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?”