Jun 2007

Just before the Serbian border and snuggled in between the hills, remote Belogradchik was the ideal weekend destination…no tourists, no traffic congestion, a direct bus (I know, I’m lazy) and absolutely stunning scenery. What exactly makes it a “rockin’ good time?” Well, believe it or not, the rocks.

Well, rock formations, really. Ancient, otherwordly giants punctuate over 90 km of an undulating, densely green landscape. The scarlet, gray and cream tones are a striking contrast; the sheer height of the rocks…awe inspiring.

Historically, the rocks were a natural fortification between the Danubian Plains and the Serbian Morava Valley. The “Belogradchik Pass” is marked by a fascinating, mish-mash castle…which, as noted by Rough Guides, was “begun by the Romans, continued by the Bulgars during the eighth century, and completed by the Turks a millennium later.” Although there is little left to see, several sets of mildly terrifying staircases put me right at the shoulder of one of the giants.

I started early in the morning, as the Bulgarian sun beats down with serious force starting around ten a.m. I was completely alone – the tour buses rarely find Belogradchik, the school groups were eating breakfast, and the ticket-takers were still romancing their morning narcotic (Turkish coffee, that is).

So, when I climbed to the very top – bouncing from the designated viewpoint (and across a terrifically terrifying crevice) to a perch on the edge of the world – I felt like the only human being in existence. It was silent – all sounds of the small town were buffered by fluffy wooded hills. The giants, hundreds of them, stood tall and glistening in the morning sun. Creative Bulgarians have quite delightfully designated the most intriguing of formations with identities… the Nuns, the Gossip, the Schoolgirl, the Horse and Rider. I stretched out, breathed in the (temporarily) crisp air, and let my own imagination personify the limestone.

I stayed until my clothes were stuck to my oozing pores…suddenly realizing that “brrrgaria” was somewhat preferable to “boilgaria” (haha! cleverness!). The moose-quitos were also having a midday buffet of my flesh - (they are huge, and their bites drive one to insanity). I took that as my cue to find my adventure in the cooler, forested paths of the hills. On my way down to civilization, I passed a typically “fashionable” Bulgarian woman hiking her way to the top in the most impossible stilettos. Talent or stupidity? Probably the former.

I spent the rest of my time wandering the quiet, mildly abandoned streets of Belogradchik and exploring the forest nearby. The café culture was obvious – it seemed the entire town spent all day, every day relaxing on patios with beer and coffee. Most of the stores were closed, most of the taxis were abandoned. the low-key, laidback atmosphere was perfect for a weekend repose.

My hikes in the forest were equally as peaceful – towering trees were dwarfed by even more impressive rock formations. I hiked fairly extensively, until an absolutely enormous anaconda slithered inches from my toes. Stunned, I had an unfortunate mental image of a very undignified (snake-digested) death…so I screamed like a pansy and ran.

With my heroic snake-battle, my hiking, and my gawking at the beauty of the world at an end… I caught a scenic, four hour bus ride back to reality. As we passed by fields filled with thousands of sunflowers, tiny villages blooming with life, and peaceful mules lunching on the medians, I decided that Bulgaria is truly enchanting.

Now that you’re all warm-fuzzies, may I present the small (well, Italic) print:
Unfortunately, (and I continue to mentally pinch myself for this), I actually forgot to bring my camera. Completely. I brought my extra SD card, just to make sure. I brought my charger, just to make sure. But I left my camera – you know, the most important part? – sitting on the kitchen table. It was absolute torture for such a snap-happy adventurer. Luckily, there are lots of photos I can pirate off the internet and post for you to see.

I was incredibly excited. I'd taken extra care to wear my "finest" clothes, I fixed my hair for the first time in months, I'll even admit to mentally rehearsing my introduction...I was going to the US Embassy to represent Animus at an anti-trafficking roundtable, and was thrilled for the opportunity.

I didn't go alone...since I'm the newbie I was accompanied by two "oldies" - Marie, the swiss volunteer, and Milena, a bulgarian co-worker. As we pulled up to a vast, shining, (mildly excessive) beacon of modernization, I knew I was on American soil. The Embassy in Sofia is absolutely beautiful, and absolutely conspicuous in its sheer grandeur.

After a fairly thorough security check – (although my metal knee didn’t set off the metal detector…curious.)– we were escorted to the meeting room. Approximately forty attendees filtered in; Bulgarians, Americans, a Dutchman, a Norwegian, and a few Frenchies. We represented non-governmental organizations, Bulgarian governmental ministries, and a wide variety of foreign/international organizations. Although the Deputy Prime Minister failed to attend, the room wasn’t short on hot shots. As the introductions were given, I realized I was sitting next to the hulking FBI director involved in anti-trafficking (he wasn’t terribly talkative). Nearby, the big-time executive director of USAID, and across the room, a former Miss Bulgaria, and the American Ambassador to Bulgaria.

Wait, who are you again? Oh, um, an intern? I don’t think anyone was terribly impressed!

As the meeting started, I was full of high hopes for our opportunity to present the current projects of Animus. Unfortunately, the mediator – (a droning legal counsel with no public speaking skills) – gave the floor to resident governmental “experts”, who prattled on about a recent trip to Italy and the Italian legislative structures. (wait, this meeting is about Bulgaria, right?) They were terribly long-winded for having so little to say. I found this to be extraordinarily frustrating: there we were, forty different people and organizations from around the world in one place, all working for the same cause, ready and willing to collaborate, exchange ideas and strengthen our initiatives. Instead, there was no debate, no real exchange, and the only opportunity I/we had was a brief, underwhelming five minutes. It was the ambassador’s turn to speak, and the wine and hors'deurves were waiting! Any collaboration would be done in the lobby, or next quarter. (the latter, most likely.)

As I was pouting about lost opportunity, wasted potential and Italian legislative structures, the Ambassador stood tall, straightened his tie, and prepared to wow us with American diplomacy. I was excited to hear him speak – I’d been eyeing him the whole meeting, contemplating which witty words I would use to impress him.

“Welcome, welcome to everyone!” (and then he threw in some Bulgarian for good measure) “I am so glad to see such a wide variety of faces – some I know, some I don’t. And it is good to see people I don’t know, it means our cause, our strength is growing.” Good, we’re feeling empowered, not so preoccupied with hors’deurves…

“I am just so glad to say that we are here today working together, trying very hard to actually make Bulgaria a normal country.”

I choked. I’ve never been so good at poker face, and I imagine that as my eyes burst from my sockets and my jaw slammed into the floor people probably knew what I was thinking. And, although Bulgarians are rather impassive – I’d say their pursed lips and dark, flashing eyes were probably agreeing with me. Suddenly, I had all sorts of witty things to say to our “diplomatic” diplomat.

Normal. What is normal? I myself have admitted that Bulgaria is ‘bizarre’, but that’s according to insignificant little me, not US policy. But even still, I don’t have the right to distinguish between what is normal and what is not, and if I did, (we are all ethnocentric, after all) I most certainly would keep my criticisms out of a room full of Bulgarians. So, we’re here to make Bulgaria normal? Not to…you know, combat human trafficking? Rescue children from slavery? Prosecute pimps and maniacs? Create support programs for victims? Reconsider our choice of speaker?

I think he lost most of his audience shortly thereafter, I know I was growing fangs and talons. It was another sad day for America.

I had the opportunity to meet the Ambassador, the director of USAID (and his tag along), the drone lawyer and the FBI agent. I handed out some annual reports, cheesed it and attempted witty conversation. They mostly grunted at me and turned away as quickly as possible. I found Mr. FBI and Mr. USAID to be particularly brusque and unpleasant. It’s amazing how small some people can make you feel…even if your five feet and two inches are brimming with fire. I was glad for the wine.

More optimistically, I did meet a few equally disenchanted youngsters around my age. Three Peace Corps volunteers, two embassy interns and a partridge in a bureaucratic pear tree. (okay, not really.) They were all very bright, very good at their jobs, and very willing to share their opinions about life. We had a nice time chatting and eating up all the hors’deurves.

I was glad I had the opportunity to go, and I am glad I saw what I saw. In a room full of the most important and influential people to the cause, absolutely nothing was accomplished.

I stole a Newsweek out of spite.

Although the hustle and bustle of Sofia is oh-so-appealing, I was thrilled to leave the city for the weekend. I chose Koprivshtitsa by recommendation of a friend - as a well-preserved world heritage site, the entire village is a living example of Revival architecture and 19th century Bulgarian life. Plus, being nestled in beautiful green mountains makes everything a little more appealing.

My train ride took a full hour and a half longer than scheduled -I wouldn't have been so cranky about it if the man next to me smelled like anything other than curdled milk and unwashed human. I'm assuming the forty-five minute stop in the middle of nowhere was the result of mechanical failure (it happens a lot when the train is 50 years past due for replacement). My patience wore a bit thinner as a child nearby entertained himself by spitting loudly and repeatedly on the floor...charming I know...and I was just about to go bulgarian-ballistic when we lurched back into action.

My first glance of the town was breathtaking- as I said before, the village is nestled in the mountains and the diminutive structures only emphasize the grandeur of the natural surroundings. A great majority of the homes (380) were built in the Revival-period style, while everything else has been built in a complementary fashion. No high-rises, no soviet blocs, no traffic…I was stunned. (I was in love!) The entire place is tiny and easily navigable by foot – it took me less than twenty minutes to walk from one end to the other. The air was clean, the people were friendly, the timber houses were simple and utterly charming. I was particularly thrilled to see that the horse and wagon were still a staple of existence. The air smelled crisp and warm at the same time – an intoxicating mix of mountain air, horse manure and wood smoke. Indeed, my frontiers-woman fantasies were realized at last. (Now if only I’d packed my covered wagon…)

I stayed with a local family – none of whom spoke English. When I met the matriarch, a jolly, plump old woman, she dodged my handshake and reined me in for a Bulgarian bear-hug. I knew I was going to have a wonderful time. Unfortunately, the sky darkened just after my arrival – threatening to rain away my cheerful mood. My hostess and I shuffled to her lovely home as the downpour began. She bundled me in a sweater, confiscated my soaking wet shoes and chatted at me in Bulgarian as I waited for the skies to clear.

I was fortunate…within a couple of hours the rain let up and I was free to roam the village. I was even more fortunate to be arriving on that particular day…some sort of folk festival/performance was going on in the main square that night. I never could get a straight answer out of anyone about the reason behind the celebration…but I’ve also learned that Bulgarians scarcely need a reason for a little folk dancing. The 30 or so performers of every age were costumed in traditional garb – the gorgeous embroidery was complemented by clinking coins, festive flowers and a patriotic color scheme of red, white and green. As the performers danced, the riotous combination of color and rhythmic folk music was utterly hypnotic; I could see why these celebrations survived the centuries. When the show was over, the party began. The locals joined hands and started dancing – from the very young to the very old, the citizens of koprivshtitsa knew how to live it up folk-style. Well, until it started raining again. I started the walk home drenched but utterly enamored.

I wasn't too wet to pick up a bottle of wine for my hosts - we spent the evening lightheartedly attempting conversation via dictionary and pictures (or should I say, pictionary?). As the night wore on, we understood more and more of one another (ha) and we even did a little folk dancing in the living room. I went to sleep full of wine, delicious homemade cheese and killer new dance moves.

Thanks to the roosters outside my window, I woke up early enough the next morning to see the locals getting their horses ready for the day. Aside from these grumbling early-risers, the streets were completely abandoned. As the sun was peeking over the mountains, I was ready for real exploration. Although it isn’t mentioned in lonely planet OR rough guides (I’m going to write them), there’s a wonderful panorama of the village at the top of a very long staircase up the mountain. From there, once you look past a terribly unfortunate-looking Soviet monument, civilization feeds into pristine and peaceful nature. I spent the remainder of the morning walking through mountainside meadows and exploring an utterly gorgeous, dense forest. The only other human being I encountered was an old woman looking for mushrooms; the only sounds were the birds, the little waterfalls, and the very distant echo of horse-hooves on cobblestone. It was stunning to see the morning rays filtered through the trees in the forest. Ahhh, absolute contentment.

I walked as far as I could, but it was eventually too steep even for my monkey-climb. I picked my way back down the mountain and spent the remainder of the day wandering the streets, indulging in the local fare (red meat, red wine, bread and baklava...so unhealthy, so bulgarian, so delicious!), and chatting with the locals. Five construction workers even bought me a cup of tea during a mid-afternoon break (what a sight, as you can imagine). Unfortunately, reality was waiting and I caught the last bus to Sofia at five pm. My incredible experience in Koprivshtitsa left me feeling refreshed, revitalized and rededicated to my passion for a simple life.

In other words, experience is certainly the best education – or an unparalleled one, at least. No matter how much I’ve read about the processes and politics of NGOs or about the realm of human trafficking – being here, working here, and experiencing this culture and country is something wholly removed from expectation. My work with Animus continues and is surprisingly busy. My tasks are varied (though mildly mundane) and often very frustrating – but I am thrilled to have tasks in the first place. I cannot decide if this is because I am now more mature (ha!) and more willing to find work if it isn’t given to me…or if it is because Animus has a far smaller staff than Haki. (A little bit of both, I think).

My work with the website has come to a screeching halt as I encountered problems that were no match for even my superior HTML prowess. I emailed the company that owns the domain and did the basic appearance/formatting (which is terrible, if you ask me)…but that was a week ago and nothing yet. Here’s a link if you want to check out my skills:

http://danatip.org/zb/home

I’m responsible for the addition and editing of content and links – and there’s still a LOT of kinks to be worked out. Be gentle with your criticisms

(wow, it is torrentially pouring…again…there’s even a cacophany of car alarms sounding off. If this place weren’t so green and gorgeous during the rare sunny day, I’d curse the rain away forever! I may drown on my way home…)

In the meantime, I embarked on a new project – the endless search for potential international donors. Much to my dismay, I was told that our most important, most popular function – the crisis hotline for victims – will cease and desist very soon, due to a sudden lack of funding. I find this problem perplexing: how did they manage to lose funding for one of the primary projects of the organization? If they lost funding, why don’t they have a back-up plan? Why don’t they contact current donors and propose a donation re-arrangement? And, the most important question of all, why don’t they have any existing list/compilation of potential donors? Do they go searching through the thousands of possibilities every time money is tight? Yes, as a matter of fact, they do.

I was amazed to see that there are indeed thousands and thousands of options – there’s foundations for virtually every problem, solution, interest and sympathy in the world. And, even more surprising (though also obvious, in such an opportunistic world), are the businesses making money off helping non-profits make money. Clever, I know. Well, thank you very much, but I am quite capable of conducting my own search! (It just took me 3 million and two thirds hours). Is that an exaggeration? Maybe just a little bit. (it was probably more like 2 million and one third).

Not liking the idea of having to conduct this heinous search more than once, I took it upon myself to compile a fairly comprehensive binder detailing as-of-yet-untapped partnership possibilities– including a handy reference guide at the beginning! Clever, I know. (take that you entreprenurial sharks!) It seems like the totally obvious thing to do, so I should stop gloating shouldn’t I? Well anyway, I outlined the grant requirements, included the applications and contact information, noted our corresponding strengths and programs, and presented my initial findings to my pleased-as-bulgarian-punch superiors. Just as I was ready to continue plowing through cyberspace, I was told: “this is just fine, you can stop. We don’t want to have so many options we don’t know what to choose.”

My response? please imagine a curiously mixed expression of horror and perplexity. Stop? Why? You should have as many options as possible! You don’t know what to choose? Well…shouldn’t you apply for them all??? I must be very green to this business. In my head, more options = back up plans when your most important program is about to crumble! AH!

I’m being a little bit of a drama queen. I enjoyed the work – it was extremely educational – and I am too young and too foreign to really understand the motivations behind such wacky decisions. I just hate to leave any potential untapped – especially in such a desperate situation. I also think my American mindset of: “efficiency! efficiency! more! more!!!!,” is making things a little difficult for me.

So, now that I’ve officially stemmed that project (although I think I will be doing some of the actual grant-writing next week), I’ve been doing a tremendous amount of proofreading and dictation – (my English skills are super-suave, you see.) In other news, I’ll be representing Animus at a regional round-table/conference at the US embassy in two weeks, which should be extremely fascinating. And, on the side, I am authoring a “help-manual” for future international interns. My supervisor wants something to give new arrivals so that their orientation is a little bit smoother than mine. It’s basically an extremely abbreviated version of my book- Bulgaria: how to find food, shelter and a mildly honest taxi driver. I wish there’d been a ‘me’ for me!

All in all, I’m a busy little worker-bee and I’ve been soaking up as much knowledge as my worker-bee brain can manage. In fact, I should probably say that I’ve been “buzzy”…haha! Okay, I’m sorry, I’ll stop.

Ciao for now!

I snorted when I heard my office mates chatting about the upcoming visit of our dear American president – they were kidding, right? I couldn’t imagine what sort of agenda would bring the bushman to sofia…

But alas, Bush - and his swarm of secret service minions - visited last Sunday and Monday…and he fully succeeded in ruining my life. Okay, fine…he just ruined my weekend. A full twenty-four hours before to his arrival, the entirety of central Sofia was locked up tight with hundreds of barricades - (where do they keep those things in the off-season, I wondered.) Public transportation was severely limited, if it was functioning at all, and residents of the center were kindly requested to remove laundry and all things “unattractive” from balconies. Several suspicious looking characters were preemptively arrested (maybe Bush taught them that!) and Sofia’s finest were stationed strategically on every street corner (looking bored, mind you.) I was intrigued by all these measures…Was there something to fear in Sofia itself? (Sorry, that’s a really bad one. I couldn’t resist.)

I have to admit, I’ve never seen the city center looking so pristine – and with cheesy American flags plastered everywhere, I’d say the oozing hospitality almost offset all the anti-Bush graffiti. By the way, there was a protest that Saturday, though I missed it because I escaped to the Rila Monastery before the lockdown began. It didn’t look terribly convincing on television, but it was nice to see some healthy political activism in a country that makes the Tulsa “honk-if-you…” protesters look like violent radicals. (ie, political/civic participation is virtually nonexistent).

I didn’t wake up early enough to receive the President as he went strolling into the Bulgarian presidency – but I did watch the chaos on my flatmate’s television. The ironic thing was, in spite of the extreme measures taken prior to his arrival, the security appeared to be incredibly lax. Just as you may have seen from the footage of his Albanian visit, people were touching him, (stealing his watch), and practically falling over the barricades. The rumor is that these enthusiasts were ‘imported’ into the center by proud Bulgarian administrators after hearing about the extraordinarily warm Albanian welcome. It may not be true, but it sounds like a very Bulgarian sort of thing to do

I stopped following the drama shortly thereafter and I spent my Sunday lazing around my flat – which was pretty much my only option anyway. I’d almost forgotten about the affair until having dinner with a new friend the other night. A Yale undergrad, he and his Texan friend (donning a texas-flag tshirt) had decided to take part in the receiving line. So, although they were “unauthorized”, they waltzed right up and joined the festivities. The Texan caught the attention of the president, flashed him a view of his t-shirt and a loyal ‘hook-em horns’ hand signal. Bush reciprocated, and during the formal ceremony he flashed a ‘hook-em horns’ signal to the Bulgarian cameras. Although not very appropriate, not a big deal right?

The media frenzy that followed was astounding. To Bulgarians, apparently, the symbol is most closely associated with Satan. (Insert clever political quip here...)

To give you glimpse of the situation, please allow me to assume my assertive news-reporter voice: “What was that hand signal? What was Bush trying to say to the crowd? Is the gesture Satanic? Is this some secret American symbol? What could it possibly mean? We go now to our resident American culture expert!”

The mystery of it all was mind-blowing – so much so that virtually every news agency pondered the question repeatedly. Luckily, after many hours of strenuous deliberating, an acceptable conclusion was finally reached: Bush was saying “I love you” to his texas friend in the crowd. What a friendly guy! Phew, I’m glad they figured that one out.

Luke, my acquaintance, works at another NGO in town and made the effort to author a “very serious” press release clarifying the issue. By Monday, Bush had packed off for the USA and life in Sofia – chaotic, quirky, frustrating, invigorating – returned to normal.