I'm Like a Cross-Eyed 2-Year-Old With Lots of Money

My PCPP - Peace Corps Project Proposal - was reviewed, accepted, published and funded relatively recently and we've since started construction. And because I'm the big money-holder I get to tag along when we buy everything which has included treats such as sitting in the front seat of a car all the way to Pazardzhik (45 kick-ass minutes away), visiting a home supply store not unlike a mini Home Depot, and unloading a windowless white van illegally (I know, I laughed at the thought of anything being illegal in Bulgaria too) parked in front of our school. Jealous? I wouldn't doubt it.

All the desks, chairs, cupboards and remaining furniture have been taken to Kostenets to be refurbished, the floor torn up, and the radiators removed from the walls. The floor tiles have been bought, the cement purchased, the fancy light fixtures picked out, and the new lacquer for the cabinets is ready to rock and roll. The lacquering of cabinets will be the extent of my counterpart, Reni, and I's physical contribution to this whole new classroom thing - we'll be wearing old clothes and painting all day tomorrow with the two smallest paint brushes you've ever seen cuz my counterpart is thrifty (originally she only wanted to buy one and then trade off) so when I say "all day" that is precisely what I mean.

I often find that when I am in a situation in which my help or input is not needed and Bulgarian is spoken in so rapid a way and with so many unfamiliar words and phrases that I simply tune out...to everything. It's like I'm in my own little world and only occasionally do I snap out of it long enough to realize I may resemble a nicely dressed (and apparently full since I'm not trying to eat anyone) zombie or a person who's been lobotomized and seems to really enjoy blankly staring at bathroom fixtures and occasionally touching something shiny with a raise of the eyebrows as if to say, "Ooo, I liked touching that shiny faucet." In case I'm confusing you, this is what it was like for me at the Krez (Bulgarian Home Depot) we visited. At the end, I bought a .49 cent measuring cup for myself and handed over my bank card so my colleagues could purchase almost a thousand leva worth of materials. I even said "here you are" in Bulgarian which probably shocked all the store workers who, up until that point, were probably considering calling someone to come take me somewhere safer.

This zoning out thing happens a lot and I think it must be some kind of defense mechanism that keeps my brain from overheating when too many incomprehensible words are trying to be comprehended all at once and shiny things are present to distract. My brain doesn't want to blow up. Which is understandable so I don't complain when people look at me like I'm a cross-eyed two-year-old. My Bulgarian is at about the same level as a cross-eyed 2-year-old (with a speech impediment) so it's fitting as opposed to insulting.

Anyway, the construction has only just begun and I'll have fun pictures and a nice breakdown on here within the next couple of weeks. I'm hoping my kids absolutely love it and show the new room the respect it deserves, i.e. no more throwing chairs or trying to set stuff on fire. One can only hope.

-Age

Culture Thursday

The Peace Corps always encourages us to integrate into our communities. Integrate. Integrate. Integrate. Until we wish 'integrate' had a face so we could punch it. I'm exaggerating, because each one of us knows the importance of integrating into what has basically become our home. Why wouldn't we want to get to know people and understand the in's and out's of our community? We would do the same things if we moved to a new place in America: explore, meet new people, attend events and join clubs. The only reason it's emphasized so much is because the language and cultural barriers make it difficult and sometimes it even seems impossible. The trick is to realize you don't have to know everyone, you don't have to visit every shop, and you don't have to pretend to like people who are jerk-faces.

Anyway, the point of that was to explain an interesting barrier I have to integration. I live in a house/apartment. It's basically one big house with 4 small apartments - 2 on the bottom floor and 2 on the top. I live in one of the apartments on the top floor but have things that most volunteers living in a блок, or apartment building, don't have, such as a big terrace (bigger than my bedroom actually), a backyard with a garden, and big, family homes surrounding me. What also makes my home unique is that the apartment directly below me, with whom I share an entrance, is rented out on a weekly basis. My landlord does this for people who are on vacation or visiting our hospital for it's mineral baths.

This means that I'm constantly meeting new people, making new friends, sharing new experiences, and then saying good-bye shortly after. Which doesn't really help me integrate into my village as these people don't actually live in my village. Also, I meet them when they are on vacation and in great moods with no work to do which isn't very culturally realistic. Not that I mind it, most of the people I've met have been wonderful and even inspiring. I honestly wouldn't have it any other way.

I recently met a mother and daughter from Sofia who were here to visit the mountains for a week. The mother was 86-years-old and went on hikes with her daughter and myself on an almost daily basis. They were patient and kind and up for anything - it was a lot of fun.

Then, last week, another mother and daughter pair came through from Razgrad (a city I'm fully aware is really far away) to visit the mineral baths. The daughter, who is about my age, spoke English really well as she'd lived in Alabama for 3 years. After she came back to Bulgaria, she was ready to travel again, this time to Norway. Not too long after that, she volunteered to teach English in a small village in Mozambique. She had a lot of stories to tell and wasn't even close to being done with her travels - she already had plans to go back to the same village in Mozambique a month from now.

Meeting people like this and experiencing Bulgarians from all over for a short period of time is like a special treat that makes my life here exciting when it can sometimes feel mundane.

Culturally, this shows the diversity of Bulgarians - their experiences, their passions, their attitudes. As many of the people living in my village tend to live similar lives, I find it a breath of fresh air to meet a girl who is volunteering (like me!) and giving what she can to those less fortunate than herself. She spoke of their poverty, of the things they lack, but she also spoke of their positive attitude, interesting culture, and delicious foods. I've never met a Bulgarian who volunteers before, it seemed a concept that was too foreign for most to comprehend (which is probably why they all looked at me so strangely when I first got here) but now I see that things are changing and younger generations are opening themselves up to new, better things.

It's been a fun adventure, walking downstairs not knowing who I'm going to meet that day or what they're going to show me - and I'll call it integration and anyone who disagrees can bite me.

-Age

"The Thinner the Moustache, The Bigger the Douchebag"

I recently went to the capital with a friend to watch a movie and indulge in some delicious Mexican food. We decided on Captain America for the movie (and burritos for the Mexican) because there was nothing better and who doesn't love a good comic-book-based movie every now and again, right? The movie was alright but it was the previews that got me thinking. Thinking about a particular movie theme that I find rather funny.

It was a preview for The Three Musketeers (I won't even tell you how excited I am for this movie - I LOVE that kinda crap) and Orlando Bloom was in it...but not as a Musketeer like you might think. No, he was clearly not a good guy. He was a bad guy.

Oh, yeah. A dirty, stinkin' little bad guy that just pisses everyone off the whole movie but is totally essential to the plot because, without him, how would we know that the good guys are good, huh? We wouldn't. They would just be dudes. Dudes with swords and witty banter. Which is all well and good but hardly what I would call an action flick.

Anyway, I'm off topic. I could tell that Orlando was playing a diabolical villain. You know how I knew?

One word: moustache

Now, this was a Musketeer movie, which means that a lot of the characters had moustaches. They were apparently all the rage during this particular time in history but this movie is not the only example of this particular film phenomenom. No.

Guy Who Likes to Tie Girls to Train Tracks:

Hitler:

This guy:

and this guy:

grossest one

him:

I'll admit his moustache may be the least evil-looking thing about him

we all remember this ace-hole:

Snape:



and even the dude who assassinated Lincoln:

 

So, clearly, the moustaches have spoken. All you need is an appropriately thin, evil one of these bad boys and it's clear that you are up to no good. This, my friends, is how I knew Orlando Bloom will be playing a bad guy in what's sure to be an action-packed thriller.

clearly he's a huge douchecanoe

-Age

Culture Thursday (Yes, I Know It's Friday)

On Monday, after my little ones left their morning summer school session with me, I patiently awaited the arrival of my older students so we could practice a little English and play a little volleyball. They didn't show up. Which is odd cuz they have shown up every other day so I just had to chalk it up to Mondays being what they are: the day everyone dreads and tries to avoid if at all possible.

So, I'm just sitting there at the school talking to two of my favorite colleagues (cuz they're super nice and really patient with my Bulgarian) and they tell me that today is a special holiday at the church and would I like to join them. Awesome. Yes, I absolutely would. Thursday is coming up after all.

The празник (holiday) held on August 15 is called "Успение Богородично" or "The Assumption of Mary". This day is also an important "name day" in Bulgaria, the day we celebrate any name connected with Mary: Maria, Marietta, Marianna, Marian, etc. I may have mentioned name days in the past but just to catch you up they are basically like birthdays and people celebrate them by bringing candy to work or school and passing it out to everyone and maybe having a nice lunch or dinner as well. This name day is special because the Eastern Orthodox religion practiced here in Bulgaria believes that this day represents the day Mary passed away and God brought her, body and soul, into heaven. This is a day to visit the church (which most Bulgarians only do on special days like this, Easter, and Christmas) and so that is precisely what we did and I will take you through the steps as they happened:

When we walk up to my villages very small church, the pathway leading up to the front doors is lined with a variety of brightly colored flowers. It's really a beautiful place and the teeny, white church that can fit about 20 people at the most is one of my favorite places in Momin Prohod. We said hello to the babas standing out front and walked inside to the little window that sells candles of all sizes. There are very thin candles for 10 stotinki that apparently only the cheapskates buy cuz we passed right over that very full box and went straight for the 20 stotinki candles (though we could have gone as high as 1 lev if we were feeling really fancy). I purchased 3 candles thinking that I would just group my prayers: my family, my friends, and those I've loved that have passed away. I placed the first two candles here:

I then placed the candle for the dead in a lower candle-holder thingy because those candles are always placed near the ground. There was a man there with his daughter, one of my students actually, and they were both scraping the wax off of the candle-holders (which I'm sure have a real name I just don't know it) and removing candles that were beginning to bend or burn out. My friend, Lenka, told this man I was interested in learning more about the holiday and could he please explain it to me in more detail. He looked at me very skeptically and, despite the fact that Lenka assured him I can understand Bulgarian, spoke almost directly to her the entire time. Which was fine because, to be perfectly honest, he was using the type of vocabulary I am not familiar with and keeping up with him was not an easy task.

As many religious folks do, he did not explain the holiday so much as his religion in general. He asked me about my beliefs though didn't seem too interested in the answers. He possibly saw this as an opportunity to convert me which, being raised a Christian, is something I understand more than he could ever know. After some time, Lenka told him that he was giving me a lot of information and that maybe that was enough for one day.

We left the man and went outside to the baba who was standing near a table at the front of the church. On the table was a ceramic bowl of water and vases full of flowers. She took a handful of white flowers, dipped them in the water, and patted them against each of our heads three times, blessing us in Bulgarian (I have no idea what she was saying). We left a 1 lev coin in front of the picture of Mary and began to walk away. It was then that another baba ran out of the church with a big bouquet of beautiful red, orange, and yellow flowers, handing them to me and telling Lenka, "these are for the American. She has to burn them after they die for good luck." And that's exactly what I plan to do.

This is a very happy holiday for Bulgarians, a day to pray and be blessed and honor an important female saint. I couldn't help imagining what this day would have been like in one of the huge churches in Sofia or one of the beautiful monastaries I visited in the Northwest corner of Bulgaria. These churches have so much history. They seem medieval somehow and the monks inside with their long black robes, tall black hats, and impressively lengthy beards make it seem as though I've traveled back in time. The "nuns" and monks both seem to hide in the deep recesses of the church when it's time to sing. Though "sing" isn't really the right word, it's more of a chant. They chant these long, beautiful, mysterious notes and it echos throughout the whole church and it's literally awe-inspiring. I've never heard anything like it and I would have loved to visit one of these churches on a holiday like "Успение Богородично" and just listen.

-Age

Me vs The Old Man

What I want to say to the old man standing way too close to me in the ticket line at the train station:

"Um, excuse me. You're uncomfortably close."

"You see, I'm American and I've been raised with this concept of 'personal space' and your breath on my neck is violating that."

"Are you trying to put your money through the slot before me? I'm standing right in front of it. Clearly I'm buying a ticket right now, at this moment. Yup, that's exactly what you're doing. Wow."

"You're touching me. You're actually so close to me while we stand in this line that your arm is touching my arm and I could lick your face if I wanted to just by sticking out my tongue. Do you want me to lick you? Is that what all this is about?"

"Hey, I get that you're old and you don't like to wait in line because you want a good seat on the train. I get it. I really do. But. All the politeness and respect I was taught to show the elderly went out the window the second you set your bag on my feet and tried to cut me in line. There. Is. No. Cutting. Didn't you go to kindergarten? Cuz that's where I learned that rule. That's where I learned that that rule is more important than any other rule. Rules like 'don't throw dirt at your friends' and 'glue is not for eating' don't even come close to the 'no cutting' rule so you're currently in violation of everything I know and it's making me want to punch you. Which I'm also pretty sure is a rule: 'no punching'. But I'll do it. In my mind. Repeatedly. Actually, I'm doing it right now. In my mind you're crying and will never cut again."

-Age

Culture Thursday

I'm going to walk a fine line between "cultural insensitivity" and "keeping it real" today. I want to relate what I've seen here in Bulgaria while at the same time remaining respectful. That being said, here I go.

In Bulgaria there is very little diversity. There are basically three different races/cultures here: Bulgarian, Turkish, and Roma. And while the Roma and Turkish peoples should also be considered Bulgarian by nationality because many of these families have been here for some time, the lines are always a little grey.

But that's about it. Everyone basically looks the same. Acts the same. Speaks the same. The culture varies little because, hey, it's a small country and what should we expect.

So, when someone who does not look like they belong here, i.e. volunteers from America, walk down the street, sit at a bus stop, order food in a restaurant, there is often, particularly in smaller communities, a standard response: staring.

I get stared at walking down the street in my non-Bulgarian clothes, with my non-Bulgarian sunglasses, my non-Bulgarian walk (Bulgarians don't really walk, they stroll, never in a hurry), and I'm watched. When I sit on a train people will change seats in order to gain a better vantage point for unabashed staring. And I'm not even all that different looking. I sometimes wonder what it's like for other volunteers that are, let's say, not white. Must be tough.

I'm not trying to say that it's a part of Bulgarian culture to stare. It's  not. What I am saying is that the huge differences in Americans' and Bulgarians' reactions to diversity are what cause the stares to seem so odd and blatant. To me, at least.

We were told being volunteers in a foreign country would be like living in a fishbowl and that we would have to constantly watch our conduct because our conduct would be constantly watched.

But, sometimes, I think it would be fun to take advantage of all this staring. To embrace it and realize that, no matter what, I'll be stared at so I might as well do whatever the hell I want. I mean to say, do the types of things that would absolutely get me stared at in The States not because I'm different looking, but because what I'm doing is friggin' weird.

Like using the big fountain in the center of town as a swimming pool. Or putting little fish in it and coming to feed them every day.

Or power walking, but just back and forth across the street in the exact same spot over and over for like 30 minutes, pointing and winking at every car that drives by.

Or furiously playing the air guitar inside a local store and then taking a bow when finished.

Or reading at a local cafe and jumping up to dance around the table every time I finish reading a chapter. Then high-fiving everyone around and saying, "Oh yeah! Another chapter down! I am SO good at reading! That book doesn't stand a chance!"

I think as long as I was in complete control of the stares and thought that every Bulgarian was perfectly justified in stopping, mid-sentence, to watch me with wide eyes, life would be a lot more fun.

Just sayin'.

-Age

Boys Will Be Boys and Girls Will Be Trouble

I held my first day of Summer School yesterday but it wasn't until today that kids actually showed up (after I yelled at them for not being there). But that's boring and no one cares about it so let me tell you a story instead:

Today, while I was playing sports with my 6th and 7th graders in front of the school, a couple of boys around that same age walked up and lingered. You know the type: mullet, short shorts, flip flops...OK, maybe you don't but it's totally the sh** around here so, of course, all my girls start to giggle and point and act absolutely ridiculous.

One girl would yell over to them that another girl was in love with them and then another girl would yell back that it wasn't true and that, in fact, it was the first girl who was in love with them and then they would all laugh and giggle and the boys would look pleasantly uncomfortable (or uncomfortably pleased?) and ignore them.

Um, barf.

I'm not saying I didn't used to do these things (I totally did) but having to translate it in my head and feel the full force of these kids' first attempt at flirting was not my favorite thing. I'd like to think my flirting skills have improved since I was in 6th grade but I still practically yell across rooms to boys and say, "Hey, my friend likes you!" It's slightly more subtle than that but only slightly. I have a horribly recent example of just such an occassion but I'll keep it to myself. Let's just say it involved Sofia, a sweater vest, and me thinking I was the slyest girl in the bar. I wasn't.

Anyway, it just struck me as funny how similar kids can be no matter where they're from and what language they speak. I wonder if I was in some small village in Africa instead of some small village in Bulgaria if I'd have to put our soccer game on hold so those kids could yell at a couple of boys? Probably.

Ah, youth. I didn't appreciate it when it was mine though the idea of repeating it sounds like absolute torture.

Despite their antics, I really missed my kids. I've designated Monday's as game days, Tuesday's as sports days, and Wednesdays as excursion days so tomorrow we're off to hike in the local mountains. It'll just be me and a crap-load of kids hiking up a mountain I've never actually hiked. My goal is to bring back at least 90% of them. I feel like that's pretty reasonable. Wish me luck!

-Age