Goodbye Belovo...

Team Belovo:

Well, tonight will most likely be my last as a resident of the toilet paper capital of the Balkans. It would be easy to rant on about the lack of this or that some other town had more; but, that is not how I want to leave here. It is this small town that gave me my first look at Bulgaria and that has honestly been a good thing. So, a positive top five list of Belovo. (Sorry, just finished reading ‘High Fidelity’)

• The assorted animals, both that my family keeps and that roam the streets. It did take some convincing to eat some of these friendly critters. Such is life.

• Ben the dog. I put him in a separate category because we have had some rough times together. He almost got me killed when the bulls encircled me in the mountains and he tried to attack. He also kept me warm the time I forgot my keys and had to wait outside for my host family to get back from a late night na gosti.

• The CED café. It was here that I perfected the art of sitting in the same spot for hours. We practiced everyday.

• Team Belovo. We had good people, good times, and no one quit. I was lucky to have them with me.

• My host family. Kind souls who fed me, taught me, and let me peer into the real lives of Bulgarians. It was a one of a kind opportunity and I only hope I made the best of it.

Wednesday night will be the first time I crash in my own apartment, ever. Kind of creepy, kind of exciting. It is all part of the game, and right now the game is pretty fun.

~~Mark

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The Cold Will Come...

Ever since I have come to Bulgaria, it seems the entire country is abuzz; everyone working at various tasks. My host dad has been in the cellar perfecting rakia and white wine. My host mom has been cooking huge amounts of everything (peppers, tomatoes, fruits, veggies, etc); whatever we ate also when into the canning process in some form. The entire country side seems to be painted bright red with peppers put out to dry. And, who could forget the day all the chickens disappeared? At least the turkeys have more room. All this work stuck me as quaint, a good way to pass the slow hours of summer. The kids peeling potatoes next to their baba (grandmother) on a sticky summer night was good family time. This soft country living was one of my favorite things about Bulgaria (past tense intentional). I guess I really had no reason to second guess anything, but my limited experience allowed an entire country to con me. This past week we had our first frost. Things have changed.

I woke up a bit earlier than normal, a bit colder than normal. I drew back the shutters in my room and was surprised at the change of scene. The mountains that have become so familiar had changed, their peaks dipped in snow. It could have been the opening scene of ‘My First Bulgarian Winter.’ I felt like a little kid, I was ready to put on some snow pants, and play in the mountains. I opened my door to a distinctly darker mood, the kind that transcends language. Maria was worried. The same uneasiness I thought was reserved for car rides with unknown destinations began to sink in. She had three pots boiling, and the kitchen was full of people. I was ushered outside where the men were splitting logs. My job was to take the split logs and throw them on top of the ten foot garage. It was easy at first. Both in the kitchen and outside, they worked hard. Not with blazing speed, but with an efficiency that seemed almost militaristic. And this time there was purpose, before the activities seemed to be done at leisure (kind of how someone in America will just bake something for the fun of it). Needless to say, after about four hours of tossing wood ten feet into the air, I was beat. Ironically, once the sun broke through the clouds the weather was delightful and the snow faded from the peaks. That night, the dinner was enormous and well attended. And, it was there that everything came into focus.

This whole summer, each day, there has been time set aside for winter. All the potato pealing, all the ‘playing’ with the chickens (I guess making them run around makes the meat better), all the canning and pickling, and finally all the wood chopping/tossing has been a giant preparation. As I participated, I had missed the mild but urgent undertone of each task. In Florida, people rush to the supermarket at the slightest possibility of a hurricane. Here, they know what is coming and it is going to be damned cold.

During the same dinner, as I sat there so proud of myself for connecting what now seem like elementary sociological dots, something else dawned on me. What about me. I am going to be here during the winter too. Do I have cans and cans of preserved food to ward off the days when the mercury drops and the snow stays on the mountains? Nope. So, the way I figure it, three situations will play out. ONE, this whole canning/cutting thing is a throw back to olden days and is done out of habit. TWO, everyone likes their family recipes better than store bought stuff. THREE, I am going to be having bread and unpasteurized goat milk the entire winter. Bets anyone?

~~Mark

PS: Between lack of technology, being tired, over studied, and all things generally relating to being in Bulgaria, I have not updated the site as often as I would like. Hopefully, I will have more regular internet access at my permanent site. (Belovo has been without internet for about a week now.)

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Chicken Soup For Your Anatomy Class...

Everyday, I come home for a lunch break from school. The cuisine varies, but almost always involves meat of some type. Recently, I came home to a bowl of freshly made chicken noodle soup (Nicoli and I had recently ‘processed’ a few chickens). The only quirk was that is was soup with a chicken leg stuck in the broth. I was excited. I started to eat the broth first, in accordance with custom, when I saw something unusual. As I could see more and more of the leg, I realized that it seemed a bit too long. Once the broth got low enough, it revealed its dirty little secret. This chicken leg still had the claw attached, nails and all. It could have doubled as a back scratcher. Needless to say, once the family saw my reaction they lost it. And I, being to stubborn to admit that I did not like chicken claw, ate my way down the entire length of the bone. It got particularly rubbery near the claw part. It was gross.

Hope everyone is doing well,

~~Mark

PS: Sorry for the delays with getting journals posted, Belovo’s internet has gotten much worse for some reason. Hopefully, once I am at my site, I will find a more reliable source.

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