I Can Be Your Hero

Yesterday was quite an eventful day for me here in Bulgaria. Enrique Iglesias, of all the gorgeous, Spanish-speaking pop-singers, was performing in a free concert on a huge stage in Sofia. My neighbors, Marietta, Desi, Ani, and Sylvia, all wanted to go and I of course could not pass up such an opportunity. We left after school around 2:00, driven by our friend, Tihomir. They all spoke in rapid Bulgarian while I day-dreamed out the window though Tiho would occasionally ask me questions and then we would all laugh when I stared at him wide-eyed. Не разбирам. At some point I used the phrase Okey-Dokey which evoked the curious question from Marietta, “What means ‘Okey-Dokey’?” Later, I asked her what “дабе, дабе” meant and she replied, “this means Okey-Dokey.” We’ve since decided to switch roles and she now says Okey-Dokey while I say дабе-дабе and then we both laugh cuz it’s funny to no one but us.

Tiho dropped us off and Marietta and I met the other three girls (all sisters, two of which are identical twins, all of which are drop-dead gorgeous as so many Bulgarian women are). We did a little shopping in which I had the opportunity to covet many a clothes I do not have the money to buy. When we were waiting at the bus stop to drop off Ani’s boyfriend, Sylvia noticed a celebrity walking down the street. I was told that she is a very famous Bulgarian singer and actress who is married to a very famous singer and actor. Basically, she’s the Jennifer Lopez of Bulgaria and I got to watch her buy oranges. She bought five oranges and considering how skinny she is, I don’t think she was planning to eat them. She’s probably learning to juggle for her next music video. Someone should tell her that apples are much easier to juggle than oranges.

We then went to this awesome café to have pizza and cake. The place is decorated so amazingly I couldn’t stop staring. It’s like being on a safari under the sea. Upon reading those words you were just struck by how amazingly fantastic that sounds, weren’t you? Yeah, it’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. If I was a mermaid with a tiger-striped tail, I’d of fit right in. And the cake was pretty dang scrumptious too.

We then trekked our way to the concert, squeezed through the immense crowd and found the perfect spot to admire the beauty that is Enrique. He came out on stage singing falsetto while the crowd roared. The Bulgarian audience knew every line and sang at the top of their lungs, it was beautiful. It’s easy to get lost in lyrics so deep, “I saw you on the phone. I knew you weren’t alone.” Yet another classic, Enrique, bravo.

Despite the fact that his lyrics are rather cheesy, Enrique turned out to be a pretty cool dude. Not only did he memorize several phrases in Bulgarian, he also pulled two young guys up on stage, poured them a shot of vodka (cuz no one’s gonna bust him for serving underage drinkers while he’s in Bulgaria), and said, “Носдраве!” to the crowd. He then allowed one of the boys to sing his latest hit “I Like It” and do a little dance. This boy didn’t mess around. He took that microphone, marched to the front of the stage, and sang his heart out. Not only that, when Enrique remarked on his dance moves, the band started up a Michael Jackson beat and this boy went to town. He danced up and down that stage and had the crowd going crazy. And he was good. Enrique sat there on the stage with mouth open. I so badly wanted to say, “Welcome to Bulgaria.” I enjoyed myself immensely.

All in all, it was a great night and I feel so lucky to be in such an amazing place and have such wonderful new friends. I can’t wait to see what happens next!

-Age

Adjustment My Задникa

So I got an email from a lovely girl named Jez who happens to be one of our volunteer representatives for big, fancy Peace Corps meetings asking if anyone would like to write some articles for the upcoming Peace Corps Bulgaria Newsletter. Of course I did. So I wrote back, explaining my interest and she sent me a list of topics. I chose "Impact." I then forgot all about it for a couple weeks and when I decided to start writing the article I'd somehow gotten it into my head that the topic was "adjustment." Don't ask me why. I even thought, "I should probably check that email again and make sure this is right before I start typing." But, yeah, I didn't. I started typing. Not only did I start typing, I starting interviewing people so I could include it in my article. I'd nearly finished the thing (it only needs two more paragraphs that I no longer have the heart to write) when I finally referred back to the email and realized, yet again, that I'm a huge idiot. Sigh.

Anyway, I thought I'd share the article here anyway so that it doesn't go to total waste. I was pretty excited about it actually but now I've got to purge myself of this mistake and start writing about our impact.

Adjustment My Задникa

Television a little fuzzy? Twist those rabbit ears to left and, viola! Clear picture. Underwire feeling a bit too restrictive? A subtle yank is all you need. Comfort restored. Little brother needs to have his attitude adjusted? Backhand him. Problem solved.

But adjusting to a new country, language, and culture? Not so easy. Not that we haven’t tried. Oh, we’ve tried. Immediate and complete integration has been grilled into our heads throughout PST and failure is not an option (oh, PC staff, you know I tease). However, not everyone goes about their adjustments the same way. There are different approaches, each with varying levels of difficulty and success.

The first, when I’m feeling optimistic, I like to call “Diving in Head First” but usually in the morning before I’ve had my coffee, I call it simply “Ouch.” This involves ones’ head popping off of one’s pillow and a happy voice devoid of all morning grogginess declaring, “I will meet at least 10 new people today and we will become good friends, na gosti’s are in my immediate future!” Whistling as they go throughout their day, “dober dening” everyone they see, and stopping to help every baba they can find cross the perilous streets of Bulgaria, these eager volunteers know their way around a Bulgarian village and a Turkish toilet. Often, this degree of enthusiasm works well with Bulgarians, they love a cheerful and ambitious American. Bravo. But it can be exhausting and if the morning’s lofty goals are not met, detriment for the zealous volunteer whose day ends with a bowl full of tarator and tears.

(This is where the two missing paragraphs would go)

And though adjustment isn’t always simple, in some ways it is comparatively easier here in Bulgaria than other countries where Peace Corps serves. We remark on the fact that we are not living in mud huts like some of us may have originally assumed upon applying, and when referencing PC Bulgaria we often jokingly refer to it as the Posh Corps. There is even a deliciously funny bit of quote-collecting floating around the internet started by our own Megan Lindstrom. She decided to ask fellow volunteers what makes their Posh Corps experience difficult and here are some of the richly sarcastic answers:

'I was given too much free fruit to eat at once.'

'I forgot to plug-in my air conditioner, so I had to get up from the couch to plug it in before the remote would work.'

'I've only gotten 7 care packages in 4 months.'

'I have to turn two different knobs and a faucet in order to take a hot shower.'

'My new washing machine has too many options.'

Getting more serious about the topic at hand, I asked several volunteers about their approaches towards adjustment and the answers varied from bringing baskets full of apples to neighbors and getting to know colleagues to starting an adult English course in hopes of meeting people within the community and “updating” their wardrobe. It would seem that people associate the idea of adjustment with integration. It makes sense. As Tyler Wolfgang put it, 'Feeling comfortable in a new place could depend a great deal on how accepted you feel in your community. The more integrated you are, the less you would have to adjust.'

So, it would seem, the goal here is simply to continue what you’re doing. Live your life. Go to work. Get to know people. Ask questions. Give answers. And, using any one of the above-mentioned approaches, find that happy-medium where you feel that you fit in here in Bulgaria. I now know to bring tissues with me everywhere because toilet paper is never a guarantee. I now know that I put myself at great risk of eating random chicken parts with each na gosti invite I accept. I now know how to spakoyno. There are still many adjustments that need to be had and many more lessons to learn and mistakes to make along the path of integration but I’m not worried. After using my first outdoor, Turkish toilet in the middle of the night during a lightning storm with chickens, pigs, and donkeys making end-of-the-world noises, I can adjust to just about anything. And since every volunteer I know has a similar hilarious and horrifying story to tell, I know we can all make the adjustments needed to learn, grow, and leave an impression that lasts."

So. Yeah.

-Age

I Don't Do Drugs or Eat Bugs

In my life, I’ve been unbridled by addiction. I’ve never smoked a cigarette. In fact, I’ve also shunned kissing anyone who smokes as that is not a fun flavor – at all (cigars and pipes are OK, though I believe only men over the age of 50 smoke those habitually and I also have a rule about kissing old people that aren’t my grandparents).

I don’t drink often (though I do occasionally drink excessively – but usually not on purpose and my lack of regular alcohol consumption often means that “excessive” interprets itself as 4 beers and me stumbling around as if I’ve cleaned out the bar).

I Just Say No to drugs. I feel as though I owe this not only to my strong moral character *snicker* but to my very bestest friend, Amanda, who would probably punch me in the face for using the word bestest. You see, when we were little, like elementary little, we were asked to make posters for an anti-drug contest. We were to create something interesting, funny or insightful and enter it to win a big prize. Except that we were children so instead of creating posters that were interesting, funny, or insightful, we instead created total crap. We were nine. Though, Amanda, who has always been artistically inclined and has frustratingly never pursued it, made a fantastic poster. And won.

It said,

“Drugs are for thugs with ugly mugs, I think they eat bugs.”

Simple. Brilliant. She also drew a picture of a drug-user with an ugly mug and bugs in his teeth. How could anyone not give her a prize for something so cheeky and wonderful!

Anyway, like I was saying, I’m not an “addict.” Or at least not the kind of addict that could ever end up on Intervention. I avoid that type of judgement like the plague. That’s actually a perfect analogy as I don’t actively avoid the plague or heavy judgement – I think the plague’s pretty much been taken care of and I’m far too Idealistic and focused on perfecting my hopelessly flawed self to be aware of any intense scrutiny. Again, I’m off topic. Basically, I prefer quiet, subtle addictions like coffee and sitcoms.

Case in point: despite the fact that it was 7.50лв, I purchased a 28 pack of 3 in 1 Nescafe coffee recently, each individual serving giving me that feeling of wholeness. OK, maybe it’s not that extreme but I do love the stuff. My love affair with Diet Coke is still as strong as ever but, just to be safe, I try not to drink 3 in 1 in front of my her so as not to insight jealousy. I’ve also just realized Diet Coke is a girl, hence the feminine pronoun, it must be the shapely curve of the bottle…or the fact that’s it’s superior to all other, male sodas. I actually don’t feel that men are inferior to women at all despite my teasing. They have plenty of great qualities that make them quite useful. Like opening jars with really tight lids and keeping the American Football industry alive – I mean, what would all the beer-bellied, adequately inebriated guys do on Monday night if not paint each other’s faces and high five over their Budweisers?

I feel lucky that in a world full of addictive opportunities I’ve been able to remain relatively clean and well-caffeinated. Wouldn’t it be nice if waking up early, exercising, and washing the dishes were addicting? Though, I suppose, what people are addicted to would be the good feeling they receive from their drug of choice which, when thought of that way, means addiction isn’t all that bad. It’s not the enemy. It’s the object of addiction that’s the problem. If it hurts the addict or others, it’s a bad addiction. If it betters the world, like a workaholic who finds a cure for cancer, than it’s a good addiction. It’s all relative.

Once again, an aspect of life becomes tricky. Very tricky. You know what would help me to wrap my brain around this issue a little better…

-Age

Aw Man! I Got Salt in My Oats!

Before tonight, I’d never made oatmeal before. I mean, in America, I’ve poured the contents of a pre-packaged oatmeal pouch into a coffee mug, added water, and stuck it in the microwave. And a year ago I would have fully considered that to be “making” oatmeal. But tonight I actually made oatmeal. I bought oats. I added sugar (actually, first I added salt cuz I thought it was sugar then I realized my mistake and scooped the salt out as best I could though, you know how salt is, it lingered). I then added cinnamon and tiny pieces of cut-up apple from the tree outside my apartment. I finally added hot water, stirred and enjoyed.

Except I didn’t actually enjoy. I couldn’t, you see. Oatmeal isn’t good. It’s kinda bland and a little gross. I used these same oats a week ago to make oatmeal cookies and they were delicious but that’s because I added about a pound of both brown and white sugar. That’s the trick. In order for oatmeal to be good you almost have to add more sugar than oats. This makes me question the dusty, so-called oatmeal I grew up on. Exactly how much sugar was in those things? How many oats? Was I just eating hot sugar with a few dried oats floating around?

I’m gonna give it another shot without the salt and see if that makes a difference. While my health (and by “health” I mean “the size of my ass”) is an important factor, I’m poor right now and both sugar and oats are cheap. So if I eat hot sugar soup, with a few oats tossed into the mix to make my stomach think it’s full, I’m not above enjoying the crap out of a meal like that. Not in the slightest. In fact, I’m kinda looking forward to sugar soup. Sounds delicious.

I’m gonna actually try and learn how to cook while I’m here. Learn about spices and the merits of garlic, things like that. I’m gonna look up recipes and make my own pasta sauces. I’m gonna fill the big hole in my heart left by the absence of Mexican food with my great-grandmother’s zucchini bread recipe. Which reminds me, what exactly is the difference between a zucchini and a cucumber? Is there a difference? I’m under the impression that they are the same thing and plan on treating them as such. So her zucchini bread may turn out to be cucumber bread which I’ll instead call Nyama Puri Bread.

I’ve mastered the salads, mainly the shopska variety, but winter’s on its way and I’m gonna want warm food, plus I think vegetables aren’t really available during that time of year. At least not on a Peace Corps budget. So I’ll become a baker of things and share my creations with my neighbors as a sort of bribe to make them like me. I mean, I’ve never met a baker I haven’t liked immensely as it’s hard to resist someone who smells like an angel from sweet-sugar-vanilla-goodness heaven. That’s my favorite heaven. I’m pretty sure my guardian angel is from that heaven.

-Age

English

The children I’ve recently started to teach here in Bulgaria don’t take English very seriously. It’s not that way with all of them, but most of them. You see, here in Bulgaria, the high schools are very specific. A student can apply to an art school, a technical school, a language school, and many others depending on their interests. So, for those students who don’t plan on going to a language school and feel that they don’t need to check the bilingual box on any future job applications, they just don’t care all that much about my class.

I also feel that their lack of knowledge combined with textbooks that are not only above their heads but completely unrelatable culturally, they get frustrated and that frustration manifests itself as a couldn’t-care-less attitude. I won’t let this discourage me. They’re great kids. Funny and witty and full of ambition. I know that if they were given a reason to care, a reason to take English class seriously, they could be great students. I’m not saying they’ll all be fluent by the end of the year but they’ll make progress.

Right now I’m just trying to figure out what makes them tick. They may not enjoy English for English’s sake, but there’s got to be a reason or two out there for them to buckle down. Getting to know my students well is going to be the key here, and keeping a positive attitude. I plan on wowing them every chance I get. Going above and behind and dragging myself back home at the end of the day from pure exhaustion. But they will learn. They will. If God is my…just kidding, I’m not that dramatic, usually.

Anywho, wish me luck as I try to woo the hearts and minds of 60 or so elementary and middle school students. 

-Age

The Power of an Acronym

Have you ever noticed how intimidating acronyms are? I think it’s the mysterious way they represent something that only those directly involved with the acronym can understand. Random letters. All capitalized. All sequenced together to create something of significant meaning to someone that isn’t you.

Unless of course you do understand the acronyms, in which case you can wield them like a medieval weapon, using the acronyms to show others that you’re special enough to know what a PCV(ching!) is and how three months of PST(swoosh!) was so challenging and the upcoming IST(clang!) is going to be informative and exciting unless we don’t make it and choose to COS(stab!) early. Our opponents had no chance. Our acronymic sword was too powerful.

I always feel uneasy when entering a new situation in which acronyms are present. I feel the dread of having to memorize their meanings and the looks on the faces of those skilled in the art of acronyms as I misuse them and have to say,

“You know, the thing that gives us money so we don’t have to go inside.”

“Oh, you mean the ATM?”

“Yes, the Awesome Transaction Machine! Exactly!”

The use of acronyms really is the fastest way to feel superior.

When talking to friends and family we catch ourselves using the acronyms we have become so used to and having to backtrack and say the full phrase which really is so cumbersome. In fact, all speech should just be one big stream of acronyms. Oh, I guess that’s like texting. No, never mind. Best to keep it exclusive.

I’ve also learned that being the one to create the acronyms is very special as well. Not everyone is capable. It takes a special skill and a serious grasp of the alphabet. I once tried to create an acronym. It involved vodka, tequila, and various fruit flavorings that disguised the taste of alcohol and made drinking numerous pink, tasty beverages out of big red cups as simple as falling on the floor. The acronym was JSB. Just drink beer. Though it was not apparent to me at the time, that was wrong. Didn’t stop me from saying it all night. And again the next morning.

Acronyms can be a tricky business. But if you’re lucky enough to be one of the few who gets to create and spread the use of one of these powerful little beasts, I stand in awe. But, before you use its power for evil, ask yourself this: WWJD?

-Age

Vote For Me!

Hey friends! The Peace Corps sent us an email about this great contest the Trazzler traveling website is doing called "On the Road." Peace Corps staff encouraged us to enter and write about our villages. So, of course, I did. Here's the link below. Please check it out and vote for me - I could potentially win a trip or money for people within my village (I can't actually accept the prize myself). I would greatly appreciate it!

Rediscovering the True Beauty of Experience in Momin Prohod:

http://www.trazzler.com/trips/momin-prohod-in-bg

-Age