*Our last week in Bansko was packed full of dance lessons. Everyday, circa 11 o'clock, we would trounce down the main road, bubbling with excitement and silliness. For an hour, we would stumble and trip, trying to mimic the complicated motions, giggling with each mistake. Our ever-patient instructor would woo us back into the rythmn with consistent repetitions of, "raz, va, tre -- raz, va, tre." We conquered traditional dances together joyfully, albeit sloppily. Quickly, the hour would expire and we would once again plunder up the street, sweaty and content. As we engaged and explored this component of culture -- something entirely foreign and completely separate from us -- our energy level remained high and utterly giddy.
It's invigorating to interact with anything that feels entirely unknown, as exemplified by our giddiness during and post dance lessons.
The unknown is novel, fresh, and enticing. Our group has exchanged many stretched smiles as we experience the peculiarities of Bulgarian culture. One moment in particular continues to linger with me: as we were lounging on the patio, a passing elderly man scolded us in his native tongue. Our professor translated that he had told us to flip off our backs and onto our bellies, lest we chill our kidneys. With wide eyes, we gasped with laughter, nearly in disbelief. It felt completely surreal and absolutely delightful.
When our group dispersed into pairs for our homestays in Plovdiv, many of us were able to further explore the unfamiliar. The first night, while my arms were being stacked with wool blankets to take to my bedroom, I listened to stern warnings from my host mother against chilling drafts. Although I felt entirely unaffected by my mamo's fearful rhetoric, I loved listening. I recalled learning in our preparatory class of the significance of drafts in Bulgarian culture. I can still picture myself, eyes scanning a textbook page, nose crinkled in amusement. I wondered how seriously such a ludicrous belief could possibly be maintained, but adored the mere thought nonetheless.
The next morning, over breakfast, I loved listening to my mamo emphatically explaining how my body needed the particular fats that could only be found in her home - churned butter. She looked at me urgently as she elaborated on the biology of my body. Further on in the meal, I struggled to maintain a serious demeanor as she explained how her fresh homemade yogurt would cure me off all ills, arms waving. The sincerity and authenticity of her appeals warmed my heart. Pushing aside my reservations about unpasteurized milk products and my general avoidance of excess fat, I indulged in breakfast with slathered bread and thick, milky yogurt.
I was anxious to join the larger group once again, as I could feel the adventures of recent encounters bubbling inside of me. These experiences felt so fresh, so real. Once reunited, we gushed with one another. Everyone had similar experiences. Together, we were high on life and experience, full of tales of charades, awkward translations and interactions. It was all so lovely. We agreed, joyfully, that we were finally feeling as though we were engaging with the culture. We were tickled by the peculiarities and pressing forward into the unknown.
A few days later, as a group, we went to the Old Town center to see Traditional Bulgarian music and dancing. We were familiar with the dancing and singing, but merely from fuzzy YouTube clips streamed in a classroom. We had ogled at the gorgeous intricacy of the outfits and impressed by the quick pace of the footwork. Furthermore, after classes, we knew that the dances were difficult.
But we did not know the story, the soul, the true beauty of the dance. After waiting out the rain, the musicians and the singers resumed, full force. Songs that are now familiar for me took on new life as the singers brought forth tremendous energy. The traditional songs are supposed to be nearly yelled, and that night, the sheer force of their voices was tremendous. The dancers circled in, and for the first time, we were able to witness why the intricate designs and flashy colors of the dresses were chosen. The entire ensemble, entirely synchronized, told story after story through dance and song.
As the group continued on, my host mamo excitedly explained the significance of the lyrics, the movement, the outfits to our group. She tapped her legs to the beat while mouthing to me, "raz, va, tre, raz, va, tre." Every time she reminded me of the tempo, I felt invited into the unknown. Here, my mamo guided my hand to find the pulse of the Bulgarian culture. However, for the first time, this unknown did not illicit pure elation. Instead, I felt suddenly timid. This culture was not something I could take lightly. The story of the Bulgarians is real and incredibly beautiful. Witnessing the fruits of this society was humbling, as I realized my status as a guest.
I sat on the edge of my seat for the entire show. I felt breathless. When the last bow was taken, I hardly felt inclined to move. I likely would have sat, starstruck by the event for the entire night. But my mamo grabbed my arm and tugged me down the ancient steps of the amphitheater quickly. The rest of the audience similarly swarmed the stage. Together, we created a giant dance line that weaved and warped to include as many people as possible. The band played, loudly and proudly, and my mamo stomped out the steps of the dance, turning back to encourage me to join in. I tried to follow, tried to recall the steps from lessons, but still found myself making mistakes. Regardless, I plunged forward. Everyone around me stomped to the same rythmn, while beaming at one another. My fingers had found the pulse, and the heart of the culture was throbbing, full of vivacious energy. Meanwhile, I managed through the steps, but I was mostly carried by those around me.
This intense celebration, the joy, the pride, was simply amazing. I was humbled, in the most incredible way. I realized, while being carried along, that I don't know all the steps, I don't hold every piece of the puzzle. Before, I was interacting with the unknown at a surface level, amused by actions that I understood only in an academic way. Now, surrounded and fully immersed in the unknown, I am relearning how to be a learner. I am learning how to walk with questions and abandon presumptions. Once again, I am focusing on open hands, eager to receive.
I likely will never possess a harrowing fear of the cold. I'll likely also never have the same understanding of the body and health. But I will stretch myself into the unfamiliar, lunge into the unknown, seek out a rythmn in the madness, and continue to engage, engage, engage.
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