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!
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