Sunday August 3. Tomorrow we leave for Kosovo. By the time this column is published, we will, Lord willing, have returned. From Kosovo and Macedonia to be exact. This is one of those trips that came together in three days, so we still don't know with which road to exit Sofia... nor where we will be staying in Pristina, or Skopje. Truth is, I'm feeling kind of guilty about the trip, because renting a car has proved more expensive than anticipated, and what I really need is a new refrigerator... but how many times can one go to Kosovo? There's always time to buy a fridge.

Saturday August 2. In addition to the normal tomatoes, parsley, cobs of corn, fresh cheese and garden herbs, someone was selling live chickens and puppies at the street-side market today. I'm assuming that they were meant for eating (the chickens). Go figure. It just seemed funny, like Mexico or something.

Later. At a birthday party, talking to a Bulgarian girl, she says that she sees no reason to learn English, and I'm so happy. She understands it fine, can make small talk, etc, but simply believes that if living in Bulgaria, people should speak Bulgarian. (Note that she is fluent in Italian, having lived there for five years.) Why should Bulgarians be forced to speak English because foreigners are too busy or too apathetic to try to learn Bulgarian? What are we, the new colonisers?

If a Bulgarian moved to Florida or England or Switzerland or Argentina, s/he would learn English or German or French or Italian or Spanish: it would only be expected. And if s/he did not, societal rejection or discrimination would ensue.

But here... It's like the constant surprise I receive when a Bulgarian learns that I speak "their" language. Sorry, but it's not as hard as they all seem to think. It's a lot easier than German, and plenty of people speak that just fine. If a Bulgarian can learn to make out Latin letters, I can sure learn to make out Cyrillic.

Which brings me to people who immediately switch to English when they hear me speaking Bulgarian. Ok, so I have an accent, but so do you when you speak English. I'm not dumb; I speak your language just fine. I do not need your condescending "oh poor foreigner trying to make due with our challenging language"-switch to English. After all, how do you even know that I speak English? I could speak German or Hindi for all you know.

And, if I continue to speak in Bulgarian after you have "kindly" switched to English, do not continue to speak to me in English. Thank you.

Friday August 1. Defrosted the fridge.

Bowling in Studentski Grad is followed by tricolour shots of something described as alcohol at a classic bar named Milenkata. It was fun, and about time to experience Sofia's haven of student life. Amusing, to see all the get-ups that the girls wear. Though in the past couple years, the style of clothing has greatly been toned down. Not so hooker-like. Changing times, or changing fashions?

To imagine living there, though. Rather pithole-ish, with trash everywhere, prison-like dorms...

Walking home through an underpass at about midnight, there was a guy strumming on a guitar: Ave Maria, one of the classical versions. Beauty.

Wednesday. July 30. My landlady calls. I tell her that I need a new fridge because the icebox-thing in my apartment is 30 years old, wastes energy, and is either too warm and my food rots, or is too cold and my food freezes. She says: "You need to defrost it every month or so. That's just normal for the fridge to work correctly. I don't know what type of refrigerators you have in California, but in Bulgaria, that's what we do."
Thank you.
She did not understand, either, why I would want to buy one with my own money. Because I want ice cream, that's why!

Tuesday July 29. "Everything depends on knowing how much" -Baby Suggs, in Beloved (Toni Morrison, 1987).