A Truly Good Family Has No Bounds

At first I was not so impressed with Bulgarian hospitality. I have met many new people through Zdravka and Mitko, and I am always given an earnest "kchhhello!" and then completely ignored. It has actually been pretty disorienting to hang out every day with people who are speaking in a language I don't understand. I am always the last to know what is happening, and sometimes I will receive only crude nonsense explanations. The car will stop, and everyone will get out, and I have no idea why. I call it the Bulgarian mind meld. Everyone knows the plan and no one can explain it very well to me, so I am having to get used to being unprepared. It is true adventure.

This weekend, however, was incredibly refreshing. Not only did we get out of dirty, smelly, noisy Sofia, but I found myself finally transcending the language barrier and engaging with some really great people. We drove about 3 hours to Mitko's parents house in a small village in the mountains called Batak. There, I was met with beautiful scenery, incredible homemade food, and wonderful music. Mitko's Father, Dafcho, doesn't speak any English, but spent many years in Germany as a watch maker and clock restorer, so we were able to speak minimally in broken German. The whole family was very warm, and I earned their respect by attempting to copy their speech and to act as if I was one of them.

After dinner the first night, Dafcho began to sing Bulgarian folk songs and I tried my best to follow along on the drum through the strange beat cycles and odd forms. Eventually his wife, Tzetsa, began to sing along, and the music soared, their voices so loud and strong, were perfectly harmonious. I had to put the drum down eventually because my body turned to mush. I just looked around the room at all of the smiling faces and thought what a shame it was that I hadn't brought digital recorder. They sang and sang, and we all fell in love, and I felt as though I had finally found my home away from home in Bulgaria.

The next day, Dafcho showed me his bees and we had very nice tea with his homemade honey. Tzetsa made Breakfast, which was a traditional Bulgarian dish called баница (banitza). First she lightly boiled and then chopped some greens which we had picked from their garden earlier, and mixed them in a big bowl with cheese (something kind of like feta), egg, yogurt, butter, and a little baking powder. Then she spread the goo onto filo sheets, rolled them up and arranged them in a spiral shape in a large pan, drizzled oil on top, and then baked it in the oven.





Their oven is 40 years old and the settings are simply: 0, 1, 2, 3, and 4. She set it to 4, and just took it out when she thought it was done. They cut and served it like pie, and we all ate with our hands.

Later that night, after dinner (including greek salad, stuffed peppers, cucumbers with dill yogurt, grilled chicken, a wonderful soup made of their beautiful large homegrown beans, and plenty of homemade Rakia), more singing, and some much needed loafing, we made our journey back to Sofia, but not before exchanging some of the most heart-melting farewells I have ever experienced. It seems like I was wrong about Bulgarian hospitality, or maybe I just didn't understand it. Maybe in previous situations I had been a little too reserved, and in this case I allowed myself to really come out. Maybe I just needed to find a small town, like Batak, where people don't need internet to get what they want, and where not every other word spoken is "super." Whatever the case may be, I felt that I have just met and become a part of one of the most beautiful families I have ever known, and I hope I can come back again some day.

Tonight I will see a performance by Bobby Mcferrin at the National Palace of Culture in Sofia, and then get directly on a 7 hour bus to Bucharest. When I arrive tomorrow morning, I will have half a day to kill with no plans whatsoever before I catch my flight to Milan.