Jiggety Jig!

Home! What a wonderful word! We're home. Crossing the border into Bulgaria two weeks ago was one of the most extraordinary moments I have experienced. For exactly two months and two point five weeks we were just one country away from all that is home to us. We were not allowed to go home. We could not return to our beds, our Christmasy stuff, our apartment, our routines, and most importantly, our friends and those who have become family to us in Bulgaria. Mere red tape prevented us from crossing the border.

On January 28th, that reality changed for us. We crossed the border! Life is returning to normal. Disclaimer: I, actually, do not know what a normal life might look like but for all intents and purposes, I will use the word "normal" in this post.

Bulgaria / Greece Border Crossing

We sat at the border late that Friday afternoon between Greece and Bulgaria, waiting to see if the border guards would indeed stamp our passports and send us on our way. All seemed to be in order. The guard returned our stamped passports and we were in Bulgaria!

Wow. Seeing the Bulgarian flag and hearing the guard speak Bulgarian to us were the first of many reminders that we were indeed home. Excitement grew in the car on the ride from the border to Sofia as we encountered simple, but very tangible tokens of home. A red Happy sign told us we were in Bulgaria. The snow-peaked mountains sitting in the east as we drove, the billboards of Bulgarian mobile phone operators, villages through which the highway took us . . . all reminders that we were going HOME!

Two weeks later and life is slowly falling into a rhythm. The kids are back at school. After recovering from a bout of illness, overnight visa travel back to Greece, and a school road trip for John and Luke to a basketball tournament in Budapest.

We are excited about what's ahead. We are thrilled to see the kids bounce right back into their social circles and school - and into basketball! We are thankful for friends here who have taken care of us physically and emotionally. We are thankful for family and friends at home in the US and abroad who have done the same, without whom we could not be here at all. We are thankful to be here, where - good or bad - all of our senses are met with a warm greeting of Welcome Home.


Now . . . back to work!

Tea and a Haircut

I wasn't there to get a haircut. The matters at hand were a new buzz cut for Andrew (his latest style) and a bang trim for Sophie. I was trying my best to keep up with the fast-talking, Macedonian-speaking (Macedonian is a close relative of Bulgarian) receptionist to make their appointments and I noticed the male stylist approaching me. Strangely, he began running his hands through my hair, paying close attention to my bangs. He began speaking to me in a tongue I could not quite place. I questioningly looked at the receptionist for a translation. She began in Macedonian once again, telling me that he would like to cut my hair and that he could make my bangs lay in such a way to make my eyes "pop." Being the adventurer I am and relishing in communication other than in my own native English, I made an appointment. I mean, it's not every day someone says they can make your eyes "pop!"

Two days later I entered the salon, ready for anything. This particular haircut took three people. Me. Stylist Guy, and Assistant/translator Girl.  Assistant Girl was particularly useful b/c she translated everything he told me . . .  into the clearer Macedonian and gave my answers back to him in their mysterious tongue.

Haircut in full swing, I cannot stand it any longer. I ask AG (Assistant Girl) where the stylist is from. My assumption was Albania or Kosovo, being that they are nearby and Albanians make up 30% of the Skopje population. But he did not seem Albanian to me. "He's from Turkey," she said. Aaaaaah! Turkey! Also nearby. That made sense.

As he cut, he would talk to me, which was rather comical because he knew I did not understand him. Perturbed, he would summon AG to come translate. I would answer in Bulgarian through AG and he would go back to cutting. At one point he yelled something across the room to dear AG. She quickly appeared with hot tea, in a small, glass cup that is becoming all too familiar  to me. "Drink," SG (stylist guy) stopped his cutting and commanded. I obeyed.

Cutting finished; time for drying. Right? Nope. SG asked if I would like a hair mask. Why not? He slathered a cream in my hair and sat me under a steam dryer. But, then he started talking to me again. I do not understand you, I scolded him in my mind. AG, help! Sensing that communication was being attempted without her, she dashed over to translate. This time I could not grasp what she was saying either. Loud music, louder hair dryer, different hair treatment terminology than that of Bulgarian, I was stumped. SG wasn't! He beckoned me from my chair over to the computer at reception where he found a translation program.

So there we stood at the computer. Me, foil dangling from the ends of my hair in anticipation of the mask to do its magic, and SG, pecking his Turkish words onto the keyboard. I looked at the printed translation on the screen before me. Oh! I thought. That's what you were trying to tell me??? All I  needed was one word in response! “Okay,” I said to him confidently, knowing he would understand.

As I sit back down to my steam-dryer, I notice a fresh cup of hot tea waiting for me. Nice! Keep in mind, I never asked for tea, nor was I offered it, it simply appeared.

Okay, if you've read this far, the oddest part of the entire deal is here. Picture this. AG dries my hair until it is acceptable to SG. She then moves out of the way, but is still holding hair dryer, still turned on. He grabs a round brush, positions it in my hair, and takes hold of the drying end of the dryer while AG is still holding onto the power end. She never, ever, lets go of the hair dryer while he dries. Ever.

He finishes styling. Very nice!

I have to say, this was the most delightful haircut I have ever had! The tea, AG, SG, Google Translate, and Eastern music playing through the salon made my current exile from Bulgaria a bit more palatable. . . that day. I am thankful today for the immeasurable variety that makes up the peoples of the earth, all  with such great beauty and vast differences that each lend to a picture of the earth's exquisite palate - no matter who or where we are.

I am now working to learn the Turkish word for “thank you.” Teşekkürler!