nessebar, bulgaria

Well, this post is a complete cop out. I admit it. I embrace it. And so should you, because today we're doing the tried and true post in which I just let the pictures do the talking. Basically.

(but now I'm about to do some talking as well so I guess I just lied to you right up there ^^^)

And you're right. Such a post doesn't do justice to the places I've been seeing. You don't understand the thrill of the bus ride along the coastal mountains, in which I fully accepted that I was going to die as our bus went up on two wheels with every switchback. Nor can you relate to the hilarious situations we got ourselves into on a daily basis due to self-timers and dance moves. You haven't met John Lee, an elderly Australian we ate lunch with and who can drop facebook lingo in a conversation like a 13 year old. You didn't get a free piece of cake at the restaurant because the waiter was just so dang cool and you didn't get invited to karaoke night by a group of Bulgarian men.

Those are the things that make traveling so awesome. But the pretty places don't hurt either.

peace and 50 cent ice cream cones. 

twice a day.

rrw

varna, bulgaria

Remember that one time me and three other 20-somethings traveled through Bulgaria entirely on our own? Yeah. That was a miracle. After establishing our home base in Burgas, we did a few day trips to nearby coastal cities. We loved them all.

The first we went to was Varna. Now, I haven't recounted all the adventures we had while en-route from Kiev to Burgas because to do so would take more time than Nicholas Flamel has on his hands. But let me assure you that there was some crazy business going down. And I loved it.

BUT. The point of that was that we met and befriended the most wonderful person alive. Iliana. She was our little Bulgarian angel who took pity on the four completely bewildered Americans. It is because of her that I'm not currently lying on the floor, crying, in the Sofia Airport. This angel-woman lives in Varna, so after exploring around the city a little bit, we met up with her again to eat some ice cream, visit her favorite spot on the beach, and talk about gypsies.

Our first stop of the day: THIS GIANT FARMERS MARKET.

Best bananas of our lives.

Whaaa....free water?!

 Andrew decided to become Eastern European.

These boys don't know how to feel about it.

But hey, they wanted to be in the picture so they're cool.

Poor Iliana.

She didn't realize what she had gotten herself into.

ILIANA

 ^^^ It kind of became tradition, ok?

And these ^^^ are the awesome people I got to spend my week with.

And then there's me.

hey boys hey.

These two photos...just make me laugh.

OF COURSE he wasn't looking.

And of course this is how I reacted.

give me back my camera...please?

I just super lucked out with these people.

The day ended with a beautiful sunset and us walking down a sketchy road to catch our bus back home. Which in all reality became a sort of theme of the vacation. Us. Walking in sketchy areas. Good times. GOOD times.

peace and laundry

my clothes are literally hanging on every possible area of our apartment. these ukrainians i live with are way too good to me.

rrw

my life is boring

I'm not in a super mood to blog right now, and yet here I am, typing up a post. My host sister asked if there was nothing interesting for me to post about. I just looked at her while I sat in a kitchen in Kiev, Ukraine, holding a bowl of borscht I helped make and remembering how delicious the batch of syrniki I had made earlier was, listening to a Russian symphony that was filling the room through speakers sitting on the table in the kitchen...in Kiev, Ukraine.

Yeah, that must be it. Nothing interesting is going on in my life.

I mean, it's not like that same host sister and I had a conversation about the different professions her English text book said were possibilities for those who spoke English. Nah, we didn't really laugh at the idea that her text book said that American's often chose the profession of milkmaid. I mean heck, I'm considering changing my major as I type.

And it's not like I totally caught a fly out of the air in between my fingers like a full-on ninja.

I can't possibly have been teaching English to Ukrainian kids for the last month and a half. I mean, that would mean that I've had children stroking my hair and hanging on my legs and pulling on my hands and throwing things across the room and sneezing all over me and hugging me and sitting on my lap whenever we "fall down" during Ring Around the Rosie.

I'm not the most popular kid at the elementary school here. None of the kids want to talk to me and tell me their names and ask me how I am when I go to pick up my 8 year old host sister from school.

I couldn't possible have gone on an overnight train this last Friday. And then spent literally all day on the same train that Sunday. no really. did that really have to happen? that couldn't possibly be real. there's no way i would have done that...ok fine. i did.

But it's not like I took that train to see castles and fortresses in Kamanets, Ukraine. No... Because if I did, that would mean I have a ton of pictures...

And this dog didn't follow me everywhere, photo bombing basically every picture I have.

We obviously didn't have a very much fun with self-timers.

And we totally didn't get scammed into taking pictures with these birds.

oh how i wish that ^^^ were true.

#whileinukraine 

We didn't decide to take a nap on a bench in the middle of the city.

And we definitely didn't watch/film two Ukrainians get engaged while standing on yet another love bridge.

i swear, i'm putting a lock on the next one we see.

i don't care if i have no love in my life.

it will say "Rachel + Cheese = Happiness Forever"

or something equally profound.

Nope. My life is so utterly boring. I have absolutely nothing to blog about. So I'm going to leave now and send good vibes to my little sister, who is running in the State Cross Country meet today. Fly C-Gull, FLY!

peace and russian lessons
say hello to the worst student in the class. 
"privet"
^^^that's hello in russian.

rrw