To my friends: You brought light and warmth to my visit. Thank you.
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A few notes to fill in some of the back story: My husband Paul and I met as Peace Corps Volunteers in 1997. I was in Gorna Oriahovitsa, Bulgaria, and he was in Triavna. I will refer to Gorna Oriahovitsa as GO or Gorna. My counterpart, assigned to me by the Peace Corps, was Tanya Petrova. She and her family lived in the flat above me. She and her husband Plamen become my closest friends. Paul’s counterpart was Kalina Toteva, and his good friend in Triavna is Plamen Penev. Paul and I often refer to the Plamens in conversation as “my Plamen/your Plamen”. In the year 2000, while walking in Sausalito, California, Paul and I thought we heard a couple speaking Bulgarian. We approached them on the street, and we became friends. Their names are Kamen and Elka Popovi, and they lived in Redwood City at the time (where we know live). They moved to Toronto shortly before we moved to RWC. Paul and I went back to visit in 2001 and we stayed mainly with our Plamens. My Plamen took us fishing and by car to places we hadn’t seen during our 2 years. These are some of the best memories I have with them. Somewhere in these few years, a former student from a summer camp in Separeva Bana, comes to San Francisco with her host parents. We get together for a short visit. This is Tanya Nedyalkova, who graciously hosts me in Sofia. When Paul and I got married in 2003, we invited the Tanya and Plamen Petrovi to our wedding, along with Paul’s Plamen Penev and his partner, Ani. I will refer to this Plamen as Penev. Plamen and Tanya read a poem in English and Bulgarian, in our wedding ceremony. “My Plamen”, upon returning to Bulgaria, wrote a novel called “Wedding in California” about their travels. While here, many friends who had been guests at their home in Bulgaria, sent for them, so they visited many places. A second edition is in the works now as a fund-raiser. When my Pigs in the Trunk photo was published in the Bulgarian newspaper, it was my Plamen who alerted me and later translated my letter to the editor. The photo was taken in village of Plamen’s mother. While we live far away, we’ve stayed in touch, some years more than others. In February 2011, Tanya alerted me of Plamen’s illness, and I due to the severity of the case, I felt I had to go visit. I took a week off from work and went solo, to visit. I had never left my son, Trevor for more than one night, but was ready to face some distance. Not knowing what the situation would be like, I made very few concrete plans before leaving as my priority was to visit them. For this reason, I’m elated to retell how everything came together with little notice.
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Appendix of Characters Tanya Petrova: My counterpart as assigned by the Peace Corps in 1997. My colleague at school, and my neighbor. Plamen Petrov: Tanya’s husband, my photo mentor and history teacher. Plamen rapidly deteriorating health spawns this visit. Kamen and Elka Popovi: A Bulgarian couple we met one day in Sausalito, in 2000, after returning from the PC. We approached them in the street after hearing Bulgarian and became instant friends. Elka is from Gorna Oriahovitsa. Kamen and Elka met Plamen and Tanya at our wedding where they realized they all went to the same language school in Ruse, ten years apart. Jordan (Dancho) Petrov: The youngest son of the Petrovi Family. Dancho was 9 when we were in the PC and he is now in his final year of college. Georgi Petrov: The middle son. Georgi lives closest to Tanya and Plamen. Plamen Penev, Ani and Yavor: They now live in Strazhitsa but host me at the flat they keep in Triavna. I always remember the best sleep I ever had was as a guest at their house. I make arrangements before I leave for Penev to pick me up at 1pm on Thursday outside of my hotel. We never speak to confirm this and yet the plan works perfectly. Siya Mihailova (Svetlio, Kiki, Svetlio): Paul and I were in their wedding in Bulgarian. Siya is a former colleague and we’ve been in touch via Facebook. Svetlana Nenova: a former colleague- we’ve been in touch on FB. Anelia Miteva: A former colleague and the only other person I’ve “seen” via Skype! Ultimately, these people made this trip a powerful experience that will stay with me forever.
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Farewell
IN
Bulgaria I begin my trip in Toronto, where the Bulgarian hospitality begins when Kamen and Elka host me during my 12 hour lay-over. I had lost touch with the Popovi family since they moved from Redwood City four years ago, but I’m able to find Elka on Facebook. When I tell them I am going to Bulgaria because my friend Plamen is sick, and that I hastily booked a flight leaving me in Toronto for twelve hours, I don’t even have to ask if we can meet. “Kamen will pick you up in the morning. We will be happy to see you but we wish it were for longer,” Elka says on the phone. We’re connecting for the first time in ages and it is great to hear her voice. I know the visit will be hard as I’ll arrive after a red-eye, so I repeat my mantra, “In this moment I feel...” and I know I will
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be fine. This trip forces me to live in each moment as a good friend advised me before I left. She said, “Allow yourself to feel each emotion as it comes” which proves to be sage advice. Kamen and I return to their home at 7 a.m. and the house is quiet except for Elka’s dad, who makes palachinki. They smell delicious. At the Popovi house, we talk, we visit, and a friend from Plamen and Tanya’s school days comes to visit. Kamen met Krassi by chance one day when he needed a Bulgarian translator to prepare his children’s birth certificates. While I must have known, but had forgotten, Kamen and Elka attended the same language school as Tanya and Plamen. Krassi, the translator, was a schoolmate of Tanya and Plamen’s and she found a clue in the birth certificate revealing they were alumni from their school days back in Bulgaria. Their conversation then turned to Bulgaria, and friends they still have there. When they realized they both knew Tanya and Plamen, they discussed his situation, the book, and my visit. Since my visit was imminent, Krassi wanted to visit
with me so I could travel with a package for them. The visit is sweet, and Elka’s kids play nicely together off in another part of the house. We drink coffee, relax and chat, and I feel like I’ve known everyone forever. Truly. There is no awkward silence, just the comfortable feeling of being a part of community. Krassi leaves and we eat a delicious lunch of shopska and Salmon. I then take a shower and I feel full and fresh as I think about my flight to Frankfurt. Before I go, we snap a family photo and I enjoy showing the kids my camera. Kamen then takes me to the airport. The flight to Frankfurt is long, but I hardly notice. Traveling alone yields a quiet independence that I haven’t felt since before Trevor was born. I have movies to watch, and photos and videos of my family on my iPad, so I never feel too far away. Despite my downtime on the plane, I don’t sleep, instead opting
to watch two feature films that were on my must-see list. Once I’m on my flight to Sofia, however, I fall into a deep sleep immediately and awake to the touchdown in Bulgaria. Dancho, the youngest of the Petrovi children, meets me at the Sofia airport and graciously accompanies me on a small walk through town before embarking on to the train to G.O. Sofia feels overwhelming and my exhaustion mutes my enthusiasm to be back in Bulgaria after 10 years. We walk past some points of interest and I’m getting my bearings-- I suddenly remember exactly how to walk to the train station from the center of town-little has changed. We find ourselves in the center of town, walking past Aleksander Nevksi, and the National Theater, in front of which 5
there is a Peace Corps Exhibit for the 50th anniversary. I photograph the exhibit, and while we look for the PC office, we can’t find it. So, we continue on our way. I take photos of pigs feet in a window, graffiti scrawled on city walls, and I see a picture in a toy store of an exact toy that Trevor loves though this puppy’s appendages are labeled in Bulgarian. I enjoyed my time connecting with Dancho and while our conversation turns emotional at times, I’m grateful for his company. The countryside glows in the warm spring air—an unexpected delight at this time of year. After the sun sets, I succumb to my exhaustion and I fall asleep for half an hour. We we’ll be there soon. As we descend upon Panoyot Tsvikev 15, I’m giddy with excitement completely forgetting why I’m there. I feel like I’m returning home, and our entrance to the building, past my old apartment to the 3rd floor feels like I’m frozen in time. We ring the bell and Tanya greets us and leads us, as usual, in to the living room space, only now Plamen lay there by the window unable to move more than his arms and head. His bed is positioned just behind his usual spot at the head of the table where he was a ring-leader of sorts during lengthy family dinners. He is gaunt. He is swallowed up by the bed. I lean down to hug him and touch his face and we cry. He tells me I shouldn’t have come, that he did not want me to see him this way, and that he did not imagine 6
he’d ever be this way. I’m hugging him and then, Plamen is back. “Now get off me,” he says. I chuckle and the ice is broken and we begin to visit. He explains in short, choppy sentences that I should not be offended if he trails off or glazes over, as he is just exhausted. Exhausted from doing nothing. He coughs. They have just bought a TV after being for 8 years without one. They are hoping to distract him or even just entertain him. I am helpless as I bring nothing of any significance. I humbled by my inability to soothe or even distract. Am I intruding? I hope to at least offer support or even a diversion. Tanya says I will have the chance to help tomorrow as she will run some errands in Turnovo. I need sleep so after dinner I turn in, only to hardly sleep at all. My mind races as I try to settle in. I realize that my dad prepared me for this. It was Plamen who I went to first, twelve years ago, when I learned that my dad had cancer. I remember going to Plamen’s office after the phone call, where I broke down. I replay the day’s conversations and how Plamen fell to pieces as he described life. He says he must have been born on a short day. I remember 12 years ago, sitting at a Tuesday night dinner when Plamen analyzed the lifelines on our hands. I recall ours being the same and I will search my PC journals to see how I described that night then. I note to myself to check hands tomorrow, though it isn’t until a few days later that I bring it up. He says he thinks not to eat anymore. I piece together what I now understand to be the chain of events. In October, he felt pain. He insisted on going to work. He didn’t go to the doctor until November, when they found a tumor in his kidney. Around Christmas, he lost feeling from his chest down and when he went for the kidney surgery, he was told he need to have an operation on his spine.
They had to pay or the metal piece placed inside. This first surgery was mid-January though the tumor in his spine had already rendered him paralyzed. In the beginning of February, when I first learned, they had plans to go to Sofia for kidney removal, and while they went, he only had an embolisation as they feared he would not recover from such a surgery. While the day has been overwhelming and my thoughts are racing, one thought sticks with me. He has been drinking Airliner fuel-- thought he was joking. I write my first limerick of the trip, realizing the format does not suffice the subject matter, but it comes out anyway: Arrived after so much travel And all I did was inhale Jet liner fuel But is this the jewel? He drinks it yet to no avail. I text Paul and ask him to look it up for me.
I finally fall asleep at 5 am and I awake at 11:30, which embarrasses me as I’ve slept half of the day away. Tanya is ready to run errands, so she drops me off at the bank on her way to Turnovo, and I hurry back to be with Plamen. I make lasagna that afternoon and I talk to him like I talk to Trevor, while I cook, to fill the silence. He inserts a comment here or there. He is too tired to talk. After Tanya gets back, I go to visit with my former colleague, Siya, and her family. She is struggling with the recent diagnosis of Autism in her youngest son. For her I bring books. I can listen. I can promise to research and send more later. She picks me up around 4pm, accompanied by her husband and eldest son. I ask where the baby is, and she says he is home sleeping. We go to her house where she prepares a Bulgarian na gosti, and we speak in English about her son’s diagnosis. We talk, and eventually the boys move us into the living room where we drink some
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I show the 8th graders the iPad as part of their presentation from a real, live American!
whiskey. My Bulgarian begins its return. At 6:30, we walk down the hill back to Tanya’s, where they are visited by a friend who is an oncologist. This evening is mellow. We eat the lasagna—Plamen even has a bite. Tanya and I laugh at my not knowing what (béchamel) is. Plamen dozes off which is my queue to leave, as we all occupy the living room where he stays, when we’re awake. In the quiet moment, Tanya and I exchange worried glances and we hug, knowing that sleep for Plamen is a peaceful state. Tanya looks at me as we hold hands and she says, “We’ve been together for 36 years. I don’t know...” She doesn’t finish her thought. I ask her if she’s sleeping, especially since she sleeps alongside him in the living room on a devan hardly bigger than the width of her. She says that for one year before his diagnosis, she
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couldn’t sleep-- she had a bad feeling that she couldn’t shake. Once she learned of his illness, she started sleeping. We hug and I assure her that we are all here for her and that she will be ok. My words feel useless and I am sad, knowing I will be far away again soon. We say good night and I turn in early knowing I have a long day tomorrow. Despite my jet lag, sleep does not come easy, so I document the room in which I stay. Plamen has been a longtime collector of ancient coins and arrowheads. Each time a volunteer would visit during my previous stay, upon them he bestowed an ancient coin, along with a drawing explaining its significance. He would also draw a caricature of each guest in his book. Lately, he has turned to collecting old cameras, and he has amassed an impressive collection. I photograph them, then try to sleep. On Wednesday morning I have plans to visit Vicho Grancharov, the school at which I worked for two years. Plamen wishes me luck as I head out on my own. I speak to three
classes and I’ll save those stories for later. I took some video too. To sum up, teenagers are teenagers. It was fun and obnoxious at the same time. The hardest part of the visit is seeing Svetlana, as she knows why I have come to visit Bulgaria. We both start crying. I compose myself and we head to the teachers’ room, which looks exactly the same. Even the faces are familiar, although everyone looks fresh, and so thin. Svetlana asks me if I’m ok with speaking to three classes today. She says I can speak for 15 minutes, or I can stay the entire time. I figured it was no big deal to interact for an hour, and since I had my iPad with me, I agreed to stay for the duration of the period. I begin with quick introductions, and I decide to video the students saying hello so I can show my students when I return. We had, after all, just spent a class period last week talking about Bulgaria, so I knew the opportunity was ripe. The students were more than happy to practice their English. The 8th grade students were optimistic and engaged. As the day went on, the enthusiasm dwindled. By the 12th grade class, kids were texting and one even answered his cell phone in the middle of my ‘talk.’ I felt right at home. The students are the spitting image of my students at M-A; it appears that there is a universal seating chart at play with the studious pupils near the front, the class clowns in the middle, and the kids who don’t yet know their place in the back. Visiting the school was a good reminder that students are students, regardless of class, race, socioeconomic standing or geographic location.
My talk includes answering questions that were pretty much the same questions I answered 12 years ago-- what are my favorite movies, is California just like the movies? Only know I have a more realistic and forthcoming answer than I had back then. After class, I video the school, including the bathrooms, complete with Turkish toilets. Nothing has changed. One of the highlights of the school visit happened in the teacher room, when a familiar face greeted me as I was leaving for the second period. I couldn’t place the face and assumed it was one of my many former colleagues. (While I remembered the faces, some names eluded me and I felt terrible. One sweet woman whose disposition was familiar told me she loved me.) When I saw this face again, we said hello, and she continued in English, “Betsy, you don’t remember me!” Stunned, as I was sure she wasn’t an English -teaching colleague, I told her I absolutely remembered her face, which I did. She said, “Do you know from where we know each other?” “From here,” I answered, “right?” “Yes,” she said, “But I was in your class!” Shocked, I realized that a former student is now a teacher. Adelina was a superb student, I remember, so I wasn’t surprised. We continued to talk about the frustrations of teaching and how to continue on, and we talked about our own kids. She seemed so frustrated with the state of the students, as some are so apathetic. I remind her that her class was the same way, with some students motivated to work and some not so
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much. THE SAME WAY IT is HERE. I told her she should focus on the on the kids who really want to learn, and then I realized I should take my own advice, back home. I try telling her that she’ll realize her influence perhaps years down the road. What she says next confirms it. She pauses for a second and then says, “Betsy, you know what I just thought of when I looked at you? Catcher in the Rye! I’m just remembering it in this moment, how much fun we had with that.” I feel warm and satisfied all of a sudden, because here I am having my teacher moment, 12 years after the fact. We agree to connect via Facebook and to stay in touch. By that evening, I have 43 new Facebook requests. I leave the school thirsty and exhausted. It is hot so I tie my sweater around my waist and take the longer walk home, through the center of town. I’m so tired and I feel like I’m reliving a very same day as I might have in 1998. I head back to Tanya and Plamen’s for lunch; and Baba Danka, Plamen’s mother, is visiting, and we eat leftover lasagna in the almost 70 degree heat. After she leaves I head to Turnovo for a night in a hotel and hopefully, some photography. Tanya calls a cab to the apartment so I don’t have to haggle in the center of town, and the driver, impressed with my broken Bulgarian, agrees to swing through the picturesque village of Arbanasi so I can get a shot from the vista point. He asks if I’d like to take more time to photography Arbanasi, or to have coffee, but I’m too tired and uninspired to do anything. He drops me at the entrance of Tsaravets in Veliko Turnovo, and again, I snap a few shots and begin my slow walk to my hotel. I have low energy and I can’t help feeling guilty that I have come to visit the Petrovis and now I’m off on a photo spree. I shoot a little here and there, but am mostly eager to get to the hotel. Everything feels
much closer than I had remembered. The walk through Veliko Turnovo takes me 20 minutes, and I had in fact, romanticized it. It just isn’t the same without friends to meet at the bar Tequila, or now that my favorite wood carver hasn’t been there, I’m told, for a long time. I land at the hotel where my reservation is waiting (I had e-mailed ahead in Bulgarian!) and I successfully check into the hotel where I promptly take a shower. I had walked through a number of dust clouds, and my lungs could feel it. I take some photos from the balcony of the hotel and then I rush to meet Georgi, Plamen and Tanya’s second son, for dinner with his family. Plamen and Tanya had suggested I meet Georgi on the steps of the theater in town, and again, I’m surprised that I remember exactly how to get there, including a short cut. I see Georgi from afar with a little love on his shoulders, standing with his wife, Krasi. This is his second child, Dani, who is a month younger than Trevor.
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His older son, Plamen, who is 3.5, is running around with Georgi’s older step-daughter. We gather together for quick greetings then we walk over to a cafeteria style restaurant for dinner. I have my first beer of the trip and I feel like I’m starting to relax. I can’t believe that this same morning I was presenting to a class and it dawns on me why I am so tired. We eat our dinner and the kids bounce around. I feel right at home with them, like we are relatives. Their kids keep me from missing Trevor too much, as they are cute and lively. Georgi and I begin to talk about Plamen and I get emotional, feeling embarrassed that such sadness comes over me every time I speak. I try to keep it together but then I let loose my tears, as I’m sure Georgi understands. Listening to Georgi talk about his father with such love is touching, and yet I completely understand what he means when he expresses disappointment. He describes his father with the exact words I would use: he has always been the one with the answers, with the ideas, and he was firm in demanding that his kids made the right choices. Why then, didn’t he go to the doctor? Little Dani has crawled up into Georgi’s lap while we talk. She’ll surely be a daddy’s girl, and we joke that someday she and Trevor will get married. When the kids aren’t looking, I quickly give Krasi the California chocolate I brought her so she can save it for later. We can all relate on a basic level as parents and that is reassuring. We talk a bit more about the exciting stage of life that Georgi is in with his growing family, a new house in the village, and lot of living ahead of him. We are brought back to the cycle of life, and Georgi says that even 10
Plamen said, as there is a little Plamen now, that maybe his time is up. Georgi’s sense of humor the passion he exudes remind me of Plamen. Maybe this is why it is so difficult for me to maintain composure around him. At 8:30, I decide to go back to my hotel even though Georgi says he can take me somewhere. This is when I realize that traveling alone allows me to indulge in sleep, instead of seeking out the energy of a night club or even a bar. I remembered Paul suggesting that I hang out in the hotel bar this night, and I decide I will do this for a bit. I arrive back to the hotel, and I enter the bar, to be greeted by the only two people in there: the bartender and her boyfriend, who chats with her at the counter. The emptiness overwhelms me and I realize that for the first time of the trip, I am truly alone. No seat-mate to chat idly with, no friends to catch up with, no baby to check on or diapers to change, and nobody to account for except myself. I order a beer to take to my room and I head through the old carpeted hallway to the second floor. I have free WiFi here, so I easily kill a few minutes reading the news, and waiting to see who is on Skype. I take some night photos of my view, and I fall asleep. The next morning I plan to go out shooting while I await for my other friend Plamen, who will take me to Paul’s town for the evening. It is raining, so disillusioned I set out with my pack to kill the two hours I have until he picks me up. I wind my way through the steps and hills and pockets of Bulgarian charm that dot the hillside in Veliko Turnovo. The rain starts to let up and my spirit returns with the sunshine. I decide to photograph post office boxes, and I’m inspired again. Again, I surprise myself with my ability to navigate through a town I haven’t been in for years, and I make a complete loop back to my starting point, just as Penev arrives. I am so happy to see
him and we set off to Triavna. While the appearance of the two Plamens couldn’t be more different, their spirit is similar. They both have this keen energy to explore and see the world, even it takes us off the planned path. Penev says we can drive through Gabrovo on our way to Triavna, and we do. I insist to fill up the gas tank with my credit card, and once we’re off, I shoot from the passenger side of his British Mercedes which is our driver’s side. We climb a switchback road in the car and we end up at an outlook that perfectly displays the beauty of the Bulgarian mountains that I remember. We have great weather the whole way there, and I’m feeling alive and enthusiastic again. I can’t wait to get to Triavna to see his wife Ani, and their son Yavor. Our conversation again moves towards subjects we’ve never had in common before, as we’ve both had kids since we last saw each other. I remember Paul saying that he only found out that Penev had a kid when he wrote to tell them Trevor was born. We talk abut how Trevor and Yavor will be friends someday. We arrive in Triavna and we set out to grab a beer and take some photos. We had talked in the car about people I should arrange to see, especially Paul’s counterpart, Kalina. We start across the bridge to
the center of town, when we run into Kalina on the bridge, walking with her husband. Now, the chances of this astound us, yet I cannot feel surprised, as too many of these occurrences have happened lately. Kalina says she and her husband walk over this bridge maybe once a year, and here we are. It is great to see them and we have too much catching up to do for this run-in to suffice; we plan to meet the next day for lunch. Penev, Ani, Yavor and I head to a cafe for beers, and then out to dinner. Ani and Penev are in Triavna only to host me at their flat-- they spend their winters in the village with his parents. I’m so grateful for this opportunity and it seems they are too. This visit is a good excuse for something new and different, they say. We drink beers and have fun watching Yavor spoon the foam into his little mouth. We then go to dinner where the I remember the perfect purzsheni kartofi and shopska, and it’s still the same. We go back to the house after dinner and Plamen and I stay up late talking about photography and other art stuff. We awake the next day to find ugly fog and rain, and well, the days of departure always feel this way. We have a warm meeting with Kalina and then we load up to for the trip back to Gorna. When I arrive back, it is drizzling and dreary. Tonight is hard because when I arrive Plamen is sweating and the room smells stale. He 11
makes a small joke and I comment on his sense of humor. He gets angry and emotional-- not with me but mad that he is so uncomfortable AND dying. He says he’s not in pain, though. I start to feel like I should not have come back. Tanya and I alternate sitting at the table and at the computer. This day, I press him on the jet fuel, and Tanya says he hasn’t had jet fuel in 3 days. It is called GAS and is also referred to as kerosene. I asked to see it and I smelled it-- like turpentine. Said it doesn’t burn-tastes like nothing. Tonight Georgi joins us for dinner and we share some laughs over the “special wine” Tanya likes. Georgi and I chat all night as we share stories, talk about our kids(!) and technology (Twitter, Facebook, etc). We play around with the iPad that proved too heavy for Plamen to hold. I had loaded some National Geographic photography videos for him but he never watched them. He shows me his new subscription to National Geographic for Bulgaria, in Bulgarian. When Georgi and Tanya go to get photos ot izlozhbata, he tells me he just wants to die. He “thinks to suicide”. I hold his hand, which is cool and balmy, and tell him it is ok if he wants to be done, although we aren’t ready. When Georgi leaves for the evening, he and Tanya take time in the hallway. A long time. I tell Plamen how great I think his kids are and he begins to cry. He tells me I shouldn’t have come because all he can do is lay there and wait to die. He tells me he knows exactly where he is going—in the village, next to his grandmother and his father. He just didn’t want to die before his mom. We are both crying now, and it is now that I tell him how important he is to me. That’s it. I tell him I’m sorry. He asks me to 12
light his cigarette. When Tanya comes back he is mad that they were talking so long-- he asks why in the hallway and she becomes squeamish. Somehow the subject changes-- I use the computer where I relay a funny message from Paulcho that makes us all giggle. After Georgi leaves I start to pull photos out from the shelf in the same room. We LAUGHED at pictures. I saw him smile for the first time all week. I find one of his albums from California filled with photos of mailboxes, which is exactly what I spent the day doing in Turnovo yesterday. We start to look at his cameras and he directs me to go get one, and this gets him talking. I photograph the cameras. We talk all night and we eventually find a photo for the second edition of his book along with some more memories. We end up reading the book in Bulgarian. I vow to read this entire book someday. I realize it is midnight and must go to bed. Yesterday while out on my hike In V. Turnovo- a town I quite like I took photos of poshte Veche Plamen imashe oshte They say great minds think alike
On Saturday morning I wake up nervous as I start to think about how I’ll say goodbye. Forever. It is Tanya’s birthday, so she reteaches me to make palachinki so I can get it right this time when I return home. She makes the first one and I make the rest. Success. Plamen eats one. Tanya and I eat the rest. When she reaches in the refigerator and grabs the vodka, I question her desire to celebrate her birthday so early. She replies that Plamen has lost another tooth. He will rinse his mouth out with the vodka.
We wait for Anelia to arrive. She is another former colleague who has come all the way from the seaside so that we can visit. I am so grateful for this as I could not have imagined visiting Bulgaria without seeing her. She enters the room and I feel bad that I have invited guests coming over. With each guest though, it seems Plamen is more accepting of visitors as his reality sets in. He cries with each greeting. Anelia has been through this with her father, it turns out, and she is stoic. While I can’t translate exactly what she says, I know it is perfect, and just the right words for this moment. Plamen has had a beautiful and plentiful life, with his children thriving and carrying on his legacy. Their interaction leaves us all in tears and we finally shift the attention back to Tanya and her birthday. There is a super moon today, for the first time in 19 years, too. While we wait to eat, we discuss the questions I will answer for the blog about the second edition of Plamen’s book. We have fun brainstorming my answers, and for the last question, I am stymied. What is the purpose of your visit to Bulgaria this time? I stop and ask what I should share. Plamen said, “Better just to answer what is the truth.” When Tanya goes to answer the door and Anelia is in the hallway on her phone, Plamen says, “Betsy, when we say goodbye, no hugs. Just bye.” I give him a hug then and we cry. When the door opens he waves me to compose myself and I continue sobbing over the dishes I’m washing. Penev arrives to take me to Sofia. He visits for a bit and then we say goodbye. It is quick and I don’t follow directions giving Plamen yet one more hug. In the car I hardly have time to reflect on the farewell, so it isn’t until my flight home that I’m overcome again. After this particularly heavy day, we carry on to Sofia in the rain. Over his left
shoulder, Penev spots a stork flying! We pull over where we then see about 12 storks in a field so we tie Martenitsi to the plum tree. I take some video to show my students in California since we just made these in class on March 1 for Peace Corps Day. The sighting is a huge relief as we are reminded to carry on and delight in small surprises. Penev and I reflect on our luck, and I write another limerick, feeling like we’ll all be ok. This day’s proving harder than most Said goodbye to my good friend’s ghost But we’ve come to a fork As we’ve just seen a stork Our luck turns but I cannot boast.
There are only so many people you connect with in this world and I’m lucky to have found so many in Bulgaria. Plamen and I continue on to Sofia and I hatch a few projects for my return.
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Tanya Nedyalkova meets Penev and I at the Arena, a new fancy movie-plex, with her car. Tanya and I had been in touch via facebook and so we dive into our game of catchup immedately. She asks if I have been crying all day. She lives with Nasco, her boyfriend of a few years. They are great couple-- patient with each other and kind. We eat at Casa Pizza the first night where we talk about work and business. He works for Lidl which I haven’t heard of until this trip, and I’m very happy to talk about something new and different. Nasco is upset because he had to fire someone today; he takes this to heart. Our discussion dances around to many different topics. After dinner we return home and I feel surprisingly relaxed. I’m able to borrow headphones with a microphone and I hear Paul and the baby’s voice for the first time all trip. Sunday morning we sleep in, have a great breakfast, and head out to her sister Gergana’s place of work, Spaghetti Kitchen. I know there are many people I want to see in Sofia, but I can only think of three. I send a facebook message saying where I’ll be at noon on Sunday, not thinking anyone will show on such short notice. I was so confident nobody was coming that I didn’t pay attention and we were a half hour late. (Sorry!) I was photographing Nevski, and I couldn’t resist portraits of Tanya and Nasco with this backdrop. I was very in the moment (I even bought a Russsian camera per Plamen’s advice). After winding our way to the restaurant (past the new Rolling Stone office, even) we made it to the restaurant. To my surprise, two former students, Silvia and Momchil, both of different classes in G.O., are patiently waiting for us.We are celebratory at the restaurant and then Tanya and Nasco take me to say goodbye to Dancho at the hotel where he works. As if we hadn’t packed in enough for the day, we head to Vitosha with the hopes of a good view of the city. Instead we find unique icicle formations and we revel in the unexpected joy that comes with the fog and cold. Nasco carefully navigates us back to get my luggage, and then on to the airport. On the way to the airport, a chimney sweeper crosses our path, and we discuss the significance. This trip sure supports the idea that he might bring good fortune, as I feel truly blessed to have had such a special visit. The next 36 hours are uneventful; I fly from Sofia to Vienna to Frankfurt, then direclty to San Francisco the next morning. I spend 11 hours on the plane on Monday and I go to work Tuesday morning. Since it is so hard to talk about this trip, I import my notes from my iPad to curb my jet lag, and this is the result. Each day after, I complete a project until I feel like I’m back on California time. These pages 14 are my catharsis. Betsy Sergeant Snow | snowfoto.com
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