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.