Babushka! Part 2

We were so utterly relieved that Babushka hadn't thrown us out that we went out to a market and bought her flowers.  We still felt a little bit guilty about springing an extra person on her.  The look on her face was priceless, and she started exclaiming in Russian.  "She loves them," Andre translated, though no translation was needed that time.

Later that evening as we arrived back at the flat after dinner, she motioned to us to join her and a neighbor in her living/dining room.  The room consisted of a large table with bench seating and a television. There really wasn't room for anything else.  She motioned for us all to sit, and she whisked out an old 2-liter-sized soda bottle filled with a peach-colored liquid.  This was no store-bought soda.  Andre posed the obvious question to her.  "Baba says it's her homemade wine, and she wants to share it with us."

To start with, this stuff looked just like Mango Grove Boone's Farm (I'm not going to get into how I know that there is such a flavor as Mango Grove by Boone's Farm - just take my word for it).  And my experiences with homemade wine haven't been terribly positive. Many of my previous homemade wine tastings would be described as "overly-sugared essence of vinegar with a hint of fruit that should have been tossed a week ago."  So the sight of Baba walking in with a sketchy bottle of liquid did not exactly produce the big smile on me that it did on her.  But we were in her home, she wanted to share, so it was my job to suck it up for the sake of positive cultural ties between Bulgaria and the US.  Or something like that.

The wine met my low expectations with flying colors.  But Baba made it, and so I would drink it.  Baba drank, too.  In fact, after just one glass, she was lit.  She babbled in Russian with a huge grin on her face.  Then she started to sing.  And to our great surprise, Andre started to sing with her!  She was singing Russian songs that she knew since childhood, and Andre (whose father was Russian, if I remember correctly) just happened to know them, too.  The wine suddenly seemed much tastier.

Andre and Baba

Baba started telling us about her life.  She told us of her late husband and how he proposed to her at a beautiful beach just a few kilometers north of town.  There was a glow in her face that I knew wasn't just from the wine.  She stood up from the table and beckoned us to follow her.  She wandered into the bedroom that Christina and I were sharing and pointed to an old black and white photograph over the bed - it was a picture of her and her husband sitting on the rocks at that very beach.  I couldn't believe that I'd already spent 2 nights in this room and never paid any attention to this picture.  It was beautiful - both Baba and her husband were all smiles, looking at each other as they lounged on the rocks in the beach breeze.

We visited that very beach the next day.  How could we not?  This ordinary, diminutive old woman had allowed us to share her home, her wine, and her life story.  Deliberately seeking out that beach was simply another way to thank her for her kindness and generosity and to show that we appreciated what she shared with us.  I don't know if Baba is still alive and kicking and renting out rooms in her flat, but if she is, I hope she is still sharing her wine and singing to her guests.  And I hope her guests appreciate it.

Babushka! Part 1

After our guinea pig experience in Sofia, Bulgaria,Christina and I briefly parted ways with our new German and English friends. They consisted of Andre and Gustav, the Germans we picked up on our flight to Sofia, and Tom, the Brit that we adopted in our hostel in Sofia.   Christina and I made plans to meet back up with Andre and Gustav in Varna, a resort town on the Black Sea.

Christina and I arrived in Varna first.  Our first stop was an accommodation agency to find a place for the four of us to stay.  Despite our complete lack of Bulgarian and the clerk's complete lack of English, we managed to secure 2 bedrooms in a local woman's flat.  We were so proud of our amazing traveling skills.

After a couple of wrong turns and general confusion, we found the building that was to be our home for the next few days.  Our hostess, a smiling older lady who also spoke no English, had a perfectly lovely flat. It was not fancy in any sense, but it was furnished and clean.  We engaged her in a game of charades to try to explain that we were going to the train station to meet up with the boys.  I don't think it worked.

Home sweet home.

Back at the train station, we saw Andre and Gustav pop through the crowds... with Tom.  Christina and I exchanged looks.  We had no idea Tom was coming to Varna, too.  But there was nothing to be done except go back to the flat and see what we could figure out.  Given that Christina and I couldn't even effectively communicate something simple like "We'll be right back", how were we going to get across, "Oops, we're actually 5 instead of 4.  That's cool, right?"

I admit, I was pretty nervous as we climbed the steps back up to the poor lady's flat.  I certainly didn't want to make her angry.  I never want to be the tourist that gives an entire nationality a bad reputation.  I also didn't want to spend the rest of the day running around the city trying to find another place to stay. I'm not very good at charades.

The five of us walked in, and the little old lady came out to greet us.  Languages immediately started flying around the hallway.  Bulgarian, German, English, Russian.  Russian!  It took us a moment to realize that Andre and our hostess were speaking Russian to each other.  It sounded... angry.  Great.  We were going to get kicked out and leave this poor woman cursing every English-speaking tourist in Bulgaria.  Look at us, Cultural Ambassadors of the Year.

And then they burst out laughing. Andre turned to us and said, "It's perfectly fine for all five of us to stay here.  We can just pay her directly for a fifth person and not tell the accommodation agency. And she wants us to call her Babushka."

Without Andre, we would have probably caused a scene and ended back out on the street.  Instead, we kept our lodging and gained a Bulgarian grandmother.