Why Back to the UK?

It has been quite few years now back in the UK working, but that's all I do here. The question as to why I came back is something that is quite difficult to answer, although many may suspect it is to do with money.

With life in Bulgaria is was really a quest for survival. There was never going to be any time when the worry about where the money was going to come for the next electric bill or repairs to the home let alone anything else considered a luxury. Let me stress though, this is how most Bulgarians live and you can totally understand why the draw to places that pay decent wages for work appeals so much. After all, it is a sense of dignity to try and do something proactive to find work and build for the future to many Bulgarians. When the walls of red tape went down for freedom to work anywhere in Europe look what has happened. It is still very difficult just to go to a foreign country and find work and even harder if you don't speak that language, but many have.

The question still runs through my mind on why I left Bulgaria. Part of that was with the same ideals as why Bulgarians leave. I have a duty to my family both in Bulgaria and the UK to find work and pay for basics and that was not happening in Bulgaria despite my best efforts. I of course had a head start, I was a qualified teacher with lots of work experience in many fields.

Well the decision was made and I left heading towards London where the streets are paved with gold but was never going to be my new home. The story unfolds.

Back to the UK and London? Not my home, hasn't been for nearly a decade!

Finally Got A Job In Bulgaria Again

Thank you all for all your comments regarding my last post. There is a burning inside me that wants to spill all that happens here but it is being held back by time. It is something that I thought I would have lots of here - this is not the case right now. Far from being a rat race, things just take far longer to do here than in my previous life and trying to acclimatise with this is still something I am trying to fight, although never as much as I used to.

After being made redundant here back in 2007, it is with relief that I have now found local work here at the minimum Bulgarian wage (around 18 BG Leva a day.) I am now otherwise occupied for over 40 hours a week sweating out with other labouring non-English speaking Bulgarians. I am very lucky indeed, as many people here do not have any work at all here. It was found through the family grapevine and social connections, without this I would now probably be on a plane to the UK with borrowed money for the flight and find myself homeless and jobless there.

So as it stands now I am working as a labourer full time. It is physically demanding and I’m totally knackered at the end of the day, (which I really love for some strange reason,) but now have a living here where a contribution to the family budget can be made. I certainly feel less guilty eating the food that is constantly laid on the table. After work it is working on the farm, even in the dark and weekends still at the village of Skalitsa maintaining the farm there (without Internet connections.)

The time spent blogging now is maybe an hour or two at the most prior to hitting the pillow for some well earned sleep. Somehow the pressure to fit things in this time is making blogging stressful trying to cram everything in. For now all I can do is keep things ticking over and that’s what I will try and do. This is being written in a rush at 6:00 am prior to setting off to work at 7:00 whilst eating a banitsa and drinking Ayran.

Bulgarian Graduation Party - A Family Affair

I have just caught my breath from this last weekend where another celebration took place. The 24th May each year is a National celebration of Bulgaria’s education, culture and Slav letters (Cyrillic).

During this day all graduates of high schools around the country have an ‘American type’ ball where they join up with a partner and parade through a funnel of onlookers in every town and city centre on the way to a restaurant or function room for the graduation ball. This tradition has been around for many years, Galia remembers her day quite a few years ago; I’ve seen the pictures.

It all started a few weeks ago where Galia’s cousin was one of the graduates to parade on the day and she needed a ball dress. Needless to say this was women’s work so I left them to get on with the purchase, alterations and adjustments needed to make it perfect. It was a bit like she was getting married and this was the wedding dress what with all the fuss and commotion.

There was a party planned the Friday before Sunday and the big day, so to cut the cost a small area was borrowed from friend who owns one of the Internet Cafes in Yambol. All the food and drink was homemade including much produce from the factory farm and brought in to the caterpillar style table that was made up of a number of round tables. A laptop and hi-fi was brought in from home and turned into a DIY DJ system. The area that we sat in was on a first floor balcony overlooking the Tundzha River and an ideal setting on this particular warm balmy evening as the homemade Rakia and beer that was brought in began to flow. By the way the Rakia was very special, it was made by Galia’s brother was 17 years old and saved especially for this occasion.

The whole evening was a family celebration for the graduate who now was to go to University for five years after working through the summer break. Flowers were given to her from all the family guests arriving along with little money or jewellery pieces to those who could afford it.
Then later that evening a speech and a composed peom recited from various family senior members complimenting the graduate giving a history of her excellent education and all wishing her good health, wealth happiness and luck for the future, oh and love of course!

Then to top the evening off, a big decorated cake was presented sliced and eaten, very much like a single storey wedding cake. The graduate and a couple of other contemporary members of the family then left the party here to go to another party to meet friends somewhere else in the town centre and left the older family members to carry on where they left off - Eating, drinking, dancing, singing and of course talking. The younger family members were put in the Internet café and play computer games unit the early hours of the morning. Everyone was happy and it didn’t cost much to set up!

My hangover was soon over the next day as an aspirin was taken and a drive to the village where there was two days of haymaking waiting for me. Then the trip back to Yambol for the 24th May celebrations and the city centre parade.

A Tortoise Or Slow Coach On Bulgarian Roads

Every since setting foot in Bulgaria I hear from lots of Bulgarians that there are lots of tortoises roaming around the country. Up unit this week the only ones I have see are pets that are kept by one of Galia's family. I haven't seen any 'wild tortoises' anywhere despite living in perfect tortoise country with vegetation abound for those slow but constant lawnmowers. Even in the village farmhouse tortoises have never nibbled my vegetables, but then they might have a preference for my neighbour’s superior vegetables.

So it came to pass that we were on our way to the village farmhouse in the Lada, a slowcoach itself today as I was freewheeling wherever I could to save on gas. We got about 8 kilometres for the Skalitsa village and I saw my first 'wild' tortoise in the middle of the road taking its time to cross dead casual like! It wasn’t exactly a screech of the brakes, I wasn't going fast enough for that, but we stopped and it was out of the car to investigate this 'wild' Bulgarian tortoise.

As I got to the tortoise it shelled up and remained in its home throughout our encounter, I don't blame it I'm an ugly and mean, perhaps it thought I was a gypsy and it was lunchtime. Anyway, the investigation went on as I picked it up and had a close look at it. Funny but for a wild tortoise it wasn’t wild' at all, it did nothing. I could see its head tucked away and its eye peering out at me and I knew it wouldn't budge with me holding it. It was put in the verge with some greenery, but still wouldn't come out even after a five-minute wait. Time to go home was the call from Galia waiting patiently in the Lada looking at this Englishman with a fascination for this creature. She of course is well used to tortoises in Bulgaria and found them quite boring as they didn’t do anything.

So it was a reluctant Martin who got back into the car after saying goodbye to this temporarily hibernated tortoise for what is was worth, I didn't even have a chance to say hello!

Well I got a picture or two of my first encounter with a wild Bulgarian tortoise, but I was wilder with excitement than anything else.

Bulgarian Family Trip to the Yambol Cemetery

There was a clue yesterday evening as I got back from my labours on the city farm. Galia had been to the shop and brought back with here lots of sweets, biscuits, cake bars and fruit. I know that these are given as gifts to people on special occasion and tomorrow was one of those days.

Early tomorrow morning we were to go to a Yambol cemetery to visit Galia's Baba's grave. She died 22 years ago and each year the family visit on this anniversary to tidy up, place new flowers and shrubs, give a blessing, light candles, water and give Baba a drink of wine.

Our 86-year-old current Baba was to come with us; we missed the occasion last year in the UK.

We loaded up the Lada with all the flowers and shrubs, that were picked from our own garden rather than being bought. A good supply of water, a bottle of home made wine, some Bulgarian gardening hand tools and the food bought the day before packed in five plastic bags to be presented to today's family visitors to the grave were also loaded up.

We arrived at the same time as the sun that was now beating down on us. Now our Baba insisted we park the car outside the cemetery grounds, as we would have had to pay one Bulgarian leva for entry. She would much rather buy a loaf of bread with this money that she felt would be ill spent. It was nearly had a kilometre to Baba's grave as young Baba stopped every 100 metres to draw breath.

Now I have done this before over the last two years with Galia who attends her late husband's grave each year. I knew the routine and the rituals so nothing surprised me today. The fact that no one felt sad or slightly morbid with lots of talking joking and generally normal bouncy behaviour was normal and I felt quite at ease with this mood this year.

All the graves have pictures of the deceased on the head stone, many is not most with the husband and wife in the same grave, some with whole families of up to five or six. Some graves have sculptured masks of the dead on the headstone, usually a more important figure, but in general in true socialist style every grave area is the same with slight variations of headstone style. All done in a reserved and respectful manner and always understated, no extroverts allowed here.

Beneath each headstone is a base stone with a cavity cut out. This has a glass front and a metal door at the back, which is padlocked entry to a cavity. This is a space for personal possessions and effects are stored, for instance a photograph of the family they had left behind or a book etc., which is probably why it is locked. tis can be seen through the glass at the front. Also the candles that are lit each year is usually placed in side a little hand built shelter to protect from the wind, but most are of an old oil can with one side cut out as they site permanently on the grave browned by the years of rust.

We finally got there and all three of us set about tidying the grave up, it took a good half an hour of graft to get everything looking spic and span. Just as we finished other members of out family turned up - 'Well timed!' we said as we wiped the sweat of our brows after slaving away with weeds and planting in this now blazing April sun. We all exchanged the bags of food goodies, each of us lit a candle and placed it in the freshly dug soil on the grave and said a prayer as we watched the candles burn lower.

We then each took bottle of water and poured it over the grave in a cross motion and exactly the same was done with the bottle of wine saying another small prayer whilst doing it. A few minutes of talking over the grave, again very happily and joyful conversations about when young Baba was going to join her mother whereas we all agree that she would have to lose weight before she passes away as she wouldn't fit in the grave for one and her pension wasn't enough to cover the cost of a tractor to lay here to rest. Like I said, there is no sorrow involved on these occasions, it is almost like another celebrations and of course food and drink involved.

We talked our way out of the cemetery grounds and took Baba for the first time in her life to a big supermarket, Kaufland. She pushed a supermarket trolley for the first time in her life, knocking quite a few people out of the way during the learning process. We only got a loaf of bread there, but spent over an hour talking to people we knew who worked there, this is normal.

So back home and the day is half gone as we tuck into the bag of goodies presented to us including some lovely home made cake on of the family had baked yesterday (riddled with local home grown walnuts!) Mmmm!

Why no photographs taken you might ask? It has nothing to do with respect, as you might be thinking. I took the camera only to find that the batteries were dead when getting there; perhaps I should have buried them and said a prayer while I was there!

Welcome Home to Bulgaria Sylvia

Monday morning and Galia and I can hardly move, as the muscles in our bodies seemed to have been through ten rounds in a boxing ring and we were the losers. Why?

It all started with Galia’s niece turning up in Bulgaria, she had been working as a nurse in Greece for the last four years. She had decided to come back to Bulgaria and a home welcoming evening was organised at a Yambol restaurant last Saturday evening. In attendance were Galia, her niece (the nurse) another niece of Galia’s, plus another friend of the family. The scenario is set for four beautiful women and myself out for the evening and the best part of the morning., We partied on until we dropped, how fortunate am I and Sylvia insisted she paid for the whole evening! She had been earning ‘real money’ in Greece, not the pittance given out in wages to employees in Bulgaria - After all, that’s exactly why here and millions of other work abroad.

We all met at 7:30 in a well-known Bulgarian restaurant and the eating and drinking began. Four years away and Sylvia had lots to talk about with her experiences working in Greece. My goodness can she talk, Bulgarian are renown for their non-stop talking and conversation, but this to date was the most incessant example I had experienced since coming here. Four Bulgarian women talking all night, not much food was eaten, too much talking for that, but quite a bit of rakia was downed throughout the night, Sylvia loves rakia, she couldn’t get it in Greece and was making up for time.

We were due to attend a retro music discothèque after the restaurant, as Galia and myself took off to make a reservation at around 9:30. But to our disappointment it was fully booked and we had to think of alternative plans after we had got back to the talking, salads and Rakia.

During the course of out restaurant stay, I was fortunate to meet the Head coach of the Bulgarian National Basketball team, I had met Ivan once before on the 'St. George' Name Day party in Yambol's big Diana Park in the summer. Lovely chap, but he was letting his hair down tonight with friends, he still smokes with his left hand and rakia held in the right as I remember from before.

Sylvia was a stressed Bulgarian woman this evening, it showed as she couldn’t get her words out fast enough – she wanted to get it all off her chest. She told tales of how badly she had been treated in Greece by the men who have no respect fro their own women let alone Bulgarian women. She spent most of her time indoors tending the sick. Never had hardly any time off and what time was off was spent sleeping recovering from the workload. She never wants to go back there again and realises that money is important but there is no quality of life doing what she was doing away from family. She intends to work in Bulgaria but won’t even think about work until the New Year – she needs time to recover mentally from the experience. Galia and I know exactly what she is going through on that scale.

We had some musical visitors; a local village called Kabile has a Gypsy band. They came in to perform well-known Bulgarian songs but in Gypsy style arrangements that involved a lot of unified singing (shouted in the main) with a rhythm that never stops. The band consists of an accordion, two clarinets, a violin and two drummers. They were loud, brash and full of energy and they were still playing gone midnight as we left.

We went to another restaurant with more live music, this time Bulgarian/Greek/Gypsy style with the Gypsy element on keyboard the Greek on the bouzouki and Bulgarian sung by the very big male vocalist. We spent the rest of the evening now on beer and dance with a little meze on the table.

The dancing just went from strength to strength with music just calling and wanting to be danced to. This of course was expected from everyone who dined there as the lines of Bulgarians with traditional dance steps were made throughout the evening.

We finally finished at gone 3:00 in the morning and in bed just before 4:00 after walking a few kilometres in the crisp clear Yambol air. We never get drunk of course, there is far too much dancing to ever get that close, besides it isn’t the Bulgarian way to do this.

A night out with my Bulgarian family was an absolute pleasure, we are all glad to see Sylvia back in Bulgaria, but as we all know here, she will need time to recover from being away, this is important for tonight we knew she wasn’t at all right from the experience of being away from her homeland.

As for us, well we all know now why it is painful to move today, the dancing we did would merits a marathon! We probably lost weight that evening!