Освен на делфините! (Save the Dolphins)

The Bulgarian town where I now live, like most cities of its size (pop. 356,852), has plenty to do. There are concerts, plays, tons of restaurants and cafes, an opera house, a zoo, a dolphinarium... I made plans to take advantage of all of this while I'm here and I was especially excited to visit the dolphinarium since I have never seen a dolphin show before.

Then I watched The Cove last night which is a documentary about the constant mass slaughtering of dolphins in Japan for our entertainment. I was disgusted that I had previously been excited to watch the dolphin show. I was ignorant in believing these trained dolphins to be well cared for and happy when in fact they are constantly dying prematurely due to the stressful living conditions and they are performing mainly because they won't be fed otherwise. For every one dolphin that makes it into a show, hundreds or thousands are needlessly killed and even though their meat contains poisonous amounts of mercury, it is sent around Asia for human consumption.

Last year while spending 4th of July in Coronado, I got to witness some dolphins cruising back and forth across the beach, flipping, diving, and playing. It was beautiful. I swam out as far as I could in the freezing Pacific to get a better look. I now know this is surely the best way to see these amazing creatures, in their natural environment. They'll still put on a show, a free show, but it will be of their own will to entertain and will not be at the expense of thousands of their own kind.

(This is the best picture I could get of one of the dolphins)

Check out these sites for more information about the movie and the actions being taken to put an end to this brutal industry:

http://www.thecovemovie.com

http://www.takepart.com/thecove/

Death on a Sidewalk

Today seemed like a pretty ordinary day at first. I slept in, took Majerle for a walk on the beach, did some reading at a nearby cafe, watched a few episodes of Arrested Development.

Late in the afternoon we decided to buy some produce at one of the outdoor markets downtown to fill our empty fridge. On our way there, we chatted about restaurants we'd like to eat at this week, the recent Coyotes victory over the Red Wings, the wind surfers I saw out in the sea today, regular stuff.

Then I noticed an unusual gathering of people on the street across from the Cathedral. And then I saw a man's lifeless body laying on the sidewalk near a bus stop, with a blanket covering his head and torso, but tattooed arms and legs remaining in view. Here laid the body of a deceased man. A few police officers stood near the body, visiting causally with each other.

We stopped for a moment to take in the fact that a man was lying footsteps away from us, dead. There was no blood and seemingly no urgent pursuit of a criminal, so we assumed that this was a natural death of sorts. There were a few blocks of cheese on the ground surrounding the man's head, so like us, perhaps he too had just decided to go buy some groceries.

As we walked towards the market, our demeanor having drastically changed, our dinner plans didn't seem so important. After we bought a few items, we again passed the bus stop just ten minutes later. The body was gone, the police officers were gone, and most of the people gathered had dispersed.

I was present in the hospital room when my grandpa died 12 years ago. Since then I have not been in such close proximity with a death. This was on my mind for much of the day afterwards, but really life just went on, back to planning our dinner and evening. But for awhile today, that man's death affected a lot of people. While the rest of us go on with our lives, surely he leaves behind family and friends who will be forever affected.

Part of the experience today makes me wonder what I am doing so far away from home and from my family, but I'm also reminded that I'm here because I'm trying to make the most of this short life while I can.

Learning Cyrillic (Живот Кирилица)

With all of the free time I have on my hands and because I would hate to live here three months and miss out on the opportunity, I am determined to learn to speak some Bulgarian. My first approach was to learn and master a new phrase every day. By the end of my first week in Bulgaria, I could say "good day", "thank you", "hello", "good evening", "have a nice day", "see ya soon!", etc.

During week two I realized that knowing these phrases is fine, but it only gets you so far. It doesn't help you read a menu and while pointing to a menu item and hoping for the best can be fun and suspenseful, I want to have at least some idea of what I'm eating.

So I buckled down today and decided to learn the alphabet. I found a few websites and youtube videos that went over the basics: the letters, sound pronunciations, and examples. I wrote the whole alphabet down the little notebook I take with me everywhere and all day I studied, practiced, and quizzed myself. While laying at the beach I closed my eyes and visualized all of the letters I could remember.

Later in the day, Brock got a hankering for a kebab at a street-side stand and while waiting for it I perused the menu and was stunned that I recognized the word falafel in cyrillic! I pointed at it and excitedly shouted "FALAFEL!!" Of course this led to a bit of confusion with the guy making the kebab who now thought I was placing another order.

We walked over to a restaurant with a patio on one of the main squares to have a drink. The waitress brought us menus in Bulgarian. Usually they bring the English versions once they realize we aren't from here. I started proving to Brock how my new alphabet skills would help me figure out the menu items. My first drink was a chai tea, mainly because I was thrilled to be able to read the word. After seeing what she must have thought was us struggling with the menu when in fact I was studying the menu, the waitress brought us an English one. So Brock used the English menu to quiz me on the components of pizzas, pasta dishes, and salads from the Bulgarian menu and I realized that just simply being able to sound out the word in cyrillic can lead one to figure out the word since there are a lot of words from English and French as well as those from many other languages in Bulgarian. This is the same reason an anglophone can generally muddle through French, Spanish, and Italian, picking up a few things here and there in print because the alphabets are so similar, as are many words. Now I may not always know what I'm reading, but at least now I can take a stab at the pronunciation and then I'll learn new words along the way. I can't stop reading everything I see now. I realized that the hair salon below my apartment also does pedicures! Very useful knowledge of course.

It must have been pretty entertaining for anyone within earshot to have heard my attempts to sound out these words, especially the ones I ended up knowing. It may have sounded something like this: "B... B... AHHH, Nnnn AH... N? BANANA!!! K- Koh- Kohnnn -ya. K. COGNAC!" I relayed this experience to my sister who said it sounds an awful lot like her witnessing her three year old son learning to read.

I was proud to go back to O'Neill's to tell Nikola to bring me the Bulgarian menu, because I can read! Sort of.

Gypsies

While we had no luck finding jobs in Paris, we figured that our chances are better here to teach English since unlike Paris, Varna is not saturated with native English speakers. So last week we headed to some local English schools with our resumes.

We met an American at one of the schools, a teacher who has been here almost a year so gave us the scoop on things. He told us all about the local traditional foods & beverages we should try, including Rakia, a fermented fruit liquor that every Bulgarian man prides himself on making. We've seen homemade versions being sold in old coke bottles on the streets surrounding the markets. I'm not yet brave enough to try such a concoction in an unsanitized state, but maybe eventually.

He told us about some peculiarities we will notice, for example, when being served meals in a restaurant, there is virtually no effort made at bringing out a group's meals at the same time. One might be done eating before the other's appetizer is ready. We witnessed this immediately at our next lunch.

He also warned us about the local mafia, skinheads, and gypsies, the latter being particularly crafty thieves in this city. He told us know about an annual gypsy tradition where fathers parade their daughters for sale as brides. I gotta see this. This gypsy culture peaked my interest. I found out that they came from India long ago and live in very poor, run-down communities all over Europe, having no real country of their own. We were told that children can be those most worth avoiding; they move in groups and will follow someone and continually torment them until they get some money (scenes from Hostel come to mind; maybe I should carry some gum in my purse). We were at a restaurant the other night when a young gypsy girl came in selling some sort of dried flowers in plastic bags. She kept just saying "please" in a very whiny voice, like a small cute version of Murray from Flight of the Conchords pleading for a record deal. There's a gypsy open-air market where, as long as one holds on tight to any purses, bags, and wallets, it's supposed to be an interesting experience.

I'm pretty used to getting warnings about being careful when using cash machines, not being too trusting of people, or sticking to bottled water, but it's funny to me that I'm now being warned about mafia, skinheads, and gypsies. Where am I?

An Irish Night in Bulgaria

Last night we went bowling. I can't remember the last time I bowled, as evidenced by my terrible scores. The bowling alley across the square from our apartment is nightclub style with couches instead of plastic seats and vodka for sale by the bottle instead of fountain soda in plastic cups.

A few floors below the bowling alley is an Irish pub called O'Neills. We heard about this place from the American woman who runs the English/Russian bookstore in town. So we headed on down to check it out. There was a band playing Sweet Home Alabama with thick Bulgarian accents as we entered. It wasn't very busy, maybe 15 people in the whole bar including the staff. We sat at the bar and ordered a couple of drinks, enjoying all of the American music being played. I loved the atmosphere, and the menu included all the traditional Bulgarian foods in addition to Irish meals.

One by one, nearly everyone in the bar including the owner, the band, and the bartenders came over to ask where we were from and wanted to know how in the world we came to be living in Varna. They don't get very many Americans in this part of the world, apparently. I had to admit that even a couple of months ago I had never heard of this place, so coming here was kind of like throwing the proverbial dart on the map.

They started showing a replay of the San Jose vs. Colorado playoff game from the night before, so even though we knew the outcome, we got to see the game on the big screen. The bartender, Nikola, was very into hockey and was knowledgeable about the NHL. He told us he worked in this bar because it is the only one in town that shows NHL games. (Now we know where we'll be watching the Stanley Cup Finals!) Nikola is a Red Wings fan, and since the Coyotes are playing the Red Wings in round 1, we have a friendly rivalry going.

At one point one of the band members came over to point out to us that "He made score during the power time!!" He wanted to be sure we noticed that Colorado had scored.

Nikola told us about the local football (soccer) team and said that while they're not very good, he'd like to take us to a game sometime. He also wants to introduce us to some of his friends who may be able to help us out with getting jobs here. After being here just a week, we're already hoping to find jobs to be able to stay awhile.

As people left the bar, they all came by to say goodbye to us, even the ones we had not really talked to. Everyone was so friendly and warm.

We were the last ones to leave the bar as we were still chatting with Nikola. He brought us our bill, 11 leva, roughly 8 dollars, for 3 tall local beers (Zagorka) and a plate of fried potatoes with cheese. I still can't get over how much we get for our money in this country.

We were encouraged to come back again the next night; the same band is on again. We'll be there. And since it's about 75 steps from our apartment, we'll probably be spending a lot of time there over these next few months. Nikola told us that while Bulgaria may not be the greatest country in the world, at least we chose the best city in Bulgaria to live in. Couldn't agree more.

Dog Problems

As a child, Varna would have been a dream come true for me. My mother can attest that prior to my tenth birthday when I was given my first dog, a little Shih Tzu named Oreo, I wanted a dog more than anything and so I would go out looking for dogs. If I found a stray, I would take it door to door trying to find its home, hoping that if I couldn't find its family, my parents would have to let me keep it. This never worked.

Varna is overrun with stray cats and dogs. I am not exaggerating when I say they are everywhere, all of the time. Some cruise streets in small packs, others are loners. Most are pretty friendly and will gladly accept some pats on the head or even better, leftovers. During the day, dogs trot around town or take afternoon siestas in the middle of sidewalks. In the evenings they all seem to curl up in grassy areas or by store fronts. It's fun to see them out and about during the day, but it's sad to see them with no family to go home to at night.

One of my lifetime goals is to form an animal rescue. I volunteered at the Humane Society during college and the Arizona Animal Welfare League in Phoenix. When not volunteering I try to do my tiny little part to help homeless animals. I found a kitten at our cabin this summer and spent much of my week vacation learning that my hometown lacks a decent rescue center than can accommodate a realistic amount of strays and relies primarily on very few foster families. Fortunately my brother and sister-in-law fell in love with baby George and took him home.

Varna is the ideal place for someone wanting to start an animal rescue center, not that this is either the time nor place for me to do so, unfortunately. Most of these strays are somewhat taken care of at least, since they are spayed or neutered then tagged as such, but then they are released back onto the streets since their aren't sufficient facilities to keep them while searching for homes.

They all look pretty well-fed, so I'm sure I'm not the only one giving them occasional treats. And unlike in Paris where there is dog poop everywhere, there is almost none here, so someone may also be cleaning up after them. I wish I could do more to help these pups, but for now I think I'll spend some of my free time giving them treats and some much needed affection. I may even figure out how to use the public water fountains to give them baths!

The Road to Варна

I have never been a great planner. If the main details are taken care of, I'm sure the little ones will all fall into place.

Our flight was booked to Sofia, Bulgaria, and we just presumed that upon arrival, we would take a cab into town to the train station and easily catch the final overnight train of the evening where we would have our own personal cabin to sleep in privacy with a locked door until we reached Varna seven hours later. But of course, this was one of those small details we were wrong about.

The trip started off a little rough as we had crappy traffic the entire way to Charles de Gaulle airport and a driver who narrated every move he made while educating us on French infrastructure for the entire 70 minute drive. After that, we had a nice and short flight on Air France, an airline that still believes in offering free alcohol and meals, even on 2 1/2 hour flights. I was even asked to rate their service and I gave them top marks across the board.

I spoke too soon, because I didn't realize until later that they neglected to send all of my luggage. So there went our brilliant plan. We missed the final overnight train while filling out paperwork for my lost luggage. We exited the baggage claim area and were greeted by a mob of taxi drivers, some relatively legitimate, others not. "Where you want to go?" "I take you; very cheap!" One driver let us use his phone so we called all over town trying to find a hotel that would allow dogs to no avail. This guy offered us a ride all the way to Varna (550 km) for 284 Euros. Yeah right.

As the hotel calls went on and my poor drug-induced dog's whimpering began, an expensive 7 hour cab ride to our new front door sounded better and better. Especially considering it was nearing midnight and we were standing in a nearly empty airport the furthest from home we have ever been.

Then we were offered a ride for 108 Euros by someone with a "private" company. While Brock questioned his legitimacy, I had visions of an 'E' special I saw investigating women sold into sex slavery. In my best slurred English that only an American could possibly understand, I said there's no way in hell I'm getting into an unmarked van with this guy. But we used his 108 Euro offer to talk the other guy down to 250.

As he loaded our luggage into his car, the remaining taxi drivers (being the only ones left at the airport) evacuated the building and even as our last piece of luggage entered the car we were still getting better offers. Someone handed our driver some cash as we were getting in the car, so Brock asked what that was all about. "For gas, of course." I was suspicious. We drove off and the guy in the van was following us. I was sure that eventually all the cars were going to surround us and I was wishing my butcher's knife was in my hand instead of in Brock's suitcase. The guy in the van pulled up next to us, both he and our driver rolled down their windows and called out some stuff we didn't understand, and Brock asked if he was hassling us for not going with him. Our driver just said no, but never told us what was said. Maybe they were all in on something together...

As soon as we got in the car, I let Majerle out of his crate. There was barely enough room in the back seat for his kennel and me, so he flew out of the crate and into my lap where he curled up and slept the entire trip. With a squirmy drugged up pup in my lap, I attempted to sleep since there was nothing to see in the dark.

Our driver ended up being very kind and curteous. He taught us a few Bulgarian words, including "bless you", and told us a bit about Bulgaria. He smoked roughly every 20 minutes, but was nice enough to offer us cigarettes. So in friendly American custom, Brock offered him his first chew. He didn't have the technique down completely and made some strange hacking noises every so often, but must have liked it since he asked if his tip could be a can of it. We arrived in Varna just as the sun was coming up, so our first views of Bulgaria were the outskirts of the town we would be living in and the Black Sea.

He took us to our apartment where we had to wait in the cold for our landlord to arrive and give us the keys. I couldn't believe the size of the apartment. After living in a 200 square foot studio for 3 months, this place seemed gigantic, at least 3-4 times the size of our Paris apartment, with 2 bedrooms and 2 balconies, one obstructed sea-side and one facing downtown. We again have just 2 burners and no oven, but there happen to be an additional 2 burners on top of a toaster oven on one of our patios. Why not, eh?

Our bathroom is the only part of the apartment I have mixed feelings about so far. It's sizeable, but there is no shower area, just a shower head on one side of the bathroom and a drain on the other side. I learned the hard way that it's best to remove the toilet paper and any clothing items from the bathroom while showering.

I tried to get some sleep since I didn't get much on the ride here, but it wasn't happening so I took a walk to the beach which is about 5 minutes from our place. There is a large park called "Sea Gardens" that spans the length of much of the town along the beach and harbor and between the park and the beach are nothing but bars and restaurants. There are produce and flower markets everywhere, beautiful orthodox churches, and many streets and squares off limits to cars. This is a lovely, lively, and colorful town. In the words of Annie, "I think I'm gonna like it here!"

Best Dressed Kids in the World

I contend that Parisian children are among the very best dressed in the world. Children's stores here display pricey but darling outfits that make me want to invest in wardrobes for my future children.

While wandering through the artsy district of Montmartre yesterday, I came upon a park full of children playing, not dressed in dirty overalls like I wore in the sandbox, but dressed far more stylishly than I ever even hope to.

Today I took a walk down my street past La Madeleine church in Paris, where Coco Chanel's funeral took place, and turned onto Rue Cambon to number 31, the original Chanel store where Coco lived and worked in the apartment above. I thought about the exposure to fashion these girls from the park have always had. Their mothers and grandmothers grew up surrounded by the influence and ingenuity of icons such as Chanel, who taught them to stray from conformity. I think the lingering history of Chanel and all of the designers who used Paris as their fashion playgrounds impacts every Parisian from the day they wear their first onesie. Now, on the playgrounds of Paris, children dress anything but conformingly. I think Coco would be proud.

“There are people who have money and people who are rich.”

-Coco Chanel