k nonstop. At one na gosti I wasn’t served dinner until two and a
half hours after I arrived. It was 9:30 p.m. by then.E-mail: Bulgaria No.4
Family, Friends and Enemies,
Greetings from the Balkans. I again have some stories to share, but first I am happy to report that my web site is properly working. It took six hours to upload because of all the photos and also because the computers work about as fast as people walk here. However, if you’d like, you can see pictures and learn a little more about Bulgaria if you go to www.bulgariatimes.net. There is still a lot of work to do, but it will do for now. Please e-mail if you have problems or if you see any problems (I’m talking to all the copy editors out there!). Anyway, here are few more interesting stories from the Balkan Peninsula. If you don’t want to read all of this, I will put this on my web site eventually.
NA GOSTI
Bulgaria is famous for its na gostis – what we know as
dinner parties. The word “na gosti” literally means “a visit” but the Bulgarians
use it for coffee, dinner with friends or a birthday party. Usually these na
gostis can last up to four or five hours. People pick at their food, drink
rakiya and talk nonstop. At one na gosti I wasn’t served dinner until two and a
half hours after I arrived. It was 9:30 p.m. by then.
My most unique na gosti occurred about a month ago. After attending the local fireworks show for the town holiday I returned home by 10:15 p.m. I was undressing in my room when I heard a knock on the window. I heard a man calling my name. I ducked down and pretended I didn’t hear him because I didn’t want to deal with him. He knocked again, so I went outside. My neighbor, Vlado, wanted me to come his na gosti now! And he had food waiting! So I threw on some shoes and pants and went. He was a little annoyed and was grumbling in Bulgarian about why I had not come earlier. He led me to the basement of his house where I was met by his son, Mincho, and two other men who sat in a cloud of smoke. Crazy looking swords and shields were on the wall and Vlado’s German Shepard came out from under the gigantic wooden table.
Vlado instructed me to sit and have wine or vodka (whichever I preferred). Then he put out a huge bowl of venison stew on front of me. Then came cucumbers, meat and more wine. The others smoked their cigarettes and sipped vodka while Vlado told me stories about Bulgaria during communism. All had been in the Army. They joked that they used to be the KGB. Then he told me about how much he loved Castro and how he had met him in Sofia when he was 10 years old. At one time it was Vlado’s dream to move to Cuba. He asked me over and over about America’s stance against Cuba. He didn’t understand how America, the land of the free, could prevent people from traveling and doing business with such a great country like Cuba. Then he showed me the stuffed pig’s head he had shot a few years (a mouse had chewed away some of the nose). Then he brought out this huge machine gun. It was an old AK-47. This made me a bit nervous. I finally left around 11:45 p.m. The men were slowly getting toasted and I decided it would be better if I depart.
LOADED GUNS
Speaking of guns, a lot of people have guns here. The other night I was over visiting an older couple that lives around the corner. I was talking with them and one of their friends came over. His name is Dancho and he is around 60 years old. He smelled of rakiya and wine and was very loud, but friendly. He sat and they served him a glass of wine. Then, all of a sudden, he whips out this hand gun. He hands it to me. Then he takes it back and unloads the magazine, which had all of its bullets. He laid the gun on the table and went back to drinking. The gun was a Soviet gun, which was neat, but I wasn’t too fond of a drunk man walking around the neighborhood with a loaded gun.
DISCOTEKS
Like Americans, Bulgarians love to dance. The discoteka is a popular hang out for kids and young people. They play American music, techno and a thing called Chalga – or pop folk. It’s quite awful to dance to and even worse listen to. One thing that I’ve noticed (and I don’t think it’s just in this town) is that men are much more touchy in public then men are in the States. It’s not uncommon to see men dancing with men on the dance floor. The girls dance with girls too. I’m not against this, but it is different, and some times you have to be careful who you talk to and who you dance with.
One night I went to the disco with the other volunteers. I met these Bulgarian guys and one of them was celebrating his birthday. So I bought him a little glass of vodka. Later, he came up to me and wanted me to dance. I did for about five seconds (because I thought he had female friends) then I felt uncomfortable. I started to walk away, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back. My female friend/volunteer grabbed my other arm, as if to say that I was with her. He pulled harder. She pulled harder. Pretty soon both my arms were out of their sockets. Finally he let go. He continued to dance with himself. You might think that he was gay, but 10 minutes later his girlfriend showed up. Another volunteer here said it’s just normal for males to do that.
OTHER WEIRD MOMENTS
I don’t have time to expand on each of these items, but they’re just funny things that happened here. E-mail me if you want to know more.
- When I arrived in Zavet last month there was a stir among the people. Apparently, a rumor had started that a black man was going to be the next volunteer there. Most people in the town have never personally seen a black person, so when I showed up with my white face, they were a bit confused. That night, one man, who spoke English and said some of the most racist things I’ve ever heard, joked that I had disappointed the town with my skin color. He assured me that he was joking, but it was funny how a rumor like that had spread so quickly.
- There is a little man (dwarf, midget… I’m not sure what’s the correct term) who loves one of our volunteers here in town. One day he came up to her, almost sat on her lap, and said, “I love you.” Apparently he knows “I love you” in several languages. She was nice about it, even though he took his tiny hand in hers. A few nights later, we saw him again, but Mary (the volunteer) wasn’t with me. He kept saying, “I love you” to me and another girl. I said, “No, you love Mary”. He would shake his head and leave, then return five minutes later and say “I love you.” I quit correcting him, for I think the little man had had too much beer.