ending wheel."
— Ronnie James Dio, 1983
It was a sizzling Summer's day in '79 when I got the harebrained idea to teach myself how to swim. After piddling around the kiddie pool enviously observing my older brother Carlos and neighborhood friend Chris Becotte on the deep end impressing poolside onlookers, without any knowhow or supervision, I took a leap of faith into deep waters and sank like a brick.
Holding my breath as long as I could, I somehow managed to flap my way to the surface, but the rapid suffocation rendered me silent. My first instinct was to splash around loud and long enough to get someone's attention.
Well, perhaps it was the steady submergence or my 8 year old pint-sized frame, but while I struggled for air, helplessly watching clueless bystanders sipping and sunbathing, I remained inexplicably unseen. Even the Lansdowne Village Apartment's Speedo wearing lifeguard was oblivious. Like usual, he was hanging out at the concession stand occupied with far more important things like hot dog gobbling and bikini gazing.
Realizing no one was ever going to notice me, I put the flapping to rest and descended back to the bottom of the pool. Halfway there though, I could make out a muffled voice shouting through the heavily chlorinated water.
"Carlos!! Your lil' brother's drownin'!!!"
In the mist of all the sipping, sunbathing, gobbling and gazing, Chris miraculously spotted me. Seconds later, he and Carlos dove in. The next thing I remember is Chris, the faster swimming, reaching me first. He was a year older than me, but just as pint-sized — so he barely kept us afloat.
That's when the dreaded thought of the two of us dying over my harebrained idea scared the hell out of me. But before I could wallow in misery, Carlos, who was bigger and stronger than both of us put together, swooped in like Aquaman, his favorite comicbook superhero, and saved the day.
Safe on the surface, but shamefully shaken, I learned a valuable lesson to never dive into situations over my head — especially without supervision. In fact, it took another three years before I thought about testing deep waters, again. And when the time finally rolled around — with my brother Aqua-Los supervising — I took another leap of faith and managed to stay afloat.
Speaking of neighborhood swimming, in recent times during June, I got the opportunity to flap around on the final leg of my Chalkidiki Trilogy — later rounding out the month exploring more hidden treasures of Bulgaria, including a visit to the country's first capital and birthplace of a majestic horseman and an attendance to one of the Sunflower Capital's greatest music festivals held in a small town with a big devotion to hard rock — especially to its beloved horn maker. Rock on . . .
"Can't remember when we came
So close to love before.
Hold on, good things never last.
Nothing's in the past,
It always seem to come again.
Again and again and again."
— Ronnie James Dio, 1980
AFTER A STRENUOUS YEAR TAKING MY FIRST crack at teaching high school academics — including English, journalism and world history — the end had finally arrived. But before the seniors could don their caps and gowns and I could get my yearly evaluation, a cluster of June holidays gave way for me and Sarah to do some needed traveling throughout Bulgaria and its famous next door neighbor — better known as Greece.
The first place we explored was Shumen, the tenth largest city in Bulgaria where my girl from the north country successfully took her own first crack at teaching high school academics during her Peace Corps days in '99. The trip was mainly for her to reacquaint with close friends. And though I'd already been to Shumen briefly to attend my first Bulgarian wedding (read that in Episode 15), having two additional days to explore more of the city and its ancient surrounding areas — including Pliska, Bulgaria's first capital — made for an equally essential second journey.
After meeting up with Gergana — a Shumen native and former teacher mentor to Sarah — her husband, two kids, and Eddie, a Scottish English teacher, we caught a glimpse of the Madara Rider, an early medieval relief depicting a military triumph, carved on a plateau in the village of Madara. A highly important symbol for Bulgaria, the Madara Rider currently graces the tail side of most stotinkas and recently made the vote to face future Euro coins.
After giving my best shot replicating a photograph of the real image to the currency one, the group explored the surrounding mountainous area and headed for the ruins in the ancient city of Pliska, which has a newly renovated museum that gave me a fine lesson in ancient Bulgarian history.
The next day, we woke up bright and early to meet Sylvia, another Shumen native and elementary school teacher of Roma (Gypsy) decent, who helped Sarah with the first Bulgarian Roma camps. After hanging out with Sylvia and her family, all the while showing off for her two adorable children by performing live sketches, at the end of the day, Sarah and I met up with Alex, another Shumen native and English teacher. And along with her 12 year old daughter, we ended our journey with a yummy lunch at Happy, my all-favorite Bulgarian restaurant.
"Oh, they say it's over.
That it just had to be.
Ooh, they say it's over,
We're lost children of the sea."
— Ronnie James Dio, 1980
LIKE THIS YEAR'S RECORD BREAKING EURO cold snap, the Summer of 2012 in Bulgaria was equally extreme. Since moving to the the Sunflower Capital in 2009, due to Sofia's generally arid Summers and some help from Vitosha Mountain's crisp air sweeping through our second floor, two balcony condo, me and Sarah never desired to acquire an AC unit. But this Summer, cool breeze must've been on strike.
With humidity thick enough to cut with a knife and heat above the 100 mark, at times I could have sworn I was sharing my living quarters with the Devil himself. So, after returning from Shumen and Pliska, I found myself on the road again, this time headed for the Aegean Sea in high hopes of relieving the city heat.
So, along with Sarah, the best travel buddy a dude could ask for, Blog-O-Daria mainstay Nevena, and some new faces to the series, including Nevena's new boyfriend Radi (who gets the seal of approval), Melina and Ksenia — all Bulgarian natives — we set our sails for Kassandra, the final destination on my Chalkidiki Trilogy.
Due to the recent Greek government-debt crisis, the famous first leg was free of its usual hordes of tourists. You see, though I cringe at crowded beaches, I'm pleased at packed restaurants. This made for a pleasant, but conspicuous stay.
After a relaxing day basking out on one of the world's best now near hollow beach resorts, during the night we dined out on one of its most popular seafood attractions — virtually alone. And even though there was an empty awkward ambiance — particularly when interacting with the friendly Greek staff — you can bet your last pair of forks and knives it never spoiled my appetite for scoffing down the world's greatest seafood cuisine.
"And then she whipped out
a card with big black letters
that just about explained it all.
Well, if you don't like Rock 'N' Roll,
if you don't like Rock 'N' Roll —
then you're too late now."
— Ronnie James Dio, 1975
Holding my breath as long as I could, I somehow managed to flap my way to the surface, but the rapid suffocation rendered me silent. My first instinct was to splash around loud and long enough to get someone's attention.
Realizing no one was ever going to notice me, I put the flapping to rest and descended back to the bottom of the pool. Halfway there though, I could make out a muffled voice shouting through the heavily chlorinated water.
"Carlos!! Your lil' brother's drownin'!!!"
In the mist of all the sipping, sunbathing, gobbling and gazing, Chris miraculously spotted me. Seconds later, he and Carlos dove in. The next thing I remember is Chris, the faster swimming, reaching me first. He was a year older than me, but just as pint-sized — so he barely kept us afloat.
Safe on the surface, but shamefully shaken, I learned a valuable lesson to never dive into situations over my head — especially without supervision. In fact, it took another three years before I thought about testing deep waters, again. And when the time finally rolled around — with my brother Aqua-Los supervising — I took another leap of faith and managed to stay afloat.
Speaking of neighborhood swimming, in recent times during June, I got the opportunity to flap around on the final leg of my Chalkidiki Trilogy — later rounding out the month exploring more hidden treasures of Bulgaria, including a visit to the country's first capital and birthplace of a majestic horseman and an attendance to one of the Sunflower Capital's greatest music festivals held in a small town with a big devotion to hard rock — especially to its beloved horn maker. Rock on . . .
"Can't remember when we came
So close to love before.
Hold on, good things never last.
Nothing's in the past,
It always seem to come again.
Again and again and again."
— Ronnie James Dio, 1980
AFTER A STRENUOUS YEAR TAKING MY FIRST crack at teaching high school academics — including English, journalism and world history — the end had finally arrived. But before the seniors could don their caps and gowns and I could get my yearly evaluation, a cluster of June holidays gave way for me and Sarah to do some needed traveling throughout Bulgaria and its famous next door neighbor — better known as Greece.
The first place we explored was Shumen, the tenth largest city in Bulgaria where my girl from the north country successfully took her own first crack at teaching high school academics during her Peace Corps days in '99. The trip was mainly for her to reacquaint with close friends. And though I'd already been to Shumen briefly to attend my first Bulgarian wedding (read that in Episode 15), having two additional days to explore more of the city and its ancient surrounding areas — including Pliska, Bulgaria's first capital — made for an equally essential second journey.
After meeting up with Gergana — a Shumen native and former teacher mentor to Sarah — her husband, two kids, and Eddie, a Scottish English teacher, we caught a glimpse of the Madara Rider, an early medieval relief depicting a military triumph, carved on a plateau in the village of Madara. A highly important symbol for Bulgaria, the Madara Rider currently graces the tail side of most stotinkas and recently made the vote to face future Euro coins.
After giving my best shot replicating a photograph of the real image to the currency one, the group explored the surrounding mountainous area and headed for the ruins in the ancient city of Pliska, which has a newly renovated museum that gave me a fine lesson in ancient Bulgarian history.
The next day, we woke up bright and early to meet Sylvia, another Shumen native and elementary school teacher of Roma (Gypsy) decent, who helped Sarah with the first Bulgarian Roma camps. After hanging out with Sylvia and her family, all the while showing off for her two adorable children by performing live sketches, at the end of the day, Sarah and I met up with Alex, another Shumen native and English teacher. And along with her 12 year old daughter, we ended our journey with a yummy lunch at Happy, my all-favorite Bulgarian restaurant.
"Oh, they say it's over.
That it just had to be.
Ooh, they say it's over,
We're lost children of the sea."
— Ronnie James Dio, 1980
LIKE THIS YEAR'S RECORD BREAKING EURO cold snap, the Summer of 2012 in Bulgaria was equally extreme. Since moving to the the Sunflower Capital in 2009, due to Sofia's generally arid Summers and some help from Vitosha Mountain's crisp air sweeping through our second floor, two balcony condo, me and Sarah never desired to acquire an AC unit. But this Summer, cool breeze must've been on strike.
"And then she whipped out
a card with big black letters
that just about explained it all.
Well, if you don't like Rock 'N' Roll,
if you don't like Rock 'N' Roll —
then you're too late now."
— Ronnie James Dio, 1975
IT'S NO SECRET. I MISS A LOT ABOUT LIVING in the United States of America. Taking a stroll through the world's greatest city called New York, gobbling down a hot dog at Nationals' ball park, and racial diversity are some of the things I often yearn for — to name a few. But one thing I don't miss is the country's lack of devotion to honor its fallen native sons and daughters of the music industry.
Sure, there's Graceland in Memphis for Elvis. Cleveland's got the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame. There's Hitsville U.S.A. in Detroit for the Motown greats. Lubbock has that cool Buddy Holly Center that I'm dying to visit. I'm sure there's a few statues around town for James Brown. And I hear the EMP Museum in Seattle offers a couple rooms dedicated to Kurt Cobain and my main man Jimi Hendrix. Oh, and not to call out Michael Bolton and Britney Spears, but how they got stars on L.A.'s Hollywood Walk of Fame is still a clue to me. So yeah, I won't be counting that venue. Now, let's see. . . that's about six or seven?
Excuse me while I vent.
But being the nation right along side England having produced the most important and influential musicians of all time, where are the rest? It should be a crime that Robert Johnson, Ray Charles, Woody Guthrie, Sam Cooke, Johnny Cash, Bo Diddley, Miles Davis, Nina Simone, John Coltrane, Curtis Mayfield, Billy Preston, Arthur Lee, Jim Morrison, Ray Manzarek, Frank Zappa, Laura Nyro, Curt Boettcher, Barry White, Terry Kath, Harry Chapin, Leroy "Sugarfoot" Bonner, Eddie Hazel, Jim Croce, Donnie Hathaway, Judee Sill, David Hackney, Joey Ramone, Gil Scott-Heron, Harry Nilsson, Philippe Wynne, Alex Chilton, Rick James, Bob Welch, Warren Zevon, Donna Summer, Weldon Irvine, Teddy Pendergrass, Minnie Riperton, Bernard Edwards, Sylvester, Johnny Wilder Jr., Edmond Sylvers, Bobby DeBarge, Luther Vandross, Chuck Brown, Roger Troutman, Selena and Tupac Shakur — to name a few — are amongst many more great American musicians not properly honored. And let's not get started on MJ. Soon as that dude died, there should have been a freaking monument the size of Rushmore raised for his majesty.
No doubt.
When I recently informed my good friend and co-worker Krassi, a native Bulgarian and fellow music lover, that the U.S. does little to honor its rich musical past, he was completely confounded. He then excitedly offered me the news that a small town in Bulgaria known as Kavarna recently honored American-born hard rocker Ronnie James Dio with a bronze sculpture, after he sadly passed away in 2010.
Discovered by former Deep Purple and Rainbow guitarist Richie Blackmore in 1975, Dio's career took new heights after a chance meeting in 1979 with Black Sabbath's guitarist Tony Iommi, who, like me, had a harebrained idea to fire original frontman Ozzy Osbourne and essentially replace him with a passing stranger.
However, history proves Iommi's idea wasn't harebrained by far. A Year later, after the release of the Dio led Heaven and Hell, the critically acclaimed hard rock masterpiece catapulted Dio and Sabbath (who's previous two albums suffered poor sales and ratings) back to the forefront of rock. And during that time, I'm sure the elfin-sized creator of the "metal horns" hand gesture had no clue his power house vocals were also getting the attention of a hard rock loving teenager — and soon-to-be mayor — of a small Balkan town called Kavarna.
Located in the Dobruja region, thanks to Tsonko Tsonev, the mayor in question, the Black Sea coastal town is best known for its annual Kaliakra (now Kavarna) Rock Fest, which has a rich history of hosting famous hard rock and metal bands from around the globe, including my boy Robert Planet, Deep Purple, Alice Cooper and Dio himself. After performing at the Fest on numerous occasions, Dio eventually made Bulgaria his second home, eventually getting involved with various social issues within the country, such as the campaign for liberating the Bulgarian nurses held in prison in Libya.
A couple years after Dio's untimely death, Mayor Tsonev honored him with a pretty awesome bronze statue. And when factoring in this year's Fest, that featured such notable rock acts like Dokken and Big Noize with my main, main man Sebastian Bach on lead vocals, there was no better time than now to visit the Rock Capital of Bulgaria.
So, along with Sarah and a couple more Blog-O-Daria mainstays whom you might recall from previous episodes — which included Elana, an American Fulbright scholar writing a dissertation on Roma issues, and Karen, an English born marketing director for a popular Bulgarian cable network — we were off for the Kavarna Rock festival.
After settling into a luxurious penthouse-style resort near Cape Kaliakra — that Elana got a sweet discount on via a crush from the owner — I got down to business and paid my respects to Dio. Upon entering Kavarna's main boulevard of buildings that visibly pay homage to past and present hard rockers from all over the globe — such as David Coverdale, Tarja Tarunen, Klaus Meine and Billy Idol, it's no wonder how the town earned its nickname. However, with all the out-of-town love going down, I was more than pleased to see a wall honoring one of Bulgaria's own rock heroes, Nasko Penev, the lead singer of B.T.R.
Hours before the festival, me and the ladies met up with Kaloyan, a native Varnian named after the famous slayer. Accompanied by his mom and dad, the six of us dined at a local cafe. Unfortunately, we stayed an hour too long. Upon meeting up with my main man Krassi at the festival's main entrance, he soon delivered the bad news that I'd just missed Sebastien Bach, who, after seeing Dio's statue, was the main reason for the trek.
However, since I was in Bulgaria, a country known for partying harder outside a concert venue than inside, me, Kaloyan and Karen caught the vibes on the lawn. Meanwhile, Alana — who never ceases to impress me with her friends in high places — was well acquainted with the Mayor of Kavarna and got the royal escort inside. And Sarah, who had initial plans to meet a good friend inside the venue and perhaps a genuine interest in getting the full experience of Bulgaria's best known festival, joined Krassi — who, by the way, stands at a whopping 6'8, made it rather easy to escort her to the front section — and caught a close-up of closing act, Christian glam metal band Stryper.
The next day, after rocking hard in Kavarna, we took a short stop through a Black Sea coastal town known as Balchik. After fighting our way through hordes of mainly Russian tourists shopping on the town's popular market, we then toured the beautiful botanical gardens and Balchik Palace, a mosque-like structure built for the alluring Queen Marie during Romanian control. After the Queen's death in 1939, to honor her wishes, the palace kept her heart for over two years until it was later moved to Romania's Bran Castle, home of Vlad the Impaler, better known as Dracula (Read more about that in Episode 9).
Speaking of the Count, at the advice of Kaloyan, we then paid a visit to his hometown of Varna, the debatable (over Plovdiv) second largest city in Bulgaria and fictional transportation hub for Dracula in Bram Stoker's 1897 novel. After taking a stroll through Varna's famous Boris I's Boulevard beautifully beefed up with art nouveau, we ended the journey on the happiest note possible; lunch at Happy.
The original one, baby.
"You're the star of the masquerade.
No need to look so afraid,
Jump, jump! Jump on the tiger.
You can feel his heart,
But you know he's mean.
Some light can never be seen."
— Ronnie James Dio, 1983
NOTHING BEATS A FAILURE BUT A TRY. AT least that's what I kept telling myself during the Summer of 2011 when the principle of American English Academy asked if I were interested in teaching academic courses. Though the previous year I was pretty successful at teaching drawing and dance — two abilities that come natural for me — my head could still fit through doors. I knew academic courses would be a different kind of ball game and challenge. Now, after a full year teaching 9th through 11th grade English, journalism, and world history, I can testify to it.
Despite a full plate of academics, I never lost sight of my original extracurricular courses that garnered me the job in the first place. And what had originally posed the biggest challenge of my short teaching career, by the end of the school year, I was met with a crowning achievement, when Alex, an autistic student, successfully joined my hip-hop dance line-up and drawing class. And during the big graduation program, he and the rest of the crew reunited with some of last year's best junior hip-hop dancers for another stellar performance.
To be quite frank though, none of this could have happened without the support of Principle Tsveta Kamenopolska — the Sybil Buchanan to my Ken Reeves — whom I lovingly call 'Boss Lady'. Besides being the best principle a dude could ask for, she believed in me from day one and continues to push me to achieve my finest potential.
But even with the strong support of a great principle or fellow teachers, friends, family, and girlfriend — when the door shuts, and it's just you inside a classroom filled with antsy teenagers eager to eat a rookie alive, there's no time for running away or crying for mama. You're basically the captain of a cruise ship with passengers, but no co-pilot and crew. It's sink or sail from there. Looking back, it was one of the scariest moments of my life.
And at the beginning of the school year — and sometimes during the middle and end — I felt like that 8 year old kid with a harebrained idea to teach himself how to swim. Once again, without any knowhow or supervision, I took a leap of faith into deep waters. But this time, I managed to stay afloat on my own.
Be seeing you.
O
Excuse me while I vent.
No doubt.
Discovered by former Deep Purple and Rainbow guitarist Richie Blackmore in 1975, Dio's career took new heights after a chance meeting in 1979 with Black Sabbath's guitarist Tony Iommi, who, like me, had a harebrained idea to fire original frontman Ozzy Osbourne and essentially replace him with a passing stranger.
The original one, baby.
"You're the star of the masquerade.
No need to look so afraid,
Jump, jump! Jump on the tiger.
You can feel his heart,
But you know he's mean.
Some light can never be seen."
— Ronnie James Dio, 1983
NOTHING BEATS A FAILURE BUT A TRY. AT least that's what I kept telling myself during the Summer of 2011 when the principle of American English Academy asked if I were interested in teaching academic courses. Though the previous year I was pretty successful at teaching drawing and dance — two abilities that come natural for me — my head could still fit through doors. I knew academic courses would be a different kind of ball game and challenge. Now, after a full year teaching 9th through 11th grade English, journalism, and world history, I can testify to it.
Despite a full plate of academics, I never lost sight of my original extracurricular courses that garnered me the job in the first place. And what had originally posed the biggest challenge of my short teaching career, by the end of the school year, I was met with a crowning achievement, when Alex, an autistic student, successfully joined my hip-hop dance line-up and drawing class. And during the big graduation program, he and the rest of the crew reunited with some of last year's best junior hip-hop dancers for another stellar performance.
To be quite frank though, none of this could have happened without the support of Principle Tsveta Kamenopolska — the Sybil Buchanan to my Ken Reeves — whom I lovingly call 'Boss Lady'. Besides being the best principle a dude could ask for, she believed in me from day one and continues to push me to achieve my finest potential.
And at the beginning of the school year — and sometimes during the middle and end — I felt like that 8 year old kid with a harebrained idea to teach himself how to swim. Once again, without any knowhow or supervision, I took a leap of faith into deep waters. But this time, I managed to stay afloat on my own.
Be seeing you.
O
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