I believe that I'm the happiest person in Bulgaria at the moment. While I was walking to buy opera tickets today, I stumbled across a cafe. While anyone knows that the usual cafe/city block ratio in Sofia is about 25/1, this may not suprise you. But, this was an honest to goodness, almost Starbuckian type cafe. I mean, they had mochas, lattes, steamers, iced coffee, crosiants, muffians, brownies, and that was about all I noticed before I went into spasms of estacy. I, of course, got a mocha, and it was the best mocha, indeed the only mocha, that I've had since leaving the good old U.S. of A. I believe that the happiness will last at least until I go see the new Matrix movie, which I've heard mixed reviews on. Have a happy weekend!

I have a confession to make. I have an addiction. It is not something that I ever planned on becoming addicted to, and even as I type I'm aware of its grossness.

I do this habit mainly in my home, but I've been known to take it to the streets, especially as I'm walking to my counterpart's cafe. I haven't done it at school yet, but after school, I almost directly go for a hit.

I don't think that many people here have noticed. Well, obviously the ones that I do it in front of in the streets, but I doubt that they would comment on it, as they do it as frequently as I do. In fact, they like doing it in pairs or even more.

The habit has affected me physcially yet, although I do have to be careful of my nails, and sometimes it leaves spots on my teeth. Nothing that a quick swipe of my trusty toothbrush can't take care of.

Yes. It is true. I can hide it no longer. Every afternoon, after a long, stressful day of teaching Bulgarian children, I come to my apartment, feed the cat, and pour myself a bowl full of sunflower seeds.

Then, I sit and I crack them open with my teeth until they are no more.

I'll understand if this disgusts you. It disgusts me a little too. I can only hope that one day, I will be able to find someone to share this habit with. Sunflower seed addictions, once you've gott 'em, are tough to crack. Ha.

So, my friend Heidi wanted to respond to a previous message about her own experiances with strange things in her apartment:


Hey, I read your Blog about TC. Did I ever tell you my apartment when I first moved in had fleas? Yes, the apartment. A few days after moving in I had little red bites all over my lower legs, and boy do they itch like hell. If you looked close to the floor you could see them hopping around. This was before we got our two kittens. So we bought some flea bombs, evacuated the apt., and bombed the place out -- bam, no more fleas. The weird-little-inch-worm population were attracted to the bombs though, because when we came back there were hundreds of little dead inchworm thingies all over the floor around each of the bombs. Yick. Then we got our kittens, and guess what, they came with fleas, so we had to give them flea baths, and finally our experience with fleas was over. Now we don't have fleas or inchworms, but our basement is infested with clear, mutated spiders. They mutated from the flea bombs probably, a new, poison resistant species. They haven't taken over our apartment upstairs though, which is good, just beware if you go down to do laundry...

It truely is a day for celebrations. First, The Cat and I are somewhat at peace, and maybe even better, there is a real toliet at school! Yippie! That's right, no longer is there a porcilein hole in the ground. I can now relieve myself without fear of falling or other grossness that you probably don't want to hear about. I was very excited. I don't think that any of you can understand unless you've actually used a Turkish toliet, and the one that was at school was not a shining example of one.

Secondly, The Cat and I have finally had a break through in our relationship. Today, for the very first time, I was allowed to pet him, without prior hissing (on his part, of course) ON MY BED. That's right. We have breached the only-pet-me-on-the-refridgorator-truce we had reached, and I might, just might, now be able to pet him in two different places. This leaves me hope. Eventually, I hope to be able to walk into a room without him running and hiding. It's a big hope, but hey, shoot for the moon, right? I'm just happy about the cuddling we did. It was nice. Then, after I got mad at him for making noise during a migrane and had locked him in the (rather chilly) kitchen, he ran directly for my bed when I finally let him out. It made me feel a little bit better. Just a bit.

Other than that, it is pretty darn cold here. I can tell, not only by the themostate in the town center, but just by walking out of my living/sleeping area into the cooking/bathing area. It seriously drops twenty degrees (that'd be farinheit) between the two. I think that the previous paragraph was made possible by both TC and I trying to get as close to Bertha the heater as possible without singeing ourselves.

Consequently, I know if I'm dressed warm enough for school if I can stand being in the kitchen without running for more layers. It's just about right, especially in the morning. Layers are my savior at the moment. If I get warm teaching, I can take off a sweater or three, but I know that the moment I step out into the hallway, I'd better put them back on, because the same principle applies at school as my apartment. Where people spend most of their time is warm, otherwise you'd better have full parka gear going for you. BRRRR!

So that's pretty much all. I have a super fun weekend planned that involves winterizing my apartment, correcting half a semester worth of journals, and canning pumpkin. Mmmm. Pumpkin. It's so good! Definately going to be the best part of the weekend.

Let me take this opportunity of relitve calmness/nothing new in my life to tell you all a little bit about the BUlgarian school system. Other than the fact that there are teachers, and there are students, there is relatively little the same about the two.

Also, I feel the need to celebrate a little. We finally have a final schedule, in the eight week of school, and for the fourth time. I'll see how long it lasts. Another reason to celebrate is the arrival of the Dnevknitsi. These are the books that teachers use to record absentences, grades, and any other relavant information. It was a tough month without these.

First off, I do not have a classroom. In fact, no one does. This means that I have to find my students, where ever they may be. This is helped a little by the fact that, most of the time, the students do have their own classroom. However, it is the other 30 % of the time that is the problem. Then, I have to wander around the school, sometimes all four stories of it, to find a classroom that is free to take over for that period.

Second, let me explain how this class thing works. Each student, instead of just being in 10th grade, for example, is in instead asigned a parralell to be in. This means that there is 10A, 10B, and 10V. (the Bulgarian Alphabet runs a little differently than ours.) Each paralell has their own classroom. But, within each class, there are different tracks for second languages. Thus, half of 10A might be learning English as a first foriegn language, the other half French, and therein the need for an extra classroom. What makes matters worse is the requirement for a second forgein language as well. Ick.

Now for the faculty. Teachers are only required to be at school for those periods they teach and the fifteen minutes before. With the way my schedule works most days, this means that I get to have about five cups of expresso while I'm waiting for my classes. Can we say caffine overload, we sure can.

So, now for the school day. There are about 7 class periods a day. I say about, because each day has a different schedule, and I'm not just talking day A and Day B here. I mean every day of the week has a different schedule. Each teacher has an assigned number of classes to teach in the week. For example, I have to teach two groups of 11B class seven hours a week, but 12B is only gifted with my presence for 3 times a week. Now is the fun part. Remember how there are only 7 periods schedulded a day, and I have to teach 14 periods of English for 11B? (Two groups*Seven hours=fourteen hours) I have only seven hours, total, schedled for those groups. This means that I get to schedule seven hours outside of the school day to teach these classes. Some days, those poor, poor girls have to be in class from 7:45am to 4:00pm, STUDYING.

Are you ready for an example? Let's take today. (I'm writing this during my "lunch break".) I teach first period on Tuesdays. I get to school at 7:30, with my cup of coffee, and sit around the teacher's lounge. When the second bell rings, I grab the dnevnek, and walk upstairs to my 11B, group A class. (We are presently *just* opening doors, or buying stuff. Lots of fun.) The bell rings, and I go back to the teacher's lounge. I wait the ten minutes for the next class to begin, then I go get coffee with the other teachers who don't have second period. The discussion is about a teacher who just got a new car, and consiquently, paid for the coffee. After forty-five minutes of this, I head back to the teacher's room, and correct some tests. Third period, which starts at 9:35, I teach 12B. They are without a doubt, the most challenging class ever. Not because it is hard to teach them, they justl like to ask why and I need a reason for everything. The old, because I'm the teacher and you're a student excuse is running pretty thin. We learned about the phrasal verbs take and put. You try explaining what "to take for granted" means. It's tough.

After third period, it is big break time. This means that the students have twenty minutes to go buy lunch or breakfast, smoke if they are so inclined, and get rather chilly in this cold weather. Fourth and Fifth period are mine to do what I wish, and I wish to inform ya'll about my day. I'll go back for 6th period, at 12:30, to once again, *just* teach 11B, group A, this time for two hours in a row. Luckily, Tuesday is not a ten period day for them, so they get to go home, and I get to rush over to the daycare/preschool center for a half hour with some rambuncious 5 year olds. A half hour is pretty much all the energy that I have for them. I get them *just* after nap and snack, lucky me.

So, that is about all for me, this week. Next week, I get to start teaching adult English lessons, so that will be an extra hour twice a week. Do you understand why I only teach four days a week? I need the extra day on the weekend to get my energy back.

Oh yes. The Cat is still here, and still cranky. Somehow, all of the toys I give him end up in the bathroom drain. I just don't understand it.

Today, the mystery of the missing drawer was solved, most satisfactorily, if one wishes to know.

If you are wondering why I was so concerned about a silly drawer that had gotten itself lost somewhere, it is because I only “own” two. And one of those is only accessible from 7:30 to 5 everyday, so it is not the most convenient for the placement and storage of one’s index cards, walkman, GSM charger, and so on. The drawer that got itself lost was the only one in my apartment, so it was rather vital.

How does one go about losing one’s drawers? Well….let’s not get to much into that, and we’ll stick to how my drawer got stolen.

First, I better say that this drawer is a rather shoddy piece of craftsmanship that I managed to break by tugging on it gently, as on is wont to do with drawers. First, it blew its lid, or whatever the front part of a drawer is called, then, sadly, the bottom fell out. As space is limited in my apartment, and out of an unwillingness to separate the drawer from the rest of the desk, I propped it up next to it. Then, I merrily went about my way to Sofia to hang out with some friends.

Here’s where the plot thickens. Prepare to gasp in outrage. When I came back, it was gone!
*GASP*!

Of course, I didn’t really notice that it was missing until about a week afterwards. I’m busy, what can I say? I know I’m heartless for failing to notice the plight of one sickly little drawer, but I accept it, you should too.

I finally figured out what had happened last week. About the same weekend that the drawer went missing, I had some repairmen over from school to fix the door that had locked me in and my leaky toilet. (No, you don’t want to know. It’s that disgusting.) I reckon that while the repairmen were they, they somehow stole my drawer! The outrage of it all! Drawer thieves, in this time of drawer-need!

Anyways, I asked around at school, and today, Alena, the repairman manager (There’s a title in Bulgarian that just doesn’t translate. This is close enough.) bought me my drawer, newly, at least to me. (The thing was covered in dust. It had probably been lying forgotten in some corner while I was anxiously searching high and low. Or at least at school.)

Yippie! I was once again at my quota of two drawers in Bulgaria. However, the problem was now that both of them were at school. As much as I hated the idea, I was going to have to walk my drawer home. How embarrassing!

But, I survived, and my walkman, my stationary, and yes, even my cell phone charger are once again safe and sound in their rightful drawer.

The moral of the story is to protect your drawers. You never know when you will need them.

So, as I referred to in my previous entry, I now have a cat. Or, more acutretly, the cat lives in my apartment, and tries, but fails, to defend his territory against me.

I got this cat, not by going to a pet shop, or even to a humane society (the concept just doesn't exist here), but rather through a janitoress at school asking me if I wanted a kitten. When I said yes, she said she would deliver one at 4 on Monday, and then asked if I wanted a boy or a girl cat. Unsure of whether this was a joke or not, I said, boy cat. Much easier for a boy cat to become an it cat. Thus made, I made sure that I was indeed home at the appointed time, but just because.

So, 4 came, and sure enough, there was a knock on the door. But, because the apartment next door to me is undergoing some renovation involving knocking at odd hours of day and night, I ignored it at first. People here generally go for the doorbell first thing. This woman did not. Finally, I realize that my name is accompanying the knocking, and go to answer. There is an iron gate installed in front of my door, to prevent the rampant, wanton, non-existant robberies in my town from getting into my apartment. Rather than waiting for me to unlock this gate, the woman procedes to try to stuff this very frightened, very dirty male kitten through the bars. Naturally, the cat does not like this, and starts fighting. I run to get my keys, and actually get it unlocked, but the woman finds a different place to stuff the cat through, and I then had a very surly, very filthy, very scrawny kitten in my apartment.

Because I hadn't been completely certain that this woman was serious in her kitten giving, I didn't have a lot of kitten supplies on hand. I did however, have some cat food left over from my previous attempt at having a kitten (it jumped out the window, or got lost in some other, mysterious way, my second week of ownership), as well as flea shampoo, and some flea spray. I was really concerned about fleas. They really itch when one is bitten. I put the last two items to good use, and then I had a very scrawny, shaky, and skinny cat. I didn't know if he could handle solid food yet, so gave him a bowl full of milk and ran to get some real supplies.

Probably needless to say, the bath definatley did not help our relationship turn into a wonderful thing. He proceeded to hiss at me whenever our paths crossed. Since I live in a small apartment, this was often, or about whenever I went into the kitchen. In fact, after week 5 of our living together, he still does this. However, I would like to briefly touch upon some high, or at least interesting, points in our relationship.

*About a week after I got him, I managed to hang on to him long enough to rub his belly, which my friend Meghan swears will turn any cat into mush. After a while, he did, indeed, turn to mush, which meant that he started purring. After a moment or two of this, he starts hacking. I think that this was his first attempt at the business, and so he had to clear his throat. However, he still does this. Also, I find him in my plastic bag full of plastic bags. I think that I may have a thing for cats committing suicide in my apartment. It's rather sad.

*Week two: I came home from Sofia with a prize: A hunk of Swiss cheese. Divine. (There isn't even a word in Bulgarian for cheese. It's really sad. Swiss is a prize, worth defending.) Somehow, the cat got into this delightful treat, and ate about half of it. The cat then found itself thrown out of the apartment into the scary world of my breezeway. (And believe me, is it ever breezy!) He didn't seem to know what to do with his new found freedom, and began to cry. I relented, and gave him a stern talking to. He agreed not to eat my cheese, as long as I didn't leave it out.

*Week three: I ignore him. This worked really well. He started making other noises, besides the hissing. I was impressed that he was so vocal.

*Week four: We come to a truce. I can touch him only when he is sitting on top of the refrigorator. Although he hisses, he does not claw, bite or otherwise threaten personal harm. This turns into a nightly cuddle fest for about approximetly a half an hour, or until my bladder tells me it's time to move. As soon as I get up from my chair, he no longer recognizes me.

*Week five: I have trick or treating, which involves having people in my house. I think he's forgotten about it, but I'm still on the look out for Tigher-like consiquences. (Ask Katie if you don't understand that.)

Oh, and in case you were wondering, he is no longer bony, but still needs some beefing up. And his name for the moment is TC. As in "The Cat." I like being imaginative, don't you?

It is official. I have some of the sweetest students in the world. What, you require proof, you who do not believe? Well, here it is.

Being as this Friday was Halloween, I decided to fulfill one of the objectives of Peace Corps, and do some culture switiching. Bulgarians do not celebrate Halloween, but they have heard of it, due to the plethora of American Culture outlets, such as TRL and the whole "Halloween" series. I introduced my students to Trick or Treat.

I did this by bringing it up in class, going over some of your basic Halloween vocabulary, had a discussion about what is meant by "trick", as opposed to "treat", and invited them to practice their new found knowledge by their very own practice run, mainly my apartment, from 7 to 9 on Friday night. Although costumes were breifly mentioned in the discussion, I did not make them a requirement of my trick or treating.

So, I busily begin making preparations. Namely, making pumpkin cookies, hanging lame "Happy Halloween" signs on my door, and drawing a face on a baby pumpkin I had bought in the bazar. (The reason I didn't carve the pumpkin was that I did that last year. It took a week for the blisters to heal. Bulgarian pumpkins are tough to carve, especially little ones.) Then, I sat back in my chair with a good book, and awaited my very first, ever, trick or treaters.

I had to wait until quarter to 8, but it was worth it. Four of my girls from 11b class showed up, with one of their friends from another parallel. (More on that in a different entry; the school system here is rather different.) In all, I had a doctor, a geisha, a vampire, catwoman, and a gyspy (Yes, I know that it's not the most policially correct costume in the world, but we haven't gotten to the discrimination portion of the syllabus yet.), holding a CARVED jack-o-lantern, and a banner that read "Halloween". They also made me a very sweet card, and an original message inside. I was so impressed with them. They made me wipe a tear from my eye. They were even scary, at least according to my psycho cat, TC. They poliety ate a cookie, and took a piece of candy, and tried to drink the Kool-aid I made (I think that it wasn't sweet enough, they left about half a glass each behind). We chatted for a while, then, it was picture time. I kid you not. First I took one, then the gyspy, then catwoman, then the geisha, then the doctor, then the vampire. All of these were group pictures. Then, we moved over to the other side of the room, and began the process all over again. Then, we dragged my footstools over, and began another round. Finally, after about 15 pictures, the girls said, okay, now one with just you, the pumpkin, and the sign. Did I mention, we took pictures? Just a few.

After the photo session was over, I sat down and waited some more. After about 15 minutes, I could hear a herd of elephants tromping up the stairs. These elephants were so loud, I could tell that they were from my 12B class, otherwise known as Mariela, Gylnaz, Polia, Irena, George and Rasheed. I invited them inside, and they took off their shoes, and left them in the hallway. They were not in costume. The girls politely declined the cookies, and grabbed one piece of candy. George grabbed one piece of candy, and one cookie. Rasheed, on the other hand, had brought along a bag, and grabbed a handful of candy, and a cookie. I just wasn't selling those cookies, no matter what. I felt saddened. We chatted, and they left, to go about their merry, non-costumed, way.

And I was left with a mess, a jack-o-lantern, and a plateful of cookies.

Sometimes, it's hard to play trick or treat hostess. This wasn't one of them.

By the way, I haven't seen the cat since.