A journey of folklore to Turkey and Bulgaria
In July of ’94 I went on a dance and folklore seminar that I heard about by chance from a friend of mine from Holland. I didn’t know what to expect, except that an American (of Turkish descent) would lead the trip to Turkey and that an energetic widow by the name of Bianca da Yong, whom I had met before in Israel, would lead the trip to Bulgaria.
See picturesAfter a few phone inquiries, I reported for duty in Turkey. I was apprehensive about meeting the Turkish dance teacher, Ahmet Lulici (his real name), whom I had pictured in my imagination as a giant with a huge mustache. I prepared my defense and arrived at the airport with a string of excuses explaining what exactly had impaired my development after the age of 13. Meeting Ahmet turned out to be the first pleasant surprise of the trip. At the airport I discovered a sign with my name on it, and attached to it was Ahmet, a man about my height, and I took an immediate liking to him (how not?). He turned out to be a friendly fellow, with an exceptional sense of humor, I felt a click between us and we hit it off right away.
When we arrived at the hotel, I finally understood why the trip was so expensive — the hotel was quite elaborate. One of the participants, an American whom I had met earlier in Israel, was waiting for us there, and I took an immediate liking to her as well (understand, she barely reached my shoulders…). We had dinner together and took a look around and… yes, saw a soccer game (it was the World Cup). The next morning we met with the rest of the group, another surprise. I was introduced to 16 women from the States, Canada and Holland and promptly became the sole representative of that noble race, the male species.
After getting acquainted we departed for a city by the name of “Bursa”, a tiny city with a population of 3 million people. We arrived at another fancy hotel, and this was to be the pattern for the rest of the trip: absolute contrast between the places we visited and the elaborate hotels where we stayed. After getting organized, we learned a terrific, intoxicating Turkish dance by the name of Siksara, which was to become our “anthem” for the rest of the trip. With no time to spare we were hustled along for a tour of the city. In the evening there was a performance especially for us by a group of young dancers, who surprised us after the performance by taking partners and dancing with us. Our respective partners stayed with us for the entire evening, teaching us three new dances right there on the dance floor. What a welcome!
The next morning we traveled to a summer town called Ardack, a tourist town with wonderful weather and no tourists, only Turks. After a few laps at the pool we gathered together to learn dances by the resident dance guru. We immediately drew a crowd of onlookers, overcome with curiosity about the connection between the blond-haired, blue eyed foreigners (not including me, of course) and Turkish dancing.
We returned in the evening to the pool to learn more dances, but were unable to continue, as the crowd of spectators who came to watch the attraction now numbered in the hundreds. The veterans among us who knew a few dances couldn’t resist the opportunity of audience and began to perform for the crowd. The hit of the evening was Siksara, which we performed over and over — a no-brainer, since we only knew four or five dances. We continued the “show” with a few Balkan and Israeli dances, and by the end of the evening we were parading around like proud peacocks among the crowd, who were too shy to ask for autographs.
The next day started with a tour and ended with a performance. Word traveled fast, and in the evening a crew from Turkish television staked out the area, and after adjusting the lighting and testing the equipment, filmed us dancing three dances in front of an enthusiastic audience. Afterwards we were treated to another performance by a local troupe, who first performed for us and then taught us a few dances, popular dances with a lot of hand clapping and stamping. What a rush.
Back to Istanbul, and the days become routine: dancing in the morning, and again in the evening, followed by a festive meal, this time in a fish restaurant with a large open patio. The alcohol was flowing and the patio soon filled up with dancers and a few street musicians who came in to make money off of us, an attraction for all the diners.
As the trip was supposed to continue in Bulgaria, we found ourselves slowly migrating towards the Bulgarian border. When we arrived at a small city called Adirana near the border, instead of our usual 5 star fare, we were taken to a hovel from the Ottoman era. For some reason I was happier there, the folklore seemed more authentic from the window of a broken down shanty. It was hard to leave the endless party: every morning, a dance seminar with the Turkish dance teacher of one of the local experts; in the evening, a performance by a local dance troupe with dances and costumes from the region; and every night, a festive dinner with lots of drinking, dancing and live music.
We were accompanied the whole time by our own private bus, driver and band of musicians, another reason why it was so expensive ($1500). The musicians accompanied us on all the seminars, playing the music over and over again till we caught on to the dances, and granted us free performances every time we stopped to rest, an unforgettable experience.
After an emotional farewell from the guide and the driver (especially from the women) Bianca took charge. She’s lived in both Bulgaria and Turkey for a number of years, and in addition to Turkish and Bulgarian, speaks fluent Dutch, English and German. A woman of striking looks, at the border she decides to flaunt her femininity and astonishes us with a revealing mini skirt and a shirt barely long enough to cover anything, even small things. Crossing the border turned out to be a short episode after Bianca chatted with the border guards, and we pass the border without a baggage check, a rare occurrence, but the girls underwent thorough inspection by the guards whose looks penetrated right thru their clothes.
It was my first trip to Bulgaria and I was overwhelmed with excitement. As an enthusiast of Bulgarian music, I began to move to the varied and difficult rhythms playing on the radio in the bus that was waiting for us on the other side of the border. The bus came equipped with a local guide who tried in vain to translate into English, but managed to earn his tip by acting as our porter.
In the afternoon we arrived for a tour of Plovdev, the home of a rich repertoire of dances. Right away we met with our first local dance expert, a unbelievably cute young woman called Giliana, accompanied of course by a local accordionist. I barely had time to stamp my feet to get warmed up when we were taught three dances with inscrutable beats. Despite repeated practice, it was soon obvious that the slower Turkish dances were just a warm up for beginners. For those among us experiencing Bulgarian folklore for the first time, it was difficult to get used to the unusual rhythm and I found myself getting kicked (more or less in time to the music) right and left.
In the evening, as usual, another surprise was waiting for us around the corner. They arranged a performance by a group of small children performing a medley of Bulgarian dances, an amazing experience. What surprised me the most was the interest of the locals in the performance, no doubt the Bulgarians are proud of their music and dance, and are a lot less westernized than in Turkey, where that kind of interest and pride was harder to discern.
The next day we arrived at a city called Valiko Tarvorno where we met with the most famous Bulgarian dance teacher in all of Bulgaria, a reserved woman called Maria Aftimova. She taught basic steps and styles, and then taught us a few dances, one of which is familiar to Balkan dances here in Israel, Dobrasanska Reka. In the evening, a dinner with Maria and her accordionist, after a few bottles of Rakia (Bulgaria’s national liquor), some of the women began singing songs in harmony with Maria (and anyone who knows Bulgarian music, knows it took them years to learn). The other diners were amazed, and while they were still trying to figure out what was going on, we started dancing to the music.
The real surprise was when we started dancing Kraidanavsko Oro, a choreography brought down from the stage to the dance floors of the States and Europe. I had been drinking and started dancing without music. Both the dance and the music are quite styled and complicated, yet the accordionist somehow improvised music for the dance, just amazing for any of you who’ve seen the dance or heard the music and how it changes. Our most enthusiastic audience was Maria herself, and between drags of her ever-present cigarette, (she smoked something like a pack an hour), started to thaw. Maria is one of the few who defies the law of gravity, she floats in the air instead of dancing, it’s really something to see.
The next day we all stood in line with parting gifts, as was our custom with all the local dance teachers; we had come prepared with bagfuls of presents for the occasion. On the way to the most moving experience of my life, they took us to a museum of Bulgarian humor, there is such a thing, but it’s not very funny. Still sad, we arrived at a small town called Gavra, where I got my first glimpse of real folklore.
All the townspeople were waiting for us, God knows for how long, with donkey drawn wagons, and we were transported back in time a few centuries. The local dance teacher, Giorgi, a man with boundless energy despite his age (around 70) and weight (lots of it), greeted us warmly and escorted us to a small hall to teach us a few quick dances. I had the honor of staying at his house, where we were served homemade cheese, homegrown vegetables, freshly baked cakes that his wife prepared, and of course, home brewed Rakia, 100% alcohol and after polishing off half a bottle he and I are best friends. Their grandson performed dances for us while his wife, a well known singer, entertained us with her music. Dinner for the entire group was served in the town hall. All the villagers joined us and later we danced together to music by local musicians till we were floored by alcohol. We managed to connect despite the lack of common language. Where else can you find this kind of hospitality in return for a few baubles for the dance teacher?
We visited also in Sandansko where we danced to the music of three zornas, (a zorna is a flute with the sound of a saxophone, an incredible instrument which I’ve learned to love and admire).
But I can’t end without telling about one last surprise. On our last evening we were taken to a suburb of Sophia, with many mysterious smiles, where we found ten grandmothers dressed in their finest folk garb, who greeted us with bread and salt (yes, it happens there too). We had dinner at the house of three of Bulgaria’s most famous singers, The Bisrov Sisters, who performed for us and all this because of Bianca’s amazing connections.
How can I end without tears? A pool of tears for having to end such an unforgettable trip. I’m still in touch with some of the participants, and I’ve met over half at other seminars since then, including Giorgi, who remembered me because I had stayed at his house. And on and on and on, too difficult to write it all down. I haven’t mentioned the food, the local musicians, the ethnic instruments, the poverty, the folklore, all the trips we took in-between, the relationships woven between the members of the trip, the organizers, Bianca and Ahmet. It seems that the best things in life are always short and fleeting, like this article. For those of you who wish to taste of Balkan culture, there are 1¼ Balkan dance groups in Israel for a few fanatics like me who’ve given up all other hobbies.