Moldova

I recently attended an International Tourism Youth forum in Lozova, Moldova. I was asked by my coworkers to attend this program and decided to give a presentationon our organization as well as ideas we have for rural tourism development. I really had no idea what I was getting myself into when I volunteered to go, but I figured that I would give it a shot. The only thing that sucked is that the forum was at the same time as the Bulgarian week long holiday. I got in contact with a friend of mine from home who served in the PC in Moldova about a year ago. He recommended the trip and gave me some info about the country.

I was all ready to set off on my mini "business" trip when I received an email from the project coordinators in Moldova. I made a presentation on PowerPoint and sent it to them so they would have it for when I presented. They informed me that there would not be any access to computers at the site and the presentation should be presented in an "informal" setting. I really don't know what that meant. They also said that I need to bring a tent. Hell, a tent? I thought I would be checking into the 4 star hotel in Moldova (not really). Since I don't have a tent lying around my apartment, I decided to "wing-it"(this is a common practice of mine, one in which I relied on heavily in the Middle East).

The trip to and from Moldova was almost a better experience then the forum. First, a half hour trip on bus to Svishtov. Second, a hour and a half bus ride to Ruse followed by a different bus to Bucharest. I arrived in Bucharest about 6 hours early. I was planning on taking the night train from Bucharest to Kishinau. What to do for 6 hours in Bucharest? You guessed it, local beers + local Romanians = one hell of a good time. I spent the next six hours with 4 Romanians and 1 Bulgarian drinking and talking about hard rock bands from the states. I felt bad then and feel bad now for my lack of knowledge in the metal rock department. Something made them think that since I was American, I would know all about the devil music that is called rock. The Romanians spoke English, but the Bulgarian only Russian and Bulgarian I acted as a "translator" for the Bulgarian guy, which, believe me, was a site to be seen. But, after beers and Rakiu (Romanian rakia) I was speaking like the Bulgarian Shakespeare.

So after six hours of stimulating conversation, we were off to Moldova. Ironically, I was in the same sleeper as the Bulgarian guy. The train brought back memories of my European travel days. The smell of musky feet and moldy towels all came flowing back into my mind. As we settled in for the 13 train ride, we met our third and final member of our room, a Moldovan. He was a Moldovan that worked in Bucharest but was traveling to Kishinau to visit his family for the holiday. He was a really nice guy and spoke English decently. The Bulgarian was lost in the converstion as I would occational try to mutter some Bulgarian his direction to get him in the general direction of the converstion. We headed to the diner car before bed and I prepared myself for one hell of a train dinner. Pork sausage and boiled potatoes was on the menu and I was defiantly liking what the 75 year old Moldovan chef was cooking. After a few Kishinau brews, it was off to bed.

Around two o’clock in the morning, we were awoken by the Moldovan border guards. I was half asleep, drool on cheek, when the bombardment of questions came at me. The Moldovan guy was translating what the border guy was saying into English, and I was trying to translate it into Bulgarian for other guy. It was very interesting to say the least.

We arrived in Kishinau around 9 in the morning where I was met by one of the directors of the event. He was a really cool guy that actually spoke Bulgarian. We made our way to a small village about 35 km outside of the capital. Moldova is a pretty green country (only in color, not hybrid vehicle style) with a hilly landscape. The region was similar to that of northern Bulgaria, but I must say that the roads and infrastructure was a mess compared to Bulgaria’s system.

Here are a couple of pictures from the conference:

The opening ceremony for the conference. I was told the guy with the sweet hat is the best singer in Moldova. I don't know if that is true, but I do know one thing, that is a sweet ass felt hat.

Our kitchen for the duration of the trip. It is an old Soviet cooker that the military used. Our meals at the camp consisted of vegetarians dream: oatmeal, soup and boiled potatoes.

The tent I stayed in. About 20 of us.

The group of us standing around in the rain. It rained everyday I was there.

Part of our wine tour through the village. It was my new best friend of Moldova.

Part of the Religious tour of the town. All fifty of us crowded into the cemetery and celebrated the death of the ex-mayor with a glass of when and some pitka bread. I would like to apologize to a Mrs. Ivanova. I accidentally stepped on her grave.

This is the crafty craftsmen that created an inordinate amount of wooden things in his house. Everything from windows to toilet seats.

A Russian bell at a Moldovan monastery. It weight about 4 tons.

















So the path to the monastery was about 12 km there and 12 km back. On our way back, a group of 5 of us got lost in the Moldovan woods for about 2 hours. It was cold and rainy. The only reason we found our way out was by following the bird boxes (Beth) back to a road and then hitching back about 17 km to the camp site. It was the longest 2 hours of my life. All the white stuff is wild garlic.






Some tree.














A spoon game that we played at the camp.














On the trip, I ran into three Peace Corps volunteers from Moldova and four Peace Corps volunteers from Romania. It was interesting to hear there experiences and how similar and different our roles in a foreign country were going.

More to come on the Romania trips and the trip to the Middle East.


Take Care and Stay Classy Chicago,

Chase Read more!

Peace, I am out

Sorry everyone, but I will be out of Bulgaria for the next two weeks. I will post all about the travels when I get back.


Maa Salama,

Chase Read more!

Baba Hoods

You see them everywhere in Bulgaria. They are abundant in the small towns and villages, but scarce in the large cities. They come in many different shapes and sizes, colors and textures. They are Baba (grandma) hoods. For those of you who don’t know what baba hoods are, let me try to articulate there bad assness in writing. Like their cousin headwear apparel bandanas, these too are tied around your head. Similarly to the bikers’ tradition of bandanamania, baba hoods are dawned proudly above most babas in Bulgaria. Unlike biker bandanas though, they do not have a proudly displayed eagle or an American flag on them. They come in patterns that can only be compared to really bad wallpaper from the 60’s and 70’s. Each has a unique smell which is a direct result from long hours in the field and smells from the kitchen. The colors range from simple black to rainbow colored “skittle” head types of hoods. As I asked around about why the hoods are so important to a Bulgarian baba, I was surprised by some of the answers.

1) To protect their colored hair from the elements, such as rain, wind and other things that could affect the red colored hair.
2) It’s cheaper then a hair brush. Why stress in the morning about what to do with your hair when you can just put a piece of cloth around your head and call it a day.
3) Prevents alien attacks
4) Fashion Statement. What better way to make your fellow baba neighbors jealous then by wearing a new fashionable baba hood. They also will make all the old grandpas drool (not from being over medicated) by strutting their stuff in front of them with their new hoods.
5) Used for aroma therapy.
6) So they can be recognized by their family and community
7) Aerodynamic. The curvature of the hood allows for a tight forming fit around the head that enables the 80 year old to reach maximum speed faster. Imagine them without the hoods.
8) It can double as a handkerchief.
9) Being “Hip”. These hoods make them look and feel younger.

Feel free to add more reasons for this phenomenon in Bulgaria and remember to have a great St. Patrick’s Day!!

Until Next week, this is


Stay Classy Bulgaria

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Joint Blog with other B22's

Here is a link to a newly formed blog page with a group of B22 volunteers submitting posts.

B22Blogstars

Chase Read more!

The Tale of Two Duners (Doners)

To many of you, the word means nothing. To some, including myself, it means much more. It all starts with a soft, fluffy, circular flour shell. Its body has the strength to hold in copious quantities of deliciousness, yet still has the soft and comfortable feeling that you can only find in a pile of fresh laundry (dry of course). The shell is heavily powdered in white flour which upon every bit it leaves your lips looking like, well, white. What is inside this gift from god you ask? Well, the toppings can vary from place to place, but there is usually one constant ingredient that can be found in all doners, MEAT (Sorry, Tyler/Thomas and other grass eaters). Though, without meat doners have been said to exist, I intend to write only about ones with meat. This juicy meat concoction is comprised of many different stacks of “Meat”. This “Meat” is a mystery to the world; it could be beef, chicken, pork, hell maybe even fish. It rotates ever so gracefully around an open air rotisserie thing (Think about that magic Rotisserie machine on TV but bigger and without saying the words, “Set it! And Forget!”) The “meat” is carved off by a highly skilled and trained craftsman (or a pimply high school kid trying to earn money for Friday’s disco) and the “meat” falls gentle into a pile comprised of “character” building ingredients.

As I dive into the art of a duner, I must not forget to mention one of the most critical ingredients, the Sauce. Many say that a duner is to be graded upon this said sauce. Much emphasis and focus is aimed towards the duner sauce. So duner stands will fall or raise in the face of a good or bad sauce. The sauce may be too strong, too garlicky, too runny, too chunky, too sour, too sweet or maybe just plan nasty.

The shell is quickly warmed on a stove top and then the sauce is placed on the shell (generously). The “meat” is then placed in the doner followed by the any of the following ingredients:

Cabbage (sometimes the cabbage consists of Carrots and other “tasty” ingredients) the cabbage can range in colors, green to brown, depending on the freshness. For the full experience, brown and wilted is recommended.

French Fries- From the crispy ness to the wimpyness, French Fries play the “filler” role in this meal. You can tell what type of owner runs the doner stand you are at by the amount of fries you receive. The more in the doner, the less “meat” you will receive. This means the owner is a cheap bastard and his stand should never be returned to. You also need to be aware of the grease content of the fries.

Rice – Rice is a rare ingredient. It was first introduced when the mass influx of Mexicans came to Bulgaria. They brought with them Cinco De Mayo and Burritos. This habit to add rice to burritos then transcended to the doners. The rice allows a more consistent doner. It acts to balance the greasiness and the textures of the meal without overpowering the taste. Rice is a premium product that is added and only quality stands added it to there arsenal.

Pickles – Just as adding corn to pizza is a mystery to me, Pickles to doners are the same way. They do add to the taste, but in an unuseful way. The saltiness of the pickles is lost in the saltiness of the fries and “meat”. The pickles come in many sizes, but the most popular is the spear type.

Tomatoes – Bulgaria grows some of the world’s best tomatoes. The juiciness and sweetness of every tomato here assures you that Bulgaria soil is awesome. You can never have enough tomatoes.

Condiments – I for one am all for adding Ketchup to any meal. Eggs, toast, salads, and now for duners. Why not add to that 1000 calorie duner with a little Ketchup and a whole hell of a lot of Mayo. So add soy sauce, hot sauce, pepper, more salt and oil. I would recommend keeping it simple to employ the full duner experience.

This goodness is all wrapped and packaged in a plastic sack, which is a miracle in itself, and served to you for a low price. Needless to say, it is my crack rock of Bulgaria.

You may ask yourself, “Why explain in such detail the doner?” Well, to add to the reasoning of course. Two weeks ago was our IST. It was a refresher course for us and all the B22s and B21s were in attendance. It was held in the beautiful town of Hissar. The only thing I remember about that place was the super sweet indoor water slide. Who know that time trials down a waterslide would be so fun.

Enough serious talk (If you haven’t notice, I will try to keep serious issues and stories to a bear minimum, because you know as well as I, you don’t want to read about my “life changing events”), I was out in a fabulous town in Bulgaria with a man that will be called, Pablo. At the end of the night, walking perfectly straight lines and reciting the alphabet forward and backwards, we approached the heavenly Doner Stand. Now thing back to college, where El Famous Burrito or Papa Johns was a mere few seconds from realization, here it is the same. A perfect night will be capped off by a carbohydrate loaded meal at 4 in the morning. Here is no different except Duners are substituted instead of Taco Bell. Pablo and I proceeded to cap off our glorious night with two giant duners. I handed him his and then, with my right hand holding deliciousness, turned. As the smell creped towards my nose, out of nowhere, a hand, swifter then mine forced my heaven in a shell to the ground. In a state of shock, I looked into the eyes of the culprit and to my surprise it was Johnny Sourpants. I thought to myself, with the utmost clarity in mind, “What the F$## are you doing?” Words were exchanged; none to be mentioned here, and as cooler heads prevailed, Johnny Sourpants walked to the stand to by me a new doner. Still in shock and awe, I looked at the poor casualty on the ground. There it laid; cabbage and meat sprawled out of the shell. That night I shed a single tear for that KIA Duner. As Johnny handed me a newly made duner with extra sauce, a flash of clarity jolted through my mind. With the duner in my hand for less then two seconds, I immediately launched the duner upon Johnny’s face. Oh the site, a direct hit that ran from the upper left temple to the nose. Man, I really should give the maker of that duner a tip because he must have put extra duner sauce in there. It ran down his head and may have got in his eyes which sent him walking away in shame. Two doners down, and tired I headed to Bed. Just remember, messing with a man (or woman)’s duner is like messing with his family. You just don’t do it. So here is to you Mr. Dunersmackerouterhand Man, Think twice before you act on a person’s duner.


Ok, I am out, Next time I will talk about my adventures to Romania.

Take care and Stay Classy,

Chase Read more!

Peace out Hommies

No post for the next week or so.

I will be in Hissar for "re-education" sessions.

Stay Classy,

Chase Read more!

The Maid that wasn't

They have many names, domestic workers, house servant, maids, housekeepers and my favorite, French maids (that’s beside the point). Since the beginning of time, when the rich decided that it was no longer necessary to wipe their own дупе, there have been maids. It has been well noted that if you are able to acquire said domestic worker, you must be a relatively well off individual. With that said, I never, in a million years, thought that when I came to Bulgaria I would have a maid of my own, or so I thought.

My apartment is located in an apartment block. Not like an apartment found on Addison, but rather a cement monstrosity circa Soviet Union era. It is not the most appealing site to one’s eyes, but it does the job. I enjoy it thoroughly. It is a spacious, two bedroom, one kitchen, full bath, ICE BOX. I stress the words, ice box, emphatically. I live on the 3^rd floor and have many neighbors, one of which is a friendly, old baba with a wicked baba hood. Seriously, it’s like a package of Skittles melted on her head and now resembles a shawl. Anyway, when I first moved in (October) we had several friendly conversations, most of which included me saying hello in Bulgarian three different ways and then saying that I love dogs. Throughout our conversations, she would always say something like,”Чист” followed by”Blahblahblah, somethingsomethingsomething idontknowwhatthisladyissaying butijustkeepstaringather mustacheandiamwonderingifminecouldeverbeasthick, Добре?” and with my outstanding Bulgarian skills, this literally translates to, “Clean, OK?”. I said sure. I believed that for a set price, which she pointed out on her field-stricken hands, would clean my apartment with a vacuum cleaner. The set price was 2 leva. Man, what a deal. My first maid and it will only cost 2 leva. I was moving on up in the underdeveloped world.

Days would pass and for weeks on end I wondered. I had yet to receive this wonderful lady in my home. I wasn’t sure how the process was going to work. Does she come to my door when she wants to clean? Should I find her apartment and ask for her to come down and clean? The answers to these questions eluded me time after time. I would see her outside time and again. The converstion was the same over and over and it always ended with, “2 leva”.

Three months had past and no maid. The excitement of not having to clean my dishes the whole time in Bulgaria quickly wore off and I had to resort to manual labor (after the mouse, Sammy II, began leaving presents for me in the kitchen). I was sad and disappointed that my 3 month *integration plan of talking with the local maid had disappeared. I started thinking about why this old baba would tease me. Was it because I was American and she thought that it would be funny to exploit my Americanism of laziness? Maybe yes, but I don’t think she thought that much into it.

So after a great New Years in Plovdiv, I returned smelly and hung-over to Belene. I was met in the hall by a guy (who I was told later, had been recently released from the town’s prison) that claimed to be the son of good ole’ Skittle head. He spoke with an angry tone and very fast. While I was trying to listen to the man speak, the timed lights in the hallway kept going out. He began to speak louder and louder as I started to realize what he was talking about. He was inquiring about his mother (Skittle head) and the payments of 2 leva that she was suppose to receive. I told him in Bulgarian, it might as well of been Arabic, that she never cleaned my apartment and that I was not going to pay her money. This made him very upset and he became visibly frustrated. The entire time that damn light kept going on and off. Finally, cooler heads prevailed, with the intervention from another neighbor, and we parted ways.

I told the story to my counterpart and he quickly launched an investigation. He came back and started laughing. I guess the Skittle head lady was not trying to clean my apartment, but rather she cleaned the staircase for a monthly fee. All the tenants of the building paid her 2 leva a month to clean up the stairs. So all this time, thinking I was going to have a maid, it turns out this lady was just trying to get me to pay her 2 leva for her job on the stairs. Well, don’t I feel like the horse’s ass.

Take care and you stay classy,

Chase Read more!