ZAVET – The winter is coming.

All day and every day people here tell me about how terribly cold the winters can be in Bulgaria. Up until a week ago I was a little skeptical. The weather had been quite balmy for October and November. The temperatures were in the low 50s and the sun shined almost each day. Besides, I have learned that Bulgarians, in general, hate any moving air and prefer to sit in hot, muggy rooms.

But for about a week it has been dark and rainy. The air has a bite that I haven’t felt since I lived in Montana. The worst of it is that the cement apartment I live in doesn’t heat up at all. I have a small electric heater that I sit next to, but that is all I have. I have resigned to wearing long underwear most of the day.

I have complained a bit to some locals and they just smile.

“Wait until the real winter comes,” they say.

It has been interesting watching the transition from fall to winter. People long ago cut their firewood and stored it away for later. They also canned most of their food in early September. The trees have lost most of their leaves and the once-green pastures surrounding the town are now a dull brown. The center, where all the cafes and bars are, has turned into a ghost town on days when the weather is bad. Bulgarians, like the Russians and other Eastern European people, are hunkering down for the winter.

The biggest news to come out of this area in October was the earthquake. It happened the week before Halloween. Around 11:20 p.m. I was talking with my site mate, Caroline, and another Buglarian friend, Zhivko. Suddenly the whole room shook and then it shook harder. It lasted around 15 seconds and was registered as a 5.6. It came from Romania. No major damage was done, but it scared some people.

The next day I saw a teenage girl who I know. She had lost her voice so I asked how she was doing and how long she had been sick. She said, “Since last night. I lost it after the earthquake.”

I asked how this could be. She said the earthquake scared her so much that she became sick. I asked over and over if she was joking, but she seemed to be serious. I have found that statements like this are quite common. Over and over I hear people blame their sore throats to a breezy hallway or a drafty room. Just last week I contracted strep throat (a nasty strain too) and all people would say was, “It was that cold beer you had last Friday. Now you have a sore throat because of it.”

Another friend of mine has been sick on and off for a month or so. She has a cough and a sore throat. As a last resort (I guess) she is going to have injections. By the way, injecting medicine is very common here. I looked at the bottle of medicine that she was going to put into her and I saw little pictures of animals (specifically a cow, horse, goat, sheep and what I think was a dog).

I asked where she got this bottle. She said from the veterinarian. I couldn’t believe it. She said that the doctor had not been able to cure her, so she was trying something else. She claimed this medicine was the same, but more concentrated and stronger. Of course it couldn't be all the cigarettes she smokes that could be contributing to her sore throat, right? I calmly agreed, but inside I was asking myself, “Is this insane or just a cultural thing?” I still haven’t decided, but I’m leaning toward insanity.

A major holiday just ended this week. Ramadan, the holy season for Muslims, concluded this past Tuesday with a three-day celebration called Bairam. After fasting for about a month, Muslims get together and have family feasts. It’s similar to Thanksgiving or Christmas. The children must bow and kiss the hands of the elders. After that, the older people give the children food, money or gifts. I know a seventh grader who ended up with 50 leva.

Most Bulgarians are Orthodox Christian, but in Zavet the population is 50 percent Turkish – and almost every Turk is Muslim. We didn’t have school on Monday. Of course, no one told me this until Sunday afternoon. Tuesday was an optional day for the students. And as usual, since it wasn’t a regular school day, it was chaos. Things finally returned to normal by Thursday.

Teaching is getting easier here, but there is always confusion. For example, the other day I arrived bright and early for my 7:30 a.m. class. I entered the building but didn’t see any children. I thought this a bit odd since there always seems to be kids at the school. I made my way upstairs and found the teacher’s room full of teachers. I wondered what was going on. “We’re having a stakach,” they said. I soon discovered that stakach is the word for strike. The teachers were striking for one hour that day in protest of the ministry of education. Of course, no one had mentioned this to me. So, we all sat in the room for an hour, then we went back to work, except that classes were shortened by five minutes.

Ah, never expect the expected in Bulgaria.