Whenever I get to the end of something, I wished I used all the time doing something useless, like watching non-stop episodes of Gossip Girl, more efficiently. I have been so busy the last few weeks party planning, yearbook making, school finishing, packing, saying goodbye, seeing friends etc etc that I have had no had time to just sit down and reflect, let alone write this blog.

It is crazy that 27 months has come and gone, but here I am at the end of what previously seemed like forever amazed that it seems no time has passed at all. I also stand in a good place, knowing that I have loved and been loved and grown more than I could possibly explain. I have met some of the most amazing people and created friendships that will continue into the eternities. I have seen some of the most fascinating and beautiful places and experienced some of the craziest, most mind-boggling things. And I have loved every second of it – even when I hated it. I am honestly sad to go. I would not have said the same eight months ago, but things have been going very well recently, and I feel that Bulgaria has truly become home. And just recently, I have met some of the best people and had some of the best times. To be honest, I am not ready. I feel like I have to be ready only because the time is up, but I guess I will really figure that out when I am in the states. Who knows, maybe I will hate it and be on the first plane back to Bulg.

I am taking off Tuesday with Sehee and Ljudmil to Venice/Slovenia/Croatia for the beginning of six weeks of travel. It will be a whirlwind ride so I am hoping that upon arrival in Phoenix on August 7th that I will be able to finally take those quiet moments to just sit, think and reflect on this amazing journey. Those writings will eventually come.

But for now, I very excitedly announce my new project:

I have taken two loves and weaved them together to form my new venture Hoot! The ideas are still bouncing around full-speed, but they are taking the shape of street fashion/urban culture journalism joined with a vintage clothing store and styling project. After the Southeastern Europe portion of my trip with Seh, I take off solo for four more weeks in Western Europe, finding and documenting street fashion and style, as well as unique, alternative elements in urban art and culture. Essentially, my routing is this: Venice – Ljubljana – Zagreb – Split – Dubrovnik – Amsterdam – Rotterdam – Antwerp – Brugge – Brussels – Paris – Munich – Bamberg and Berlin. If any of you have any tips or hookups, please pass them on.

You can be a part of Hoot! and follow my journey at my new blog:

Hoot!

You can also follow me on Twitter:

Hoot! on Twitter

After I get back to the states, I pretty much plan on being a free spirit for a while, road-tripping the USA to find vintage inventory and see the many of you I haven’t in so long. Please let me know if your floor is available for crashing! And if anyone wants to jump in the car for a while, companions are welcome!

Many of you have been on this grand journey with me, many not, yet as I nervously prepare to re-enter American society as a completely different person and figure out the next chapter in my life, I hope you will be a part of it. Also, I’m looking for the following things so if you are feeling giving, helpful or in the know, do tell:

carphone + cheap contractlaw school insevent-planning opportunitiesgraphic/web design helpphotoshop lessonssewing assistance travel buddies job and/or freelance work

Hope everyone is well. Until next time, spread the word of Hoot!

Too Late to Be Ready from amy williams on Vimeo.

Things have been crazy hectic around here trying to finish school, get packed, party plan and execute, yearbook finalize and other random things I get myself involved in. For now I just have a vlog for everyone, but hopefully soon I will find some time to catch you up to speed and introduce my next phase in life!

Also, here are some links to the photo albums of our awesome:

Coming to America party and Bobo Bachelorette.

Every year I experience serious anxiety and depression during the days leading up to my birthday. Refer to the May 2008 blog for why this is if you do not remember. Last year’s bout was particularly bad, but I believe that was due largely to the fact that for the three weeks prior, a bad Easter egg had ruined my digestive system and thereby my life. Even so, I dread the day. This year with so many things going on both in my life and in my head in the preparation to leave Bulgaria and seeing the days and weeks zoom right past me, I did not have nearly as much time or energy to wallow in my birthday hatred. I more just wished it would come so it could go. However, all my worry always seems to be for nothing, for my birthdays in Bulgaria have never been bad.

This year was no exception as spring/summer finally came, blessing us all with the ability to wear tank tops and sandals. I met some of my favorite people in Sofia, for a day so low key that it was great. The Bobos plus Ljudmil (Sehee’s boy), Maria, Teddy and Billy spent the day with me shopping, eating, lounging in the park reading magazines and criticizing what passer-bys were wearing. The most amusing part of the day came when we went to Billy’s amazing hotel room his parents got for him and played the Ben Kramer game and contact spoons. Now the Bobos are fans of spoons. We have been known to play this with whatever materials are available – sugar packets, straws, you name it. This year it was my bracelets (because let’s be honest, I wear enough for the whole of Sofia to play spoons). The contact part of this game came up when Billy suggested we place them on the bed so that a race and dogpile were necessary to come up victorious. By the end of the night I was bruised, sore and wearing bracelets that were oval instead of round. It was great fun, however, and I am glad I was able to spend my 25th birthday with such fun and fantastic people. The ones sticking around will be greatly missed.

The following Monday at school my kids were super cute and remembered my birthday. Each class pooled their money and bought me flowers and gifts of jewelry. I was really touched. I do not think I realize how hard and sad it is really going to be to leave them. I do not know how ordinary teachers do it year after year. Every day a lot of them beg me to stay for one more year and ask me why I have to go. My only answer is that it is time for me to move on to something new – I am young and have a lot of the world to see. They do not understand this. I am also really terrible with goodbyes – I always have been. Rather than make a big deal out of it, I prefer to just slip out and move on. This method only covers up actually dealing with situations or getting closure, so I am probably going to have a real thick dose of not-ready-to-be-in-America-yet when I come back. I am not expecting the transition to be easy. In fact, I am coming up with every possible way to avoid the process all together. I am refusing to commit to anything. Even something insignificant like getting a phone means I have to stay in America, and that idea frightens me. I mean no offense to any of you by it, but I am not sure American life is ever going to really fully suit me again. I do not feel a burning desire to come back to the states, perhaps because if I do, I feel like the life of adventure is over. Maybe I just need to get over this. Anyhow, for all of you who will be around when I return, I ask for your patience and understanding. Things are not going to be the same – I have changed in every way you can and might be like a stranger to many of you. But I am going to try and make the best of it.

I should also back up and give a very public thank you to Miss Sarah Kesselman for scoring us Kenny G tickets. Truly an only in Bulgaria moment, Janel and I had 5th row seats to admire those curly locks and swoon to easy listening jams. We had two extra tickets so our original plan was to find some hotties on the street who wanted to join us for this special night, but I think the hilarity of Kenny G might have been lost on them. We ran into Billy outside who was attending with his colleagues so he invited Ashley and Neil to take our extra tickets. However, after the show and in order to document that this great occasion really happened, everyone wanted to get a picture with Kenny. I was certainly onboard, but quite hesitant as Sarah’s boss, the agent who got us the tickets, was actually there and I knew this news would get back. When I worked in the industry I learned that the trick was to appear like you belonged, not that you wanted to be there. This was the thing that bugged me the most – that you could never legitimately be a fan – and why I hid loving Hanson from the management group I worked with for a year and a half. Granted I am not a fan of Kenny G and if he knew the real reason we stuck around like dorks to get a photo with him, he would probably be offended. However, the action is within the same context. The others were dismissing my hesitation, but less than 48 hours later Sarah tells me the first thing her boss tells her when he gets back is how her friends waited to snap a picture with Kenny. My fears were not unfounded and now my reputation is ruined! Regardless, the evening was fantastic and I can boast with chuckles that I have now seen Michael Bolton AND Kenny G in concert… in Bulgaria no less.

Pictures from the 25th Birthday and Kenny G

Anyway, I am not feeling super insightful or particularly funny right now to make the rest of this very interesting. I am busy doing mundane things like planning for a huge party I am throwing for a lot of the volunteers in a few weeks and working on the yearbook we decided to put together. Student council-y things that suit me well. School ends in 3.5 weeks, but it seems like we are barely there anyhow. I am also trying to get a dance ready for the kids to perform for the last day of school and finish planning my summer adventures.

I hope everyone is well. I love and miss you all.

Bad Bulgarian Haircuts Look Like This. from amy williams on Vimeo.

I go to church in Sofia. Not as regularly as I would prefer, but regularly enough to know that 70% of the attendees are what I would classify as abnormal. Such abnormalities range from crazy prostitute makeup, chatting on skype with a laptop during Sunday School, unwarranted screaming fits in the middle of meetings, creepy skeezy staring, asking the unsuspecting American if she can talk about God in your psychic friends network group, answering and conversing on phones in the middle of what is supposed to be quiet and the list goes on. I am not sure what it is about the church in places where it is young that causes it to attract the strange ones. Perhaps it is just the lack of established culture and practice. Only the young members really seem to decently normal, and I suspect this is because they are better educated and more traveled. Each Sunday I am guaranteed to walk away with not necessarily a spiritual uplift, but ammunition for my blog and a good story to tell. Last Sunday was did not disappoint.

As everyone was preparing for and sitting down for Sunday School, my marvelous American friend Susan came up to me and explained that it was vital I look at our teacher’s shirt. This teacher is the piano player in meetings and I previously saw the backside, which was just a long-sleeved orange t-shirt with a counterfeit Dolce and Gabbana logo on the back. I looked as she was writing on the board with her back turned to us and saw nothing particularly out of the ordinary, but Susan said “oh you just wait.” A missionary behind us overheard and commented, “Yes, I noticed this too.” Now if a nineteen-year-old boy’s attention was grabbed by fashion or a fashion mishap, this was guaranteed to be good. Finally the woman turned around and the great reveal happened. I had the great privilege of witnessing in English, “Sex is my favorite business” on the front of her t-shirt. Yes people, it is true. Next to pictures of Jesus, behind stack of scriptures and in front of explanations of the gathering of Israel, Sister Sunday School teacher had the audacity to wear such a treasure. Now maybe sex is her favorite business. I am sure it is the favorite business of quite a few people in that room, but is this not something you keep to yourself? At least on Sunday while at church of all places?? After I saw it, we all had a little meltdown and the 7th grade immaturity was ignited within us all as we snickered, giggled and passed on the awareness to every other American in the room. The next forty minutes of class then became dedicated to plotting how were going to get a picture of this. We tried some secret snaps and involving the elders in a little scheme, but at the end of the day, this was the best we got.

I commented to Susan, “we are so going to hell”, but she responded, “I don’t think the irony is lost on Jesus.”

Now I have not only been making fun of unsuspecting church members on Sundays over the long duration of time I have not written a blog. The last two months have been quite busy, full of travels and holidays. I back up to the end of March, where all of us B21 volunteers headed to Bankia for our close of service conference, which was great and terrible at the same time. It was wonderful to see our group, share our experiences and gain new perspectives on Peace Corps service while evaluating our own. However, I had very intentionally tried not to think about the next step in my life 1) in efforts to concentrate on being here – really being here and not checking out early and 2) making plans is not in accordance with my new philosophy of living life.

I will rant on #2 for a bit here. This is very different from the person I used to be – I always had a plan and more importantly, I usually made exactly what I wanted happen. I used to talk about my life plans with such confidence – the kind that made me seem very ambitious and the goals quite impressive. At the end of the day, that speech was rehearsed, lacking the passion required to make the ideas embedded in those plans actually come to fruition and reach their full potential. The ideas I had certainly did not lack value, but the plan that evolved from them only existed because it was something I thought I needed to have. Something I believed completed me as a person. Something that gave me purpose, value and worth. That speech, or more precisely those plans, are what is expected of an educated, smart, ambitious and well-brought up person. Or at least that is what society conspires to make us believe. I think a lot of people feel safe in such a speech. Safe in those life plans. Because if you know, or think you know, exactly what you are going to do, life becomes easy. You are granted entry into the “I know what I am doing with my life” club, which is very prestigious considering a good portion of society will instantly judge if you are a worthwhile person based upon mere membership of this farce of an organization. Then once in, you are allowed access to the pool of friends and potential relationships that also have this so-called life plan. Like it is mutually exclusive or something. Furthermore, you are deemed to have “focus”, a qualifying characteristic, but focus can very easily turn into blindness. When we are young this focus is very linear – college, grad school, job, rising in the career, building a financial portfolio, buying a house, marriage, children etc etc. Well, it has been a long journey for me, but I now subscribe to the view that it is all complete ridiculousness. The plan, the focus, the club, all of it. How many people reach fifty are say, "what the hell was I thinking? I have not done anything I have really wanted to do. I have lived without a passionate purpose." How many think, "I have been content, but never completely happy?" Well, I believe there is a way to synthesize it all in a way that makes it real. Life is not about the plan – its spontaneous. There can be no plan. I find that plans just get screwed up, so it is better to have ideas, concentrate on really wanting them to happen and wait for the universe to give what is meant to be. What will really make you live. Life is about happiness. The journey. Faith in something greater than what we can control.

Anyhow and back to where I started, COS was very unpleasant in that it forced me to start thinking about things not in accordance with my beliefs above. Money, resumes, jobs, health insurance, grad school etc etc - things that are supposed to happen if they should versus be forced. It completely stressed me out, because once I start worrying about one thing, I worry about them all. The way people the material at the conference was presented, I was reverting back to thinking I needed to do things traditionally. It is very easy to get sucked in, which prepared me a little bit for how difficult it is actually going to be to live freely when I return to the states. That fear is what makes the states a very undesirable place for me right now, but the world will point me in whatever direction I am supposed to go.

COS + Earth Hour Pictures

In a great breath of fresh air, right after the conference was spring break. A good chance to forget about everything from the week before. Janel and I headed to my friend Maria’s in Sofia to participate in Earth Hour, a global awareness initiative about saving energy and living more green. Basically, a few buildings in Sofia pledged their support to shut off their lights for an hour. We went to the National Theater where there was a congregation of young, progressive-minded people hanging around and participating. Such people do exist here, just not so obviously. Lit by candlelight, there were musicians, fire dancers and all sorts of performers entertaining the crowds.

Janel and I left early the next morning for Rome, where we met the fabulous Sarah Kesselman to begin our Italian vacay. We couchsurfed the entire time, which gave us the amazing opportunity to meet locals and eat local food! Our first host in Rome, Alex, was a complete nutcase, but so fantastic. I thought I was going to die on numerous occasions as he whizzed us around Rome in his car singing the Indiana Jones theme, dodging cars and pedestrians like a video game and completely ignoring any attempt at traffic regulation in the form of signs, lanes or lights. Rome was great, but there is so much to see that it can kind of be stressful. The days were so long, intense and sleepless that we all got sick or suffered from some form of physical ailment. We kept trudging though through ancient ruins and endless churches, up bell towers and along narrow streets full of things I wanted to buy and hoards of tourists and high school groups. My favorite part of Rome had to be the Spanish Steps, because I love public spaces like that where people just congregate. We do not have too many of these in the states and in Bulgaria, people are scared of sitting on anything but a chair so they definitely do not exist. Such places are the breeding ground of youth culture and street fashion and we just sat there for a couple hours watching people from all over the world come together and interact.

After Rome we headed to Siena, which was a bit of a nightmare at first because it was pouring rain and our host Levante lived atop the highest hill in the entire city. The hike was outrageous and I had to hold on to the fence just to make sure that my overloaded pack did not send me back down the mountain. However, the next day the weather was in our favor and we saw an unbelievable medieval city. Of all the million churches we went into, the one in Siena was certainly the most beautiful. We went up to the bell-tower and enjoyed an unbelievable view completely alone! Siena also had the Campo, which is one of the first public spaces of its kind. Like the Spanish Steps, it just attracted the life and breath of the city with people spread all over the place.

Florence was the next stop and the bus ride from Siena blessed us with the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen. We really were under the Tuscan sun ☺ The trip just kept getting better and better as Florence was amazing. Unlike Rome, it is a walkable city, which made the experience a whole lot more enjoyable. Our host Francesco and his roommate Carmen were awesome and cooked us some fantastic Italian food. They suggested the sunset on top of the hill Michelangelo, which was unbelievable and certainly a highlight. In Florence there seemed to be more of an arts culture as compared to Rome and the number of students and young people definitely made it livelier. That could have also been its drawback as the number of American sorority girls abroad was too many. One of the nights we went out to a bar, met some Italian guys who seemed not skeezy who took us to a club full of American abroad kids where they turned skeezy and had to be dealt with. This club was like a meat-market and the closest thing comparable was Walkabout in London, but even that was way more fun because they would play Hanson and cheesy europop. Being hit on by so many skeezy people, the night became a game to see how fast we could piss these potential suitors off by our bitchiness and game-playing. I brought out my fake name Nadia. Eventually it was time to go and when I got my coat from the coat check and subsequently lost my ladies, the high point of the evening came when I met Remy, my new coat-checking friend. He was the least trashy thing about that entire evening so we exchanged numbers. After our next morning at the Uffizi immaturely making up dialogues for the naked sculptures and finding the greatest second-hand treasure trove in the history of the world nearby, we met him the next afternoon for a personalized tour of Florence. He was great fun, a good time and full of laughs.

After Florence and no sleep, we headed up to the Italian Riveria to Cinque Terre – five villages carved into the rocky coastline. They are famous for the hiking trails between them, which we were blessed with great weather to explore. I think at one point this area was the secret gem of Italy, but it had so many tourists for even April and the natural beauty was kind of spoiled by the number of people you could tell had been there. Graffiti was everywhere, even on the plants. The restaurants and buildings were also so tourist-oriented, and there were Americans everywhere. The days were buzzing with people, but we stayed in Vernazza, the smallest of the villages, which died after the national park closed. As such, it was a much needed relaxing environment where we finally got the sleep we all desperately needed. In beds too! We went out to the one open bar and met some random locals and travelers, which was a good time, but we mainly stuck around because Janel was trying to make the moves on the obviously gay bartender.

All in all, Italy was unbelievable. I have loved a lot of the places I have been able to travel to, but there is something really special about Italy. I guess that is why everyone loves it so much. It is progressive and developed at the same time as being untainted and quaint. The food is amazing, and I wanted to purchase everything I saw. Thanks to Sarah for coming all the way from LA to meet me, because she is just that fabulous. I love you!

Rome Pictures - Set 1

Rome Pictures - Set 2 + Siena + Florence - Set 1

Florence - Set 2 + Cinque Terre

Other Italy

Back in Bulgaria, Janel and I were dealing with Italy withdraw by watching Only You, Under the Tuscan Sun and La Dolce Vida. Outside of this however, it was time to get back in the swing of things. In late February my school had a change in administration, which definitely changed the attitude and atmosphere at work. The previous director was so fantastic. This new one is less so, and I have not been getting the support needed from her and her cohorts or getting along with my colleagues very well. It is not that we have problems, but more that they cannot be bothered with me so I have finally given up being bothered with them. I also know I am not going to be replaced by a new volunteer so I am kind of waiting to stick it to them for taking me for granted and not being very helpful when I have major problems. For example, before spring break and as a result of the carelessness of other teachers, those dreaded 8th graders broke into my room and stole a lot of my things. The administration did not seem to care, and the teachers involved just became defensive when I tried to solve the problem myself. However, other than directors and colleagues things at school have been quite good. My students and I have reached a nice, comfortable place. I think they are appreciating me more now that they know I am leaving soon. It will certainly be sad, and I will miss how they make me laugh every single day. Also, for the most part dance classes have been going okay, except for the typical drop off in attendance. Bulgarian kids are notorious for not sticking with things, but for those that do come, we have a good time. It is good to do something that I love.

Tomorrow we start another vacation for St. Georgie’s Day. Refer to a May 2007 blog entry for the horror that is this holiday. Sarah K scored us Kenny G tickets so Janel and I are going to kick it easy listening style again before heading down to Blagoevgrad for spa weekend with the girls and Boboshevo for a host family reunion. Then it is back to Sofia for my birthday celebration on the 9th with the girls. I am not a fan of my birthday, but it will be good to have a low-key celebration with those I love most. Kevin will be the only person missing! The big celebration happens in June when I will be throwing another huge costume extravaganza. Anyhow, I know I have not been doing a very good job at keeping in touch, but the street runs both ways! I hope all of you are well and know I love and miss you. Keep me informed about your lives and give me a ring! 213.985.2877.

Housekeeping:

Winter Wandering Pics - Jan-March 2009

Mardi Gras Pictures - Feb. 2009

Kukeri One - March 2009

Kukeri Two - March 2009

I am not sure if it is because spring is approaching or that the end is near, but I have been on a really good path recently. Very content, very happy. Ever since I returned to Bulgaria from my American holiday vacay, things have been on the up. Of course there are bad days here and there, but I have been focused on changing my way of thinking, approaching my situation and work differently and opening my heart to receive what the world wants to tell me. I have been on a journey and it has been a great one. For some reason, I always feel as though I reach this particular point at the end of an era. I have three and a half months left in Bulgaria and only now after twenty-three of them do I feel comfortable enough to really get over myself and seriously give selflessly. I think every Peace Corps volunteer has an idea of what service is about before they begin – an opportunity to completely forget about themselves and be immersed in serving others. That ideal quickly evaporates when the reality of living in a different culture and trying to make it work exposes some serious trials and difficulties. I have struggled with what my service meant for pretty much the entire time – never entirely being comfortable. I think a fear of some sort held me back. Perhaps of failure? But at the end of the day, the Peace Corps is a journey of self-exploration. Every volunteer’s day comes at a different time - the day where the fear and inadequacy have been conquered and you are comfortable enough to really be who you are and make the most of what is in front of you. It is not even an identifiable moment – it certainly is a process, but one-day everything just seemed to come together. Many volunteers will agree, but this always seems to happen at the end of service when time is nearly up. Only now am I comfortable enough in my town, speak good enough Bulgarian and have gotten over thinking about myself all the time to really focus all my time and energy on my work and community. And not just do it, but want to do it. And so, I am happy to be here. I am happy to go to work everyday, and I feel I engage in it a lot more. Every night before I go to bed I pray that I will love my students and treat them with kindness and respect, and I have really felt the difference. I like them a lot more. I feel we are rebuilding some burnt bridges. I can laugh and have fun with them. I have started teaching dance classes again, which has been a main ingredient in my recipe for happiness. It is something I love and can pass on to the kids. I have also been helping some colleagues write a grant proposal for funding to build their NGO. And even though I will not, I could honestly stay here longer and be fine with that when maybe six months ago I could not get out of here fast enough.

As always, my kids are the main recipients of my attention these days, so there is always a good funny story to tell. In 6th grade we are working on future tense so I put a take on tarot cards on the board and made them partner up to tell each other’s futures. There were different categories like love, family, work, pets, toys etc etc. Here is what Dimitur had to say:

“Moni won’t marry because she will be a horse. She won’t have any kids because she is a tramp, but she will be very rich because she makes a lot of money at her job. Her toys will be a vibrator.”

Unfortunately, I did not understand his last sentence when he read it and asked him to repeat, which upon hearing realized he mentioned vibrators, decided was not the best idea. I also decided that teaching them tramp was probably not in anyone’s best interest, but a few days before when most of the kids were absent we got to talking about slang. That came after one of my kids Bobby raised his hand and said, “Miss Amy, I have to ask you something but I am kind of embarrassed.” At that point all of the other kids tried to coax it out of him so he just came out and said it, “Miss Amy, what is a blowjob?’ I just burst out into laughing and luckily did not have to take care of that one as the other boys in the class did. This child was obviously unlike the others in not knowing everything bad or all things slang because afterwards he asked, “Miss Amy, you know how boys and girls have different things? What is the name for what the boys have? You know, the thing hanging between their legs?” I deferred to Kristian who jumped at the chance to say penis in class. I asked him where he even heard blowjob and he said some song. Someone needs to pay attention to what these kids are listening to.

Anyway, back to the futures, in one of the classes after we finished everyone’s futures, the kids asked me if they could tell mine. I agreed and this is what I got from Sisi:

“Miss Amy will marry Kevin and they will have 5 kids. 2 girls named Miss Amy and 3 boys named Kevin. They will live at the school. Miss Amy will be a teacher and Kevin will invent video games.”

I tried to clarify if indeed I was to have two children with the same name as me and she said yes. Then Phillip said:

“Miss Amy will be an astronaut and will travel to Mars. There she will meet an alien and they will fall in love and have 50 mutant babies.”

Sisi then piped in and said 20 of them would be named Miss Amy and 30 of them would be named Kevin. Note to any female PCV out there: do not have your male site-mate substitute for you unless you are prepared to deal with the fallout and constant conversation about you being in love for the rest of your days.

Outside of school, I have had a few pretty tiring weekends. The end of February brought Mardi Gras where a ton of us volunteers landed in Sofia for a night at the Irish Pub and then the disco. It was a fantastic time where somehow despite very little sleep and a bad haircut, I ended up being on the wagon ALL NIGHT as one of the last standing at that disco. When I am on, I am on. The embarrassing part of the evening came at four a.m. when I was perched in front of the hostel TV with a plate of Chinese food and some guy came out in the room in front of me while I was flipping the channels. I got a bit startled and dropped the remote, had a five-minute conversation with the guy and as he crossed the path of the TV to head to the bathroom, realized I had dropped the remote without noticing the TV was on some hard-core porn. I flipped to the BBC and tried to make it look like I had not touched that remote in forever when he came back around.

The next weekend was Martenitsa and Bulgarian Liberation Day (from the Turks). Martenitsa is definitely my favorite Bulgarian holiday (details in video above) mainly because it means spring is coming around. We headed down to the Rhodopi Mountains in southern Bulgaria to the village of Shiroka Luka to see the famous Kukeri festival. Basically, Kukeri is where people dress up in CRAZY scary costumes and do interesting dances and sketches in efforts to scare off winter. It was the last must-see thing I had left to do in Bulgaria so it was well worth the long travel. There were sooo many volunteers down there, which made the whole event a lot of fun. The masks and costumes were incredibly interesting and the colors were unbelievable. They were also selling traditional Bulgarian crafts, which were to die for. I have been in the market for some awesome rugs and tapestries for a while, ever since I saw the Rhodpi style in front of a tourist trap in Sofia. I have been holding out for exactly what I wanted, and luckily I found a million of the exact thing at this festival. I spent about two hours total haggling with the sellers and pitting them all against each other to score some amazing deals. In the end I bought two rugs, a tapestry and two pairs of socks. Just enough for another suitcase home… One of the sellers told me, “You sure know how to bargain.” I guess she can credit my mother, though never in a million years will I wish to adopt my mother’s buying, selling, returning or eating in restaurants methods. Sorry mom. Anyhow, after the festival we went to Smolyan, which was a beautiful town, but the most interesting thing there was the amazing thrift store near the hotel we stayed at. I went in two separate times, coming out with some gems all for 50% off! Even though I told myself I needed to save money for Italy in a few weeks and stop increasing the baggage load, I just cannot help myself. Thrift stores literally drag me in. I think “thrift store” is a word I need to know in every language. I have an eye for втора употреба.

Click for my facebook albums one and two to see the great Kukeri pictures and here are some of the Kukeri videos. Sorry some of them are on Google video (which sucks) but Vimeo was being problematic this week. Also, one is upside down, which is sad.

Gypsy Parade at the Kukeri from amy williams on Vimeo.

Horo at the Kukeri from amy williams on Vimeo.

Scary Costumes at the Kukeri from amy williams on Vimeo.

In closing, I am going to share with you someone I have been loving. Like many who jumped on her train, I heard of Elisa a while back when she was the song on the So You Think You Can Dance Season 3 with Lacey and Kameron. Anyway, I googled her and loved all of what she did. It definitely will not be everyone's cup of tea, but she is a very diverse and interesting artist. She is Italian but writes her music in English. Here is a video of her at the Vatican Christmas concert a few years back. The beginning is a little more shaky than she normal performs, but she has an unbelievable voice.

Love and miss you call. CALL ME!

Happy Valentines Day! Like most other western-world celebrated holidays, this one is close to non-existent here in Bulgaria. Unless, of course, you count the pink balloons the lady at the cosmetics store tried to give me for purchasing some eye cream or the cheap V-Day trinkety things sold at the school store next to rulers and pencils. When did I become old enough to need eye cream? Anyway, in honor of Saint Valentine and love, I want to say how thankful I am for all of you wonderful people in my life. I think about you every day and treasure your love, support and friendship. And I pray that every day you can feel mine, even across the oceans or lands or wherever you are. I still laugh at our good times, cry at the sad times, and see your beautiful faces smiling all the time. And I love you tremendously.

I have reached the point where I have been here too long. I think it is a good when I can walk down the street and everything that was previously bizarre, ugly, nonsensical and foreign now just seems normal. I believe they call this integration and I think adaptation to a new place is a beautiful thing – no longer approaching things from an American perspective, but from the perspective of a girl who has had the wonderful experience of seeing a lot of things in a lot of places and finding the beauty and good in it all. However, I do wonder where the line can be drawn between this and just simply becoming used to something. And in becoming used to something, lowering or abolishing the previous expectations that made that thing strange or undesirable in the first place. And is changing those expectations a good or a bad thing? Is the bad becoming good? At the end of the day, my senses might be in a state of complete dysfunction, but how do I really know? The judgments coming from my sensings came from some specific point of view – a force in the world that tells me what the things interpreted by my senses should mean. I believe that some things are intrinsic - they simply exist as a natural state of the world. But then again, I also know that things have meaning attached to them simply because someone or something decided and expected that is what they should mean. Is the sun rising because it is a law of the natural world? Or because someone decided to label what the sun does every day as rising? And does this happen every day only because we expect it to? Furthermore, the sun is bright only because someone decided the word for what the sun looks like was going to be called bright. It could be dark or green or rain. The sun can be good or bad. So really, what does anything really mean?

I think about this all the time in Bulgaria. For example, when I first arrived in this country everything smelled disgustingly awful. The stench of cigarettes densely woven into people’s clothing, plastered on their breath and emanating from their pores. The frightful aroma radiating from the streets – piles of animal waste, slow-moving and ill-functioning sewage systems, trash going up in flames and drunken men rotting in the smell of alcohol and the lack of bathing. Somehow I reached the point where things which were once repulsive have become almost good. Comforting in a way. I walk down my street passing over the sewer where I would have once nearly puked and do not ignore it, but consider it a friendly smell. A normal one. A man with the aforementioned cigarette smell sits next to me on the bus and the thought of how I might hold my breakfast no longer comes. When it came to men, the girls and I called this Bobo goggles - we had not seen an attractive man for so long that we started to convince ourselves that the men we were around were somehow suitable, acceptable and even good looking. That only got us into trouble, which brings me back to my original question. I wonder if this entire phenomenon, becoming used to something or integrating or whatever it might be called, is a problem. Furthermore, what does this mean for my next step in life, whether that be going back to where I came from or finding somewhere new? How will I adjust? How can I depend on my ability to judge and discern anymore? I expressed this problem to Janel and she just told me to stop opening my fridge, which is known for its rotten smells.

This problem with my senses losing their senses is manifesting itself in another way. I would like to think that I hold a uniquely specific perspective when it comes to art, beauty, fashion and aesthetic. I know that it does not match others’ and I have never been particularly concerned about that. I suppose that is why I could wear shirts that looked like curtains and mariachi pants in high school. Or how I can wear things considered unfashionable here in Bulgaria. The only aesthetic eye I need to please is my own. But I often wonder where that eye comes from? Who is telling me what is good versus bad looking? Is it coming from within? Am I unconsciously inspired by the things I see around me? Or things I think I should see around me? Where are those things I think I should see coming from? Am I really listening to those people in the world that dictate the trends and determining what is art and beauty? Anyway, you are all probably very aware of my hatred of harem pants – dumpy pants as I affectionately call them. I wrote a blog about them back in September after my summer travels where to my surprise they often appeared in fashion-forward cities. Unfortunately, by now they have penetrated the world, come to the US, been appropriated into mainstream fashion and can officially be declared a trend. I read a lot of fashion and street style blogs, considering it to be research for the day when I open my own store. Plus I am fascinated with alternative styles and street culture. The point is, I am seeing harem pants on a daily basis now. I see them in the fashion scenes I love. I see them styled in a way that is daring and ambitious. I see them out of the Bulgarian context. I see them so much that I fear that I am close to liking the dumpy pants. This scares me. I cannot imagine why this would happen, considering I have hated them since the day I arrived here and saw them. Are they just less offensive because I see them all the time? Or because everyone else likes them so I think I should like them? Am I that easily influenced? Is this like the sewer smell phenomenon? More problematic, what does this say about Bulgaria in terms of being clued into trends? I stand by my assessment that Bulgaria is behind ten years on the fashion timetable and not setting any themselves so I question what cheap manufacturer made these children believe they were cool? The Italians? The Turkish? It is all very mind-boggling now nothing is making any sense. Kill me now before I think Crocs or exposed bra straps are acceptable or even cool.

My kids have taken to teaching me about their style, so I am helping them with the translations. After Christmas we had speaking exercises where the students had to tell me what their favorite Christmas present was and a 6th grader Mihaela said she liked her G-pants. G-pants? Never heard of them. I asked the class what these were and was met with open-mouthed gasps and admonishments. Apparently they are saggy jeans that have the top of boxers sewn in to peek out the top. Do we have a name for these things in English? I immediately thought of Tupac, which fit right along with where Bulgaria is at on the fashion timeline – reveling in 1994 gangsta or slut style. I taught them the words "saggy" and "to sag", which nicely, they have used since. I did some poking on the internet and apparently G-pants stands for gangsta pants. The look these G-pants are trying to emulate is this, though in the second the dude has True Religion jeans and designer denim-wear is way ahead of where we are at here.

Earlier this week another 6th grader Bobby asked me, “Miss Amy, do you know about M-style?” M-style? Never heard of it. What is with these acronyms? He told me that M-style is where boys wear hair like this (demonstrating a sweeping, eye-covering effect) and the kids cut themselves. I could not help bursting out in laughter and told him I did know this style and it was called emo in English. He asked me if I knew people like this and told him yes, but that this style became popular in the states in the late nineties/early 2000’s. He seemed confused but went on to say that he hated these people but loved the hair. Bobby, I am with you. I too love the emo hair in the indie-rocker-over-the-age-of-21-not-goth-or-shops-at-hot-topic kind of way. Perhaps hope for Bulgaria’s hairstyle future lies with this child. Sweepy will always be in. At least in my mind. Again I did some poking on the internet and died a little inside and laughed an enourmous amout with what I found. First, did you know that emo was recommended to the Russian government as a dangerous teen trend according to Wikipedia? Then we have emo haircuts so please tell me if YOU can tell the difference between scene hair and emo hair! And if you do not know about scenesters, do not fret. You can learn to be one here!!!

Other than thinking about these mild amusements, I have been doing a lot of reading, primarily The Alchemist. Thank you to Janaina for suggesting the book to me. The read came at a good time, as I am approaching the end of the road here in Bulgaria and need to make some decisions about my next step in discovering my personal legend. I feel very close to the story, because my senior year of college I had a plan for my life, which I was very comfortable with. Akin to Santiago’s sheep herding if you will. By a stroke of luck, which at the time seemed to tear my world apart, everything changed as the world conspired to help me realize that I was not on the path to finding my personal legend. The signs were sent and thankfully I listened to them and from then on I have been on a wild journey that has sent me to great places. I am really glad I started it. Most people I know at home are either awed or surprised that I am here or wistfully say something akin to “I could never do that.” Or they think it is a phase I am going through and will one day return to the life of “normalcy” and “settle” down. Well my friends, I have always had big dreams. And when I say I am going to do something, I will. I do not believe in “I wish”, “one day” or “when I am older”, because that is just prolonging happiness and exploring and learning about the world. I find a way to make it happen. Maybe my treasures lies exactly where I came form, but like Santiago, I have to take the journey to discover what I want that treasure to be. It is not the destination that matters, but the journey. And it is hard as hell, but I am sure when all is said and done, I would have had it no other way. Anyway, as I said before, I have been thinking about the next plan in efforts to align it with my personal legend. Moreover, I am trying to really define what it is I really want. This changes daily but my options now seem to be opening a vintage store or travelling the world in Asia. I will accept thoughts and opinions ☺!

I hope everyone is well. Happy Birthday to Colin Noonan. I absolutely love you Coash and hope it is fantastic! Also to MDAer Allie Anderson, London roomie Andrea Hughes, the beautiful and fun Emily Winnie, the ever fabulous Ryan Hale, my good Bulg buddy Toli and Aunt Carol and Uncle Tim – hope your days are (were) amazing.

The Best Inventions (according to 7th grade Bulgarians) from amy williams on Vimeo.

When I was thirteen, I thought my life was the best it was ever going to be. It was so good that I decided on my birthday that year that I was going to stay thirteen forever. Now let me set the scene: It was 1997 in Tulsa, Oklahoma and I was in the 7th grade. I spent my weekends at Woodland Hills mall with my best friend Jessica Collins buying loads of watermelon sour straws from Mr. Bulky’s, coveting pink satin shirts that said “whatever” Clueless style at the 5-7-9 and wishing that the “almost A” from Playtex in the lingerie department at Foley’s came in an “almost AA”. When we were not at the mall we entertained ourselves with private Mariah Carey dance parties (Always Be My Baby was a must-play) and religiously watched Days of our Lives and The Young and the Restless, which we knew everything about from scouring the weekly Soap Opera Digest during breaks at school. I was on the drill (dance) team and thought I was hot stuff high-kicking away at halftime games for those 7th grade hotties or wearing my little uniform to school on spirit Fridays. But most significantly, I was in love. I even shared this love of the boy of my dreams with my other best friend Genelle Anderson. Mr. Taylor Hanson led me to do some things in those days I am certainly not proud of – I stole some grass, left a BoM on his front step along with his favorite Jelly Beans, ran away from home, drove my family insane with the strict Hanson TV taping schedule, wrote an infamous Superteen article and peed my pants at the Laser Quest where Genelle and I camped out on Fridays hoping to get a glimpse - and for those that know me well, that started an epic era in my life. Genelle and I even decided that we would be supportive if he fell in love with the other. We were committed. This love was legit. Furthermore, it ruled my life. Overall, at that age I was overly dramatic, awkward, scared of boys, waiting for boobs and my first kiss and overwhelmingly obsessive and fanatic. Some of these things have not changed. The thing is, I loved my life and as I look back, I am really grateful it was so much fun. My memories of my early teenage years are filled with so much color, so many stories and more than enough amusement that still has me laughing today. As ridiculous as so many of those things may seem, they have shaped me into the person I am today. For better or for worse.

A while back I had a conversation with Day about what it is about girls like us that causes us to have these really intense personalities that lead us to obsess over ridiculousness. What is it that causes us, along with the other Bobos, to still really love awful movies and TV meant for thirteen year olds whilst we are in our mid-twenties? What is it that draws us to celebrity gossip, sequins, High School Musical, dance parties, Saved By The Bell re-runs, Celine Dion music video making, Amanda Bynes, Newsies, singing loudly in public and costumes? What is it that causes us to unleash our inner crazy in bouts of giggles, gaggles and screams? It certainly is not generational - the monstrous, shrieky creature known as the tween has endured throughout time. Is this a girl thing? Or is this a thing for a very special breed of girls? And in case of the latter, is there some gene that denotes crazy in the pre-teen/teen years? And more so, how did four of us coming from that same breed, though I give an exception to Sehee because she is far more pragmatic and sensible than the rest of us, land in the same training group in PC Bulgaria? Day and I also discussed what it will be like if our own kids possess similar personalities. I cannot imagine what my parents must have been thinking as they were trying to parent this crazy 13tween year old girl. Not only did I want to be involved in everything, which required time, schedule planning and ridiculous expenses, but I dragged my parents probably through hell and back with my love for Mr. H. My mother claims she was trampled by thousands of screaming girls when I dragged her all the way to Frontier City in OKC to see them. And my father, who dies a little inside at the mere thought of dirt actually allowed Genelle and I to climb inside his car with handfuls of rocks, grass and pinecones, which we scored from Mr. H’s house. (and now that is out, let us never speak of it again.) Anyway, all the way from Bulgaria Day and I were thanking our poor parents for their patient endurance and lamenting the moment that it comes back to bite us in the form of our own offspring. So thank you mom and dad. Going back to that promise I made to myself on my 13th birthday, I do not think I realized it at the time, but I would indeed stay that age forever. I do not anticipate that crazy, fanatic thirteen-year-old girl will ever fully disappear.

With that said, I backup the chronology here to AB (awesomely bad) girls weekend (click for pictures) that took place the first weekend of December. It was simply amazing. The purpose was two-fold: to see High School Musical 3 and visit the newly opened Starbucks. A ton of us ladies headed up to Day in Pravets for spa treatments, Buffy watching, Amanda Bynes drinking games (shots of tequila (or orange juice) for each time she falls in What A Girl Wants), vegging on pizza and charades. It was fantastic. We made the trip into Sofia to take Cosmo quizzes at lunch and get the coffee and goodies we had been missing out on for well over a year. You would have thought we had never been to a Starbucks before, but the staff got wind of out excitement and gave us extra free scone samples. More wonderful, however, was the HSM3 viewing. As with all films we see in a theater in Bulgaria, we were the only ones laughing or if we were not alone, everyone else’s reactions were much delayed. This is due to the subtitles and the fat that lots of culture and jokes do not translate well. I am surprised we did not get kicked out of that theater considering how loud and ridiculous we behaved throughout the entire showing. It was great though and we found no shame in shrieks and sing-a-longs. Afterwards we even scored a photo session with the entire cast - the cardboard form of them. I would not have been surprised if by that point, the entire 3rd floor of the mall knew who we were. At the end of it, some lady muttered, “I am not sure how people behave in England so I do not know if this is considered annoying or not there.” Whatevs lady. YOU try to channel that Zac Efron generated squealing.

Back at school, things were going so much better than they were before I dumped my 8th graders. It is amazing the difference actually. I am so much happier now and willing to step up and do more for the other students. Every once and a while the worst 8th grader storms into my room screaming at me and I have to refrain from telling him what a waste of life he is, but for the most part, all of our lives are better. The rest of them are still just as amusing as they ever were. Homework grading is now one of my favorite parts of the job, because guaranteed, I will be laughing. I will share a bit of my joy:

7th Grade homework assignment: Write house rules and what you think of them.

Emo: “Do my homework - Very often I don’t do my homework and I lie the teacher it was very hard. But I can’t lie Miss Amy. Listen to the teachers. I don’t listen Miss Amy very often but I do it.”

Rumi: “Everyday I must excrete waste but I simply have no choice”

Gabi: “Everyday I must spew trash”

I sense the use of a bad translation service.

7th Grade Pen Pal program: Write a letter to a 7th grader in Iowa telling about yourself.

Vesko: “I don’t like most of my teachers. Especially Mrs. Dojcinova our PE teacher – they are always shouting, screaming, and sometimes even hit us. I like our math teacher and Miss Amy.” (under the picture of me) - “This is not a monster (don’t worry), it is my English teacher.”

Am I that scary looking?

7th Grade homework assignment: Write sentences using the given vocab words.

Ivan: “I have one friend called Peter and his mother is a virgin.”

Zornitsa: “Mrs. Petkova’s virgin because hers man is died”

Stanislava: “Donald’s mom was a virgin”

I do not think they understand that concept entirely…

7th Grade homework assignment: Write about your dream girl/boy.

Gabi: “And the most important is he mustn’t have a girlfriend”

Desi: “It will be perfect if he can cook, clean, tidy up, do the washing up and mop the floor.

These girls obviously know what’s up with Bulgarian men. Good luck to them.

Ivana: “He mustn’t be a gypsy. He mustn’t be dirty, stupid or a grumbler… but this boy doesn’t exist because he is a dream boy.”

At least she is practical.

Stanislav: “About her appearance. Her hair has to be dark or blond and not very long. Her lips have to be small. She mustn’t be taller than me. She has to be 13 or 12 years but not younger or older than me. About her way of dressing. She must wear sport clothes. I think with jeans, sweatshirt and trainers. I hate smart clothes. She doesn’t have to be slim. I hate this…”

Hope with such precise pre-reqs that he finds her!

Kiril: “She must be on my years. Must be as high as me. She must be blond. Should not be fat. It must be beautiful. Must like guys like me. Not to look at other guys. She must have attractive name. Must speak several languages – English and Bulgarian. Must be developed for her years and consider the other.”

Who taught him “developed for her years” aka big boobs? Sure was not me. I have a feeling this kid is going to turn into the man Gabi and Desi are looking to avoid.

Outside of school, the last weekend before Christmas vacay Day and I headed to Bobo (click for pictures) to pay the host parents a visit. It was short and sweet, which is the way time with the host families is best spent. The most interesting part of the whole weekend was the attempt to leave. We thought there was a bus at 8:50 to Sofia and while were mozing along taking pictures in the center, the bus to Dupnitsa which we gave no second thought to was filling up. It left and 8:50 passed so we started to ask around. I sent Day to one villager while I took another at which point we learned there was no bus. Problem. But as happens in villages, in no time at all we were ushered into a paneled van that did not open from the inside while a superbly stinky driver raced us out of the town. We had no idea where we were going and just chalked it up as adventure. Eventually the guy stopped on the side of the highway and let us out to get into the bus to Dup, which he apparently called the driver of and told to pull over and wait. Crazy. Things that would ordinarily kill you in the states get you where you need to be here in Bulgaria. And I love it.

Finally it was time for Christmas vacay and I could not have asked for a better one. I jetted out of here to London (click for pictures) where I met Meg and enjoyed that great city’s festiveness. Oxford and Regent streets were unbelievably beautiful. We even went down to the Tower of London to go ice-skating and experienced no tumbles or spills! Katy and her boyfriend Jamie met up with us to be our photographers and accompany us to the Wagamama (Sethala, Brettany, Isabird – be jealous!). The London bit was short and sweet as the next stop was sunny Los Angeles. Seriously, thank God for that place. I landed and after the initial weirdness of hearing so many American accents around me, walked out side and wondered why it was that I ever left. That thought entered my mind a number of times as I spent time with my favorite people in the entire world, ate pinkberry, drank root beer at the Chipotle, got a pedicure, went to the LACMA, walked to the Beverly Center, ate Mexican food, went to the beach, played yahtzee at Café 50’s, ate C&O’s garlic rolls, drove a car, went vintage shopping in Long Beach, went to Noah’s Bagels on Larchmont, karaoked in Little Tokyo, played charades with my fantastic Glendale crew, wandered Old Town in Pasadena, went to the American Apparel, bought something from every aisle at the Target etc. etc. ETC! LA was amazing and my life and friends there are fantastic. Phoenix was sandwiched in between the LA jaunts, which was just as great. My family is hilarious and it was great to spend time with them as crazy and sometimes frustrating as it can be. I also got to see some long-time friends and special people in my life that I cannot live without. Taryn Kaehr and I organized a mini high school reunion, which was actually a lot of fun and I got to see some faces I had not in a very long time.

Now I have only been away from the states for twenty-two months, which in the grand scheme of it all, is not long. However, you would be amazed how things have changed. Most of you are experiencing these changes as they come so they do not seem strange, but for me, they might as well be like what Bulgaria was to me when I arrived. So, onto the new things in America:

1) Electronic billboards. There were a few here and there before I left, mainly on Sunset Boulevard or near the Beverly Center, but now they have replaced the paper ones. And they are real distracting. How is this safe? And how is the carbon output good for global warming? And how is this good for generating jobs. Where is the billboard putter-upper now?

2) Credit-card payment at parking meters. This has sprung up quite a bit and I am pleased. No one in the states walks around with anything but a credit card.

3) Parking garages with beaming lights where there are spaces available, along with a electronic notice that tells you exactly where they are. Good, but I feel like this can become inefficient when everyone is racing for the same place. I got myself into a pickle at Century City mall.

4) No cash registers in the Apple Store. This was a problem. I wasted 20 minutes of my life walking around this store telling myself I was not crazy and there was a cash register somewhere.

5) The presence of Blackberries and iPhones. The people who had Blackberries before I left were the few who were given them for work. And usually they had a normal, unblingged phone with it. Now everyone has one or both and has become a slave to their communication device. I just do not know what to do or whether to be offended when I am having a conversation with someone while they are thumb clicking away for minutes at a time! This is where I prefer a lack of technology. I still have never owned a phone with a camera.

6) Blu-ray. Never heard of it. Still do not know what it is and was admonished for that.

7) Rockband. This has taken over people’s lives. Guitar Hero had just come out before I left so I am not sure what kind of craze that started. But Rockband has taken over social lives. No one goes out anymore, they play Rockband. It was the Christmas must-have. You need an entire new room for Rockband. But you know, I kind of love it. I feel like if I was around it all the time, that would be a huge problem.

8) French pedicures = not cool. When did that happen? I do not want to revisit the memory of the look I got from Elyse when I said I wanted one.

9) Bluetooth in the car. Whhaaat? Weird. Guess that is what happens when using the phone becomes against the law.

10) Foam soap. Sam Hagler, I am with you here. It was around before I left, but now there is nothing but.

11) Ceramic hair dryers. We are still light years behind over here when we have just now got the ionic kinds and even those are ridiculously expensive.

12) Diaper vending machines. America is becoming a place where you do not have to carry a single thing.

13) No people at the desks at the airlines. We have not seen this yet in Bulgaria, mainly because most of the people here have yet to fly. And before I left, you still had to go to the desk, even if you checked in before. But it works.

Surely there are more but I have since forgotten they are new.

Overall, being home was great (click for pictures here and here). Not only to see some familiar, loving faces and enjoy the things I have not been able to in a long time. But because so many of you are such an integral part of me that has been missing in its full form since I have come to Bulgaria. Yes, I have amazing friends and support here - but even though we know each other well, we have not known each other for a long time. There is something that comes with time – understood patterns of behavior, understood ways of thinking, being able to recognize when someone is doing something not in their best interests etc. You people knew me before Bulgaria and though I believe and advocate for change and continual evolution, it is important to have those around who are going to hold you accountable for the person you were before and the goals you have always had. As such, the vacation was needed as so many of you took time to sit down and listen to craziness and endless blabberings in efforts to make sense of things myself. You ask me the good questions. You give me the good advice. You know me and what I need to hear. You love me when you know I am being ridiculous. I thank you for all that. After the vacay in Amerika, I came back with a lot of ammunition to change my life for the better and dig myself out of a longstanding rut. And honestly, I am much happier now. It is a process. It is a journey. It is never going to end. But I received some much needed inspiration and motivation to keep moving forward and loving it along the way.

That leaves me where I am today - on the home stretch. At first coming back to Bulgaria was misery, mainly due to the cold and amount of snow and ice around. It took two hours to get to the store and back in the pouring snow. Compared to sandals and dresses in Los Angeles, it was dreadful. Bulgaria was also experiencing a major gas crisis – Russia cut off supplies to Ukraine, which is where we get all of ours so everywhere running on gas heat was closed or using rations. As a result, we did not have school when I first arrived and for two weeks there were shortened classes. This caused the days to creep by, but we are finally back on a normal schedule. Last weekend was Janel’s golden 25th birthday so we combined her party with Sehee’s to take over Stara Zagora with golden fabulousness. Check out the pictures here. Time goes faster when I have parties to plan. Now we are on the vacation between terms for a couple days and I have only got five months left! Unbelievable. Now it is time to make them worth it.

In closing, I have missed a million of your birthdays on the blog but I love you all anyway! Till next time, stay classy kids and call me! 213.985.2877.

The UWT (unholey white tights) Bandits Strike Again! from amy williams on Vimeo.

I've got a lot to catch you all up on and a lot to make sense of myself. It's coming in bits, starting with the vlog. Enjoy and I'll be back soon!

Stay classy kids.

VB from amy williams on Vimeo.

Sorry for being MIA. I should have a bit more time this week so I will get you all up to speed on the details of my life. Including, the FABULOUS Awesomely Bad Weekend we had this weekend.

Housekeeping first:

1) Halloween Pictures

2) Fall Pictures

I have been the unfortunate victim recently of what can be best understood as a bad luck spell. I am not sure I believe entirely in the concept of luck. For the most part I believe that the forces of the universe, whatever they may be, come together to bring about the instances and experiences that are necessary for my life. Obviously these are both bad and good. But this pair of opposites is necessary, for without one, the other cannot be known. For the most part, I am happy with those forces. Yes, they bring some pretty undesirable things sometimes, but at the end of the day, I believe it is all intended for my benefit. And usually they are quite considerate not to bring too many bad things at once - amidst long-term struggles and problems they nicely gift me simple pleasures like finding a cute new dress, watching someone totally trip (which, lets not lie, always makes life better for the passer-by) and enjoying a new Gossip Girl episode. I appreciate this and try not to go hating on the world or tarnishing the name of the great forces when something undesirable happens. For the most part, I see the point in everything and if I do not, I enjoying searching for it. I must say however, that I become a bit frustrated with these forces when I feel they deal me way too many seemingly pointless and petty frustrations and unpleasantries at a single time. That would be now. Leave me be to concentrate on the big things ye honorable forces of this great, wondrous world!!! Please do not distract me with uselessness!

It all started when Kevin left, which I will go into details about later. The day was super depressing and while in Sofia waiting to meet him at the train station to see him off, I decided to treat my sadness with some retail therapy. I went shopping and found myself a fantastic pair of over-the-knee, brightly colored argyle socks. I could dedicate an entire blog to how much I love argyle. Or over the knee socks. Needless to say, I loved them and they were worth every stotinka of the twelve leva I paid for them. But somehow during my tear-induced, post-goodbye travel home, the socks disappeared. I looked everywhere. The next day I even went to the bus station, got the phone number of the man who drove that bus, went to the café where I was told I could get bus-driver-411, was swarmed by eight bus drivers who seemed to know everything about me, including where I lived and interrogated me about my love life while I waited for the intended driver, was driven to the “bus park” to look in the bus, and after all of that, still did not find the socks. And trying to explain why I was causing such panic and commotion over a pair of cheap socks was embarrassing and unpleasant. Yes, at the end of the day they were just socks and not very expensive. But I loved them. And after losing my best friend here in Bulgaria to a grand adventure in Thailand, I certainly did not want to lose the socks I bought to replace him…

The bad luck only continued the next week. Daylight savings time comes a week earlier in Bulgaria than in the US. To begin with, I do not understand the point of daylight savings time at all. I do not see why those farmers just did not get up and go to bed an hour earlier during the winter. Why nuisance the entire world with changing the hours?!? And if such a ridiculous thing is going to exist, why change it at different times in different parts of the world? It makes absolutely no sense to me. Regardless, I never remember. Ever. Therefore, I am always an hour early to church. Happened last year. Happened the year before when I went down to the OC for Josh Decker’s farewell and killed time at the Jiffy Lube. Happened each of the three years before that at USC where I killed time at the library with the exception of when I was abroad in London and killed time at Hyde park. Such luck. Anyhow, even after an email from Peace Corps telling us about it, I still did not remember. As such, Sunday morning rolled around and I was supposed to help my new site-mate Katie get to Sofia so she could go to church. I ran to the bus I was already late for, did not see her, and with an audience of all-nighter drunks, called Katie to learn that it was actually 7:30am, not 8:30. Too late to get off the bus. I felt a little better because Day, who I was supposed to meet later, had made the same mistake and been waiting for a bus that was not coming. While traveling, the two skeezies in front of me decided to get all paparazzi and blatantly stuck their camera phone in my face multiple times to take my picture. It was the English-speaking on the phone that apparently warranted their thinking they could do whatever they wanted to the foreigner, so I gave them ugly faces to brighten their memory of me. It was real annoying though and it is times like these where I wish my Bulgarian came naturally enough to say eff off and sound like I mean it. Disgusted, I turned my face into the chair so they had no view of it and tried to go to sleep. I did not succeed, mainly because at some point the man on the other side decided to stick his hand in my lap, as though he was putting/taking something from it. He had a business card or something similar in his hand, so I popped up, gave him the look of death and asked him in Bulgarian what the hell he was doing. He did not say anything and just motioned apologetically. I hated each and every Bulgarian at that point. I eventually got to church where to my dismay I found out that church was actually an hour later that week than normal. Two hours to kill now. I hung around my new friends Curtis and Susan and their adorable little girl Mia until church started, because they had made the same mistake. But since I was supposed to meet Day, I did not get much of the service in as I left early. After sitting on a tram that took forever, I finally met up with her at the mall. Unfortunately however, somewhere between the door and the first store, my phone disappeared. Again, I looked everywhere. I had just spent way too much money on that phone a month before when I renewed my plan and now it was gone. To make money matters worse, I needed to buy powder/makeup in long-delayed response to some previous bad luck of dropping a 55 lira MAC compact three days after I bought it in Turkey and with makeup costing as much as it does in this country, blew 90 leva at the makeup store.

The bad luck did not get better upon returning home, for I was informed that my trip back to the States for Christmas, which was meant to be a surprise to my parents, was spoiled by my best friend’s mom. But I suppose I should have expected the word to get out. Gossip happens. And moms have nothing better to talk about because their kids’ lives are far more interesting than their own. Furthermore, after trying to go without a phone for a while, I eventually had to blow 100 leva to buy the cheapest new one. Ridiculous. In addition, I have bad luck with computer mice in this country. I am on my fourth. I feel like these things should not break, but they do and recently I had to purchase a new one, which came in a plastic carton. It required cutting to open and just my luck, I cut the cable of my brand new mouse in half. Great. I even pulled a trick only my mother would pull and replaced that cut mouse with the previous non-working mouse in attempts to fool the storekeepers. I went back to the office store and while watching them uselessly try to get the mouse to work, tried to pretend I was just as surprised as they were. But my charade was useless, for I could not find the receipt beforehand. 15 leva sucked down the drain there. And yesterday I left my 5th umbrella in this country at the dry cleaners. Ultimately, it is the beginning of the Month and half of my living allowance is already gone. I hate spending atrocious amounts of money on things that in the States I know where to get cheap. I also hate losing things, because it does not happen too often. But here in Bulgaria, I have terrible luck with umbrellas, mice, gloves and cell phones. I cannot seem to hold on to any of them for long.

So here I am now, accepting that life these days is just plain frustrating. And more so, they are lived without my partner in crime, Kevin. He was probably the hardest thing I have ever had to say goodbye to and I did not handle the whole situation well at all. I was in denial for a long time and when it was clear that his leaving was imminent, I took out my hurt and frustration on him. It just seemed easier to wish he were gone than deal with the pain of having him go. And when I knew the goodbye was coming, I dreaded it and just wished it were over. As such, the visit to the train station was not enjoyable at all. It was just basically counting down the minutes until I completely broke down, which I did… and for a long time. I realized in trying to understand my feelings and reaction to Kevin’s departure that I have never really been left – I have always done the leaving. It is usually me leaving my family and friends for something new, fresh, adventurous and exciting. I left Oklahoma. I left Arizona. I left LA for London. I left everything and everyone for Bulgaria. And with something big in the near future, one is granted a completely different perspective to saying goodbye. I have had to miss family and friends from afar, but amidst time and thought consuming new experiences, which makes the missing much easier. I have not had to endure life in the same ole place, same ole way without someone terribly important and vital to me in it. At least not for an extended period of time or possibly, forever. So this is a new thing for me. And I do not like it in the slightest. Anyway, dealing with my thoughts and understandings to this experience is an important time in my life. I am so, so excited for Kevin and his great adventure in Thailand. In all honesty, I am jealous. I wish it were me. I told him that I never expected to go through this experience in Bulgaria with anyone; I imagined I would do it alone. This is one of my biggest faults in life – trying to convince myself that I do not need the help and companionship of others. But having him as my partner was truly one of the greatest gifts I have ever been given. I know I can do this alone and it will be ok, but I do not really want to – life is so much more fun with him. I guess that is the test now - conquering this crazy mess we call Bulgaria by myself.

Sadly, the only way I can get a start on that is by getting rid of my 8th graders. Altogether school has been good, with the exception of those awful 14 year olds. I know, I always complain about them and there is good reason. But I have reached the end of the rope now. I did not want to teach them last year after I realized how impossible it was going to be. But I kept going because I am not one to give up. I gave it a terrible and painful year and to be honest, I do not feel good about that time at all. I started with a new set of 8th grader this year, thinking that it would be better because I knew them beforehand. I did not expect losing eleven of the good students, which as I have learned from the experience this year, kept the other students’ ridiculousness and awfulness hidden. Peer pressure if you will. Now that I am left with ten “reject” students – I do not like to call them that, but really, they are the children not ambitious enough or with good enough grades to get into high school, plus behavior-problem ridden students from other schools without an 8th grade – and they seem keen on making my life hell. Last year was a bit different, I had a few allies amidst a few enemies and the rest had the potential to be good. It was day-by-day with them as I guess it is with all children of that age. But this year, they absolutely hate me. The entire class has apparently made some sort of pact that if they all just do nothing, Miss Amy cannot do anything about it. And sadly, they are right. I think of that Machiavellian principle all the time – it is far greater to be feared than loved, but by all means you must not be hated. And I have lost all respect in this class. They steal my stuff, they speak rudely to me, they make fun of me to my face, they run around all class, they show up ten minutes late, they lie to me all the time, they do not listen to a word I say, they laugh when I try to have a serious conversation with them, after the director leaves after yelling at them for twenty minutes about behavior problems they laugh and say Miss Amy cannot do anything about them, and all but two of them are failing my class and do not care in the slightest. They know at the end of the day the system is going to pass them. By just existing at my school in the 8th grade, it is clear that grades are not important to them so I have absolutely no leverage. I am conflicted because I feel like I am failing as a teacher and giving up on them, just like I am sure many other Bulgarian teachers have, but I think I have lost any and all ability to teach them anything. And I cannot let them ruin my life – and they do. Last year I thought of coming home so, so many times. But I committed myself here and was determined to see it through. This year with these students it is 1000 times worse and even though there are only eight months left, I am unwilling to just “get through it.” I have better things to do than that. I feel bad making any sort of ultimatums here, especially considering that if I do not teach these 8th graders, no one will. But I cannot do this anymore. I did not come here to be miserable, waste my time or sacrifice myself because someone else is not willing to do so; I came to try and make some sort of change, to teach a child something. The worst part of this situation is that I love my other classes. Yes, they are difficult. Yes, there are problems. But they respect me and let me try to work those out with them. I do not want to leave them, but if the demand I am about to make is considered unreasonable, those 8th graders just might be my ticket out of here.

On a happier school note, the other kids crack me up every single day and I love them for that. I have this one 6th grade student named Mitko. Sometimes he drives me crazy because although he is incredibly smart and knows English very well, he finds ii impossible to pay attention. But I get it; it is hard for some kids. He does not exactly misbehave, but he is obsessed with flies and snails. Last year on the last day of school he had caught a few caterpillars and snails at home, made them a home in a cardboard box and brought it to school so he could watch over them. He was very caring and compassionate to these little critters, but it totally grossed everyone out. Furthermore, the second a fly enters the room, Mitko is long gone. He has the amazing ability to catch any between his fingers. I could only wish for that kind of skill with the swatter. Unfortunately, he does not kill them, just injures them to the point he can poke and prod them without the risk of them flying away. For the most part, he does his dissecting quietly, but the children eventually take notice and then the lesson becomes about which fly part Mitko discovered today rather than English. I cannot count the number of times I have taken a fly out of his hands, killed it for good, thrown it out the window and told him to either kill it or leave it be – do not keep it in misery. When he is not killing flies, he is drawing pictures of snails in his notebook. He sits in the back so from the front all I can see is that Mitko is drawing and not listening, when I walk back there to call him out on it, there is an incredibly ornate snail picture, usually in some comical setting. Anyway, his homework is usually the most interesting. Last year we had a test with some future tense questions where I asked the students what they were going to do this summer. His response:

If you cannot tell, it says: "1) I'm going to kill some flies. 2) I'm going to play on my computer 3) I'm going to destroy some things."

A few weeks ago we had homework where I asked the students to tell me in past tense what they did for fun when they were younger. His response here:

"I liked playing with car toys. I had a lot. I loved killing snails or playing with them. I had a shell from a snail we cut. And it had some old meat in it so it smelled very bad. So I splashed it with deodorant to smell even worse. Then I lost it somewhere."

Classic.

In other news, October brought me my favorite time of year – costume-making season. Nothing but vintage clothing makes me happier than creating fabulous costumes, and after really recognizing these passions; I think I have made entirely wrong life direction decisions. Anyway, in preparation for the annual volunteer Halloween party in Veliko Turnovo, I decided to be mish mash, which is a traditional Bulgarian dish made of scrambled eggs, peppers, tomatoes, and sirene, Bulgarian cheese. I actually hate this stuff, mainly because my host mom used to make it on Saturday nights and it usually came around to “revisit” when we were at the disco. It never went down well. I also hate peppers, but I love costumes made to be inanimate objects or strange things. Though last year’s Borovets vafla was difficult to make, it had a box as its foundation. As such, I had not bargained for how difficult costume making from scratch was going to be in this country. At home, I can be pretty sure that the garage or house is going to hold vital materials – duct tape, string, staples, old rags/material etc etc. I scoured the entirety of Samokov for possible materials and made everyone think I was insane in doing so. The bookstore lady did not understand why I was holding hoola-hoops up to my shoulders in efforts to measure them. And telling her I was making an egg costume did not make that situation any more comfortable. Nor was asking the thrift store lady if she thought her yellow sheet was yolk-colored. Anyway, the egg was ready to go, but did not hold up well in travel. Last year everyone I encountered on the trip to VT eyed my box strangely, and this year’s egg was no different. Especially considering I could not cover it so it was very evident I was running frantically to taxis, through bus stations, to the back of busses and through cities with a giant egg. Katie was my travel companion this time so she had to endure the odd looks also, but we documented each step. Unfortunately, I had to completely reassemble the egg that night, but with a hat made of peppers, it turned out great and earned me the “most Bulgarian” award. The party was great and slightly less debaucherous than last year, which was a plus. It was fantastic to see the other volunteers, though I do not know most of them now that we are the oldest group. Bobos rocked the costuming, as always. I love my ladies. I was in charge of the music for the party, which was awesome because then I knew I would love each and every song played. I danced, danced, danced and slipped in some Hanson Mmmbop, expecting to be completely slaughtered for that decision, but everyone on the dance floor seemed to love it, belting out words I thought only I knew. It was perfect. However, the evening certainly took its toll – I did not sleep, danced too much, limboed too low, and then tortured my poor body with six hours of bus rides home.

Dancing Mish Mash from amy williams on Vimeo.

Halloween did not end that weekend, for Katie and I planned a party for my students and the kids at her organization. It was kind of thrown-together madness with hours of DIY decoration making and preparation. It is times like these when you realize how great America and Michaels are with googly eyes, pipe cleaners, tempera paint, plastic spiders, fake webs, plastic pumpkins and all the other materials needed to make ghoulish décor. It worked out though and we enjoyed games like bobbing for apples, get the eye (grape) out of the brains (spaghetti) with a spoon in the mouth, TP mummies and other messy activities like pumpkin carving and cookie decorating. They all seemed to enjoy it and showed up in some fantastic costumes. Although it did not stay on for most of the night, I was a picnic table with a hat made of tablecloth with a place setting on top. My students got mad at me for laughing at them with the apple bobbing, so they made me do it screaming, “who’s laughing now Miss Amy!” I came up on top though and got one of those naughty little buggers. Everyone had fun.

Aside from these things, the country has been buzzing with talk of the elections in the states. Everyone wondering who is the best U.S. President for Bulgaria and seeming pretty pleased that Barack Obama was the choice. It is truly crazy to see how much attention a foreign election gets in different places of the world. That one choice and one country effects the entire world population and far, far way places as much as the American president and America does. I is kind of sad in many ways. I mean, in the states, we rarely hear anything about foreign elections. It is as though we are separate from the world community – invincible if you will. Obviously recent events and the downward trend of America of the last few years are proving that idea and attitude to be wrong, and I for one, am pleased. I am American and certainly happy and very blessed with that. But more importantly, I am a member of humanity. In a utopian sense, borders, restrictions and supremist attitudes just do not make sense. Anyhow, I have followed far more elections being in Bulgaria, for European elections, as well as Middle Eastern and Asian ones are much more on the radar. Being in a country that is a part of a 27-member “state” and very near the “other” part of the world really makes you see a different perspective. Regardless, I am also pleased with the American people’s choice. Ashamedly, I did not vote. Mainly because I had terrible registration issues – registered in two places, not sure if one or the other was valid, a delay in getting a ballot, and realizing that by voting online, I could only vote for President and my choice was not going to make a difference in either of the states I could possibly be registered in. At first I was not too concerned, knowing that Obama was going to be the CA choice, but now that Prop 8 passed, which I am not ashamed to say that I am absolutely against despite being the fish out of water among my “people” if you will, I wish I had. I realize now I have never voted in a presidential election, only mid-terms in 2006. ::embarrassed:: Anyway, I am looking forward to see what happens next - how Obama handles the clean-up duty Bush left him and California deals with civil-rights unrest.

Things are looking up for the next few weeks – awesomely bad girls weekend with HSM3 in Sofia, Thanksgiving, a Bobo visit with the Bobos and the upcoming Christmas season, which always makes everything seem better. And they are building a figure skating rink in the center of Samokov, so I plan on wowing all the boys with my awesome skills… (not really, the last two times I can remember doing that was being fifteen on a “date” with Rawn Richardson peeing my pants and getting wet-boob marks when I fell and then at grad-night with Colin falling and banging up my knee which left some pain for quite some time). As mentioned above and as many of you know, I am coming home for Christmas. All three homes! London then LA then PHX then LA then London and back to Bulgaria (email me for dates). It is a bit of madness with no concrete plan yet, but I will work around all of you! Particularly the LA folk, as I know most of you are traveling out of the city, so let me know when you are there and lets make this work! Beds, floors, and rides are accepted here! ☺

Many warm happy birthday greetings to Pat. I think you are fantastic even when you disappear and hope your birthday is wonderful. You know I am always here and hope everything is OK. Check the mail at Thanksgiving. Also to Miss Natalie Peterson. I hope one of these days we see each other - miss you girl!! And MDAers G1ers Kate Neeper and Jaime Lee and Calvin DiSilva! Miss you kids! Last but not least for the upcoming, ISABIRD Bejarano. I know you wish you were pushing me down ramps at South Bank but you will have to get on without me. And since it's been so long since I last blogged, I missed the October birthdays of some of my favorites, Sir Keven Burns, beautiful Taryn Kaehr, London buddy Ray Verrall, Bradford Fishback, Jeff Clark and Justin Feireisel. Miss you all and hope they were great! Congrats Kayla on getting Kennedy here safely and CALL ME! Also congrats to Mr. Joshua Decker who comes home this week from 2 years in Amish land! So excited for you and so, so looking forward to seeing you!

Miss and love you all. I’m still here ☺ 213.985.2877

(un)Holey White Tights. from amy williams on Vimeo.

In addition to the chalga singer/burlesque dancer training I received this week at the Bulgarian dance class, I think the evil Bulgarian forces are hard at work to bombard my life with all things tasteless and oh so un-classy. I went to get my haircut with intentions to chop it all off, thin the heck out of it, and give myself a funky do' like Toni & Guy back home can deliver. Instead, the what must have been barely 17 year old BOY with a early 90's spiked 'do with a bedazzled hoodie took an hour and half to not listen to my instructions and fluff my hair larger and larger and LARGER. I said THIN child, not poof. He got the straighter out and I was thanking God he knew what such an aparatus was, but rather than straighten, he curled under 1993 style. Unacceptable. I've tried to tame it or hide the mess away with the Whitney Houston circa "I Wanna Dance With Somebody" look I a sporting above. Anyway, I've had about all I can take of this ugly madness.

PUSSYCAT DOLLS ARE A JOKE BULGARIA!!! DON'T EMULATE THEM!

While in Spain, I had a discussion with Miss Meghan regarding laws of fashion. She suggested that it is impossible for any to exist, for style is relevant. What is fashionable for one is not for another. With this, I agree. Moreover, I realize that fashion is a constantly revolving art that is full of reuse and the recycling old trends. Therefore, how can one determine what someone wears is “out of fashion”, when it could really be fashion forward to others or in distant regions of the world. I have come to conclude that fashion is circular. And so Meghan is right, being “in style” is relevant based up where you are on this circle and where those observing and critiquing find themselves to be standing. Of course for argument’s sake, there could be a big dot on this circle that connects the beginning and the end, meaning it is not entirely fluid. In other words, the place/institution/movement/ that is respected enough to command the start and stop of fashion trends whenever they determine fit. A trend-setting fashion god of sorts if you will. Now who or where this dot exists is the true question. Perhaps there are lots of dots, so the circle turns more into a hexadecagon and movement through its lines becomes more complicated. I think I subscribe to this theory. But I am going to assume the role of the dot for a moment (or really, forever) and say that there are 3 rules to fashion:

1) Underwear is NOT outerwear

2) Crocs should never be worn outside gardening, cleaning the house, boating or being used as water shoes. EVER.

3) Pants should NEVER look like you took a dump in them.

I have a lot more personal preferences for fashion, but those are opinion. I get that. And admittedly, I have given in to some very less-than-holy trends and made great fashion errors throughout my days. Eyes for style and art change with age and time. Regardless, the three aforementioned rules withstand everything thrown at them. I will elaborate #1 and #2 briefly, but my main focus here is on #3.

#1 Underwear is not outwear:

Pretty simple. Underwear is meant to go under clothing. I am all for a cute bra that can be used to enhance the greatness of a dress or shirt. Or even some peek-a-boo colored straps with a tank top. Personally I do not dabble in a whole lot of bedazzle or strap flashing, mainly because I have a size disadvantage – meaning, my momma gave me a whole lotta junk up front. But I support those who can pull such a thing off. However, this does not apply to underroos. I should not see your knickers…ever. Seamless, people. And nude when necessary. But whereas underwear can sometimes help accessorize, it should never be the main star of the show. Under no circumstances is a bra with a backless top considered acceptable. This also applies to “clear”, plastic backs and straps. Trying to fool everyone into thinking that straps are not there when they are is a much worse offence. Summertime always brings out the worst committers of these crimes and Bulgaria is overflowing with them. One walk down the center of town and I lose count of how many tops look okay from the front but with one quick glance to the back the acceptability is scarred by a bright pink, rhinestoned bra strap. Or with the older Bulgarian ladies who like to wear white see-thru tops with a mismatched shade of white pants accompanied by ill-fitting bras and panties, which unfortunately, blare right through. Thank God it is winter now…

#2 Crocs should never be worn outside gardening, cleaning the house, boating or being used as water shoes. EVER:

Personally, I would never wear Crocs for even the above-listed activities. They are that bad. But I get that they are a study, breathable and comfortable shoe, which is why I allow them to be worn for domestic or water sport activities. I would also go as far to say that they are acceptable for toddlers, because they are easy to get on and will probably endure the many trips and tumbles of little children. But people, they are ugly. Not just ugly-but-oh-so-comfortable. Dreadfully ugly. Cursed be whoever created such an atrocity to the foot. And someone please tell me how the Bulgarian diado (grandpa) who sits at the diado bench in the center all day smoking cigs and playing chess with his diado buddies got a hold of a bright red pair?

Leave ‘em in the swamp where they came from people.

#3 Pants should NEVER look like you took a dump in them:

It is possible that pants can look like you took a dump in them in many different ways. Pretty much anything large enough to be hiding something in addition to what pants should already be hiding. Namely Kevin’s jeans. Boy thinks that Unionbay jeans from the Mervyn’s bought twelve years ago during the post-JNCO fallout years are still acceptable. Honey, you are not sixteen anymore! I should not be able to fit my body in a leg of your jeans. Luckily with a trip to the mall in Sofia last week we fixed this long lasting problem (and do not worry people, the saleslady would not allow me to buy him skinny jeans). Unionbay burning ceremony plans are in the works. Anyhow, Kevin’s pants are hardly the worst offenders of “dumpy pants” as we so affectionately call them. I present Exhibit A:

Dropped crotch capri-length pants started appearing in Bulgarian stores and on Bulgarian children quickly after I first arrived here. I was unsure what to make of it at first. They looked like a strange variation of Hammer pants, which are a take on harem pants made popular by, or just seen on, M.C. Hammer circa 1992.

I did not know they actually made their way out of the costume box or music video and into mainstream fashion. So seeing them puzzled me. Even if Bulgaria was sixteen years behind on the fashion timetable, how did these get here? Besides looking like you took a poo in them, they look tricky to walk in. I just accepted them as something awful that Bulgaria has, like many, many other fashion trends seen in this country, which would hopefully fizzle out when the styles from 1993 finally rolled in. However, during my summer excursions to Western Europe, I saw dumpy pants everywhere I went! And not just the normal dumpy, I saw dumpy shorts, dumpy pants, dumpy jumpers etc. etc. There they were more genie-like and made from flowy, flowery and very Spanish and Portuguese fabrics. They looked more Bohemian and artsy, as were the people wearing them so I accepted them as slightly, very slightly less offending. I would still never, ever partake in them. Moreover, while traveling, I met some Finnish girls on the bus who were wearing a cotton-lyrcra blend of dumpy capris that were more toned down and yoga looking. Still don’t like them, but deemed them appropriate for bus-riding or exercising.

Unfortunately, outside of fashion forward places like Spain, Portugal and even Finland, the dumpy pant world collapsed back into horrificness. In Macedonia, I ran into a store that had this in the window:

I know that it is difficult to focus considering she is wearing massive headgear with a white vest over a red drapey shirt over a white t-shirt with a red lamee bikini top over everything to top it all off. And that is just the upper half, which I will hold my tongue back about. The bottom consists of two different types of dumpy pants over each other. Not just one, TWO! This is considered style people. Just make sure you wear it with one heel on and the other thrown somewhere nearby on the ground.

I figured all this dumpiness was just low-brow or short-lived street fashion but then a few things happened:

1) They showed up at NY fashion week by Andreas Melbostad among others.

2) They showed up at TopShop.

3) They showed up as hipster men’s fashion.

4) Most atrociously, they showed up in the Zara in DENIM FORM when I was shopping in Plovdiv last weekend.

All of the above are fashion gods if you will – the dots I spoke of before. Why dumpiness? I decided I needed to try them on to see for myself how “flattering” they could be. I give you the results (forgive the fuzziness and bad shots. I was pressed for space as I was alone):

Janel commented quite greatly on the facebook picture of these and summed it up by saying:

“in our modern world, a working woman just doesn't have the time to stop for a bathroom break. Now with dumpy pants we don’t have to! Keep them guessing what's underneath it all in these fashionable and flattering fabrics, made in a variety of washes so you never have to!”

Anyway, I rest my case. Please be law-abiding citizens.

More fashion woes surely to come, as they cannot be escaped in this grand country. Aside from mourning dumpy pants, I have been teaching. Mostly, classes are going much more smoothly than last year and I am able to handle problems much better. The exception is my 8th graders, which could possibly be worse than last year. If that soul-destroying madness continues, I am not sure I will last here… Also as mentioned, a ton of us traveled to Plovdiv to celebrate Josh and Jeff’s birthdays and it was ridiculousness that was wildly documented with my camera through the hands of everyone but me. You can see that craziness here and here. After which, with the quick change in weather, I got a gnarly cold that I have been battling for the last five days. It seems to have been healed with a number of Audrey Hepburn movies and episodes of So You Think You Can Dance Canada. Yes… Canada. I am a SYTYCD groupie. Overall, doing okay. Kind of at the point where it seems I have been here forever and I am ready for something new, but I guess I should look at it as having only nine months to go.

So until next time, identify and condemn dumpiness around the world! Stay classy.

Back to School - My 19th First Day of School. from amy williams on Vimeo.

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

So as I mentioned in my video blog, Day sent me this fantastic eCard from JibJab with me and Taylor Hanson starring in High School Musical 3. It was so, so fabulous I had to share it with all of you. It was really funny because when I first started to watch it I was thinking, "hmmm... that looks like Taylor. I didn't know he was in HSM3." Then I saw my face and ran away with the daydream of actually being a HSM3 star, let alone with Taylor Hanson as my Zac Efron. I think it would be fabulous. It has always been my secret dream for everyone around me to break out into choreographed song and dance. Like in the cafeteria on HSM, or the prom in She's All That, or on the school bus in Hairspray (click for videos of these great scenes). Sometimes I sit on the bus here in Bulgaria and imagine what it would be like if all the babas and diados (gramas and grampas) with their hunchbacks, hairy moles and canes broke out into some sort of routine that we all just happened to know the moves to... A girl can dream right?

Oh and by the way, here is the picture mentioned in the vblog that landed on my door from roomate Sarah K. for my 21st birthday.

Anyway, a few shout outs to my girls Cara Manuele and Shannon Carmien with wishes of great birthdays and upcoming years. Can't wait to see you ladies! To Karen Christensen, best birthday wishes and may you enjoy this HSM fabulousness the most! Jason Klarfeld - you deserve all the happiness in the world on your birthday. Thanks for all you are! And lastly, congrats to my girl Casey for a beautiful baby girl and good luck to Miss Kayla with enduring the last bits of being a fatty, preggers woman and getting little miss Kennedy out!

More crazy daydreams, useless updates and complaints of cold coming soon!

Housekeeping First:

1) Photo links are the right are updated

2) The photo albums from my summer travels are also linked within the blog text.

Video Blogging is Easier from amy williams on Vimeo.

As an independent girl who tries always to take responsibility for her own life, I firmly believe that I am in charge of my own happiness. No one and nothing can, or should as it so often is, dictate my state of well-being. And if I start to feel some sort of disconcerting influence that I somehow allowed to undesirably affect my life, I have the power to take the reins and change what needs changing in order to make things better. Nothing can control me but me… or so I thought before I came to Bulgaria. Today I realized this affirmation is sadly in need of amending. There is something else that has the power to make my life miserable which I have absolutely no influence over: my stomach.

I do not believe it is possible for anyone to understand a complete switch in stomach behavior unless they have lived in a “developing” country. So for many of you, this will seem like nonsense or just TMI (too much information). But with a record of excellent health, I am appalled to announce that I have thrown up or depended on the close proximity of a toilet in my sixteen months in Bulgaria more than in my entire life. Actually, make that entire life times like 300. My life revolves around the location and quality of toilets (hole vs. bowl, scale 1-10), the likelihood of food of making it through the digestive system smoothly and whether Pepto Bismo is agreeable to friendship. And given that I recently returned from Western Europe and life centered around none of the aforementioned issues, I have concluded that the problem is indeed Bulgaria. And as such, most of my best and most ridiculous stories, as well as those of my fellow PCVs, somehow seem to always involve pee, shit, throw up, or murder toilets as thoroughly disgusting and unfortunate as this is. Anyhow, today was a fine example of the unshakable force the stomach can become. As a reward for finding some cheddar cheese at the Billa, although it’s French and not very cheddar-like, I decided to treat myself to some breakfast burritos and the awesomely bad Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights. All went as planned - the breakfast burritos prepared as normal and enjoyed to the fullest extent while I watched in horror the terrible acting I should have expected. I carried on with my very exciting day of missing college football-filled Saturdays in the fall and giving Janel a tutorial for illegally downloading movies now that she’s reentered the technology world. Eventually I headed out to the café to enjoy a lovely and hot Samokov afternoon and be around real people. Then suddenly after feeling completely normal all day, what I assume was a bad tomato or an evil egg (BG eggs do not fancy me and I do not advise eating two week-old Easter eggs unless you desire a stomach virus that will hang out for about a month) decided it did not like Amy’s stomach. And just like that I find myself locked in the Cinema Pizza bathroom trying to assess in which manner the tomato or egg would like to deal with the problem and leaving poor Kevin to once again, be an innocent bystander in the ongoing battle with digestion. Sooner than I knew possible, my day was over as I became house-ridden, unable to predict if the burrito’s mushroom or pepper planned on following suit.

And so you all can thank that tomato, egg and stomach for bringing you this blog today. I have had writer’s block. I cannot use the excuse I have no time, because despite the craziness that exists in my life here, I can always make time. I just do not. But thank you stomach for making me work through it. I have an entire summer to catch you all up on so here goes:

After the glory that was 80’s Prom, I went back to school to finish up the last two weeks (click for pictures) . And let me tell you, I was definitely ready for it to be over. No matter how many times I tried to regroup and reassess my attitude to the students and teaching, I never could seem to succeed. I was burnt out. I had a short fuse and was treating the kids with less patience and kindness than should ever occur. The end was a little bittersweet because I realized those terrible 8th graders who I hated the most were some of the funniest, most amusing kids I had ever met. And honestly, I would miss their limitless curiosity, uncontained craziness and hilarious antics and actions … though I do not miss how they still prank call me on Skype. As a year-end treat, I had a bad words day the final two classes mainly to have them teach me the Bulgarian translations so I could figure out when they were calling me a bitch. “But Miss Amy, if we tell you the bad words then you will know when we are talking about you!” Anyhow, informative as it was, the exercise eventually got out of hand as these kids were coming up with the most disgustingly perverse phrases I have ever heard that in no situation I could ever possibly come across would I ever think to employ. Finally it all was over (click for video) and I had three weeks before summer projects started. However, I am not sure you can call it vacation, for the parents were due to arrive…

Mom and dad showed up two days after school finished and parading them around Bulgaria proved to be no easier than stopping Vesko from drawing inappropriate pictures in permanent marker on the board or keeping Alex from writing “Sisi is a bitch”, though that was the one sentence she got grammatically correct all year. Right away I took them up to Govedartsi with Day and Janel to go horseback riding. They got the real Bulgarian experience rather quickly when after riding for about forty minutes and watching me fall my naughty horse (thank God for flexibility otherwise I would have no leg) a terrible storm came in and spooked the horses badly enough the guide had us stop and wait it out at some house with about six village men drinking rakia on the porch. Suddenly my parents were soaking wet and na gosting with strange men speaking a language that they did not understand and wondering how they got here. Welcome to Bulgaria kids! We hung around Samokov until after a long and painful decision process we chose to rent a car and road trip Bulgaria. It is amazing how much quicker travel is in Bulgaria with a car and not some questionable bus. We saw a lot more than I imagined we would circling from Sofia east to up and down the Black Sea and back west over to Plovdiv and pretty much everything in between, including a jaunt over to Boboshevo with the host family. And though the different travel attitudes caused a number of conflicts and little arguments, I think overall the experience was enjoyable. Even I got to see a number of things I had not and probably would not have without the parents and the rented car.

The most interesting was certainly the communist spaceship (Bozludja - which oddly I can find no information about) found on top of a mountain in central Bulgaria. We drove up and trespassed onto the grounds of this crazy building to find a pack of wild horses made their home near the front gate. Previously in Sofia some missionaries informed us of a broken window that allowed breaking in, which we did and climbed through sludge and rubble to explore the very eerie building. Apparently it was built by the communists as a place to motivate party members and leaders in a “rah rah” kind of way. The structure is made of concrete and was built up very quickly so as is often the case in Bulgaria, came down even quicker - everything inside was falling apart. But with remnants of great marble, tapestries and mosaics, it is evident the spaceship was once a place for the rich and powerful. Both in and outside communist mantas are plastered in Russian and Bulgarian with the hammer and sickle on the ceiling of the main ballroom. Whereas evidence of the communistic past is everywhere in this country, it does not seem nearly as real or direct as the spaceship allows it to be. Bozludja was a highlight, but the most beautiful place we saw was certainly the Cape Kaliakra, which is the most easterly point on Bulgaria’s Black Sea. In the sixteen months in Europe I have been in five different seas and one ocean can honestly say that the Black Sea is one of the cleanest and most beautiful. The water is a beautiful shade of aquamarine with a horizon not polluted by the sight of oil rigs, large ships or islands. Unfortunately, most of the coastline is overbuilt in a cheesy, over the top and ineffective Bulgarian kind of way.

Kaliakra Cape from amy williams on Vimeo.

Overall, my parents and I saw a lot of monasteries, rock carvings, mafia, murder hotel rooms, crazy drivers, illegal moves, shopska salads, churches, donkey carts, small villages and expensive ice cream vendors throughout the ten days. Though my parents are people I think should never be away from Hilton Hotels, air-conditioning and cable television, they did quite well for people who have not traveled much and certainly not to a country with a culture and life so very different from that in America. Despite my unwillingness to translate ridiculous requests or general unpleasantness and complaining that inevitably exist when spending more time with parents in ten days than throughout the last six years combined, I was very grateful to have them visit Bulgaria and share my life and experience here. I am so lucky and thankful to have them as parents, along with their constant and boundless love and support. I love you mom and dad! And hope that you took something more from this great country than stories about Mafia men in the gas station! Click here (1) and here (2) for pictures of their visit.

After the parental visit it was back to work for the month of July and honestly, I was looking forward to it. My summer projects were having an eco/English club and teaching dance classes. The eco club started off great with quite a lot of interest and participation from the kids, but as they all went on vacation and realized they did not want to do actual work, it was rather difficult to keep them interested. That club more often seemed to be trips to the swimming pool and Uno tournaments – they love that game.

Water Baby from amy williams on Vimeo.

However, the real gem of the summer projects were the dance classes. After marathon watching my new obsession So You Think You Can Dance, I realized how much I missed dance in my life and needed to get it back if even in the smallest way possible. I finally got over my lethargic laziness in terms of actually doing any sort of “community work” and made a little effort to make it happen. Lucky for me, I met a fantastic woman at the community center who helped me immensely, and now she is a great friend who let me come to her art classes! Anyhow, I am not a dance teacher and in no way claim to be, but having those classes was something fun and active for both the children and myself. And given that most of them had no prior experience, I did not feel quite as inadequate as I worried about feeling. The best part was that I could tangibly see success and improvement. As an education PCV, it’s very difficult to measure performance and success because in teaching, it is nearly impossible. Yes, a kid might improve a score on a test, but have I succeeded at helping them become a better student or better kid? Will they want to change their circumstance or become something great because of something they learned? Most of the time they seem to hate me and constantly misbehave so I get discouraged very easily. With the dance classes however, I was able to see the kids be excited each class and show up early to practice what they had learned the lesson before. I was able to see more grace in their arm movements with each class. More flexibility during stretching. More excitement as they became more confident in themselves. More kids show up each time. More curiosity from passerbys. Even though this PC experience is not about me and selfish reasons were certainly not why I came here, having that very apparent indicator of success gave me the motivation to keep chugging along this crazy road. Everyone including myself were sad that classes had to come to a close. But I am hoping to continue them during the school year, along with some other after school activities that take me out of the classroom and into the students’ lives. Altogether, the summer with the kids was great because it allowed me to form deeper relationships with them and just be a friend rather than that mean teacher who often has to punish entire classes.

The reason the summer projects ended was because August is vacation month all across Europe. This is something very different from the States, for US companies give two weeks or something terribly insufficient, but on this side of the pond, the entire month of August is reserved for vacation and people going back to where they came from. I headed west to begin the ridiculousness that was to be Spain, Portugal and England. I felt bad about planning a trip to expensive places that Westerners often go since I live so close to places I may not ever get another chance to visit. But whatever, I needed a RELEASE. I met Miss Meghan Priest, my former roommate from USC and Road Trip America 2006 partner in Barcelona. Right away I knew this was not to be a peaceful vacation. Basically we adjusted operational gears to the night shift. This means staying out until 7am, sleeping for 4-5 hours, avoiding astonishing heat by going to the beach or taking hours to shower and really beginning our day in the evening with activities such as shopping and eating. As such, we were not good tourists and did not do museums and tours or see nearly as much as Lonely Planet probably advises. But Meg and I do not work that way – for example, we are people who drive across the entire state of South Dakota and do not bother with a twenty-minute detour to take us to Mount Rushmore, the only noteworthy thing in that state. Anyhow, the rundown is as follows:

Night 1: Arrival and walk down La Rambla for a pre-assessment of what was to be our challenge. Bed early by 2:30a.

Day/Night 2: Beach all day. Walking along the marina to the port. Shopping. Mexican food. Night out with random friends met in the street in El Raval. Club with awesome cheesy music upstairs. Meg: Spanish boyfriend. Amy: not taking one for the team with the nice-but-slowly-became-sketchy wannabe Canadian boyfriend. Bed by 5:00a.

Day/Night 3: La Sagrada Familia. Shopping down Passeig de Gracia. Gaudi’s Casa Batllo. Starbucks. Vintage shopping in El Raval. La Rambla. Night out with awesome live music at Jazz Club. Early termination when hip hop and 9e drinks kill. Meet randoms on the street. Amy: beautiful, beautiful BEAUTIFUL French boyfriend. Meg: Amy’s French boyfriend’s most-likely-gay friend. Bed by 7:00a.

Day/Night 4: Beach. Beach massage by Filipino ladies. Late arrival to meeting spot for French boyfriends. Attempt to find French boyfriends at their hostel where we met Meg’s Brazilian boyfriend. No more French boyfriends. Night out with Brazilian boyfriend at a posh club full of really tall German investment bankers. Run in with Spanish boyfriend from Day 1 in the street. Spanish Boyfriend = butthurt. Anger calmed with crepes. Bed by 5:00a.

Day/Night 5: Gothic Quarter. Native American arts shop for Meg. Vintage shopping. La Rambla. Mexican food round 2. Night out at Fellini’s with a fantastic electro/rock mix. Find “safe” gay boyfriends who magically turn un-gay. Meg: gay boyfriend and then a million Brazilian boyfriends but ultimately, beautiful and long-haired Italian boyfriend in the street. Amy: gay boyfriend who pretends to be her husband to ward off skeezies but then turns skeezy and gets in fights with nice boys from Brussels and ruins her game with all the sweepies. Plus not taking one for the team with Meg’s Italian boyfriend’s old and fat (but rich) friend. Bed by 6:00a.

Day/Night 6: Lost for hours in no-mans land. Lebanese food. Gaudi’s Park Guell. Busker watching. Naps on benches. La Rambla. Accidental nakedness for an audience of packed hostel terrace (Dad, I know… you always tell me about the blinds. But we switched floors from the 11th to the 4th!!) Night out at posh clubs on the beach. Bad house music ruins dancing ability. Amy and Meg: Italian boyfriends on beach. Get rid of Italian boyfriends. Robbed by local thieves. Chase bad guys down on the beach. Find purse. Ride in undercover police car with Brazilian club bouncers to station. Spend rest of night/morning in police station. Bed by 8:00a.

Buskers in Park Guell from amy williams on Vimeo.

Day 7: Meg’s departure at 11:00a. Amy’s discovery of amazing vintage store that causes a great amount of money spend. Flight out to Portugal at 8:00p.

And so that was Spain. It was full of fun, dancing, shopping and ridiculous behavior reminiscent of the early London days. And we loved it. Pictures here.

After leaving Meg, I headed to Lisbon where I met Andrea, a friend from freshman year at USC with who I Something Corporate groupied for a bit ☺. It had been a long time since we had seen each other, but it was great fun. She lives in the Cascais area, which is about twenty-five minutes north of Lisbon in a more well-to-do and quite touristy part of Portugal. It is also right on the Atlantic Ocean, which was unbelievably gorgeous but far too cold to get into. Lisbon/Cascais was the first time since coming to Bulgaria that I felt like I was in a real, nicely developed place, mainly because it reminded me a lot of California. Right away I met Andrea’s fantastic friends who have all known each other since high school and remind me a lot of my crazy groups of friends. They were great company - all very witty, intelligent and funny. This part of my Western Europe excursion was definitely the more relaxing part; primarily because Andrea has a boyfriend which prevented a lot of the ridiculous man-hunting Meg and I got ourselves into. I also finally got a bit more sleep. We went to the beach, took a tour of the Cascais area, ate great seafood, hung out with her friends, watched the Olympics and went in to tour Lisbon for two days. Lisbon is a city that reminds me a lot of San Francisco – mainly because it is very hilly with beautifully bright colors and a different style of architecture. It is such a gorgeous city, and I am in love with the colorful tiling found everywhere. The entire city with the exception of a few buildings was destroyed in the Great Lisbon Earthquake of 1755 but I got to see some of the rare survivors. I saw a ton of stuff, which since I did a much better job at picture taking than in Barcelona is better documented through the pictures found here. When we were in Barcelona Meg commented that she could live there, but I wish she could have seen Lisbon and Portugal because she would certainly change her mind.

After Portugal I headed up to London to revisit the magic I know that city offers. Visiting London was kind of like going home, but not all the way. Meg is practically family to me and lives in a city I adore and have already carved my own special spots in, so it was just as good and beneficial as going to LA/Phx. After flying into Luton, I immediately noticed how brown everything is - at least compared to Portugal. But upon arrival in London with the exception of the rain and cold, I felt right at home with everything seeming normal and familiar. It was a relatively low-key visit, which seemed much longer on paper than it actually it was. I went with Meg to her Capoeria class and met some of her friends in Canary Wharf. We had American breakfast in Angel and perused some of the vintage stores in the area. I went busking with her (click for video) down on the South Bank and took pictures of the magic of London at night. I spent way, way too much money when we went up to Camden one day - I need to pay attention to the money signs! We also met up at the Walkabout with my friend Jason who I met years ago in the Gardening Club and his friend Dilan to enjoy an evening of dance moves made out of Olympic sports to eighties music. Jason and I got together another day to peruse my favorite, the Imperial War Museum and relish in the greatness of Brick Lane, which sadly, I did not spend nearly as much time in during my London stay years ago as I should have. Thank God when we were walking through there the millions of vintage stores were closed. He spent a year world traveling so we swapped some good stories. We eventually met Meg and Dilan in Shoreditch at some club that turned out to be sweepy central. One Sunday I got to go to church down in South Kens and see some old friends, which was fantastic after sixteen months of church in Bulgarian. But possibly the best part of the entire London stay was the hour before church when I just sat in Hyde Park, snacking on a sandwich while writing under the beautiful sun in an even more beautiful city. It has been a long time since I have been truly content like that. I decided that at some point in my life, I have to go back for longer. I have always believed you can make a home anywhere you go – that is not the place that hold happiness, but what you can make of it. But regardless of this belief, London has a very special magic. Check the pictures here.

Finally I headed home and oddly enough, saw three of my students from Bulgaria in the Gatwick airport. I had one day of rest/peace before I began another onslaught of craziness. I caught up with Kevin, had guests for a few days, went to my English friend Skye’s birthday in Beli Iskar and then headed to Pravets for Day and Kai’s birthday extravaganza. I am not sure how but that girl stuffed twenty people or something into her tiny apartment, but she did. We had a good Bobo reunion at the dinner where everyone was amazed/embarrassed at how loud we can become. There are lots of shrieks and giggles and the four of us trying to overpower each other with really loud and pitchy voices, but despite it all, we hear and understand everything that is being said. No one else can. It’s the special Bobo language. I love those girls and am so grateful I found people like them here in Bulgaria. And I love how we can spend an hour at dinner talking about Michael Bolton, awesomely bad movies or how Day and I completely lost our shit for Hanson/Butch Walker/Bush in the groupie kind of way in our younger years. Pictures of summer adventures in Bulgaria here.

I am now back in Samokov and back at work. It is crazy to think the summer is already over and school starts next week. I definitely need time to regroup, reassess and rethink my plan and strategy for this next year. They say the second year is easier, and it is already proving to be so. However, it is going to be much, much more work. I am teaching more classes than I would like or should, but we need another English teacher. I am also working on finding funding/grant for an after school program to help include Roma students and foster Bulgarian-Roma integration in after school activities. It will be cooking, dance classes, life skills classes and an art club. If I succeed, it will be wonderful. It is a lot of work and quite stressful, but I really want to make a difference at my school. If anyone has any leads on small grants or small project funding coming from the states (or anywhere for that matter), please let me know!

And lastly, I want to congratulate my girl Katy Perry, who I posted a video of a few months back, for completely taking the world my storm and blowing up. Yes, yes, many of you might completely hate her. Even I must admit that her new gimmicks are not nearly as enjoyable as the vintage Katy – I agree with Day, cherry chapstick has no taste! But I think she is awesome.

So now that Sara Bareilles and Katy have both hit the big time, I think my track record is quite good with predicting these things and so I offer you another I pull out of my bad of long time music loves: Matt Wertz. Now many of you have probably heard of this guy, because he definitely has a sizable following and has for some time. He tours like crazy – strangely enough, opening for Hanson these days. But I have loved him for years, ever since back in 2002 he played at KSCR, the USC college radio station I worked at. Sadly, I have only had the opportunity to see him play live one other time at the Troub in 2007 before I came here, but it was unbelievable. He releases his major label debut on Universal Republic next week, but you should certainly check out his earlier stuff. In the meantime:

And check out his buddies Dave Barnes, Justin Rosolino, Stephen Kellogg and the Sixers and Jon McLaughlin for some additional fabulous music along the same lines.

Anyway, I swear I will be a better blogger. If anything, a video blog because those are super easy to make. I love and miss and think about all of you all the time. I am grateful for your support and inspiration in my life. And I am grateful you want to be a part of mine, if only by reading my blog ☺ Please keep and touch and know I love you. 213.985.2877 is still open and available for all of your calls should you mind the 10 hour time difference (Cali time). And FIGHT ON USC TROJANS! Take those Buckeyes out!! (sorry Colin).

Housekeeping first:

1) Sorry this took so long. I know lots of you have been checking the site to find nothing. I will get better. I promise.

2) Prom Pre Party Pictures here

3) 80's Prom Pictures here

A few months ago I embarked on a creative spree and decided to make my house more of a home. I had some pictures developed and sat for hours with a never-ending pile of Newsweek magazines (you know you are in the Peace Corps when this is the only English mag you own) and the lone Budget Travel another volunteer had passed my way. I cut out words and phrases that would serve as captions to my photos, which I then pasted onto some colored paper to make a jovial wall hanging that would remind me I had friends. One picture was of Sarah, Elyse, Anna, Warren, Jason and me from a goodbye party, which featured Sarah in the bee costume we found at Jet Rag in LA (the same place I found my beloved furby costume) for Halloween 2004 and me in a 70’s leopard print one-piece that I picked up back in high school at Buffalo Exchange. Underneath, the cutout phrase reads, “pretending that there is no more urgent question than what to wear to the costume party.” Combined with the Vogue Eyewear advert I saw at a bus stop in Greece that says, “Vintage: Play Everyday,” I believe I have found the slogans for my life.

I love costumes. I always have. My best friend Genelle and I used to spend our afternoons playing dress-up after first arguing over who got to wear her grandma’s old yellow gown. She also had a sweet collection of hats. Once dressed and ready, we role-played something probably ridiculous that highlighted our Oklahoma accents to get the most out of the costume. Sometimes we let our siblings play with us, but Nel probably just made her little brother paint her toenails while the most my little sister got to do was be the groom when we played dress-up wedding using my staircase as the aisle. My love of costume only strengthened from those old days over the years as I savored the spandex and sparkles from dance teams and recitals, carefully planned Halloween, dressed myself in a giant piece of cheese as the school mascot, gave my high school classmates a reason to be in costume by organizing school-wide spirit days, and scoured thrift and vintage stores for hidden gems as an intense hobby since I was about twelve. I think the allure of the costume is the ability to escape into a different time and become a different person with what you put on the outside. To express the more hidden parts of personality with clothing. To play a game with the world. To be ridiculous. But mostly, to wear something with a story to tell a story.

Anyway, what I do not understand is how there can be people who don’t love this! Now what this has to do with Bulgaria? Well, after my birthday, plans were well underway to create the greatest costume party Bulgaria has ever seen in honor of the May/June birthdays. With the help of my Bobos and some other fabulous volunteers, we came up with an 80’s prom to relive the decade most of us came from. Many people were super excited like us but others were reluctant or hesitant to partake in such fun. During a phone call with Day discussing those who declined to come because they did not want to dress up, she said something along the lines of “I don’t understand why this is something everyone isn’t dying to come to!?! But this is something we love. I guess others don’t.” I too share her sentiments and am unsure why everyone isn’t jumping for joy at the thought of dressing up. Who doesn’t love that?! Whereas some volunteers flat-out declined, others let our convincing ways get the best of them. We had to coax many into getting into the spirit of the festivity, like my site-mate Kevin. In the thrift store he was like a fish out of water and taking it too personally when after holding a woman’s shirt up to his chest the shopkeeper would look at us ridiculously and comment that wasn’t the men’s section. She did not understand. Anyhow, Kevin was a serious flight risk but mostly a good sport at something he totally doesn’t do. He is lucky he has me otherwise he wouldn’t have been named prom king ☺ But although his costume came easy, mine was less so. A few trips to Sofia and millions of thrift stores later, I was left disappointed at the lack of frilly and fantastically ugly stock. I suppose this is because all the people here are still wearing them or storing them in closets. However, in a last ditch effort, Janel and I stumbled upon a wedding dress selection. We found a gown that was basically Ariel’s from The Little Mermaid and giggled it up while we both tried to fit ourselves into two very fluffy dresses in a single dressing room, which was more like a curtained off space in the middle of the store that two people with wedding dresses should not try to fit into. Needless to say, we attracted the attention of the entire store as we had white fluff seeping through the edges and made an Olympic sport out of zipping them up. One girl came up to me with a disconcerted look on her face asking if this was my abitorenski ball (prom) gown and telling me there were prettier ones. Like the thrift store lady before, she also thought we were serious. Then another man said it was ugly and it looked like I was pregnant. A rouched satin / taffeta combo doesn’t do much for the figure... He received a mean scowl. Despite the negative comments, we figured once we tore off the bottom a brilliant 80’s prom gown would be born. And it was.

Prom weekend (click for pictures) kicked off with my first ever appearance at the local disco with Krista, Janel and some of the English folk. It should have been the last upon the sighting of an 8th grader but to date, I have upped the count to three. We got no sleep because after returning home around 3am, we played dress-up for a few hours with the wild assortment of 80’s gear the three of us had collected. This ended when Janel got the strap of her heel stuck on some fishnet socks and took a tumble in the kitchen. And though it warranted a good set of laughter-induced convulsions, I admit, I have done this far too many times then I wish to admit. Usually on the stairs…. Anyhow, the next day we went to the lake where most of the volunteers met up for some prom pre-partying. The real adventure here was getting back home, because after standing next to a dead cat on the highway trying to hitchhike or catch passing busses for about an hour with no luck, a man with about four kids and a big van stopped to take us back. I don’t think they knew what they were getting themselves into when ten American volunteers shoved themselves in the back. After about five minutes we all started to smell a very foul scent emanating from a large barrel they were transporting. At first I thought this was full of rakia (Bulgarian alcohol) or something, but Day and I snuck a peak and found it to be full of rotting cabbage, tomatoes, peppers and other vegetables floating in a questionable liquid substance. We quickly closed it and forgot we even looked. The whole experience was quite amusing and one volunteer commented, “It has been a while since I have had a real PC adventure like this.” We all agreed and were glad.

Finally 80’s Prom: A Night Under the Bulgarian Stars began (click for pictures). About thirty-five of us made our way to the beautiful nearby village of Govedartsi and to my friend Jan’ bed and breakfast where we stayed. The prom getting ready revealed some fantastic get ups and I was very impressed with my fellow volunteers’ costuming abilities. The prom itself was at a local restaurant and after parading through the village on a twenty-minute walk in ridiculous outfits, the entire town was paying attention. Welcome to American culture people! We had a great night full of dancing, drinking, dining and destroying the dance floor to the tune of only the greatest 80’s songs ever made. Halfway through the night the time came when Janel and Day announced the prom court, which was possibly the most dramatic and amusing revelation ever. A first dance followed. Day even made a prom backdrop, which we hung to get the traditional prom shots. It was the scene of some great moments. After the party, the owner of the restaurant asked if she could buy it she liked it so much. After a laugh, Day told her she could just have it, which she was real excited about. But the best story of the night came when Maggie stumbled into the bathroom and heard a large plop and splash into the toilet topped off with a white flash, which she realized was her camera falling out of her pocket and into the Turkish toilet (basically a hole in the ground for those unfamiliar). After this horror story like event happening, it got worse when her coach wallet fell out too. She then had to dig into the deep dark abyss of questionable and disgusting contents to get both out. I cannot imagine anything worse. But apparently the camera was still in working condition because her pictures showed up on facebook a few days later!

80s Prom Court Announcement! from amy williams on Vimeo.

It's Tricky from amy williams on Vimeo.

All in all a great time was had and I think I brought the costuming spirit to Bulgaria. Kevin even enjoyed his sweet outfit and tight pants. After prom, all of us traveled to Dupnitsa for our mid-service conference, which marks our halfway point of service as a Peace Corps volunteer. It is absolutely insane to believe time has flown as quickly as it has and that we are already less than a year from coming “home” or wherever the next place will be. But it was a good time to reflect on challenges and triumphs, as well as get advice and ideas for tackling the next year and really making this experience worth it. Lord knows I need them. We all have such a camaraderie going through this experience together and its nice to have everyone supporting each other and making it happen. It was also great to meet the new group of TEFLs that are just beginning their adventure here and see all the other volunteers in our group. And with business aside, whereas in previous conferences and trainings we all partied together, during MST it seemed we had a girl boy split going. While the girls partied with gossip mags, scrabble, Reese’s cups and High School Musical in our room, the boys were having their own special party with man chats. But the next day we joined forces and played a rousing game of charades for hours. Overall it was a good time and a pleasant and needed refresher before going back and tackling the last two weeks of school.

Housekeeping First (and I'd look at these cuz the ones here don't do Greece justice)

Athens Pictures 1

Athens Pictures 2

Thessaloniki Pictures

Easter and April Holiday Pictures

Given that my last entry was more than a month ago, I believe this to be the longest blog hiatus to date. It’s not that I don’t have time to write or anything to say, but I suppose I am reluctant to post when I don’t have anything overwhelmingly positive to say or can pass on funny stories, scandalous exploits or good drama that makes this a much more interesting read.

I’ll split this in two… and will start with the good stuff.

Spring is full of holidays in this country, which most of you already know if you read my March entry. And believe me, the swarm of festivities has not yet stopped after the flurry of early March celebrations. The great part about this is I don’t have to work a lot of days. Spring Break rolls around at the end of March and whereas most volunteers have to stick around Bulgaria and work because their schools were on strike for the entire six weeks, Sehee, Krista and I hightail it out as quickly as possible to find some warm weather in our friendly neighbor Greece. We had heard good things about the travel situation with the trains; mainly that it is not the normal Bulgarian fleet and thereby actually has the quality and amenities you would expect on a European train. Tickets in hand, we step on what we think is our train, hand the tickets to the Greek official, and ooh and ahh at how nice this train is. After leading us a bit down the car to what we are expecting to be our seats, the ticket man stops abruptly, looks up from the tickets at us with a horrified expression and with brows furrowed and mouth open wide moans, “Ohhh NOO!! You are in the BULGAAARIAN car!” Well, this is a nice start to the trip. We relocate to the one Bulgarian car, which was probably built by the Russians in 1952 and find that our home for the night is something smaller than most people’s closets, but somehow home to three beds. The top bed is apparently made for dwarves, so this is where I sleep. However, with a Dramamine induced state of haziness, it is difficult to be cognizant enough to mind. Being naïve as we are to such train establishments, it takes us quite some time to discover a hidden sink and the entire night to figure out that the beds fold up and become chairs. I am sure our amusement and naivety to the entire situation fully amuses our neighbors. I won’t discuss the bathroom situation…

After fifteen hours of train fun, we eventually arrive in Athens to be greeted with fantastic weather, which warrants the first dresses and sandals of the season. We stay with two wonderful hosts, Natalia and Dinos who we found on couchsurfing.com (a site for travelers to find hosts/accommodation abroad). It was really nice to be in a city again and after that trip, it became overwhelmingly clear to me that I cannot do small town life. I mean I can survive as any human can, but I do not believe that I am at my best. There is nothing to give me energy in a place like Samokov. Anyhow, we find Athens to be quite delightful, but I suppose after Bulgaria, anything is. The public transport is clean, works like a charm and free of skeezy-fueled air-humping experiences as encountered in Istanbul. The city is full of unique culture that is a product of a marvelous history and deeply-rooted and tremendous pride. It truly is amazing to be in such a modern city and look up to see the Acropolis right above your head.

We see the good stuff: The Temple of Zeus, Acropolis, Parthenon, the Ancient and Roman Agora, the market where the purchase of choice this trip was leather sandals (as opposed to vintage sunglasses), the Aegean Sea and normal supermarkets with a good selection of items. Yes, this is a highlight.

We miss some of historical stuff, but thankfully we are all similar travelers and get over that stuff somewhat quickly. It’s more our style to just wander and get a feel for what life in the town is like. Unfortunately at some point this wandering lands us into the H&M and Bershka and onto the high shopping street with clothing we actually want to buy. One day we decide to take the tram down the coast to see the beach in Athens, but find that for the most part, it is dirty and full of trash. We sit on that tram for about half an hour going south until a British ex-pat tells us to get off a nearby stop for some good food and gelato. We do. All of a sudden we are in the Beverly Hills meets Pacific Palisades of Greece. We honestly could be in America with how this part of town feels, and there is even a Ruby Tuesday’s to prove it. Additionally and throughout our time in Athens, we eat delicious Greek food and go out with Natalia and Dinos for some good times with great company (and without the chalga music).

After four days in Athens we board a train for Thessaloniki, which is the worst experience of the entire trip. There is just something about these trains… Before we get on we see about a hundred rowdy high-schoolers on some school trip so we race for a seat, only to have a bitchy teacher later tell us the entire car is reserved for the students. Now having to face a five-hour train ride standing up, we curse and pummel our way out. We have giant bags so making our way through an overcrowded train is nearly impossible and at one point, Krista becomes an unfortunate casualty of the trek. Volunteer down. For the next three hours, every place we try to perch we are rudely kicked out of. Early on in the troublesome experience we send Krista to explore and assess the options. She comes back with news that in first class there is a children’s playroom with giant play toys that we can sit on. After taking out a few old people with the bags on the way there, we arrive and enjoy an hour of peace before some angry train official, who from this point on becomes our mortal enemy, decides to get discriminatory with the Americans. There are Greeks doing the same things we are, but only we are continually relocated. We are probably kicked out of six different (uncomfortable) places. For about an hour or so I sit on the steps leading out of the train preparing to face death at whichever point the door decides to abruptly open. Thankfully, I meet Stefanos, a fellow seatless friend who is great company and makes the experience less painful. He makes me laugh, impresses me with his English skills and basically tells me the entire history of his people and country in a few hours. He is like a seventy-year old man trapped in the body of a twenty-three year old knowing every myth and old saying possibly ever told. Eventually, the train Nazi gets off about three hours after we boarded the train so the girls and I with Stefanos ride out the rest of the experience in our reclaimed playroom somewhat peacefully.

We arrive in Thess and meet our next host Marios, who takes us to the home he shares with his mother. She is fantastic and it is kind of nice to be mommed again, although we feel quite bad she even feels obligated to do anything for us. But since Marios has to work a lot, we probably spend most of our time with her. Marios is fantastic and quite a quirky character with a love of Smurfs, comic conventions, and beer can collections (he reminds of Hagop but less schizophrenic-like ☺). The Smurf shirt I found at the thrift store in Sandaksi proves to be a big hit with him. Anyhow, Thess is very different from Athens in that the sites can be seen in about a day. We also have bad weather, so we switch from go-go-go tourist mode to being out all night and sleeping all day. The city is home to a large number of university students so it has loads of cafes, coffeehouses, bars and clubs - definitely nightlife oriented. It is a very nice city and certainly seems like a pleasant place to live, but less of a tourist destination unless you are in for the party, which we were. We find out the embarrassing way that Americans eat dinner quite early, because one night we decide to treat ourselves to seafood and arrive around 7:30ish to find we will be the only ones in the restaurant until about 11:00pm. Because of this, we have the full attention of a hilarious staff, which provided some fantastic seafood. Unfortunately, it also ends up being the most expensive meal I have probably ever paid for out of my own pocket (considering the exchange rate). With full bellies, we trek into the center to try and find a club with music with suitable for our American tastes. Marios has given us a list and map so we wander around in the train trying to locate them. Lost and not completely satisfied with the music we are hearing coming from the places we are passing, sounds of Tainted Love begin to emerge out of a club near the water. We all hear it, stop in our disoriented tracks and say, “follow the tainted love!” All is well and we end up in a club with the best assortment of music heard on this side of the UK and unlike the Greeks who stand stoically still, dance our gleeful American hearts out.

Sehee has to leave Krista and me a bit early for some Peace Corps business back in Bulgaria and Marios is off to Athens for a comic convention so we switch hosts to a crazy man named Anastis. He is basically the spoiled son of really successful and rich doctors who is into sex, drugs and rock and roll in probably the worst way. He makes for an interesting character, but his opinionated demeanor is wildly overbearing at times. Anastis is the owner of a music studio and quite a member of Thess’s music community. We go out with him a few nights and continually encounter people who wanted to “inform” us Americans that they are the real Macedonia, not the country of the Republic of Macedonia. Do not even dare say the word Macedonia in Greece in reference to the country unless you are prepared for a serious history lesson. Or mention Turkey. Overall we sense a bit of anti-Americanism in Greece for our country’s part in the reorganization of Yugoslavia and the consequent problems that created for the culture and pride of the people of Greece and this general area of the world. I mean I get it. I understand it.

This is the stuff American’s don’t find in their history textbooks. At some point it becomes quite funny how many conversations we unwillingly have on this subject and we are REAL sick of Anastis’s thoughts being pounded into our heads about it. Anyhow, one rainy day in efforts to avoid him (and the rain) Krista and I camp out of a TGI Fridays for hours to eat American food and play cards. Cheddar cheese, nachos, burgers, Heinz ketchup and a manager who gives us free brownies - such a treat. Later that night we meet up with Anastis again who has found a bunch of Erasmus students studying abroad in Thess from various European and EuroAsian countries. That is the highlight off this portion of the trip as we spend an evening in the company of about forty people from all different cultures. This is the beauty of traveling. The next day Anastis’s parents invite us to take part in a scrumptious Greek Sunday lunch before we finally commence our trip back to Bulgaria. Unfortunately, there is again some problem with the train so we are bussed to some tiny village about two hours away. Despite the inconvenience, this bus ride is probably the happiest I can remember being in a really long time. Sitting with an ipod playing fantastic music, I pass breathtaking scenery of a beautiful country with the sun warming the experience as it sets in the back window. It all seems so simple, but I think the energy received from the cities was enough to make this moment of quiet, relaxation truly happy.

We returned to Bulgaria and had two more weeks of school before eleven days of Easter vacation started. Easter is a three-day celebration here and just as big as, if not bigger than, Christmas. On Easter Friday some of my 7th grade students ask me to come to the church with the, which I happily agree to do. However, I get real awkward in these situations because I have absolutely no idea what to do. They become the teachers as I follow their lead, purchase a handful of what seemed like weeds to me from the baba outside the church, buy candles in the number of people in my family, place the flowers on a relic (that due to hygienic reasons I refuse to kiss), do some crosses, crawl under a table, light the candles, place them on the candleholders, cross again, look reverent (though swallowing laughs), find the priest, tell him my name, and let him put a cross of oil on my forehead (which later made me break out) and bless me. What is even stranger is that a woman from my actual church in Sofia happened to be in that Orthodox church in Samkov, which took me by such surprise that I couldn’t remember who she was for about five minutes. Although Easter was about six week prior in the Protestant/Catholic world, in Bulgaria the holiday is so much about culture and tradition that everyone just celebrates it together and in the same way no matter what religion they actually are. Anyhow, afterwards these students take me to the market where I buy some egg dying kits for Kevin and I. The tradition is to dye one red egg the Thursday before Easter, which is kept all year in remembrance of the blood of Christ. Then on Saturday or Sunday everyone dyes a ton of other eggs in the most intricate and beautiful colors and designs I have ever seen. Afterwards, the eggs are hit together and whosever does not break will have health and luck. Kevin and I had good fun dying eggs and got dye everywhere, including on his wall in the form of a Hawaiian masterpiece. Unfortunately, our eggs were nowhere near as beautiful as the Bulgarians’. In addition to church on Friday where people go under tables, on Saturday night at midnight everyone returns, lights a candle and circles the church three times before returning home with the candles still aflame. I went out with some English friends at a restaurant across from a church that night so whereas I did not participate, I witnessed. Easter Sunday is the big shebang and Eli came up to my apartment that morning with eggs, baklava and kazanluk, the Easter sweet bread. I went to church with her family and again having no idea what to do, walked in circles around the church, was given candles, told not to put them on the bottom because that was for dead people and tried to look legit as I crossed myself and pretended to know who these saints I was praying to were. I didn’t score the coveted invite to Easter lunch, but that was because they went to visit some extended family. Oh well. Maybe next year.

After Easter I went to Bobov Dol to join in on a traveling Cinco de Mayo party that some volunteers were bringing through. After the craziness (or crazies) left, Janel and I had a relaxing day in the sun on a hilltop in her town playing cards and being narcissists by taking pictures of ourselves. After a few days in the Dol, we headed towards Bobo to meet Day and take it back to where it all started. Once there I realized how much I love it. Bobo is so beautiful, relaxing and full of familiarity that I still haven’t found in the town I have been living in for eleven months. Being with the Bobos was a great treat and definitely a needed getaway to address, talk and think about my life and problems here in Bulgaria. I did not stay with MamaVanya because she ended up being in Italy, but Day’s BabaLily was fantastic. She even bought and dressed Day in the most dreadful outfit ever known to man that put 35 years on Day, but it was done with such love that it was fantastic. We did not stick around for St. Giorgi’s Day (look in the archive for the entry on the lamb soup induced horror from last year), mainly because I wanted to avoid anything involving lamb, but also because I wanted to get to church for the first time in five weeks. It proved to be the boost in spirits needed.

After the eleven days we returned to school the week of my birthday. Now I generally hate birthdays, because I hate having to believe I am supposed to feel special on a day that I fear I won’t. This stems from high school, because birthdays were made to be very public events. It came down to balloons. If you had a ton of balloons on your birthday or flowers, stuffed animals, toys or whatever else could fill your arms and make it publicly known you had friends, this meant you were cool. If you saw someone with one balloon or a little teddy bear you would think, man, your friends don’t like you very much… if you even have them. Harsh, I know. It would have been better that girl ditched the bear and pretended it wasn’t her birthday at all. High school hurts people. The birthday became such a stressful event that every girl had to basically campaign for weeks before her birthday to make sure that the birthday date was known and her friends were planning on bringing her something. It was unaccepted to risk being outted as unloved and uncool. I learned this all very quick my freshman year and luckily my good friend Brooke Mildenhall brought me a balloon bouquet that was waiting at the office. Unfortunately, the school had recently banned latex balloons so I collected this “determinant of cool” to find that its once voluminous form had dwindled to two sad balloons all because some kid could have died from the latex. At the time this did not seem relevant because my “coolness” was definitely affected. Now obviously the superficiality and ridiculousness of high school has long passed, but the anxiousness surrounding birthdays still remains. I had birthday depression all week and did not want to celebrate, but accepted Kevin’s invitation to dinner. The dreaded day came and (most of) my students and colleagues were great, bringing me flowers, gifts and other birthday items. And many of you sent your love and wishes, for which I dearly thank you all. I met up with Kevin that night expecting a dinner for two, but he surprised me with a birthday party with many of our local friends and the Bobos. It was fantastic and definitely put a smile on my birthday-hating face. I even got a microwave, which is a big deal for over here (and a bodysuit with a snap crotch as what I hope is a joke from the Bobo’s, because that is a fashion trend that should have never existed and I am embarrassed that in 2ND GRADE I took part in it. Not now…) Thank you Kevin for being way more amazing than I deserve. You get me through this mess of a rollercoaster. So I have now embarked on the 24th year of my crazy life. I would have never expected to be where I am at this point, but truly grateful that my life has been filled with the great love, friendship, adventures and experiences that it has. I am a lucky 24-year old!

*NOTE* Apologizes for the inconsistent verb tenses and constant switches. It bugs me too but I am too lazy to go back and edit.

Lastly, Happy Birthday to the girl that taught me a lot of what I know now in middle school, Jessica Collins. Also loads of birthday love send to MDA buddies Andrea, Ru, Mat, Jenna and Steven, little cousin Adam, freshman roommate and Haribo queen Vivian, the infamous Shiloh Winder, former partner in neighborhood crime Lindsey Foley, the biggest smile I know Katey Kalama, Glendale 7th loves Becky and Jordan, PCV lovelies Amanda and Molly, soon-to-be-famous Gwendy and last but certainly not least, my bestest Kayla Kennedy. Big congrats to Shannon, Jina and Ryan on their engagements. Congratulations to all who graduated and my sister Jen who gets to stay in Hawaii. And lastly, thanks to all of you who are still in my life listening to, learning with, loving and going through this adventure with me.

More soon. And get your summer traveling butts over here!

Some weeks ago I had a conversation with Janel where we wailed on and on about our woes and troubles at work/school. She said something interesting, “I don’t know why I am a teacher. I don’t even like children.”

Well girl, we are totally sailing the same boat. Sometimes I do not know how I ended up in the Peace Corps as a primary education volunteer - teaching children. I never really liked them either. I did not hate them, but I was not one of those people who jumped joyfully with glee whenever a child appeared or squatted down to their level to make kid conversation (images of Beth Rook flood my mind). When I was really little I liked babies and probably spent the most time of my sisters with the foster babies my parents frequently took in. I also toted around my Cabbage Patch Doll Priscilla Genvieve Williams with me everywhere I went from age six to eleven. Her nickname was Prissy – talk about annoying. I was becoming quite well-suited for motherhood in my early years, but at some point during my babysitting adolescence I became afraid of babies, put Priscilla in the stuffed animal net and have probably not held a small one since that time.

Sorry to break it to you people but I am not naturally nurturing. I always found working with older teenagers who had their head on straight and could take care of themselves much more up my alley than playing hide-and-go-seek with younger ones. I volunteered some time at an after-school program in South Central LA for a few months before Bulgaria but could never think of conversation to make with a bunch of 4th graders. Instead I gave my time teaching slapjack or making button necklaces in the arts and crafts room – these activities required skills only, albeit few. Nevertheless, here I am in Bulgaria. Admittedly, learning to love my students has been one of my greatest challenges in Bulgaria. One that I try to work on everyday. It is not easy. They drive me crazy and make my life a living hell at many times. And oddly, it is my 11 year olds that burst into an uproar when they hear me say the word “butt” or “sexy” and require me to spend time patrolling boy vs. girl hair-pulling and boy vs. boy “I am better than you at video games” fighting that I prefer over my 14/15 year old 8th graders, who in theory, should be able to reason, behave, and hold an intelligent conversation. No, these children make it clear the world is doomed to be sunk by melting glaciers. Those glaciers heard about Miss Amy’s 8th grade boys and are taking action.

However, despite their frequent obnoxiousness and misbehavior, these children make me laugh everyday. And grateful for this, I am learning to truly appreciate and care about them. In 8th grade we are studying nature and habitats so I made a PowerPoint presentation with pictures from the States so they could see what the nature is like where I come from. Before we started I told them to be thinking whether the animals and geographic features they saw exist in Bulgaria. A picture of the Santa Monica Mountains in Malibu came up with Elyse and I standing in the foreground. All a sudden one of my non-English speaking kids Alexander bursts out, “ooooohhhhh daaaaa. Imame tozi zhivot v Bulgaria (ohhhh yes, we have this animal in Bulgaria).” A few months before, one of my boys Emo came into class with a box of chocolates to treat everyone, which is customary to do on your birthday, name day or other special personal occasion. Everyone was saying “Chestito prezhivyavane (Happy survival!)” to which I was really confused. I asked Emo why we were celebrating and he said, “I died yesterday but then I came back to life.” Confused and after further inquiry Vesko elaborated, “The exhaust pipe on the car was broken and we were in the car and all of a sudden Emo died from the chemicals so we went to the hospital and now he is alive.” In 6th grade some of my students uninterested in learning about good manners decided to have bad ones and pass notes around the classroom. Scoring an interception before it traveled too far I read, “Vizh, Vesko ce nosi zhenski chorapi (Look, Vesko is wearing women’s socks).” In the same class during a unit on clothing when asked to describe what Iva was wearing, the first thing that popped into Nicolai’s mind was, “Miss Amy, kak e sootien na Angliiski (Miss Amy, what is bra in English?).” Iva then initiated a high-speed chase around the classroom. I even find entertainment from students who are not mine. Last weekend was Bubo’s birthday, the 17-year old who lives below me. He invited me to his party, which was something I could not believe his parents allowed him to have, but I figured they were unaware of the activities taking place. After walking in on Bubo totally making out with his girlfriend, I retreated into the kitchen and found myself in the company of about ten high-schoolers resorting to beer/vodka mixtures who were very interested to show off their reserves of English curse words. Abu, my main company for most of the night, was a very interesting and respectful kid. However, his friend who we will call Bob increasingly disregarded the borders of personal space. Sorry sweetheart, but get your arm off my shoulder and your hand off my leg, especially when my 8th grade student’s older sister across the couch is not being very sly with her camera-phone documentation of all of this. With slurred English and increasing drunkenness, he was definitely invading my bubble, to which Abu called him out on.

Abu: “don’t you know how to be a gentleman?”

Bob: (very seriously) “You know, I bought a few books on this… and I read them.

But… (deep sigh and head shaking), I can’t do it.”

These are the moments I totally lose teacher composure and burst into laughter at and with these children.

But here is the biggest stunt of all, which opened a can of worms I am still trying to shake off. A few weeks ago my 6th graders came into their last class of the day chaotic and completely invigorated by something. Suddenly Ivana screamed out, “Miss Amy, I know your boyfriend!!” I was somewhat concerned because I had befriended a son of a colleague who had taken to randomly showing up at school to see me (and I suppose his mom) and had done so earlier that day, which was witnessed by a fair number of students before I quickly ushered him off to the teachers room. I assumed this was the “boyfriend” was referring to. I replied, “that’s interesting Ivana, because I don’t know my boyfriend!” The class laughed and she mockingly retorted, “his name is KEEEVVVIINN!” Uh oh, I knew this day would come when rumors would spread. After trying to set the record straight and explaining to them Kevin was my colleague and not my boyfriend, Ivana got on the phone and after a top-secret conversation with an unknown, told me exactly who Kevin was, what he does and what he looks like, straight down to his height. Kids started shouting questions, Vesko began singing “Kevin and Miss Amy sitting in a tree,” Nicolai commenced oohing and awing etc etc. I tried to inquire about from where this information came and learned that when Kevin gave a Hawaii presentation at another school he told children neither of us know that he was “friends” with the other American. He finds nothing wrong with this, but you do not tell a bunch of 6th graders you even know a girl! As far as students are concerned, teachers have no personal life. After ten minutes of trying to assure these children I do not have a boyfriend, we somewhat began to have a lesson. Vesko was still quietly serenading everyone with the “sitting in a tree” song and while talking about holiday destinations where Hawaii was mentioned, Emo shoots straight up in his chair and bursts his hand in the air like a light went off in his head, “I know him! He is Hawaiian!” This sparked round two. However the focus switched slightly as the children decided to taunt everyone about their love interests. I pretty much gave up on the lesson at this point. At the end of class I was writing in their belezhniks, a booklet where their grades are written, and thereby tightly surrounded by a crowd of eager and inquisitive students. Minutes later I look up to find that my wall once filled with 25 alphabet cards (F fell behind the blackboard some time ago) was missing the K, the E, the V, the I, the N, the A, the M and the Y. Knowing this could not be good, I glanced at the board to find the following:

The class turned into utter chaos with the students in an uproar, taunting me and taking pictures of the work of art on the board. Despite telling them I never wanted to see this again, I came into class the next morning to find the same thing. I decide then was the time for being stern and after lecturing, the problem ceased.

Unfortunately, from that day forward it seemed everywhere Kevin or I went someone was talking to him about “the girlfriend at Avksenti Veleshki school” or to me about “the boyfriend from Hawaii.” It was coming from all different directions and all over town so we are having a difficult time figuring out how this happened. Of course I fault him for the mistake made during Hawaii presentation, but his colleagues said we showed up on TV together at the basketball opening ceremony. We did not know this, which is bothersome considering I could have been picking my nose for all I know. I should get over it, but it still bugs me that my students have anything to do with my personal life. After I got back from Greece two weeks ago I was bombarded with questions like “Did Kevin go with you?” and “What did Kevin do for spring break?” I am hesitant to meet Kevin in public for fear some child will see us and snitch away to all his or her little friends. But I suppose public sightings cannot be avoided.

Overall, my life is both good and bad, energized and tired, and loved and hated because of these students. But it is never boring.

Coming soon will be a blog detailing the adventure down to Greece and the one year anniversary, which was celebrated the 15th. Insane, I know.

NOTE: Miss Amy's birthday is on the 9th of May. Packages accepted :)

Happy Birthday to anyone’s birthday I might have missed but especially for my lovely twins Miss Kathryn and Elizabeth Peck! I hope you and your babies are doing fantastic! Also to Renee, who celebrated a big, big birthday! You are awesome and I hope this is your most wonderful year! And also to Miss Dani Wold, I hope you are loving life out in Phoenix! To Brittany Maly: Happy Birthday and good luck with law school finals you crazy girl! And lastly, Glendale 7th bests Henry and Marina – miss both of your smiles and spirits! Thanks Adrienne for losing your job and having more time for talking to me ☺ You will be fine as you embark on your next adventure. Janaina, I love you and am glad we talked. Kayla and Chels, can’t wait to see you. Colin, we still need to connect so I can hear all about your “coashing” adventures! Keep trying – I am sorry! Keven, I hope you kick the MCAT’s useless butt. Eric, take a day off. Scott and Laisa: Thanks SOO MUCH for the Girl Scout Cookies. Peter Barth, make that trip a Europe trip! Sarah K.: get whatever you have for me in the mail because I don't want it to take a year like your grandma's birthday card. Hagop: Happy Graduation! and Meghan "I make animal noises" Priest: my kids found our youtube videos of the road trip making animal noises on the side of the road in South Dakota. I had them removed, don't worry. See you in SPAAAIIN!

Housekeeping as usual:

CLICK HERE for pictures of the month of holidays

CLICK HERE for pictures of the trip to Sandanski

A year ago around this time I was preparing to come to Bulgaria. At that time and perhaps still now, no one seemed to have a clue where Bulgaria was or anything about it. Well, thanks to perezhilton.com this has all changed. The barely tolerable but deliciously addictive king of celebrity gossip has brought Bulgaria to the entire Bulgaria’s geographic location, its political and economic situation or even a deep glance into the culture and people of this fine country. No… he brought the world this:

And let me tell you that I am glad he did, because it is deliciously funny. I have watched it more than I choose to admit and my students sing it all day, every day. However, all the world knows about Bulgaria now is that this country has a hideous offspring of American Idol that brings out all the cooks in this country and sends the fashion police soaring with sirens. But that is why you read this blog, right people?

Chestita Baba Marta! Chestit praznick! Happy Women’s Day! Happy Independence Day! Happy school celebration day! Happy St. Patrick’s Day! I wake up nearly everyday in March to learn it is a holiday. Some I knew about beforehand, some I did not and wonder why people are throwing explosives in the streets. Either way, I support the Bulgarian tradition of celebrating… well… basically everything.

It all started with Holiday #1, which is Martinitsa on March 1st. In theory I believe this holiday is a welcome to the coming spring and everyone gives their friends and family little red and white bracelets and greet you with, “Chestita Baba Marta.” This means Grandma March in Bulgarian and upon asking my students one day who Baba Marta actually was I was met with a few quizzical looks from those pondering, who is Baba Marta? Others tried to explain she was somewhat akin to Santa Clause in that she does not actually exist while another emphatically proclaimed in a heartfelt manner, “She lives in your heart.” I still am not exactly sure who she is but I think its safe she is like the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy but bringing health, luck and happiness instead of eggs and quarters. At the end of February little stands begin to pop up everywhere you can imagine selling these martinitisi. Janel and I were in Blageovgrad on the way for a Holiday #2 weekend and saw tons of martinitsi stands. It seems that the ratio of martinitsi to Bulgarian citizens actually living in this country is insanely large and I wonder how the sellers compete or what happens with the extra martinisti. Some of the martinitsers depart from the traditional look and adorn pictures of Bulgarian chalga singers, Christina Aguilera and Ariel from The Little Mermaid with red and white embellishments. My students adorned my wrists and neck with more bracelets and necklaces than I can keep count of. It became difficult to get them on and off everyday and write on the chalkboard with so many things dangling from my hands so I sadly had to ditch them. By tradition you are supposed to wear them until you see the first stork of the year, which marks the beginning of spring. You then put the martinitsi under the nearest rock or hang them on a tree. Interestingly after a month of very warm and wonderful weather, the stork made its first appearance two days ago during a freak three-day snow dump. I am keeping the martinitsi as souvenirs though – no use in littering.

Holidays #1 and #2 are very close to each other as March 3rd is Bulgarian Independence Day, which celebrates Bulgaria finally restoring an independent state in 1878 after 500 years of Turkish Ottoman reign. Janel and I headed to Sandanski with Kai to meet Kellen and get some sun in our lives and on our skins. Sandanski is situated very close to the Greek border and apparently enjoys the most hours of sunshine in all of Bulgaria (and apparently Jesus was born there… and lived there… and died there…). It is a beautiful town with more people, cafes, young folk and parks adorned with oddities than any of our towns. Unfortunately for probably everyone, upon exit from the bus station Janel and I ran into the largest thrift store I have to this date encountered in – and certainly the best. We went back the next day with the boys so I could basically buy out the store, specifically the sunglass bin where I found a stockpile of old vintage sunglasses that would sell for like 30/40 bucks in the states easily and upped my vintage sunglass count obtained in Bulgaria/Turkey to seven. Clearly I do not need these, but they were so difficult to resist… and the perfectly tailored 1960’s pencil skirts… and the 1980’s t-shirts…. and….well yah. The four of us visited Melnik, which is a popular tourist destination in Bulgaria being the wine capital of the area. Apparently Winston Churchill had two bottles of wine a week imported from Melnik, even during the war. Here they brew wines in caves and the town preserves well its 19th century architectural style and overall feel. Visitors can take tours of the caves, which we did in true annoying American style. Back in Sandanski we spent a lot of time at cafes, basking in the sun and playing gin rumy, where we found that the giant 1970’s sunglasses I supplied everyone with can be used as covert cheating mechanisms.

Back in Samokov after another grueling week of work, I unexpectedly encountered Holidays #3 and #4. For quite some time builders have been working on a giant sports facility of some sort here in town. The opening ceremony was on March 8th, which was large and prestigious enough to attract the presence of the President of Bulgaria. The week was busy for all preparing for the big day and in efforts to up its reputation, the municipality finally painted road lines on the main street that passes through Samokov, on which the basketball arena is located. But typically Bulgarian, they only painted about 200 meters of the road – that which the President might see. I doubt Sir Bulgaria was checking to see if the roads were properly painted upon his procession into the city, but considering the amount of time it takes to get anyone to do anything around here, I find it difficult to understand why the truck with the paint didn’t just finish the job. Oh well. Useless to wonder these things. I was out and about with my new friend Toli, who is the younger brother of my friend Vela, a teacher at my school and learned it was not only basketball day, but also the official women’s holiday in Bulgaria. I did wonder why all the ladies were carrying around flowers and acting extra jolly. Later that night Kevin and I snagged tickets to go to the basketball ceremony so we caught an all-star game and cultural performance. I could go on and on and on and on about how amused I was by the whole affair, but Kevin also pointed out I am too critical, to which I agree. Regardless, I was struck by how much Bulgarian sports model themselves after the sports atmosphere in America - complete with American sports music, cheerleader types (although these ones were wearing chaps and were 16 year old girls…), half-time shows and so on. The best part of the night was the cultural performance, but only about 25 people out of the thousands that were previously in attendance stayed to watch – sad. It was full of beautiful and interesting dance and music.

Holidays #4 on March 9th was the real surprise. The previous day I noticed that my street had been blocked off on both ends by parked cars and someone had compiled a giant pile of evergreen tree branches and sticks in the middle of the street. I passed this off as something somewhat normal here - absurd and clearly inefficient. When I left for church Sunday morning, as well as when I came back from Sofia the situation was still intact. While trying to get some work done later that night I was rudely interrupted and annoyed by hours of explosives being thrown into the street and fireworks being shot off into the sky. Now I must explain something here first: unfortunately it is not abnormal to hear gunshots, explosives or fireworks at any moment of the day here. At first it startled the hell out of me, but then I became used to it. However, the incidents were generally random and did not continue for long. On this particular Sunday night they lasted for hours. I was not happy and said a piece or two to the no one listening that night. The next day I walked to school to find that the pile of tree debris previously stashed in the middle of the road was replaced with ashes and a few scorched pine needles. Strange. It was not until that night during my Bulgarian tutoring session on Bulgarian holidays that Eli explained that the previous night was a holiday. Apparently it is called Sirni Zagovezni and boys prepare fires in the middle of the street, which are supposed to scare the bad spirits away. They then jump over these fires and light off fireworks and other explosives. All young people visit the older folk and ask for forgiveness for any misdoings they might have committed. There is also some ritual involving a piece of halva or an egg on a string that kids try to bite without using hands. Lastly, it is the last night of the kukeri – some crazy tradition where men dress up in absurdly scary masks and outfits to cast out the evil spirits, which people previously believed came back to the living during the winter. Samokov did not really have a Kukeri, but other towns with PCVs have huge Kukeri celebrations. After hearing all that everything made sense but it’s amazing what your mind can do when you have no context to place anything around.

Holiday #5 was two days later with the official school celebration. Apparently every school in Bulgaria has one of these, usually falling on a special date having something to do with who your school is named after. Mine is Avksenti Veleski who is some church guy – I do not know much more and given the lack of Bulgarian, did not really learn too much during the play that reenacted parts of his life. This was a day of no studies, which was nice and all the students came to watch a special program. It lasted about 45 minutes and included some traditional Bulgarian babble and blabber. As usual, I did not understand much but smiled and nodded emphatically (the wrong way though, because if you remember here in Bulgaria yes is the headshake for no) when people asked me how wonderful the whole thing was. I was later kidnapped to go to a teacher’s banquet. Usually I stay out of teacher related things, which is something I should not do but do anyway. They are a key source of integration but I just do not get the feeling they like me too much. Mainly because my first introduction to them was through my counterpart, who is not the most popular girl in school. So when I became associated with her, they wanted nothing to do with me. I also never go to the teacher’s lounge or escape during the breaks or ditch class to smoke cigs or drink coffee with them. I prefer to keep an eye on my crew of conniving little students who would probably destroy the room and copy homework in my absence. But come to think of it, this is done in my presence … Regardless, I was taken to a marathon na gosti where all the teacher’s tried to marry me off to their sons or explained to me that American girls prefer Bulgarian men because they are “more emotional” to which I had to try really hard not to laugh and scoff at. This is complete nonsense. I attempted to make my escape when the other teachers started to trickle out but my director would not allow this, insisting I go eat ice cream with them. Five hours after the event began, I finally arrived home and passed out on the most deserved nap I have ever had. It is amazingly exhausting breathing thick, smoky air while listening to Bulgarian teachers gossip and try to pawn off their sons for so long.

Holiday #6 is Todorovden on March 15th. The week before at church some of the missionaries told me that one of the members of the branch invited everyone out to some horse races every year. Like me, they thought this was strange but a welcomed and interesting change of pace so everyone was excited to go. I was thinking Kentucky Derby Bulgarian style. I learned from Eli again that week that these horse races are part of this holiday, which I assumed the missionaries, like me, did not know about. It is fun being the clueless American. This is an Orthodox holiday which is celebrated on the first day of the Easter fast – the 7 weeks before the big day where people have to go vegan. This never actually happens here. Women prepare a special bread topped with garlic, which apparently shuns evil spirits. Young men decorate horses and then take the horses to the local church and ride around it and then back to a young, unmarried woman who supposedly is expecting the arrival of her Prince Charming. After this, they race the horses as part of the celebration. It is also the name day, a celebration bigger than one’s birthday here, for anyone with Todorov or any derivative of that. Janel and I were planning on attending these horse races with the elders, but after planning it out, realized it was going to take us forever to get there and haircuts were more important. Plus we needed to meet a ton of other volunteers in Sofia for Sarah and Laura’s St. Patrick’s Day/Birthday celebration – Holiday #7. We spent the evening eating gloriously hot and spicy Indian food and unthinkable amounts of sugar in the form of cake in celebration of two great births. Unfortunately that put Beckie, Amanda and I in food coma so we did not last for the Irish pub portion of the evening.

All in all I think seven celebrated holidays is insane yet wonderful and I don’t count out the possibility there were I was unaware of. Easter is the next biggie, which is larger than Christmas so this should be interesting. I am not sure I will be sticking around to see it however as there are plans to hit up Macedonia and Albania. Next week is the beginning of the BEST holiday – spring break. Sehee and I are taking off to Greece with nothing more than books, blankets and beach dresses. Do not expect to hear from me.

Other than the holidays nothing extraordinary has been taking place – still chugging along with this thing called school – succeeding some days, failing others and getting used to the wringer it is putting me through. Been trying to get out more, make some friends and stop the progression of hermit-ism, but even that has its good days and bad ones. I am anxiously anticipating the arrival of a permanent spring, because I realize I HATE this winter bit. Actually that is not a new realization. And definitely looking forward to summer with no school! And in honor of my birthdays and others’, I will be planning the most awesome 80’s prom the world has ever seen on May 31st (so PCVs… keep that open and get on the outfits now!).

Still look forward to your calls and emails and miss and love you like crazy. Special birthday shout outs to LA Lady/Fellow Days Lover/4 Man Plan Giving Emily Winnie, Ben’s cookie and London wheelchair pusher Andrea Hughes, my cow-poo girl Tanya Wennmacher, the infamous and enigmatic Ryan Hale, old roomies Laura Patterson and Kristin Andruska (miss you girl!), MDA buddy Allie Anderson, Miss Britney Tripp, PCV’S Lauren, Lenny, Valerie, Sarah, Anna, and Laura, my first friend at USC Erik Valentine, the bloodlessqueen Sarah K., Glendale 7th love Rebecca and Big Booty champ Nick, the sweetheart Rebecca Baird, and last but not least my favoritetest, bestest most amazing former boss Mr. Scott Glovsky (go to www.arkinglovsky.com for all your HMO fighting needs!). Also big congratulations for Jina Benster on the engagement, as well as birthday wishes. Eric Hagen – I love you and think you are great! Kayla – hope you are enjoying being PREGO!!! Cannot wait to see you and Chels! Rowland – still waiting for your call back to hear drama on your life. Meghan Priest – “sniff, sniff” SQUAKKKK, and Sarah, Elyse, Mitch and Hagop – miss watching purple spandexed crazies (or just Hagop), not hitting golf balls and commenting on a mysterious green thing in a certain someone’s teeth with all of you.

And finally – here is something I enjoyed this week. The fabulous Katy Perry and Ferras. They will both be big – you wait. I predicted it with Sara B and look where she is now and here I go again. I am also of ALL SXSW goers.

Housekeeping first:

Bits and Bobs of Bulgarian Winter Life Photos - January 2008

Girl's Brite Out Photos - January 2008

Parental Guidance Notice second:

The following entry is PG-14 or PG-readthroughitfirstandthendecide if you are my Aunt Janet or Uncle Greg.

See mom - looking out for the cousins :)

The following is a message that appeared on the back desk of my classroom some time back. For those unable to decipher the jibberish, some child who is probably still laughing himself to sleep for this little piece of inerasable vandalism wrote “skaipamye anion.kocev_95.com za sex.” Based on Bulgarian grammar this could mean “Skype Amy anion.kove_95.com for sex” meaning this little child is trying to convince fellow desk sitters that Miss Amy has a skype name which she will publicize in the form of desk graffiti for sex, though whether in cyber or actual form is not directly implied. On the other hand, it is possibly a terribly constructed and written English expression meant to say, “My skype is anion.kocev_95.com for sex.” Either way, the culprit is surely not one of my students because I am quite positive I have 1) instilled enough fear about vandalizing the room to prevent such messages from appearing on desks and 2) given them the English skills that would allow this exchange to at least be written in a grammatically correct form.

I am quite amazed at the inappropriate and sex-driven and defined nature of Bulgarian youth. Yet they are not even youth, they are children. My 5th graders are only eleven years old with my 8th graders approaching the devilish age of fifteen. In my 8th grade class, which is the bain of my existence these days, we had a unit on festivals and holidays where we studied Christmas. Many of them are very creative and energetic so I gave them the exercise of writing their own 12 Days of Christmas, thinking this would be an interesting assignment. Slow to start, I tried to elicit something amusing and funny to be the first day of Christmas. One group came up with “my true love gave to me a button in a condom.” To begin with, I am unsure how a button (or condom for that matter) got associated with Christmas, but why the heck would you stick it in a condom? And how is this the first thing my 13/14 year-old children come up with? It makes me wonder exactly how much experience these children are having with condoms… I simply shook my head with a side laugh and urged them to come of with something more practical for the second day and made my way to the other group. Things were not any better here. Their first day was an empty bag under a bridge, which is certainly more appropriate but by day six the true love was into the habit of giving a snake’s clitoris. This fascinated me in a few ways. First of all, how did they know this word in English? What television shows are they watching? I know in high school Spanish class we asked Mrs. Thue for not-so-kosher words, but I don’t remember clitoris being one of those. We stuck to like boobies and ass – you know, the basics. Secondly, how do these students know exactly what this is and the significance behind it? I think back to being thirteen and I am pretty positive I did not actually know what this was - at least certainly not its name. Sex education in Oklahoma was most assuredly lacking – I think the most we had in 5th grade was when they took boys and girls to different rooms to awkwardly explained that “your bodies will be going through some changes” or in Girl Scouts on Mom and Daughter Puberty Day where the girls walked out with little paper bags filled with tampons and Always pamphlets that diagrammed armpit hair and fallopian tubes. Things got a little better in 6th grade when we officially learned that sperm and eggs existed, and I remember watching the Miracle Of Life, which dramatized the short life and journey of a sperm concluding with a live birth. No one was particularly pleased to be witnessing this and the whole thing warranted immature giggles whenever someone played with Silly Putty and pulled two sides apart to create two sperm looking silly putty blobs, complete with tails. By the time 7th grade rolled around we just learned that abstinence was the only way and HIV was the most Satan-inspired thing on this earth so the thought of sex better not cross your mind because the virus was so contagious you will get the disease from simply thinking about it (I grew up in a red state). There was never education on how sex actually happens or how to have it safe, so you wonder why Oklahoma has so many teen pregnancies and a rising AIDS rate. But most relevant to the issue at hand, there was definitely no education as to what the clitoris was. Furthermore, my parents were not exactly a throe of information when it came to sex and sexual terms and certainly did not set me down with charts and diagrams when I was six excited to explain it to me like Miss Meghan Priest’s mom. No, these were things you learned from other more “learned” students. You know, the “scandalous” kind or those who read their sisters diaries or had brothers who sat them down and gave them Sexual Terminology and Explicitness 101 or found their dads’ Playboy. Despite all of this, I certainly had no idea exactly what a clitoris was – I mean yes I knew that anatomically such a thing existed but I did not know its name or what it could accomplish in any way. And I sure did not know how to use it colloquially to make me sound cool and in the know or have the audacity to loosely use it in the presence of an adult or in a school assignment. No no, my proper introduction to that part of the female body probably came from getting the health class textbook sometime early high school and ashamedly and secretly scanning the index for “clitoris” to brush up on my reading as to what is was so when it came up in conversation I would not have to be the idiot who asked “what is that?” and could nod my head like I had been talking about it for years. Anyway, the point here is questioning whether sexual knowledge and explicitness at such a young age is a trend around the world or just in Bulgaria? What do I do about this? Part of me is simply pleased that these children are speaking English and happy to do so. These kids would never do this in front of a Bulgarian teacher so that unfortunately says something about respect level I have achieved, or not as it goes. Considering my own experience, I decided to embrace this subject as a learning opportunity rather then scold, so I calmly asked my students “How do you know that a snake has a clit? I mean, human females do but why would you assume that a snake does? Snakes reproduce from eggs so no doubt their sexual relations are not exactly comparable to those of humans. They do not have intercourse the same way. And I believe that humans and dolphins are the only living creatures that receive pleasure from sex so why would a snake need a clit to begin with?” I was met with the open-mouthed stares of shock of those who understood and under-the-breath whispers from those who did not, anxious to get a translation from their friends. Martin, the culprit of the ninth day stumbled for a response, clearly embarrassed. I guess my reaction was new for them. Regardless, on the tenth day of Christmas their true love gave rat balls.

In addition to the rapidly escalating rate of Bulgarian children far to young to be understanding and experimenting with sexual issues, I have another bone to pick with Bulgarian society. Buggies. That’s right – buggies. And I am not talking about the horse drawn kind, although those are plentiful albeit usually accompanied by a donkey in these parts. I am referring to a shopping cart…or trolley, depending on where you come from. And as previously mentioned, I come from Oklahoma so this is known only by buggy and despite my years away from that middle American place, I have been so far unable to eliminate the word from my vocabulary or find a replacement to be instinctive when searching for the word to describe this vital part of grocery shopping. Regardless, Samokov recently got a Billa – this is an Austrian run supermarket, but embellished with some Bulgarian quirks which I will soon describe. Although not exactly comparable to Ralphs or Safeway in size, Billa certainly rivals anything in Eastern Europe with selection of food and ability to find items such as peanut butter, cornstarch and blue cheese. It was a grand day for all and despite being a bit too far to shop at regularly, I make the trek when my kitchen is crying out.

A while back I entered the store after school with my tote bag, which was stuffed to its maximum capacity with a number of items, but most valuably my laptop. A security guard policing the entrance attempted to make me leave it in a cubby hole at the front of the store, to which I played the ne razbiram card (I don’t understand) so he would quit trying, fearing I would never see my computer, wallet, ipod or 6th grade textbook again. Clearly there was no room in my bag to steal anything. I have a difficult time understanding the point of this rule since you have to pay 50 stotinki #1 to leave your items with Billa, which inconveniences everyone as wallets are usually left in purses that are then stored in cubbies. The people who are not sneaking their bags in and are willing to pay that 50 stotinki are not the ones who are going to steal! You are weeding out the wrong people, Billa - and putting them at risk to be robbed. Once inside the store after grabbing a few items, I realized I needed a little carrying basket, which was nowhere to be found after many clueless wanders around the store. Strange. Where is the sense in this? If I run in for a few items, I am more inclined to buy more from your store if you provide me with a basket, right? After eyeing a buggy near the produce lady who is tossing curious glances, I realize it is out of commission and ask her if I can stash my handful with her while I find one of my own. She is certainly not amused, but I concentrate on finding the buggy. Walking out of the store past the security guard who is eyeing me suspiciously, I find them lined against the side of the store but chain locked together and decorated with coin depository boxes. Hmmm. Turning around I find some giant, plastic kiddy carts that resemble playskool playhouses free from the restrictive binds of Billa being quickly picked up by old grandpas unwilling to pay the 50 stotinki #2 it costs to obtain the buggy. This also makes no sense, because it’s those little children and sneaky grandpas you have to worry about snatching something! And they escape the buggy bill! Now, although I avoided the requirement of leaving my bag in the cubby, how would an unassuming first time shopper deal with this situation now that their money to pay for the buggy has been locked up? At this point the most pressing of an accumulating list of problems is that I do not have a 50 stotinki coin. Great. Walk back into the store past the suspicious security guard, past the lady holding my items who is still quizzically staring at me, past the number of workers who have seen me wandering cluelessly for quite some time and over to the cashier whom I ask for change for my 50 stotinki in smaller coins because luckily I still have my wallet with me. Walk back out. Unfortunately, I now cannot figure out exactly how this whole coin depository for the chained up buggy mess works. Walk back in, past security guard, produce lady, Billa staff, change giving cashier and over to the exit door security guard where I again play the ne razbiram card but in a different way. He takes me back out past front door security guard and shows me how to insert my 50 stotinki. Finally! I have a shopping cart. By now I am wishing I had the guts to steal the kiddie cart with no kid. All and all I am not pleased with this troublesome and stressful process and certainly do not like having to pay to shop. I am giving you people business dammit! At the end of the day and after paying another 30 stotinki to have the change-giving cashier wave her magic wand to allow an oh-so-valuable plastic bag that she is basically guarding with her life to be given to an honest customer, which I pack myself, I walk out past back door security guard to return my buggy. At this point in a long shopping journey I discover the irony of the entire situation – after warding off a swarm of hovering old Bulgarian ladies trying to get their hands on the buggy I paid 50 stotinki for so they would not have to, my buggy bill comes back out of the coin depository after I reinstate the chains! So at the end of the day, it would cost me 50 stotinki to steal a shopping cart. Before I was complaining about the 50 stotinki but now I am finding it to be the greatest deal ever! In Los Angeles they attached those electronic monitoring devices to buggies that probably tasered people in order to prevent homeless people from jacking them from Ralphs, but somehow I doubt the same investment was made here in Bulgaria. Since I paid for that cart, no one would be able to reprimand me or throw me to jail if I decided to take it home, right? You don’t have to pay the buggy bill in America, but that is why taking it home or to your cardboard box near the entrance of I-10 on Vermont is considered stealing. There was no sign laying out my rights or fine print I did not read when I put my 50 stotinki into that depository. Trust me, I looked. No one told me I could not take it home. So after all of the precautions Billa took to make sure I did not steal food, shopping baskets or plastic bags and did not enjoy the shopping experience in any way, shape or form, they are basically giving me a buggy for 50 stotinki. Perhaps next time I will take my honestly paid for buggy home with me – then it will be worth all the pain. Welcome to Bulgaria

Switching the subject from Billa rantings, a few weeks ago Day and I held Janel and Sehee’s birthday bash in Blagoevgrad and invited all of our lovely ladies to join the festivities. It cannot be a Bobo party without some hint of ridiculousness so we came up with a theme – Girls Brite Out. Basically, everyone had to dress from head to toe in a single color, the tackier the better and with nasty hair to boot. I took my day-glo yellow spandex pants I found at the thrift store in Sofia meant for the Seven Rila Lakes hike back during training which was ditched last minute by Janel and I to spend a scandalous weekend in Bobo at the disco by ourselves out of the closest and paired it with everything yellow I own. All and all, the nine of us came up with some fabulous outfits that to be honest, were probably considered stylish by the fashion lagging Bulgarians and headed out to karaoke bar to show these dressed-in-black-while- acting-quiet-and-demure Bulgarian 20-somethings what an American theme party was all about. We stuck out like a sore thumb (or sour lemon as it is) and probably entertained the entire bar with how loud we can become when songs from Footloose find their way through the speakers. Karaoke had not officially started, but we gave everyone a bit of a sampler. The night was becoming late and many returned to the hotel, but after ripping her tights and busting her leg while falling down the stairs into the arms of a new Bulgarian friend who was holding a mic, Janel initiated a new chapter in the evening. Apparently the man who helped her up was a puppetmaster, an odd occupation for anyone but certainly for a Bulgarian. He bought two bottles of wine so the night only became more insane as the four last ladies standing took turns performing history-making renditions of Queen and Chili Peppers for the bar. Apparently we crashed a birthday party so we even got free cake out of the adventure.

And in other less important news, I have taken to cutting my own hair. No, I do not prefer to do such a thing, but the avant-garde hair haircutting friend in Istanbul gave me was hard to pass as normal and acceptable in Bulgaria. That and it did not agree with me most mornings. For about a week I found myself in front of my mirror cutting more and more of my bangs trying to at least let them look fringy and not like I was heading out for an American Apparel photo shoot. It brings back memories of my childhood where at various moments I decided to play hairstylist. When I was in 3rd grade I cut off a chunk of my ponytail my mom made me keep long and hid the lump of hair in the cabinet thing attached to the giant fish tank in the family room. I am not sure why I did not simply deposit the evidence outside or in the trash. I am still not sure if my parents ever discovered it. Did you guys? The summer before 7th grade I let Sara Peterson cut my hair at girls camp because she said she was good at it. I ended up with chin-length hair on one side and shoulder length on the other. I wore a Texas Rangers baseball cap for the rest of the week to keep my mom, who was a cook at camp from discovering it. She did anyway. Later that year I tried break free from the flip bangs I was previously sporting and cut and cut and cut and kept cutting trying because I could not get them even until eventually they were about one inch long. My school picture from that year gives proof of the terror of this and if I had it with me, I would post it for all to enjoy. I was never particularly good at cutting hair, as my Barbies will tell you after my sister Allison and I gave them some pretty awful hairstyles, though I am not sure if we realized the hair was not coming back. Anyhow, despite all of this experience, I am still not very good. But I went from this:

To this:

So I think I did society some good.

Basically these days I am trying to find the humor and lightness in a very difficult and trying situation. School is not easy. In fact, it is probably the most difficult thing I have ever done and drains every ounce of energy, goodness and remaining piece of optimism from my life. I am not proud to say this is the case and do feel like a failure in many ways. Every day is a struggle. However, every day is also a new day so I try to look at it from that perspective. Despite wanting to give up every night, I remember there was some reason I was sent here so I owe it to whatever that reason is to give it a clean shot. The other day I was reading a part of a letter I wrote to a friend about a year ago where the energy with which I embraced the idea of this being the hardest and most challenging situation and experience in my life was explosive. I was so excited then to have such an experience and navigate my way through the hard times – to prove to myself I could become something fabulous and ultimately, the leader of my own life that was such a focus of MDA 365 (thanks Sadie and Bennis). That is certainly easier said than done and I stumble and falter all the time in this process, but I am grateful for the things that ground me and bring meaning in my life. It is times like these where you really remember what is important.

So, we will see how things go. I am sorry if I have been neglecting many of you recently or not being my normal communicative self, but this is one of those chapters where I drown out the difficulties on my heated tiled floor and with the drugs of choice – episodes of Days of Our Lives, Project Runway and Gossip Girl instead of being eager to send the not-so-good news back home. Despite this, I still love you all massively. And I really want Mr. Josh Decker to know that because you make me laugh when I need it the most – even though you don’t really know it! And thanks for being a sneaky missionary at Christmas, because you made my month. Happy Birthday to Mr. Colin “Coash” Noonan next week. I love you more than life and miss you just as much! Have a great one. Also the warmest of warm birthday wishes to the fabulous Garret Pierson, intern Warren (still holding on the bitterness of you not letting me drop you off at your fraternity sophomore year), the beautiful Sara Collins (don’t let tax season eat you), “box” Katie McCollum (I really hope you are doing well!), London buddy Brett (take your travels to Eastern Europe next!) and my fellow PCVs Ali, Cassie and Janel who make this whole experience more beautiful and enriching because great people like yourselves are here to go through it with. Congratulations to Mrs. Jamie Boyd Sohn for the nuptials, my girl Casey for the upcoming baby and my bestest Genelle for your four year anniversary (give little Addie a belated Happy Birthday kiss from Aunt Amy!)! Good luck to Kevs in the MCAT studying. A meaningful thank you must go out to my Bobos Sehee, Day and Janel for the listening ears and supportive words – I love you more than you know and am so grateful to have you here with me. Ditto for Kevin, you know what you do – I cannot tell you enough. Also Will for listening to me be dramatic and not posting the throw up pictures and Bradford for slowing down the lesson-planning process by providing an always interesting conversation. And lastly, thanks to all the wonderful people at home loving, caring for, being interested in what is going on with and taking the time to laugh, cry and intellectualize with me. Particularly mom and dad. You get me through this and you know who you are.

I usually keep my faith personal. But the truth of it is that my faith is very much a part of me. And when the journey gets rough, the beams of light and rays of hope that emanate from it to bathe me in comfort and warm me with the blessings of home remind me how grateful I am to have its beauty in my life and how much more I can become because of it.

All alone I leave the harbor

So many oceans to explore.

On my own I face the darkness

As I leave behind the safety of the shore.

When I'm tossed upon the waters.

When winds of change begin to blow.

His words of truth I will follow.

The Savior's hope is the anchor of my soul.

Sailing on to deeper waters

The journey starts to take its toll.

And I am lost amid the battles

That test my faith and stretch my soul.

When I'm tossed upon the waters.

When winds of change begin to blow.

His words of truth I will follow.

The Savior's hope is the anchor of my soul.

Voices of the night

Trying to tear me from the fight.

But somewhere deep inside my heart I know

That when I'm tossed upon the waters.

When winds of change begin to blow.

His words of truth I will follow.

The Savior's hope is the anchor of my soul.

All alone I leave the harbor.

Houskeeping First:

Click for: Living in a Winter Wonderland: Merry Christmas PICTURES

Click for: A Bulgarian Thanksgiving and Oh So Cold November PICTURES

Click for: Istanbul, Turkey (Part 1) PICTURES

Click for: Istanbul, Turkey (Part 2) PICTURES

Click for: Istanbul NEW YEARS EVE PICTURES!

Merry Christmakuhwanza and Happy New Year!

While most of you celebrated the holidays in countries and cities filled with the commercialized holiday spirit, which admittedly I love and did not realize precisely how much until I came here, I had the privilege of celebrating Christmas the Bulgarian way with bits of British mixed in. By decorating my house with cheap Christmas décor found at the pazaar, baking millions of Christmas cookies for classroom parties, putting my seventy-seven song Christmas playlist on constant repeat, and downloading every good and bad holiday movie for a non-stop Christmas movie marathon, I brought a bit of the American Christmas spirit into my life here. However, after teaching my students a number of lessons on the British Christmas tradition from my UK printed textbooks and being asked what the holiday is like in the States, I have come to the conclusion that perhaps a naughty Pilgrim threw the package carrying Christmas tradition off the Mayflower on its way to America. My children found it bizarre that my family eats Mexican food for Christmas Eve, can only open one present before Santa comes, goes to the movies on Christmas and does not have the unlucky animal whose meat will fill our carnivorous bellies at dinner every year predetermined. After inquiring about the reason to which I could only shrug my shoulders and reply “I don’t know,” I started to wonder who created tradition in the first place. Regardless, I got my taste of a more longstanding Christmas tradition this year. It started with a Christmas program at school, most of which I did not understand, but a video of some beautiful traditional music can be seen if you click here. A few days before vacation started, a few of the Brits up in Govedartsi had a proper Christmas meal where I ate my first share of brussel sprouts and leeks and pulled my first Christmas cracker. All in all it was a good time, but after spending the last few weeks exhausted from school and all the Christmasing, I was more than ready for a relaxing holiday.

Winter break started with a wintery bang. With a fresh pouring of snow, Kevin and I planned a late night sledding excursion with Ruth and Noah, our new young friends in Samokov. Ruth is an English girl who bought a house in our town and brought her American boyfriend Noah with her. Its good to have young people around, as that is generally not the case. Spending the whole day looking for one of those flying plastic saucers that propelled kids down the hill next to my house in Oklahoma as a kid, I got the goods and we were set. Sledding was good fun and Kevin’s first experience with the “sport”. We went up to the motorcross track, which was covered with fresh and untouched snow and the dark sky brightened with a full moon. Although the beauty of the snow here in Bulgaria is that it covers up all the crap that lies beneath, it is quite deceiving at the worst moments. Like when you step up a curb to find that solid ground is actually two feet beneath. Or when you end up lying in a ditch of snow on a motorcross track to find water seeping on all sides. The next day Chris, an English friend from Govedartsi, and I headed up to Maleovitsa, a beautiful tiny ski resort deep in the mountains. So deep the road ends there. If one was ambitious enough, 20 km hiked can lead to the Rila Monastery - it is that secluded. It is also free of foreigners and mainly a Bulgarian ski destination, but the run looked like it could kill, so do not expect me to give my snowboarding skills a test on that death trap. We took our sleds up a bit of the run and flew down so fast I honestly could have ended up in the parking lot. It was great fun and probably the best sledding spot in all of Bulgaria. The river that runs through Samokov originates up in these mountains and there is a trail through the national forest that runs along it. We started walking along/hiking up it and the snow on the sides was seriously like four feet. It is by far the most beautiful scene I have witnessed in Bulgaria thus far. I felt like I was in Chronicles of Narnia stepping out of a closet into a winter fantasy. It looked as though there were diamonds in the snow it sparkled so amazingly. I have never seen anything similar. The trail was a proper hike and although not previously planned, I was excited to sled downhill. We made it pretty far up near the treeline and began descent on the sleds. It was like a water slide with loops, curves, hills and dips with the five-foot snow banks on each side keeping us inside of the trail and out of the river. Tremendously fun, I found the gem of Bulgaria in the winter.

After the winter weather fun and for the holidays, I headed back to my host family and village in Boboshevo with little more than my fleece pjs, a week’s worth of Days of our Lives downloaded and The Nanny Diaries as the primary choice of read. However, my plans of doing nothing important and everything indulgent were quickly thwarted. Problem #1: the location I imagined doing nothing had no heating, thus providing no place other than the kitchen to occupy myself for three days. Problem #2: the alone time I imagined having was quickly overtaken by children wanting to play Uno or have me draw snowmen all day. Problem #3: every paragraph read was interrupted by MamaVanya asking me if I wanted to eat an orange, apple, kiwi, potato, chocolate, meatball etc. etc… Problem #4: I accidentally drank some not-so-kosher steamed milk. I later found this milk in a Fanta bottle, which means it came straight from the cow. Probably the neighbor’s. Needless to say, this skim-milk drinking girl spent Christmas evening trying to calm her upset and chunky whole-milk hating stomach and digestive system. And Problem #5 and most troubling: I had to SHARE a make-shift bed in the kitchen with my crazy host mother. No Days of our Lives. No alone time. No thinking. No spread eagle under the covers. No sleeping. No late night reading. None of it. Instead, I found my Christmas nights spent with the ipod full blast trying to drown out the snores of a woman who I swear, does not know that allergy and cold medicine existed. Its one thing if you snore. I mean I certainly do not like it. However, it is another if your stores are topped off with a high frequency, liquidy snot-shifting noise coming from deep with the nasal canal. She was alright if she was on her stomach, but the last night I spent probably thirty minutes kicking, poking and even pinching her to see if she would wake up since my not-so-quiet curses, blanket pulls or intentional elbows to her side did not do the trick. She did not budge. Not once. I ended up relocating my head near her feet so at least the snotty sound would not permeate my full blast savior of an ipod. In the morning she looked at me strangely saying she did not understand how I made it over there. I kept mum. It is best she does not know I can become really violent when my sleep is disputed.

However, not all was terrible. In fact, it was one of the more interesting experiences here in Bulgaria and I was given great insight into the culture of this country. I do not understand any of it, but hey, I can appreciate! In Bulgaria, Christmas is a three-day celebration with Christmas Eve being the most important holiday. However, during the communist era people could not celebrate Christmas so New Years was and continues to be a much bigger and more festive holiday; it is also when most people give gifts. A bit of Western Christmas tradition has seeped in over the last ten years so one can see trees, stockings and cheesy décor, but Bulgaria largely remains a New Years centric holiday.

Christmas Eve is a vegan day with the primary dishes being bean soup, sarmi (rice with a carroty/peppery sauce wrapped in on-its-way-to-being-pickled cabbage), baklava (a Turkish desert with fortunes inside), fruits of all kind and pitka, a bread made of only flour and water. You cannot eat any product that comes from an animal. I am unaware of the reasoning behind any of these traditions but after considering the lack that accompanies my own, I figure it does not really matter. I spent all day watching/helping MamaVanya and Nelly prepare the food while everyone stayed inside the house. Unlike in America with all the last minute shopping and visiting friends, it is not custom to leave the house or your family on Christmas Eve. Kiko stayed with MamaVanya and I to eat dinner #1 at her house, which is eaten at a specific hour. Everything has to be on the table at one time and remains there until the next morning or bad luck will commence. The first thing that takes place is each person breaks off a piece of the bread as there is some sort of fortune attached to how large a portion ends up being pulled. Bulgarians set aside a piece for all non-present members of the family, as well as for God and the house. They cook a button, a stotinki (coined money), and a little stick into the bread, which each person searches to find in their piece. At our dinner the house got the button, so I guess that means luck - I am not entirely sure. At first I was really confused wondering why everyone was picking through the bread and for what reason it was being placed strategically at different spots on the table rather than on the plate. I figured just don’t touch until someone else did or I was told what to do. I did find the stick in my piece of bread, but I am not sure what that means. A video of the whole thing going down, as well as a good sample of Bulgarian language can be seen if you click here.

Because the dinner was just us three, it was less formal than any other Christmas dinner I have been involved in with the TV on and pjs worn. However, we soon received a call from Nelly and were on our way to their house for dinner #2. Much more formal and decorative at hers, we arrived just in time for another breaking of the bread. Unfortunately, I was stuffed from dinner #1. Christmas Eve rather than Christmas is also when the family gives each other presents, yet I noticed the holiday is far less centered on presents and gifts than in America. I bought a few different things for the kids and everyone seemed to think this was a lot of presents, but the kids loved it and I was happy to see them so excited. Nelly’s family gives all the presents on Christmas Eve, including those from Santa, but I think this may be different than other Bulgarians. Christmas ended pretty early and MV and I headed back home to go to sleep, something I had not been getting much of.

Christmas Day seemed to be to be just like any other – of course with a Bulgarian twist. Unlike Eve, this is the time during the 3-day celebration that na gosting (visiting friends) resumes. The kids came over way too early in the morning wanting to play with the gifts I had given them. I gave in for a bit, although I really just wanted to read my book. I definitely missed how in the States my family wakes up late and then heads over to Uncle Greg’s house just to fall asleep with movies or books on the couch. After trying to say no, I was dragged out with Nelly and family to Dupnitsa. They wanted to “walk around” somewhere and although Dupnitsa would not exactly be my Christmas Day excursion of choice, I figured they would go to the center and take a little razhodka (walk). Wrong. We ended up in some dirty, smelly, had not been cleaned in weeks internet café, which was packed with high school boys gaming. Apparently the mayor of Boboshevo who lives in Dup has a son who works there. Now how a mayor of a town or village can be elected without even living in the city that elected them is beyond me. And here would be the appropriate place for a very amusing side story: a month or so back when I called MamaVanya to check in I asked her about the elections in Bobo, which she said went great and the mafioso crook of a mayor was replaced with one that Nelly, a social worker at the municipality, really liked. She then told me that she herself had started working a 9-5 job, at which I was surprised. I was informed she was working at the municipality of a nearby village for the mayor. However, when I showed up in Bobo and asked her how her job was and what she did, she kept saying “mayor.” I asked a few more times suggesting she was the secretary and various other things attempting to clarify, but no, she simply repeated “mayor.” I came to figure out that she does not work for the mayor, she is the mayor. Admittedly shocked, I felt somewhat retarded and wondered if I offended her. But to be honest, I am not sure how my crazy host mother can run a town, even if it is only of sixty people. But this story relates, because like this new Bobo mayor, MV does not even live in the village she is the mayor of. I do not get it. Anyhow, back to the story at hand, the kids wanted to play games so Nelly and I being the only two females aside from Deni loitered around this nasty place being stared at by pervy boys while the kids and Kiko played games. Eventually the owner came in and started speaking to me in English. He lives in Moldova while attending pharmacy school. He began telling me about his beautiful Moldovan girlfriend and how she owned a “marriage agency.” Right away a red flag went up and I wondered if what I was thinking he was talking about really was what he was talking about. It was. He proceeded to tell me how great he thought this business that sold 18-22 year old Moldovan girls to be wives of American men was. My eyes widening and mouth opening at an accelerating rate, I kept saying how horrible this is, for these American men are generally married and incredibly skeezy, while these girls are put in the position to be exploited, but he did not seem fazed. He responded by saying what a great opportunity it was for these girls to leave Moldova and get a green card. I could not believe this was happening. Nelly seemed intrigued and I turned to her and explained desperately in Bulgarian how awful this was so she did not buy for his defense for a single second. Regardless, as I sat sending my family and a few of you a quick Christmas greeting, I was laughing as I realized my Christmas was being spent in the company of a man who supported a somewhat legal version of sex trafficking in a dirty internet café all while Whitney Houston was screaming she “will always love you” and Toni Braxton pleaded “unbreak my heart.” Welcome to Bulgaria I guess.

Incredibly anxious to get home, I head back to Samokov as soon as I could on the 26th. I thought Christmas was over, but Eli and family downstairs explained to me it was still Christmas. I was over it though. Holiday overkill. Janel came over and we headed up to Borovets for some “relaxing” in the lobby of Hotel Rila, the nicest and largest hotel in Borovets right on the bottom of the ski run. We came with books, computers and knitting supplies feeling our relaxing needed a change of scenery. After a few hours and Janel’s big spill on the ice, which for the record I still have not yet experienced myself, we ended up at Ari and Aimee’s, a few of my British friends, restaurant for a Boxing Day/Ari’s birthday celebration. This time of year is when Borovets really picks up, becoming a proper ski resort, unfortunately with prices to match. We were targeted left and right by people trying to get us to eat at their restaurants. One of then said, “I speak American” and pointed to the sandwich with American cheese as an indication that they serve “American food.” Borevets is a good time however, because food not found in Bulgaria generally can be purchased there and there is so much activity. Kevin and I came up with a new plan where we will spend our weekends up there with him boarding down the mountain and me sitting in the lobby sipping hot chocolate and reading (errr.. scoping out attractive tourists).

After two days of lying on my heated floor tiles watching movies (and Kayla/Adr/Chels – I FINALLY watched Newsies) I headed out with Sehee and Sarah to meet some others in Istanbul, Turkey. I cannot rave about this city enough – it is big and beautiful, full of energy and activity, oozing history and magnificence, bleeding art and creativity and home to some of the greatest shopping and food the world has to offer. I was certainty ready for this trip having been battling a case of cabin fever in Bulgaria. It felt great to get out of the country and even though I love and have adapted quite well to Bulgaria, the timing of visiting a city that has got it right could not have been better. After a night bus and three hours at the border dealing with all sorts of ridiculousness (including being in a half-awake daze buying a visa to find myself chasing a bus driver running away with my passport – basically the twilight zone), we arrived. Unfortunately for the pocketbook, the hostel I picked was smack dab in the middle of the city’s shopping, arts and nightlife districts. We made the walk down the shop-lined Istikal Street making a few friends along the way in vintage stores and cute boutiques. We crossed the fisherman-lined bridge that looms over the Bosporus and made out way to Sultanhamet, the old town that is filled with gems of early Christian history and the later Islamic period. This is where one can find the Blue Mosque (a mosque built to trump the beauty and grandeur of the neighboring Christian Aya Sofya), Aya Sofya (a cathedral turned into a mosque after Ottoman takeover that still houses an amazing fusion of religions), Topkapi Palace (the palatial home of the Sultans complete with a haram and incredible jewels) and the Hippodrome (the outdoor market area which was the stage of political hustle and bustle during Byzatine and Ottoman times). Even though the film took place in Arabia, we found ourselves making a ridiculous number of Aladdin references, as well as singing the songs. But when does that not happen… After getting a bit lost, we found our way to the public transport, which has to be the best in the world. Completely clean and absolutely efficient, Istanbul is home to the second oldest subway system in the world, following only the Tube in London. But after using it all week, I am ready to write letters home to governors and mayors urging them to visit and take lessons from the Turks. Coming from Los Angeles, it is a breath of fresh air to finally see a city and government who has got it together.

In lieu of a shower at the hostel, we visited a Turkish bath the next day to cleanse and beautify. Dubbed one of the “1000 Places to See Before You Die,” we went all out at the Cagaloglu Hamam. It certainly was an interesting experience. Completely naked we were led to a steamed, marbled room with little alcoves housing faucets and sinks to rinse ourselves in the company of the other bath guests. After the rinse we laid on a heated marble slab in the middle of the room to wait for our bath attendant. Somewhat of a strange experience, I was certainly lost in translation as a stranger woman was massaging, exfoliating and washing my entire body. I just closed my eyes to avoid awkwardness and whenever I would get a little nudge I opened them to have a large Turkish lady peering down at my face and ask “Very, very nice?” Agreeing, I closed then again until the next nudge or push informed me it was time to flip over or relocate. After the exfoliation she again peered down and pointing to my stomach informed, “Much dead skin.” Thanks for the information lady - I live in the land of dryness. She nearly tore my head off washing my hair, and I was not prepared for the face wash as I found myself gasping for breath between bucket pours. But all in all, it was incredibly nice and very relaxing. I am coming to embrace nakedness much more in this side of the world than I ever did in the States. You might find me at the nudist beach or something upon return. When it was all over, Sarah, Sehee and I nibbled on Turkish delight in the café before returning to the little changing cubicles that came complete with a bed if one wanted to take a nappy nap.

As far as nightlife goes, it is amazing in Istanbul and I am a sucker for the night. I remember in London how much I hated staying in knowing that an incredible city was buzzing along without me. I had the same problem in Istanbul whenever we were at the hostel – I hate to miss out. Music, art, dance and late-night food are everywhere. We ventured out to find a few live music places, including one with English covers, which was a good time. New Years Eve itself was a blast. Heading out with Eric, Will, Beckie and Amanda, we got tickets to Babylon’s Oldies but Goodies party. Primped and ready to dance, we had a fabulous time in a venue finally free of chalga and tasteless techno music. And as it goes, we were definitely the Americans in the house. I realized in London that Americans can be spotted incredibly quickly at clubs, because we dance not with each other, but on each other. And hey, I am totally okay with that (although this is what I monitored while on passion patrol at EFY), but it does not always go over real well with other cultures to find seven people just on each other – especially with reserved and reticent onlookers. The night before the others went to an Irish pub and met a few of the guys who happened to be at the same party; being contractors in Iraq and with tons of money, they bought most everyone all their drinks. The also bought a couple of “escorts” for the night, which I did not understand until Eric leaned over and whispered, “those girls are prostitutes.” Skeezy men. It was, however, amusing to watch these men become all territorial over their “purchases” after ignoring them for most of the night. Perhaps the most amusing moment was when Beckie asked, “So what’s the deal with your whore?” All in all, this New Years Eve was perhaps the only good one of my entire life. I generally hate the holiday, but this one was spent in a wonderful city in the company of good friends, fun music and a cute dress ☺ We missed the Bulgarian New Year, which I heard was crazy and full of tons of fireworks, but ours was just as good.

The most interesting adventures of our Istanbul trip came from shopping – and oh how I do love this activity. One day we headed to the Grand Bazaar, which is the largest indoor market in the world. It stretches 7 sq km. according to the Lonely Planet and is full of Turkish goods, antiques, homewares, clothing, food and anything else you can think to spend your money on. It is unbelievably large and very easy to find yourself lost. Sehee, Sarah and I got our game faces on and prepared to bargain. Unfortunately, being a really bad liar, I am not too good at this, but I feel I got a bit better. It was also interesting to listen to all of the salesmen trying out their pickup lines in efforts to work a sell and get our attention.

Turkish salesman (after I ignored him): Excuse me, you dropped something.

Sarah: What?

Turkish salesman: Your boyfriend.

OR

Turkish salesman: Excuse me pretty lady, I have sweatshirts. Do you want sweatshirts?

Me: I don’t want a sweatshirt

Turkish salesman: How about me?

We think it might be what they to do pass the time, but we did meet a few nice ones and exchanged email addresses along the way. Kindness people. That is what gets you a friend, not skeeziness or cheap sweatshirts. That or sweepy hair, as it was love at sweepy bangs sighting for me with the salesman (whose name I immediately forgot) at a pashmina shop. First of all, these Turkish men are to die for. After being in Bulgaria for so long, I found I was convincing myself they were attractive – Bulgaria goggles if you will. But after visiting Turkey and being surrounded with the plethora of beauty, sweepiness and style, I will possibly never again find a Bulgarian man attractive. After trying to work the flirt by requesting something “warm,” my exchange with Mr. Sweepy then became a spectator sport witnessed by the other girls and the boys, who out of the entire bazaar we somehow ran into at Mr. Sweepy’s shop. After letting him very slowly and closely wrap his pasmina of choice around my neck with my face becoming bright red, he said “30lira but for you 25lira.” Giving him the eye he offered 20lira and after about ten more minutes of flirting he went down to15lira. But really, I would have paid 50lira for the scarf I did not even need from this beautiful man. Suddenly Sarah yells, “Ten and she will throw in a hug!” Life over. Beet red and I do not blush. Thankfully, I think that comment got lost in translation. He ducked down and whispered in my ear, “Ten, but don’t tell my partner.” Sold, but I was also sold twenty minutes before. After a bit more flirting and small talk, before parting he gave me his business card saying, “Come back if you need anything else.” I could think of a few more things I could have needed but could not muster the nerve to take my falling in love with Mr. Sweepy outside of the Grand Bazaar. Oh well. I know where he works. Next time.

The following day proved to be by far the most interesting experience of the trip. After New Years, the girls and I did not make it out of the house until three and headed to the MAC makeup store. We spent an hour and a half being made over by a brilliantly amusing gay Turkish man who proudly pronounced Sarah “Barbie” after doing her up. He caked patent red leather lipstick on me proclaiming, “Madonna,” but knowing I could not walk around in public like that without being solicited, we ducked into the neighboring store to spend five minutes trying to get that stuff off. After blowing a huge sum of money in MAC the saleslady said, “Charlie’s Angels” (a term we had gotten a few times with the varying ethnicities and hair colors between the three of us), and our makeup artist gayishly piped in, “And me, Charlie!” Good laughs. After MAC and upon doing a bit of research the night before, I found some vintage stores in the area, which we headed towards. Thinking it would be a quick browse because I was really the only one keenly interested in this activity, we walked into Retro to be greeted by the nicest, most generous men in the world. Right away bags and coats were taken, drinks ordered, and Turkish delight, chocolate and pistachios finger fed to us. Having been in a quite large number of vintage stores in my life, Retro was one of the largest and most interesting. It could have been a wholesaler, and I found myself quickly talking business and buying methods with the one salesman who spoke English (for the purposes of the blog, he will hereafter be referred to as Bob). He seemed enthused by my sheer excitement and was rather amused as I flew around the store throwing different clothes on, working an outfit out and wildly digging through bins of purses, belts and scarves. After inquiring about prices of items, Bob said, “At the end, very special price for you.” Uh oh. Trouble. Each of the salesmen were overwhelmingly kind, but I think the American girl thing gave us a few points. We also figured they were each gay given their apparel, jobs and mannerisms, but came to realize we missed the mark on this. Finally making it out of the dressing room with a load in my arm and heading towards the checkout, Bob and the storeowner (for the purposes of the blog, he will hereafter be referred to as Ralph) gave me ALL of my stuff for 60lira. Amazing. Sarah got a bit upset because her two things only cost 40lira so Ralph let her hunt down whatever she wanted in the store as a gift. At this point and nearly two hours later, Bob was trying to make dinner and evening plans with us, which we were somewhat skeptical about. After affirming, “You might think this is strange, but we are just really nice and friendly,” Sehee replied with, “So your intentions are pure??” We decided they were trustworthy. Sehee made a comment on my hair and indicated I needed a haircut to which Bob responded, “You need haircut? We do haircut.” At this point I found myself being led away towards Bob’s haircutting friend (for the purposes of the blog, he will hereafter be referred to as Frankie). This is where it gets really nuts. Between racks of vintage clothing on a stool in front of a mirror with scarves and vintage purses hanging from it sat on an antique Turkish rug, Frankie took one look at me up and down, wearing a vintage nightgown to keep the hair off, and went to town. My hair was an absolute mess from the air drying and frizzy ponytail I sported the whole day and I wondered how he would work through the mane. He cut my hair in fifteen minutes with scissors flying faster than I had ever seen. Frankie was amazing and incredibly gifted with haircutting. He kept pointing to his heat and heart, bringing his hands together and saying “revelation.” He also held a piece of my cut off hair saying, “bad energy” and then holding up his scissors proclaimed, “good energy.” That was the extent of his English. Unfortunately he gave me bangs, but hey, I am willing to try something new. It was all so strange with my hair being cut in store while shoppers continued to browse on all sides, Joe bringing plates of Doritos and cups of tea to everyone with Ralph sitting on an antique typewriter in the corner, all while Turkish music was blaring. Though this video is not at a good angle, you can see how many crazy things were happening at once.

After I was finished, Frankie cut Sarah’s hair as I roamed through the vintage store trying on more and more clothes. Getting quite late, Joe said he ordered in traditional Turkish food for us. Crazy! We then found ourselves eating at a table near a fully stocked bar/kitchen (in a vintage store!) with these incredible Turks! The store finally closed around 10:30 at night and Ralph offered to let us take whatever we wanted in the store. We declined but it was close to realizing my dream of being locked in a huge vintage store all night. After talking for a while, we came to learn that Bob is a promoter in Istanbul, concept creator of Retro vintage store, DJ, aspiring film director and sometimes hairdresser. Ralph is the actual business owner of Retro, famous in Turkey in the fashion industry and the son of a famous Turkish singer. And Frankie is an esteemed and famous hairdresser who studied in France and at Toni & Guy and works on runway shows. All telling us they were famous and all Istanbul knows them. I am not sure how we stumbled into the mecca of Istanbul’s art and fashion under the disguise as a vintage store, but I am glad we did. After a photo op and guarantees that I would let Bob and Ralph help me when I open my own vintage store, we said our goodbyes probably five hours after we stepped foot in there. Who knew it would come in the form of one of my favorite activities, but the cultural integration opportunities of traveling are certainly the most rewarding and memorable. Back at the hostel and after sharing the experience with Beckie and Amanda, they went the next day to have a five-hour adventure of their own.

All in all, Turkey was amazing. However, we bought way too much stuff and had to go through the trouble of hauling it all the way back to Bulgaria. A twelve hour night bus later, we arrived in dark, dreary and gray Sofia that was bruised and battered from a huge snowstorm the night before. Admittedly, it is difficult to be back in Bulgaria after being in such a wonderful place. I am not sure how something so close can be a world away, but I guess that’s the world. And Turkey seems far more western than Bulgaria so I do not know what the big deal is about joining the EU. Granted I only saw Istanbul and the country is incredibly large and diverse, I say if you can let Bulgaria and Romania in, give Turkey a chance. Anyhow, I finally landed in Samokov to be greeted with a beautiful, sunny day that glorified the two feet of snow covering the ground. I hear it only gets worse from here with regards to the snow. School and normal life resume on Monday, which I am not sure I am ready for and do not look forward to the difficulties, but that is what I am here to do, battle the difficult and challenge the status quo.

Conclusively to this really long blog, I miss everyone tremendously and would love to hear from you. Happy New Year! A very special Happy Birthday to my lovely and loved bestests Adrienne, Casey and Janaina – I love you all ridiculously. Also lotsa birthday love sent out to the beautiful Jamie Boyd (as well as wedding congrats!), Miss Katy “Frisco’s Mom” in London, my boy Jerret, my lovely Bobo and Turkey adventurer Sehee, Miss EFY Ann, Andrew the Scot, Sam Hagler my PCV friend in Paraguay, MDA buddy Gary Lee and Miss Natalie Spicola, who endured that torturous law office with me. A big Happy 30th Wedding Anniversary to my crazy parents and I think 3rd anniversary to Chels and John. Congrats to the new graduates out there, including my sisters Jen and Ali, as well as Mr. Ryan Hale - you more than anyone deserve it. Especially since you took longer than my older sister Jen and that is somewhat unimaginable ☺. Big thanks to Belkis for giving us the lowdown on Istanbul! Colin, good luck to your Bucks!! And lastly, FIGHT ON TROJANS!

Housekeeping first:

Click for Halloween: Brining the Box to Bulgaria photo album.

Click for I'm a Schoolgirl Again: Fall, Winter and the Short Time Between photo album.

Winter is here. I have been in denial about this for a good period of time and cannot say this is not still the case. When it was fifty degrees outside (which for the record is way too cold for me) I imagined that was the worst it was going to get. Wrong. After a rather warm evening that blessed Kevin and I with a brilliantly clear sky for trying to recall whether one can see the same constellations here in Bulgaria as in Hawaii but giving up and inventing our own instead, we awoke the morning of Nov. 10th to be “icily” welcomed with that wrath of that once beautiful sky. Everything was completely covered in white, which by the end of the day measured around nine or so inches. Despite the unfortunate permanent existence of this substance in a town with two warm-blooded volunteers, admittedly it was indescribably beautiful. I think one of my favorite memories in Bulgaria thus far is sitting with Kevin that morning enjoying a big breakfast and watching my town sleep under this comforting and beautiful white blanket while discussing the beauty that is life with Mariah’s Christmas croonings providing the perfect soundtrack. For as simple and calm as this memory is in comparison to most of the strange, scandalous and/or somewhat ridiculous others I find myself tallying up here, it will stay with me as most fond. We even dared to go out onto my balcony to experience the first snow, for which my wardrobe and shoe collection is unprepared. I mentioned this a while back and believed I had tackled the problem with my proud purchase of a North Face coat, fleece and head wrappy, ear covery thing. That’s right kids – North Face. Unfortunately, every time I think I am taking a step in the right direction for becoming prepared for this I am harshly informed that I am not. Once again donning every piece of clothing I own, the experience of me greeting this first snow was candidly caught on video, as well as complaints about the footwear the snow compels me to sport.

Despite its initial beauty, the snow gets old real fast. In theory I am okay with winter weather – before it was nothing personal. However, in the past I have befriended this wintery friend while driving/riding a heated car that could be parked close enough to a door to make wearing stiletto heeled boots or my red, suede 80’s slouch booties still okay. But here in Bulgaria, this little problem with the snow quickly became personal. I must walk everywhere with its constant company. And you cannot trip, slide, freeze, slow or cause me to become unfavorably and unexpectedly wet without expecting a deep strain in our relationship. Further problematic is that these idiotic Bulgarian drivers find it funny to speed up and spin out in the giant puddles of a foul mud/sand/oil/ice/snow/donkey poo mix and purposely drench the innocent passerby with this concoction of disgustingness. I am also still somewhat a slave to fashion, which I mean in the least superficial way and consider it a tribute to art and human decency. As much as I try, I just cannot bring myself to wear the ugly hiking boots that will get me through this mess dry. I stick to my suede knee-highs, which clearly are not waterproof but unlike the ugly hiking boots, shield my pants from the above-mentioned street juice and keep me warm. Plus they match. So despite the lose-lose situation, I believe I have made a wise choice. I have, however, given the waterproof socks a shot and am quite glad I have (thanks mom and REI for making me spend that seventeen bucks a pair). Regardless, the Bulgarian women who are wearing boots more insensible than my own seem to walk through the town normally and with no unforeseen problems. And no, I am not ridiculous enough to dare bare a heel here. But here I am slipping and sliding all over the place wondering if my life is going to end or my back will become broken with each new step. It honestly is as though I am ice-skating and there has not been a single time in the last ten years that this has been accomplished with pants dry at the end (and there are multiple ways pants get wet….). I am just waiting for the day when I tumble down the steps in front of my school with all of my students pointing and laughing as the whole school quickly learns that Miss Amy totally ate s***. To add to my wintery embarrassments, I was recently informed that I do not wear a scarf properly. I have been on this earth for twenty-three years and only now did someone take it upon themselves to tell me this very critical piece of information. Apparently the manner in which I have been donning this essential piece of winter wear is as a “fashion scarf,” and not as something that insulates the neck and body. After being laughed at and ridiculed upon this observation, some colleagues took my scarf and showed me the correct way to wrap it so that heat remains inside. This was never a problem in Los Angeles. Needless to say, these days the quality of my life is centered on the physical state of the ground – snowy, slushy, icy or wet. I am finding slushy to be the most tragic as it is a combination in the worst way of the four, but I am willing to take a poll on this one. Any ideas?

With the weather out of the way, I am due for an intense update. It is not that I have not wanted to update the blog, but more like I am always grading papers or out of town and without the spare moment to actually do so. So grab a cup of coffee, fetch your glasses, turn on some sweet tunes and prepare yourselves for some reading.

My favorite time of year was about a month ago – Halloween, before winter arrived, when fall was still in full swing and the idea of costume creating was always on the mind. Bulgaria is certainly beautiful during this time of year, and I saw colors of trees and foliage I never have before. All of the volunteers headed out to Veliko Turnovo for the annual Halloween debauchery…err, party. But one wouldn’t really know the difference. Us Bobo’s spent weeks planning out of costumes, because if you know me, you know this is very important. The ‘Shevo was going to be represented in that costume contest and thankfully, Janel took the prize with her costume as the Techenie. I have been planning a blog dedicated solely to this subject, but for now I will simply inform you that techenie is Bulgarian for draft of wind and the Bulgs HATE it. It is evil. Us Americans find this hilarious and paid tribute to the Bulgarian culture by turning Janel into the “evil” draft. Staying true to tradition, I made my costume out of a box. For those not blessed to know me during the strange but wonderful high school years, I was known as showing up for class on Halloween as a random appliance made from a box – refrigerator, stove and cheese grater. Anyhow, this year I was a Borovets vafla, which is a delicious chocolate wafer bar, as well as the name of the mountain I live under. Needing to be absolutely positive that I would have the necessary item for my costume and unwilling to take the risk of not finding one, I traveled across the country with a box. I made it on foot through Samokov, on a bus to Sofia, through public transport, on to a minibus and through VT with my boxy friend in hand (as well as a large Styrofoam hat-like creation). Met with laughs, comments, raised eyebrows and many stares throughout this shameful travel, I arrived in VT to find boxes everywhere! But all was not lost as we simply picked up another for Sehee, who with Kevin, I got my costume making claws into to transform these previously unwilling costumers into something fabulous. All in all the party was good fun full of dancing and booty shaking, but with a rented house and unlimited and free alcohol, little sleep and far too much craziness made me happy to hit the road (this time without the box… a sad goobybe my dear vafla ☹).

Back in Samokov, Halloween was celebrated once again as the Brits decided to give it a go. Now this is not a British holiday and they were not nearly as excited about the costume making as we (err…I) was. Jan and Chris were actually going to show up without costume, which is a sin against Halloween so Janel and I got to work making costumes for everyone. I would say we did pretty well and brought the box back into play creating a wonderful dice for Jan that got passed around the party. I went as a shower and danced the night away (click for video), showerhead, curtain and all. And last but not least, I spread some of the spookiness to my kids with a Halloween party on the first day back from the strike. I showed them pictures of Halloween costumes, made Halloween treats and decorations, played spooky music, and turned them into toilet paper mummies. In 5th grade this turned into a giant toilet paper fight somewhat difficult to stop, but all in all, good times were had.

Never getting any rest, the Bobos headed out the next weekend to Sofia to greet Sehee’s friend Diana from the states and allow her to introduce her boyfriend Ljudimil to the family. This was actually the first time staying the night in Sofia and I had forgotten how much I love city lights. I am a child of the night. We stayed in a hostel where we made tons of traveling friends who we took out with us. Being around them definitely gave me the travel bug so I am looking forward to our upcoming New Years excursion to Istanbul and spring break getaway to Morocco and Spain (if all goes well). I may also just not come home after this Bulgarian adventure… Anyhow, during a night out in the student town with Sehee’s boy and his roomies, I heard one of my favorite pick up lines in Bulgaria so far:

Random man (who wearing an eye patch, leather pants and a small vest with nothing

underneath looks as though he should be dancing in one of the cages in the corner. But

altogether not too terribly unfortunate looking): дсфклйвервоилскджк,мнжклсйк

(something in Bulgarian)

Amy (not intrigued enough to let on she understands): Sorry, I don’t speak Bulgarian.

Mr. Leather: I speak English.

Amy: (hmmm… that didn’t work.)

Mr. Leather: Why is good girl like you so boring?

Amy: You trying to call me boring? (knowing his English just sucks)

Mr. Leather: No, I think why good girl like you look so boring.

Amy: Sorry to disappoint.

Mr. Leather: Can I help you with this?

Amy: No, but thank you.

Now unfortunately the Sofia weekend was not a proper big girl night, but I think that will have to be done without boys in our party. Perhaps soon when Janel’s friends come to visit. HEAR THAT PEOPLE, the other PCVs have friends who come to visit. So give it a try, we show people a good time.

The next weekend was Thanksgiving, but before I got together with the Americans bringing Turkey Day to Bulgaria, it was time to celebrate Jan the Brit’s birthday. I headed out to the village for a fabulous dinner party complete with an appearance by our favorite Bulgarian family – Stanley, Marinela, and Marina. I am pretty sure there are Moulin Rouge connections (go to early blog posts for this reference) given the amount of monopoly money they won from the community chest, but they are some of the greatest people here in Bulgaria and I learn a lot about this country from them. And goodness they can party. Ducking out early the next morning to get a bus to the Thanksgiving feast, I walked to the bus stop to find a flood of blood come rushing down the street accompanied by the distant squeals of some unhappy animal. Apparently it was time to die. I am wondering what happens when that blood finds its way in to the water supply, which I know is not well protected. Anyhow, I finally made it to Bobov Dol and upon walking to Janel’s apartment I found three cold and hungry cats that loved me. Now I love cats, but they hate me. I used to force my childhood cat Marbles to be my friend by dressing her up in my baby doll clothes so she could not move, tying her in the stroller with a jump rope, or stuffing her in my bed so she would sleep with me. She was never having it and got wise to these moves pretending to comply only long enough to lose my attention at which point she would bolt. One time mid-flee, I jumped to shut the door forcing her to stay inside, and unfortunately for poor little Marbles, beat her. Her head got caught in my trap and I think I gave her a concussion. She fell over for a while and I was convinced I killed her but sure enough after a few seconds she stood up, glassily eyed stumbled a few steps and then was on her way out. I let her go that time. Anyhow, I called Janel to see if she would accept a new pet, which she vehemently refused and a bit later after playing an old cat lady to the amusement of all the village’s passerbys I said goodbye to my new little friends. Up in Janel’s apartment everyone was hard at work cooking up a feast, which I jumped on board. Surprisingly, for as difficult as it is to find mainstay ingredients and American Thanksgiving essentials in Bulgaria, we had a darn good dinner if I do say so myself. It was nice to have a delicious meal and remember the holiday, but as this was my third in a row out of the country, I am becoming a pro at forgetting it ever existed. Unfortunately, the food was so good I slipped into food coma and passed out with Brian and Kai on the bed for three hours. By the time we got up, everyone else was ready to sleep so we spent hours playing twenty questions in the dark. This is what we do to entertain ourselves…

In between all those weekends I am at school – all the time. And it goes without saying that this is the hardest part of my week. I really don’t know what to say about it other than it is the most frustrating thing I have ever experienced. It is constant trial and error. Furthermore, it is one of the few experiences in my life that despite the amount of effort and work I put into making it succeed, I have no real control over the outcome. Nor can I tangibly see any positive results for most of the time. Perhaps this is somewhat like parenting. Teaching is incredibly rewarding when it is good, but terribly depressing when it is not. And here, toss a coin – its either or. Sometimes I let the troublemakers get the best of me and write them off as lost causes. I also think I have been giving these kids too much credit – I kind of expect them to take responsibility for themselves, be self-motivated and want to do well. But then I realize they are still just kids and still need a loving hand guiding them along the treacherous path. One day my counterpart and I were discussing an 8th grade boy who is a terror in both of our classes. She told me that he does not have a mom, and his dad is an alcoholic who spends all day with friends, always leaving the kid alone. As such, school and his troublemaking friends are his only sense of place and family. Hearing this hit a core, as I was shocked at how un-empathetic and shallow-minded I had been. I was angry that he is a royal pain of the worst kind and not thinking about why that is or what I could do to help. I am still not exactly sure, but it was an eye-opening experience. Mostly, school is primarily hard because I want to be some sort of miracle worker – I want to these children to learn and understand and speak English and be excited to do well, but at the end of the day, some of them just do not care. And figuring out what to do to change their attitudes and minds about is the hardest part. At first their subsequently disappearing interest was because I was an interesting foreigner, but as that wears off the deeper problems quickly appear. Any advice would be well received.

Still on the school topic, two weeks ago I gave my first parent teacher meeting a try. Now this is the most ridiculous thing about the Bulgarian education system I have encountered so far and there are many. In the States parent teacher conferences are exactly that – a conference between a parent and teacher. Here they should call it “embarrass parents and children and shame them to death in front of all of their peers and colleagues.” What happens is all of the parents from each grade meet together in a classroom while the different teachers rotate from room to room and comment on every child to their parents – IN FRONT OF ALL THE OTHERS. This is almost worse than the habit of telling a student how poorly he/she is doing in front of the other students, for while the teacher is berating a parent telling him/her how terribly misbehaved or how stupid their kid is, the parent is shirking back in fear and shame no doubt horrifyingly embarrassed that all the other students must be thinking he/she is a terrible parent who cannot control or help their child. No positive feedback is given, all negative. No suggestions for what the parent can do to help are laid out, only what the kid is doing wrong. No discretion or tact is used, just public disclosure of everything including bad grades. Private behavioral issues are complained about for all to hear and judge. It is awful. What is more terrible is that I had no idea what was going to happen in this meeting until the moment I walked in. In broken Bulgarian, which was probably the one highlight of the meeting for these parents, I tried to discuss the good things about their children, to which I believe they were quite surprised. Even with the kids I had problems with, I wanted to let the parent know I liked them and thought they had potential, but just needed some motivation. During times like these I wish I spoke Bulgarian fluently in order to adequately express what I wish. And quite unfortunately, the 8th grade students (who are my worst) were with their parents, so this mess had to be done in front of them. Now how is that considered effective? Regardless, later that night I had an 8th grade girl thank me on Skype for not complaining about her like all the other teachers did. I told her I liked her and thought she was doing well and it was as though she had never heard such a thing. Positive reinforcement people. Positive reinforcement.

All in all, I am doing okay. I feel this blog is misleadingly optimistic and positive, but I think those are my best qualities so why not use them? Plus you guys do not care about the difficult stuff. However hard it may be, not a day goes by that I do not thank God for giving me this opportunity or assuring me and allowing me to know with 100% of my being that I am supposed to be here. I want all of you to know that. There is work for me here – more kinds that I share on this blog, and I am so so thankful to be a part of it. I see the blessings pour in each and every day as I am in such a special venue for understanding who I am, the gifts I have been given, what I am capable or can become capable of doing, and how the things that influence my life and make me who I am really matter. I am wonderfully blessed with my challenges and weaknesses, which someday I know I can overcome and can make strong. I am thankful for all of the 2nd and 3rd and 4th chances given to me over and over and over again to get things right. I am also overwhelmingly grateful for an amazing partner and site-mate with whom I can travel this wonderful and difficult journey and who allows me to recognize and understand many of the aforementioned things. And Kevin, I have told you a million times before how blessed I am to have you here with me, but I just wanted to make it public ☺ I am not sure what I did in a previous life to deserve you as a site-mate but I am grateful to whatever PC plan that put us two opposite oddballs together.

Christmas and the holidays are coming so you all CAN send me a nice, loaded care package with peanut butter, Reese’s, sour cherries, cute jewelry, American Apparel warmness and issues of the Economist or music mags if you’d so like? …Yah? ☺ I hope all of you have wonderful holidays – whatever they may be. I miss and love you all tremendously and more grateful than I can say to have you in my life.

A few shout outs: Ali, congrats on making it to the real world and getting the purse strings cut by mom and dad. And happy birthday! Jen, you FINALLY made it out of college. Well-done sister! Dad, happy “finally a year older than the age to get the senior discount at the movies” birthday. Keven and Lauren, Candice and soon Jamie and Karen, congratulations on tying the not! Wish I could be there with you. Sarah Kesssstttthhhhhelman, HAPPY almost BIRTHDAY to my most favorite lisping little laundry partner bee! Colin, I am real glad you are okay and I miss you! Natalie, congrats on that giant baby! Isabird, hope you had fun celebrating the birthday without having to push me around South Bank in a wheelchair. Prrr. LondonAmy, Happy Birthday to you who ALSO had to push my handicapped butt around during your celebration two years ago – hope you are wonderful. Jen Bell, a big CHESTIT ROZHDEN DEN to you. Eric, I love you. And to Mom, Dad and other family – thank you for being the most wonderful I could ask for.

When a foreigner lives in a country quite different from where they came it is inevitable that the constantly forming opinion of the current home’s culture and people will be slightly characterized by jest. I do not think this necessarily comes from ill intentions, dislike or arrogance of any kind. I also do not believe that such lighthearted views always stem from a closed mind, for open mindedness must surely be required to even look long and deep enough at a culture to develop such a cultivated, albeit amused, opinion. I find that simply, this is what happens when one culture is juxtaposed with another. I went for coffee with a friend not long ago and she took to asking me to deny or confirm the “facts” regarding Americans she heard from her Bulgarian friend living in Chicago. This friend said all Americans are fat, eat junk food for every meal, wear ugly tank tops under everything and dress much less fashionably than Bulgarians. As a result, this was the understanding Eli had of Americans before Kevin and I showed up. I found it interesting that these were the elements of culture and society the Chi-town friend found important enough to share, but I am sure I can match her in choosing odd and ultimately unimportant things to focus on. Indeed I had to bite my tongue concerning her high regard of Bulgarian fashion (I am still working on plans for www.gofugyourselfinbulgaria.com) and being that at that very moment I myself was wearing a tank top under my shirt as I do everyday, I had to resist the urge to question back why Bulgarians find it necessary to do the complete opposite: wear sheer and transparent clothing with no consideration of privacy or their undergarments which are fully exposed beneath. But hey, cultural difference. I accept that. I may not agree with the action, but I accept it nonetheless. However, I concurred with her understanding that Americans were generally fatter than Bulgarians, but that not all Americans were fat. Given I accept that eating and lifestyle habits in America warrant larger people, I am quite convinced that genetic differences which make these Bulgarian women so skinny do actually exist. And yes, most of the food we eat is junk. I could argue that chicken hearts are junk as well, but again, cultural difference.

Based upon my six months of personal experience and like the Bulgarian living in Chicago, I too have developed an opinion of my current country characterized by amusement, strangeness, laughter, oddity and bizarrity. I will never consider it negative, for I love Bulgaria and its people and do not expect that to change despite my future encounters. But Bulgaria is a strange place. And I can say that because I fully allow Bulgarians to say that America and its people are crazy. Anyhow, I find that my lighthearted yet amused take on Bulgaria and the “odd” (remember, odd is not bad) things I have noticed is best summed up by describing a Bulgarian dance class. So readers beware and go back and read the entire first paragraph over to remind yourselves: becoming offended or believing I think I am better than this country and its people is simply not allowed here. And honestly, this reading is best for those in Bulgaria who can actually uncover the “Bulgarianness” of this account, but I will let everyone give it a shot.

Earlier in the summer Eli told me that in October a dance class would begin at the chilatilshte (community center). I was very excited about this believing it would hold the key to community integration and self-survival in Samokov. She said it was generally for older teenagers but she was sure the teacher would be glad to have me and as it turned out, she was. So two weeks ago I venture over dressed in the closest thing to dance wear I have - leggings, sweat pants, t-shirt and a sports bra. You know, normal exercise gear. I show up slightly early to find all the doors locked and after about three circles around the building, I find some children. One of them knows me from school and alerts the others to my lack of Bulgarian. We small talk and I stand there waiting with them, figuring they are also intending to attend dance class (although this is not easily guessed with their lack of dance apparel). After about fifteen minutes of awkwardness (what is the old teacher doing hanging around us outside the chitalishte?), one finally asks me what I am waiting for. I explain I am going to take dance class with them, which initiates exasperations of “ohhhhhh, she is not really just a friendless lonely loser”. In pure Bulgarian fashion the teacher shows up twenty minutes after class should have started. We go upstairs to a makeshift dance room where I am awkwardly taken aback when everyone starts getting naked. Yet instead of putting on the expected leotards, leggings or grungy workout gear, I am met with bodysuits under baggy jeans (those in Bulgaria know what I am describing and for those who are not, somehow the bodysuit with the snap crotch which was quite popular in 1992 has made its way back to Eastern Europe and not in the “I’m hipster American Apparel style” kind of way), jeweled and glittered belts and mesh tank tops over bedazzled bras. But then I remember Bulgarian girls never sweat, so I feel like Captain Fatty. This deserving title is confirmed as we make our way to the floor for “warm up” and the mirror reflects back the genetic difference I spoke of earlier. Thinking the language of modern dance translates nicely across borders, I expect a normal, grueling warm up with dance moves. I am in dance class. Instead I experience what can best be understood by visualizing the scene in Troop Beverly Hills where Shelley Long and friends are working for the dance patch - a few jumping jacks, ponies and unsynchronized flailing of the appendages in Jazzercise style circa 1986. This lasts a total of about three minutes but around minute 1.5 most of the kids decide this is far too vigorous exercise, give up and sit down exhausted while I am still shaking what my momma gave me (and thanks for that mom…). So apparently this is considered warm up and whereas in normal (and by normal I suppose I mean American) dance classes next will come the across the floor combinations, this class turns into a free-for-all with kids performing random stunts. With no organization whatsoever, I am dodging children left and right as cartwheels and ill-performed constructions of human tricks are competing to take my head off. The teacher dressed to impress braless and in all pink simply stands in the corner watching while I stand in the other chuckling to myself. Finally some control is taken and everyone gathers together to learn a new dance. But the teacher has not come prepared and instead asks the kids if they have any ideas for choreography. I mean I am all for including the students, but this seems like a waste of time – time is money people! Then I remember where I am. All eyes turn to me as I am asked if I would like to dance in front of people with them. Sheer terror rips through me as I imagine having to perform on the cement “stage” in the center of town at some town holiday while all my students stare at me incredulously wondering how Captain Fatty Miss Amy made it into dance class. My life will be over but I cannot tell my fellow dancers this. I agree and wait for instruction, but first and foremostly important is a discussion about the outfit to be worn. So this is what everyone does. The costume is fully planned out before the dance moves have come but hey, a costume excites me too. Idly standing around waiting for someone to come up with a move, my head is swirling with all sorts of all ideas that I keep to myself because they aren’t reminiscent of a Rhianna video or overtly sexually explicit in a Pussycat Doll sort of way. Slowly a dance is created and I get to work performing what reminds me of my 5th grade pom routine in Drill Team. Finally, I start to get the exercise I came for. But here comes the kicker to my already hilarious dance class: in the special Bulgarian kind of way, the progress made is interrupted by the children asking for a smoking break. OF COURSE in what should be a venue for health and exercise promotion a break to allow teenagers to curtail what little lung capacity and endurance they had to begin with is given. Smoking break over, the dance with choreography similar to something I would see on Mortal Combat backed by Chalga music is given a few more moves, practiced (but not by all because some of the children are completely pooped from the oh so strenuous activity and pick up their cell phones to take a pochivka (break)) and then class over. Everyone starts stripping again to put back on their original clothes which are more bedazzled in the Eastern European way than their dance outfits, which is hard for me to imagine. And btw, I do need to find myself a Bulgarian bedazzler because it has the capacity for more jewels and bling than any American bedazzler does. I walk out in the same clothes I started with that have not seen a drip of sweat and instantly call Janel to discuss and laugh about this lovely integration activity. Sickness and travels have not allowed me to return, but I shall and when I do, an update on dance attempt #2 will be provided.

Sarcasm and crazy dance classes out of the way, my teaching has been awfully and unfortunately curtailed by a strike. Most of Bulgaria’s teachers have been on strike for the entire school but my school, for reasons that change depending on whom and when I ask, was in session for three and a half weeks. The teachers are paid incredibly poorly here – about 440 lev a month (roughly $315) - and are protesting this and the lack of government spending on education because most funds are spent on reforms required by the EU (and education is a sector of society left largely unregulated by the EU). Most of the other volunteers have not even begun teaching, which is awful considering we had all summer to do nothing. I got lucky and had a considerable amount of time in school, but last Wednesday my school decided it was time. It is a pretty horrible thing as the striking teachers are required by trade unions to be in the school for eight hours a day but cannot work. As such they are incredibly bored and becoming increasingly grumpy. As a volunteer I obviously cannot strike and in theory still hold classes, but the kids are dropping like flies because they only have Geography and English to attend to. I still have students from my younger classes so we spend our time playing games. All in all however, the strike is INCREDIBLY frustrating and the government cannot seem to get itself in shape to end it (this is the 5th week). There has been talk of canceling the school year, which would seriously impair my work here, but I suppose I will cross that bridge if I get there.

Last Friday some of the teachers frustrated with being holed up in the teacher’s lounge playing Tetris all day decided to go on an excursion to the Rila Monastery and invited me to come along. I lived right next to his thing while I was in Bobo but never went so I was glad to finally see the most popular tourist attraction in Bulgaria. The Rila Monastery is the largest in the Balkan region and is still active all these years after it’s establishment in the 10th century. Apparently Friday was the holiday for Saint Ivan Rilski (do not quote me on any of that) so the place was flooded with people. This monastery is beautifully out of this world and the inside is incredibly ornate and embellished. Clearly a foreigner to religious ritual and more so to Bulgarian Orthodox, I had no idea what was happening as my hands were being filled with candles, flowers, socks and other random materials or when I was led to some altar/relic expected to cross myself and start kissing the picture of Mr. Ivan himself, which was no doubt carrying Hepatitis or something given the number of people that had salivated on it. I might have offended some people with my lack of interest in pretending I was a devout Orthodox follower and unwillingness to look like an idiot by trying and completely failing, but the only person that yelled at me was some old grouchy woman for walking on the wrong side of the church. Regardless, the place was beautiful and it felt good to get out of Samokov and engage in some history – even though it was only an hour and a half away, it reignited the travel bug.

After the Rila trip I headed down to Bobov Dol to have an Amanda Bynes/High School Musical/every other badly funded tween movie marathon with Janel (and Uncle Greg, I finally watched She’s The Man and am trying to figure out why this is your favorite movie. Please enlighten me). Upon arrival and during our fruitless search for oatmeal in every shop in that town having forgotten the Bulgarian word, we experienced our first snow. This is not a joke and to prove it, we made a little movie you can watch here. Given the grouchiness and discomfort that snow and any other kid of wet weather brings to this girl used to the Los Angeles sun, I am really not looking forward to winter. The weather has been the bain of my existence with my street turning into the Great Nile this week so my hiking boots got their first break in as I waded through the great waters. I have been hesitant to wear them so far given that they are not the most beautiful shoes I have owned (and I don’t hike), but I decided it was time to forget about that because they are waterproof. To give everyone a bit of an idea of what Samokov is like in the rain (and if you want some shots of my neighborhood and town) click here and here.

Insignificant blabbing over with, I passed my six month mark this week. 6 MONTHS IN BULGARIA! Not that I am counting down, which I am really grateful for. I frequently have missionaries ask me how long I have left which leads me to believe they think about the timeline a lot, but I never can do the math. Anyhow, I can hardly believe it has been so long and as these things do, it has flown. So much has happened – so many wonderful and awful things. So many weaknesses have been exposed. So many strengths have been cultivated. So much fun has been had. So much frustration has been experienced. So much love has been given. So much laughter has erupted. So many buses have been ridden. So many nasty things have been eaten. So many discos have been danced in. So many awkward incidents have occurred. So much donkey poo has been stepped in. So many fleas have been biokilled. So many kids have been loved. So many great relationships have been developed. So many great changes and growth within have come. So many important perspectives and understandings have been gained. And so much gratitude for heading the inspired call and accepting the blessing of being here to be able to experience life in such a unique and important way has filled my heart.

And finally, some very special and important people in my life have had a special month. My dear friends Elyse, Hagop, Lindsay, Amy H., Ray, Taryn and Keven all deserve a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Kev also deserves an extra congratulations for his upcoming nuptials (make me proud Kevs ;) !!) My bestest friend in the entire world Nel had a darling little boy Easton so tell him crazy Auntie Amy loves him already! And the rest of you I just love, miss and think about all the time. So drop me a line!

Happy Halloween!!! (a complete description of the big Halloween party in Veliko Turnovo and my costume made from nothing other than a box will come next blog!).

While digging through the many cabinets in my classroom full of mostly junk I came across a cupboard full of stashed English books that appear to have been obtained by the PCV in Samokov six years ago. Good to know that initiatives like creating an English book library are appreciated and sustained by the Bulgarian teachers (cough). Regardless, I’ve decided to breathe some life back into this idea so my project for next week will be creating a little library system for these books as I was told not to let kids touch them. I am not sure how that makes sense, but I often do not question absurdity and just do what I want to do anyway. Between some Sweet Valley Twins books and the nostalgia they stirred up I found buried The Encyclopedia of Dreams (EOD). Clearly not a children’s book and no doubt containing usage of the English language that even I cannot understand, I was wondering how such a book got there, but was excited nonetheless. I was transported back to last summer cruising across the American countryside with Miss Meghan Priest discussing crazy new-agey things like quantum physics, astrology and of course, dream interpretation. I gave it a bit of a shot back then but fell off the bandwagon. Well, I am back on now that I have my own personal EOD, which has already made its new home right next to my bed. This morning when I woke up I instantly grabbed the book and got to interpreting. Knowing it would be the highlight of my day, I went back to sleep so I could do it again. Although finding the EOD brought a little excitement into my life, what it had to offer me certainly did not. The following are my unfortunate predictions:

Cats: Abominable small troubles and vexations will pursue you and work you loss; You will be influenced into some impropriety through the treachery of others.

Books: A warning to shun evil in any form.

Rain: A young woman will entertain some person indiscreetly and will suffer the

suspicions of friends for the unwise yielding to foolish enjoyments.

Wet: For a young woman to dream she is soaking wet portends she will be disgracefully implicated in some affair with a married man.

Car: The travel which you held in contemplation will be made under different auspices than had been calculated upon

Needless to say, my future looks sketchy. And it is strange how all of these different elements suggest the same thing. If these predictions are to come true, they can only be exacerbated by the fact that I am in Bulgaria. And I certainly do not need impropriety in my life.

Now for a bit of daytime reality (and not the Day of Our Lives kind – which I do download every night), my life in Bulgaria has shifted 180 degrees from what it was three weeks ago. Once complaining of nothing to do, I now have far more on my plate than I believe I can handle at moments. School is school. One day I hate these kids and wonder why children exist in the world and what I can do to begin the extermination of them. Yet the next I love them, think they are hilarious and fabulous and enjoy every second of my day being around them. I do not think I should have my own because these aggressively polarizing feelings will not lend a hand to rearing a psychologically normal child. The cycle of life here is extremely up one day, and just as equally low the next. I become very excited when I can have a good time with the kids, which is usually when they behave and are excited to learn. Or when I feel like a lesson is well received and some benefit came of it. But then I become so so SO frustrated when I am dodging spit wads or rice (of all things) one minute and screaming at children for not shutting the hell up, paying attention or frankly doing anything right the next. Generally a very optimistic person, I wonder what going through this wash cycle of life is going to do to me at the end of the day. Discussing my school situation with my English friends over dinner this week I said, “You know, I am going to give this a shot. And a really long shot at that. But I think I already know this is not for me.” Now I hate that I came to such a conclusion already and I do hope that I will look back on this in months and years and find it changed. But at the end of the day, that is how I feel. I am loving what I am doing at the moment, can see its benefits (sometimes) and do believe that it is really important, but I am not sure God made me to do this forever.

To add to the rice throwing, spit wad loving, inattentive student situation, this week and unlike the first, I have come across an entirely new and different problem: the children have completely inappropriate crushes on me. Week One I think everyone was simply in awe of me, “Oooohh, curly haired young American girl who doesn’t speak Bulgarian…oohhhh.” Everywhere I went in the school I heard whispers of “uchitelka po angliiski (English teacher).” Week Two was relatively quiet as I believed everyone was beginning to become used to me. This turned out to be wrong however, for towards the end I began to notice that seemingly every student (who is not my own) would pace outside of my door between each class to catch a look or park themselves underneath my window giggling, pointing and whispering “Miss Amy!” I would be in the middle of teaching when my door would creak open a bit, a little class-ditching hand would pop in holding a camera phone hoping to aim right and snap a picture of me. I am sure what value this has to them, but it has happened far too frequently. After a while I was on to them – as I heard the voices of a no doubt large congregation of children outside my shut door whispering, “burzo, burzo (fast, fast!)” I decided to play a little trick. Flinging open my door, I sent thirty little children running furiously down the hall. This happens all day, every day and then my own students come in and tell me how their 5th grade counterparts like me. I also had the following conversation with one of my 8th grade boys:

8th grade boy: Miss Amy, do you know you are beautiful and all the boys love you?

Me: I do have a fan club of 5th grade boys. I believe its because I am new

8th grade boy: No, No. It is because you are beautiful

Me: (awkwardly) uh, well thank you.

8th grade boy: I think Vesko (another 8th grade boy – rice thrower) likes you.

Me: I am quite old for you boys. And I am your teacher

8th grade boy: I know but I don’t think Vesko cares

I mean its one thing being objectified by sketchy men, because you believe that’s what they are supposed to do, however agreeable it is or is not. But I think I am more uncomfortable with such attention when it comes from my students, because then my status of a teacher and my ability to be effective are in serious jeopardy. I am still trying to solve this problem. Please pass some ideas this way.

All strange, bad and somewhat unsettling things aside, I began a remedial class for the students who have somehow breezed through the years but still do not speak a word of English. In Bulgaria a kid is rarely failed because this means the Bulgarian teacher must teach them over the summer, which they don’t want to do. As such, they simply pass the kid, as undeserving he or she might be. This is a big problem when you have subjects like English or Math where if one thing is not understood one thing, the next is certainly not. The Bulgarian school system also does not have advanced or remedial classes, nor at-level placement. In the states if you have taken one year of Spanish, you will be placed in a class with students at your level, no matter which grade you are in (at least this was my experience). This is certainly not the case here, so if a parent decides to have their child begin to study English when the child is a 5th grader, they will be placed with their fellow 5th graders who have been learning English for three years and not with the 2nd graders, where English learning begins. As such, I have a number of kids in 5th and 6th grade who do not even know the alphabet, and I feel so bad for them because they really want to learn and understand, but never had a teacher care enough to take the time to help them. So I started twice a week a class before school to start from the beginning, which has been amazing. Most of the kids are Roma, who are generally overlooked to begin with, and they are so excited to learn and feel accomplished. During these moments, I feel like I am doing some good here. Even if they do not learn English, they at least know that someone is interested in them. The class has been growing in popularity too as they invite all of the Roma kids in school who have the same problem they do. On the other side of the coin, I have also formed an English club for the children who do speak English and want to use it in less of a classroom setting with more games and activities. This begins on Thursday before school and not just my students were invited so I fear I will have like over 60 kids, which will be nearly impossible to handle.

Outside of school I have pretty much been watching musicals. I love them. A few weeks ago Janel and I spent the evening watching High School Musical and admittedly, Zac Efron has ruled my life ever since. I was slow to jump on this bandwagon, actually kind of resenting HSM because of its and Disney’s overtake of the music industry. I also figured it was just for kids until not too long ago when Day told me she had thought it was cute. So one cold, dark Bulgarian evening, Janel and I were brought into the cult that is HSM. At 2:00am and with the conclusion of HSM1 we even tried to download HSM2, but to no avail (no worries kids, I watched it the next day). Anyhow, I have always imagined what my life would be like as a musical (as if it isn’t to begin with). Every once and a while I look at a situation and wonder what it would be like if everyone around me burst out in unison into choreographed song and dance. I often imagine this scene taking place as I sit on a bus. It is a strange fantasy. Regardless, HSM and any musical for that matter basically encapsulate this dream. Shortly after I watched Hairspray, which I am currently obsessed with. That and Zac Efron, because I clearly cannot resist anything that is blue eyed, sweepy and somewhat pretty.

That is pretty much it. Some of you have inquired about my site-mate Kevin so I uploaded a video so you can get to know him and his insanity for yourself. I also uploaded a video of the Boboshevo town holiday with the townspeople doing the horo (traditional dance) to traditional music. If you want some Bulgarian culture, click here.

Love and miss and want to hear from everyone! SKYPE ME!!!! 213.985.2877.

Housekeeping business first:

1) Visit my Facebook for pictures of August adventures and the Veliko Turnovo trip.

2) Forgive me for the only one space between the period and the start of the next sentence. Blogger screwed up and copy and paste and I am SURE it bugs you as much as it bugs me.

And on to it...

Fall has arrived in Bulgaria, but unfortunately for me, it is comparable to winter in Los Angeles and Phoenix and without college football (although thanks to Mitch and trojandynasty.net I can view all USC games). I look out my windows to see snow on the runs in Borovets and whereas on one hand this excites me, on the other it is terrifying. Throughout the summer with little to do I often found it difficult to leave the house. With snow, I might never find the motivation. But as this has yet to occur in Samokov, I will cross this bridge when I get there (and hopefully in some waterproof shoes wherever I can find them). As for now, I have bigger problems: like what to wear. I certainly came ill equipped to this land of cold and colder. I remember perusing PCV’s blogs before I arrived to get an idea of what the winter was like and after reading those from volunteers in the south, I guess I just banked on being somewhere city like and mild. I had no guess they would place me in the highest elevated and coldest place in Bulgaria. My English friends laugh when I show up in something completely unacceptable for cold and some of my Bobos (Sehee who went to school in Mass and Janel from Indiana) mock and give me a hard time when I admire a beautiful red pea coat at Mango and inquire as to whether it would be a good winter purchase. Previously unaware, I quickly learned that there exists such a thing as a fall coat. This week I have also come to know that my knit gloves from H&M, cute hound’s-tooth print coat and every shoe I have are problematic: they are not snow proof. Granted I lived in Oklahoma as a child and did experience snow. However in these days I simply layered every pant I owned and after about a half an hour tore one soaking layer off and ran back outside. I still remember how excited I would get to count how many layers I could pack on and still fit into the shoe and jacket. Simple pleasures. Anyhow, with snow I either did this or got into a car. Here I have two (very cold) legs, not four wheels. It surely will not be as easy.

Not expecting fall/winter to arrive so quickly, I have been forced to endure a few winter clothing-shopping expeditions. As much as I try to tell myself that practicality is key, I am finding it very difficult to ignore my attraction to colorful, flashy in a retrolike way or style. There were some things I was willing to give up in the Peace Corps, but style was not one of them (and I am about five minutes away from starting my own gofugyourself.com in Bulgaria given the fashion atrocities that are committed here). As ridiculous as this might sound, I have taken it personally upon myself to redefine the Peace Corps Volunteer ☺. No longer married to the stereotype of crunchy, granola (yes Kevs! I thought of you), bandana wearing, cargo short/pant sporting and with a love of dominating mountaintops and surviving eating wild rabbits and bears. No, no, I am here to prove to the world that the PCV can be something else and yet still a good and effective volunteer. However, this does not mean I am high maintenance – I slept on the ground without a tent every night last summer eating cheetos and tuna for every meal, showering in creeks and finding toilets in wildflower groves for heaven’s sake. BUT, the point I am making here is that it was all do-able without having to give up the artsiness or visual and aural creativity that makes me who I am (both inside and out). That aside, yesterday I went to Borovets to find the real deal heavy-duty winter stuff, which was not easy because I don’t do multicolored jackets. Eventually I dropped quite a bit on a North Face winter coat, some earmuff-like head strappy thing, a ski vest and a durable fleece. I felt very accomplished with my big girl shopping, and Janel commented that I had made quite a commitment with the coat. It means I have made an agreement to make it through a Bulgarian winter and cannot go home. I joked that even if I somehow wound up back in the states, the coat really just means I have to sacrifice and end up in a terribly cold place to get my money’s worth. But do not worry, I am staying. Kevin and I have to help each other get our warm-blooded selves through this impending monster.

Now that I got the weather talk out of the way (in pure English fashion – I am slowly becoming more and more English. And Meg and Katy, I remember this from your Kate Fox book that if you ever want to lend to a Bulgarian friend, you know where to find me ☺), on to what I have actually been doing. The day after my bee-killing adventure (see, there’s practicality!) and last post, I headed back to Bobo for the town praznick (holiday). This was CRAZY as the entire town and I think everyone who might have left it in the last fifteen years showed back up so it was hopping. It was also crawling with Americans and PC associated people as everyone either returned to their host families or just to join the party. And what a party it was as Janel’s host family had a bunch of volunteers over for lunch and with the drinking of strong rakia and wine beginning at like 11am, many fell off the wagon by mid-afternoon. We headed down to the center for the holiday around 8 and with everyone pretty drunk by that point, the town holiday turned more into a celebration of PCV craziness. We danced, sang, and danced more like our lives depended upon it. It did not really matter who was around, for they were grabbed and danced with. (click there for a video). And with plenty of horo (traditional Bulgarian dancing) and chalga, it was all good fun. We had a large Bulgarian audience that found amusement in taking pictures of what were no doubt the craziest people they had ever seen. However, the rain came and forced everyone to the disco quite early to begin the potentially most insane disco night to date, which is difficult to imagine given some of our earlier exploits at that grand venue. Overall, the holiday was wonderful fun, and I was reminded once again how much I love Boboshevo.

I returned from Bobo to in theory start school, which I was really excited about believing it would be an opportunity to finally hop on the integration train and meet colleagues, make friends and figure out this city and its people. Easier said than done. My blog is not the venue for many of the rants, complaints and curse words that should be inserted here, but I will just say it was potentially one of the most frustrating weeks of my life. I have never felt like crying so many times. And it really just comes from two things 1) the difference between my wants and desires here and the agendas of other people I feel like should be on my side and 2) the difference between my American-minded organization, methodology and determination and that of Bulgarians. Anyhow, the week just proved to me once again that this would not be as easy for me as it is for some. And slowly but surely, I am learning to be okay with that. The challenge is continually inspiring and overcoming the challenge to decide to overcome the challenge is important.

Just as quickly as it began, work at school ended because there were a few holidays. It seems there is always a holiday here in Bulgaria and I never know what they are for, but I do know they mean a good party. Without much of a plan, I told Janel to meet me in Sofia the next day with bags packed and we would find some place to go. That ended up being Veliko Turnovo and a fabulous choice. However, being the Amy and Janel show, nothing is as easy as it should be. We learned that the four volunteers we invited ourselves to meet up with were a couply crew so we needed to get a boy on board and fast. That ended up being Craig, but he is an honorary member of the A&J show so that was okay. Heading out to meet up in his town, the bus we nearly missed was full and we were forced to sit in the back. However, this back of the bus was unlike any other, for it was complete with a table circled by places to sit. This is where speaking English not knowing there are English speakers around can be a real amusing thing. Janel walks back and says, “Yes! Party Bus! I’ve got cards” in response to the table/chair arrangement and to an audience of blank-faced Bulgarian young people. I sat next to a nice, young woman who I knew spoke English as she was trying to hide her laughter when Janel was inquiring as to whether this bus had outlets so she could plug her phone in (clearly it did not). And the boy Janel was sitting next to certainly new English when he tried to hide his laughter at her phone conversation with a friend from home as she described the absurdity and strangeness of Bulgarian (because really, that’s what Americans back home are interested in. Not the normal, mundane stuff). Anyhow, I took some Dramamine and passed out and the next thing we know its dark, rainy and we are in some unknown town. At this point the boy revealed himself as an English speaker to tell us the road to the town we were destined for was not working. Serious problem. Yet nicely, he spoke to the driver for us at who said he would drop us off 7km outside of the town at a gas station. Well, better than nothing. We get off in the rain in the dark in some strange place and head to the gas station to figure out what to do next with our lives. We were told there might be a bus, but no one was sure. We figured now was as good a time as any to make a friend and get a ride in, but the one man who seemed interested in our debacle was heading the other way. Eventually we saw a minibus and ran towards it, hopped on and lucky for us, it was heading into the city. We finally make it back to Craig’s where he had a fantastic feast complete with a lemon meringue pie waiting. This was also the beginning of no sleep for about two weeks, because Janel is a bad sleepoverer – you know, the kind who’s mom never let them sleep in so they had to be up at 7am at the sleepover and woke everyone else up because they were bored (I recall this being the twins! Yes you Kath and Lib). Plus I was drugged out on Dramanine and not coherent in any form, passing out here and there in whatever position the chair, floor or bed afforded (Mom, this is why I cannot take it. I get really loopy).

The next morning we attempted to leave for Veliko Turnovo but Craig rarely leaves his apartment so he had no idea when the buses were. We tried to hitchhike in many different ways and after hanging thumbs out for a while, we learned from some old man there was a train. The train station was good fun, because bathrooms reminiscent of western saloons and thereby a photo op were found. Finally we get on a train and play cards to pass the time, but the fellow trainspeople were not amused by our adaptation of Go Fish where we take on different personas and accents. The southern black woman round got a little loud and boisterous and the next thing we knew umbrellas were being beaten on our bench and the row behind us was up in arms at our decibel level. After retorting back that we were on a public train in 3rd class, a scene was definitely created. Upon arrival in VT, we were bombarded by hostel solicitors, but since we needed a ride into the city, we a man up on his offer. After working bargaining skills, we agreed to stay in his somewhat sketchy hostel. We then met up with the other volunteers to enjoy the beauty and serenity (daytime serenity I clarify) that is Veliko Turnovo. I believe it once was the capital/center of Bulgaria during various periods – Roman, Byzantine, Turk – and has a giant and beautifully well-preserved fortress. The entire city is built into huge cliffs/hills and reminds me of pictures of Greek Isles or Italian seacoast towns. There is no sea or ocean, but the town is built around a river. VT is probably one of the most touristy towns in Bulgaria and Jeff seemed a little embarrassed with how well we were perpetuating the loud American tourist stereotype, but I think he eventually got over it ☺

The nights proved to be the most fun (and sleepless!) with the first one spent watching the sound and light show at Tsaravets (the fortress) that reminds me of Fantasia meets the crazy water show in the Ozarks of Branson, MO. We then headed out to a few bars/clubs but parted ways as Craig, Janel and I were staying at a different hostel (remember, we needed a free ride. That came with a price.). In the street we ran into the seven Australian boys who were staying at with the others and regretted our choice. They had bought an ambulance and were driving across Europe in it. Eventually we arrived back to find out how sketchy our hostel really was. None of the keys worked and no ringing, banging, key turning or attempting to get McGyver and climb outside up the building to our balcony worked. Craig in a smart attempt to open the door kicked it and broke the key, which left us with a larger problem. Eventually someone came to the door, but unwilling to open it probably believing that Hostel the movie was unfolding in front of their eyes made us beg and try to convince in broken Bulgarian that we were not killers or rapists. The door is finally opened and we locked ourselves in our sketchy room, which we committed a ditch and run with the next day. We figure it was the guy’s own fault for not registering us and trying to lock us out.

After this death-by-mold-on-hostel-wall experience we went with the other kids, who were staying in a hostel by a former PCV who still lives in VT with her boyfriend. Sadly the Australians had left, but we made a new friend Mariana who stumbled in from Barcelona en route to Istanbul, so she joined our insanity for two days. We all basically turned this hostel into home (or a Rent set) and the next few nights felt like a combination of summer camp, freshman year of college and spring break with the craziness that found its way in. Between teaching boys to use eyelash curlers, the constant song and dance, the number of male barge-ins on girl nakedness (a problem with hostels), peeing pants experiences and SMILES, we barely found the energy to leave. Day Two we headed to the wondrously amazing Tsaravets and spent the night discoing it as we do. Day Three was spent walking all over the beautiful city and climbing a million steps with all seven of us singing songs together to stumble upon the best view of the city. A sweet jungle gym was also found where Day, Janel and I had to perform a rendition of Hot Sundae’s Get Down and Go For It from the Saved by the Bell episode where Jessie is on painkillers. The highlight of that night was my rough and tumble experience of slipping on nothing as I do and saving myself from falling into the splits in a skirt by landing not so gracefully on my knee and sprawled on the ground in front of two large groups of Bulgarian men. Laughing hysterically at this, Janel and I were received by the Bulgarians practicing the little English they knew. “Sex Machine” and other similar comments were given in a gesture of sympathy. I believe that is their way of asking if I was okay. The trip finally came to an end, but not without adventure, for there were no buses so we were forced to take a train, which landed Day, Janel and I in Sofia long after the buses to our respective towns. We hosteled, KFCed and Dunkin Donutted it up for an unexpected extra night of vacation.

I thought I was going to get some sleep to recover from my vacation in the final week before real school started, but the English friends made that difficult with all their partying and good times. Plus this week of “work” did not go any better than the week before, which was scaring me given that school was to start on Saturday. The day finally came, which was really just a big holiday and assembly-like meeting with all the kids bringing students flowers, singing songs, and sporting new hairdos and backpacks as they do on the first day of school. I was not really included, which was not something specifically new for me. The day itself was quite an emotional tug of war as things went from bad to worse to great to bad again. Still dealing with problems with school and my impending teaching, I started to doubt if this was ever going to happen. Generally when people are being ridiculous and irrational, I inform them of this and write them off as unworthy of my time or attention as I don’t tolerate stupidity or any such related behavior. However, I have had to humble myself so much here in Bulgaria, which I suppose can be considered a good thing, but one difficult one nonetheless. In the situation I am dealing with here, my first inclinations and reaction would not be wise so despite all difficulty, I find it inside of myself day after day to forgive, forget and love like I never have before. Despite all of the ignorance I have experienced over the last few weeks, in a gesture of great kindness after witnessing an explosive moment between my counterpart, my assistant director took five minutes of her busy time to introduce me to some colleagues who took me to lunch and ended up creating a fabulous afternoon for me. In a matter of hours I knew of a place or person from who to take piano and guitar lessons, ballet class, or find fancy cakes. A little kindness goes a long way with me and I am very grateful for those few people who have truly been fabulous to me here. It is a slow process, but it gets better everyday.

After a rough and tough work week, the first day of class came and actually went very well. I think I just needed to stop having to rely on someone else and once I had my own stage, I could really perform on it. And luckily for me, many of the problems from the weeks before panned out to pave the way for me to actually teach. I have 5th through 8th grade, which is a challenge, but one I am up for. The first day my 5th graders said I was the best teacher in the whole school which made me wonder what kind of teachers they’ve previously had for me to be considered the best. But I figure if you jump around, do crazy things, and talk about that which they are interested in, they will love you. And they do. My 8th graders are a little too cool for school and give me a hard time here and there, but they are hilarious. I remember that age very vividly and although they seem much older than when I was 14, I get them. The first few days were also quite funny as everywhere I went I heard people whispering and pointing at me wondering who I am and where I came from. Clearly I look young and not so teacher-like, which I think this is throwing them off, but I have garnered enormous interest. Random kids pop by my classroom just to get a look at me and I often have children ask me if they can come to my class even though they do not study English. After a great first day, the week made me realize how much work this is actually going to be. I went from bored with nothing to do to overwhelmed and crazy busy in a matter of a day, but I am certainly not complaining. If I were to complain of something, I would speak of the injustices with the Bulgarian education system and all the problems I see each and every day. Or I would rant about the challenges the Bulgarian system and attitude presents for me as a teacher coming from an American viewpoint and understanding. But I won’t. This is not the place and I am not here to insult. For now, I am just tired from an exhausting week of teaching, trying to play hardball with the kids and get the point across that calling each other “asshole” is unacceptable in a classroom situation.

As a side note to the school thing, I bought these alphabet cards from the states before I came to hang up in my classroom. Unfortunately some kid already stole the L, but that is not what I wanted to talk about. As things are in the United States, the alphabet cards are very politically correct. Perhaps too politically correct. They feature children of all different races holding up letters - we have the two Asians, the two African-Americans, the perhaps Latino and one little white boy, but he only gets a few letters. After looking at the arrangement on my wall a few times I wondered why type of reaction these would actually get from my Bulgarian kids. They have probably never seen a black person outside of a rap video. Probably even less a Latino person, who they would probably just think is Roma. But I decided this was okay, because I am all about accepting others and openmindendess here so if they think the Latino boy on my alphabet card is Roma boy, this is great. If accepting others and knowing they are out there starts with alphabet cards, then thank you Lakeshore Learning.

All school and vacation things aside, to accompany the world’s largest cucumber, this week I found the world’s largest carrot, complete with wart-like carroty appendages. I also received profound declarations of love by the sound guy at Rock in Rila I made my friend (or so I thought). After our brief meeting and a two-minute Skype conversation in broken Bulgarian, he reappeared two weeks later to send me an English song with the following chorus:

You make me dream

By the look in your eyes

You give me the feel, I've been longing for

I wanna give you my soul

All my life

Cause you are the one I've been waiting for

I've been waiting for so long

When you came into my life

It took my breath away

And the world stopped turnin' round

For your love

When you came into my life

It took my breath away

Cause your love has found it's way

To my heart

Into my heart

Just forever in love

The proposals and declarations of love that are so abundant here certainly never occurred at home. I would like to think that this attention will follow me home so that my disastrous and far too dramatic dating life could really flourish, but then I lose the key attractant: the American in me. So hopefully in the next year and half I find some other mojo that can work in the states. Send suggestions my way ☺

All and all life is starting to set in as normal. I say that every time, but it gets more and more true. It has been nearly six months here in Bulgaria and I honestly cannot believe that. On one hand time has flown, but on the other, besides intangible self-growth (which for me is invaluable) I have little to show for it. Regardless, day-by-day life gets better here in Samokov and I am beginning to become accustomed to the ups and downs. And Amidst it all, the haze is surrounding my life and its ultimate direction is beginning to lift and for that I am incredibly grateful.

Finally, some quick shoutouts because I suck at replying to anything these days: Genelle: good luck with that new baby! I love you and call me at whatever time. Jamie and Candice: congrats to the engagements. Love you both and am sad I won’t be able to be with you to celebrate the greatness of your lives. Jas: Happy Birthday again. Please keep Eugene safe and entertained. Shan and Cara: Happy Birthday again as well. Colin: you owe me a phone call back, I miss you Coash and good luck to your Bucks! Cecile: congrats on the new baby!! Jen: I did get your message about the eclipse but I was more interested in singing the song that going out in this early winter cold to find out if it was really happening. Adrienne: I am glad we chatted and keep me updated! Kayla: you better call. Chels: I know you lurk and I love you. Casey: you and that baby are beautiful. Meg: I hope your leg is still attached some hobble to a computer and let me know. Kev: I better get a wedding invite here in Bulgaria so get yourself out of the library and to a phone or post office. Elyse, Sarah, Mitch and Hagop: I miss you guys and our adventures and please U-Turn in honor of me! And Eric: glad to hear of some craziness in your life. The good kind.

To everyone else, I love and miss you. Keep the calls, emails and love coming.

*DISCLAIMER* Nothing on this blog or out of my mouth represents the views, thoughts or ideas of the United States Government or the Peace Corps. They represent me.

Two weeks ago I received an email from my sister that said:

“Good luck with all the “work” you are doing.”

And when talking to my mother this week she mentioned:

“Amy, it seems from your blogs that you are not doing any work. You are just partying all the time. People ask me, “well what is it she is doing over there?” Maybe you should write something that says you have not started school yet so people will know…”

Well, my mother is right. I am not doing any work. This is not to say that during my stay in Bulgaria thus far that I have never done any work (for training was a different story), but since my summer project of teaching English for a few hours each day ended nearly a month ago, I have had nothing to do. And let me tell you how much it sucks… A LOT. I don’t exactly know why, but us TEFL volunteers arrive in site just after summer vacation has begun so there is no infrastructure in place or anyone in town in order for us to do anything. But despite this, I have certainly not been partying all the time despite the ridiculousness of my blogs (and this one will be no exception). But I figure all you people are not interested in how I am bored as hell, feeling like a failure as I sit in my apartment most of the time reading perezhilton.com and more interested in the few crazy things that do happen. Plus I live for the story. And I am slowly finding mine.

As I ponder this reality, I am struck by how different this experience actually is than what I envisioned it would be. As a go-getter, type-A girl with a typical American fast-paced life and big goals and dreams, I imagined I would come to Bulgaria and bulldoze immediately creating projects, involving the community, and really having the chance to make a difference. I foresaw such beauty in pure service and selfless love. And I also dreamt of the amazing changes and growth that I would personally experience throughout all this. Well, easier said than done. Integration in Samokov has been a slow process and one that is constantly ongoing. It has taken a lot of humility to admit to myself that becoming really effective here and able to truly engage is going to take a considerable amount of time. It might be a year before I get to know people, gain their trust and know the community and my students well enough to accomplish anything. And this certainly does not make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Honestly, I feel like a failure of a volunteer that the most exciting thing I could communicate to you last week was a dance party at Technopolis. And it is even harder when I compare myself to other volunteers who arrived at site to find solid structures and great counterparts and immediately got to work doing amazing things. Or when I read a beautifully haunting piece of writing by Mr. Sam Thomas at the halfway mark of his LDS mission in Cambodia and wonder if my perspective will be shaped in any way comparable to his or if I will be able to grow, selflessly serve and commit myself even a fraction of the amount he and others doing the same have. I think to myself, what more can I be doing? Am I just being lazy or giving up by accepting patience? And after this, I just feel like a failure of a person. It is a bitter and unpleasant argument I have with myself all the time, but at the end of the day when I sit back and find a moment of peace, I realize this Bulgarian experience is not about my sister, my mother, the other volunteers, Sam or all of you. This journey in Samokov is about me, my Bulgarian community and my God that blessed me with this incredible experience.

So my week of “not working” (and by “not working” I actually mean studying Bulgarian all day every day) was actually quite eventful compared to other such weeks. It started on Sunday when the churchgoing Janel and I arrived in Sofia far from on time. Deciding to attend church later rather than be late, I made my first appearance at the corner restaurant I pass every week. Immediately I was greeted with a nice smelling, slightly sweepy and dental-hygiene-attentive- and-perhaps-former-braces-wearer waiter. It might be considered the best service ever received (which is saying a lot coming from Bulgaria where service is infrequent), for I am not sure that anywhere else when you accidentally send the highlighter you are using while studying Bulgarian skidding across the restaurant will your waiter run immediately to your rescue, climbing under tables and chairs to retrieve your otherwise unimportant writing utensil. Love at first highlighter skid? Perhaps not, but I gave it a second shot two days later “nonchalantly” bringing my Bobo ladies and Sarah Fink to the same restaurant for Day’s birthday lunch. Now the only real conversation Waiter Boyfriend and I had was when he said “govorish bulgarski mnogo dobre” (you speak Bulgarian very well) to which I responded retardedly “Blagardarya, ucha siga” (thank you, I am studying now). Clearly this fact was obvious after the highlighter chase. Whereas I had previously thought I would go for obvious (an end certainly achieved with four loud American ladies rubbernecking and discussing my find in a nowhere near discreet manner), I had nothing to back it up with when I lost any and all nerve that might have existed. With my loud, giggly counterparts disrupting normal business, he was not exactly jumping in line to chase my highlighter again. It did not help matters that zone conference for the LDS mission brought in about eight missionaries totaling the English speaking Americans to thirteen, two sitting at our table with us. And I cannot exactly skeeze on some guy or work my flirting magic (or poison as it is) with missionaries in the vicinity. My mom made me uncomfortable enough around them when I was sixteen by constantly telling me to pull up my shirt so I am only now beginning to not be scared of the white shirt and nametag. The girls told me we were not allowed to leave until I worked my skeezmatism, but clearly since Bulgarian Flirting Basics was not included in our Peace Corps training, I failed and we eventually left.

After the love attempt disaster, I went on to experience one of the worst bus rides of my life. Sometimes when lucky I arrive at the bus station to find to find a large, clean, air-conditioned and with-room-for-baggage bus. Such a situation helps my unbalanced equilibrium significantly and when zipping around the death-will-be-imminent curves on what should be considered the path to Sofia, I can generally keep my previous meal where it belongs – in my intestines. However, often and on this particular night, I was shoved into a minivan, basically a vehicle smaller than a family soccer fan but attempting to fit three times the amount of people. During trips in these I wish we would just fly off one of the many steep cliffs so my grave would have something cooler to say than “death by motion sickness.” Anyhow, this particular evening the driver packed us in so tight that a man had to crouch in tiny baggage area behind the back seat. The amount of personal space I had to try and balance my ever-weakening equilibrium was half of a butt cheek on a bench. Needless to say it was horrible.

If the end of mortality did not arrive while in that minivan, it briefly appeared when a good scare was given that night and the next day in Samokov with a terrible incident. Because I do not have a television, I did not see the news to know that a Roma teenage boy was beat to death by Bulgarian skinheads with brass knuckles right in the center of my very town – a center I live incredibly close to. The next day Kevin said “I think there is a fight between the Roma and Bulgarians – don’t go near the Mahala. The skinheads hate Americans too.” I had not planned on going there anyway so I figured whatever, no big deal. But when we learned after the fact that a kid had actually died and Roma people numbering up to a thousand from Samokov and nearby villages gathered together to protest in the center, reality set in. Because the tensions between these two racial groups are ripe, the town essentially shut down for the week with no one allowing their children out and all of the businesses closing. It is surreal that something of this terrible nature and magnitude could happen right under my nose without my knowing and definitely puts things into perspective as I think about the differences (and similarities for that matter) between Bulgarian and home. Most of the time Bulgaria seems civilized and normal, but every now and then something reeking of hatred and evil arises and I am forced to reevaluate and wonder where I fit in.

On a happier note, on Wednesday Kevin and I went up to the nearby village of Govedartsi to attend the birthday party of our English friend Skye. It was a grand ole time as around forty Brits either living in this country or on holiday at their Bulgarian holiday homes partied the night away. And with The Jackson’s Can You Feel It on rotation, I was on the floor singing and dancing from the very beginning. Not exactly a well known Jackson’s song, but it is my favorite and memories of being a little kid, putting that record on the phonograph that my parents rudely got rid of later and dancing around the house came flooding back. It is difficult to resist the urge to dance with any music, but with MJ it is impossible (and I still hold by the oujii board’s declaration when I was seventeen with Janaina, Ashley, Saleemah and Katie that he is not guilty). Overall, it was a great evening for integration and I met a lot of wonderful people, even if they were English speakers. Unfortunately, the downer of the night came on the ride back to town when Harry, one of the Englishmen, discovered that the Govedartsi mafia had stolen his Jeep Waz. We had seen the mafiosos hanging around the restaurant early in the evening and it was mentioned that because they knew all the Brits were out of their homes, such was prime opportunity to vandal. Well, they did and the Waz has still not been found.

After a long night and morning, I traveled to Bobov Dol to meet up with a bunch of other volunteers who were hanging around the area. We went to Dupnitsa for dinner where we ran into the newbies, the community/youth development group that just arrived in Bulgaria. For the most part we kept our distance, not wanting to be those volunteers that have nothing better to do with their time than creep on the new folk. We got a taxi back to BD keeping in mind the rule Janel and I instituted a while back that we are not allowed to talk or be ridiculous in taxis because when our American leaks, we get ripped off. Unfortunately, most everyone had a few drinks and that grand Nina Sky/Whitney Houston I Wanna Dance With Somebody mash reappeared so when Janel asked the cabbie to turn it up and another impromptu dance party took place in the back of a taxi, I knew we were in trouble. We left Jeff to fight with the driver about the extra ten leva he was trying to charge us who eventually succeeded and all was well.

The actual purpose of traveling that direction was to hit up Boboshevo for our official homecoming. It was splendid and I am surprised by how much I missed it. To be in a place that was so comfortable where I knew everyone and could show up at a café and find friends was reassuring, but also a bit depressing when comparing to Samokov. The town was booming as summer brought in for holiday all the younger people who live in Italy or England during the year. Seeing the family was fantastic, and right away I jumped into the car to go back to Dupnitsa to join Neli, MamaVanya and Deni for a trip to the dentist. This ended up being the dentist trip from hell, for after the dentist drilled the hole for the cavity Deni was getting filled in the wrong place, a lot of time was spent drying massive amounts of tears. Remind me never to go near Bulgarian dental care. Later and because it was Bobo, a disco trip was necessary. This was a little different not just being the four Bobos minus Sehee, but adding to our craziness the four new trainees plus two other older volunteers. Since the summer brought in a whole batch of new faces, we found ourselves in a familiar situation - surrounded by a million boys with declarations of love and proposals accompanied with inappropriate touching and uncomfortable closeness and loudness abundant. Foxy was certainly jealous and tried his bit at holding my hand or draping himself around me. I had to call him on this a few times and when he said, “Janel asks why you and I are not boyfriend and girlfriend,” I thought she was up to her old drunken tricks again. Not so and apparently Foxy gained a little facetiousness during my absence. He told Janel she was his wingwoman – “Pomagash mi c zenhi” (you help me with girls). We were all trying to hold back our laughter when he would throw out “Az sum loot za tebe” (I am crazy for you) or “Sunoovai na mene povecher” (dream of me tonight). The next day I ran into him on the street where I encountered another barrage of “Do you have a boyfriend in Samokov? Why can’t I be your boyfriend? Can I come visit you? blah blah blah…” After my constantly repetition of “I do not want to” was met with a refusal to relent, I went on my way. I never knew a boy could be so persistent! Perhaps I should be flattered, but I more amused than anything else.

After Bobo the ladies and I headed over to Samokov for Rock in Rila (go to the link to see a video), the rock festival in the village of Beli Iskar right outside of my town to begin a night that proved to be crazy. I am not sure at which point my little Bobos got so drunk but between the jumping, screaming and groupie like behavior, a number of trips to the porta potty were necessary. This was not so bad as it ended up being the place where we made a number of friends, one being the sound guy who I figured was a good person to know. We exchanged digits and I met his boss who told me he wanted private English lessons – not exactly sure how I feel about that because my skeeze radar went off a little, but hey, we were networking. There was also a band that had a few sweepy-haired members and dancing around during their set was fantastic fun. Oddly enough, there was an 85-year-old diado (grandpa) standing next to us so Janel took to giving him the night of his life by swinging him about the crowd. This attracted the attention of all the photographers and videographers so perhaps we showed up in the news somehow. After the full-of-hot-boys band’s set was over Janel wanted to make an entrance backstage and say hello, but I had to draw the line. For with as long as I worked in the music industry, I cannot do groupie. Granted I night have done it when I was eleven with Hanson or with Something Corporate my freshman year of college, but those days are long gone. I would prefer to stay out of that club (take note Patrick! ha).

The rest of the weekend/beginning of the week consisted of church going, chickening out on stalking Waiter Boyfriend again, getting sick, joining some of the English folk for an adventure day in the forest near the river and bee keeping. Now this last item deserves some explanation because it is potentially one of the most amusing things that has happened to me thus far. On Tuesday Kevin was coming over for dinner and because it was a nice day, I decided we could sit outside so I set up the table on my balcony. A few weeks ago when hanging laundry I discovered I have bees – not just one or two, but four large hives. Kevin is quite allergic to them so after assembling the table I figured the time to get rid of them had come. I researched on the internet all these crazy time-consuming methods for killing them, but I did not have the patience. Instead, I figured I would just disturb the hell out of them and their homes so they would disappear. Perhaps not the smartest idea, but I was on a time crunch. The most important requirement for this venture was the armor – I put on my Christmas tree pajama pants, USC t-shirt, tennis shoes, patterned raincoat and to top it all off, winter gloves and a hat. Clearly none of these matched, but my intention was to not meet my death the way Macaulay Culkin in My Girl did, not to look cool. With the biokill and a stick in hand, I headed out to the balcony to battle the enemy. I opened the grill to be greeted with about forty bees unleashing their wrath. Just as I was squatting, spraying and poking their home (with sight limited with my hat falling into my eyes), I startled to death by Vesko, the boy who lives downstairs. I am like a deer caught in headlights as I turn to see him wide-eyed and mortifyingly laughing at this disgusting excuse for a crazy American who is engaging in DIY bee killing activities. At first speechless, I tried to explain what I was doing but did not know the word for bee. I said “ima mnogo zhult i cheren” (there are a lot of yellow and black…) and start buzzing and imitating a bee. This did not help the comedy of the situation. Amidst laughter, Vesko understands and decides he will help me, but I only feel more retarded as he is only wearing a t-shirt and shorts while I have my entire coat closet on. It was a team effort as he chased the bees out and I stomped on them or pounded them with my stick until they died. His dad hears us from below and asks what we are doing and at this moment I hear the doorbell ringing. Oops! Kevin – I forgot about him. I run down to meet both the dad and Kevin staring at me incredulously in this ridiculous get-up. Kevin comes up and becomes the bee-killing spectator, laughing and joining Vesko in a session of making fun of Amy in Bulgarian. Vesko tells Kevin. “I came upstairs and see something in a crazy hat crawling around.” My life was over. No doubt he is going to tell his family and the whole town what a crazy tenant they have. Anyhow, eventually the four hives were destroyed and close to forty bees stomped on so in the end, I was successful.

All in all, it has been a fun and eventful week. I am looking forward to school beginning for teachers on the 3rd, but from what I am told it is a lot of sitting around drinking coffee and eating chocolate. But more so, I anxiously and nervously await the 15th when I embark on my teaching adventure, at which point I believe the real experience will begin.

I miss and love all of you a ton and thank you for your thoughts, calls, emails and facebook pokes ☺ Thank you for hanging on to this with me.

*DISCLAIMER* This blog and any of my thoughts and ideas in no way represent the Peace Corps or United States Government. You would be silly to think they do!

I have decided rather than give you a complete play-by-play of my relatively boring life at this point in the summer, I will take some blog time to share with you some of the small, daily idiosyncratic elements of life here in Bulgaria (from the perspective of a wide-eyed and somewhat crazy American girl).

Food Shopping:

In Bulgaria most people purchase their food at what are called magazines – this means store (it threw me off in the beginning too – and no, they do not usually carry mags). If you are lucky enough to live in a large town there will be a supermarket, which can in no way be compared to the glory I call Ralph’s. Unfortunately and despite its size, Samokov only has one supermarket, but as these things are, Evropa is about a half an hour walk from my home (nothing like the three hour trek in the ghetto over the 110 in downtown LA though crazy Miss Sarah K!). As such, when I make the trip it is comparable to preparing for all the icebergs melting and flooding Bulgaria or the end of the world. I still cannot seem to shake the American food buying habits – perusing the aisles for an hour picking up all the things I could ever possibly need. Shopping in Bulgaria also takes forever because I am constantly lost in translation as I flip through my dictionary for “ginger” or “baking powder”. And since I am on a baking kick, I end up buying like two things you can actually eat and a buggy full of sugar and chocolate. This week I spent about an hour and half with the ipod in dancing through the aisles as I filled the cart with everything needed to bake the entire dessert section of my cookbook. When I checked out I think the whole store came up to witness the American spend 60 lev (outrageous). I then took a taxi home because it was dark and my skeeze/crime fighting skills are not in full form while carrying a giant bag of sugars and raisins. Although embarrassing as my neighbors no doubt chatter about me showing up to my house in a taxi, I am just not ready to use the bike Kevin and I have begun to share. Too many memories of hitting light poles, being run over by Lincoln Navigators and getting stuck in bushes and rose planters on my beach cruiser in the urban jungles of Los Angeles.

More interesting than the supermarket (which lets face it, is not that interesting, but that is how exciting my life is) is the pazar (bazaar). I go to this lovely place about once a week to purchase fruits and vegetables and the occasional bar of soap or toilet paper roll. If my time in Bulgaria has taught me one thing it is this: I reek of American. These people can spot the foreigner a mile away. I would like to believe my Bulgarian is advanced enough to buy potatoes or inquire about a taxi fare with no problems, but the calculator is constantly shoved in my face and numbers consistently gurgled out in broken English as they are convinced without warrant that I am unable to understand. Worse than my opportunities to use Bulgarian being rudely stolen is learning that picking through fruits to find those ripe and without bruises or mold is apparently unacceptable in Bulgaria. While searching the peaches for quality, the vendor tried to stop me and hand me the first five she grabbed. After politely saying I did not want those and continuing my search, she yelled “NE, NE NE, ne moze” (no, no, no you can’t buy them). After cursing her ridiculousness in English under my breath, I found a nicer peach lady. However, this week’s pazar trip was extra amusing because I found scratch-and-sniff toilet paper – daisy scented! Interesting how a fair number of Bulgarians are uninterested with smelling pleasant but one can find scented toilet paper at the pazar. But hey, I’ll take what I can get. I also found the largest cucumber I have ever seen and being that the first word I learned in Bulgarian was krastivitsa (cucumber), I had a special bond with this little (or big) guy. Unfortunately, this little krast and I weren’t getting along as he was too big for the bag he came in and was poking out and swinging all over the place while I was attempting to purchase tomatoes from another vendor. To my delight of course, these people were shamelessly laughing at my awkward and unsuccessful struggle to get the krast in its place. Forced to save face and give up the fight, I shoved that little devil under my arm and made the no doubt reputation-building trek back home.

Electronics Shopping:

Last week a few of the Bobos met up in Blageovgrad for spa day (yes, yes it doesn’t exactly seem PCVish, but they have the cheapest waxes and massages I have ever seen!). Janel is in need of a computer so she can jump on the Skype train and waste hours away chatting with all the other PCVs sitting at home, so after the spa we hiked to Technopolis. In a store reminiscent of Circuit City and coming complete with air-conditioning we basically found heaven in Bulgaria. One would swear we had never seen washing machines and microwaves before given the excitement and awe permeating the air as we petted and gawked at these long-forgotten gems. Because we are English speakers and assumed to have deep pockets, we were constantly approached by super skinny, beautiful, should-be-on-The Price Is Right salespeople thinking we were interested in buying. Obviously we have no money and I do not know that it is normal to just browse in Bulgaria. Despite our disinterest in purchasing, we still garnered the attention of every person in that store as the Janel and Amy Show came to Technopolis. It was like going to Sam’s Club as a kid! No, we did not play hide and go seek in the tire section or pop out of a freezer, but with large aisles and American music loudly blaring from quality speakers, the urge to move could not be resisted. Consequently, an impromptu dance party happened in nearly every aisle. Yes… admittedly we were those annoying girls and no doubt embarrassed the hell out of Andy, the Blagoevgrad PCV who came with (and I have noticed that this seems to be pattern when it comes to song, dance, Amy and any other Bobo). The plasma TV section was the worst and after a moment of quiet time pondering who can actually afford one of these in Bulgaria or has the electrical power necessary for operation, I lost all of my self-respect as a Whitney Houston I Wanna Dance With Somebody meets Nina Sky’s Move Ya Body mash came on. As Meghan P. can attest to, my love for Whitney runs deep an even though I tried to resist, the song and dance came pouring out. Anyway, after many shrieks and gaggles at vacuum cleaners and irons with steam, we left Technopolis with the only purchase being Andy’s camera case.

So aside from shopping, the actual events of this week were attending a Chalga concert with Beckie, Alex and Janel (where again my skeezematism kicked in full gear as the guy next to me downed a 2 liter of beer and took to standing back and staring shamelessly with the occasional whistle at my I-didn’t-think-was-very-scandalous dancing); baking a ton of cookies to take to the sisters and elders in return for graciously inviting me to their language class which I attended and met a 3 day greenie that made me feel better about my own language skills; sitting on the benches in the town center generally manned by the grandpas for hours studying while they inquisitively stared at me the entire time; turning down an offer to be cast in a movie (what the woman does not know is that being from LA, I am wise to these little scams); and running into MamaVanya at the bus station on the way to Sofia. Now this last event was interesting because we had an hour and a half to converse about our lives since my departure, which was great. However, as I knew it would, the moment came where she asked about Foxy and inquired as to whether he calls me. I told her that indeed he does and everyday at that, but I never answer. She got a real big kick out of this, laughing violently and embarking on a rant of “ti si amerikanka i dobra i krasiva y po-dobe ot Daniel (Foxy) i toi e maluk…” (you are American and good and beautiful and better than Foxy and he is small). This was just another repeat of the typical conversation that would occur every morning after some late night Bobo adventure where she would try to keep me away from Bulgarian men because I am “better.” I am not sure where this idea comes from and it saddens me that she would even dare say or think such things. Anyhow, I really didn’t understand what she meant when she said Foxy was small - this led to questions. As I said, I am constantly lost in translation.

In other Bulgarian soap opera news, I finally communicated with Foxy. Last week I got a text from him that said “I look forward with eagerness to your visit to Boboshevo but you are avoiding me and I don’t know why. Correct me if I am wrong. Your friend Foxy can be more than friends if you want.” I told him he called too much, it was too difficult to speak on the phone in Bulgarian and we are only friends, nothing more (Janaina, you are CRAZY and should probably just come here and date Foxy yourself!). I am amazed at the thick-headedness I find here in Bulgaria and feel bad that I turn into some hard-hearted jerk because of it, but Janel gave him props for his sass. I finally answered a phone call that lasted all about 30 seconds where he tells me he has not seen the new training group in Boboshevo yet and then says goodbye. Was this the conversation I avoided for over a month??? I do not understand male/female interactions here in Bulgaria. I doubt I ever will. I am constantly bewildered.

So that is it. Next week should be one for the books as I visit Boboshevo for the first time. Next weekend is also Rock in Rila – the rock festival here in Samokov! AND… a disco was found in Janel’s town so we might have to soon take the show over there!

Miss everyone and WANT MY SKYPE TO RING MORE! Thanks Jen for giving me that red book before I left because it has been my lifesaver here. Sorry Ali for not calling you back but I missed your call by like 2 seconds and went back to bed. And to all, as a reminder, if you still want to contribute to my Bulgarian classroom fund, head over to http://www.paypal.com and send money to amynwilliams@gmail.com. Lots of love to everyone!

*Note*

I have uploaded some videos from some of the previous events:

Kirol and Methodii Day

Sporten Den

Hiking Musala

and posted July pictures here

Today the water came out of my faucet brownish black with chunks of who knows what splattering about. Whereas most of you would be mortified at the sight of such a thing, I was actually very excited and upon seeing this disconcerting filth my first thought was, “Yes! Now I am really in the Peace Corps!” Granted most people (as well as PCVs) associate service with no electricity, digging wells, wearing traditional African garb, and living in villages with no communication where a two hour walk is required to reach a market. I too made this association before my invitation to Bulgaria and was attempting to fathom the idea of sleeping on some mat in a net without two pillows. Yet here in Bulgaria we are referred to by other PCVs as the “Posh Corps” – yes, I am sitting with my Macbook in my well-tiled house, can shop at the Mango in Sofia, have most of the modern conveniences and appliances I was previously accustomed to and can find wireless internet in the town center. This experience was certainly not what I expected and admittedly feeling guilty after hearing of others’ rustic and roughing it experiences in different PC countries, I feel slightly more authentic when I am scrubbing my laundry by hand, dodging poo in the road from donkey carts or witnessing Willy Wonka’s chocolate river springing forth from my faucet. However, it is important to remember that every place has specific needs and Bulgaria is no exception. Thankfully for my own personal comfort, this country’s need is not electricity, plumbing, condom distribution, HIV shots or water sanitation (although the water is frequently out or fritzy and some of the bathroom facilities I have visited might and the unfortunate splash and splatter of waste may as well have necessitated those HIV shots). But as a post-communist, developing Eastern European country, Bulgaria is desperately searching for its identity and sense of place in a developed and heavily globalized world. And kids in the education system are in need of understanding how they can become an influential part of this exciting transformation, develop the necessary skills and with confidence, overcome the Bulgaria old-world complaciveness and become the leaders of their own lives. So call me posh (although I always had to play Ginger Spice in that game – red hair, large chest…), but I think I am okay with this.

Although I am very much a part of the so-called Posh Corps, this experience is not lacking in difficulty. They say that in the PC you have the highest highs and lowest lows, and in only three and a half months, I have certainly found this to be true. I have never laughed so hard and had as much fun or felt so lonely and wanted to cry as much as I have in Bulgaria. Although many of my blogs have contained stories of bizarrity, randomness and adventure, my time in Samokov so far has not been easy. Don’t get me wrong, I find the craziness that will undoubtedly come each and every day and it certainly brings a smile to my face. But the concept of community integration stressed so much in training is not one that comes quickly. I have realized how easy it is to just hole myself up in my house with my internet and not come out. And when I don’t have much to do (which I don’t – at least until school starts), I am even less motivated to do anything. I still don’t really speak great Bulgarian, haven’t read many books or written anything great and certainly haven’t made many friends or figured out what my place in this town will be. At times I feel swallowed up by Samokov because it is so much bigger than Bobo. I am not a novelty anymore. I essentially blend in with the rest. I think I might die my hair blue just to start getting some stares again (the good kind – like the kind that is pondering where you came from and what you are doing here rather than the skeezy stares which are still very abundant). The days come and go, alternating between up and down and after the biggest event of two weeks ago was chasing a bird inside my house for an hour, swatting fruitlessly with a broom and scooping unsuccessfully with a bucket until the little terror realized I was only trying to save his life and would allow me to pick him up and after giving me bird flu, send him out the window, I decided it was time to get out of town and rejuvenate.

What do you do to rejuvenate in Bulgaria? Why you go to camp of course! Now there is a special love in my heart for camp – as a kid I went to water skiing camp, sailing camp, girl scout camp, day camp and tied all the crazy knots, made all the crazy crafts and sang all the crazy songs that go along with it. I play a mean game of big booty as many of you know. So when I got an email from another volunteer asking for helpers at summer camp in his small town of Zavet, I hopped on that seven hour bus ride with Janel and Kai and rode my way into South Dakota. Well, not really but that is what the Zavet region of Bulgaria looked like, which surprised me because it is practically Colorado in Samokov being so beautiful and mountainous. The entire week was the Janel and Amy show being the only two girls shacking up with about twelve boys. With the important responsibility of representing Bobo style, we constantly wore spandex and headbands, sang and composed musical genius, ran like scared children from bugs and icky gross things and (if you are me) constantly missed catching or hitting any of the balls intended to result in actual contact. The first day of camp included an excursion to the nearby tractor factory where a good game of let’s spot the Americans was played while we posed shamelessly by every piece of machinery and eyed incredulously outdated equipments in a massive factory, which I think is the closest mental image to communism I have had to this date. A nice treat for the kids was scrap pieces of sheet metal that would probably give them some long lasting metal-borne disease, but have no fear, only one girl’s foot got cut up. After helping Joe, the PCV in Zavet, organize his first baseball practice and remembering why Genelle and I picked clovers in the outfield during my softball days, I decided to stick to the inside activities. I spent the rest of the week teaching kids Old McDonald, weaving macramé, sewing patchwork and creating more artistic genius with random crafts. Near the end of the week, after getting to know some of the kids and losing any timidness (or sense of dignity) we had, Janel and I shifted into ultra-goofy counselor mode and broke out into random dance parties wherever we went. We had kids teach us new horos (folk dances), which we shamelessly practiced everywhere. The children then decided that patchwork was lame and we were cooler so they joined us on the stage (where lets be honest, I am at my best) and put on some song that featured clucking and squawking chickens to a pounding techno beat. With about 25+ kids in tow, Janel and I led the group through various chicken moves and squawking exercises. Chanting “cakushka tants” (chicken dance) each time the song ended, the kids put that sucker on repeat and with sweat dripping from our faces and calves hurting from the chicken squat, we were clucked out after about five renditions. So in addition to big booty, I now do a mean chicken.

Outside of camp, the time in Zavet was wonderful because we got to basically have a week long party with the great company of PCVs. With poker, gin rummy, apples to apples, swimming and trampolines – it was definitely a good summer party! One night (ladies dressed in spandex of course), we ventured to the stadium for a game of late night baseball to find about 20+ boys already there. This baseball game turned huge and Janel and I were the main attractions as we battled constant questions of “are you married” and “do you have a boyfriend” from each and every one of them. After saying, “I love you” to Janel, one of the older boys was responded to with a “that was quick.” I had to pretend another PCV was my boyfriend after a boy no older than fifteen trying to convince me he was twenty came up and whispered “Iskash li da hoydesh s mene? (would you like to go (home) with me?).” I still have yet to figure out if these people are serious. Is it normal in Bulgaria for this situation to end positively for him? Do they have no sense of age gap or respect for elders/professionals? I could have been this kids teacher for heaven’s sake! I don’t really get it. My picture is constantly taken, my number constantly asked for, reciprocated interest constantly inquired about, and my relationship status constantly extracted – all after about thirty seconds of meeting and by men aged 9 to death. Flattering I suppose it should be, but I am REALLY sick of it. That rant aside, we spent the last day of camp face painting and visiting some ancient Thracian tombs, which were really interesting and well preserved. It is still amazing to realize that in the country I now live in such profound pieces of history are everywhere. The hill next to my house is probably not really a hill, but instead, a Thracian tomb, underground monastery or sunken Roman ruins!

After camp Janel and I discoed it up at our first big-girl disco (although we have yet to get to some clubs in Sofia where the real big-girl party can be found) and then headed east with some of the boys and another PCV Cassie for a day trip to Varna. Now Varna is essentially like a different country – its expensive, full of amenities and next to a beautiful body of water called the Black Sea. The water was beautiful, warm, much better than the Los Angeles Pacific, but us girls were having major self-confidence issues as we looked around and realized we were the only people wearing bathing suit tops. There were topless, tan, beautiful and wafer-thin Bulgarian women everywhere, and then there was us, red and white beached whales with bathing suits on. After watching and commenting on this for most of the day, we gathered our towels, headed up the beach away from anyone we knew (the boys), and “integrated.” It was another game of lets spot the Americans and after pure mortification, we headed back just about as quick as we came. But hey, we can now say we did it.

After our Varna trip sadly came to a close, we got on a night bus and arrived in Sofia just in time for church. Luckily for me, making it to church has been a much easier feat since I arrived in site than it was in Bobo. Although expensive, I ride an hour each way to Sofia where I have plenty of times and locations to choose from. This important personal activity has proven to be the one thing keeping me sane here, for whenever everything is out of wack, unfamiliar or just kind of depressing, church is the one thing I can be sure about and comfortable with. Although I don’t know exactly what is being said in words, I know what is going on. Plus I am guaranteed to have something in common with each person I meet, which have been many. Already I’ve been invited to a number of activities and was recruited to join the greenie language class. And seeing as how I come into contact with Mormon missionaries (and a lot of them) just about everywhere I go in this country, I have a great newfound respect for them. Even though it was not something I chose, they are simply amazing for doing what they do.

Back at site after the week-long Zavet party, I was determined to put into practice the things I learned and plug in the energy I had gained to shape up and hop on the integration train I feel has been slow to come in. I went back to teaching, which worked out really well and was quite fun as I learned to be more comfortable with the kids and them in turn with me. Sometimes I wonder if they understand or care about anything I say, but one day after teaching the kids about occupations, I ran into one of the little ones at the supermarket who came up to me saying “Miss, you forgot some jobs!!” At first I did not understand what he was trying to say until he said triumphantly proclaimed, “policeman and fireman! I want to be a fireman!” My heart kind of warmed and I realized it is moments like these where you find purpose in what you are doing and discover the energy to keep on. I have also made it a point to get out of my house, so I now study Bulgarian everyday on the benches under the trees in the center. I figure no one is going to stare and question who I am when they cannot see me, so I am taking my ignorant-with-no-friends show public. I definitely get the stares and perhaps if I make this routine, someone will actually come speak to me (or I will get enough studying in to know what to say to them). I also made it a goal to meet at least one person a day, which began when I went running (another goal) in the woods but unfortunately underestimated how quickly it would get dark, a situation exacerbated by the thickness of trees. By my lonesome in the forest nearing 10p, I started running faster through the final stretch when I saw two baba’s (grandma’s) tottering arm in arm down the road. I slowed to make friends, which I think they thought was slightly strange, but after their initial shock that I was alone wore, they took me in, giving me advice such as “there are bad people up here.” I figured I would listen to the grandmas. Even better for integration was that I went na gosti (a term that doesn’t translate, but essentially means going to visit as a guest) to a Samokovian host family’s house. They seem to want to take me in and I am all for this. They asked me “do you like rock music?” I respond, “OF COURSE!” to which they said “well, you will come with us to our village for the rock music holiday.” I walked home from their house on Friday night past every café, bar and club in town where the parties were just beginning and I was wistfully thinking, if only I had friends - someday though, because things are looking up. Little by little.

In other news of note, I now have long hair. This does not seem like great news, but I have not experienced this since 9th grade and I am very proud of my ability not to chop. Also, I have taken to cooking and baking. I hate the cooking because to actually make good stuff its expensive and I have to spend an hour in the store trying to translate Bulgarian words or approach a worker with my dictionary to figure out where chicken broth is. The baking however, seems to be going well but is a big problem because for every meal this week I ate peach cobbler or no-bake cookies (which I guess indicates the extent of my “baking”). Also, for those following all my Bulgarian boyfriend drama, Foxy still calls me every single day, even though I never answer. I suppose persistence is a quality I can attribute to him. But this just proves my ways never really change. I also have another concert coming up – this one being the big chalga concert in Dupnitsa. Chalga is basically sexed out Britney Spears circa 2000/2001 gone Bulgarian pop folk. It is terrible but we love it. Chalga is no Michael Bolton, but in a country with limited music supply, this will have to do.

Big BIG big thanks to all that have contributed to my teaching fund. I am sure most of you received my mass email (if you did not, please let me know) that gave a brief update and informed you all of my collection efforts for school, but if not, I have set up a paypal account (www.paypal.com, send money to amynwilliams@gmail.com) to take your donations for teaching supplies and resources for the upcoming school year. Why am I asking for this? I will just repost that little bit from the email to remind you:

I want each of you to think back to your education. You probably had books, notebooks, pens, glue sticks, markers, crayons and all sorts of personal supplies to use at any given moment. This made school fun, because glue and markers meant cool stuff right? You also probably had a teacher who gave you worksheets, provided art supplies for an excellent project or came up with interesting games and activities that really allowed you to learn. Perhaps you even had books in the classroom that triggered your imagination and satisfied your curiosity. But most importantly, you probably went to a school in a country that provided resources to the teacher that gave them the freedom to be innovative, creative and effective. Most of this does not exist in Bulgaria. At my school I have a chalkboard and chalk and only that. Everything I do for these kids - every project I create, every supply I have - comes out of my own pocket. I shall emphasize the shallowness of these pockets - this is the Peace Corps. I have enough to live and only to live. Should you be interested in helping these Bulgarian schools, kids and families, you can toss me some dinero to buy them books, supplies and other fine things which will help them learn. You can also send me things, but paypalling is more effective because I can just give my mom the project of shopping (thanks mom!).

Lastly, I decided that since I have a good readership going here, I must make it my duty to inform you all of a fabulous artist who finally has a product out you can buy (that’s right, buy, not download!)! I have followed Miss Sara Bareilles for about 5 years, since her a cappella days in college, and have loved every single thing she has done. She put out her debut album on Epic about two weeks ago that floored the world being the #1 album seller on iTunes so if you haven’t heard this wonderful girl, please check out her album “Little Voice” for some jazzy, bluesy song-driven music sprinkled with some sincerely fabulous pipes. www.sarabmusic.com

Hope each and every one of you is well! Come out of lurking and shoot me an email or CALL MY SKYPE PHONE (on the right). Remember, this is free for you guys so I better be getting some more calls! Love and miss you all!

**Note**

Check out some housekeeping stuff (picture links and my new US phone # !!!) at the bottom of this blog entry.

Apologies to all of those who have been checking for blog updates just to discover none. I know you all are just foaming at the mouth to hear of my super exciting Bulgarian life (As Meghan P. says, my blog is her new gossip magazine. Watch out Perez Hilton), but the rather lengthy lapse of non-blogging time was due to the fact that some very momentous events happened: I left Bobo, officially became a Peace Corps Volunteer, moved to my new home of Samokov, and saw Michael Bolton. But before I give you the skinny on all things Samokov, I must settle all things Bobo:

I am obliged to start off with a little vent. The Bulgarian language and I have been fighting recently. Yes, we have fought since the beginning and have had our numerous ups and downs, but throughout the last three weeks our problems have intensified. My biggest beef with the Bulgarian language is not that it uses a different alphabet, has the most complicated system of prepositions ever encountered, or even that it is quite difficult. These things can be forgiven and I can look past. Instead, the most serious problem in our relationship boils down to one word: priyatel. To me and the dictionary, this means “friend.” Sounds nice right? However, to everyone else it has two meanings: “friend” and “boyfriend.” I understand that ezik means both language and tongue, for these things are related. I even understand that samo is defined as both only and alone. But I will never be able to understand why friend ALSO means boyfriend!

At first I did not realize the problems this was causing me. Week one in Bobo as I sat down with MamaVanya and showed her pictures from home and describing each person as my priyatel, I just assumed she understood they were my friends. I suppose she could think that I have a ton of boyfriends back at home, but I would like to believe she understood. However, as time went on, this flaw with the Bulgarian language has come up from under to bite me real hard. Each evening of the last month, I encountered problems as I prepared to leave the house and told MamaVanya we would meet our “priyateli” at the café, disco, swimming pool or one of the other hot spots in Bobo. Eyes widen and my arms arms grabbed as she asks with a horrified expression on her face “Are Daniel and Methodii your boyfriends??!” I shake my head, laugh as though this is the most absurd thing I have ever heard and explain to her they are only our friends. I feel really uncomfortable, because clearly she doesn’t believe this (and probably has some right not too), and I am certain she thinks I am either a liar, scandalous American or both. Heaven FORBID we have friends that are boys and not be their girlfriends! Despite my attempts to persuade her of simple plutonic-ness, she is clearly unconvinced and horrified at the thought of my leaving her sheltering (and somewhat binding) arms. However, since she lacks the confrontational audacity that would prevent my outing, I depart for a night out on the village and have fun chasing fireflies, teaching these boys what the word “skeezy” means or enjoying whatever else the night brings. I sneak back in during the wee hours and arise the next morning to find myself having the same awkward exchange (and to learn she had been on the balcony all night spying). She will never be convinced.

The problem with this retched word does not simply lie with MamaVanya, but Foxy as well. A little background to catch those who are not frequent readers of the blog up: Foxy is the least skeezy boy in Boboshevo and we hang out with him frequently. He is nice, doesn’t drink too much, plays on the local soccer team, wears a sweet purple sweatshirt from 1988 that says “jogging time”, and leads Janel and I on excursions through Bobo – perfect friend for us Bobocitas. However, it is from Foxy that I learned the most important lesson of my time in Bulgaria the hard way: after a hug dance at the disco and a walk home with a Bulgarian boy, one will find themselves in a serious, committed relationship! How was I to know this?! Things started to get out of hand when the entire town seemed to think I had a boyfriend, neighbors were spreading rumors, Mario’s heart was visibly breaking and Foxy was starting to smother and annoy. When three days later I got an “I love you” via text, I knew that serious action was necessary - it was time to take to break up with the boyfriend I didn’t know I had. After hibernating in my house for a few days to avoid Foxy and prepare my Bulgarian language skills for this impending arduous task, I made the trip out of the house to confront the man whose heart I would break. Janel tried to help by explaining to Foxy that in America we don’t say I love you until we are married (when you are speaking in Bulgarian, you just say what you can. Clearly this isn’t true, but it got the point across). She also tried to help me out with this breakup by doing it for me in true middle school fashion, but he wasn’t convinced and spent the rest of the evening trying to assert to me and everyone else I was his. Finally it was time – he walked me home and the conversation went a little like this:

Me: Foxy, you are not my boyfriend.

Foxy: huh?

Me: And I am not your girlfriend.

Foxy: Zashto!!?? (Why!!??)

Me (incredulously): Because we cannot even speak!

Foxy: But I will study English and you will study Bulgarian

Me: I am moving in 2 days!

Foxy: But I will na gosti (visit) in Samokov and you will come na gosti to Boboshevo and we will go to the disco!

Me: No, no. I am not allowed at the disco in Samokov. You don’t even know me!

Foxy: Yes I do. I like you! Do you not like me?

Me (desperate times call for desperate measures – it was time to turn into a great actress and start working off a script. I need a story now): Well, I don’t have a boyfriend right now in America, but there is a boy I like. I thought I was ready to have a new boyfriend, but I am not ready now [weep weep! This is getting good. I should move to Hollywood (oh wait – I already did that.)]

Foxy (hanging his head low): You just want an American boyfriend. You don’t want a Bulgarian boyfriend. When will you want a Bulgarian boyfriend?

Me: No, No. It doesn’t matter if they are Bulgarian or American. You and I are friends. We will hang out when I na gosti.

Foxy (like a sad puppy): Dovizhdane (goodbye) Amy (and sullenly whimpers away).

So that’s it – I broke the best heart in Boboshevo. I thought I was home free and “single” again, but since I left Bobo I have been receiving texts and calls from him constantly. Apparently breaking up doesn’t translate well. The lessons I learn here in Bulgaria…

After solving (or not solving as it goes) things with Foxy, the ladies and I prepared to leave and become official Peace Corps Volunteers at the upcoming swearing-in ceremony. We spent a few more golden hours at the pool, ate purzheni cartofi at the flea café, and played gin rummy at the flealess café before we had packed all our things up and went with all our families to the banquet at the benzinostanzia (gas station). It was a good time full of pictures and sad faces and afterwards us ladies enjoyed our last evening in Bobo. The next morning our families drove us to Dupnitsa, said their sad goodbyes and left us to become big girls!! It was very sad to leave Bobo and my family who as bizarre as they are really became my own, and I love and appreciate them an incredible amount. However, after the drama with Foxy, I was really ready to start this Peace Corps experience and be on my own. After a final training and last night on the town with all the PCV’s, we were driven to Sofia to attend our grand swearing-in ceremony, complete with the ambassador and various other diplomats. The entire experience was strange because it meant that the forty of us trainees, who have become quite close and share an unexplainable kinship, would soon split apart and go to our separate cities all across Bulgaria, possibly not to see each other for months. It was sad and exciting at the same time and after manning the food table with Janel, my time of departure came. I said my goodbyes and began the adventure to my home for the next two years: Samokov.

Now I had imagined that my summer in Samokov would be boring, full of solitude and very difficult. I planned on using the plethora of time to study Bulgarian, read, write, take pictures and do all the things that my social life in Bobo prevented. I was actually looking forward to having nothing to do so I could start creating things to do. However, I speak too quickly because right away my time in Samokov was filled with just as much bizarrity! Kevin, my new site-mate and BFF picked me up at the bus station and the Samokovian era began. We dragged my stuff to my new home, which is the 3rd floor of a house. As attic-like and small as my place is, I am grateful to have a family living beneath me. They are super nice and although they don’t have any obligation to me other than to rent a place, I am trying to work my way down into their family ☺ They have a son my age who is main contender in the contest to be my friend and a younger one who speaks perfect English. Being in Bulgaria has definitely helped me realize how important it is to have people and a support system in my life. I always thought I was fine and dandy on my own and being independent, but I have been struck with how much other people really bring out the best in me, as well as how much I need them in my life since my arrival in this country. This aside, Kevin and I went out with another volunteer Thea that night for dinner and somehow I got tricked into joining them for their “little” hike the next day.

Now lets back up again: I do not hike. I should and granted I had mentioned to Kevin (who is super in shape and enjoys a mighty physical challenge) that I would be interested in trying more outdoorsy things, but what was to happen the next day was NOT what I had in mind. Everything about hiking gives me a self-esteem complex – I am slow, I don't have hiking clothes, I can be pretty clumsy and I enjoy doing physical activities by myself. Armed with impending self-confidence issues and my rainbow fanny-pack fastened over my spandex, I met what was now more volunteers on the bus towards Borovets, the most popular winter resort here in Bulgaria and only 10k from Samokov. Everything about the day was underestimated – from the gondola it was thought to be 1.5 hours up to Musala (the highest peak in Bulgaria) and 1.5 hours down, all with easy hiking. WRONG. Potentially the most strenuous physical activity I have ever engaged in, this feat was four hours up, the last hour being pure upward climbing, and having missed the gondola for the return, six hours down, the entire time being either through Bulgarian jungle or at 60 degree angles. The first portion of the descent was on the ridge, which admittedly, was fun until I saw the poles (the only things keeping me alive) swaying vehemently as though they would soon be dislodged from the rocks that held them and exist no longer. Despite a few tumbles, aching calves and bathroom trips in the most disgusting facilities ever seen, my little body held up and I was able to enjoy one of the most beautiful scenes I have ever encountered. I was very proud of myself and with a tiny bit of my self-esteem left (and this only because I did not die), I might try something of this nature again.

After this adventure, Kevin left for the week so for the time being I was spared from further life-threatening activities. I was imagining a nice, relaxing day of unpacking until Bubo, the 16-year-old downstairs, came up and asked me if I would like to go to the swimming pool. How can I say no? I venture down, very happy I am being included in family activities, but soon learn that this will just be me and the boys… around 10 to be precise. In Bobo it was me and the girls, which I enjoyed and got very used to, but apparently in now in Samokov, its me and the boys!! I met all the older son’s friends at the pool (which is actually a mineral water pool that smells like sulfur) and was quickly asked to go to the disco. It was then I knew that Samokov was not to be any tamer than Bobo.

I started my real job during the week where I lead a “camp.” The only description I was given is to “show up and teach English.” This is proving to be very difficult because I have skill levels from 8 years old and never taken English to 9th grade at a language school with excellent speaking. The first day I thought it would be an hour, which is what I had prepared for, but I soon learned it would be four. Regardless of its difficulty, each day is a new opportunity to learn, grow and hopefully, become a better teacher. I am finding that I really love teaching because there is such a tangible measure of success, or better yet, improvement. Each lesson and each day is an opportunity to try something new and see if it works. I never imagined I would be a teacher (the only time I really thought about it was when I was in school and said that if I ever became one I would never allow gum), but I am grateful for this opportunity and am growing to love it.

Aside from the moving in, mountain climbing and teaching, the BIG event of the week was Michael Bolton. Lets make sure we do not underestimate the importance of this event. I made the trek into Sofia to meet Janel and Sehee with whom I would share this amazing experience, but had NO idea where I was going. Kevin told me to get off the bus at the Golden Arches, which I could find but after that and having no idea where I was, I just hopped on a random bus and hoped for the best. I thought about it later and decided that if globalization brought those golden arches that allowed me to get off the bus in the right spot simply because I know them and what they stand for, then I consider globalization a good thing. Plus I figure there is not that big of a hamburger market in Bulgaria to push smaller businesses out. Anyway, after a few hits and misses, I made it to the venue where my Bobo girls and I had a wonderful reunion. After dinner and a run in with the Mormon missionaries, it was time for MB. We were on the guest list and figured this would be a feat, which it was. No one had any clue what we were talking about and we figured out that the trick to cracking Bulgarian concert security is show up with an email in English and name drop. The guards just let us in because they had no idea what to do and we ended up on the press stage with a fabulous view of Michael. We were singing and swaying in the true easy listening way and while the rest of the crowd mostly sat in silence, we screamed the words to every Michael Bolton song. Time, Love and Tenderness came on and I swooned. Michael even unbuttoned his shirt ::faint:: Afterwards we tried to milk it for all it was worth and get passes, but Michael peaced out so we met the promoter, got a set-list for Sehee and hit the road. On the way home I was determined to take one of the giant adverts for the show with me and eventually found one where Michael’s head was sort of intact. I carried this around for a while but eventually decided traveling with a roll-up Michael was too difficult. I took a picture, made the memory and said my goodbyes.

Returning back to Samokov I was preparing for a yet-to-come relaxing weekend, but no, Kevin got his claws in me again. We spent Saturday in the woods near the close-by village of Govedartsi with a jolly bunch of English people who were great company. Apparently there is a small portion of Britain that resides here in Bulgaria and they are all a pretty tight-knit bunch. I am excited for this. After this all-day event, Kevin and I were dropped off in Samokov when he got a call from some Bulgarian friends from his training site who were spending the evening at a nearby lake. We jumped in a cab to join them for what I thought would be drinks at a restaurant, but after waiting at the restaurant for quite some time, a windowless white van that looked as though it could be trafficking people picked us up and drove us through a locked lakeside driveway. We were then led through the pitch black woods in horror movie fashion where all I could see was water on one side to eventually arrive at a full on campsite, complete with tents, fishing poles, campfire and seven other boys. It was me and the boys again as the party intensified and I was the target of all sorts of craziness and absurdity. Considering the amounts of alcohol consumed by the others, I began to wonder how Kevin and I were going to make it back to Samokov, but these thoughts were thwarted when Tony, the leader of the group, said: “You sleep here.” Well.. that solves it. Long and insanely funny story short (email me for real details), I ended up camping and sharing a tent made for two with three other boys - all unplanned. How is that for community integration? Needless to say, I slept little as I was dodging snores, breathing tent lining, and freezing to death all night. The next morning Kevin and I finally made it back home, but with plans to meet some other volunteers for lunch two hours later, he would not allow me to return to my house knowing that I would not make it back. So what do we do? Sleep on a bench. Now in the US, sleeping and relaxing in public places is normal, but in Bulgaria, you might as well be from Mars if you do this. Indeed we received a few stares as we slept head to head with feet dangling on a bench in front of a museum. I felt homeless for two hours, but it was wonderful.

In conclusion, although I was looking forward to Samokov being a place of serenity and with tons of time to pay attention to all the things I came to Bulgaria to fix and pay attention to, I cannot complain about all the adventures and fun I have had thus far. Kevin is an amazing site-mate and person with whom I am incredibly lucky to be spending the next year with. Plus as a respectable boy, he keeps me safe from potential skeezies in tents. I think of my Peace Corps experience to this point and am floored that three months has already passed and more amazed by all of the things I have learned, challenges I have met, and growth I have experienced. Though being in Bulgaria is not easy, I am still waiting to feel as though I am sacrificing a lot to be here. For that I am grateful!

Much love to my family and friends who I miss tremendously! You will all receive an email from me shortly that will include some updated contact information! Make sure to drop me a line, even if real short, to let me know how you are doing. And I know that I have some lurkers who check out this page so lurk no longer, say hi, and let me know you exist!

I am now using Facebook for the photos because of Flickr problems, so links to the albums will appear on the right side of this page. I have added three new albums so be sure to check them out.

ALSO, I am switching the blogging day to Wednesdays because the weekends are way too out of control now. So check on Wednesdays! Now that I have internet in the home, these will be on time.

AND LASTLY (and most exciting!) is that I have SkypeIn phone number. This is a Los Angeles based number that should you call from the states, should be free if you have free long distance and will connect you to me… IN BULGARIA! It costs you and me nothing so you better call all the time! Otherwise, Skype is the best way to get me and the info is on the side of the page.

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(213) 985 - 2877

DISCLAIMER: Does this blog represent the views of the Peace Corps or United States Government??? OF COURSE NOT! Silly...