My Bulgarian Summer

Primetime Magazine

Virginia, my Bulgarian J-1 student from the summer of 2016, didn’t even ask if I could take her and her three friends in this summer, knowing it was too many. She was right, but I said if you can’t find a place.... And so it came to pass that late on the night of June 1, after a 22-hour journey, four travel-weary and luggage-laden Bulgarian students, two girls, Virginia and Niki, and two boys, Angel and Richi, arrived at my Brewster door. For all but Virginia, it was their first time in this country, and all were set to work at a nearby resort.

The first order of business the next day was food and transportation. Their foray to the supermarket, led by my friend Richard, yielded $400 worth of groceries. Will my refrigerator and pantry ever hold it all?  Next up in the flurry of settling in were bikes, vital for getting to and fro from their first, and then second, jobs. The boys bought second-hand bikes; Niki heard about a man in Dennis who lends bikes, no strings attached; and Virginia again borrowed one from my friend, Marion. Disappointing, but even with offers of free helmets from local organizations, they don’t wear them here or at home. Later, Virginia rented a scooter to get between jobs. At least she had to wear a helmet then! 

Food is a great introduction to a culture. Angel shared Sharana salt, a delicious signature Bulgarian spice mixture. Used on many types of food in Bulgaria, this group only sprinkled it on their sandwiches. The girls sometimes made banitsa, a traditional Bulgarian pastry made with eggs, cheese, and pastry sheets. Last year, I introduced Virginia to grilled cheese sandwiches, which became a favorite of hers and, back home, her mother’s. But their primary sandwich consisted of white toast or waffles spread with cream cheese and topped with American cheese. Another taste sensation was ketchup on pizza. 

My kitchen was filled with cob after cob of corn, rivers of Coke, whole watermelons, peanuts in the shell, and mountains of cream cheese. Although they ate a lot of frozen food, french fries were often made from scratch. Their food was not labeled or closely guarded, except for the carefully- marked tubs of whipped cream cheese, which each bore its owner’s name. 

 Niki was amazed we had a product called “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.” I can’t believe she bought so much. There are two pounds of it in my refrigerator, left along with a multitude of other good and expired foods.

How curious that most of my quartet had so little curiosity about this country. But high on their lists is Niagara Falls. One of them did get there, and it didn’t disappoint. The two that visited Manhattan loved it and managed to pack in most of the major sights.

Living just a half mile from the bay was not a draw. Although Niki promised her mother she would spend two hours at the beach, and bought a new bathing suit for the occasion, she was back after an hour.

When a transformer blew recently and plunged us into darkness at 11 p.m., Richi was astonished to hear that the electric company would work through the night to fix the problem. In a large city in Bulgaria they might fix it the next day, and in a Brewster-sized town, it would most likely take a week.

They had co-workers and new friends from other parts of Bulgaria, South Africa, Romania, Macedonia, Serbia, and this country. They sometimes had to find common ground in English to communicate.

Surprised and initially suspicious of American friendliness, they told me how different it was at home.  Strangers there do not chat or make friendly eye contact.

There was an on again, off again romance and some homesickness, but all in all it was a smooth summer. They all celebrated birthdays while here, three turning 21 and one 22.

It’s quiet now; no more scooters buzzing up and down the road. No more rapid fire conversation that I couldn’t understand one word of, no more gales of laughter. What could be so funny so often? “Who’s home?” they would ask, coming in from work. I truly felt like a den mother or Snow White. As a friend pointed out, I had youth in the house again.

How wonderful to have this influx of kids from so many places that might otherwise just remain dots on the map. Bulgaria, and Ruse, “my” kids’ city on the Danube, with its many splendid buildings, has become a land with a long history, inhabited by real people with real hopes and dreams and heartaches. Knowing them humanizes that unknown part of the world and connects me to it. It’s not just geography anymore; it’s community.

I miss them… but three have already asked to come back next year.