Bulgaria

There comes a time when even the most transient of souls yearns for a blissfully (if not temporarily) sedentary existence. I wanted my flea-free bed, my unstained clothes, my (relatively) un-stinky shoes, and even the uneventful comfort and order of Tulsa, Oklahoma. But, as I thought about returning to life back home, I was incredibly, though expectedly, sad.

There is something truly intoxicating about a life on the road – a life unbound by most responsibilities, a life dictated by whim and freewill... (until the money runs out, anyway.) But money aside, it is indubitable that exploration touches a deeply passionate and primal part of the human soul – it peaks curiosities, stirs intellect, strengthens the spirit, tickles the senses, and evokes the most incredible emotions. Simultaneously taxing and relaxing…carefree and careful...travel, as eloquently stated by Miriam Beard, is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living. Therefore, in my end – the end of my internship, my summer, my journey – is my beginning.

I packed up my things – tucking evil eyes and textiles between one-too-many bottles of Bulgarian wine – crumpled under the weight of my pack, and said goodbye to Sofia. Our love/hate relationship had blossomed into full-on mutual respect, and I was mildly devastated to leave her just as we were becoming truly acquainted. I promised to return, but in my heart I knew it could be years…I think she understood. Sofia, and Bulgaria as a whole, taught me wonderful things: patience in the face of the Cyrillic alphabet, tolerance for bureaucracy and the resulting (ironic) chaos, understanding of the challenges faced by a post-Soviet “almost-Western” country, compassion for victims of the most unimaginable crimes, and admiration for a people unlike any other – quirky, careful, but absolutely gracious. And the wine…oh, the wine! Those Bulgarians certainly know how to drink with style.

My journey through Europe served as a fascinating complement and contrast (an appropriate contradiction) to my journeys through India and Africa. My internship – though certainly maddening at times – helped me to clarify my place in the world of humanitarian work. My summer, though only a speck in the (hopefully) grand timeline of my life – had a tremendous effect on my heart, my soul, and my personal aspirations. Now, having returned to my fairly-flea-free reality, I must decide how to move on with these deeply and permanently changed ideas of living.

So, moving on in the most literal of senses, I’ll be packing off to Washington, DC in about two weeks. Through and incredible stroke of luck, I am starting an extremely (and wonderfully!) demanding internship with the crisis response department of Amnesty International. Simultaneously, I’ll be starting my Masters – with the eventual goal of having a joint JD/MA in international politics/human rights. Yikes. I’m missing the beaches of Europe already. I am excited, completely terrified, but confident I’ve made the right decisions, and that I will, in fact, survive. I will use my patience, my tolerence for bureaucracy, my understanding, and my human compassion to contribute something, anything positive to this world. But for now, and in the near future, when I’m drowning in textbooks and twitching with caffeine, I’ll think fondly of my summer – the chaotic narcotic of bizarre, beautiful, Bulgaria.

I wanted to take a bus to Bulgaria, but somehow - this continues to mystify me - I ended up gawking at the Athens train station instead. Damn. My previous experiences with trains - particularly those involving Bulgaria - have been tremendously unpleasant. Cross my fingers and hope (not) to die? Or be stranded somewhere completely random? or miss my stop? or lose all my possessions? or find myself victim of a cigarette raid??? I wanted out of sprawling, stressful Athens, so I took my chances.

Indian-style, I fought my way onto my car as a throng of over-eagers mobbed the doors. The hot outdoor athens air was suddenly cool - I'd just boarded a big aluminum baked potato. Within the first twenty minutes, I was soaked completely and suffering from prickly-heat. Luckily, I only had 15 more hours to go.

The air - aside from being impossibly oppressive - was ripe with body odor and mutiny. We were packed solid, and no one was happy about it, so the unfortunate steward was accosted by a slew of old women and macho men regarding the non-functional air-con. When he appeared to admit his impotence, arguments erupted between passengers - babies were screaming, teenagers teasing, old ladies hollering at their seatmates. I tossed a toy at some children to keep them from pestering me. Instead, i was sighted as a sucker and they swooped down upon me...a baby nearby even slobbered all over my newly-purchased Greek worry beads. To keep from looking revolted (I'm no good with children!!), I watched the teenagers next to me downing rakia and whiskey. They were irritatingly good-natured, but I had to laugh as they belted out boy-band tunes...NSYNC's "Bye Bye Bye", and Backstreet Boys' "I want it that way" really never sounded so good. As a complement, a Tanzanian nearby taught them a little bit of Sinatra. At least, I thought, there's entertainment in hell.

My seatmate was somehow intrigued by me, and we began to chat about my work. "Not many people are willing to do what you do," he said, "you are performing the work of God - have you been saved?" Oh dear. I was sitting next to a Greek Jehovah's Witness. No joke. We chatted for a while about why I'm going to hell for being unsaved - though he was much kinder than I thought he would be - until I decided to feign sleep instead of screaming.

My fake slumber seemed to dull him, as he disappeared when the train broke down shortly after. I had two hours to suck in fresh air while we waited...by some merciful miracle, the air conditioning worked when we re-boarded. The cool air enlivened the car, and a middle-aged albanian (capable of the most noxious odors) even took to groping my leg. (but not before spilling his whiskey all over my lap.) I nearly cried in relief when we arrived in Thessaloniki - three hours late. Then, I nearly cried again when I found I missed my connection to Bulgaria and had to sleep in the station until the next train in the morning. And then, I did manage to squeeze out a tear when the station guards tried to kick us stranded few to the street. "You can't sleep here! Station closed!" It was two in the morning. "But where are we supposed to go! We can't just wander the streets!" We said, it was if the last fiber of our patience and stamina had been swiftly severed. "It is not our problem!" they retorted. But it was a big problem for a solo American female.

In the end, they allowed us to be locked in a small downstairs waiting room. "Eat, bathroom now. We open door at 6 am." They didn't want us to steal anything. Steal what? I don't know. I probably would have done it though, out of spite. I squeezed in a few hours of sleep before being herded back to the surface of the world and catching my train to Bulgaria. I'd decided to stay in Sandanski - a city close to the border - and find a bus from there. Due to complete exhaustion, I stayed the night - arriving in Sofia three days after leaving Athens. I was filthy and smelly enough rival the albanian, but completely thrilled to be back to the familiar. Oh Bulgaria, how I missed you. Oh Bulgaria, I'll never take a train to/from/around or near you ever, ever again.

Given my insatiable thirst for adventure, and my unfortunate obligation to return to the United States, I decided to use the rest of my summer - after my 6-week Animus internship - for a little regional exploration. I was so excited to move on that I spent every bit of my free time exploring Turkey via guidebook - planning, dreaming, itching for more. Suddenly, on the days before my departure, I realized just how much I'd grown to enjoy Animus and wonderfully wacky Bulgaria...and that I was truly sad to leave.

Wrapping up my final bits of work, I realized how tremendously beneficial my experience with Animus had been - I was sometimes supremely frustrated with the organization, but I was often more frustrated by the sheer magnitude and cruelty of the issue at hand. When a 12 year old - a prostitute for a number of years - checked into our safe house, I was simultaneously grateful for and horrified by my own luck in life. 12 years old? I was still pretending to be a pioneer. As a humanitarian, I learned that I am sometimes very sickened by humans.

As a quick rundown, my overall projects for Animus included the following: (for those of you who are remotely interested!)

- Given that our crisis line was about to flounder into non-existence, my primary project was securing funding for the next fiscal year. I researched our options and then selected and completed the most viable prospects. The grant application process is lengthy and writing-intensive, so my English skills were of supreme value for the organization. The grant request totalled approximately $24,000 (a small amount, comparatively); I sent away two of the grant application/requests, with another pending currency conversion. Of the three, I am desperately hoping something works out - for the sake of Bulgarian women throughout the country.

- As I posted previously, I used my limited (and mildly laughable) HTML skills to build a website for an upcoming series of seminars. I edited and/or composed the the majority of the content and battled endlessly with inflexible site designers. They won. I left before I could regain my dignity. haha

- To spare future international interns my difficulties, I authored a handbook detailing the intricacies of finding food, shelter, transportation and entertainment in Sofia.

- After speaking at length with another American intern at another anti-trafficking organization, I proposed the creation of an American organization directly linked to Animus - for the purposes of evading (or, more ethically, meeting) the IRS non-profit tax requirements. This would allow Animus the opportunity to apply for a whole new realm of grants, while also expanding their programs to benefit Eastern European women trafficked to the United States. Since I will soon be living in Washington DC, footsteps away from potential partners, I offered to head this new initiative. We'll see what happens....

- And finally, in between all these tasks, I served as the resident english grammar and american culture/politics "expert."

And that, my friends, is sixish weeks of pure, invaluable learning experience. On my last day, I recieved a round of hugs, chocolates and well-wishes. Walking out of the sunny little building was quite a bit more difficult than expected.

I waved to the fruit lady on the corner, annoyed the neighborhood grocers, and made my death-defying sprint across to the bus stop one last time. That night, I met my coworker marie for my "last hoorah" out on the town - the "Macedonian Jazz Band" was a hypnotic, body-crushing, mind-swirling, sensory overload (very non-jazz) experience I'd recommend to pretty much everyone. As a bizarre combination of Bulgarian/Macedonian folk, Euro-trash trance, American pop and a little polka...it was the most appropriate last-hoorah imaginable. I was heading to Turkey very soon - and this was goodbye to Bulgaria...for now.

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.