Cabbage is the New Lettuce: The First Days in Sofia

Moving to a new city can be frightening, depending on the circumstances. Some of us have been the archetypal new kid on the block (Not the boy band), some of us have moved to a new town for college, some of us have simply packed up and left home in search of ourselves.

And then there's me. Leaving FISI, I was actually excited to move into a new apartment on my own in a big city where I don't speak the language very well. Crazy? Perhaps. But, as I've become increasingly prone to saying, if it isn't a good time, it will be a good story.

The first order of business was to get through the weekend - reflecting my lack of foresight, I hadn't scheduled the move into my apartment until Monday morning, leaving two days for which I had no accommodation. Luckily, Greg, one of the Fulbright Senior Scholars, was gracious enough to allow me to share his room at the Princess Hotel in Sofia, and then at his new apartment, which he moved into on Sunday.

After arriving at the Princess, we got settled in, and went out for our first walk-through of Sofia later in the day. Being highly sleep-deprived that day, none of what transpired forms a coherent string of memories in my mind, but, as I recall, we did see a couple really cool things. Our first stop was the Banya Bashi mosque, Sofia's oldest (and apparently only extant) mosque, built in 1576, during the Ottoman occupation.

Believe it or not, I had never been inside a mosque before, so I was a bit surprised at what I found - no seats, no platform, no central space at which to direct one's attention. It was, more or less, an open, square floor with elaborately decorated walls and a dome. A picture or two:

The Dome

An inscription on the wall

Georgi and Greg in the women's loft above the main sanctuary

This section of the city has an unusual feature - its only mosque, its only synagogue, and one of its biggest churches are all within a kilometer of each other, so we then set off to Sofia Synagogue, one of only two functioning synagogues in Bulgaria, and the largest in the Balkans. Strangely, it is Sephardic; I can only guess that its founders were descended from families that fled to the Ottomans after they were expelled from Spain in 1492, but this is only a guess. Whatever its origins, it is the third largest synagogue in Europe and features the largest chandelier on the whole continent, at 1.7 tons. Though only attended regularly by 50-60 members each week, the synagogue is still in operation, and it is massive. (Bulgaria's Jewish population, after being largely saved from the Holocaust, emigrated, nearly in its entirety, to Israel in 1948. Less than 2000 Jews remain in the whole country.) Unfortunately, I didn't manage to get any shots of the chandelier before my camera died, but these pictures can still be impressive:

This is what happens when you combine Eastern Orthodox architecture with Judaism

The huge, floor-to-ceiling Ark

Following this tour of the synagogue, we went to go forage for sustenance at Happy Sushi, right in the government district of Sofia. There we met our fellow FISIans, but, still being sleep-deprived, we decided to call it a night after dinner.

The next day we slept until 11:30, our bodies trying desperately to reverse the damage wrought by the last two weeks. We headed over to Greg's new (moderately swanky) apartment, where we were met and greeted in friendly fashion by the realtors. After completing the paperwork and moving-in process, we decided to explore the city a bit more with more FISIans. The first stop, being across the street from Greg's apartment, was Alexander Nevski Cathedral, one of the national symbols of Bulgaria, and paragon of Eastern Orthodox beauty:

Not actual size

Really cool fresco of Mary, I believe

L - R: The Author, Fred, Georgi, Alena, Max

From there, we took a meandering tour of essentially every major tourist and/or recreational attraction that greater Sofia had to offer. While I'm sure you'd be enthralled to hear a description of our time lying on the grass in the park in excruciating detail, I'll skip that. The short version is that we saw a couple monuments dedicated to the Eternal Bond of Friendship between the Russian and Bulgarian people--which were actually pretty interesting, both in and of themselves and in relation to how the native Bulgarians with us felt about them--we had a detailed look at Sofia University, and we saw an interesting wedding party roll through in front of us. We also had a long walk through the Boris Garden and into the woods adjacent thereto.

Orlov Most Square

Detail from Orlev Most, presumably of a Russian soldier holding a Bulgarian baby

Monument in the Boris Garden to those who were prepared to die for their cause

The following day was my own move-in, and it was mostly lost to matters of logistics, documents, explanations, and cleaning. Greg did invite some of us over for dinner, however, and I gladly took the chance to be out of my desolate, lonely, empty apartment. Tuesday featured many of the same things as did Monday, with the added experience of my first food-shopping experience in Bulgaria.

As inconsequential as this would seem, it was actually a watershed experience for me there in the early-going. Imagine my surprise when I walked into the produce section of my local Billa (who seem to be the biggest supermarket chain in Sofia) and discovered that A) Vegetables were less than 1 лев (a лев is about 70 cents US) and B) There was no lettuce to be found, anywhere. Cue my first major gastronomic (if you know me well, you know that things of this nature tend to make the biggest impressions on me) culture shock - lettuce is virtually nonexistent in Bulgarian cuisine. Situation-salvager that I am, I made for the nearest head of cabbage, and 20 minutes later, I was the proud owner thereof. Said plant is still sitting in my refrigerator, less than half-consumed, because this particular head of cabbage was, and partially remains, enormous. And it cost me 1.25 leva - about a dollar US. You could say this cabbage...didn't cost me much cabbage. You're welcome.

In any event, Wednesday saw me complete the move into my apartment, replete with swept floors, a full refrigerator, rearranged furniture, and a few minutes of contemplation of my fate out on my balcony. To celebrate, I had Greg and Fred over for dinner followed by music that was in all ways illicit, as it was after 10 PM. Nevertheless, we played on (quietly), and the night was done. A picture or two:

My living room, which opens out onto the balcony

Kitchen/dining room

After-dinner jammin'

And that was the end of my first week in Sofia, because the very next day, we three went to Burgas. Now it's time for me to do a little more shopping, go for a run, make some dinner, and study some Bulgarian on this unofficial last day of Summer, but the third of the Promised Entries is forthcoming, never you fret. Until tomorrow...

Bye-bye, Bansko; Zdravei, Sofia

My apologies for the criminal length of time between posts herein - it has been an incredibly busy two-weeks-and-change. So I'll make it up to you in the form of THREE separate posts. Won't this be fun?

While I would love to wax on and on (and on and on) about the last week of FISI, and as much as it merited my potentially doing so, I'm afraid that that would run counter to the interests of my time and your attention span. Nevertheless, I shall wax for a few lines, at least:

The second week of FISI was quite possibly better than the first, despite the still-greater abuses of our collective sleep schedule. Classes this week were Bulgarian Language and Human Rights. Added to the mix were a large (verging on titanic) contingent of MBA students from UMichigan. While I didn't get the opportunity to meet all of them, I did have a few conversations about the school and about their personal experiences. They seemed like an OK bunch for the amount of time they were there, and they--of course--participated in the festivities of the Last Night.

This second week of FISI, I got out into the town of Bansko a wee bit more, and even got over to the neighboring town of Razlog. With the help of my new friend Xristo, I ventured over to the Vivacom store in Bansko to pick out a Bulgarian SIM card; thus, I now have a local number. (A quick aside - The Bulgarian system of phone carriers is depressingly similar to that of the States, in that the three largest providers--MTel, Vivacom, and GloBul--provide something like 98% of the service to the country. Chalk this up as one of a few small ways Europe has disappointed my expectations in the Somebody Out There Must Have A Better System Of __ Than Ours category) It has been a strange feeling going back to working within the confines of a finite (and rather small) number of minutes per month. Call that another perspective-generating experience.

The following day, Xristo and I tested fate and went down to the bus station (na Bulgarski, Avtogarata) to buy a ticket for Razlog. Anticlimactically, the ride took 5 minutes, and it didn't take long for us to find what we had come in search of - the notary. We used this trip to check out a little bit of Razlog, and found that not much was different from Bansko. Satisfied, we returned, and I squandered another beautiful late Bulgarian afternoon attending to the mundane details of my business-oriented life.

Not strictly relevant to the content here, but Xristo and I saw this kitten on the way back from Razlog and OMG LOOK AN ADORABLE LITTLE KITTEN

Well, all good things must come to an end, and before we get to the juice--TMZ be damned--I wanted to offer my little tribute to Bansko, which represented my first interaction with Bulgaria. The town was lovely, picturesque, and really a nice place in every way. The people, I found, were pleasant enough, and imbued with what I'll go out on a limb and call a universal small town citizen quality - that quiet, welcoming aura that, it has been my experience, most citizens of small towns around the world share. Being there for the Jazz Festival was a real plus, and I got to see some really good music take place, for free, a five minute walk from the hotel. I never once felt threatened, or alone--although this sense may have had the most to do with the by-design bonding experience that was FISI--or overwhelmed by a sense of geography or anything else. Beyond that, it's quite difficult to separate out the experiences with my fellow Fulbrighters from my experiences purely with Bansko, so I'll conclude this little tribute by saying that my two weeks there, among Bulgarians, Americans, Those Of Other Nationalities, students, small town citizens, musicians, teachers, colleagues, and friends, were quite pleasant, and just about the best way I could have begun this adventure.

And yes, the Last Night happened, and it was everything that the collective Summer Camp-like energy leading up to it anticipated. The night started out innocuously enough, with an awards ceremony and farewell banquet at the slightly-more-upscale-than-our-host-hotel Hotel Gardenia. After the banquet came dancing, followed by a bout of packing back at our hotel by numerous members of our party who had left preparations for our departure until the last minute. There was a palpable buzz in the air as the clock ticked down those last few hours, and so we decided to do the only thing we could do to fight it - we went to the club.

From L to R: Katelin, Keša (Not the Rapper), Katerina, the Author, Naadiya

L - R: Delvina, Tijana, Melissa

I believe, though without conviction, that this was to Chalga

Aside for some antics afterwards back at the hotel post-club, that effectively did it for the night, and a good thing, too - by that point it was already 3 AM, and--more was the treachery of circumstance--we had to be up, packed, and down to breakfast by 8 AM. And down to breakfast we somehow made it, though none of us had gotten a full night's sleep, some of us staggering across the deadline with 2 hours or less to our coherence's credit. Nevertheless, sleep deprivation or not, it was time to say goodbye (Not the Andrea Bocelli song) to Bansko and to our first taste of Bulgaria.

I could not have been more excited about the trip

FISI was a superb way to begin this long journey. It was functional, practical - we learned some things about how this part of the world works, got acclimated to a new language and culture in a safe environment, surrounded by our peers who knew just as little about them as we did, and got to practice being on our own in a setting in which we weren't really on our own. But perhaps--dare I say it and risk a reprimand from those who organized the thing for the aforementioned serious purposes--more importantly, it was a chance to meet and network (read: party and bond) with peers who are going to end up being, in all likelihood, our primary source of support during what will be, at times, a scary, intimidating year.

So with that, Chapter 1 so ended. To find out what happens in Chapters 2 - ?, read on, dear reader, read on...

1 Week in the Books: Days 5-7 in Bansko

It's been about as good of a first week in a new, strange place as I could ever have hoped for. FISI continues:

More classes on Thursday and Friday, interspersed with meetings and more orientations. We had a presentation by Ken Moskowitz, the US Embassy's Counselor for Public Affairs, and Eric Alexander, the Consul General to Bulgaria. One of the topics of these presentations had to do with Internet privacy, the upshots of which you'll notice - I am required to severely censor my Facebook page (nothing personal - don't take it the wrong way) and post a disclaimer here, which you can see at the bottom of my page.

Friday night, after classes and the first week Closing Ceremonies, we had a special dinner featuring traditional Bulgarian music and dancing. Voici a few shots:

A traditional dance involving scarves

Line dancing, Bulgarian style

L - R: The Author, Irena, Georgi, Gustavo, Fred, Ana

Post-dinner came my first European Club Experience, as the lion's share of us headed out на клуб. Sparing the details, it was a whole lot of fun, and cool way to get acquainted with Eurotrash, albeit an apparently toned-down version ("This is not Miami. This is not New York. This is not London. This is not Hong Kong. This...is...BANSKO!"). Much satisfied with the course of the night, we headed for home somewhere around 3 AM, sleeping far too little in anticipation of our trip Saturday to Rila Monastery.

Founded 1100 years ago, and named after Иван Рилски (or St. Ivan Rilski), the Rila Monastery is one of the national symbols of Bulgaria. Nestled in the Rila Mountains, the Monastery has been continuously operational since its foundation, and, though burned to the ground several times, survived the Ottoman Occupation and the Socialist Period with functional existence intact. Its artwork and architecture are a breathtaking testament to the attention to detail emphasized by Balkan Orthodox culture, which stands in direct contrast to the Western, Catholic Monasteries of the same time period. Nearly every square inch of the entire complex is covered with artwork, and the interior of the sanctuary contains work so intricate that it would take a lifetime to see all of it. The mountains slope sharply upward all around it, so the effect is that of an outpost of civilization among the forbidding Balkan peaks.

Words can't effectively do it justice. Thus:

From the front

Fresco on one of the domes

All along the base of the walls there is a huge mural depicting the damned in Hell

St. Michael vanquishing some unfortunate dude

"The Repose of St. Ivan Rilski"

 The monastery, as you can see, is beautiful, and covered head-to-toe with frescoes. We had a wonderful time there, and afterwards went to lunch at a little restaurant by a river.

Sunday I took off to take care of some business; chiefly, sleeping in for the first time in a week and doing laundry. Apparently, there are no laundromats in Bansko, and so I embarked, for the very first time in my life, upon the Old World adventure of washing my clothes by hand. In my bathtub. Let me say nothing more than that it gave me a wealth of perspective - it made me feel so fortunate to live in a country where nearly every house has a washer and dryer.

The rest of the day was slightly more mundane and a great deal more aggravating. Long story short, my iPod got completely erased and my external hard drive started malfunctioning. The folks at Apple were less than helpful. To clear my head, I had the brilliant idea to go on a run at night in an unfamiliar place and got horrendously lost. An hour and a half later, I finally found my way back. The day was redeemed by the Skype conversations I had later in the night with my family, Ignacio, and Laura.

So now, the second week of FISI begins. If you've stuck with me so far, thanks a lot. I appreciate it. More updates soon. 

Traveling and Days 1-4 in Bansko

Flying East is difficult. On top of the 7000 miles and 10 hours spent in the air, you lose 7 time zones between Philadelphia and Sofia. My dad and I left the house to go to the airport at 11 AM Saturday morning. I arrived at the Orphey Hotel in Bansko at 9 PM Sunday night. It was a long day.

The flight from JFK in New York to Paris was uneventful, and even quite pleasant. If you've never flown AirFrance, I recommend it, not the least reason for which is the food - not disgusting, and served with wine. I managed to catch an hour and a half of sleep, waking up about an hour before we landed in Paris at 5:45 AM local time. Coming over the English Channel, we were treated to a spectacular view of the south coast of England right as the sky was just beginning to lighten in the East.

Interestingly enough, this was my first time in France, despite having wanted to visit for years. And though it was only a 4-hour stay at Charles de Gaulle airport, it didn't disappoint my expectations for a visit of that nature. My (condensed) takeaways:

Everything was quite a bit more expensive than in the States--even taking into account that airports tend to significantly overprice things--except, curiously, the Swiss chocolate. You would think that import fees would drive the prices way up, but gargantuan Toblerone bars were only €7. Also of note - €200 ties, €2000 cognac, and €30,000 Rolexes.

Europe lives up to the hype of being a continent full of tri- and quadralingual people. I overheard a clerk in one of the duty-free shops greet a German customer in English, thinking him to be American, and then promptly switch over to fluent German when the man asked, "Deutsch?" My extremely-rusty French got a nice workout.

France is a really nice place. /End takeaways

From Paris, it was another 2 1/2 hours to Sofia. Landing at 2, I promptly changed--doing my futile best to curb the consequences of 10 hours on a plane and not being able to shower in what felt like weeks--and headed for customs. No visa being required to enter the country, I passed through, collected my bags, and met and chatted with some of the other Fulbrighters who had also just flown in. At 5, we boarded the bus to Bansko. The trip took another 3 hours, and by this time, we were in a daze. Mercifully, dinner was waiting for us, and without too much fanfare, we headed for bed.

The next day featured opening ceremonies and our first classes. This week, I'm enrolled in Bulgarian language classes and a course entitled Communicating Effectively Across Cultures. This class also interestingly, is taught by Noemi Marin, whose father was Constantin Marin, the famous choral conductor.

Taking place in Bansko this week is its annual Jazz Festival, a rather large affair which draws a lot of bands from overseas every year. Monday night, after having had the chance to catch a nap, a bunch of us went to see the show, and it didn't disappoint. The music was quite good, I had a great chance to meet and talk with some of the other Fulbrighters, and the beer was cheap (You can get a half-liter of Carlsberg here for 2.50 leva, about $1.75 US). A late night and an early morning later, and I was effectively dead.

And so have gone the last couple of days in similar fashion. Bansko is a small, isolated town in the Pirin Mountains of Bulgaria, and the landscape is quite beautiful. The weather had been hot, but it has chilled considerably the last two days and is now overcast and chilly. It rained last night, and there are lingering clouds on the mountains. The people with whom I'm staying, Bulgarian, Serbian, American, et al alike, are all very cool, and it has been a nice time getting to know them the last few days. Last night we went out to a bar for one of the guys' birthday, where, true to form, I was forced to sing"Stand by Me" and "Stairway to Heaven" for a barful of drunken Bulgarians, Americans, French guys, and Brits. Nothing truly ever changes, no matter how far we venture from our homes.

Now I'm off to take a nap before dinner and yoga later tonight. Довиждане!

On the Eve of Travel

Tomorrow my journey begins. Surprisingly, I don't have a whole lot to say right now, at least not much of substance. Or, nothing that would really capture my feelings adequately.

I've intentionally kept myself busy so that I haven't had time for sentimentality. Let's call it an experiment in coping strategies. Whatever the case may be, my flight leaves in 16 hours. After that, whether or not there have been things left unsaid between me and the Universe At Large, I'll be gone on my journey; committed to the road.

I'm excited to go. Scared. If we want to be honest with each other (And why wouldn't we? We've known each other for a few hours already), I'm probably more scared than excited. Visa issues? Unresolved. Language capabilities? Rudimentary, to be generous. Housing settled? Incompletely. Yet, what else is there for me to do than--to shamelessly plagiarize from an overpopular modern choral anthem--steel myself, take one last breath, and leap?

Much (so much) has been written on the subject of parting and Taking The Next Step, but one piece of literature remains my favorite for its lyricism, its spot-on description of traveling (complete with a truly dark, hard-hitting scene of the wayward traveler, lost and alone) and its ultimately uplifting message of redemption. I apologize, but when I went to choose just a few passages to post, I really couldn't bring myself to cut out any, it's just kind of perfect the way it is. So in its entirety--with my apologies--Oh, the Places You'll Go by Dr. Seuss:

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself 

any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know. 

And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.

You’ll look up and down streets. Look’em over with care. 

About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.” 

With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet, 

you’re too smart to go down any not-so-good street.

And you may not find any 

you’ll want to go down. 

In that case, of course, 

you’ll head straight out of town. 

It’s opener there 

in the wide open air.

Out there things can happen 

and frequently do 

to people as brainy 

and footsy as you.

And when things start to happen, 

don’t worry. Don’t stew. 

Just go right along. 

You’ll start happening too.

OH! THE PLACES YOU'LL GO!

You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers 

who soar to high heights.

You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed. 

You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead. 

Wherever you fly, you’ll be best of the best. 

Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don’t.
Because, sometimes, you won’t.

I’m sorry to say so 

but, sadly, it’s true 

that Bang-ups 

and Hang-ups 

can happen to you.

You can get all hung up 

in a prickle-ly perch. 

And your gang will fly on. 

You’ll be left in a Lurch.

You’ll come down from the Lurch 

with an unpleasant bump. 

And the chances are, then, 

that you’ll be in a Slump.

And when you’re in a Slump, 

you’re not in for much fun. 

Un-slumping yourself 

is not easily done.

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked. 

Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked. 

A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin! 

Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in? 

How much can you lose? How much can you win?

And IF you go in, should you turn left or right…

or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite? 

Or go around back and sneak in from behind? 

Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find, 

for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.

You can get so confused 

that you’ll start in to race 

down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace 

and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space, 

headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.

The Waiting Place…

...for people just waiting.

Waiting for a train to go 

or a bus to come, or a plane to go 

or the mail to come, or the rain to go 

or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow 

or waiting around for a Yes or No 

or waiting for their hair to grow. 

Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite 

or waiting for wind to fly a kite 

or waiting around for Friday night 

or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake 

or a pot to boil, or a Better Break 

or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants 

or a wig with curls, or Another Chance. 

Everyone is just waiting.

NO! 

That’s not for you!

Somehow you’ll escape 

all that waiting and staying. 

You’ll find the bright places 

where Boom Bands are playing. 

With banner flip-flapping, 

once more you’ll ride high! 

Ready for anything under the sky. 

Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!

Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done! 

There are points to be scored. There are games to be won. 

And the magical things you can do with that ball 

will make you the winning-est winner of all. 

Fame! You’ll be famous as famous can be, 

with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don’t. 

Because, sometimes, they won’t.

I’m afraid that some times 

you’ll play lonely games too. 

Games you can’t win 

‘cause you’ll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not, 

Alone will be something 

you’ll be quite a lot.

And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance 

you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants. 

There are some, down the road between hither and yon, 

that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.

But on you will go 

though the weather be foul. 

On you will go 

though your enemies prowl. 

On you will go 

though the Hakken-Kraks howl. 

Onward up many 

a frightening creek, 

though your arms may get sore 

and your sneakers may leak. 

On and on you will hike. 

And I know you’ll hike far 

and face up to your problems 

whatever they are.

You’ll get mixed up, of course, 

as you already know. 

You’ll get mixed up 

with many strange birds as you go. 

 So be sure when you step. 

Step with care and great tact 

and remember that Life’s 

a Great Balancing Act. 

Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. 

And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)

KID, YOU'LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!

So…

be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray 

or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O’Shea, 

you’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!

Getting Started: An Inaugural Post

Welcome! Chances are, if you're here, you already know me, so let's dispense with the introductions aside from saying that my name is Nate, and I'll be your intermittent host for the next year or so. 

This blog is the brainchild of a few different people who suggested that I keep a public chronicle of what promises to be an adventure-filled, eye-opening, scary, exotic, and life-changing year-long experience (I feel like I need to apologize now for this, and all future abuses of so many hyphenated clichés - I can't promise they won't verge on the egregious from time to time). Hearing these suggestions, I thought to myself, in one coherent, succinct thought, "What better way to keep the boys back home appraised of your situation, broaden the scope of your findings, and keep data organized?" So here we are. 

What I'm hoping this blog will turn out to be is a place to talk out--to the point of understanding and appreciation--my experiences in a country so very different from our own, one so remote from Good Ole America that most citizens thereof couldn't locate it on a map, and, in some extreme cases, have never even heard of it. I will also probably post findings related to the research that brought me here. What this means is that, given ideal circumstances, this blog will be a mixture of observations on Bulgarian culture, musical and technical data, stories about my daily routine, and whatever else (there is a strong possibility that this miscellanea will include the Phillies, musical things not related to my project, and my girlfriend, Laura, who is living in Munich, Germany) should present itself as relevant, or irrelevant, to my experience. 

I suppose this point in the post would be an opportune place for me to explain the research that is the raison d'être for the State Department inexplicably, in this time of extreme economic trouble, deciding to shower me with Government Funds. Essentially, I am focusing on a small region southwest of Sofia called Shopska. This region of Bulgaria is home to a unique brand of diaphonic chant that has, like every other kind of music, changed over time. Over the course of the last millennium and a half, Bulgaria has been invaded, occupied, or fallen under the hegemony of a host of other peoples: (In no particular order) Serbs, Slavs, Tatars, Avars, Mongols, Magyars, the Ottomans, the Byzantines. The list goes on still after that, but the point is that Bulgaria, owing to its position at one of the crossroads of The World, has played host to a wealth of foreign cultures. These cultures have undoubtedly left their mark on Bulgaria's own culture, which marks should, in theory, come out in their music. My research is to tease apart the conventions of this specific kind of chant from this specific corner of the globe and trace each one to its source.  

Why would I want to do this? The answer, my friends, lies in the global implications this has. Good Ole America, not to mention a lot of other nations in this Big Wide World of ours, is a polyglot, polyamorous, polycultural nation. We are, and always have been, made up of so many different peoples that the Founding Fathers decided to anoint it as one of the defining characteristics of our nation at its inception - hence e pluribus unum. By exposing one small region of one small country's pluralistic nature, we reach a greater appreciation of diversity because of the realization that every single one of us is made up--genetically, culturally, or otherwise--of many different peoples.  

If you're not the type that appreciates occasional pontification such as this, I promise I will give ample warning before going on a tangent of this magnitude in the future - no matter how well-intentioned it may be. Make no mistake, dear reader, this blog is as much for you as it is for me. Perhaps more so.

So again: Welcome. It will be a wild ride. As my favorite teacher used to, and always will say, "Take chances! Make mistakes! Get messy!"