by Yaroslava Tymoshchuk

My name is Yaroslava, for two months I have been living and working in the Bulgarian city of Blagoevgrad, in ABS organization, under the program of the European Commission ESC. In the article, I will tell you why volunteering is an adventure worth considering and what the experience of living in a new country and what’s more, in an international environment can teach

I. The Traveling Angel

Homesickness had swept me over before the plane took off the runway at Kyiv airport. For half a year, I left my family, friends, work, the usual little joys, not knowing how in a few weeks the world would turn over and how miserable these experiences would seem compared to the problems of the world. I even let myself cry a little — anyway no one knows me. The plane, full of priests in black cassocks, was flying to Greece. The smell of alcohol was hung in the air. One of the pilgrims sat next to me. He was a mustachioed man in his 50s with a cross around his neck, reciting prayers from a prayer book, occasionally distracted by messages on Viber. I took a look — it was a prayer for a safe journey. The man sitting on my left, who was still gazing through the window, suddenly turned to me, "Are you all right?"

Actually, I was planning to take a nap, but he inadvertently dragged me into the conversation. For two hours, we knew the biographies and paths of each other that had crossed in the Kyiv-Thessaloniki Wizz Air plane. Not being used to speaking English, I got a headache — the brain made an extra effort to pick up the right words. As the plane began to land, the pilgrim reached for the window. But he did not succeed in taking Instagram photos: first, a piece of the seat from the previous row, then the interlocutor's hand, then a piece of my coat. I suggested taking some pictures for him — in gratitude he held out a handful of candies. They were filled with rum, whiskey and brandy. That's where that smell spread in the aisles! The pilgrim treated the attendant priests, who were to continue their trip to Athos.

There were only three passport control points at the airport so my new Greek friend and I were talking for as long as we did on the plane. (For the myths of ancient Greece, I can forgive these people for anything). We had plenty of time to ask each other a few phrases, which are essential in our countries. I asked how to order Greek cold beer in a cafe. (In almost the same way as in English, the most important things are universal). After the stamp in his passport, the pilgrim wrote to his wife: "God let us fly happily!"

At a public transport stop, my new friend bought me bus tickets and went with me to make sure I reached my booked apartments. Before saying goodbye, he held out a can of cold beer. It was the first traveling angel I have met during this adventure for half a year. They always work better than any GPS.

Thessaloniki, February 2020

And the candies melted in my pocket due to the Greek heat.

II. Balkan Melodies

The land I stepped on already existed in my imagination, dotted with Balkan writers' books and Kusturica's films. Now I kind of got into the scenery of the set. Mountains with snow-capped peaks emerged from the bus window as if Easter paskas (traditional Easter bread in Ukraine) covered with white icing. The mountains were hugging the city as if with bear paws.

The bus brought me to the town of Blagoevgrad, 70,000 inhabitants, 100 kilometers from Sofia, which at first glance resembled a typical Ukrainian district center: showcases that showed dummies in glittering dresses, demonstration of ostentatious luxury in the outfits of passers-by, quickly blasted through the eyes. However, the first person I spoke to in Bulgaria turned out to be Irish. My coworker, volunteer Adam spoke with an accent of people I had only heard before in the British series. I felt that I had got a headache again. A week would pass — and English fatigue would go, and the brain would first of all give out foreign words needed to survive in a new environment, even when communicating with relatives on the phone.

In the early days, I passed a pack of stray dogs with fear (a common phenomenon and one of the problems of the city), until I learned to distinguish between them. There are friends that are friends with each other, and there are those who are at odds — these are real dog clans with territorial fights. They hang out in the center, mostly near small grocery stores. The locals seem to be used to them clutching their paws — they say “hello” to people. When I walk by, it seems like everyone here, including the animals, is the actor on the set of the movie, and I still don't get to be here, as if someone forgot to give the script. It is no wonder to see a horse-drawn carriage with bells, along with food delivery cars.

The Bulgarian exterior house walls look like the penultimate page of a typical Ukrainian district newspaper. Street obituaries printed on A4 sheets and sometimes wrapped in a file (some sort of rain protection) are also hung on doors, utility poles, tree trunks, even on transformer booths. Writings about 40 days after death commemoration, announcing in advance the time and place of the memorial service — everyone can come to remember with relatives. The publicity with which it is proclaimed is similar to how fervently some older Ukrainians want to read a congratulation on their anniversary in a local newspaper or to hear a song dedicated to them in the Musical Gift section on the radio. To pour into the media stream, fix your existence, and reach eternity even in such a way.

Despite such accentuated mourning, the city cemetery is quite nice (if cemeteries can be nice), its fence is painted with graffiti, adjacent to the largest local supermarket — as if two elements converged across the road: bustling consumerism and eternal tranquility.

Bulgarians love living in the southern sense of the word. They slowly relish today through cocktail straws, contemplating the environmental movement. If you live, then completely, if you dress — then brightly, if you dance — do it is as if no one sees.

If I had to choose the soundtrack for my stay here it would be exactly the sounds of the bagpipe musical instrument (гайда in Bulgarian). I will explain my choice in the next chapter.

III. Travels and People

Is it possible to visit six different countries without physically stepping on their land? Sure, if your volunteer project involves staying with the representatives of these six countries: Italy, Spain, Ireland, France, Georgia, Azerbaijan. In communication with them you discover new cultures, customs, recipes, new words, new ways of thinking. However, before the quarantine announcement, no one canceled the trip and we managed to see other cities in Bulgaria.

Traveling is one of the benefits of volunteer youth programs and an opportunity to discover the country not by rapturous tourist forays, but by becoming at least temporary, but still a resident. It was during my trip to Plovdiv when I realized that being Bulgarian means not hurrying anywhere at all.

In the hostel where we stayed, one girl spoke to me. Zlatka, from Sofia, invited us with volunteers to attend an ethnic-band concert where her friend-guitarist performed at an underground club nearby. Subsequently, Zlatka and I became friends and met each other in other Bulgarian cities. She was the first to treat me with баница (a traditional Bulgarian layer cake).

Before the performance, we went out for dinner. 15 minutes before the start of the performance (the same amount of time the road to the club takes), I carefully suggested paying the bill and moving.

— Oh, do not hurry, — said the guitarist carelessly, — we have enough time.

And he took a pull at a cigarette. When we finally arrived at the venue half an hour later, he did not come to the stage, or at least backstage for rehearsal, as I had expected. He ordered himself a beer at the bar. The concert finally started an hour and a half later than the poster said. No one was surprised, the audience seemed to converge closer to midnight. Perhaps everything is right: perhaps it is an act of petty revenge on the time because sometimes it is relentless and cruel.

And I liked the concert: for the first time, I heard the sound of a bagpipe instrument — as if it was some kind of separate language. In the dark nooks and crannies of the underground club, we saw Bulgaria, which we would never know from tourist guides: good-natured, ready to have fun with all the fibers of his Balkan temperament. I was not even surprised to see our day tour guide in the group. Music, it turns out, is another of his passions. It seemed that we had known each other for a long time: volunteers, a girl from the church, her guitar friend, our guide Nenko. Although we saw each other for the first time. Needless to say, I was not surprised when I later met Nenko in underground clubs at performances of ethnic groups in different cities. He seemed not to be surprised at all. It is as if Bulgaria should be one big party, where it is worth having fun as if each of them could be the last one; as if dancing is not dancing unless you put your soul into it.

At the end of the performance, everyone was holding hands to join in a common dance and went along the hall. We were from different countries, but in those moments we were all a bit Bulgarians.

IV. The World is on Hold

After the quarantine announcement, the world resembles a postponed deadline. On the one hand, it seems that the world has slowed down and you can slow down the pace, on the other — life is rushing in the meanwhile, you won't put it off "for later." You look back and realize how much freedom you had by default until recently: you could plan a trip, get on a plane, move to another country, take out coffee and wander around the city streets, even look at mannequins in shop windows.

Quarantine teaches to appreciate our little everyday joys, such as smiles that are less visible in masks now, to manage life rationally. After all, we know now that when you really want something, excuses about the lack of time are mere excuses.

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