Bulgarian Trip: The Backstory

took a 2 week vacation in Bulgaria in October 2006. Here are my impressions of specific aspects of my trip.

Entry status: not proof read

Before I continue my (belated) descriptions of my trip to Bulgaria, I guess I should give some reasons for my trip to Sofia in the first place: Liliana.


1999
In or around September of 1999, I was working for a software company in north west Austin, Texas. As was fashionable at the time, I had ICQ running on my computer while I worked. ICQ was one of the first successful international computer chat programs where you could, if you choose to, provide some additional information (basic personal data) and allow it to be searched by other potentially interested chatters. I "met" many interesting people this way.

Sometime during my early afternoon, I received a message from a young woman in Sofia Bulgaria. Her name was Liliana, or Lili, who was either working late at the office or just getting home. I wager she was working late in the office because of the following years, I could see that Lili worked far longer and harder and a higher frequency than I did. She was not long out of the university in Sofia where she studied accounting and finance. Lili had recently started her second professional job with a Norwegian satellite broadcast company called Telenor Bulgaria, run of her home town of Sofia Bulgaria.

Lili had apparently just finished talking to some of her university friends that had come to study at our University of Texas at Austin and was looking for someone else to talk to. After the introductions, I felt comfortable to chat with her.

We started chatting from that on. Occasionally we'd drift apart, especially during the end of quarter and end of year accounting sessions - Lili just didn't have time for chat. And I too had my personal diversions.

Even though this, we kept in contact. We'd chat for a few weeks non-stop and then one or both us would be gone for weeks or months at a time. We always managed to keep in touch several times during the year.


2004
In early 2004, Lili told me she would be taking some professional courses in Copenhagen Denmark for several weeks. This sounded intriguing to me and I asked if Lili would like some company during her studies. We determined that I could take a week's worth vacation near the end of her study term where we'd meet in person for the first time.

In late July of 2004, I flew to Copenhagen. I was nervous booking the tickets. Not to met Lili but just the scale and scope of my endeavor: arrange international flights to a country I had never been to, keep track of my luggage, not create an "international incident" with my general ignorance, get to Denmark, find (recognize?) Lili in the crowds and find a place to rest.

OK. So, first there was the flight out. Somewhere over the central US as we started the international flight to the connection flights in Amsterdam, my plane caught fire.

Technically, one of the key components for displaying altitude had burned out in the cockpit, leaving a burnt smell in the cabin, a return to the airport, complete with firetrucks and firemen with axes on the plane and a plane load of worried passengers who, not knowing it was only a burned out monitor, began to panic when one of the mid-plane air coolers began bellowing "smoke" into the cabin. As if on cue, one of the embarking firemen spotted the source of immediate excite and pronounced it to be "mist" from and over worked air cooler.

Two hours later we were back in the air. I knew I was going to miss my connection in Amsterdam. I intended to call Lili from the plane and let her know my delay. After getting on board and off the ground, I discovered there weren't any phones.

Two hours after Lili was supposed to pick me up in Copenhagen, Denmark, she got a call from me from Amsterdam telling her I was going to be another two hours before I got there.

I spent another hour in secured area of the Copenhagen airport, searching for my missing luggage and filling out the paper work. Five hours after Lili had arrived in that airport in Copenhagen to fetch me, we met in person for the first time. My luggage met me two days later.

Lili was slim, bright of personality (though somewhat tired of waiting for the slow American to arrive), easy on the eyes and knowledgeable. This was important as I don't have experiences reading train or bus routes.

Lili would go to her courses during the day and I walked the city. After Lili finished her scholarly duties, we'd meet some place (or occasional close to where we agreed to met) and explored the city. Lili had already taken the city tours which I benefited from. By the third day, I realized I had bruised my flat feet from 12 to 18 hours of walking. I remember going to watch an open air presentation of "The Italian Job" where I walked on the edges of my feet to keep off the bruises. Lili didn't say anything but I'm pretty sure she was thinking I had brought the wrong kind of shoes.

We had a lovely time under the bright blue skies and misty clouds in Copenhagen and even popped over to Sweden briefly. I confessed to Lili during last few days that I was inexplicably desire to kiss her. After confessing to the desire, the subject didn't arise for conversation again. I flew home, unkissed, but glad I spoke up.

After returning to Texas from my weeks vacation and Lili to Sofia from her completed course work, we continued chatting with more personal interest. The subject of the kiss occurred a few times during the course of our chats in a positive light.


2005
In 2005, Lili and I discussed vacationing together again during the summer. We were just started discussions of where (looking at the Canary Islands) when "corporate mismanagement" stepped into my employment picture and I was laid off. Vacation plans were put on hold while I procured new employment.


2006- July
After some foot work with immigration, formal letters of invitation and various international red tape, Lili was able to come and visit me in Austin, Texas for two weeks. This trip had a different, more personal feel than the last face to face meeting in Copenhagen. Quite possibly because of the kiss that didn't happen in 2004 but it's subsequent discussion.

Lili and I spent two weeks together, free of work entanglements. We saw large parts of Texas including the beach during an early morning rain storm, playing "hide and seek" with a long horn steer (it won - never did find it), and enjoyed each other's company around Austin, beer and wine.


2006 - October
Though most of my employment during 2006, I wasn't as happy I felt I could have been. The time I spend with Lili in July reinforced my feelings. Without dwelling into this unimportant history, things came down to a choice: continue with a job I was not being properly utilized at OR quit and take a two weeks in Sofia at Lili's invitation.

And that brings up the back story up to date with the "Bulgarian Trip" blog entries.

P.S. 2006 - December
Lili will be joining me for the Holidays and to celebrate my 40th birthday! Can't wait!

Day In the Life of Mike: Unemployeed but NOT relaxing!

Since I've been unemployed for a more than a month now, I have commented to a few friends that I have been actually more busy now than when I was working. It's amazing to think that "having no job to go to" can very much mean "working your butt off" on all stuff that has to be done. To give you an example, here is how today went for me:

1. 1am - Left a friends house where I had been providing (free) computer technical services and talking about a small business venture
   
2. 1:15am - Got home and "crashed"
3. 7:15am - Jarred awake in sudden "I'm Late!" panic ( good thing too - the alarm was set wrong)
4. 8am - Got up and showering
5. 8:30am - Driving to my "prearranged day labor"work location (aka a friend's house) I'm doing this for gas money, exercise and very light socializing.
   
6. 9am to 11:30am - Landscape work - had to take several breaks 'cause I'm getting too old for this ... kind of work (heard my cell phone ringing a lot as I worked but had to focus on the work at hand)
   
7. 11:45am - Ate a cheese burger for lunch and rested a bit
8. 12:45pm - 2pm - Landscaping "consulting" (guessing) and pushing the cart at Lowes
   
9. 2pm-3:15pm - More landscape work and more cell phone rings
10. 3:20pm - Cleaned up tools and got ready to leave for home
    
11. 3:30pm - Started listening to cell phone voice mails on the way home (10 today, 4 from yesterday, 1 accidentally deleted)
12. 3:55pm - Finished listening to voice mails
13. 4:00pm - Arrived home and called "911" friend back 4 times - no answer
14. 4:15pm - Showered ( 'cause I was a dirty boy... )
15. 4:25pm - 4:55pm - Made one personal phone call and get 3 short personal phone calls in return ("Oprah" was on at their house.) From this phone call, I have two more "handy man" jobs setup for tomorrow.
    
16. 4:45pm - Listened to phone answering machine - 6 new messages
17. 5:00pm - Called "911" friend back 2 more times - no answer
18. 5:01pm - Made one job hunt related phone call - The recruiter needed to call me back
19. 5:11pm - That recruiter called back
20. 5:16pm - Emailed my resume to that recruiter
21. 5:18pm - Put new vehicle "tags" on car while taking the "911" friends "I'm OK-ish but can't talk now" call
22. 5:20pm - Start processing job hunt emails, voice mails and phone messages
23. 5:50pm - 6:30pm - Ate two peanut butter and peach jelly sandwiches and two glass of good red wine ( "Estancia", 2003 Caerne Sauvignon from Keyes Canyone Ranches, California )
24. 6:45pm - Called my friend with today's landscaping job to confirm the schedule for tomorrow (minor work)
    
25. 7:55pm - Finished processing job hunt emails, voice mails and phone messages
26. 7:56pm - Received an IM message from a friend about nothing much at all
27. 7:59pm - 8:04pm - Phone call from same friend about nothing much at all until when I begged off the phone to get more done
28. 8:06pm - Watched two recorded TV shows ( "Scrubs") while answering 9 personal emails
29. 8:59pm - Emailed a friend that I hadn't gotten to a task I said I would today / scheduled the time for tomorrow evening (had to skip a dinner invitation to do it)
30. 9:01pm - Started this list of things I did today (in notepad)
31. 9:15pm - Thought I was finished this this list (but wasn't sure)
32. 9:16pm - Realized this list might make an interesting blog entry to explain why I haven't gotten back to describing my last trip to Bulgaria, or called friends and family back or...etc
    
33. 9:33pm - Thought I was finished with the blog entry (but wasn't sure)
34. 9:34pm - Added more entries I had forgotten about and some more formatting
    
35. 9:53pm - Pressed "Publish" on this blog, put the wine bottle back in the kitchen, and went to bed
    
    

Bulgarian Trip: Registration of the UFB

I took a 2 week vacation in Bulgaria in October 2006. Here are my impressions of specific aspects of my trip.

Entry status: not proof read

In addition to registering at the airport as to where I would be as previously undocumented visitor, Lili told me when I arrived that I had to get registered at the local police department. I wasn't terribly comfortable with this but I let it go. For me, the less time spent interacting with law enforcement and government in general, the better for everyone. However, "When in Rome..."

Since I arrived on a Friday, we went on the following Monday to take care of this formality. The policy station was an interest experience and reminded me of movies of feature stereotypical communist government offices (or entry ways to communist prisons. The building was in equal repair as the rest of the city and, as I recall, no overly decorated to state "Policy work here." It very well could be that the translation for this building, its officials and it's functions only partially translated to "Police".

Either way, after entering the wrong building and getting misdirected twice, we exited the building, went down to the next door way and entered. Both doors entered the same building but in the hall way connecting them was blocked by an iron gate. I'm not sure why that gate is there.

Lili filled out most of the form for me and we got in line to get me "identified." We had an inside joke about me being an "UFB: Unidentified Flying Boy".

We had two problems during the registration: one was the address I used on the form at the airport was the wrong one. We said nothing to the processing clerk about this. The second had to do with the ordering of surnames on the form at the Police station. The clerk was adamant about the ordering and after a brief discussion, Lili arranged not have to redo the form (and start over again.)

After wait in a small, warm room with many people getting their immigration issues handled or passports renewed or various other tasks, we officially transitioned me to "IFB" and off we went.

Bulgarian Trip: Language

I took a 2 week vacation in Bulgaria in October 2006. Here are my impressions of specific aspects of my trip.

Entry status: not proof read

The primary language in Bulgaria is (shock) Bulgarian, followed by Turkish and Roma. From my experience, most also spoke a fair amount of English. Most of Lili's friends were very competent if not fairly fluent in English even if they didn't feel they were (Desy and Veska!)

With today's modern lifestyle, there is usually someway to convey what you need or want, even if you have to just point at it. Restaurants with photos on the menu were very helpful. Most helpful is have someone with you to translate or arrange things on your behalf. Lili handled these situations for me. Many thanks to her for managing the languages where I obviously couldn't.

The largest complexity of my visit, for me, wasn't the spoken word. It was the written word. I didn't realize how much I either read or merely recognized in my daily life when it comes to words. The quickest way to find out how much information you take in as written words is to lose the ability to read.

The Bulgarian language uses the Cyrillic character set. For those that don't know what that means, this blog is written using the Latin character set: 26 letters. Cyrillic uses 30 characters. On the surface, one might mistakenly assume there are just a few extra characters to content with. And one ( "I" ) would be wrong.

Cyrillic and Latin character sets share some of the same or similar symbols but the do not express the same spoken sounds. Case in point: while driving in Bulgaria, you might occasionally see a slow moving driver with a "Y" symbol on top of their car. This was curious until I realized that the "Y" symbol is used to indicate the Bulgarian word for "student driver".

For more information on the Cyrillic alphabet, see:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bulgarian_language#Alphabet

As I moved about the airport and later through the cities, surfed TV channels and flipped pages of a newspaper, I clearly was lost without written and verbal translations or good photos. After a few days, the jet lag had pasted but information overload set in. As much as I tried to get information in, not much "stuck" in my mind.

I joked with a friend after I got back:

"I sometimes have dreams where I can't read. As hard as I try, as I read a few letters, the words don't come and the letters start changing until I've lost my place. I realize now that I dream in Cyrillic."

Bulgarian Trip: Historical Summary of Bulgaria

I took a 2 week vacation in Bulgaria in October 2006. Here are my impressions of specific aspects of my trip.

Entry status: not proof read

Taken from: https://www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook/print/bu.html

The Bulgars, a Central Asian Turkic tribe, merged with the local Slavic inhabitants in the late 7th century to form the first Bulgarian state. In succeeding centuries, Bulgaria struggled with the Byzantine Empire to assert its place in the Balkans, but by the end of the 14th century the country was overrun by the Ottoman Turks. Northern Bulgaria attained autonomy in 1878 and all of Bulgaria became independent from the Ottoman Empire in 1908. Having fought on the losing side in both World Wars, Bulgaria fell within the Soviet sphere of influence and became a People's Republic in 1946. Communist domination ended in 1990, when Bulgaria held its first multiparty election since World War II and began the contentious process of moving toward political democracy and a market economy while combating inflation, unemployment, corruption, and crime. Today, reforms and democratization keep Bulgaria on a path toward eventual integration into the EU. The country joined NATO in 2004.

Bulgaria will be joining the EU (European Union) in January 2007.

Bulgarian Trip: Traveling To Sofia

I took a 2 week vacation in Bulgaria in October 2006. Here are my impressions of specific aspects of my trip.

Entry status: not proof read

I flew from Austin to Houston domestically. Then I flew Houston to London and then to Bulgaria. I started around 10am on a Thursday morning Texas time and arrive mid evening Friday Bulgarian time.

I started packing two days before hand. Mostly the bulk stuff: jeans, shirts, shoes, etc. I had to take the extra time to pack the bulk stuff around the gifts. I brought Lili, Lili's mom and grandmother and Lili's friends (by proxy of Lili) about 1/5 of total checked-luggage space. I was later "dinged" (a computer technology term for "accused of making a mistake") for not having brought a heavier jacket to Bulgaria in October. I referenced the gifts to buy myself out of the "ding-ing." Truth makes the best defense.

After I arrived at Austin's international airport, I realized (rather smelled) a mistake I make in the morning. Namely, I forgot to put some deodorant on. After checking my luggage and passing through security, I found a shop and purchased a three ounce deodorant . I can faintly hear the passengers of British Airways saying "thank you!"

The trip on Continental Airlines from Austin from Houston was the usual "up, drinks, trash collection, down" flights.

The trip on British Airways from Houston to London pretty nice. I flew couch so I was pretty impressed as I passed though business class to see those reclining couches. I don't recall flying next to anyone on this flight, definitely wasn't a full flight. I didn't sleep much. Each seat got a nifty little kit of bathroom necessities: hair brush, socks, tooth brush, laundry soap, toothpaste, etc. Though I didn't get to use any of them, it was very nice of British Airways to provide them and I stuck the small, unopened package into my carry on luggage.

As is my preference, I sat next to the windows. It's easier to sleep again the window if the seats don't have the neck/head rest to support sleeping. These chairs did have them, as well as a personal TV monitor above the tray on the seat in front of me. A fair amount of leg room and I didn't get much leg discomfort until just before landing. I intended to get some sleep. They had dimmed the lights and suspend most beverage services. Instead of sleeping, I watched two movies ("Click" and one other that I forget at the moment.) Just as I finally surrendered to sleeping, the "quiet time" was over: lights on , breakfast services, lots of movement.

London Gatwick Airport is a very interesting airport. Since I didn't take the opportunity on the plane to review the layout of the airport, I can only observe from the inside of Gatwick Airport. And, from the inside, wow, what a complex mix. After deboarding, I walk and walk, following the "international departure" signs. Starting with the large crowd, the longer I walked the fewer passengers I walked with. Eventually, I was walking alone through the back hallways of a large airport. My first visit to Gatwick some 10 years ago featured security guards with automatic weapons on display. As I walked purposely, following those "international departure" signs, I half expected to have an armed interruption as I looked for my departure path. Luckily, I didn't have such a problem.

Which brings me to British "Wally." For those in American, picture the guy from "Just Shoot Me". After I finally reach the end of the Gatwick maze, I met Wally. Wally drives the bus between terminals, devoid of some social skills and most personality. Wally is the type of guy that I won't want to meet in a dark alley; not because he would appear dark and threaten but that if he were in the dark alley, it would be for dark and threatening deeds. I was delivered to my terminal without incident.

Deodorant , what is that important you may ask? Well, after spending my $3 for my 3 ounces of deodorant inside the protected areas of the Austin airport, London Gatwick took it way. The "semi-solid" is called a "liquid" by security types and was confiscated as a potential terrorist device. Further more, the nice, unopened bathroom necessities package I had received just hours before from British Airways, also opened and stripped down of anything liquid or pseudo liquid. I predict that air travel in the coming years is going to be a quite ripe affair for long trips. Worth mention is that I had to provide documentation that I had boarding tickets waiting 10 feet on the other side of the check point. While "E-tickets" are of great assistance, security measures are threatening to limit their E-ticket usefulness for international trips with multiple connections. A pound lighter of personal affects, I departed the security check point.

Boarding pass in hand, I headed to the "lobby area" (is there a better name for this? concourse?) to determine what gate I was to depart from. After some 10 hours in the air and a handful more awake, I really wanted to sleep. My eyes burned with fatigue, itching with the warmed air of the full concourse and the 100 departing gates of Gatwick airport. I tried to read my Treo 700 but, nice as the screen is, when tired it's not usable. My eyes teared up and after I couldn't focus out of either eye, I gave up. I tried a sitting sleep but my concern about missing my gate call keep me from really resting. I began watching people.

Airports a great place to people watch. It made more entertaining by being in the altered state of fatigue. I did notice that the "personal space" was much closer than the American Personal Space. Where we in the U.S. enjoy a completely sanitary and fairly unsocial 2 foot personal space, the British and associated international travelers where in the 6 inch area. This closeness didn't pose any issues and only showed up as mild agitation when the "que" of people stopped flowing, usually near the gate screens.

As I sat during my first hour of my three hour lay over, I notice I was sitting next to two nice ladies, busily chatting with each other. Later, after I had given up reading my Treo and one of the ladies had left, the remaining lady asked if I spoke English. The question is odd to me as an American and, because it's odd, it's also kinda sad. The average American (spoking from my limited viewpoint) doesn't speak more than on language generally and thus, the question was new to me. She and I chatted ever so briefly. I was having trouble focusing and probably was dehydrated to boot.

Later, I moved to sit in front of a new area where I could see the departure gate screens easier. As I sat, I noticed a small child trying desperately to entertain himself and to entice entertainment from his mother. There were some amusing noises of frustration and/or appreciation and the impromptu small group sitting at this location smiled warmly. As I sat, an obviously English couple approached me. This elderly couple didn't seem as well oriented as their fellow travels and asked me if I knew where "Gate 10" was. Not knowing the anwser but knowing how to find out, I pointed out the gate signs on the ceiling behind me, including the one for Gate 10. Other than trying to answer the question directly and qualifing it correctly with "...but I could be wrong", the woman of the couple thanked me and they began to move towards their gate. As the elderly gentlemen stepped away, he commented "Very good English!" I chuckled as my (occasional) self-censoring as I thought to myself "I hope so! It's the only language I speak!" I wager some of my Texas draw was present but, having been to my 20 year high school reunion, I know that my elocution is fairly neutral. It was a nice complement to receive in my overly tired state. An hour later my departure gate was posted and moved to the boarding area.

It's interesting to note that Bulgaria is viewed as a "poor country". This came to mind as I went to the gate for my connecting flight on Bulgaria Air. There were four departure gates in a space that might have seen three in the US and two only two. The area was already full of passengers, apparently frequent fliers to Bulgaria that knew which gate would be used. The waiting area was devoid of color, was unfinished or under maintained in some areas and crowded. It wasn't dirty mind you, just no where near as nice and polished a departure gate as any others I had seen so far. I am glad I was attentive to the departure gates out on the concourse because less than 10 minutes after I was sitting at the gate, they began loading.

This was the first flight that I was loaded on to a buss and driving out the plane. Personal space on the bus is mostly suspected.

Once on board and settled, I attempted some sleep. It didn't come easy and not without a cost. I am sure I snored. I abhor my snoring. It happens when I'm sick, tired, dehydrated or fighting an allergy. As often as I fly internationally, I was all of things. After walking myself from sleep twice or three times with my snoring, I gave up. I didn't want my fell passengers on this very full flight and very tight seats to have to suffer with my gurgling, snorting and throaty drowning noises. It was only a three hour(ish) flight so I stuck it out.

Sitting next to the window, the two chairs next my right were occupied by two "Brit.s", going to Bulgaria to scout out business investigate opportunities. The man seemed fairly fixated on locating an under developed nature spring in Bulgaria and to create a resort around it. The magazine in the seat back infront to me had an article that described Bulgaria and Turkey as having a large number of natural mineral springs. The man also seemed to be fairly sweet on his traveling companion, a woman from Malaysia living in London.

She didn't seem to be as fixated on the mineral springs but was looking for a business investment just the same. I rested against the bulk head at the window as I listened to him talking to her about "what she must do" and "should do" as well as some flirty conversation and the occasional "clear miss". He was trying too hard but she kept him honest and light.

As the Bulgaria Air flight attendants came around with meals, the woman, Chooi or Julie (not sure which) make an ill-received request for a vegetarian meal. I don't speak Bulgarian but I did clearly detect mostly astonished response as the flight attendants communicated about the unfulfillable request. Since each packaged meal contained a sandwich and a small vegetable salad, I offered Chooi mine and she offered her sandwich meat in exchange.

Not sure if this meal was dinner or lunch or breakfast and I suppose it didn't matter either. Afterwards Chooi and I talked briefly about reasons for flying to Sofia. After deboarding in Sofia, I didn't see her or her travel companion again.

The new Sofia airport was not opened when I arrived. I could see it out the window as the airplane rolled pasted it to an older terminal. We parked at the terminal and so there was no need for a bus. I was glad. I feel myself very altered and, as much as I wanted to be alert to everything around me, I was slipping my focus.

Much like the extensive security in London Gatwick, I was unprepared for the immigration process in Sofia's airport. I followed the crowed into the passport lines. As I moved up, I noticed a form that non-Bulgarians needed to fill out. This forms states where I intend to stay while in Bulgaria and is required to be filled out within 24 or 48 hours of arrive. Luckily I was tipped off and had the address information in my carry on bag.

A note about my current passport: it's old. Very old. It's nine years old and, nine years ago, I had long hair. Very long hair; about three feet of hair. And I had some rather large glasses. Not too unpleasant an image but that passport photo does not look like me any more. Arriving at the immigration window, I turned over the paper work and passport. It was fairly obvious the passport agent, a dark haired woman in gray and red military uniform, didn't speak much English and very obvious that I spoke no Bulgaria. She looked at my form and and asked "Reason for travels?" I had put down "Vacation" but I should have recalled that the European term is "Holiday", evening if it's vacation. Having gotten that out of the way, she looked at my passport.

There was a notable astonished look on her face and normally this would please me. However, this was someone that could prevent my entry into the country. I resisted a big grin and waited. She requested an additional photo ID of some time to help her reconcile my face to the outdated passport photo. Showing my Texas drivers license took care of that and I was passed through.

Having gotten pass the security check point, I made my way up the ramp to locate my luggage. Unlike other trips to Europe, my luggage had made it all the way here. The secrete seems to be A) don't count on it and B) check it as far as you can and follow up with the ticket agent about contesting departure points.

Luggage in tired hands, I went off to buy whiskey. That's what one does after a long international flight, right? Actually, there were two requests for my visit to Bulgaria: get my broken tooth fixed and purchase some duty free whiskey for a Bulgarian friend of a friend.

After getting the purchased but nearly forgotten bottle into my carry on bag, I went into the crush of people exiting the airport. As I exited the secured area, I faintly heard my name. I turned and, behind a wall of people and noise, Liliana waved energetically to me. I was glad to see her and more glad to hold her in my arms.

Cultural Ignorance

I have traveled to a few country thus far in my life. Growing up I didn't expect to see any of the world that wasn't delivered by a teacher or splashed across the local news. To date, I have visited Ireland, Canada, Mexico, Denmark and recently Bulgaria.

My desired to visit those countries, and other countries, comes from an inability to see "American Culture from within." (One might assert that I've been to lazy to see it but I'm not sure that fully accurate.) Also, I wanted to see first hand other cultures and become acquainted with other ways of thinking. And, most of all, life's purpose is about experiencing and appreciation. If you never move, you rarely see something new.

To this end, I try my best to think larger than I am, think beyond where I am, think how it must be different and why (whatever "it" happens to be.) Understanding that we are born mostly empty of conscious knowledge, we fill in the blanks from the environments and contexts we experience and (think we) know.

Which brings to me to my point: I am human and I make mistakes. At dinner yesterday a friend gently reminded me of my general ignorance of most things. Not the first time I've been issued the reminder that I simply don't know enough. I didn't take it personally because it's true. (Please distinguish the word 'Ignorant', which I am, with word 'Stupid', which I am not.)

In some ways, being 'Ignorant' on a particular topic is The Ideal Vantage Point in which to look at something new. And, without committee or counsel, mistakes can and will happen.

This long preamble over, I will share my observations about my latest overseas trip to Bulgaria. While I don't anticipate doing so, I may observe something "incorrectly", based on my limited knowledge of Everything. If so, please accept my apologies in advance. Please also accept my genuine sincerity if I elect to hold to my observations even in the face of new information. I think differently, making a number of unexpressed analogs between distant concepts, and may need to hold that "mistaken observation".

Back in the US...

Back from Bulgaria after two weeks. Had a great visit. It was well worth letting a "difficult employment experience" go. I plan to blog my experiences and impressions including, but not limited to:

• Travel tips
• History
  
• Language
• spoken
  
• written
  
• information overload
  
• Registration in Bulgaria
  
• Sofia, Capital City
  
• Construction
  
• Traffic and Cars
  
• Roads
  
• Housing and Business
  
• Food
  
• Culture and Fashion

Big Changes: #1 and #2

Okay, so this a week old "news flash":

Big change #1 : quit my job

Funny how 99.9% of a job can be "right", "workable" and "exciting" but this last 0.1% made it untenable. Thus, I gave a two week notice; they accepted a 1 week notice and then let me go after 2 1/2 days later. Seems they weren't used to people giving notice.

Things I learned from the last year of employment:

1. There isn't much I can't do: program, research, manage (after I start believing "I can do it".)

2. Every 5 year old technology, using a 10 year old language, can have its uses.

3. I still like people.

4. A lack of desire to write out any assignments of significant complexity might speak to larger, looming difficulties.

5. Maybe time for me to look at start my own business.

In November I will start job hunting again.


Big Change #2: two week trip to Europe/Bulgaria

I'm going to visit a friend I've know for seven years now that I am just getting to really know. I am looking forward to it. Plus, I'll be nice to get out of the fast food land and visit someplace where the history is centuries long and not likely to be replaced by a shopping mall or parking lot anytime soon.

If you haven't been to Europe, I recommend it. It's not just about culture or history. It's a reminder that "those people" are really still "we people", living someplace else. This idea seems so easily lost these days of campaigns of fear.

Primary Tasks Frustrations

Seems like lately I've had Primary Tasks Frustrations.  Everything's high priority and nothing can slip.  For a change, I'm mostly OK with things.  Would like a little bit of time to myself, to focus on the "Mike Things". In due time.

Many, many life changing things are spinning around me and they seem to be falling into place for some pretty big changes.  It's exciting and I am concerned that if I don't take some action(s) soon, don't make some commitments soon after, momentum might be lost and opportunities might move on.  The pressure isn't from any "outside influence" but rather from me.  I have learned that important opportunities in life don't suffer delays well.

Note: I am also testing a feature to email my blog entries.  Have to see how this works.  If so, I might make more contributes to my blog going forward.

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Poem: Burn the flowers

Burn the flowers
Tear and rend the card
Throw the package
Drop the ring
Yell into the phone
Let the fists fly

Disappointment and frustration
Profound loss and grief
Vengful anger and cutting words
Lover's rage and sorrow

Sit in the kitchen sobbing
Slamming head into cabinets
Sorrowful gulps of drink
Sleep a nightmarish slumber
Steeped in pain and heart break

Full of emotion
all turbulance
all unsettled
all unresolved
all questions unanswered



Note: this an old poem I found tucked away from years ago, 8/10/04 10:47 am

Poem: Shadows

Oh, Light of Life,
Slayer of all things that frighten me,
Chase away these shadows of fear,
Free my golden wings that I may take flight once again.

Poem: I remember.

I remember who I used to be.
And Passion swells again.
I taste art.
I smell form.
I touch sound.
I see beauty again.

Passion swells again
And the line is drawn.
Last steps up and out.
Last stumbles forward.
Last reach for the next completeness.
At last my heart moves again.

She.

Turn It Off and Find The Silence

Some days I listen to the radio on my way to and from work, more lately that my CD changer in the truck is inconstantly failing.

I have my radio set with twelve preset stations of, what should be, music. Most mornings it's more talks shows than music. They talk about some acts of stupidity, what was on TV last night, or some trivial moment in their childhood that, for the sake of rating, is important to air on the radio waves. Occasionally, there is a musical interlude before returning to advertisements for strip clubs, natural male/female enhancements, over-talking discussions by the DJs and guests and advertisements for televisions shows.

In the mornings, I often turn the radio off shortly after I turn it on.

The evening is somewhat better. I guess someone figured out that lively conversation isn't necessary to get the working class of America out of bed, motivate and/or outraged and off to work. There's more music, some news, the ever present advertisements. Ear candy.

In the evenings, I have started turning the radio off and rolling the windows down.

As I drive, windows down, ten to twenty miles an hour, I watch the rage-o-holics and resist the temptation to join in. Anger, like heat, is transferable. Unlike heat, the half life of anger is much longer that heat. Everyone is wound pretty tight. "Me first, you get lost" seems to be the America way these days, "Freedom" has become a word to express "me first".

I watch the two brand new trucks, shiny and insured, whip around each other, and jam on their brakes and collide. They repeat this dance of purposeful automotive assault a few times before one pulls over to, presumably, call for the police and the other slinks off, causing me and everyone around this drive to feel quite unsafe. Tense. Wildly agitated. I feel the anger flow off their actions and I feel that urge to strike back at the violence. It's there, below the surface, tightly coiled around my sense of self.

I know if I turn the radio on again, the music, if there is any, will "taste like copper" to me, that feeling that I have been infected with the metallic constraints of violence withheld. My experience desires action; my reason presents restraint; the conflict between creates the copper taste. If I turn the radio on, it will only be noise that will challenge the restraint. I leave it off and stay with the experience, as distasteful as it is. In the silence of the drive, I reflect.

I have noticed that I option to listen to music, radio, television, go to a movie or go to a bar for a drink, I am avoiding thinking about the experience. I don't learn from anything when I avoid the feelings of the experience. Avoiding doesn't mean I will forget. Like an emotional capacitor, I remember the experiences I don't reflect on immediately. Later, when a similar analog of that experience happens, I experience the previous incidents and the emotions of those in addition to what is happening in the moment. The emotional tension merely mounts with I avoid. In the silence, I reflect.

One of the reflections I take is of my limited knowledge of people. I only know something about my culture and my country. Some of what I see creates despair. Some of what I see creates hope. Most of what I see creates distraction: distraction for choosing, feeling and thinking. Distractions from Freedom.

Television, radio, music, Internet, magazines and newspapers to some degree - they present distraction. I feel that some present distractions for distractions sake. That is, they exist to distract and have no meaning of value unto themselves. I have to wonder if these distractions and our cultural conditioning to "bright and shiny" distractions services some less overt purposes. People that don't think are easy to misinform, easy to lead and easy to control. Quiet and docile slaves, ignorant of their captivity. And People that are easily distract don't think, they react. Like the two drivers: they weren't thinking. They were reaction.

It's difficult to combat ones own culture and aspect's of ones own country. I turn the television off, the radio too, and find a place and a way to reflect. In my youth, I rode a bicycle at night usually with hours of music. Sometimes I would turn the cassette player off and ride. Ride in the dark and silence and reflect. While rage, anger or loneliness may have put me on the back of a bicycle in the dark, I staid, riding, to reflect. I worked through my anger and some of my social awkwardness and learned to see larger patterns of behavior in myself and others. I become more a person in those quiet, reflecting moments. I was practiced.

Years later, I see many people that fear the silence, fearing what thoughts come to them in their own voice. My culture seems to feel that silence is a place to put up a advertisement for some distractions or that silence is for those that know of some nefarious deed.

I can live with and in silence and reflect because I am practiced. I can reflect, witness or experience and still choice my actions. Pure Reaction is the hallmark of the immature being. I am concerned that not enough people can deal the silence necessary to experience, reflect and practice choosing their actions. If most people can't find this place, my culture will corrupt my country and create more people like the two angry drivers, people who endanger my country with impulsive reactions without thought or responsibility.

Your Savor, Messiah and God doesn't need you to Kill for your God.

Seems bizarrely and sickeningly strange that humanity has become increasingly very impatient, very righteous, arrogant and ignorant people in the religious world. Clearly, any higher being (whether a omni-present Messiah, semi-god or full god) would be able to deal with believers and non-believers alike in a suitable fashion according to that higher being's ideals and rules. That suitable fashion is what was called the after life and doesn't require or make use of any of humanity's input on the subject. Your god will do as your god wishes, no matter what you feel, think or do.

Some people require "heaven's retribution" on earth today, now. Calling for or actively enacting religious violence upon the ignorant, the knowledgeable or the insensitivity is to completely discount the concept of your chosen god or high being. I mean, "god can kill it's own children". Why would god need it's arrogant, small minded children to kill on it's behalf? Seems exceedingly righteous to profess to know the thoughts and feelings of any god, much less to incite or commit violent action in your god's name.

Additionally, it is ignorant presumption to kill or inspire violence for religious reasons. Very few if any of the core religions of humanity call for direct and complete subjugation or outright massacre of non-believers, heretics or those that have created an opportunity for insult. Those concepts are born only of the past of tradition. The traditions of religious violence is archaic and should be left in the distant past. Killing for your god or faith is to discredit your faith, not exalt it. Humanity must be willing to start with forgiveness the past and have patience with the present if we are to create a powerful future of all of humanity's faiths.

So, if you are sharpening your blade to take another head of a tourist, reloading another magazine into your rifle to snipe at another country's troops, wiring another bomb to kill anyone ( discriminate or indiscriminately), or booking tickets to find a Danish satirist for offenses against your chosen god, maybe you should take a long moment to reflect on the larger views of your faith: Your god doesn't need you to kill or incite violence for or in your god's name. Your god can handle that well enough without a your messy little hands killing your fellow man.

Were I to be to presume what my god thinks and feels, I'd report that my god is sickened by the violence done in his and other god's names and awaits humanities return to the paths of peace. But I don't speak for my god; he's perfectly capible for speaking and action for himself. So instead I will speak for myself: your stupidity makes me very angry.

Poem: The Fragile Calm

How long to hold my tongue?
How long to bare someone else's cross?
How long to curb my feelings for the sake of someone else?
How long to service the ill, the lonely, the needy, the mislead and betrayed, and the forsaken?
How long do I give my life away to create The Fragile Calm?

Poem: Green Thorns

The deep green, the hook and the sharpened ends lay in wait, eager to snare less aware tissues.

Poem: Flesh To Stone

Feather by feather they fall.
Too much stress upon borrowed wings and borrowed time,
Too much heat circling so close to the fire.
Not enough care given, not enough attention shared, not enough focus spared.

Feather by feather they fall.
I stand again, wholly human, not more than I am.
I have to re-earn my special status...
And I fear I have left too much debris to make the journey.

Feather by feather they fall,
Until there are no more.
I stand about to fly, to lift away to mystic destinations,
my feet far to heavy to lift away.

I feel stone tears begin to escape yet only well up in the corner of my eyes.
And, as the wind blows away the feathers of my past,
Slipping my uniqueness into the unknown abyss,
I feel unshed tears turning flesh to stone.

Poem: Where is My Love?

Where is My Love?
Have I passed her by already?
Did she leave upon knowing me
Or has she yet to discover me?
Where is My Love?

Poem: Nine Stones

Nine stones mark the way.
Nine travelers before me.
Rounded and gray,
That are stacked against The Wind and The Dark.
Nice stones point the way,
Not to home I have been to,
But to the home I have yet to discover.

Poem: The Dreams Return

The dreams have returned again.
I see the occasional color in select scenes,
though mostly black and white.
I feel the chill of evil lurking in shadow
and the clairvoyance of dark deeds.
I was lured into the trap I couldn't escape,
and then discovered as I yearned to be away.
I found my past twisted into slivers of my presence.
But I found no future there.
I have no constant companion in these dreams,
each contains a new person that fades or terminates before the dream is over.
The dreams have returned again.
Where are my radiant, precious and uplifting dreams?

Poem: Disconnected Hearts

Unplugged, frayed line.
I know it feels; I feel the sadness returning.

The casual grace of a woman's smile,
The warmth of her hand upon mine,
The joy of her presence,
I hunger for these again.

Still fixed in my mind, for the heart does not forget so easily,
the struggle, the frustration and finally surrender of past loves.
I have healed enough I think.
I stoke the furnace with hope,
I peel away the fortifications,
I remove the glazed stares, honed to a humanizing focus.

All that is left...
Is to take action.
To move to the center and receive the opportunities to find the right woman.
All that is left is to take action.

Poem: Hollow

Another sleepless night.
She was here again.

I didn't want her to stay but she didn't leave.
I didn't turn her away but I wanted to.
I didn't want her in my bed again but she desired to be there.
I didn't lie about the others but she stayed anyway.
(Honesty fails me again.)
I didn't love her but I was with her.

And, when she left, I was hollow again.
I do not miss her.

Sex isn't the start nor end of anything.
It's not love. It's not love.

Sex isn't love, slow to learn.
Now the trap is sprung and I feel hollow again.

What are they thinking?!

full article found here

"PRIMM, Nev. — A driverless Volkswagen was declared the winner yesterday of a $2 million race across the rugged Nevada desert, beating four other robot-guided vehicles that completed a Pentagon-sponsored contest aimed at making warfare safer for humans."

Is it just bad writting or the Pentagon's idea of the future of American Saftey?

Let's break this down:.

If this means "safer for humans", we have to recognize that war isn't made without two or more teams of people; i.e. "us" and "them". Inheriantly in war, the objective is to "kill them" or kill enough of them that they can't fight back. And the dead are not safer, they're just dead. Thus, "safer for humans' is a contradiction since, in war, someone has to die.

If this means "safer warfare", then we as a species are in deep trouble. War is supposed to be hard, ugly, and hellish. War is all those things and more for a very good reason - warfare is a "very bad thing" and should be avoided at all costs.

I don't want war to be safer, more efficent, or "pretty". If someone is killed, making it safer or pretty is to devalue the lives taken, as if to say, not only did we kill you but we taunt you in death. Making warfare "safer" will only lead to more warfare. Diplomacy is hard and if warfare gets any easier, we as human beings will also take the path of least resistance. That means more wars or continually smaller and smaller things. Occasionally, "this war" or "that war" will royally piss someone else off and they'll return the warfare favor. This cyclic warfare game is how the middle east, northern Ireland, and various African countrys got to be the high point of genicidal histories.

"Warfare safer for humans" is a incrediably fast path to complete human genecide.

Restless and Ill-temperd

I've grown restless and ill-tempered. I have tried to pull these handicaps away from everyone but doing so compounds the problems. I don't want to explain my trivial life's aliments to those with a fragile calm but holding it back is hardening the response, shortening opportunties to mere reactions. I don't want to sit. I don't want to stand. I don't want to be awake and I don't want to sleep.

More than a "Thank you", Respect

On the way home, I have to travel a freeway that's under construction. For the trip home, freeway construction consists taking three lanes down to two. Skipping the obvious problem about the construction crews ability to find the exact wrong place the lane merge signs, there are some interest driving behaviors to witness.

As you come up an overpass, the left most lane merges into the, then, center lane. The flashing arrow sigh signaling "merge right", is just at the top of the overpass, thus it can't be easily seen from the bottom of the freeway overpass, before the rise. During rush hour, this lane merge becomes a sticking point.

Traffic patterns, like people, repeat. The same people travel south in the mornings and then north in the evenings. Now, of course there are some variations but as a generalization, this is a good summary. And thus the frustration.

A fair number of north-bound travelers get selective amnesia when traveling home. Pulling in the left lane near the pending end of the freeway and start of construction, they act surprised when, at the top of the overpass, they "suddenly see" the merge right flashing sign. (Note: it can be seen miles way but that's not apparently isn't as important because it's not as visible on the approach to that particular overpass and thus creates plausible deniability and just plausible ignorance.)

Me, because I travel south in the mornings and north in the evenings, know the sign exists. I can see if for miles and it's been their for months now. As I draw closer, I gauge traffic and, well before the overpass roadway starts to rise, I get in the center lane. I make peace with the fact that this is where I need to be to travel onward north through this freeway construction.

Other, with their selective memory and plausible ignorance, pop out of the center and the right lanes (I've seen it, they do it) and get in the attractively (usually) uncrowded left lane. I suggest they know about the merge right but that's just me putting my driving awareness, study of my life and my routines on others and maybe that's not completely fair. I mean, my drivers education class drilled we students endlessly to "be aware of your surroundings while driving."

So, comes the point of mock surprise and frustration: the end of the left lane. It is interested to note that, even when the flashing "merge right" sign is in full view, how many drivers continue in the left lane to within 10 feet of the sign and then play the "mock surprise" look, the "please forgive me for being here" glance and "let me get in front of you" leer up the center lane folks, namely, here, me.

I watch people shooting up the left lane, heading for eventual merge and wonder about their arrogance's, their "me first" attitude. For ever one car that inserts forcibly into the center lane, minimum two car lengths of travel are lost. One car length for the vehicle it's self. The second car length is in the negotiation and in reaction time for the insertion to be completed. Reaction time travels in heavy traffic like a reverse wave, magnifying in stop-n-go traffic. Pay attention next time you're in a traffic jam and you'll find it's true. A 3/4 second reaction for you (that's the usually best reaction time) becomes a 1.5 seconds in the space of one car. Thus, it takes at least one minute and fifteen seconds to get 100 cars all moving from a dead stop. There ways around this problem but that's subject to a different discussion, rant and social observation.

So, it comes my turn to deal with these left-laner lame-brainers with their plausible ignorance and the magnifying traffic delay effect. Do I let them in? Do I block them out, tail gating the car in front of me in vehicular protest, as if to say "I don't believe you are that stupid Buddy. Suffer!" Do I make them work for it first in "resistance protesting"?

Yes to all of the above. Those with the "kiss my bumper" attitude usually get the "get behind me stupid" response from me when I can swing it. It's not the mock surprise that gets me, it's the arrogance of "deal with it" in their driving style. I try to be relaxed and let one free-of-hassle left-laner in usually. More than one disrespects the hundred of cars behind me that will suffer for the extra intrusion if additional minutes and potentially tens of minutes, depending how far back they are. Occasional, when I'm feeling rather disgusted with the rude, "me first" driving generation, I just tailgate and block. No one gets in. I don't look left, cutting off any negotiation for center lane access. My only focus is the one foot space been me and the car in front of me. I hate it when I'm like that and it doesn't balance out the left-laner problem at all. I get to be human sometimes.

On those occasions that I left someone in, they usually wave. All fingers and full back of the hand, they wave. The wave usually is more about "we negotiated things and I got in front of you" and less about a real "thank you." Think about it and you'll know the difference between the two gestures. It's in the intensity of the wave.

Still, there is an element of "thank you" and I do appreciate each wave, even from the left-laners that force into my lane without regard to anyone else. It's at least an acknowledge of me, whether of me as "a driver that didn't ram them" or them as "the conquering driver hero", it's really unclear and mostly unimportant by that time.

"Thank you"... "Thank you." A lot of people thinks that "Please" and "Thank you" is all that's needed to get by in the world, all that's need to get what you want. This is how seems to be with young children. They understand the "magic words" and use them to customize their experience, either in advance or after wards. "Magic words" - bad idea.

Sadly, we are losing the understanding that "please" and "thank you" aren't the beginning and end of a human interactions. They are side effects of a larger concept: respect. Respecting someone holds the chance they your request may be declined and that it'll be okay, either way. Respect holds the concept of "other" and even more dear concept "value of other". I have been "please"d and "thank you"d many times and without respect for my person. Without respect, "please" and "thank you" are nothing more than a verbal and/or non-verbal victory dance for getting what you wanted from someone else, regardless of anyone but self.

More than a "please" or a "thank you", I'd like a bit more respect in my world.

Poem: A Blade of Grass

Dawn, then twilight; the dew collects on a blade of grass. A single drop at the loped-over tip end of a wide grass blade dangles sweet and quiet the morning hues.

As the sun slowly slips from it's other journeys into these skies, a golden shower of light, winding through the trees and meadows, finds it way to a drop of dew at the ends of a blade of grass.