Glory Ho

So it’s been a busy couple weeks. . .and I’ll fill you in on some random information that describes our social life here in Sofia.

Last Wednesday I had a tutoring session at Dunkin Donuts (of all places) with Radost, my teacher, and then Michael and I went to dinner at this Lebanese restaurant off Graf Ignatiev Street with some U.S. Embassy post-MBA employees. . the meal was cheap, the service was smiley and the hummus was amazing. A new staple for us.

At some point, (forget when) I had another going away party for a Traditzia board member–a party (held in the same fish-bowl-lamp room of our Peace Corps swearing in) with tiny-meat-on-a-toothpick trays, a translated speech and a wide range of Bulgarians, Germans, Brits, Americans, and even, perhaps, some Russians. I did my best to wander confidently through that foreign labyrinth of well-dressed women and cheek-kissing acquaintances. Thank goodness my British pals began calling my name.

Thursday, after two hours more trying to get our Lichna Karta (we are still Lichna Karta-less, however) we then we took off for the adventure of the package from Lori & Gary. After a 20 or so minute search through a seedier side of Sofia, we found a massive, pillared building, whose inside resembled an old courthouse or county building–high celings, a marble floor, wooden-framed counter windows. But then we were directed toward a rickety annex that looked like it was under perpetual construction. First there was a series of window visits, and a four leva fee, but a trip to the storeroom was how we eventually retrieved the curve-edged, retaped object that likely once resembled a box. Then we just had to carry it home. Thank you to Michael’s parents for everything!!! Especially grateful for the knee-high boots–now I look like a true Bulgarian.

That night, we hosted a volunteer, Leslie and new Canadian friend, Sara, at our place, munching baklava, sipping wine and chatting about the Northern American music scene (and learning a thing or two about Inuits) in our Middle Eastern Room. Pull out the hideabed, get down the extra blankets, goodnight.

We ran on Saturday. If there’s one “glory-guarantee” it’s running the morning after a soft, early snow. And the statues “looked dream-like on account of that frosting. . with one mile behind me and 2 more to go. . .” My snow-covered dancer in the park, comically appeared to be showering and shaving, the white stuff seeming like suds across her stone figure. The thigh-to-foot, bent-knee statue, skeletal detail, tendons, muscles, showing and all (my own personal running icon) was simply covered in powder as it perched upon its pillar afront the Oborishte theater. That strange, tree-trunk-table and wagon wheel bench (not coffee table! I thought you said you liked it!) that sits on the sidewalk for no apparent reason, was white as well, as if a confused baba had thoughtfully covered it in a lace cloth, awaiting celestial visitors. Then, there was the out-of-place godzilla, the artfully-scaled alligator, the eye-less kangaroos and finally, my favorite piece: the rusted iron, nearly hollow consecutive sillhouettes of a human head, with yellow figures popping toward the inside from every second one–as if portraying the thin layers of someone’s mind, each occupied by vague new controlling visitor. Vertical as it was, the snow left it untouched.

I then popped my head into Ani, the red-haired newsstand lady, to say “doobroutro”, ran past the embassy and ambassador residence guards in all their seriousness, found a new videoteka, a great used-clothing store and then headed back toward our apartment, to rest outside our buzzer, dodge dust from shaken sheets above and ignore those suspicious of my stretching.

Saturday post run, after a trip to the phone company and post office with our landlord we picked up a drying rack, bought groceries and promptly ran into two visiting volunteers (Toni and Randy) on Rakovski. Later, we met them at Osheepka, an affordable favorite with a strange dungeoun-like downstairs, for salads, Zagorka and Black Ram (whiskey). Two hours later we were again, in our Middle Eastern Room blinking at candles, blowing smoke, discussing the Bulgarian social mores. Another sleepover.

The next day, we set off at 10:30 for a rugby game up in the foothills. The two Lincolns (B-17s) met me, Michael and Toni at the two lions on Vitosha and headed via taxi towrard the random rugby track in the foothills, where the grunting, face-mashing, bloody and below-freezing battle would begin. They warmed up with calisthenics. We warmed up with kufte, toast and a woodburning fire in the nearby restaurant. Bellaruse native Jenna and Australian wife Christine were two characters–and the only other female fans (seven fans total) at the game. I learned a little bit about rugby and gained a strange combination of respect and bewilderment for the guys. Afterwards, the Murphys Misfits headed to J.J. Murphys, their sponsor, to consume a free keg. THat’s when I bailed to make an appearance at the Internal Women’s Club Bazaar where I bumped into some Brits, the fullbright scholars as well as a few volunteers–and Traditzia board member and wife of Peace Corps staff, Heidi, who graciously gave me a basket of goodies (oreos, teddy grahams microwave popcorn) from the USA.

This week, there’s Salsa dance lessons on Tuesday, a concert on Wednesday, Peace Corps office visit tomorrow, shopping for Thanksgiving on Thursday and then the trip to Chepalare for the big meal.

We’ll be thinking of you, dear family and friends.

Thank you so very much for your wishes packages, comments and love.