A good morning to those of you who have indoor heating,
And a bad one to those who don't, I reckon. I hear there's a nasty cold spreading across many of your homelands - people dying, schools closing (the importance seems to fall in that order on the international news). Funny that. If I could, I still wouldn't share any of my warmth with you. I've fought for what I've got tooth and nail.
Oh, my bed here in Sofia was quite warm last night, but as I sit in the living room of my little private apar
tment here in Bulgaria's majestic, masticated capital, I'm having to type by jamming one finger down in the general location of each key - it's too cold for my fingers to bend, and they're too numb to predict exactly where they'll land. Sitll, the space heater in the bedroom surprisingly didn't catch fire and kill Thomas and I in our sleep, and I managed to find a kiosk selling Nescafe this morning, so I'd put this day in the "GOOD" column so far.
tment here in Bulgaria's majestic, masticated capital, I'm having to type by jamming one finger down in the general location of each key - it's too cold for my fingers to bend, and they're too numb to predict exactly where they'll land. Sitll, the space heater in the bedroom surprisingly didn't catch fire and kill Thomas and I in our sleep, and I managed to find a kiosk selling Nescafe this morning, so I'd put this day in the "GOOD" column so far. Why am I here in Sofia? Well, I came here a year and a half ago, but didn't really give the place a fair shake. As you may know, the last year of my life has centered around a passionate love affair with this forsaken country (Oh, you knew. You always knew.), and I've decided that if cities like Varna, Plovdiv, Stara Zagora, and Veliko Turnovo keep me grinning from ear to ear for the duration of my stay, I shouldn't base my impressions of the fine Bulgarians' capital on a mad, exhausted dash through the Balkans before I fell so deeply in love.
And, I am pleased to admit, this is not the Sofia I remember from 2005. Imagine, for those of you who can, the boredom that descends over Plovdiv at approximately 7:00. Well, it's still there. Imagine the beauty of rows of blocks of communist flats in Central Europe. It's got that too. And imagine the dour faces of Slavic peoples from any nation. That is, of course, quite observable here as well. But, that wee magic that permeates the rest of Bulgaria is sprinkled throughout its capital as well. There are cozy little restaurants, suprisingly chic for a country whose average wage is less that 200 USD a month, tucked in underneath battered old concrete buildings. There are magestic churches, government buildings, and mosques (ahem... archaeological museums, as it were) rising up above the 
squat, practical streets. Most importantly, a hunk of pork stuffed with cheese and a shot of vodka will still only cost you about 5 dollars (as opposed to the 4 in other Bulgarian cities). There's a lot to like here, and a little to ignore.
squat, practical streets. Most importantly, a hunk of pork stuffed with cheese and a shot of vodka will still only cost you about 5 dollars (as opposed to the 4 in other Bulgarian cities). There's a lot to like here, and a little to ignore. Sorry for the short update, but my life is quite unremarkable these days. Still working at the university, and still not working very much. I'm going to try to expand my clientele (and therefore my wallet) by picking up privates on the side. It's winter - finally, really, truly - and there's little else to do other than work. Ah, but it's time now for more coffee, more pork, and a shivering stroll down Ulista Vitosha.
Not yet broken, and still smiling all the way,
Your comrade,
Aaron
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