THE GIRL & THE RUFA FISH

THE GIRL & THE RUFA FISH

This a story about a girl I met at a rufa fish treatment spa.

While vacationing on the Black Sea in Bulgaria, I chanced upon a spot where rufa fish are used to feed on the dead cells on your feet. Two water tanks with warm water are filled with little fish, hundreds of them. They feed on the dead cells and exfoliate your feet. 

I am not an adventurous type woman. But when I saw something unusual like that, I jumped at the chance.

The place was not terribly busy; it was around noontime.

Photo courtesy of artztsamui/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Then, I met the young girl. Rosy cheeks, long brown hair, clear bright eyes. She asked me if I had any lotion on my feet and directed me to the water faucet nearby. I came back clean and the fun began -- for the fish, for me , and the girl. She set the timer and sat across from me. 

Our twenty minutes together was all we needed to get to know each other in our own special way.

The questions and answers were flying in both directions. She was a natural-born journalist. She had the passion and the wide eyes.

While she stayed with me, she kept her eyes closely on what was going on in the shop. The books were in order; the payments were in order; the smile never left her face. 

New customers came. Since there was no sign about the requirement to have the feet clean from any lotion, it became obvious the foreign customers did not understand what she asked them to do. She was quick on her feet -- she put me to work. Good thing I did not say to the clients "Wash your damn feet. The fish are crying!" I wanted to, but I was not the boss :)

After we took care of the newcomers, she was back, dangling her feet and writing in her memory notebook all she asked -- where we live, how far it is, when did I go to the USA, why, what do I do, what does my husband do. She told me about her family, her love for reading, learning English. 

Once she was done with this, she sized me up real well. She said, "Keep you sunglasses on. You look much better with them!" My response was, "You mean much younger." She smiled. 

The girl went on to tell me something no one mentioned to me in Bulgaria. Everyone complimented my Bulgarian.

"You know, your Bulgarian is very different." She spread her arms in the air, like the wings of a bird. 

I had to help her. "Give me an example!" 

"You do not say 'I am going,' you say it like 'I am gooooo-ing.'"

She said it like a little actress. I had to agree that may be my Bulgarian had become  a little "dramatic."

Once she was done with me, she moved on to asking my husband questions. I told her he was American. She guessed he taught English. I explained his occupation, which she liked. 

My husband was watching on the side the conversation between us -- the two chatterbox children. He jumped in,  shaking the girl's hand and introducing himself. She shook his hand. She was touched by the attention. The red cheeks were red from the sun, but the eyes were not lying. 

My time with the rufa and the girl was up. I gave her a hug and we said good bye to each other.

I will certainly forget a lot from the Black Sea vacation, but I will not forget the girl and the rufa fish. 



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