Spring is beautiful.
Anonymous
Yeah, I dunno, okay? I think maybe the lesson here is that poop is everywhere.
I thought maybe I was falling behind on gratuitous pictures of street food.
Hey did I mention I judged a spelling bee? Mostly I just sat and looked at cute, nervous kids in big oversized yellow t-shirts, and said, “That is correct. You may return to your seat” a billion times with exactly the same intonation.
There were two girls who seemed to have memorized the entire word list. We were there until 5:30 trying to knock one of them out before we finally gave up and awarded both of them first place.
On eG’s birthday, her flowers were pretty awesome, but what was more awesome was the communist-era vase in which they were placed for the afternoon.
These were up a few weeks ago. Not sure if they are anymore.
I like the pedestrian street better with leaves on the trees, don’t you think?
Near the east end of this street, there are some trees that have been pruned so severely that they now exist as barren trunks extending upward and ending at blunt angles. They dwarf the buildings next to them and give that section of the street a post-apocalyptic feel. When I first noticed them in March I was so nauseated by their sight that I actually felt like throwing up.
Now that it’s spring, we can eat outside at Rambla again!
This restaurant has given eG and me a fair share of hilarious moments this year. Once she ordered a pizza and when it came the crust was obviously made of phyllo dough. When we drop a utensil on the table, one of the two regular waiters swoops in and says “Opa! Change,” and comes back with a new one. During the meal pictured above, I tried to order a Kamenitza Fresh, and the waiter — who has seen me at least 15 times before and probably knows that I work at the school across the street — asked me for my ID.
Sunset on a rainy day near the center of town.
I’m sitting in the Sofia airport.
This is the last time I will wait for a flight out of Sofia before I wait for the flight that will take me home to Chicago in July. (Well, it’s not that simple — I have a connection in Munich, but now my entire sentiment is ruined.)
I’m going to China, meeting my parents and brother in Guangzhou and traveling around the city and then visiting my grandparents in Changsha. Two weeks total, which lands me back in Bulgaria at the beginning of June, which will be my last full month in Bulgaria.
A month ago, I dealt with a nightmare of a situation at the Chinese Embassy in Sofia in which a Chinese representative not much older than I am gave me a hard time, I suspect, because she saw my American passport and hated me. And then there were frantic phone calls between my parents and me in which we discussed how to trump her petty little power trip by appealing to a higher authority, and then to a higher-er authority, and then maybe even calling up a family friend who holds some hierarchy-important position in the national government. Through this I remembered that there are certain aspects of China that I do not enjoy much — namely the arbitrary assholery of some people in positions of authority and the summer weather, which resembles a wet towel someone decided to throw in the oven — and whenever I go back, I always pray that I will like it more this time around.
My brother, on the phone two days ago: “I’m excited to see you, but why do we have to go to China to see you? I’d rather not go to China and not see you than go to China and see you.” We are both such beautifully assimilated Asian-American children.
