Stuff that happened on Friday Jan 27

Mozart had another birthday. So did Ken Marks, I learned today.

With a single word, I saved a pedestrian from being run down by my taxi driver, who had looked down as he dealt with the dials of his defrost system to get more frontal visibility. He thanked me for my help throughout the reminder of the trip, which had started with him explaining, after I had put on my seat belt, that I really didn’t need to wear it. Thanks to his sparing use of the defrost and wiper fluid – he didn’t want to run out of fluid unexpectedly – the windshield obstructed our view of the road ahead for most of the time. Later he started rolling down his window at intersections to take photos of roadside winter scenes. This I found charming – I might have done the same if I were driving –until he continued doing it while the car was in motion. We did arrive however.

I tried a new cello by a local maker, a supposedly run-of-the-mill instrument that sounded surprisingly good. Better than my own in fact. So I hurried home after the rehearsal and did something about it. It’s all in the strings – new strings, new cello. I switched to a set of Kaplan strings by D’Addario, departing this time from the standard Larsen or Jargar + Spirocore combination. So far sounds good.

An Unexpected Crossing

It seemed like the whole town was out in the rain on Friday, Jan. 6 for the celebration of Bogoyavlenie (Epiphany) in Rila. The real show started around 11:30AM, after the priests finished the indoor service and came down from the hillside church, crossed the central square, and then made their way to one of the several bridges across the Rila river, leading the procession across it. Then they set up shop on the other side, blessing all comers with holy water, which the residents also bottled for future use (self-blessing?). Down at the river itself, some of the town’s younger male residents gathered in anticipation of the ritual cross throwing. Whoever brought the cross up from the water would lead the door-to-door blessings the following day (Ivanov den, celebrating John the Baptist) and would receive various gifts from the local households for doing so. About a dozen lads were ready to get wet and shoved around a bit in the river for this honor as their neighbors observed from on and around the bridge. I didn't see an ambulance standing by, but representatives of the local law enforcement were on hand in case someone got…cross. 

 Waiting for the cross toss

The cross has been tossed

Up by the riverside

The holy-water table, the main priest presiding. Residents hurry to get blessed, 

stock up on holy water, and join the procession back toward the church

After the show we walked up the hill to the church because we’d never been by there when it was actually unlocked. The main priest (in yellow in the photo above) was just on his way out as we debated whether the icons around the entrance were by the same group of Samokov iconographers that did the church at the Rila Monastery up the road. We asked him, and his reply, hurried but not unfriendly, was, “It’s written somewhere over there,” motioning in the general direction of the church before hopping into a well-used black Ford compact and driving off. Oh, he’s got more gigs today, I thought. Of course – every town around here’s got a river somewhere waiting to be…crossed. 

When we stopped by a friend’s place the next day to pick up some pickled cabbage and try some homemade red wine, who should come by but the cross-bearers, making their blessing rounds. One (at right in photo below) crossed us each in turn with a bough of boxwood dipped in holy water, then held out the cross (the very same one that he had retrieved from the river) for us to kiss. His assistant (in red jacket, at left in photo below) held the broad metal plate that we put coins and banknotes on in thanks. Our host made an additional gift – a two-liter bottle of his wine. I was sad to see it go, thinking naively that this was his only bottle. Imagine my relief when I looked back at the table, and another one had already appeared in its place. 

 OK, the wine bottle was on the floor...

New Year's Notes from Rila

(To the tune of the Corelli Concerto grosso in D Major, Op. 6, No. 1)

 

The second day of 2012 and the second day of sun in Rila. The balcony is awash in midday light. So is the river. Saturday’s fresh snow, still coming down as we woke up that day, has now melted off the tall trees guarding the river, but remains on the round shaded shrubs like so many white hats.

Photo 1: Snow on Saturday, Dec. 31, 2011

On Monday the midday light streaming onto the balcony through the open spaces in the woodwork had attained a kind of permanence even before I brought out my pink camera and started rearranging the balcony furniture to capture it.

Photos 2 and 3: Midday balcony sun, Jan. 1 and 2, 2012

To my surprise the sun’s presence in the composition is seen not only in the light on the balcony floor and in the shiny flashes from the river, but also in the rays coming through the openings between the wooden slats. I didn’t know that the sun’s rays could actually be visible in a photo without getting an unwanted vertical streak of light. Visible sun rays – isn’t Photoshop for effects like that, I thought?  Only now, writing this, does it occur to me that, if you position yourself the right way in the door to the balcony and squint in the right toward the sun, you can see the rays without a camera lens. Let me get up and try this. Yes, you can.

This is how the sun was hitting the hills east of Rila around 4pm on the 2^nd

Rila hills looking west toward the town: a head-on sun shot

Following the goats home 

(the English portion of the sign for the entrance to Babinska mahala, 

I noticed just now, incorrectly reads “Banska mahala”)

Still trailing the goats through Babinska mahala, a sunset view of the town. 

Yet again a mysterious passing plane has left its white streak in my photo. 

If I photoshopped, it would be the first thing to go…

Week in Review III: Rila + Monastery

 Friday, February 11: Time for a lunch-time walk along the hilly trail that Saint Ivan Rilski followed out of what is now the town of Rila. At the spot where he discovered a spring, water still runs, and a picnic site has recently been added. Except that we didn’t bring lunch… A little further east another sign tells of the legend that local residents prayed six centuries ago that a boulder would hide their church from the view of the incoming Turks,

only to wake up the next morning to find their church…hidden from view by a boulder. Now there is a little chapel in the name of the same saint, Saint Nedelya, at the side of the road just east of Rila. Also along this path are some of the most interesting – and potentially unstable – rock formations in the region, several types of power poles (currently in use and no longer in use), and on this day – after a week of sunny weather and non-freezing daytime temperatures – only a few patches of ice and unmelted snow. 

Sunday, February 13: Today our good friend Susan braved Bulgarian buses with her younger daughter (Ivy, 8 months old) to join us for an afternoon in Rila and at the Rila Monastery. Ivy is the dream baby, and she and her mom clearly have everything worked out so that things like pacifiers and crying seem to be entirely unnecessary! In fact theirs is that deeper, more elemental kind of daughter-mother understanding that looks so effortless and eternal to the occasional observer (me) that I come away convinced that it is just that, allowing myself to forget about the experience and wisdom, the daily discipline and devotion, that lie beneath the surface of this picture-perfect relationship. 

 

We took the rarely-traveled route through Smochevo to give Susan a sense of the 360-degree panoramic view encompassing Rila, Pirin, plus Vitosha and the Macedonian mountains that would have been perfect if the clear skies had held over through the weekend, getting to the monastery after the rush of Sunday visitors had subsided. I was pleased that the monastery's museum stayed open long enough for Susan to see the double-sided wooden cross that a monk named Raphael finished early in the 19^th century. The monastery website describes Raphael’s Cross as

 “a unique work of art…made of a whole piece of wood (81cm x 43cm) ... The monk used fine chisels, small knives and magnifying lens to carve 104 religious scenes and 650 small figures into the cross. The cross was finished in 1802 after the monk worked on it for no less than 12 years, losing his sight upon completion. 

For me, seeing the real thing, in all of its intricate three-dimensional detail, for the first time 17 or 18 years ago was a powerful and lasting experience. This cross wasn’t just creative expression for Raphael, it was his personal form of daily communion, his way of nurturing his religious devotion and giving it an outward form. And this astonishing cross makes that devotion seem to me so effortless, eternal…

Week in Review II: Sofia, Badino, Blagoevgrad

Tuesday, February 8: All-Schubert concert at Bulgaria Hall. For this program we (Sofia Quartet) were joined by pianist Jeni Zaharieva, who is celebrating her fortieth season as a concert artist, and Sofia Philharmonic bassist Ivan Ivanov in Schubert’s Trout Quintet. I first played this piece – many times! – in 1997, Schubert’s 200^th anniversary year and the year that I joined the Dimov Quartet. Later in the week I discovered that, like Rostislav Dubinsky (my chamber music coach at Indiana University), Jeni Zaharieva graduated from the Central Music School, the preparatory division of the Moscow Conservatory. The CMS website mentions her as one of their outstanding foreign graduates, although this is only half true: her mother is Russian. 

Wednesday, February 9: Heading south to Blagoevgrad, there was a little extra time before the concert of the Ebony Hillbillies, special guests of the US Embassy at AUBG in honor of Black History Month. Enough time to turn off the highway 6 km south of Dupnitsa and travel 5 km east (in the direction of Rila mountain) to the village of Badino, a place we had never been before. There we encountered what we later learned was a locally-made (or at least –designed) sign warning drivers to watch out for domestic pets. Baba Vena, one of the village’s 40 or so remaining residents, explained that the sign was posted after a local dog was run over near the village square. We also met several other 80+-year-old residents, several barking dogs chained inside their yards, and one friendly unchained dog called Pirin after another nearby mountain. Pirin followed us to the village square so he could lie in the afternoon sun. From a bench there we saw two younger men on horseback, riding sidesaddle. Nobody else seemed surprised.

 

And we did make it to the concert on time:

Week in Review I: Sofia, Sunday, February 6

 Late afternoon trip to the heart of downtown Sofia to stock up on mineral water at the public faucets currently located across the street from the Central Bath, a building that has been “under renovation”  for as long as I can remember, and, aside from the front facade, fallen into apparent disuse and decay. During the 1990’s the faucets continuously spouting the same naturally hot mineral water that used to supply the Central Bath were located in front of the building, behind the Turkish mosque (see photos below). I didn’t think to photograph the newer fountains/faucets, so busy was I filling up miscellaneous plastic bottles. This water is free to taxpayers, but mineral water is also big business here. Even so, according to Asen Lichev, head of the Water Directorate at the Environment Ministry, as of last April, 60 "of the 102 mineral water springs in Bulgaria...are not being utilized by the state or private concessionaires" and will be turned over to local municipalities over the course of the next quarter-century. 

Finding Myself in Bulgaria

So you’ve been wondering (or not) about the title of my blog. ‘Tuk ne e Amerika’ (Here [Bulgaria] is not America’) is a phrase I used to hear a lot when I first arrived in Bulgaria and was confronted with the realities of trying to get seemingly simple things done, like mailing a letter or paying a bill. Instead of mailing a check – the check has never been a method of payment here – you actually stood in line at the post office (telephone bill) or at a payment center (electric) to take care of the monthly ‘zadulzheniya’ (obligations or debts). So I would reach the front of the line and, sparked perhaps by my obvious ‘otherness’ or my ineptness with the Bulgarian language, the exchange with the cashier would almost invariably include some reference to the fact that things here are, well, different.

Sometimes it was ‘Tuk ne e Amerika, na li?’ The last words turned the phrase into a well-meaning question with an inflection suggesting sympathy for my supposed suffering in a strange environment. If I had a complaint, it was ‘Vizhte kakvo, tuk ne e Amerika!’  – an all-purpose explanation or excuse for the way things stood, offered in lieu of an apology that nothing could be done, usually because ‘ne zavisi ot men’(it doesn’t depend on me); or it was served with a side order of ‘kakvo iskate, 500 godini…’ (what do you want, 500 years…) All of these statements had so many hidden implications, of a feeling of undeserved inferiority or subservience, of a national history of oppression (500 years under the ‘Turkish Yoke’, then 50 of Communism, now 20 of Transition), of a feeling of disorientation during the early, surly years of the Transition to Democracy. Their message to me was that I, a priori as an American, had unreasonably high expectations that needed to be shelved, discarded, or at least rethought to conform with ‘Bulgarskata deistvitelnost’ (the Bulgarian reality)

One of the thematic threads of Bulgariana, Randall Baker’s engaging account of living as an ex-pat in Bulgaria, is that so much that is so typically Bulgarian – and so different from what we experience in the US – is actually showing us how misguided the American lifestyle really is. Baker's narrative is infused with that hopeful sense of embarking on each new day in Bulgaria as a fresh adventure, of relishing in the small – and usually pleasant – surprises that you are sure to encounter here.  As an American living in Bulgaria, I share a similar MO, and see it not as a set of survival skills, but as a redefining of who I am and what my life can be, both on a short- and long-term basis. Here I have learned that the real nature of a situation is determined by how you choose to look at it ('zavisi i ot men!'); that great joy can be derived from things that from another perspective would have gone unnoticed; and that the concept expressed by G. B. Shaw (or was it Anonymous?) that “life isn’t about finding yourself; it’s about creating yourself” is worth embracing.