What the H-E-Double Hockey Sticks are Chicken Hards?

Last week I took a little trip to a nearby city, still so reminiscent of the Soviet era. There are large bloc buildings and fountains with new civilizations of microbes growing in them. I loved all the sights and sounds of the city, like the signs that warn of horse and carriage. We went out to eat and although the menu was half in English, it is no English I have ever seen, nor ever want to see. Some delicacies on the menu were: chicken hards (I have no idea what part of the animal that comes from), milk salad, eggs of eyes, and chicken morsels with cornflakes (sounds like something Nick would eat).

 

 

 

We passed this interesting fountain reminding me of those glorious days of my childhood when I danced in the spit of fish. Oh to be young and carefree again.

 

Friday we took a bus to another village and met up with some other trainees to play ultimate frisbee and basketball. We played at the school there and soon the kids started to show up. We were inside the gates playing and a group gathered outside. I walked up, gulped and said in horrible Bulgarian, "Do you want to play soccer?" A long uneasy pause. Did they understand me? "Yes!" they responded and walked in. Their soccer skills were impressive, bouncing the ball against their chest, using their knees and head. Every time I kicked the ball they would yell, "Bravo", probably just surprised I could meet foot with ball.

 

Saturday there was a religious celebration in town. There is only one priest for the whole area so he travels from village to village performing mass and other ceremonies. 45 years of communism had its toll on religion in Bulgaria. Every house is adorned with religious artifacts but few actively attend church. On Saturday the dedicated people walked up to the small church to hear the priest pray, to light candles and to join in a community feast.

 

Every family had their own table and people walked around to give gifts of bread. Someone from the family would carry a bucket to the large, steaming pot sitting next to the priest. A man with a large iron ladle used both hands to pour courban soup into each family's bucket. Courban soup is made with vegetables and lamb, with a nice healthy layer of oil on top.

 

*Animal special!

These are the goats that pass my house. I love it, everyday is like a goat parade.

 

This is a horse rolling around on our soccer field. And I mean literally it was rolling.

 

This picture is pretty self-explanatory. This cow looks like it has important business to take care of.

 

The kitten my family has. Time for a collective, "Awww."

 

I am a rock star. Except replace 'rock' with 'village' and 'star' with 'oddball'.

Thursday night the other trainees and I had dinner at Vladi's house (our language trainer). We wanted to cook spaghetti for two reasons: one, we were craving a familiar non-greasy meal and two, Bulgarians dislike spaghetti and we wanted to prove that it is delicious.

 

We borrowed pots and plates from our babas and we had to make use of the few ingredients available. We played American music and Vladi taught us a card game, then finally it was time to eat. Now I can proudly say that we made the nastiest spaghetti known to man. I think I can pinpoint exactly where it went wrong and it was probably when we got out of hand with the sugar and never added salt. So we ended up with very sugary spaghetti sauce, yummy.

 

After dinner we headed to a nearby town to meet up with another trainee group and attend a chalga concert. If you have never heard of chalga then your life is incomplete. Chalga is a music genre that can be best described with two words: folk-pop and sexuality. I can't understand the lyrics but I would probably bet a jar of precious American peanut butter that every song is about sweet, sweet love.

 

The line for the chalga concert.

We knew we were going some place special when we boarded the bus and half of it was filled with dressed up giggling tweens. The best part was that the concert was held in a dilapidated soccer stadium. I sat on crumbling concrete with weeds growing around me and I almost saw a man selling whistles and glow sticks wearing short-shorts and a blond wig tumble down the steps after tripping over a rusty piece of metal. It was a lot of fun, especially seeing the excitement of all the people there and hearing them sing to every word of the songs.

 

Me and my host sister.

Friday was my village's holiday, which was amazing. After a morning of Bulgarian language class we walked to the outskirts of town to join in the festivities. The air smelled of grilling kyufte and ham. Families brought food and sat on long picnic tables as the children ran around with squirt guns making any innocent bystander their victim. People horo danced to the music a folk band played. I stepped into the circle, grabbed two hands and joined in the dancing.

 

The village holiday.

 

Awkward moment of the week: I was sitting at a picnic table with friends at the festival and there are some teenagers tapping me on the soldier. They ask me a question in Bulgarian. Uhh, what? Then I see the camera in their hand and they start pointing to it. Oh, they want to take a picture with me. The teenage boy smiles really big as he wraps his arm around me and his friend takes a picture. I was such a rockstar. This happened two more times, but I refuse to give autographs.

 

Horo dancing!

 

Can you see the oil and salt?

 

 

Some trainees ordering rakia.

The rakia, it burns!

Saturday night was na gosti which is a very long meal with friends and drinks. They have a drink here called rakia which many make themselves. Just a whiff of it and I'm tipsy. They pour me some and I nod vigorously (which, if you remember, means no). We clink glasses, say cheers and take a sip. I can feel it burn my throat as it goes down, ooo it makes me warm inside. I think this stuff will be useful on those bitterly cold days.

 

They are very generous here and will give you massive amounts of food and drink no matter what you say. They asked if I wanted wine but I said no and held up my glass to show that I still had water. So, of course, problem solved they took my glass and emptied the water and filled it up with wine. They mix the white wine with sprite and add lemons and it's quite good.

 

Sarah talking with host dad Goshu.

Shah is another trainee and Sunday was his 24th birthday. The four of us from my village and the five trainees from the next village walked to a small monastery on the outskirts of town. Kolin, Shah's host brother, started a fire and made shish kebabs. Afterwards we hiked up to the waterfall.

 

 

Awkward moment of the week: While watching the Olympics I wanted to show some Bulgarian pride so I decided to yell "Yay Bulgaria!" but instead I said "Yay Blogodaria!" which means "Yay Thank You!"

 

My village.

 

Annamaria who is 9 years old and lives with me.

Cows on the loose

I left almost 2 weeks ago and I can't believe that now I live in a small village of about 1200 in Bulgaria. I walk the streets and pass herds of goats, crowing roosters, horse drawn carts and cows. Monday night I was playing basketball with the village kids and some cows came to the edge of the court to chew on grass.

 

I live with my host mom Vania, her mother-in-law Mama Ani, her 9-year-old niece AnnaMaria, her 18-year-old daughter Ani and 20-year-old son Malin. They have a family business, a small bar behind the house where people from the village come to drink, smoke and gossip. Most of the time I sit and listen. They just look at me and shake their heads saying, "She doesn't understand".

 

I like to go to БаБа Elka's house (baba means grandmother). Babas are highly respected for their years of wisdom and their skill in the kitchen. Baba Elka often talks to me like I can understand her, I give her a confused look and she gives me a big smile with her 4 teeth.

 

On Sunday Billy (another trainee) and I helped Ani and Baba Elka shuck beans for hours and Baba cooked some great Moussaka (мусака - eggs, meat, onions, potatoes). Everyone here has their own garden. Every night I have soup that only has ingredients from the garden: краставици (cucumbers), боб (beans), чушка (peppers) and more.

 

One of the most confusing things is one of the most simplest: No (не- Ne) and Yes (да- Da). For them it is the opposite way around, they shake their head for yes and nod for no. The first few days I tried my hardest not to move my head at all.

Bulgarians have a traditional dance called the horo (хоро) and there are many types. Before coming to our sites we spent a week in a mountain retreat going to classes and we learned 3 horo dances. During our final celebratory meal ("yay, you survived a week!") we got on the dance floor with the Bulgarian horo dancers and stumbled our way into the Bulgarian culture.