Sweet... Thanks Jessica for the heads up...
Sofia - Bulgarian customs stopped a 75-ton shipment of beef meat from Ireland that may have been frozen since 1984, local media reported on Monday.The meat was sent for testing after officials at the Kulata border pass with Greece noticed that the meat had a bluish colour. Among the papers with the shipment was a 22-year-old health certificate.Experts were to be called in to determine whether the meat, en route to Plovdiv, was really as old, but it was immediately clear that it was not suitable for consumption. The reports did not say where the frozen meat was previously stored.
http://www.int.iol.co.za/index.php?set_id=1&click_id=29&art_id=qw1138626901641B214
31 January 2006
30 January 2006
i am jack pulido
As I sat in the bar Saturday night, drinking my third or fourth double shot of whiskey and practicing my new word of the night, “Божественярско (Bojestvenyarsko),” while Tony The Barman drew a stick figure picture of Tito and his wife in order to explain a joke, I had a startling realization. You remember in high school, there was always that foreign-exchange student who you thought was a little bit slow? I am him.
In my high school, our foreign exchange student wasn’t actually a foreign exchange student. He was from China, or Taiwan or the Phillipines (I suddenly feel really bad that I can’t remember where he was from…) and his parents owned a Chinese restaurant in town. He had moved to America and wasn’t going back. It always seemed that Jack was around whenever my group of friends got together. I don’t remember inviting him ever, but nonetheless, he was there. People would talk to him and ask him things but it usually had to be translated by another friend into simpler English. He would get invited to parties, to events, to almost everything, but he didn’t say much and he always laughed a split second after everyone else. People would get him to say funny things to others and we would teach him slang. Of course, the next time we would see him, he would use the slang in a particularly inappropriate time, and that would make us crack up all over again, accompanied by plenty of high fives and thumbs up.
I always thought that Jack was slow. I thought that because he didn’t say much and didn’t always understand everything, he was stupid. I’ll be honest, I thought Jack was a little retarded. And now I think I am paying for thinking that. I realize that I was the person who was ignorant. Maybe it was because I never took the time to really get to know Jack. It wasn’t until our senior year of high school that I learned Jack was really into Anime and could draw some great pictures. But there is something bigger. I used to judge people too quickly. I think I still do. All too often, I did and do make a judgment on people by the way they speak, what they talk about, or what they are interested in. Poor Jack, because he spoke slow and with a strong accent, couldn’t talk about deep philosophy and wasn’t interested in track, history, or classic literature, I assumed he was a waste of time for me. It was too hard to talk with him and too hard to connect with him.
I said now I am paying for being this ignorant, but that’s not right. I am so lucky here. I am a foreigner in a foreign land speaking a very foreign tongue, but I have people who are patient enough to put up with that. I have learned quickly enough to recognize that absolutely demoralizing phrase: “Не може да разбира. (He can’t understand).” But I have also learned to recognize the equally uplifting I-can-do-anything-get-me-a-gold-star! phrase “Браво, Анди! (Bravo, Andy!).” I have been amazed to see people take the time to pantomime a joke or even find a paper and pen to draw it out. I have been invited over and over again to parties and banquets, even though most of the time I just stew in my seat, drinking their alcohol and wishing they didn’t play that damn Pop-folk so loud. I still have a hard time figuring out why these people are putting this much effort into getting to know me, especially when I couldn’t be bothered to put in 1/100th of the effort to get to know Jack. At the end of the day, I give up trying to figure it out and chalk it up to love. When it comes down to it, this is love. A love that is divinely human. Reaching out to someone simply because they need it. I need this attention and this support and this camaraderie. Everyday, I am thankfully to be here and experiencing this love.
And so, though I graduated from college with a High-honors degree in Anthropology, I can speak eloquently on the leading causes of the Peloponnesian War, I read and understood Tess of the D’urbervilles, Heart of Darkness and Catch-22, and I can name the capitals of most of the countries in this world, I still sound like a moron when I get “watermelon” and “lover” mixed up in Bulgarian. But I am beginning to be okay with it. I am accepting that I am Jack Pulido.
In my high school, our foreign exchange student wasn’t actually a foreign exchange student. He was from China, or Taiwan or the Phillipines (I suddenly feel really bad that I can’t remember where he was from…) and his parents owned a Chinese restaurant in town. He had moved to America and wasn’t going back. It always seemed that Jack was around whenever my group of friends got together. I don’t remember inviting him ever, but nonetheless, he was there. People would talk to him and ask him things but it usually had to be translated by another friend into simpler English. He would get invited to parties, to events, to almost everything, but he didn’t say much and he always laughed a split second after everyone else. People would get him to say funny things to others and we would teach him slang. Of course, the next time we would see him, he would use the slang in a particularly inappropriate time, and that would make us crack up all over again, accompanied by plenty of high fives and thumbs up.
I always thought that Jack was slow. I thought that because he didn’t say much and didn’t always understand everything, he was stupid. I’ll be honest, I thought Jack was a little retarded. And now I think I am paying for thinking that. I realize that I was the person who was ignorant. Maybe it was because I never took the time to really get to know Jack. It wasn’t until our senior year of high school that I learned Jack was really into Anime and could draw some great pictures. But there is something bigger. I used to judge people too quickly. I think I still do. All too often, I did and do make a judgment on people by the way they speak, what they talk about, or what they are interested in. Poor Jack, because he spoke slow and with a strong accent, couldn’t talk about deep philosophy and wasn’t interested in track, history, or classic literature, I assumed he was a waste of time for me. It was too hard to talk with him and too hard to connect with him.
I said now I am paying for being this ignorant, but that’s not right. I am so lucky here. I am a foreigner in a foreign land speaking a very foreign tongue, but I have people who are patient enough to put up with that. I have learned quickly enough to recognize that absolutely demoralizing phrase: “Не може да разбира. (He can’t understand).” But I have also learned to recognize the equally uplifting I-can-do-anything-get-me-a-gold-star! phrase “Браво, Анди! (Bravo, Andy!).” I have been amazed to see people take the time to pantomime a joke or even find a paper and pen to draw it out. I have been invited over and over again to parties and banquets, even though most of the time I just stew in my seat, drinking their alcohol and wishing they didn’t play that damn Pop-folk so loud. I still have a hard time figuring out why these people are putting this much effort into getting to know me, especially when I couldn’t be bothered to put in 1/100th of the effort to get to know Jack. At the end of the day, I give up trying to figure it out and chalk it up to love. When it comes down to it, this is love. A love that is divinely human. Reaching out to someone simply because they need it. I need this attention and this support and this camaraderie. Everyday, I am thankfully to be here and experiencing this love.
And so, though I graduated from college with a High-honors degree in Anthropology, I can speak eloquently on the leading causes of the Peloponnesian War, I read and understood Tess of the D’urbervilles, Heart of Darkness and Catch-22, and I can name the capitals of most of the countries in this world, I still sound like a moron when I get “watermelon” and “lover” mixed up in Bulgarian. But I am beginning to be okay with it. I am accepting that I am Jack Pulido.
29 January 2006
where are you captain planet?
Here are two summarized articles by The New York Times and The Washington Post about global warming. It’s scary stuff, and unfortunately not enough people are paying attention. I remember watching Captain Planet when I was little and being thankful that there weren’t bad guys in real life like there was on the show. People who were driven only by greed, willing to sacrifice anything to line their own pockets. I have come to realize that there are people like this in real life, only in real life we don’t have a Captain Planet. The New York Times article talks about how the administration is trying to silence NASA scientists from speaking out about what they have found. What was the name of that villain on Captain Planet that was a freaky half pig/ half man thing? I think I found his real life counterpart…
http://www.editorandpublisher.com/eandp/news/article_display.jsp?vnu_content_id=1001920362
http://www.editorandpublisher.com/eandp/news/article_display.jsp?vnu_content_id=1001920362
26 January 2006
funny brownies
Today was my second day of my mini-vacation. What did I do? Not much of anything. I taught my lessons at the prison. I baked some “molasses squares” but seeing as I can’t find molasses in Bulgaria, I used dark honey. A colleague of mine has a birthday party tomorrow and she loves trying American sweets. These sweets taste a little weird though. I don’t know if I burned them or the fumes from my stove got into them. Fumes from a stove? Yeah forgot to mention that… Since July I have been having an on-again/off-again relationship with my stove. Sometimes it decides to work and sometimes it decides to blow up. So today the municipality made good on its October promise to get me a new one. But as soon as I start trying to cook with it this evening, smoke starts pouring out of it. Like the idiot I am I keep going. “Maybe, this is what happens with all new appliances” I say. I leave the kitchen to write some emails and return to check on my fake-molasses squares and my kitchen is full of smoke that smells oddly like burning paint. I open a window and keep going. Now my fake-molasses squares taste like… burning paint. And honey. And my lungs feel funny.
Lesson learned: I’m not quite sure, I think I lost that brain cell when I was cutting up the squares…
Lesson learned: I’m not quite sure, I think I lost that brain cell when I was cutting up the squares…
25 January 2006
warriors and wusses
I don’t know if I exactly agree with this guy but what he has written about the troops in Iraq at least makes you think. Whether you have a yellow ribbon on your car or think that we should call the soldiers baby-killers, read this.
http://www.latimes.com/news/printedition/california/la-oe-stein24jan24,0,4430346.column?coll=la-headlines-pe-california
http://www.latimes.com/news/printedition/california/la-oe-stein24jan24,0,4430346.column?coll=la-headlines-pe-california
24 January 2006
andy finally goes snowboarding, bulgarian stylin'
I went snowboarding in Bansko this weekend with Arin, Maegen, and Maegen’s counterpart, Yulia. It was pretty sweet, though the trails weren’t quite as challenging as I would have liked. The views were absolutely beautiful, much more beautiful than any ski area in New Hampshire. Though I think the skier etiquette in New Hampshire is a little bit better. Halfway through the day, I was tearing down this trail and was in good control when some yahoo cut me off. Trying to avoid hitting him and a group of guys in the middle of trail who decided that it was a good place to talk, I busted my ass and went face first down the slope. I clipped two of the afore-mentioned guys with my board and their skis flew off it several directions. When I finally came to a stop, I realized that my tail bone had taken the brunt of the crash. The guys limped over to me and asked if I was okay. I was a little dazed and forgot to ask the same. But I could tell by the things they said to each other about me that at least their jaws weren’t injured. Next time, a place a little cheaper and fewer crazy guys.
frozen snot
I have no school for the rest of the week because it’s snot-freezing cold here. I wish I could take credit for such an accurate weather description but alas, I heard it from someone in college. For those who have never been lucky enough to experience snot-freezing cold, it’s when you are in a place so cold that the snot in your nose freezes (sure it sounds gross and if you are offended, I’m sorry. But when you think about it, there is actually nothing to be that offended by. Everyone has snot. Some of us more than others, of course, but still everyone has it. And as long as it’s not hanging outta your nose or, God forbid you’re picking it, there’s nothing really to be grossed out by…). It actually makes a good indicator of the current weather. You can measure the severity of the weather by how long it takes to freeze. It’s not as accurate as a thermometer, of course, but who actually carries around a thermometer? One week in college, Hanover was colder then the North Pole. That’s cold. That’s instant snot freeze. But here, in Bobov Dol today, I would give it a three minute snot freeze. Not bad, but still enough for me to wear my “Hey, check it out, it’s a Kenneth Cole! But I bought it second hand at the Peace Corps clothing sale for 2 leva and it couldn’t keep a nuclear reactor warm in the middle of the Death Valley” winter hat, my hood from my trusty 2004 Red Sox Championship Sweatshirt and the hood from The Best Snowboarding Jacket Ever.
So for the record, a 3 minute snot freeze is cold enough for Bobov Dol to cancel school for the rest of the week. It’s called a “Durvana Vakantsia” which roughly translated means a “wood vacation.” The school can’t stay warm enough to prevent the kids from sticking to exposed metal so they cancel it. Not bad, from my vantage point. Unlike America, the kids don’t have to make this time up at the end of the year. I heard that we teachers will have to come in in the summer and make up the time. But I would much rather sit in the teachers’ room for a couple hours in my man-pris and a T-shirt in June than see my breath while I yell at Ivan for playing with a shard of glass in January. At least it’s too cold for them to blow snot rockets at each other.
So for the record, a 3 minute snot freeze is cold enough for Bobov Dol to cancel school for the rest of the week. It’s called a “Durvana Vakantsia” which roughly translated means a “wood vacation.” The school can’t stay warm enough to prevent the kids from sticking to exposed metal so they cancel it. Not bad, from my vantage point. Unlike America, the kids don’t have to make this time up at the end of the year. I heard that we teachers will have to come in in the summer and make up the time. But I would much rather sit in the teachers’ room for a couple hours in my man-pris and a T-shirt in June than see my breath while I yell at Ivan for playing with a shard of glass in January. At least it’s too cold for them to blow snot rockets at each other.
22 January 2006
18 January 2006
crime wave hits bobov dol
I don’t know why I did it. Normally, I shy away from buying frivolous things but when I saw that package of sliced salami in the store, I was intrigued. See, normally I only find non-sliced salami in any store here. It comes in a long stick and if you want to make a sandwich you must cut off a couple of disks. I don’t like doing this because my knife sucks, the salami is really hard and it takes time. Maybe I was lazy and wanted something a little easier. Maybe I was missing home and that package of sliced pig products reminded me of Mom’s sandwiches. Maybe I wanted something a little different. I don’t know but after a week of staring at that lonely package in the display case, I broke down and paid the few extra stotinki for the package of sliced salami.
I know it was frivolous. I mean, how lazy am I that I can’t even cut my own meat? But does that mean that it had to be taken away from me in such a dastardly way? Let me explain. It started with my refrigerator. Once upon a time, my refrigerator used to be a normal refrigerator. Put something in there and it kept it cool. Since winter began, my refrigerator has become a deep freeze machine. Beer, cheese, mayonnaise, no matter what, it goes in liquid, pliable or gelatinous, magically comes out a solid rock. So I have taken to putting things out on my terrace, where believe it or not, the Bulgarian winter is warmer than my refrigerator. And so when I bought my prized sliced salami, of course, out to the terrace it went.
I had one sandwich with it and I’m not gonna lie, it was good. But alas, one sandwich was all I was gonna have of those little slices of Heaven, because sometime between yesterday afternoon and this afternoon my upstairs neighbors staged a daring ninja-attack and stole my salami. Here is the crime scene:
Employing at least four different hooks (three that failed and presumably one that didn’t), my upstairs neighbors lowered down a string and hooked the bag that held my salami treasure and a new package of cheese. Luckily, the cheese fell out of the bag and I was able to save it. But, unfortunately, my salami didn’t, and is now suffering a much more grisly fate. Like Golam and his magic ring, I wanted to have something special for myself. I got too attached to my salami and the world showed me what happens when you love something too much: It gets taken away. I learned my lesson. I will not allow myself to get so attached to a stupid object. Still, I hope those bastards upstairs choke on it.
I know it was frivolous. I mean, how lazy am I that I can’t even cut my own meat? But does that mean that it had to be taken away from me in such a dastardly way? Let me explain. It started with my refrigerator. Once upon a time, my refrigerator used to be a normal refrigerator. Put something in there and it kept it cool. Since winter began, my refrigerator has become a deep freeze machine. Beer, cheese, mayonnaise, no matter what, it goes in liquid, pliable or gelatinous, magically comes out a solid rock. So I have taken to putting things out on my terrace, where believe it or not, the Bulgarian winter is warmer than my refrigerator. And so when I bought my prized sliced salami, of course, out to the terrace it went.
I had one sandwich with it and I’m not gonna lie, it was good. But alas, one sandwich was all I was gonna have of those little slices of Heaven, because sometime between yesterday afternoon and this afternoon my upstairs neighbors staged a daring ninja-attack and stole my salami. Here is the crime scene:
Employing at least four different hooks (three that failed and presumably one that didn’t), my upstairs neighbors lowered down a string and hooked the bag that held my salami treasure and a new package of cheese. Luckily, the cheese fell out of the bag and I was able to save it. But, unfortunately, my salami didn’t, and is now suffering a much more grisly fate. Like Golam and his magic ring, I wanted to have something special for myself. I got too attached to my salami and the world showed me what happens when you love something too much: It gets taken away. I learned my lesson. I will not allow myself to get so attached to a stupid object. Still, I hope those bastards upstairs choke on it.
16 January 2006
taking down the decorations
Well I held out as long as I could, but today was finally the day I decided to put away my Christmas decorations. There weren't a lot of them to begin with with but still...I want to thank everyone who sent me a Christmas card. I never realized how important and wonderful a card can be until this year. I used to think that a card was merely something you opened before you opened the really important thing: the present. This year I realized that the card symbolizes the important thing: Love.
So thank you Tsvetana, my very special friend in Krichim. Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Clancy, my friends in Concord who hooked me up with the most delicious peanut-butter cookies. Thank you Nathan and Meghan, my big brother and his fiance. Thank you Rosen, a student from my class at the prison. Thank you Vecelika and Georgi, the prison psychologist and her husband. Thank you to my 11th grade class. Thank you Jessica, one of my very best friends in the whole world. I will keep your cards in a very special place.
13 January 2006
lazy
I need to post something. It’s been a while. But I am tired. Tomorrow. Hmmmm, I can’t back that up, maybe the day after that. Or the day after that…
09 January 2006
08 January 2006
we have an oil baron as king, but still no oil
Well, it seems that we finally have some form of leadership in America, unfortunately it is coming from Hugo Chavez, the Venezuelan President. The Venezuelan government is providing cheap oil to various poor communities in New England and New York, including the Bronx, Boston, and four Native American tribes in Maine. “James Sappier, the Penobscot tribal chief, said snow was falling in Maine and praised Chavez for his help. ‘We appreciate him very much as a leader,’ he said. ‘It's been said he's one of us. His thinking is like ours.’” I guess after 200 years of neglect, tribal members in Maine have decided to look somewhere else for help.
http://english.aljazeera.net/NR/exeres/05A5D504-3D56-4D91-856F-12B730D0BBB2.htm
http://english.aljazeera.net/NR/exeres/05A5D504-3D56-4D91-856F-12B730D0BBB2.htm
06 January 2006
death defying stunts!
Today in Bulgaria is Yordanov Den, the nameday for all people with names originating from Jordan, or God. Such names include Yordanka, Yordan, Bojidar and so on. To celebrate this day, it is a tradition in Bulgaria to recreate the baptism of Jesus in the river Jordan. In Bulgaria, recreating this event means cajoling teenage boys to jump in the town’s largest body of water after a cross. Always interested in seeing the eternal battle between pride and the body’s natural aversion to hyperthermia, I accepted the invitation by a colleague to go to a village and celebrate the day.
The name of the village is Saparevo and it is a small but charming place. I have been there previously to pick potatoes and celebrate another holiday at a local monastery. My colleague’s family lives in an old family house that still has an outhouse. I arrived in the village with two of my students and we immediately went to the church where I was greeted by my colleague.
The church is beautiful. It is modeled after the famous Rila Monastery and it is full of icons and murals. Like all the Orthodox churches I have been in, every space is full of icons, paintings, flowers, gilded objects or lights. For someone used to a rather stoic Catholic church, walking into an Orthodox church is quite a change. After waiting around for ten minutes, listening to part of the mass, lighting some candles and leaving coins on some of the icons, my colleague, her daughter and I left to get a coffee in the café.
I could just imagine the look on my mom’s face if I asked in the middle of Sunday mass if we could leave and get a coffee. But here it here it seemed normal, as people were coming and going into the church throughout the whole mass. In the café, I resolved a bet I had previously made with my colleague. What kind of measurement system does England use? Quick, anyone? The answer: both. According to several websites, England uses both metric and customary in different circumstances. We called it a draw and promised to treat each other to a coffee. As we left the café to return to the mass, I noticed not only my shaking hands from my third cup of espresso but also the people gathering around the town’s water fountain.
Back at the church, the mass continued. It is quite a different experience attending an Orthodox service. It would be an ADD kid’s worst nightmare. Not only were people coming and going throughout the whole thing, but people were walking around lighting candles, talking, singing, laughing, laying money on the icons and kissing portraits of the saints and the holy family.
The church was also full of the smell of fresh baked goodies that people had brought to celebrate the day. As it was a Friday, the church was full of mostly cute, little, hunched-over баби (grandmothers) with their head scarfs and canes. In the middle of this, the priest was delivering his sermon. Finally, he blessed the food that the churchgoers had brought and told the people that the celebration was moving to the center. We left the church and milled around front, trying the dishes that everyone had bought.
In the center the people gathered around the water fountain. Standing on the edge of the fountain were the young boys ready to jump in for glory and frostbite.
Again the priest delivered another sermon and blessed the fountain. The moment was near. The boys tensed. The crowd moved closer to the fountain. With a quiet splash the priest tossed a large cross into the fountain.
If the cross had been made of solid gold, I doubt the boys could have jumped in faster. They wrestled a little and finally one boy came up with the glistening cross. He and the others jumped out quickly and ran to the priest for their small prizes. And just as quickly as they had jumped into the fountain, they ran home, in search of warm clothes and a fire. After things had calmed down, the crowd once again surrounded the priest to be sprinkled by holy water, to kiss the cross and be blessed.
After my colleague received her blessing, we started the walk back to the house anxious to warm up and eat stuffed grape leaves, pig fat, winter salad and, of course, raikia. Another day in the village that will never be forgotten. Happy Yordanov Den everyone!
The name of the village is Saparevo and it is a small but charming place. I have been there previously to pick potatoes and celebrate another holiday at a local monastery. My colleague’s family lives in an old family house that still has an outhouse. I arrived in the village with two of my students and we immediately went to the church where I was greeted by my colleague.
The church is beautiful. It is modeled after the famous Rila Monastery and it is full of icons and murals. Like all the Orthodox churches I have been in, every space is full of icons, paintings, flowers, gilded objects or lights. For someone used to a rather stoic Catholic church, walking into an Orthodox church is quite a change. After waiting around for ten minutes, listening to part of the mass, lighting some candles and leaving coins on some of the icons, my colleague, her daughter and I left to get a coffee in the café.
I could just imagine the look on my mom’s face if I asked in the middle of Sunday mass if we could leave and get a coffee. But here it here it seemed normal, as people were coming and going into the church throughout the whole mass. In the café, I resolved a bet I had previously made with my colleague. What kind of measurement system does England use? Quick, anyone? The answer: both. According to several websites, England uses both metric and customary in different circumstances. We called it a draw and promised to treat each other to a coffee. As we left the café to return to the mass, I noticed not only my shaking hands from my third cup of espresso but also the people gathering around the town’s water fountain.
Back at the church, the mass continued. It is quite a different experience attending an Orthodox service. It would be an ADD kid’s worst nightmare. Not only were people coming and going throughout the whole thing, but people were walking around lighting candles, talking, singing, laughing, laying money on the icons and kissing portraits of the saints and the holy family.
The church was also full of the smell of fresh baked goodies that people had brought to celebrate the day. As it was a Friday, the church was full of mostly cute, little, hunched-over баби (grandmothers) with their head scarfs and canes. In the middle of this, the priest was delivering his sermon. Finally, he blessed the food that the churchgoers had brought and told the people that the celebration was moving to the center. We left the church and milled around front, trying the dishes that everyone had bought.
In the center the people gathered around the water fountain. Standing on the edge of the fountain were the young boys ready to jump in for glory and frostbite.
Again the priest delivered another sermon and blessed the fountain. The moment was near. The boys tensed. The crowd moved closer to the fountain. With a quiet splash the priest tossed a large cross into the fountain.
If the cross had been made of solid gold, I doubt the boys could have jumped in faster. They wrestled a little and finally one boy came up with the glistening cross. He and the others jumped out quickly and ran to the priest for their small prizes. And just as quickly as they had jumped into the fountain, they ran home, in search of warm clothes and a fire. After things had calmed down, the crowd once again surrounded the priest to be sprinkled by holy water, to kiss the cross and be blessed.
After my colleague received her blessing, we started the walk back to the house anxious to warm up and eat stuffed grape leaves, pig fat, winter salad and, of course, raikia. Another day in the village that will never be forgotten. Happy Yordanov Den everyone!
new year's resolution part I
Good thing one of my New Year’s resolutions isn’t to be more prompt. I usually don’t make New Year’s resolutions because I think we should be constantly trying to improve ourselves. But this year I felt like I would give it a shot and see how it works out. So here it goes… Basically, my resolutions fall into two categories. This year will be the year of the Two F’s for me: Friendship and Faith.
Friendship. I have learned a lot about friendship in 2005. I have learned a little more about what true friends are and I have learned how important they are. My friends and family from home have been integral in me adapting to my present circumstances. Though they do not know it, every little gesture they made towards me has been magnified over the many miles that separate us. Whether it is the weekly phone call I receive from my mom, talking to my father and stepfather on Google talk, talking to Jeff and Jessica on Google talk, the random conversations with my cousins, the packages from my brother and Meghan, the many emails from Dartmouth friends, the Christmas card and peanut butter cookies from the Clancy’s, all these actions have helped me to stay a happy, and mostly optimistic young man. Though I am slow getting back to all of them, I appreciate them more than I show.
I have also learned from my new friends. Since I have arrived in Bulgaria, I have made many, many friends. I have a host family in Krichim that love me and put up with me when I am moody and tired. They feed me, shelter me, give me raikia and love me more than would seem possible considering our differences in language and culture. I also love my friends Desi and Tsvetana in Plovdiv and Krichim who first had incredible courage to speak to a total foreign stranger in a tongue they do not feel completely comfortable using. Then they have continued to show courage by staying with me for 8 months now.
In Bobov Dol, I have been equally blessed. I have a town full of people who feed me, look after me, invite me to their homes, villages and excursions to the pool, or mountains. They greet me on the street and have a generosity that I have never before experienced. I want to especially mention Galya, my big sister here in town. I am also lucky enough to have her as my counterpart. She tells me when I am doing something stupid, helps me when I need it, makes me have fun when I would rather sleep and makes me laugh when I feel like killing every child younger than 18. Also my language tutor Gergana and her husband Spaz, my colleagues Snejana and Mitko. And my other friends Martin, Stefka, Vecelika, Maggie, Sonya, Vasco, Kraci and all the others.
I also must mention the other volunteers I have met. My training site members became like my American family away from home. And they showed me that love doesn’t have to take a long time but can happen over two months. Though I don’t see other volunteers as often, they have been there when I needed them, and they have commiserated with me when I felt overwhelmed. Especially my friends Sarah and Liz; they have been there on Google talk when I felt particularly low.
Not everything has been peachy though. I have learned what false friends look like. I have learned that some people are only meant to come into your life for a short time and though they teach you a lot about you and things much, much greater then you, they leave just as quickly as they came into it. I will always treasure what I have learned from them, but I am saddened that we could not be for each other what we needed.
All these experiences have made me value friendship more than ever before. I used to think that friends were important but in the end I was more important then these people who move in and out of your life. Hey, I also used to think that Carrot Top was funny, we all make mistakes. I now realize that real friends don’t really leave your life. Though you might not talk to them for a long time or see them, though you may forget their birthdays, or even call them mean names, when it really comes down to it, they are there for you. All you have to do is ask.
So my first New Year’s resolution is to be a better friend. I have been blessed with such good friends and family, that I have all too often taken them for granted. Living alone, in a foreign land, I have learned not to take anything for granted. I have been forced to rely on the goodwill of total strangers. In these times I see how truly lucky I am. I never want to lose the friends I have. These special people are in my life for a reason and to lose them would be a tragedy. I wish they could all meet each other, they would have a great time. I resolve to spend more time growing my friendships and understanding these people on a more profound level. If that means I have less time to prepare for work, or eat a big meal or even sit home and watch “Friends” so be it, I prefer the real Friends I have.
Part II: Faith. Stay tuned.
Friendship. I have learned a lot about friendship in 2005. I have learned a little more about what true friends are and I have learned how important they are. My friends and family from home have been integral in me adapting to my present circumstances. Though they do not know it, every little gesture they made towards me has been magnified over the many miles that separate us. Whether it is the weekly phone call I receive from my mom, talking to my father and stepfather on Google talk, talking to Jeff and Jessica on Google talk, the random conversations with my cousins, the packages from my brother and Meghan, the many emails from Dartmouth friends, the Christmas card and peanut butter cookies from the Clancy’s, all these actions have helped me to stay a happy, and mostly optimistic young man. Though I am slow getting back to all of them, I appreciate them more than I show.
I have also learned from my new friends. Since I have arrived in Bulgaria, I have made many, many friends. I have a host family in Krichim that love me and put up with me when I am moody and tired. They feed me, shelter me, give me raikia and love me more than would seem possible considering our differences in language and culture. I also love my friends Desi and Tsvetana in Plovdiv and Krichim who first had incredible courage to speak to a total foreign stranger in a tongue they do not feel completely comfortable using. Then they have continued to show courage by staying with me for 8 months now.
In Bobov Dol, I have been equally blessed. I have a town full of people who feed me, look after me, invite me to their homes, villages and excursions to the pool, or mountains. They greet me on the street and have a generosity that I have never before experienced. I want to especially mention Galya, my big sister here in town. I am also lucky enough to have her as my counterpart. She tells me when I am doing something stupid, helps me when I need it, makes me have fun when I would rather sleep and makes me laugh when I feel like killing every child younger than 18. Also my language tutor Gergana and her husband Spaz, my colleagues Snejana and Mitko. And my other friends Martin, Stefka, Vecelika, Maggie, Sonya, Vasco, Kraci and all the others.
I also must mention the other volunteers I have met. My training site members became like my American family away from home. And they showed me that love doesn’t have to take a long time but can happen over two months. Though I don’t see other volunteers as often, they have been there when I needed them, and they have commiserated with me when I felt overwhelmed. Especially my friends Sarah and Liz; they have been there on Google talk when I felt particularly low.
Not everything has been peachy though. I have learned what false friends look like. I have learned that some people are only meant to come into your life for a short time and though they teach you a lot about you and things much, much greater then you, they leave just as quickly as they came into it. I will always treasure what I have learned from them, but I am saddened that we could not be for each other what we needed.
All these experiences have made me value friendship more than ever before. I used to think that friends were important but in the end I was more important then these people who move in and out of your life. Hey, I also used to think that Carrot Top was funny, we all make mistakes. I now realize that real friends don’t really leave your life. Though you might not talk to them for a long time or see them, though you may forget their birthdays, or even call them mean names, when it really comes down to it, they are there for you. All you have to do is ask.
So my first New Year’s resolution is to be a better friend. I have been blessed with such good friends and family, that I have all too often taken them for granted. Living alone, in a foreign land, I have learned not to take anything for granted. I have been forced to rely on the goodwill of total strangers. In these times I see how truly lucky I am. I never want to lose the friends I have. These special people are in my life for a reason and to lose them would be a tragedy. I wish they could all meet each other, they would have a great time. I resolve to spend more time growing my friendships and understanding these people on a more profound level. If that means I have less time to prepare for work, or eat a big meal or even sit home and watch “Friends” so be it, I prefer the real Friends I have.
Part II: Faith. Stay tuned.
bushism of the day
This is the man we have as Commander- in- Chief? Are you kidding? "As you can possibly see, I have an injury myself—not here at the hospital, but in combat with a cedar. I eventually won. The cedar gave me a little scratch."—After visiting with wounded veterans from the Amputee Care Center of Brooke Army Medical Center, San Antonio, Texas, Jan. 1, 2006
05 January 2006
internet goes down
Sorry to all my friends and family for the last couple of days. I haven’t been ignoring you, my internet was down. Hope you are doing well. And I’ll be sending out e-mails out as soon as I get a chance!
that amazing drip, drip, drip
Considering how much of it I drink, I figured I should find out how it is made. Today I did. Rakia. My experience in Bulgaria would not be the same without it. For those uninitiated, rakia is a national alcohol, most closely resembling brandy. It is used to celebrate a variety of occasions, ranging from weddings, the purchase of new furniture, name days, birthdays, having guests, being guests, New Years Eve, New Years Day and the day after New Years Day and simply watching Big Brother. It can be bought in a store but the best and strongest kinds are made at home.So today, on my vacation, I woke up at 7:00 am to join my friends in making Rakia. We went to their house in a village near Bobov Dol and started, what turned out to be a long, boring and cold process. Don’t get me wrong I had a great time, but it was because of the company, not the actually distillation process. I don’t know what I was expecting: dancing? singing? magic? In the end, it was just alcohol pouring into a pot.
To make rakia, you first need fruit. Most people use grapes. Some people make it from pears or apples, and my friends in Krichim make it from strawberries. Today we used grapes and quince. So you put your fruit of choice in a big barrel, add a lot of water and sugar and let it sit a couple of months. After this time, the fruit ferments (read: turns moldy and smells like that time I left out that bottle of apple cider in my dorm room for all of fall term…), you are ready to distill it. That’s where I came in today. My friend Spaz, Gergana and their two sons Mario and Simion brought the buckets of moldy fruit to the distiller and poured them into the big cistern. Spaz attached the right pipes, started the fire under the cistern to boil the moldy fruit, and started the hose that would bring cold water to change the steam back into liquid and, like magic, into rakia.
And unfortunately that’s it. You boil the moldy fruit juice, it turns to steam, travels through a long spiraled tube that is emerged in cold water. When the hot steam hits the cold pipe, it turns into liquid and drips out in a pot. You then take the pot and pour it into a huge bottle (note: “bottle” can be translated into three words in Bulgarian. The same with “nail.”). And Zazaam! You got rakia. So if you thought it was gonna be some amazing, life changing event, I’m sorry. It’s just dripping water. But oh man, the fun that magic water brings…
Check out my pictures!
01 January 2006
a retraction
I got duped, like the rest of the world. That kid who said he got visited by agents from Homeland Security for checking out a Mao Zedong book, admitted last week that he made the whole thing up. I am sorry I insinuated that the US government tried to derail my thesis project. Please don’t fire me. I guess it was a damn Princeton student after all!
http://www.southcoasttoday.com/daily/12-05/12-24-05/a01lo719.htm
http://www.southcoasttoday.com/daily/12-05/12-24-05/a01lo719.htm
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