It's a tradition to drink rakia with snacks. Not like the Russians, you know, who just drink to get drunk. I like a little snack with the news.

Ethan was American, and so had a great capacity for indignation, forgiveness, and a firm belief in the powers of individual action. The Balkan people were not like that. They had failed, they had faltered, and they had been mistreated, lied to, robbed from, and forgotten. Outrage was for people who thought they could make a difference.

Forty-five years, these people were provided for. Not with much, you understand, but there weren't beggars in the streets or homeless people. Now everyone must figure out a new way to make a living. Selling hats or popcorn or flowers or coffee, there's not much difference. They're scared.

Bulgaria has many secrets, many layers. The people do not give out information so easy. To understand Bulgaria, you must live here a long time, be intimate with people, live like a Bulgarian, and speak our language. Even then I don't know how close you can be to real truth. All you see is what is left of us.

Amazing that you can get a cappuccino at a gas station in L.A. at four in the morning and you can't buy a stamp at the post office in Sofia.

I just wish the people in this country would start wearing some brighter colors. It's so goddamn depressing here.