January 19, 2002

Took a day trip today to a neighboring town, Rousse. Went there for the day and to do a little shopping - to get some things that we can't normally find in Silistra. Traveling anywhere in Bulgaria usually means an ordeal. People get on the bus and off the bus and we stop in about every village. And during the winter, you can usually tack on some more time. The 110 km trip took more than two and a half hours. People wait beside the road and the bus stops wherever there are people. Most people travel only a portion of the trip between Silistra and Rousse and we were two of the few who bought tickets for the whole trip to Rousse.

We were on a double-decker bus, which is pretty unusual. We sat on the lower level around a table, which is also unusual. On either side of the aisle were four seats, two facing forward and two facing backward, around tables. We grabbed two seats around one of the tables, facing forward. The first person to sit across from us was an older woman who was short and stout. She had no problem looking me directly in the eye. Her head was covered in an orange scarf and wrapped around her chin, in similar fashion to a woman's Muslim head covering. She was probably no taller than five feet and her hands were worn and pudgy. Dirt was in her fingernails. She was covered with layers of sweaters and a coat. On her feet she wore the typical pensioner footgear – knit wool socks with golashes (for those of you not from the Midwest – they’re those rubber foot coverings that you wear in the winter!). It makes your feet and ankles look incredibly swelled. I still haven't figured out why those golashes are worn so much, they always seem like they're going to fall off. She sat there, looking a little worried. She took in everything around her and she had her hand on her bag at almost all times, ready to get off at her stop any time. I sat and caught glances at her, since she was sitting directly across from me, and sometimes she got my eye. Her face was worn, but her eyes were brilliant – blue and bright white. Somewhere she got off and the seats across from us were empty for a while.

A little while later another woman got on the bus, but a much larger lady. While the other woman was small and anxious about her stop, this woman was maybe two to three times her size and sat down with peace and ease. She also had a head covering, but this was a smaller scarf, folded in a triangle and tied under her chin. Her hair was neatly brushed across her forehead, which was the only spot where her hair shown. She rarely looked at me and preferred looking out the window or to the back of the bus. She pulled out her wallet and played with her money for a moment, something which I thought was a little unusual since I rarely see Bulgarians show their money in public. She kept her hand on her bag, which was full of smaller packages, wrapped in newspaper and smaller bags. I could have guessed on the contents – canned peppers or tomatoes, a small hunk of meat of some type, some cheese, maybe some wine or rakiya, and probably some bread. Maybe there was more, but I'm sure I got three or four of the things in there right. Whether it was from the village or going to the village, it was probably the meal for the night or part of the next two or three meals. She sat with her hands folded around her girth and breathed slowly.

And just a little later, a mother with her son got on the bus and sat across the aisle. He was gregarious and started speaking with anyone who would listen. I didn't want to have to explain my accent, so anytime he seemed like he was thinking of saying something to me, I'd look away. He kept pulling things out of his bag and asking anyone to read what it said. He was probably learning how to read in school and the maze of letters in the world were beginning to be too much for him to ignore anymore. So he kept all of us around the tables occupied for a while and we listened to him imitate the adults in his life. He began to ask one woman what she had in her purse. His curiosity was fantastic. And he smiled. I looked around and he brought at least three smiles to people's faces as he tried to make sense of the crazy adult-world around him. Bulgarian kids are the best people to learn Bulgarian from – they're still imitating what they've heard and they will repeat for you over and over again.

Sitting today on the bus, looking at their faces and imagining their life-stories, I was reminded again what we’re doing here in Peace Corps. We've heard many life stories from people here and we've actually lived parts of their lives with them. No matter where we are we’re constantly surrounded by stories. Everyone has a story to tell. And everyone needs to tell his or her story to someone else. I’m happy that Peace Corps opens a door for Americans to hear the rest of the world’s story. Of all the countries in the world, America’s obligation to listen may be the greatest. Because we begin to see the depth of others’ lives and begin to realize that it’s our story also. We begin to own not only our own stories, but also all the stories from the rest of the world. Ultimately those stories are inseparable, and each person contributes to and receives the consequences from the shared story of the world.

Now that we've come to know Bulgaria in so many ways – its goods and its bads – it's easy to fall into an unimpressed and critical attitude towards this place. You have to fight to not fall into a rut; to not just experience what you expect you will experience. Today’s bus ride could have been annoying because it stopped every ten minutes, the smells, and because of the shoving. But I think that at the point where we're at right now -- this point where the romanticism and adventure of living in here has worn off – is why I signed up for Peace Corps. Because now I can see things from the inside. We've gotten to know a part of the world that we may not have known otherwise, but it's hard work. The hardest part is continuing to remain open in the midst of discouragement. When we signed up, I wanted to be immersed in something new, different, and strange. I wanted to find myself where I am now. And now that I'm here, it's stranger than I thought it would be. I'm much more American than I thought I was. I'm seeing the world with eyes that are still American, but now with a permanent influence from Bulgaria.

So to sit on the bus today and just watch was worth the many stops between Silistra and Rousse. I sat and took in the people sights and imagined the life-stories behind the faces.

-Josh