I’m planted in Vidin, where life feels very different from the Sofia bubble. I have my mentor teacher here— the fun, kind, and intelligent Ani— who has been my ever-present help in the resettling process. I think I won the lottery to get her. My apartment— old, endearing, and very reminiscent of Communist-era design— is finely located close to the city square. I am getting used to its subtleties, and it’s starting to feel a bit more like home as I perfect my routine for opening windows at different times of day to avert rival gangs of flies and green stinkbugs (is there any other definition of “home," after all?). But I know that in a matter of weeks I’ll be laughing at such warm-weather worries, as winters here are supposed to be pretty extreme. Thank goodness I’m not from Florida or anything! That would just be hilarious. The Friday before last was the official first day of school, but by tradition, it was strictly a celebration rather than an actual day of classes. I really enjoyed myself, which probably made me stand out even more than I already did among the stone wall of thoroughly bored student faces. They see the same thing every year, so, understandably, it’s nothing special for them. And although I don’t know enough Bulgarian to understand nearly anything that was said during the several speeches, it was eloquently explained to me by one of the 12th-graders that it’s, more or less, an hour of "different people saying the same thing” (cue a sassy eye-roll). Even so, I thought it was fun to see everyone gathered in the schoolyard. Students raised the flag and sang the national anthem, an Orthodox monk chanted a blessing while bestowing a healthy dose of holy water upon lucky spectators in the Splash Zone, and several very talented students gave vocal and dance performances. I also got to give a small welcome, and I proudly knew exactly when it was my time because I heard the key words, “Amerikanka,” “uchitelka po angliski” (English teacher), and, helpfully, “Fulbright,” in case those introductory vocab lessons failed me. I should also mention that someone was shuffling me toward the microphone, so I absolutely could not have messed it up. I began by muddling through the phrase I had been repeating in my head all morning after Ani taught it to me: chestit parvi ucheben den (happy first day of school!). After that I don’t really know what I said, but at some point I left the stage, and soon enough I was at a celebration in the teachers’ room eating minced meat balls and banitza. So it certainly could’ve gone worse. I also got 3 flower bouquets— one from an actual student, and 2 others from the extremely generous teachers who were slowly disappearing under their own large quantities and decided to share with me. “Pity bouquets” or not, I am happy to have them dress up my windowsill. This brings me to the noche loca to which the title alludes. I went along with the other teachers to their celebration dinner, which took place at a restaurant overlooking the Danube (one of my favorite things about Vidin so far). I am so glad they let me join, even though I’m such a newcomer to their school, because I had a blast. It was a chance to get to know a few of them better through conversation (the English-speaking among them, at least), and to jump into their dancing circles even though I knew none of the steps. I broke a sweat learning a few of the very basic folk dances, after much repetition, but all present were accepting and encouraging (and probably quite entertained). After several traditional songs in between courses of food, I was thoroughly amused to hear the opening notes of Enrique Iglesias’s “Bailando,” and even more so to watch the teachers effortlessly transition from their flawless folk form into a fun freestyle. I really enjoyed the luxury of not thinking about footwork for the next few songs. I’m nearly certain I ate enough food that night to shorten my lifespan, and, although my memories in Bulgaria are still few, I think I can count that one among the favorites. I have learned, to my amusement, that I’m more conspicuous than I’d like to think around town. On multiple occasions, I’ve recounted to Ani something that I did the previous day (walked in the park, went to a coffee shop, etc.) only to have her reply, “I already know that. People saw you.” I think that’s hilarious. I suppose I’ll be on my best behavior, then, and perhaps pocket those plans to spray paint Amanda wuz here 2K17 in bubble letters on the city gates (kidding— and why waste the spray paint if everyone already knows where I am all the time?). Nevertheless, I’ve had a lot of fun getting my bearings in the city, and I always seem to end up at the park or by the river (scroll down for pictures and you’ll understand why). In the interest of honest reporting, the noche loca really stretched itself out into more of a semana loca, although I will decline to change the title in order to stay true to the lyrics of the aforementioned Enrique song (strictly a matter of respect, given the high likelihood that he is among my readership). Classes kicked off smoothly overall— some, of course, more smoothly than others— but I believe it will be an exciting year, and one in which preparedness, persistence, and a very animated attitude will likely be my closest friends and most important accessories. Of my 16 classes, many are engaged and well-mannered thus far, and make the day go by quickly. Still, a few seem as if they’d rather fight Goliath on a tight rope with nothing but a slingshot and some 1-ply toilet tissue than let me hear them speak a single word of English. And that’s when the 45-minute class period becomes something more like a scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail: a knight (me) walks toward the horizon (the end of class), yet the horizon, somehow, keeps getting farther and farther away. Nevertheless, it’s quite early on in the year, so I won't yet mount my imaginary horse that is actually just two coconuts and click-clack away into the distance. Many of the students may still be in summer-mode, or perhaps just not as comfortable with their speaking skills (and/or the new clown at the front of the classroom) as I hope they will be with the passage of time. On the extra-curricular side of things, this past weekend brought me to the not-so-far-off city of Vratsa to spend time hiking, cave-exploring, evil spirit-banishing and story-swapping with five fellow Fulbrighters. The togetherness seemed to be a perfect prescription for all that ailed us, and now lesson-planning and other incendiary responsibilities for the week ahead nip at my ankles as I stretch out my break for just a little bit longer to type up this incredibly important, State of the Union-status blog post on which my faithful followers depend. I will conclude with some photos of various things that have entertained me and some of my favorite spots around town. This is Vidin!
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If you're wondering how this blog post will differ from the acclaimed Agatha Christie novel, Murder on the Orient Express, I will spoil it by letting you know that there has not been a murder here. In all other ways, however, critics find both works to be on relatively equal footing. Even despite the lack of heinous crime and lawless misdeed, our orientation was a whirlwind; full, intensive, and just plain lengthy. Eleven days of seminars and language lessons and buzzing around inside the same walls with the same flock of humans is, as it turns out, exhausting. In many ways, it really wasn't my jam. At the worst moments, I felt Earth’s atmosphere rudely shrinking in around me and pushing me into this herd of people— way smarter, more well-traveled, and far better conversationalists than I— and I would have loved to climb into a hole or blast off into space or something equally as dramatic just to get away from the pressure-filled commotion. I craved a break from all the talking, sitting, listening, remembering things, writing them down and doing it all over again the next day. Show me to the rocket ship, cried the introverted parts of my brain, already clad in my mental space suit and imaginary oxygen helmet. At the best, though, I felt a newfound place among an incredible hodgepodge of people that I would have probably never met under any other circumstances, and with whom I got to share several rare and extraordinary moments. We’ve learned enough to make me feel prepared for the year ahead (and possibly more), and have been treated with kindness and esteem. Between everything, I’ve already seen some parts of Bulgaria that make my stomach flutter. And, no, that’s not traveler’s diarrhea. In all, very opposite reviews of the same two weeks. But with such long days and a schedule that flung us from one thing to the next at 100 km an hour (extremely smooth attempt at blending in to the metric system), the dusty crevices of my wonderfully human brain had bountiful opportunity to switch from one feeling to another and everything in between. Speaking of dust (editor's note: I lost my train of thought, and it turns out this is not relevant to dust at all), one part of the hubble-bubble (not an academic term) of orientation was an introduction to several service-related organizations throughout Bulgaria, aimed at helping us find ways to volunteer our extra time. We are firmly encouraged to get involved outside the realm of teaching, which I think is not only admirable but crucial in order to have a purposeful experience here. It’ll surely take some time getting settled at first, but I look forward to exploring that side of things once I get a handle on life in my new community. And alas, today is the day most of us leave Sofia in the dust (perhaps this is how I meant to start the previous paragraph) and jet out to our separate cities all across the country. Currently, I stare at my 2 suitcases— may God bless them— and one comically overstuffed backpack, experiencing this rare phenomenon called "down time" before heading to the bus station. As everyone filters out, hugging and see you later-ing in a manner very reminiscent of the end of summer camp, I’m positive we’re all bound for great and strange adventures. It is a group both smart and strong, and we are lucky to be where we are. More to come! |
A play on blagodarya
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