Rakovski

June 10, 2011

Things can certainly change quickly in the Peace Corps. At our last “HUB” (a day where all trainees meet for training), I was approached about possibly moving to Rakovski near Plovdiv. After a day of soul searching, I decided to take the new assignment. It is in the southern part of Bulgaria, which is what I was hoping for in the first place; I will be team teaching, which relieves the anxiety I had about teaching by myself with my limited Bulgarian; it’s in a larger town; and it’s near the second largest city in Bulgaria. I will be living on the second floor of a house owned by a woman who lives on the first floor but in a different part of the home.

And today was the swearing-in ceremony! I am officially a Peace Corps Volunteer! The American Ambassador to Bulgaria was there and did the swearing-in which is required of all government employees – volunteer or otherwise. It was a very touching ceremony for me, and could only have been made better if my family could have been there. I’m sure someone has it posted on Facebook or You Tube, if you want to do a search.

June 12, 2011

I have slept in my new apartment two nights now…and slept very well.

I ended up taking a train to my new post (instead of being driven) on Friday after the ceremony, along with the rest of my group from Borovan plus another B27, Jake (who, with his red hair and freckles, does not remind me of my son except for the name).  Ivan and Nikolinka drove me to Vratsa to attend the ceremony, and then drove me to the train station and helped me load my luggage onto the shelves above the seats in my compartment. Ivan “appointed” Randall to get the big suitcase down for me, but he didn’t need to because a kind young man who rode with me got it. (That’s one thing I’ve noticed here: there are a lot of very helpful young men. Do you suppose I remind them of their own baba?)

The scenery as we rode through Bulgaria was stunning. The mountains here are old and therefore not high, but they are tree-covered and very rocky, which is beautiful to me.  Then the land leveled out more as we approached Plovdiv, but Plovdiv itself is the “City of 7 Hills” I think was the term, and like Vratsa is among rock monoliths. Plovdiv is a very historic city with Roman ruins to explore, which I will write more about later.

My new counterpart met me at the train station. I had only talked to him on the phone when I told him to look for a lady with white hair, but apparently he didn’t understand me, because no one approached me as I got off the train. I stood with the rest of the group for a minute or so and finally pulled out my phone and called him to see if he was there. He was. The phone in the pocket of the gentleman next to me started ringing, and we both started laughing right away and introduced ourselves. Valentin speaks English very well and has been the English teacher at the school where I will be working for…I forget now…15 or 20 years. He helped me get through the train station with my luggage – again, across tracks, down steps, through a tunnel that was not smelly but totally lined with every kind of shop imaginable, up more steps, and out into the light of a beautiful, sunny afternoon. About half a block away we were met by my new boss (Heaven help me, I forget his name already) and a nun, Sister Gracie.  We loaded my bags into a van, which I was told belonged to the nuns, and headed north across Plovdiv. Just passing through I could see that the city is going to be very fun to explore.

We dropped my counterpart off at the north edge of Plovdiv, and as we drove northeast I could see mountains off in the distance behind us, but the land we were heading for was north central Iowa flat. I was told Rakovski is 30 km from Plovdiv, and it took 45 minutes over a narrow, winding road to get there.

Rakovski is actually made up of 3 small villages, but I have yet to learn their names. I’m not even sure yet which village my school – or home for that matter – is in, but the entire area is predominately Roman Catholic, and only one of two Roman Catholic areas in all of Bulgaria. The school I will be teaching in is run by the church, and the whole area doesn’t seem nearly as run down or economically depressed as the other areas of Bulgaria I’ve been in.

Finally we pulled up to a curb next to one of, what I have been calling in my own head, a complex. Many of the homes in Bulgaria are set up in these “complexes” with one building connected to the next in a square around the lot and gated. I had noticed these “set-ups” from walks around Borovan, Byala and Vratsa, but never actually went inside of one, and now I am living in one. We walked through the gate - high and meant to keep people and critters out – into a mini-paradise of grape vines, fruit trees, blooming rose bushes, and thriving vegetable plants with a huge patch of what I think is clover or vetch in the middle. We were greeted by my landlady, Vania, who seems like a very smart and kind lady and who seemed very glad to have me join her living arrangement, and Bobby, the guard dog who already seems to understand I’m under his protection, too, as he has slept on my doorstep both nights now.

As you come through the gate, my 60-year-old house is on the left. Then there’s a cement room that looks a lot like a basement except it’s above ground, and at the corner is another room that Vania was remodeling to be her son’s office. (He instead met and married an English woman and has settled in Liverpool, to his mother’s dismay.) Between the office and Vania’s home is another room that looks like an above ground basement which is the laundry room with (YIPPEE!) a washing machine! This room is connected to Vania’s bathroom which leads into her home which is either new or newly remodeled, I’m not sure which yet, small but very nice. On the other end of her house is another kitchen where I think she probably cooks in the summer time, then another room that leads into a really long shed that for some reason reminded me of Grandpa Overmyer’s workshop. Old rusty remnants of much hard work were organized by their service. That building intersects with an open shed where rakia is still made when the grapes are ripe. Where that building ends, a tall fence marks the third corner of the square. There sits what looks like the frame of a hothouse and there stand several trees bearing cherries and walnuts. To complete the fourth side is a long, narrow garage that belongs to Vania’s sister complete with two old cars. The front wall/fence leads from the garage to the gate where we started.

Covered steps lead up to my apartment from the outside. No one lives below me. That is where my landlady’s parents lived. I have two bedrooms, a living room, kitchen with a stove for cooking and refrigerator, and a bathroom with shower, sink and a sit-down toilet. The entry is another room itself and adds to the spaciousness. It’s all furnished with everything I need, very cute and very quaint.

 I already feel settled in and at home and like, yes, I can do this for two years. I was starting to have my doubts the last couple of weeks of training. It’s funny how prayers are sometimes answered even when you don’t realize you’ve been saying them.

Peace and much love, Joan