Back to Bulgaria

All good things must come to an end, especially vacations, which seem designed, when their last moments are slipping through your fingers, specifically for the purpose of breaking your heart. And though I had two glorious weeks to squander on things that weren't really obligations as much as experiences, the time still seemed far too short.

On a blisteringly cold Münchner day, bags in tow, Laura and I headed to the airport, said our goodbyes, and I, for the (how many times has it been this year?) time, hopped the country. Stepping off the plane into a blisteringly cold Sofiiski night, I caught a bus and eventually made my way back to my desolate, lonely, abandoned apartment, pining away for somebody to live in it after standing empty for two weeks.

I made the executive decision to spend the rest of the week getting my business back in order, and it's a good thing I did, because there was plenty of it. While in Munich, I heard back from the first of the grad schools I applied to. Things on that front didn't get off to such a hot start; the first email I received (six years after my last applications to institutions of high learning, six years after receiving packet after bulky packet in the mail, these processes have finally been digitized, truly bringing Academia into the 21st century) was my rejection letter from Michigan.

Good news was on the way, though - a few days later, I got the enormously relief-bearing email that I was in at USC,--my alma mater--no audition necessary. So I was going to Grad School.

I'm going to Grad School.

I could, at this point, delve into a theatrical account of all the anticipation and emotional ups-and-downs to which I've been subjected as the very nature of my future has changed and hung in the balance, but I won't; that would be silly and obnoxious. Or maybe I just did.

To make what would otherwise be short, insubstantial stories even shorter, I have, as of this writing, auditions at Westminster Choir College and, to my tremendous and happy surprise, Yale. I have yet to hear back from UNT, but all things in due time, I suppose.

What has ensued as a result of these pieces of news has been a mad scramble to prepare. I'm in a moderately precarious position - not currently engaged in choral activities, the music I need difficult to obtain in this corner of the Balkans, primitive piano skills more or less laying dormant, efforts to revive them sure to be a struggle. As I see it, I'm at several disadvantages relative to all the other applicants eying the same openings I am, and the only way I can possibly compete with them is to work harder than all of them.

So I will.

Anyway:

January 3rd was the day I dove, for the first time in my life, into the unrewarding, chaotic primordial swamp of tax returns - qualifying for Federal Aid means filling out the FAFSA, and filling out the FAFSA means doing your taxes, and as close to January 1st as possible. Seven (!) hours later, I emerged, mostly triumphant, having filled out the first 1040 (and Schedule C, and Schedule SE) of my life. And though it put me in the mood to unleash my accumulated wrath by devouring something unsuitable for being devoured (someone's head not being entirely outside the realm of possibility), it was another uplifting--for lack of a better word, as this subject has caused my adjectival vocabulary to fail me--sign of my impending Independence and Adulthood (Complete).

A few more days into the New Year, I had to bid farewell to fellow Fulbrighter Greg and his family, his grant being only a half-year affair, terminating on January 5th. We had one last ukulele-guitar-trumpet-clarinet session in the Sofia Metro, had dinner, and with that, that particular chapter of our collective stay came to a close. Come Monday morning, I was back on the research horse.

The New Year marked a slight shift in how I'll be carrying out my research. For the past four months, I've been living in the library several hours a day, studying books of venerable age and unsatisfactory readability, some in archaic Bulgarian. Now, my intention--being armed with a thoroughly basic basically thorough knowledge of my subject--is to actually get out into the field and watch Shopski Folklore being made by real people, a turning point as momentous, I suppose, as any academic shift can be. I have my attendance at several festivals lined up in the next few weeks, and perhaps a few personal interviews as well, if I can swing it. It could turn out to be, perhaps, both a good time and a good story.

So my time, it now appears, is at a premium. My days, for the past week and a half, have gone something like this: Wake up, eat breakfast, shower, go to the library, head out for a coffee and some studying, come home, answer emails, go to the gym, come home again, take a shower, work on audition repertoire, fin, repeat. This is a positive development, if viewed the right way. I'm certainly not bored--not that I ever really have been this year-- and I've found more than enough things to fill up the whole of my day. 

The flip side of this coin is the stress that comes with it. The Westminster and Yale auditions are--and will continue to be, right up to the moment they're over--big, important, nerve-wracking affairs, and I will never forgive myself if I fail to prepare to the fullest extent I can. Life Goal Mode has most certainly been engaged, Life Goals demand a lot of time.

What has been mildly astonishing to me is that I haven't felt bad about being so busy. There was a time in my life when I would curse the Universe, the Establishment, or any other Power for dumping so much on me and keeping me so busy. But now, while I may not be enjoying having so much to do...I don't mind it so much. It's kept my mind off of petty things and given me little time to engage in some of the unhealthier habits in my life, Facebook being first and foremost among them. I am engaged and absorbed, to use affirmative, uplifting language, which, of course, we don't absolutely need to do. It's rewarding, not necessarily in an Utterly Fulfilling sort of way, but in a step-back-and-look-at-what-you're-doing sort of way. I am breaking the mental chains of my own laziness - out of necessity, yes, not quickly or efficiently, no, but it's happening all the same.

But before I devolve too much further into self-aggrandizing back-patting (which has been a regrettably common occurrence around these parts, and for that, I apologize), let me just say that there is no shortage of things I'm shooting for right now, and it feels, at once, both good and stressful.

Thus has been the substance of the weeks subsequent to my German Adventures. 

Next post: The tale of my spontaneous trip to yet another wicked cool city of Europe. Keep reading! (Please?)

A Long Time Coming

There are no words to express the deep regret with which I address you today. I have failed you. I have failed in my mission. I have failed America.

The length of time since I last posted is inexcusable. It shall forever besmirch the record of My Life, and I shall carry it, hunched over in shame, for the remaining length of my days.

But it is my birthday, so I'm cutting myself a little slack. And, luckily enough, the entirety of my activity over the course of the past two weeks can be described in a very few paragraphs (not something I had hoped would ever come to pass).

Upon returning from Romania, the calendar had flipped to the month of November, which meant a host of things, the most pertinent to the present topic of discussion among them was that my grad school applications were due a month hence. I diligently got down to work, and a good thing, too, because there was a lot more to do than I had hoped.

The first week went something like this: Applications, research, working out, hanging out with some of the non-Americans I've met here. No big deal, low key, time for everything. My normal routine existed, intact, albeit a little additionally burdened.

The second week brought revelations of mistaken deadlines, meaning that I was, form that point forward, behind the proverbial 8-ball. I proceeded to hole myself up in my apartment for the next two weeks, working day and night, filling out biographical information, writing and editing personal statements, and my favorite of these scourges tasks, watching videos, quite self-consciously, of myself conducting, searching among the inimitable rubble for a precious rare tidbit that would impress a screening committee.

The past week has been particularly rough, as I have worked up to this day of my self-imposed deadline - in the last eight days, I have left my apartment six times. Quite pathetic. But, I am happy to report, I am nearly done: All that remains between me and utter freedom is the final revision of three statements, which I am waiting to get back from my gracious editors. With the coming of the Blessed Day of their submission, I will sink, blissful and utterly clear-headed, into a nice long break, over which I plan to have a pleasant birthday AND Thanksgiving.

Last night, I finished reading the last of the dissertation I've been working on for the past month, and when I come back from my self-imposed rest, I will have a few more research-related things to do before Christmas. But before I get ahead of myself, let me just pause and be thankful, in these days leading up to the Best Holiday of the Year, for all that I have and all that I will (hopefully quite soon) put behind me. Christmas can wait; it is time to bask and revel in the glow of a bounty of company, food, drink, and football. Or so I plan.

But it is my birthday, and I feel...old. I turn 24 today, launching that phase of my life where I can no longer hold onto the already tenuous connection between me and college. It is profoundly sad, in a way, but it is also a chance to appreciate that I am now in a position to move on to Points Forward. This year might not be so bad. (Please knock on some wood for me, wherever you happen to be sitting.)

Now I must go to pick Laura up from the airport, the best birthday present I will receive today. So until the next criminally distant date in the future upon which I deign to grace this digital page - Stay warm, stay safe, stay thankful.

Winning

Not this kind of winning.

This kind.

Sorry for that. I can't help but take a brief step back to take a look at how things have been panning out so far, having just passed the 2-month mark in my stay here.

As I alluded to in previous posts, I came here for a variety of purposes beyond simply doing research. I've already discussed my purposes related to Making The World A Better Place, but, as some of you know, I've also had personal reasons for embarking on this venture. /Sharing Moment Alert (To skip this Sharing Moment, scroll down to the paragraph fourth from the bottom):

I applied for this scholarship when I was in a phase of my life where things didn't make very much sense. I had just graduated from college, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, I had no obvious opportunities staring me in the face, I was facing my first year of independence, etc. The time of year was at hand for applying to grad school, but I repeated my decision of the previous year not to apply, as I wasn't 100% committed to a specific path. A very wise ex-professor of mine had suggested going abroad and doing something, anything, not only for the fantastic cultural opportunities it would afford me, but also for the opportunity to get my proverbial excrement together.

And, if we're being honest with each other--for which I see no reason not to be at this juncture with you, my loyal readership--I needed to get it together. With the conspicuous exeunt from my life of college and all the trappings thereof, I had lost quite a few of the things that had kept me going and working and progressing: Externally-imposed structures and the goals that came with them. Easy social opportunities. A regular schedule. Motivation.

They think they do a good job of preparing you for the Real World in college--and give all sorts of flowery speeches to this end--but the one gargantuan thing they forgot to tell me, at least, is that all of the things I just mentioned must suddenly begin to come from one's own person. You blink, you're a graduate, and from that day forth you must be, 100%, the steward of your own life. One day, you're in an environment where you're guided as much as you want to be, and the next, you're out into the open ocean of the Necessity of Self-Direction.

Suddenly finding myself in this ocean, while I took the steps necessary to ensure my survival (I found a job, an apartment, etc.), beyond that minimum threshold, I floundered in a lot of ways. Without anything definite to work toward (aside from the obligations of my unfulfilling, clearly non-career-launching job), I wasted a lot of time not doing much of anything. And so, without, really, anything else to turn or look forward to, I decided to take the not-so-hazardous leap of applying for a scholarship abroad, to see if it would lead me anywhere that might encourage me to get that aforementioned excrement together.

Fast forward exactly a year, and I'm living on my own in a studio apartment in a former Eastern Bloc country whose language I still command rudimentarily, pursuing a completely self-directed program of study. And, though I know this is in direct violation of every principle I've ever had inculcated within me (those being humility, discouragement of self-aggrandizement, self-indulgence, jinxing oneself, and, perhaps most importantly, committing any of these in a public space such as this one), I want to say it: So far, in the new sense of the word that Charlie Sheen has introduced to our lexicon, I'm winning.

Perhaps my biggest flaw that was up for correction was my lack of self-discipline. But I feel myself--albeit slowly and inconsistently--turning into a more disciplined person. I have begun getting into a routine - putting in 8 hours of work a day, just like a real adult, heading to the gym afterwards, using my new language every day in a focused context, using the weekends as a time to relax and meet people and improve my social being. I have made stop-and-start progress, but I have actually set myself a productive, healthy, fulfilling schedule to which I have sometimes managed to adhere. 

In college, there wasn't much of a choice--I had to go to class on a schedule that was more or less set for me, and they gave us so much work that I was forced to be productive or else I would have sunk--but here and now, in what will most likely be the most independent setting of my life, I have had to make all of these things happen for myself. And I'm actually starting to do it, with more and more regularity. I'm getting that proverbial excrement together. This is me starting to win. I have a long way to go, still, but I can feel tangible progress.

Now, to put that all of that self-indulgence masquerading as an uplifting personal anecdote aside, let's talk about the last week. On the business end of things, I have basically spent my research time reading two items. The first is a book by American ethnomusicologist Tim Rice on Bulgarian folk practices. Especially valuable within this volume is the wealth of ethnographic commentary it contains on Bulgarian society from antiquity up through the age of Communism. The second is a just-published dissertation by Galina Denkova on Shopi folk practices, which, of course, is precisely the kind of thing I've been looking for. So I've had a lot to do at the library.

Wednesday was the feast of St. Ivan Rilski, the patron saint of Pernik (via a semi-humorous connection - Pernik is a mining town, and Св. Иван was known for having hidden out in caves for a long portion of his life in order to escape persecution), so my new friend Stefani and I went there for the town festival, which featured about an hour of folk dancing and singing. Pernik is just about at the center of the Shopluk, within the subregion of Graovo, so it was a fine opportunity to witness music that is representative of that area. We got an impromptu tour of their ethnographic museum from a woman who hit the ceiling when she heard I was an American doing research on the Shopi. (Her enthusiasm was kind of astounding. It was nice to be specially accommodated, to be sure, but she was so eager to show us everything that the museum contained. Not that it wasn't appreciated.)

Thursday I was back to the library, had some extraordinarily strong coffee (that it was noteworthy enough to merit inclusion in this blog should tell you just how strong this coffee was), and began cleaning my apartment (a process which lasted until early Friday afternoon) because Laura came on Friday. We went out to a nice dinner Friday night, and Saturday we made a grand tour of Sofia, including, among other things, all of the important buildings and monuments in the eastern half of the Center, качамак from a little soup place that is quickly becoming my favorite, cappuccino at the National Palace of Culture, ridiculous hot chocolate on Цар Освободител, and many other pleasant things to do on a cold day. Sunday we went and had delicious Indian food, the likes of which we hadn't had since a hot July day in Los Angeles, and we gathered a few people for drinks on Sunday night. I had to take her back to the airport early Monday morning, and it has been right back to work for me since.

I am currently in the middle of another busy week that will once again be only four days long, but there will be another post coming Thursday before I leave for the long weekend. To find out where (and it will be cool), read on, dear reader, read on...

Heat!

Things have taken several turns for the awesome over the past few days, but before I talk about the ones that don't involve me being warm, I just need to express my gratitude for perhaps the best thing that has happened to me since I got here.

Heat! I has it!

My landlady, messenger of the Almighty that she is, snagged me as I was coming up the stairs from a long, tired day on Friday, and asked if she could come into my apartment to turn my radiators on. You, of course, know what I said. And just in time, because:

Snow fell on Sofia yesterday. Improbably, beautifully, poetically, the snow was falling when I woke up late Sunday morning, and it pretty much made my day twice as nice. It didn't stick, but I loved it anyway; I love what snow does to the world. Winter is, admittedly, not my favorite season, as I've come to prefer almost anything to the cold. But when it snows, I can overlook the miserable temperatures outside. Snow reminds me of the Christmas season descending upon my old home on the East Coast--don't worry about that fact that it's mid-October--and it means the time for lights and festivity is coming. I hate winter; I love the Holidays.

It wasn't actually snowing that hard, but man, does this picture look epic.

I'm dreaming of a white Halloween.

So, staring out my window for a few minutes while the first flakes of Winter fell--don't worry about the fact that it just turned into Fall three weeks ago--I got all warm and fuzzy inside. It really put me in the mood for cupcakes. 

So, I went and got some. And while I was out, the foolish novel idea struck me to make soup. From scratch. Have I ever done that before? No. But the snow really put me in the mood for that, too. 

And so, while my laundry hung out to dry in the bedroom, I spent two hours committing culinary acts that would make Paula Dean cry in the pursuit of one lousy batch of tomato soup. I won't post a picture because, to be fair, it didn't look appetizing in the least, but it tasted much better than it looked, so while the snow fell, I dined on homemade soup and crackers. Let it never be said that my domesticity won't elevate me to top-notch marriage material someday.

Working backwards: Saturday was another mostly lazy day, though the night was fantastic. I went out to dinner with some interns at the Danish, Norwegian, French, and Belgian Embassies at one of the nicer Greek restaurants in town. Aside from my love of Greek food, it was a great time getting to know still more cool people, and was made the more notable for the fact that the waiters didn't speak Bulgarian; rather, they were Greek, but, thankfully, completely fluent in English. After the restaurant, we headed to a rock and roll bar, where I heard more hard rock in three hours than I had in the past five years. So after an extremely enjoyable night of dancing to Metallica--yes, it can be done--I headed home to my warm (!) apartment.

It was a good weekend. This week will see me do more research, reach out to some people with knowledge on the Shopi, go to Pernik on Wednesday for the folk festival in honor of Sv. Ivan Rilski's Day, clean my apartment, and on Friday, Laura comes to visit for the weekend. Let's get it done. Честит първи сняг!

Praise Zoroaster for the Gift of Central Heating

...so that he may deign to bestow it upon me. The weather has turned cold. Cold. (Which is colder than cold) And yesterday, on an already dreary Yom Kippur day, it began to rain.

The elements don't typically bother me much so long as I have a warm, dry house/apartment/cardboard box to return to when I finish my business with the Outside World. I will say this: My loft (I've decided not to call it an attic anymore. Who wants to live in an attic? Loft sounds nicer. And more expensive) is dry. But it is not warm. That's because Sofia, desperately hanging onto one of their last relics from the Soviet era, still operates on a system of Central Heating - that is, control of the radiator in my apartment is outside my jurisdiction; the superintendent has to decide that it's gotten cold enough to merit turning on the unit that supplies heat to the whole building. I'll let you do the math.

So, it is cold, but, for the moment, dry. (Praise the Pantocrator for half-victories) I can only hope, pray, and make supplications to Buddha that the superintendent will relent someday (and may the day be very soon!) and have mercy upon the Cold, Ravaged, Collective Soul of the residents of my building.

I'm sorry for all the snarkiness, sarcasm, pessimism, and the mockeries of religion contained herein. I don't mean any of it (Well, most of it). The dreary weather aside, it is a rather lovely-looking, overcast, quiet Fall Sunday here.

Things in general have gone well enough since last I wrote. The resources that I'm looking at to build a history of the Shopi people continue to trickle in, allowing me a steady stream of material, though not enough to overwhelm me. I have also been introduced, over the past week, to a veritable host of people who are experts on the subject, or tangentially related ones. I don't really have a clearer sense of direction than I did a few weeks ago, but the more I read, and the more people I talk to, the more likely it is each day that things will snap into focus.

I have also been hanging out with some of the people I met at second orientation, a pretty cool crowd. Between cleaning my apartment, reading treatises, spending some quality time with my ukulele (I am about to restring it), expanding my social circles, getting myself lost on late-night runs and significantly increasing the chances that I will be mugged and brutally murdered, and attending synagogue for Yom Kippur, I have kept myself fairly busy over the last five days.

Yom Kippur was a fairly interesting experience for me, coming from the background that I do, as was Rosh HaShanah before it. As you may or may not know, I come from a semi-observant, hazily denominational, Ashkenazic family. So to be thrust into a Sephardic Orthodox experience (in the Balkans, no less) was, while not a complete shocker, a surprising experience in a few respects. I won't go into much detail--both because I feel like it wouldn't be that interesting, and because the more I talk on the subject the greater the risk is that I offend someone--but it was a not unpleasant experience, and I found myself a few times having to roll with something I either had not expected, had never experienced, or both. But the synagogue is beautiful, it was an eye-opening experience to attend an Orthodox Yom Kippur service (the Highest of Holiday Services, you might call it), and I found myself adjusting to it with few problems.

I have always tried to use Yom Kippur as a pivot point in years past, and this year is no exception. I always strive to fix things that I'm doing wrong, recommit myself to things that matter, and to be, in general, a better person, both to people around me and to myself. So right now, I'm writing from the standpoint of someone with a healthy sense of optimism and a commitment to doing things better over the course of the next year. Go-go-gadget-improvement.

Now, I'm off to the airport to go pick up my friend Mark who is in Europe for two weeks and Sofia for two days. A recap of our adventures to come in the next entry. Stay warm!

The Last 10 Days (In 10 Paragraphs or Less)

I am so, so (In honor of Steve Reich's birthday yesterday: so, so, so, so, so, so, so...) sorry that this post is coming so far in arrears. Last week threw me a few too many curveballs, and as a consequence, I spent too much time having experiences and not enough time writing about them. (Wait...) But here we are, and all I can do is to give you an enjoyable and informative retrospective. So:

Last weekend started off with another Folk Festival, При шопите в Казичене ("Of the Shopi of Kazichene"). I got up bright and early to go meet Xristo, who agreed to come with me. We got to the center of town and found all manner of people, every one dressed to the nines - dancers, singers, instrumentalists, spectators. Particularly abundant were the баби (Literally, "grandmothers," these are the older women of the villages who still sing in the old style) and some (incredibly good) junior dance ensembles. We stayed and observed for a few hours, giving me my first live taste of what I came here to study. Have a few pictures:

3 баби

Super good U-14 dance troupe

In action

We headed back to Sofia where I ran some errands and hurriedly packed, because I had a flight to catch to Germany. I got to the airport with less than an hour to go before takeoff, sailed through, and made it to Vienna without incident (whew!). After a protracted layover in Vienna due to a missing crew, we finally boarded and made it to Munich 90 minutes late. And, dear Lord, was it good to see my girlfriend after nearly two months? It was.

The next day, we went on a tour of the city for a few hours. Noteworthy were the Englischer Garten, the surfers therein who were surfing in the river (!), the historic architecture in the Marienplatz, and other items of Historic Value, of which there were many. After an obscenely pleasant afternoon seeing all these things (and eating what was perhaps the most delicious pretzel of my life), we went home and changed to go to Oktoberfest. 

This rowdy, alcoholic mainstay of German culture (Wait...) was everything I had imagined (i.e. a 50,000-person frat party) and more. We started off by checking out a few of the beer tents, ended up at the Armbrustschützenzelt (I dare you to pronounce and/or translate that), had a €9 (!) liter of beer each, made friends with a group of Australians, then went in search of more fun. At our second tent, we made friends with a very nice couple from Düsseldorf who led us to a Biergarten after the tents shut down. At 10 PM. What? No matter; we managed to extend the night for quite a while after that. We somehow got lost in the woods (along with hundreds of other revelers), took two cabs and a bus, and missed our last bus home by 30 seconds. Luckily, the night buses run every hour, so we waited out in the blistering cold for 59 minutes and 30 seconds before finally getting home at 3:45 AM. Of course.

The next day was, to unabashedly plagiarize the author of a certain Text from Last Night, a beautiful one for a hangover, and Laura and I spent part of it on the lovely chore of childcare. Luckily, the kids she's taking care of are adorable, and I had a nice chance to practice my German, my command of which is similar to that of a young child. After a most welcome nap, we went out to a nice dinner at a cool little Italian restaurant somewhere in Munich (Don't ask me where anything is. I couldn't tell you).

The next day we saw a little more of Munich (including, most notably, the Frauenkirche, the Pope's old stomping grounds) and then it was time for me to fly. Though I pulled the same routine as I had on the way there (arriving at the airport in less time than was probably advisable), I made my flight, and, after another delay in Vienna, made my way back to Sofia where--surprise!--it had gotten cold in my absence.

Wednesday night was Erev Rosh HaShanah, and I spent most of the day cleaning and getting ready. Before sundown, I headed over to the synagogue with Greg, and we sat through the most disorderly High Holiday service I had ever attended. Not that it was that bad, but there was a lot of (very audible) confusion coming from the masses. But for all that, it was a cool experience, as it was my first time in an Orthodox service (other than Shabbat services once or twice), and one in the Balkans, at that. It was over in an hour, everyone wished each other L'Shana Tovah, and we went home. The next morning I showed up ready for anything, and found a rather small group for Rosh HaShanah morning. The service was a marked departure from the Conservative/Reform blend I've gotten used to in the States, but it was cool. I took the rest of the day off, as I was starting to get sick and it was an important holiday besides.

That night, I met up with a few Fulbrighters who were in town for a second round of orientation, and we went out to dinner. It was delicious Moroccan food, and I met a couple cool new people. The next day was Official Day 1 of orientation, so we spent the day in seminars, presentations, and such. That night we had a swanky reception, and we finished it off by heading to a pretentious little bar for a few drinks afterwards.

But, sick as I was, I called it an early night, and a good thing, because early on Saturday, we took a day trip to Plovdiv. Now, I had never been there, and it's a cool city. At least, the parts we saw were. We were limited to the Old City, but there was lots to see, including old Roman ruins. We had a semi-swanky lunch at a semi-swanky restaurant, walked around a little more, saw the city's mosque, and headed home. Why not some pictures?

Roman-era fortifications

One of the hills upon which Plovdiv is built

The house of Nacho Kulturata, the Culture Tsar of Plovdiv

Roman amphitheatre

That night we headed out to dinner again, got drinks afterward, and I was home in time to listen to Roy Halladay's first pitch in Game 1 of the NLDS.

Sunday was my typical lazy-productive day, with the exception of a delicious lunch of Lebanese food with Melissa, Irena, and Laura (one of the newly Sofia'd Fulbrighters, not that Laura). Taking the day mostly off set me up to get back to work this week, and thank the Lord I did, as I was starting to feel useless, having taken the whole week off. Combined with the fact that I was sick and tired, I had had a pretty Down couple of days. But, over the course of the last two days, I have successfully remounted the Productivity Horse. And now off into the hinterland I ride. I hope you've enjoyed this rambling account of a random string of days that happened to be adjacent. I will see y'all later this week.

Bonus Paragraph: WFC.

On life in Sofia (Again)

O Beautiful Rainy Day -

It is the first rainy, overcast day since I've been here in Sofia, and it has actually been kind of nice. I'm not the type that craves weather like this--do you think I'm from Washington or something?--but it is nice to have one of these days every once in a while. It has been raining on and off all day, and the clouds are pretty, in their own gloomy way.

But I digress. I wrote a bit (OK, a lot) about life in Sofia a while back, and I just wanted to add some things, lest you get an incomplete picture.

First things first - my schedule. Before I tell you that I've been setting my own schedule, let me preempt your looks/cries of indignation by telling you that I have abandoned my procrastinatory ways. Maybe not completely--despite my visions for myself, they do not yet lie askew in a ditch by the side of the road--but I have been more or less disciplined about doing some work every day. Pat me on the head and give me a gold star?

But, yes, I've been setting my own schedule, and it has been nice. As a consequence, I've gotten to do a lot of things I want to/should be doing, like going out and meeting people, exercising, cleaning my apartment, and generally learning to live like a responsible, independent human being. And at the risk of giving you the impression that I haven't been driving myself crazy with work, I will say that I have actually had enough hours in the day. Perhaps that represents a step back from the resistant Type-A individual I had been forced to be in the States, but I nevertheless feel good about the progress I've been making on all fronts.

And it has been satisfying to go back to a 5-days-a-week schedule, which I haven't been on since my Junior Year of college. As of my Senior Year, my class schedule became erratic, and my first year out of school, I worked weekends, with random weekdays off. Having days off in the middle of week sucks a little bit, to be quite honest, especially when they aren't contiguous, because you can neither relax nor feel productive nor end up spending them wisely, usually. And as soon as I quit my job, I went to a do-a-little-work-seven-days-a-week schedule in preparation for my conducting recital, which probably went better because of this schedule than it would have otherwise.

The inherently satisfying thing about working 5 days a week and then resting for 2 (those 2 being the same days as everyone else) is that it gives me a sense, at the end of the week, that I've earned some time off. I've put my nose to the grindstone for 5 consecutive days, and my reward is to forget about all the work I've done that week and party/lounge around/drink an extra beer or 3. And part of the reason I've been good at getting work done 5 days a week is because I can decide what I need to do on a given day and get it done, without time constraints. I think one of the failings of a 9-to-5 job is that it either artificially limits the amount of work you can get done or it motivates you not to be productive, if you have the ability to meet your goals in less than the allotted time. I have found that being on a flexible schedule reduces the pressure for me to get things done within an arbitrary amount of time, and so leaves me free to concentrate on actually getting it done. When that thing has been research, it has given me the freedom to invest my time in what I think will be worthwhile uses of that time, whether that's reading books or online resources, going out into the field, or other things entirely. 

But planning is key. Would that we all had a specific plan and a flexible schedule. Were this the case, I have a feeling that so much of the time the average worker wastes in any given day (be it on Facebook or any other time-waster) would cease to function as a block to getting things done.

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to devolve into a discourse on productivity and how we spend our time. The upshot of this discussion vis-a-vis how it applies to me:

I am relaxed here. I have so far enjoyed my research; it has yielded a great deal of information and even more questions than I had to begin with. I have a long road ahead of me in completing my four basic tasks - defining who the Shopi are, defining their origins, tracing them through the ages and comparing them at all points to who they are now, and pinpointing the locations and reasons for any discrepancies. But the work has not, so far, been too much for me to handle, and I have done a good job of compartmentalizing my workday from my leisure time. And so, I feel more relaxed here than most times in my life. I am away from a lot of mental blocks I had in the States, I have found people to share my time with here, and I have spent my time wisely and enjoyed doing so. Like I said, I have had time to do a lot of the things I want and I have felt like I've had enough hours in the day to get all of them done. And so, not worried about potentially impossible tasks or rushed obligations, I am relaxed.

An integral part of my adaptation here has been the expansion of my knowledge of the city. I have recently begun to explore the southern quadrant of the Center through my thrice-weekly runs, replete with such attractions as the National Palace of Culture and Малките Пет Кьошите (Literally, The Little Five Corners, where five streets come together). As I have expanded my knowledge of the city and consolidated my understanding of its layout, I have discovered more and more to do and to see. Along with this, I have begun to get a feel for how streets run and where they lead to and which neighborhoods are where in relation to each other, which has made the city begin to take on a character of its own before my eyes. I feel like I'm really beginning to understand it.

On Saturday, I pushed my boundaries a little farther and made an attempt to observe the Sofia's Day Festival in Ботунец (Botunetz), about 15 km east of Sofia. Lo and behold, when I got there, it turned out that budget cuts had forced the city to eliminate the live entertainment, leaving me disappointed, but with renewed interest in seeing Shopi music performed live. And opportunities abound: There is another festival this coming Saturday that I will be attending in search of this music.

Nor has folk music been my only White Whale. Last night, I went with Melissa (another Fulbrighter that I haven't seen since FISI) and her mentor-teacher to see Noa and Mira Awad in concert at the National Palace of Culture. The concert did not disappoint. It was a wonderful show and a great chance to hang with a couple of great people. It was, I say  perhaps gratuitously, a horizon-expanding and intrinsically enjoyable experience.

One more entry will be forthcoming before Saturday, when I go to Germany for a few days. If you've stuck with me so far, I appreciate it. Until then...

Cultural Learnings of Sofia for make Benefit Glorious Nation of US and A

My first full week of living in Sofia has drawn to a close, and I feel like I can begin to talk about some of my impressions of this place.

For starters, Sofia is a lot smaller, geographically speaking, than most American cities, at least most that I've been to. It is, for organizational purposes, divided into the "Center" and a belt of city--the "not-Center"--that wraps around the Center, in a perfect model of concentric city planning. My apartment is located in the eastern quadrant of the Center, in a neighborhood known as Oborishte (Оборище), named for one of the streets that bisects the neighborhood. 80% of the important destinations in the city are a 20-minute-or-less walk from my apartment, so my location is pretty close to perfect. It is a 15-minute walk to the exact center of the city (everything converges around a couple of government buildings), so it has thus far been easy to get around.

I have braved the subway several times, and yesterday, I made my first major trip using the bus system. What's cool is that every trip you take on any public transportation vehicle costs a flat rate of 1 lev, so you can use the system pretty cheaply (keep in mind that a lev is about 70¢ US). Once I figure my way around a little bit better, I'm sure I will come to rely heavily on public transportation, for the first time in my life, as I 1) Live without a car for a year and 2) Live in a city where there is an adequate public system, two things which have never occurred simultaneously before.

Several things about my apartment that I didn't go into a few entries ago: It is small, but plenty big enough for one person to live in comfortably; two could squeeze into it if they had no need of personal space. It is, I have reasoned, a recently furbished attic, made suitable to live in because, I suspect, the owners of the building felt there was more money to be made in converting the storage space into an apartment. To be sure, it has been quite pleasant to live in so far, but it has a few quirks. 

One is its lack of level surfaces or right angles. Not that that's a huge bother, but one gets used to things fitting snugly in corners or against walls, and not walking downhill from one's living room to one's kitchen. The ceilings here range in height from about 7 to 10 feet; luckily, I have topped out at 5'10" and doubt I have any more growing to do. Unfortunately for someone of my average height, however, there is also a massive wooden crossbeam suspended 3 feet below the ceiling in my kitchen, against which I smacked my head--rather hard, I might add--4 times in the first couple of days, but which I have since learned to duck rather deftly, even when completely asleep in the middle of the night. I have a washing machine, thank the Powers Above, but no dryer, so laundry day always produces the sight of a 20-something American boy performing a rather Old World task in hanging his clothes out on the balcony to dry by the power of the sun and wind. The bathroom is also quite small, and features no tub or interior walls; rather, the shower is on top of the toilet is on top of the towel rack is on top of the sink. And though there is no showerhead--only a handheld module--I feel as though I've adjusted quite well, and have learned the art of aiming the water stream in directions that will not soak the entire room.

My refrigerator is quite small, but that hasn't been too much of a problem, so far. People shop here multiple times a week, and don't refrigerate the majority of their food, unlike us in the States. I have learned, through lack of a choice, the virtues of fresh foods, bought and eaten within a few days. And don't make the mistake of thinking that everything here is preservative-laced; I was quite surprised to open my pantry one day this week and find the bread and the fruit that I had bought 3 days before covered in--how do I put this delicately?--a less-than-benevolent-looking strain of mold.

As mentioned before, supermarkets do exist here, and by all accounts, they are doing quite well, but they are a vast departure from the ones to which we're accustomed in the Good Ole USA. They are smaller, feature a narrower selection of brands, and--imagine my surprise--charge you for bags. (This is actually a terrific idea - it incentivizes the reuse of plastic bags, vastly reducing waste. Think about this: I have gone shopping five times since I've been here, and used only the two plastic bags I bought the first time. Through this system, I've saved Bulgaria's landfills 8 plastic bags, and counting, in a week and a half. Multiply that by the 4 million citizens who do the food shopping in this country alone, and you get the idea.) I've also learned the virtues of getting to the market early to get my pick of the produce - going at night leaves the shopper with a sad-looking selection from which to choose.

I told you that food was the thing that made the biggest impression on me, didn't I? (He says to start his third paragraph on the subject) The thing I have been the happiest about, gastronomically speaking, has been the quality of the dairy here. The milk is delicious--even the skim milk tastes creamy--the yogurt is the best ever, and the cheese is, to put it in the words of Sacha Baron Cohen, NICE. There is, however, a black lining within the cloud of win that is the culinary situation in this culture: It is impossible to get real orange juice here. Or so I thought. After searching unsuccessfully through three stores, I was ready to give up, but, in what could, perhaps, be the biggest game-changer of the century, I spotted, in a tucked-away corner of my local market, a bottle of--could it be?--fresh squeezed orange juice, made on the premises. I was hesitant, of course - could it be a trick? But I made a leap of faith, bought the bottle, took it home, and was rewarded with the delicious taste of actual, real orange juice, rife with pulp. A crisis deliciously averted.

The best part about the food shopping here? The ludicrosity of its cheapness. One large, heavy bag of groceries, complete with milk, bread, produce, cheese, soup, and household items cost me 15 leva - $11 US. Unbelievable.

Having lingered on the subject of food for quite long enough, let's talk about kids. Bulgarians, it seems to me--based on my limited observations--are all about their kids. I don't mean that they fawn over them or spoil them rotten, although it's possible they do in private. It just seems that everyone here loves their kid to death. I have seen a great deal more 1 - 4-year-olds in public here than I ever did in the States, and not once have I witnessed a parent yelling at them or cajoling them into doing something. It's quite possibly a cultural thing that the child-parent relationship here is just more pleasant and loving, all the time. Or it could be that public strife is just not accepted in the way it is in the US. We'll have to talk about that some more if I ever delve deeper into the subject.

In fact, there is a far more pervasive sense here of public community overall than I have seen anywhere else. My apartment is located by a park--not a large one, but big enough--and every time I walk through this park between 2 and 8 PM, it is filled to the brim, mostly with kids and supervising adults, but also with socializers of every age. The afternoon here is, universally, a time to come out and talk to people. You can also see this by examining the sidewalk cafés. Every evening at around 6, they start to fill up with people coming out for a beer and a smoke. (Nearly everyone here smokes, too, though apparently, the habit is being curbed, just as it is in the States.)

These phenomena may be, partially, a function of the gorgeous weather we've been having (and it has been gorgeous for 2 straight weeks), but they obviously can't happen without an impulse for public social interaction that, it seems, is much stronger than in the US. It is the idea of what I always envisioned a small town could, and should, be like, except, as I need to keep reminding myself, we're in the middle of a big city (there are, after all, 2 million people who live here).

And that is the big takeaway I've had so far - that even though we are in a busy city, this place feels like a small town - community, local markets, narrow, cobblestone streets, a lack of big buildings for the most part, etc., ad infinitum. It has made for a really nice time so far, and I'm excited to see what comes next.

That's it for me, for now. I begin my research next week, so stay tuned.