It’s not exactly true that all roads lead to Bulgaria. It’s perhaps not even true that there are six degrees or less of separation between everything else in the world and Bulgaria. But it is true that I often find myself thinking about or surprised by steps that seem to inexorably lead to Bulgaria.
Here’s an example. My husband has seasonal allergies. My son has seasonal allergies. I silently pooh-poohed my husband’s request to get local honey to help alleviate allergic sensitivity, but gave the idea a bit more credence when the pediatrician said it just might help. I should have had more faith in my husband, I know. But whether I believed it or not, the search for local honey was—forgive any unintended food pun—fruitless. And as I browsed the honey on offer at the supermarket, at Trader Joe’s, at Whole Foods, I thought how easy this would be if we were in Bulgaria. We would visit relatives in Kozlodui who would certainly press upon us jars of their own honey. Or walk down Graf Ignatiev Street in Sofia and buy a jar or two from one of the many women coming in from the villages to sell their wares. Or come upon a hand-lettered sign on a main road fronting a small stand with jars of honey when coming back from some trip or another.
Another example borne from the first. Thinking about honey naturally makes one think about bees. The first time I was ever stung by a bee, I was less than four years old. I don’t think I remember the sting on my finger at all. But I remember the aftermath because we were at the zoo and my physician father knew that sugar can draw out the bee sting’s toxin and reduce pain and swelling. Thus cotton candy was bought for the purpose and a strip wound around my finger. I ate it right off. A new strip was wound. I ate that one off too. I don’t know how often this was repeated, but either the sugar on my finger or the sugar in my mouth took the pain away. The second time I was stung, I was ten or twelve and it was my own fault for presuming that the bee floating in the swimming pool was dead when instead it recovered full and vindictive energy the instant I cupped it in my hand to throw it out of the water. The third incident was the first time I was taken to Kozlodui in 1993. A young cousin was taking us on a walk in the center of town. She was eager to question me about all things American. “Как е хамбургер на англиски?” (“What is hamburger in English?), she asked. I had just answered “hamburger,” when a bee stung me on the thigh. She felt badly. Neither ice nor захарен памук (cotton candy) was available. The pain passed. I’ve returned to Kozlodui many times, but never been stung there again.
The Washington Post newspaper awards “Pinocchios” for lies, egregious and not so egregious, as part of its campaign Fact Checker series. Perhaps regrettably, the noses of politicians so awarded do not seem to grow with every lie they tell. After the fall of communism in the East Bloc, expatriate George Ganchev returned to his native land and started a political party called the Bulgarian Business Bloc. He ran for president three times, quite unsuccessfully, but did win a seat in parliament. Early this year, he announced his fourth bid. On the BTV channel he proclaimed, “I am running for president, because I can’t look at what is happening here. For me it is an honor to be a Bulgarian, that’s why I am 26 years in my fatherland.” He proposed as his running mate a general accused of embezzlement, but Ganchev called him a hero. In 1994, Ganchev was much in the news, perhaps as much for the novelty of his anglicized first name and right wing views as for anything else. Though one can’t discount the attention-attracting power of his twin passions of fencing and theater combined with entitling his party a “Business Bloc.” No experience in government service in Bulgaria, the UK, or the U.S.—in all of which he has lived for extended periods. The satirical television program Kanaleto pounced. Periodically a Pinocchio puppet would appear, with a clear resemblance to the big man with his Hitlerite facial hair. The puppet would appear to quote Ganchev and his nose would grow and grow. Perhaps The Washington Post would have done well to give such a pictorial. Despite his name recognition and his long years striving for votes, George Ganchev and his Christian Social Union party received only 0.73% of the vote on November 6.
The Washington Post→Political Candidates→Lying→Pinocchio(s)→Bulgaria
Less than six degrees of separation between almost anything and Bulgaria. Surprising how often that happens.