come up from such a situation.

On to Plovdiv. I went with Kathleen, Kyril, Bailey (Kathleen’s sister), and Dixie (Bailey’s boyfriend). We took a bus, which took about 2 hours.  There is something to be said for watching a city go by without any concerns.  In a taxi, I am too busy thinking how I am getting screwed. On the trolley, I am trying to look cool and aloof, while still making note of where I am and when I need to get off. But the greyhound-like bus is safe. I’m on it, seated, and allowed to look at all the scenery: wide-eyed, wowed and uncool.

Is it incredibly naive to say we are all the same? The industrial outskirts of any city are the same. The places to fix a flat, buy a toilet, measure wood looked just like some sections of the Bronx. Where I used to teach, the walk home on Webster Avenue looked exactly the same. But I will admit that the “working” overalls that are worn here are great! I’m bringing a pair home. When I move into my first real house (in Baltimore) I am wearing those blue cotton overalls as I clean, paint, and live out the 80s montage I wrote about earlier.

Plovdiv was in the midst of some market fair. People were selling all kinds of stuff. I bought honey. Partly because I do like fresh honey, but also honey was a significant export from the Euxine to Greece; and I am a sucker for tradition.  I bought the honey from a woman who spoke English and let me sample all different kinds. Just as finished with one spoon, she was stuffing another in my mouth.  I must be super starved for positive attention: I found this forceful selling tactic endearing.

We went to an art show. Pavlina, a friend of Kathleen, had a showing of her photographs. These were self-portraits of her aura. I fell in love with a sculpture made of wood called the Charioteer. On the street, I ran into a young Jamaican girl. She was pushing a carriage with a little baby. Actually she approached me. I was busy thinking of buying something else I didn’t need. She said that she had to talk to me because she rarely sees a black person in Bulgaria. She said it was hard to live here and she wanted to get to the States. It can’t be that hard, someone must have been a bit kind to her, she did have a child.  Long story short- she and her Bulgarian husband are trying to get to the States. And I am pretty sure they lied to each other, implying that the one could get to America easier than the other. It was too complicated to understand. I gave her my email address. She said she wanted more info about the States. “Sure,” I said, “but I am very very poor and have no power and only marry for love.” I told her I live in a strange land called Oohioo and was (all-things-being-equal) happy to be in Bulgaria.

The Roman theater in Plovdiv is kind of magnificent. I mean the combination of intact remains and the way the general public could use it as its plaything. There are things in Greece that were just barred and Italy, well no one has and will be told Non toccare! more than I was. But here, I was climbing all over everything. Even the cats were especially touchable. My own cat isn’t this friendly. In fact, Peter has told me that Skala has forgotten all about me and loves the stairs. I too love would love to have an upstairs, but Skala, I am very very poor. 

Can you see the 3 dogs?

Bus terminal-not exciting

Hadji Dimitar's dogs

I like it- It's the Bronx!

Bulgarians too wash their own cars.

The start of the market fair- similar too Manhattan's street fairs

Bailey and Dixie. We are at a Plovdiv restaurant

My God the honey!

A sample Pavlina's photos

The Charioteer

No joke: 4 weddings in Plovdiv. Old road+new cars=mess.

Kind cat, but still prefers stairs.

Plovdiv "City of 7 hills" none paved.

They still hold events here. Those are cushions.

In the back, storage room. I paid 1 Leva and saw everything

Weather or not

It is snowing in Sofia or at least in Hadji Dimitar. It does not stick; it melts once it makes impact on the ground. Still... Then Denver wrote: "Gypsy summer looks to make a curtain call on Wednesday and Thursday, with rain and cooler temperatures on Friday."

I asked Veneta if that is what people here say, she said they did. I thought that was pretty racist.  And then I remembered that in my previous post, I mentioned "Indian" summer. Sorry, next time I will be much more sensitive.

Soon, but not today, I will tell you about my Saturday in Plovdiv. Lucian called it the largest and most beautiful of all cities. Well, maybe but remember Lucian was a renown satirist and champion of the barbarian. More later.      

O the times, O the customs!

Indian summer and lovely autumn is officially over in Sofia. That rain during Saturday's Jam On It continued throughout the week and I didn't pack my boots. Of course, had I known that ultimately I would have two very large suitcases; I would have packed more things. Chief among them would be Columbo DVDs, which I am missing. Ok, enough complaining. I have some very typical "Bulgarian" things to relate.   Time is very different. I was told to come to the University for my Russian lesson at 9:00am. This is early. Cincinnati speaking and general work and responsibility-wise this is NOT early. But for me, now, at this time in my studies, 9 am is super early.  I go and it turns out that I am only there to meet my teacher. It was just a quick meeting because at 9:30 she had another student really coming and learning Russian. On Friday, I already came to set up the lessons with Anton. I knew where the classroom was then. I could have met my teacher at the first lesson.  So after a brief meeting, I went back off into the rain. Home. 

My Russian teacher, Borinska. She is Bulgarian.

Customs Office: Sure, don't talk on the phone, don't smoke! But that puppy is adorable! He should be allowed everywhere. And ice cream cones!? That's just childhood goodness in an edible portable form. What's up with this country?!

The various cubby holes o' payment

You see how the one paying has to hunch his back the whole time!

Tuesday morning,  Anton accompanied me to pick up my handkerchiefs. Simple sentence, complicated event. Often, I go on Modcloth.com to look at retro kitsch and expensive clothing. I bought a watch there, a sweater… I saw these handkerchiefs that were whimsical and fun. Given my tissue problem and the fact that it is getting colder every day, I thought I should get them. A bit of Americana on the Black Sea. No! There was a fee to ship them; they came UPS. But it didn’t arrive at ARCS. It was at UPS which was near the airport and only after you go through customs. On the way there Anton asked me what I was getting.  I couldn’t find the exact translation for “cloth, reusable, lovely, ironic handkerchiefs”. My Bulgarian is not that good. My English isn’t that good. No one but me would know how great I thought these were. So just imagine that through this whole 3 hour ordeal, Anton is thinking: “This crazy girl is getting tissues!”

I can’t really describe what happened because the 7 forms were in Bulgarian and Anton filled them out and just showed me where to sign and when to pay. I was paying all kinds of smallish sums of money to different people at different cubby holes, pictured below. In one instance, I was in this small smoke filled room where this woman typed a bunch of stuff and then saved it on a floppy-disk! She gave it to Anton, after I paid 11 Leva, then we took the floppy disk back to the cubby-filled room, only 12 feet from the smoke-filled room. And all the information needed was on the floppy-disk. When we finally drove to UPS, I had to pay 13 Leva before I got the box. Anton said it was for telling me that I had a package, for preparing the paperwork at customs. I still don’t really know what that means. I knew I had a package because ModCloth sent me an email. Anton, always the gentleman offers to carry the box to the car. It is feather light. He is confused. Finally, I open the box in the car and he says. “Maybe next time you buy these here, they are here in Bulgaria. We have them too.”  Yes, Anton, I know.

They ARE bad news hankies. So you would need them. Get it?

A Pink Slip, a Break-up Letter, A Report Card, Bank Note. Get it?

Tuesday afternoon: Russian lessons: 45 academic minutes = 1 temporal hour. I don’t know how this works. Even therapy is 50 minutes!

Wednesday I wake up late for our trip to Boyana Church and to the National History Museum. At 9am we were supposed to meet at ARCS to get on the bus and go to tour this medieval church. Kathleen’s call at 9:10 woke me.  I had to quickly get dressed and take a cab to the church. This means yet another problem. I have stopped taking cabs here for all the obvious reasons. The main reason is I am a foreigner who doesn’t speak the language and constantly gets screwed on price. Here in Bulgaria, it is custom for the passenger to sit up front with the driver. When Kyril sits up front, he shares traffic-complaints, thoughts on the weather, small talk with the driver. I don’t know how to say anything. But I sit up front and I take out the iPad, which has a GPS on it. I tell the driver “Molya, spedvate tova” (Please follow this).  The guy who takes me to Boyana Church doesn’t, he is going all over the place. And he doesn’t know the Church anyway. Near the church but still hiking distance away, I tell him that I am only giving him 5 Leva not the 13 that has been accumulated. “Get the f**k out!” is also universal. The feeling and anger behind such a sentiment transcends language. I threw down the 5 and got out. Then I had to walk up some cobble road using the GPS and these old ladies who spoke Italian. So they took me some of the way, but I was walking too fast. Then Denver called me and asked where I was because they were leaving the church and going to the Museum. 

The Church is situated in front of beautiful Vitosha Mt. This wonderful man, walks the mountain every day with a water bottle and a stick. He was passing me when Denver called and I gave the man the phone. At the end the man says “ Your friends wait for just you! Follow me.” After a few moments of walking with him, I see Denver and the church.  This and Russian lessons and rain and dogs and friends sick has been my week.

Images from the museum- mosaic

When I was in Rome, my friends and I were used to saying dové ….? Dové bed meant you were really tired and wanted to go to sleep. Dové food meant you were really hungry. And so on. But it was a greater need, more basic. And you were only allowed to say it if you really really wanted it. I still say dové in my head when I want something. So I felt a bit defeated when Thursday night after working at ARCS until 10pm and it was raining and I didn’t feel like translating my way through a meal, I said out loud, “Dové the States?”