Баба Ристена

No matter where I go in Bulgaria, there is one thing I see: lots of old people, particularly баби (grandmothers). This isn’t surprising given that Bulgaria has the most rapidly aging population of any European country. And I’m cool with all the blue hairs (interestingly, many of them actually do have blue hair … but more on that later). In fact, my favorite people in the world are old folks and little kids, because they are generally the only honest ones among us. Little kids don’t know any better, old folks simply don’t care, and both the young and the elderly generally have the right priorities in life. Most of the rest of us are too influenced by hormones and a whole host of insecurities to be honest with ourselves let alone with others. So, to be living in a country full of баби isn’t necessarily a bad thing. And, as long as I’m here, I figured I might as well take advantage of it, get to know some of them, and share what I learn with you. It’s a way for me to practice and improve my Bulgarian, learn more about Bulgaria and it’s people, and build relationships within the community. With that in mind, I hope to highlight the story of one баба per week. The first such баба is Баба Ристена (Ristena).

I live in a small house at the back of a garden which Ристена tends to daily. I’m a bit hypersensitive to noises when in unfamiliar surroundings, and I had great difficulty sleeping the first few weeks after I moved in. At odd hours during the night, I would be awakened by strange noises emanating from the garden. I’m probably exaggerating a bit, but it seemed like every time I went to investigate, I saw a small, old woman hunched over carrying a giant axe. The light typically hit her in such a manner that it cast a huge shadow at least four times her size, and I had serious visions of being bludgeoned to death by an axe-wielding баба.

My paranoia intensified after my request for a wardrobe brought Ристена to tears and had her popping pills to deal with the emotional distress. The Peace Corps has a short list of housing requirements for its volunteers. Among other things, we are to be provided with a closet or wardrobe to store our clothes and other belongings. After more than a week of living out of my backpack, I simply asked when I could expect to get a wardrobe. It turned out that Ристена had a wardrobe that was intended for me, but it was packed at the back of an inaccessible room and had not been accessed more than a couple times in over twenty years. The wardrobe was a treasure-chest of memories, many of which were discarded during the cleanout process, and witnessing her life being discarded before her eyes proved to be more than Ристена could bear to watch. And, after seeing the torment and suffering in her face and hearing her say, “всичко за американец (all for an American),” I wondered if my delusions might not become reality.

Obviously, things have improved between us. She worries whether I am warm enough and whether I am eating properly, and she happily shares the fruits (and vegetables) of her labor with me. And now when I notice her creeping around the garden with an axe, I look at her not as the grim reaper but as a guardian angel. As with all old people, there is a story behind each of Ристена’s wrinkles. I heard only a few of them, but my time with her was time well spent. Here is some of what Ристена shared:

• She was born in 1933 in Село Хераково, a small village between where we now live and Sofia.

• She has been out of Bulgaria once in her life, when she took a brief shopping trip to Serbia (the border with Serbia is less than 30 kilometers from where we live).

• She has two daughters and two grandchildren.

• Her childhood was mostly a joyous time filled with happiness and laughter. She jumped rope and played games such as hide and seek and hopscotch. The kids also played a strange game involving the flinging of dried and hardened lamb ligament. I don’t fully understand how the game worked, but the winner was the person who could flip his or her piece of ligament the farthest.

• For most of the year, she would go to school in the morning and then return in the afternoon to help tend to the garden and care for the animals. The family had three horses, three cows, more than twenty sheep, fifteen to twenty chickens, a pig, a dog, and a cat.

• What the family was unable to produce at home, they would go to Sofia to buy. She remembers Sofia being bigger but not much better or nicer than the village. There was a train to Sofia, but most people, including her family, went to Sofia by horse-cart. Sofia was very dirty and there were horses everywhere. The shopping was done at the женски пазар (Ladie’s Market), which remains Sofia's biggest fresh-produce market.

• She recalls Sofia being “on fire” during the Allied bombing raids which took place during World War II. Several of the bombs landed close to the village, and American and British bombers frequently flew over dropping bombs. The school windows were covered with black paper, and the school was frequently evacuated. When the emergency siren sounded, the children would run from the school and hide along nearby brick walls. German soldiers were housed in Село Хераково for at least part of the war, but they never stayed in her family’s home. The family did, however, at one time house as many as thirty Bulgarian soldiers.

• Her parents would not permit her to go to Sofia to study, so she aspired to become a seamstress.

• Contact between single girls and single boys was kept to a minimum. If a girl was seen entering or leaving a room alone with a boy, her reputation and her family’s reputation was ruined. Accordingly, for the most part, the only way for single boys to see single girls was at gatherings called седянка. At a седянка, the single girls would get together and sing, and the single boys were permitted to come watch.

• When Ристена was fifteen, after a neighbor girl had tarnished her reputation and her family’s reputation by sleeping with a boy before marriage, the neighbor’s family devised a plan to kidnap Ристена and force her into marriage, thereby shaming Ристена’s family and drawing attention from their own family. Ристена learned of the scheme from some friends who then protected her. She was carried through knee-deep snow to her grandmother’s house where she hid until the kidnapping scheme had been exposed to all and it was safe to return home.

• Ристена was almost eighteen when she met her husband to be. She knew of him, but she had never really spoken to him until one day when she was walking with a girlfriend. They walked by his family’s house, and the boy and his entire family were standing and watching them (apparently waiting to see the “chosen one” who the boy knew would be walking by). As they approached, he went and separated Ристена from her friend and told her he wanted to marry her. She told him that she wasn’t ready and asked him to wait three years. He told her he would wait three days. She compromised, and they were married six days later.

• With the preceding generation marriages were arranged. The bride never saw her husband until the wedding. All they got to see before then were his pants.

• The historical event which affected her the most was when the communists took over Bulgaria. People living in Село Хераково were forced to turn over anything of value to the communists, and, if they refused, were beaten until they signed the necessary paperwork. Her father had some connections with the communists and was the last person in the village to sign the paperwork. Despite the favorable connections, the family lost its horses, cows, sheep, horse-carts, and a truck. The family land also was deeded to the communist party. The only things they were allowed to keep were the chickens, a pig, and a colt, which the communists eventually seized once it was strong enough to be put to work. The family was then forced to work the land they had given to the communists, but they received none of what they produced. Instead, they were given vouchers with which to buy inferior products at the party-run stores. Nevertheless, Ристена believes the changes democracy has brought to Bulgaria have made life worse not better than it was under communism.

• There were three technological innovations which most affected her life. The first was her family’s first “radio,” a contraption which was the size of a hot water heater. The second was a Singer sewing machine which was stolen by a Bulgarian soldier in Serbia, brought back to Bulgaria, and then bought by Ристена’s mother. And the third was electricity. When she was young, there was no electricity in Село Хераково.

• Ристена’s grandmother used to tell her stories of what it was like to live as a slave to the Turks during the reign of the Ottoman Empire, and Ристена’s husband’s father was a prisoner of war for seven years. He escaped his captors by chewing through the rope which shackled him and shooting the guards.

When I asked Ристена if she had any regrets or if she would do anything differently if she could go back in time, she said she would have waited to get married or married someone else. And then, just as I asked her what is most important to her in life now, she abruptly ended the interview, frantically searched for the remote control, upon finding it turned on a Turkish soap opera, and then planted herself less than a foot from the television. She had answered my question without saying a word.

Баба Ристена now.


Баба Ристена then.


Family portrait.


Ристена's husband gathering sand to be used as foundation for their house (1960).


Ристена (back right), her landlord, and other friends and family (1959).


Ристена (front right) and other family members (1952).


Ристена (second from right), her husband, and other family members (1952).

Recipe #7: Лютеница чорба (Lutenitsa Soup)

This is a simple recipe I found in a cookbook the Peace Corps provided us. I’ve never actually seen a Bulgarian either make or eat this soup, but it was surprisingly good. I plan on experimenting with лютеница (lutenitsa) in some other soups in the future, and, if I find something that works, I’ll post it. In the meantime, you can try this.

1 and ½ cups of лютеница (I will post a recipe for homemade лютеница in the future)
2 and 2/3 cups of milk
¾ of a cup of orange juice
4 teaspoons of dried basil
salt and pepper to taste

Mix all ingredients and heat over medium-low heat until hot.

A bowl of лютеница чорба (lutenitsa soup).

Весела Коледа

Religious connotations aside, Christmas to me is all about family. Even more than Thanksgiving, Christmas is a time to gather as a family, give thanks, show gratitude, and celebrate health and prosperity.

Only once before this year have I spent Christmas apart from my family, and it was brutal. I was in New Zealand. We were traveling by bus from Abel Tasman National Park to Franz Josef. The transmission gave out half way between Abel Tasman and the nearest town, along a stretch of narrow, winding mountain passes. With nowhere to pull over and stop, our driver somehow managed to get us up and down the trecherous passes before the bus broke down completely. Shaken but not stirred, she rolled the bus slowly into the town of Westport where we spent the night. The tradional Christmas dinner waiting for us in Franz Josef went uneaten. To make things worse, I got eaten alive by bed bugs and had a bad allergic reaction to the bites. It was a Christmas I’ll never forget, but for all the wrong reasons.

My first Christmas in Bulgaria, which I spent with my host family in Бойчиновци, was much less eventful and far more enjoyable. To better understand how Bulgarians celebrate Christmas (Коледа), it helps to know a little of Bulgaria’s history.

Between 1944 and 1989, Bulgaria was under communist rule. During that time, Bulgarians were not allowed to celebrate Christmas, at least not publicly. As a result, Christian Bulgarians would gather as families and quietly celebrate Christmas together. While communism was unable to prevent such gatherings, it was successful in limiting the adherence to certain traditions associated with Christmas. Since the fall of communism, however, many of the old traditions have been revived. Practices vary from home to home and region to region, but many of these same traditions are still observed today.

The period from November 15th through Christmas Eve is known as Коледни пости. Traditionally, this is a period of fasting during which time all meals are vegan. The consumption of any type of animal based products – meat, eggs, cheese, etc. – is prohibited. Most Bulgarians, including my host family in Бойчиновци, have modified this tradition and fast only on Christmas Eve (Бъдни Вечер). Bulgarians believe that the Virgin Mary gave birth to Jesus on Christmas Eve but waited until the following day to announce the birth (Bulgarian tradition follows this belief – with mothers announcing the birth of a newborn to the world the day following birth). In any event, the Christmas Eve meal is one of several very important traditions followed by many Bulgarians.

Our Christmas Eve meal began with питка, a traditional Bulgarian bread. Baked into each section of the питка was either a wish or, in one case, a coin. Tradition holds that the person who finds the coin will have good luck and fortune in the coming year. Alas, I didn’t find the coin, just two wishes: С нова хубава кола ще се возиш из града (You will ride around town in a new, good-looking car); and Хубаво преброй звездите в коледната нощ защото толкова ще са мечтите ти сбъднати с разкош (Count well the stars in the Christmas night sky, for that's how many of your dreams will come to life).

In addition to питка, we had several traditional Bulgarian vegan dishes, including roasted peppers stuffed with beans, тиквеник (pumpkin banitsa), and сарма (cabbage leaves stuffed with rice). There also were plates of salad, peanuts, and dried fruit. To ensure prosperity and good fortune in the coming year, there were an odd number of dishes served and an odd number of guests in attendance. I can’t say for sure, but I’m fairly certain the dishes were not cleared until morning. According to tradition, this is again to ensure a prosperous year and to leave some food for the deceased.

With cleansed minds and spirits, we awoke Christmas Day and soon feasted on meat, meat, and more meat. We ate ham, sausage, rabbit, pork, and кюфтета. There wasn’t an obscene display of materialism, but a few gifts were exchanged. I felt guilty for bringing so little, yet I was admonished for bringing too much.

All in all, it was a pleasant weekend, and it was interesting experiencing a traditional Bulgarian Christmas. Perhaps what was most interesting is that it didn’t feel at all like Christmas to me, which was a very a good thing. Had it felt more like Christmas, homesickness would have crept in, and I would have grown sentimental and depressed. Without any of those feelings, I was able to enjoy the weekend and now look forward to partying like a Bulgarian on New Year’s.

A few Christmasesque scenes from around town before I headed to Бойчиновци.




Before heading to Бойчиновци, I also attended a holiday party with my colleagues from work. Needless to say, they don’t adhere to the strict fasting traditions either.


Bulgarians traditionally slaughtered a pig on Christmas. Fortunately, the pig had already met his maker by the time Stoil started carving him up.


Rosi pounding out pork chops Stoil had cut.


Ivo preparing the appetizers.


Rosi making banitsa.


The only present under the tiny, table-top tree was a small bag with pretzels and sweets (a few other gifts were exchanged too).


The garden looks a lot different than it did a few months ago.


So does the fully-stocked cellar.

Безплатни Прегръдки

Several months ago, I went for a walk with a Bulgarian friend. While we were walking, I noticed passersby often stared at me. I asked her why people were staring. I couldn’t understand what they were seeing that made me appear so different; my physical features weren’t that different than theirs, and I was wearing clothes similar to theirs. I wondered how they all knew I wasn’t Bulgarian. She laughed and told me it was the way I carried myself. According to her, my body language and facial expressions reflected confidence, happiness, optimism, and hope, immediately giving me away as a foreigner and making me a curiosity.

In the time that’s passed since then, I’ve come to better appreciate her observations and assessment. A disturbing number of Bulgarians, perhaps the majority, perpetually look depressed, bitter, and even angry. This is especially true in Sofia. If you saw a close friend expressing the same body language, you’d probably ask your friend if everything was alright. Or you’d ask if your friend needed a hug. After noticing the same thing, a fellow Peace Corps’ volunteer decided that’s exactly what we should do – go to Sofia and offer безплатни прегръдки (free hugs). I’m not the type of person who particularly enjoys hugging strangers, and I would typically cross the street as quickly as possible to avoid anyone giving away free hugs. Nevertheless, I was very curious to see how Bulgarians would react to such a concept, so I agreed to participate.

So yesterday, five of us braved 21 degree temperatures (-6 °C) and walked around Sofia for more than two hours giving away free hugs. Besides being extremely fun, the psychology underlying our experiment was fascinating. Here are some of the things I learned:

• It was much more difficult getting hugs from people when walking alone than when walking with another hugger. It was easiest getting hugs when all five of us were together – along with three Brits and a Bulgarian who joined the cause. Apparently, being crazy in a group makes one seem far less dangerous than being a crazy individual or pair.

• Most Bulgarian men will not hug another man, at least not a stranger. Most Bulgarian men will hug any woman.

• I got far more hugs when I held my “безплатни прегръдки” sign over my head than when I held it in front of my chest. The more time people had to absorb the information, the more likely they were to want a hug.

• I was far more successful when commanding people to get a hug by giving an open-armed, “Хайде,” than I was when asking people if they wanted a hug by saying, “Искаш ли?”

• Most of my hugs came from attractive women in their 20s who either were alone or were with another woman of the same age. I also received a large number of hugs from women over the age of 50. I had a smaller number of hugs from women between the ages of 30 and 50 and a few hugs from men. I didn’t get any hugs from kids.

To say our experiment was successful would be a gross understatement. All the hugging took the chill out of an otherwise frigid day and left us all in great spirits. And the Bulgarians were far more receptive than we could have hoped. Sure, there was still a large number of people who walked past us with looks of bitterness and anger plastered on their faces. And plenty of people thought us to be foolish, crazy, or both. But the majority of people we encountered either laughed at us or smiled with us, and, in just two hours in the bitter cold, I saw more smiling Bulgarians than I had previously seen in seven months. Some of the people we hugged came back for seconds, and some didn’t want to let go. One of the most memorable hugs was one of the last ones. After we hugged, an attractive girl in her early 20s asked, “Why only hugs? You need to give free kisses.” Definitely something to consider for next time.

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

There is nothing like a beautiful snowfall to mask the bleakness of one's winter surroundings. Here are some shots from an afternoon walk around town.

Winter Gardening

The resourcefulness of the Bulgarian people never ceases to amaze me. Due primarily to my own ignorance, I thought snow and freezing temperatures would bring an end to the gardening season. For many Bulgarians it has, but for many others it has not. Mini-greenhouses made of plastic have sprung up in gardens throughout town, housing hardy vegetables such as lettuce. Meanwhile, empty jars have been placed over roses and other flowers, again creating a greenhouse-type effect. For all I know, gardeners in the states do the same thing; I’ve just never seen it. Regardless, I can hardly wait until spring when I can get my hands dirty and learn more.

The School Holiday

In addition to closing for Christmas break, Easter break, and the usual assortment of national public holidays, Bulgarian schools close for individual school holidays. Our school recently had its school holiday, and I’m still not entirely sure why. All I can do is tell you what happened. On a recent Friday afternoon, all classes were cancelled and the students and teachers gathered at a café (there is no school auditorium or gymnasium or similar venue). The festivities commenced when the mayor arrived. After a pair of students talked about some Bulgarian history, the mayor proceeded to hand out awards to various students. The mayor then departed and a group of students presented a short play. After the play, there were a couple word-find and crossword puzzle type games. Then, a few students and teachers sang karoke and danced horo (traditional Bulgarian dances). I observed and took photos, at least until one of the kids, whose view I was blocking and who just a few months ago couldn’t speak any English, yelled at me, in English, “Sit down, Brian! Sit down!”

After the “show,” most of the teachers met at a nearby restaurant. Some drank rakia, others drank wine, and others drank beer, but we all drank something (or so it appeared). The actual school holiday – when the school was officially closed – was the following Monday, so we had a three-day weekend for which to be thankful. Here are some photos from the event.