The Berlin Wall came down 20 years ago today.  I was 8 years old. (I am 28 years old now. Go figure.)  I heard about the wall.  I knew that it was important.  I saw it in the newspaper, on tv and I heard people talking about it.  But to me at that moment it was like magic.  It seemed to have just happened over night.  One day there was a wall.  The next it was coming down and people were jumping on it.

[caption id="attachment_1369" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="What&#39;s left of the wall today"]<img class="size-full wp-image-1369" title="The wall today" src="http://www.karolinkabulgaria.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/11/dsc06111.jpg" alt="The wall today" width="500" height="375" />[/caption]

At eight years old, I didn't get that it was a process.  No one said to me: Carolyn, there have been signs that something like this was going to happen for a long time.  No one told me about the East Germans crossing to the west through Hungary. No one talked to me about glasnost and perestroika. I didn't know about Reagan's demand: Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!

All I knew was the wall that had divided Germany since the 1960's had come down.  My eight-year old self was relieved that these people who spoke the same language, shared the same culture and had once lived in the same country were reunited and free.  But the freedom thing was secondary.  I really liked that they were reunited.  These lucky Germans.<!--more-->

Looking back now, it seems like this event sparked within me a long standing interest in Germany. I wanted to know more.  I read lots of novels and I am pretty sure that I thought for longer than I should have that Anne Frank was German. I didn't have the whole World War II thing straight yet.  I studied German in high school when all of my friends made plans to learn a serious language--a useful language and picked Spanish.   Then I studied German for four more years in college and began to piece together the modern history that I lived but didn't actually know.

If you'd told me then that I'd be living in Eastern Europe now, I wouldn't have believed you. In some ways I still don't. I could imagine Germany.  It's a place that I know.  A place that I could imagine myself.  Bulgaria on the other hand isn't a country I ever dreamed of.  I had no illusions of shopska salads dancing through my head or bowl upon bowl of tarator soup.  I knew nothing about rakia, aryan or boza.  More over, when I made the crazy decision to throw my lot into Eastern Europe I couldn't even read the Cyrillic alphabet.

There was something unknown, mysterious and attractive about Sofia--in hindsight I think that in the beginning this adventure was so attractive exactly because it was unknown.  I knew the basics Bulgaria had been a communist country. A serious communist country.  It bordered Greece, Turkey, Romania, Serbia and Macedonia.  Both communism and the changes had been difficult on the country and the people.  Aside from the basics, I knew very little.  I was here to figure out the rest, to live first hand in a rapidly changing country and to teach English.

Today I find myself in Bulgaria 20 years after the fall of the Berlin Wall.  At eight the furthest I could dream was to Berlin.  At 28, I'm dreaming in Sofia.  Not of Sofia.  I live here.  In this country.  I write a blog about my experiences.  I try to make sense of the things I see and do as well as my frustrations and joys.  All in all, like it here. Some days I like it more than others but on a whole I like it more than I dislike it.

But of course that's the thing, if at some point I dislike it more than I like it, I have another country I can go to. I have a country to return to--my country.

Often it's hard for me to even believe that I am actually living in a post-communist country.  I don't know what life in post-communist country is supposed to feel like but I didn't imagine it would feel like this. And as a result, sometimes I get the impression that Bulgarians think I am just playing at this--that I am having fun living here, that I am gathering stories and experiences to retell later to yuppie friends, that I study Bulgarian because I can not because I have to and as such my being here is somehow frivolous.  Sure, I can see it but I'd be a crazy person if these were the reasons I was living here, learning Bulgarian and traveling around the country--it's a recipe for disaster, homesickness and heartache.

Still sometimes I think I am living here because I can.  And this in and of itself is a remarkable thing.  Tonight I can't escape the thought: it's the damn wall.  Twenty years ago and a world away--the wall came down. The politics and economics of Europe seemingly changed and at eight my eyes were open to all of it.  The difference now is that 28 I no longer believe that anything changed over night; I don't believe that a single US president is responsible for the fall of the wall; and I believe that the progress we heralded as positive has been a mixed-bag for many.

So here I am.  Eyes open in Eastern Europe.

Interestingly watching footage today from 1989 the world looks grayer than I remembered.  The graffiti covering the wall is not as bright as I would have sworn it was and the twenty-somethings are wearing jeans and dark jackets.  There's something exciting but stilted about the footage.

I think in part that's why I am here.  There's something exciting about a demonstration like this--even today.  About the wall coming down. About young people protesting and celebrating.  About change.

So twenty years later, I am writing, living, teaching and trying to make sense of my life in Bulgaria. And I couldn't be happier.