A Weekend in Gela

I had a fun weekend. At first I was a bit hesitant to the idea of waking up early on a saturday, and was equally met with awe when I found out the funny smell in the car on our way to Gela, a village an hour away, was actually that of a live sheep in the trunk. What moved me was not the fact that the animal was all tied-up in the back, but that it will soon see its demise and be skewered whole on a pole later. But to quote Ms Palin, "We are men, we eat. Therefore we hunt" or something like that. Well in this case, we eat, therefore we slaughter. Point taken. Ok, a bit of background info. I had preciously agreed to join my bosses' family and his relatives in their summer house in Gela for the weekend for a "sabhor", which could be best translated as festival. It's a tradition for them to meet in Gela yearly for the festival. The oldest member of the entire extended family treats them to "chever-mey" or a whole grilled lamb. Although it might not have been your typical fun weekend for that 20-something year old, I came to appreciate their family tradition that they so gracioulsy shared with me, being haggled by one of the uncles (which I've become used to for it is almost always a gesture of being accepted as one of their own), then treated to the lamb, and then listening to most of the family kareoking Bulgarian folk songs particular of the region while the oldest grandpa played traditional bagpipe, and finally retreating to a comfy bed.

This morning I woke-up, had breakfast, and then headed to the festival. I've been to a good number of these festivals, especially last year, but there was something about this one that reminded me of a summer back home. Not so much the folk music, or the awesome bagpipe players on stage but perhaps all those tents out in the field, and all those beer in clear plastic cups and the hippie-looking cool boys and girls on a hot sunny day who danced and shouted and cheered.

Alive and swell

It's only so long before the unfamiliar becomes habit, the new becomes routine and life in a strange place is suddenly not so alien anymore. But then every now and then you come across something new, something you haven't tasted yet and that uncharted feeling of the near past comes beckoning. Today was one of those days. As you may have read in previous postings that Bulgarians by large burn wood for heating. And so is not the exception in my village incidentally.

Summer is a busy time for many in the villages because winter is not so kind in the Balkan. There's work to be done. Just to mention a few - conserving fruits and vegetables (because they are scarce and expensive in winter) and subsequently canning them, harvesting potatoes and beans, bringing logs from the forest so they can be chopped down for firewood and many more but I'll spare you the rest. As interesting as all these are to me, it is sheer hard work - or if I may suggest, life at peace with its rightful authenticity. Over coffee everyone chats about current issues, now being hauling wood from up in the mountain. So I decided I would help Basri and his family, friends in the village, carry wood from the forest to his home. When I offered to help, they warned me that it is a real "teshka rabota", meaning heavy work. His wife duly added that only men can get this job done. Well, I didn't quite anticipate anything for the ride up in the mountain was the scariest and equally most hilarious that I can ever remember. I had to board on an all-steel body truck made in then east-Germany. So glorifying is its hide, that even the dashboard is constructed of steel. Practically a tank! As we took quick turns around corners on the bumpy, usually unpaved road up the mountain, the driver would often fly off his seat and nudge towards the window. But to my surprise he kept at his pace. Well, anyway the work began we reached the destination. Basically, Basri's sons, his father and a couple of men and I helped fill the truck with logs that were sometimes over 2 feet in diameter. And then when we reached Basri's house, we unloaded them. But I didn't sweat as much as those guys, perhaps because I committed to the lighter logs. In the end I got a little taste of preparing for the cold winter that grips everyone, every year. Now it would be prudent to wait for my regiment to arrive.

...breaking the silence

It's been a while since I posted anything, but I was caught up in cultural integration, festivals, family visit and work. Expect some glitzy new info and pictures soon....

Archery in the Rhodopes.

Some of the early complaints I heard when I first arrived at my site were, "the kids are always playing computer games"; "they are becoming lazy and less active"; "do you know these teens are already smoking and drinking?!". "..they need to play more sports", remarked someone. During those early weeks I also received various requests from the kids as though I was mystery Santa doling out benjamins. One of then said, "Shah, can we have archery..?". To that I blankly replied, "sure, why not!". At that time I didn't want to spoil the child's mood, but knew that I needed more than just a wish to create a sustainable environment. As I started to learn and live and play in the community, it became more apparent that the children were in fact spending less time in any after-school activities, and simply turning to video games or something else. It was not because they lacked motivation, but that opportunities fell short before them. There aren't much after-school programs other than volleyball and futball at the school gym, the latter un-utilized during winter. This problem in itself provided an opportunity. I recalled what some of the kids had wished months earlier. And so naturally came the idea of using archery as a mean to promote physical activity and diversion from bad habits. The school and the community were excited by the idea, thought it would work among the children and were seemingly proud to start a "unique" sport for this part of Bulgaria. Well, as we know that money sometimes make the world go around as was particularly true here because we needed to buy equipments. So I wrote a project proposal for the last remaining USAID grants in BG. This morning, I learned that the archery project is approved. Now I can't wait to see the kids' faces when I break the news to them!

What a "sneshna", wonderful world...

When His messengers conveyed God's words to mere mortals in the form of scripture, I believe they intended for His heavy invocation for whatever matter needed resolve. To which book one subscribes to or a total refusal of it, is another topic of discussion. The fact of the matter is that I've been wishing for heavy precipitation in my village since January, after hearing about the snow-storms and shut-downs back home. Some may find it an ill will. But you see, in the past couple of weeks the temperature buoyed somewhere in the upper 60s, bright sunny days to make even Droopy happy for once. As comfortable as that was, I wondered to myself, "what kind of a winter is this?! An effect of global-warming I suppose..." "Well, at least I can throw the Frisbee around....", I carried on about the days. But what I secretly prayed for was a bit of snowfall, heavy snowfall, perhaps. The effect of snow, albeit miserable in the villages when the streets turn in to a muddy slush, is also very charming. The entire landscape in Borino is a mystic white place. And one can never have too much fun in the snow! So I prayed (I actually didn't. Just wishful thinking). I complained about it to my villagers and friends. Some laughed, some snared and some even sympathised. Call it awesome mind power or just plain expected, snow finally came on Monday. And it's been snowing since then with a total accumulation exceeding 21 centimeters!

Balkan gas row & me

There's something in Bulgaria for which I am thankful - cheap bread. Bread being the staple of every Bulgarian, a loaf may cost as low as .80 stotinki (60 cents) at the local grocery establishments. Baked daily, fresh bread is always bountiful. However, friends and foes are equally aware of my affinity for the whole-grain kind. Because variety-seeking is a luxury merely endeavored here in the staples section, to buy multi-grain over the regular white has a hefty cost - a whole Lev (BG currency). So here's the catch. Only one store in my village carries that bread. Last week, when I went to the store to re-fill my cabinet, I noticed it didn't have my bread. Instead, there sat a stack bagged in blue label. Naturally I asked about them to which the shop keep replied, "wheat". Consequently, I bought a loaf, something I had to suffice with for now. When I ran to the store to buy more bread next time, those blue bags were sitting over the counter again. This time I grew curious and asked the shopkeeper why she wasn't carrying any multi-grain bread in orange bags anymore. After brief exchange of whatnot, she speculated that it was due to the recent gas shut-off from Russia that caused the bakery to stop making multi-grain bread. So how had the Russian-Ukrainian gas conflict affected me you ask? Well, it wasn't the obvious. I don't have a gas furnace to heat my place; I use wood. I am glad the gas flow is resumed. Now hopefully my bread will come soon.