letter31

Dear Family and Friends,

Awwww, Christmas is in the air . . . the time for freshly-steamed tamales, drinking egg nog with your grandfather, making little noodle angels withMom, singing Christmas Carols at the top of your lungs in the shower, kissing under
the mistletoe (or cactus, if you're from Arizona), little plastic Santa Clauses whose pants fall down when you press a button, family, friends, and good old yuletide cheer . . . what in the heck DOES "yuletide" mean anyway?!!? Side Note: If you have ANY IDEA what this word means, contact me IMMEDIATELY and let me know.

Bulgaria is just as full of Christmas cheer as anywhere else and, thanks to western materialization (what would we do without it?), it's "beginning to feel a lot like Christmas." I finished my last week of school, threw Christmas parties with all of my classes (and, boy, did I feel SICK afterwards!), and got a ceramic parrot and frog, an embroidered Virgin Mary, and several homemade Christmas cards and carols out of the deal. And now, I am gearing up for a Bulgarian Christmas with my Bulgarian family, my parents' visit in about a week, and then traveling to both Greece and London with my parents . . . boy, will I be busy!!! But, first, to ring in the joyous season, I went to a teacher's Christmas banquet at a local restaurant . . . I should have known when I signed up to go that I was in for an adventure!!!

As soon as the masses gathered, the table came alive with boisterous chatter and energy, the stripping of coats, scarves, gloves, and snow boots, and the sparks and bright flashes of cigarettes being lit from every direction as the unventilated room was bathed in thick clouds of smoke. I felt my way through the haze to one of the chairs and greeted some of my colleagues, slightly more confident in my Bulgarian usage than I was at the beginning of the school year banquet. I looked at my salad plate, the American in me having the insatiable urge to wolf down the salad without breathing and then quickly move on to the next course, but the Peace Corps Volunteer in Bulgaria in me telling me to wait 30 minutes with a sloppy grin plastered on my face until at least two or three Bulgarians picked up their forks. So, I
waited . . . and waited . . . the Bulgarians talked . . . and smoked . . . and talked some more . . . and then, oh--wait a minute!-no they're still talking . . . and smoking . . . and, finally, I can take my first bite!!! But, still, the battle is not over yet, I must remember to chew each bite for five minutes, talk for ten with my fork balanced upside down on my
plate, and then take my next bite 23 minutes later. Bite, chew, talk, smoke . . . bite, chew, smoke, talk . . . smoke, talk, smoke, bite chew, smoke . . . and on and on it goes, where it stops nobody knows. The only interruption
of this insane pattern?! The periodic toasting of rakiya, with a resounding, "Nazdrave!" all the way around. The dinner started at 7:30 with a salad, sodas, and shots of rakiya that awaited each of us, the salad plates weren't cleared until 10:00 p.m. At some point during all of the biting, chewing, smoking, talking, and toasting, a couple of Bulgarians began to entertain the audience with Bulgarian songs and folk music galore. And, when there is Bulgarian music and any number of Bulgarians gathered and the rakiya and wine is flowing like honey, you better believe the people are out of their seats dancing the Hora! The Hora is a traditional Bularian dance in which all participants have joined hands in either a large circle or a "snake" and it is a series of rhythmic steps and kicks. It is common to see the Hora in restaurants in which you find traditional folk music and I usually love to join in when there are other Americans to look just as foolish as I, as I bounce like the Easter Bunny on speed and swing my legs and take out the person in front of
me with a swift kick to the shins. But, this time, I was the only American in the room and I was a little apprehensive about dancing the Hora with a bunch of experienced Bulgarians! But, before I knew it, my counterpart was
dragging me out there.

I squeezed the hands of the Bulgarians on either side of me until their fingers turned blue and watched my feet like a hawk, DARING them to make one wrong move. Step, Step, Kick, Kick . . . Step, Step, Kick, Kick . . . I chanted over and over in my mind. Now, these Bulgarian folk songs last FOREVER, they keep going on and on until cobwebs form in your hair, dust grows on your eyelashes, and your teeth have to be replaced by dentures. I stepped and kicked with the best of them, winding around the restaurant, and, when it was finally finished, as I prepared to collapse into a pile of mush, at least five teachers rushed at me, exclaiming, "Bravo, Sloan!!! Bravo, Sloan!!!" So, I thanked them and made sure I did the Hora a few more times through out the night . . . after all, I AM an expert now, right?!!?

When we got our main course 2 and a half hours after the salad, the ritual began once again of biting, chewing, smoking, toasting, and talking. In between bites, I watched those who were dancing, danced, a little myself, and watched Ketchova, one of the math teachers, race around the restaurant dancing with outspread arms, making others fall over laughing, blowing a party favor in everyones' face, and being more obnoxious than any of the students could ever be. As we finished with the main course, one of the teachers went around the table with a bag of little rolled up pieces of
paper and we each had to take one. The pieces of paper dictated what each person would be "blessed" with in the new year, things like love, success, sex, money, etc. My little slip of paper said, "The Money," which I would
definitely like to see happen! Everyone got a laugh out of the little slips of paper and then we each got a little gift to resemble our "blessing." I got a little notepad and pen to keep track of all of my earnings! And then
some of the teachers lit up the room with sparklers, a delight that I definitely haven't seen since I was a very small child!

At around midnight, just after dessert, as the party was still in full swing, I decided that I was exhausted and that my lungs were already to the point of total pollution, so I excused myself and made my way to the nearest taxi. YAAAWWWNNN . . . see the adventures I would have missed out on if I hadn't joined the Peace Corps?!!? I wouldn't trade it for the world . . .

Vecela Koleda and Chestita Nova Godina!!!
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!!!
:-) Chantel