As much as the actual practical work itself, cultural learning is what international volunteer projects have always been about. Part of that entails changing our own perceptions and challenging the stereotypes – be they positive or negative -that we too hold. Here, Emma Cowlard describes how a project working alongside Bulgarian Gypsies did that in more ways than one…
Two Bulgarian girls at a disco in their orphanage, Gutzal 2002.
What comes to mind when you think of Bulgaria? An ex Soviet-bloc with a fairly unstable economic and political climate, probably rather backward and little to offer? Well at least this was my perception before I spent two amazing weeks this summer taking part in a volunteer project in the small town of Rakitovo. Although Bulgaria is evidently not stuck in the Stone Age, equally it is not as developed as the more westernised countries of Europe. In small towns and villages the traditional horse and cart is a common sight, as are huge piles of logs outside people’s homes, since central heating has yet to reach most of the country. However, this all contributes to the Bulgarian charm; although it by no means escapes the glare of western commercialisation, with our favourite Coca Cola logo on almost every shop front, the country remains relatively untouched by tourism, maintaining an almost fairytale allure of untouched beauty.
Since this summer I decided to attempt something a little more adventurous and a lot less superficial than your typical beach holiday in Corfu, I decided to participate in a volunteer project. This meant that I could fuse an exploration of the breathtaking RhodopiMountains and forests with a deeply rewarding community project, working alongside Gypsies in the thick of real Bulgarian life.Like every town and city across the world, whether it is in the United States of America or West Africa there are always areas of poverty and where I was working was one such area. Imagine walking through a Gypsy quarter at eleven o’ clock at night, the roads are rubble and covered in mud, dogs run around barking, half built houses stand ominously in the unlit streets and then one by one people begin to line the roadside and fix their eyes upon you and the other volunteers as you walk past. What do you do? Panic? Squeeze tighter to your purse as your heart misses a beat? Certainly this was my initial reaction, but what I interpreted to be hostility, proved to be simply intrigue and enthusiasm. I found the gypsy quarter to be one of the warmest and most welcoming be simply intrigue and enthusiasm. I found the gypsy quarter to be one of the warmest and most welcoming places I have ever visited.
As a university student I am no stranger to night-clubs and bars, but no amount of hi-tech lighting, after shock and elaborate garage mixes can beat the Gypsy night-club. I may have exchanged the city lights for a square concrete room with a Ghetto Blaster in the corner, but it was one of the most amazing nights of my life. People could not do enough to please, one girl and her friends spent the entire evening attempting to teach me to dance and not ancient traditional steps, rather moves that could definitely teach Madonna a thing or two!
Yanko my group leader almost gave me his entire first aid when I sneezed,a girl from one of the Kindergartens we had been working on came and sang to us and an entire church congregation shook our hands whilst attending their Sunday service. Certainly, anyone who interacts with Bulgarian Gypsies will find themselves overwhelmed with generosity and hospitality.
Admittedly, a volunteer project in Bulgaria is not a typical holiday destination, but for me it was definitely a life time experience. Painting kindergartens with children running around with our home made paper hates on, long hikes in the mountains and dancing through the night are just some of the memories, which will stay with me forever!
It seemed almost compulsory for the kids quoted on the publicity material for the likes of “Operation Raleigh” or “BUNAC” to write long, breathless sentences full of superlatives to describe their experiences. However, the small print brought only disappointment for the studious 20-year-old I was four years ago. As the eldest of a family reared on (generally successful) holidays to Britain’s extremities and the occasional horrendous misadventure in the near continent, I’d always suspected I’d enjoy travelling abroad on my own steam. Unfortunately, for a student of my means then, a “suspicion” could no way justify raising a couple of grand for a “working holiday”.
That’s why it was a godsend when my sister thrust a Concordia programme at me. Suddenly, hundreds of work-camps in just as many fascinating locations were within my reach. The atlas came out and I eventually decided on an environmental project in Bulgaria as I was aiming for somewhere that was really culturally alien to everything I was used to.
The first night was horrific! An aging craft of different coloured bits of metal under the now-defunct banner of “Balkan and Bulgarian Airlines” touched down (to the customary applause) in Sofia a full 4 hours late, giving me the night-time arrival I’d tried to avoid. Wide-eyed as I was, I jumped into the taxi of the first greasy scheister to greet me at the airport and was driven in circles to the Novotel Europa, the Sheraton and every other over-priced western hotel that didn’t bear the address of the Lonely Planet-recommended hovel I’d shown the driver. Eventually deposited in a dark street full of stray dogs and a wad of Monopoly money lighter in the pocket, I walked up and down until I found “Hotel Bolid” myself. I wouldn’t recommend it!
Okay, so that’s where the nightmare ends. The following day, on the railway platform to my designated arrival point of Sliven, I made a bee-line for the only non-Bulgarian face I could see. Mikiko, who was also destined for the camp, became my girlfriend for the next two and a half years, including one wonderful year I spent teaching English in her native Japan.
It’s fair to say that that work-camp - set in the isolation of the largely-unspoilt Bulgarian countryside – involved a greater degree of interaction amongst the volunteers than with the locals as many of us have spent the intervening years jetting across the globe to see each other (I’ve met up with no fewer than 8 of the original 15 myself and the emails keep coming). I now know that the Bulgarians (bureaucrats and Sofian taxi drivers aside) are an honest and sociable lot, whose lifestyle affords a good deal more time for coffee and spirit-drinking than our own. It suits me so well that I spent last year teaching English there and I’m due to return to Plovdiv in September for another year.
At the end of that first work-camp, it was my turn to abandon my reserve and spout trails of superlatives in the evaluation form. In just two weeks, I was transformed from a curious but inexperienced student to the wanderer I am today. “A brilliant, life-changing experience” it certainly was.
