The Beginning....Its a good place to start

My husband and I met in college. After month of "running into" each other at the local bagel and coffee joint I pretty much was convinced I was falling "in love." (and no, I was not excited) Up to that point, my life had been relationship-free zone - guys were buddies and nothing more.  I hadn't ever dreamed of marriage, in fact I thought of romance as a pesky distraction.

Sam was by far the best distraction of my life.  Both of us history majors, we graduated within a year of each other.  Instead of getting married right out the door, we had time to travel, work, and prep for the road ahead.  I decided to take an internship abroad with MTW.  Sam stayed at his job and was able to visit me in Bulgaria for my birthday.

That wasn't the first adventure of our 3 years of dating, but it was our first completely uncharted, overseas adventure.  By the time he and his mother visited me, I'd lived in Sofia for roughly 3 and a half months.  By no means was I fluent in Bulgarian, but I'd traveled around Bulgaria enough to be able to be a semi-effective tour guide.

When I'd landed in Sophia that June, our group was immediately taken to drop off the bulk of our luggage (enough for 7 months and 3 seasons!) before driving south to Pazardzhik for a week long medical missions clinic.  It was my first experience staying in a hostel overseas, but not the first time I had shared living quarters with a mouse.

During that week, sans medical training/experience, I and a few others partnered with other non-medical volunteers from the local church to help in a neighboring village.  The name escapes me at the moment, which causes more than a little shame since the mayor hosted us himself our last day there.

Our project that week was to clear the churchyard of that small village, the pastor of which was upwards of 90 years old and walked precariously with 2 canes. The church was beautiful, historical, and small by American standards, but had a beautiful sounding piano which we played on our water breaks (much to the delight of a local boy who decided to help out).  We filled the street outside the courtyard with brush, wood, and weeds planning to haul it off in gradual loads.  Instead, local Roma came and took most of the wood for poles and the brush for kindling.

Here's comes the ironic(?) part of the trip.  According to my friend who had been living in Bulgaria for many years, is a licensed doctor in the United States, and speaks fluent Bulgarian, poison ivy has not been introduced to his adopted country.  I have a LONG list of things I'm allergic to, but worst of all is my reaction to poison ivy.  So far, the last 3 times I've had a reaction its spread so rapidly (despite basic precautions) I had to seek medical assistance.  No, I don't roll in it, and yes, I know what it looks like and am on the constant lookout.

So, there I am, in a country that supposedly is berefit of my personal kryptonite.  Fast forward to halfway thru the week.  An itchy spot on my arm in the morning, another spot on my forearm  in the afternoon, spreading....growing..So much for no poison ivy huh?  When I showed my arm and explained what I suspected and why the medical team gave me that condescending look/smirk only all-knowing medical professionals have.  When the spots continued to spread sans scratching and after washing, ointments AND oral antihistamines they finally deigned to offer what oral medication they had on hand.

Do I think got poison ivy in a country where it doesn't grow? Of course not! My theory is that some thing the church courtyard caused a similar severe allergic reaction.  I would also like to say that my friends in the medical profession are extremely knowledgeable and compassionate, despite my descriptive words above. Admit it, you've been there too, possibly on the other side of the medical profession, watching people self diagnose and coming to ridiculous conclusions.  In this case, I was blessed to have medical professionals on hand in a foreign country where I would continue to have limited access to medical assistance.

The Mayor's office

At the end of our week in  Pazardzhik , the medical team had helped many people.  My team had completely cleared the courtyard and fixed the walkway so that it was passable.  The mayor of village hosted us at his offices, I wish I could remember the food better.  Sadly, the only thing I remember with certainty was that cold bottles of Coke was served and the conversation was thorough!  The mayor was very proud of his village and asked about the cities we were from.  I felt so bad when I couldn't answer his questions about Greenville's population or how many malls we had.  Disclaimer: I still have no clue.  I could just Google it and pretend that my knowledge is endless, but I'm just gonna honest here.

Overall, that first week was OVERWHELMING. I missed my boyfriend so much.  The language was different, the money was different, I was with a group of complete strangers I had never met before in my life, save for a conference phone call.  During the time, I didn't FEEL overwhelmed because I was so busy.  All the interns had their days completely planned out, even those of us who were still struggling with the time change (forget language barriers).  This was helpful, it gave me no time to be vulnerable, no time for tears or "what have I gotten myself into?"  I enjoyed every minute of it.  The sweltering sun, working with new friends with whom I had to use parts of 3 different languages to communicate with, enjoying my first cold beer, changing money in 2 different currencies, ect.

There are so many other side stories from my first week in Bulgaria. Like using a Turkish toilet for the first time.  There's nothing like needing to go REALLY bad, asking where the bathroom is, and no one tells you its just a porcelain pad, place for you feet and a 5 inch hole.  That's right people -  5 inches. Squatting.  Heaven forbid you have to poo. Eh, you get used to it real quick, thankfully the next week I went back to bathrooms with the throne in them.  (I could go on a tangent about how they were different too, but I won't- comment if you want the story)

Another side story would be about the mouse in our room, or shoe shopping for sandals in size 10.  You could also hear about how hot it was, how good the (melted) chocolate was, the bizarre sodas we saw, the two lane roads driven like 4 lane highways.  It didn't seem like it at the time, but everything was a whirlwind, and my head is just spinning thinking of everything we did and experienced. The poppy flowers beside the train tracks, learning the Cyrillic alphabet,  passing gelato carts on every corner, trying different flavors every night when we walked around after dinner.

The poppy flowers you will hear more of in following posts, especially the next one about the overnight train to Istanbul.