Although Bolivia and Bulgaria have similar-sounding names, the differences abound. I’ve experienced the most noticeable culture change in this transition, as our first five months were spent in Latin America. Needless to say, this month is distinct from the last.
Instead of facing visa complications at the border, we seamlessly arrived at our ministry site earlier than usual. The church we are working with, Christian Missionary Center – Vidin, has hosted five World Race teams before, so the leaders are very organized and prepared. Time and schedules exist and align accordingly. We endured our first true jet lag since Bulgaria is seven hours ahead of Bolivia.
Gone are the days of Juan and Marcos as we embrace working with Pastors Yavor and Viktor. People have taller statures, bigger bellies, and deeper voices. I have met men with hairy faces and women with shaved heads. For the first time, we aren’t the only white people around and, therefore, attract less stares and whistles.
I no longer see Bolivian indigenous women with round faces and long braids wearing puffy skirts, colorful shawls, and black hats. Instead I see gypsy women with hooked noses and thick, dark eyebrows wearing worn clothing and gold hoop earrings. Quechua vanishes into Romani.
Latin script has been replaced by Cyrillic script, so I try to decipher words that include threes, backwards Rs, misconstrued gender symbols, and my personal favorite, the six-legged spider. Smooth, sultry Spanish is replaced by harsh, coughing Bulgarian consonants and vampire-speak. I converse through others instead of helping others converse through me.
Altitude is a non-issue. I can eat and walk at the same time without choking from lack of oxygen. I can sing an entire worship song without feeling faint. I can walk up five flights of stairs to our apartment without collapsing (granted, on a good day).
My lip cracks have healed. The electric storm sparking between my blankets has disappeared. Thick layers have been substituted by shorts and tank tops.
I no longer watch a snowfall of dry skin flakes when changing clothes. I no longer don an old-fashioned powdery wig of dust. I no longer debate nightly whether to volunteer my nose as an iceberg to breathe or risk suffocation under my covers. I no longer throw toilet paper in the garbage or pay to use a public bathroom.
There is a notably darker, heavier atmosphere with hints of oppression, perverse sexuality, and suspicion. Drugs and prostitution are common issues. Racial prejudice is rampant toward gypsies, who are labeled as violent thieves. Kill Bush graffiti displays anti-American sentiment. Various ruins like castles and synagogues reflect tumultuous historical leadership by Russia and Turkey. Box apartment buildings reveal Communist influence, but recent membership to the European Union provides hope for change.
Swimsuit material shrinks. Dental care is not a priority. Obituaries are posted on trees all over town. A nodding head means no, a shaking head means yes, and a sideways bobblehead maneuver means okay.
Stale smoke and body odor replace clouds of hair gel and cologne. My eyes still water. Air conditioning replaces heating. A real fan replaces a fan app. Orthodox Christianity replaces Catholicism. A single weekly church service replaces six. Volleyballs replace soccer balls. Foliage replaces dust. Passion replaces passivity. And Bulgaria replaces Bolivia as this incredible journey continues.
