Rila Monestary

A summary of my week in a haiku:

My son you marry?
Too much horo, I'm weary.
Woot, monastery!

Yesterday, we left before the roosters crowed to go to the Rila Monastery. It was built in the 10th century by a monk who lived for 12 years in a cave with no material possessions. It was so picturesque, the black and white striped arches, the Eastern domes and the way the clouds nestled between the mountains. Inside its doors, amongst the glow of candles, we saw a priest offering Holy Communion to a small line of the faithful. He held out his hand, they kissed it lightly and he handed them bread. The church was painted with frescoes, not an inch on these old walls was spared.

 

 

 

 

Proof I was there.

Afterwards, we walked 2 miles to the monk's cave. Even the walk itself was exciting because we ran into what can only be called "wild" cows.

 

Bulgaria: Where speed bumps are called cows.

For those of you unlucky people who have never been in a cave it is quite exciting. Just imagine a hole that is dark. Or you can just close your eyes and touch a rock and you've pretty much recreated what it's like. Kidding aside, this cave was way cooler because it has a vertical tunnel which you must climb through to reach the outside world. The legend goes that the highest offense against God is gluttony and only those without sin can pass through the tight passageway. I am pleased to say we all made it, even Billy with his thousand dollar camera and tripod.

 

We joked, saying it was like being birthed by mother earth.

Later in the day we went to a folklore festival where the horo group from my village was performing. There were groups from local Bulgarian villages, and from Serbia and Macedonia. This past week I went to a couple of the horo practices where you can see all generations locking arms and laughing. They were excited to see the Americans there, and they took the time to teach us some horo dances. Instead of playing music, they sang the songs as we twisted around the room kicking our feet.

 

 

 

Serbian kids dancing.

 

My village performing the story of Goritsa's wedding.

Awkward moment of the week: I live at the top of a large hill and on Friday I was playing basketball with 3 girls. We play at the end of street using as our basketball hoop a rusty iron frame nailed to a wooden shed. The ball bounced off the side of a house and started to roll down the steep hill. I ran after it, speeding down the unevenly paved street with a growing momentum. I ran past old men, a birthday party and kids playing while I chased after this unstoppable, rolling basketball.

 

Petia, one of the girls from my street.