BULGARIA...AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS

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RETURN TO BULGARIA

When I got off the bus in Thessaloniki I needed an internet connection to contact the host of my Airbnb. I wandered around trying to discover a way to do this. I saw an ad for a computer café on the wall in the terminal, but it turned out to be defunct. Then I met Abdul. He was from Tunisia and spoke English, Turkish and French. He was trying to get to France. He had obtained temporary papers from the Greek police, and had thirty days to find a place to live and a job, and fill out a form for a work visa.

Abdul asked what I needed and I explained. He told me where there was open Wi-Fi. We chatted awhile. Then Abdul helped me carry my luggage to a taxi in the queue outside. He was so helpful and I wished him the best. The taxi dropped me at a coffee bar (per my host’s instructions) where the barista handed me the key and directed me to the apartment.

My Airbnb in Thessaloniki was dismal, but to be fair the booking said, “Basement apartment.” It was dark and smelled of mildew (basement). I opened the refrigerator and the door came off in my hands. Still, the apartment was clean, and it was for only one night. I took a brief nap, secured my luggage and found a restaurant. I ate, had tea, then ordered dessert, more tea, and watched the people go by. I spent my entire evening there instead of in the apartment, returning only to sleep.

Instructions from my host included a number for a taxi. The next morning I called the number and discovered the host’s brother-in-law was the taxi driver. He took me to a huge bus station. There was a four hour wait for the bus so I bought some rolls and tea. The rolls were drenched in honey. I was disappointed. I can’t eat sweets on an empty stomach so I gave them to some American back packers.

I finally went outside looking for my bus and discovered it was running an hour late. While I waited I met an inspiring young Japanese student, Koki, who had traveled to forty countries in the past eight months. We had a great conversation and the hour passed quickly. When the bus finally arrived, the driver took umbrage at Koki’s enthusiasm for helping me and snubbed him dreadfully, saying, “Spakoino, spakoino”…or “take it easy, slow down.” I told Koki, “Just back off, and let him be boss.” The driver finally realized we were friends, and relaxed a little.

At the Bulgarian border I said goodbye to Koki, got off the bus and took a taxi to Petrich. I had a great conversation with the taxi driver; me with just a little Bulgarian, and him with a smattering of English. He treated me like a local. It was fun. And I felt a connection with the landscape, having lived here for two years. I explained “wild goose chase” to the driver and told him I had emailed my friend Vilma, to let her know I was coming but had received no response. I was giving myself three days to locate someone familiar.

Twenty minutes later I was checking in to the Hotel Bulgarian (renamed Hotel BATS in 2021).

Petrich is a good sized town thirty minutes from Kolarovo, the village where I taught English for two years, fifteen years ago. I spent three years in Bulgaria in the Peace Corps. This was my first time back. I had mistakenly thought I would return every year. Life just got in the way.

After I checked into the hotel, since it was still early, I decided to go out and look around. Everything was different. I didn’t recognize anything. I had thought I might be able find the house of a teacher friend of mine who lived in the area, but I didn’t know which way to go, there had been so many changes. So I stepped into a small grocery store and asked if the young man at the counter would point to the road that led to Belasitsa. That small village is on the route to Kolarovo, where I lived for two years. He asked me why I wanted to know. I explained, “I am going to visit a friend there. Right now I want to find my friend Svetla’s house, here in Petrich. She is a math teacher I knew from my school, but of course I don’t remember her last name.” So Georgi, son of Sevda, the owner of the store got very interested and asked me a lot of questions. I told him all about Svetla’s family. Finally Sevda broke in and asked me in Bulgarian if Svetla was about this tall (maybe 5 foot 8) and had blonde hair. I said, “Da.” (Sevda obviously understood English, even if she didn’t speak it.) She and Svetla were acquaintances; they had been bridesmaids in the same wedding. Sevda called her friend (the bride), who called Svetla, who then called Vilma. There were lots of smiles. Then, as is the Bulgarian way, I was escorted to the back room and offered a beverage and food, while we waited for my friends to come pick me up. It was an absolutely amazing experience in kindness.

When my friends arrived they asked if I wanted to go to a restaurant, but I told them I was kind of tired of restaurants. We went to Svetla’s house for a cold supper of a little beef, sliced tomatoes and cucumber, Sirene and mozzarella cheese, and banitsa, a kind of snack made of filo dough filled with cheese and unsweetened. We talked till nearly midnight. It was perfect. The ladies are just the same, but Svetla’s sons are all grown up, with kids of their own.

What a blessing to find my friends so easily. And what a surprise.

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Photos

WELCOME TO BULGARIA
These farm carts are part of the local scene, and can be terrifying when you meet them on the road. There is usually a long, heavy pipe extending from the back of the wagon bed.

CELEBRATION TIME
Svetla and I on her beautiful deck; Vilma took the photo after our unusual reunion. We should have taken a selfie of the three of us.

PROVENCE RESTAURANT - PETRICH
Had a fun evening, and a good meal with another traveler. What I understood from her Bulgarian was very different from what the waiter told me afterward.

HOME OF AN ARTIST
The first home you see as you enter Belasitsa. I enjoy the whimsey.

TYPICAL VILLAGE HOME
This is the view from my friend's home. She has a large deck and it is the summer living room, breezy and comfortable during the heat of the day.

HOME SWEET HOME
I lived here while I taught English at the school in Kolarovo.

TEACHERS LOUNGE
The principal of the school (rt) and a fellow teacher. So good to revisit.

Comments

[Michael Hayes]

Traveling through you.
Great writing and story telling. I enjoyed reading about this leg of your adventures. Thank you for the pictures of people and places. I look forward to your next blog.

[Never too old]

BULGARIA
Thanks for reading and critiquing my blogs. I enjoy seeing your photos of your travels, also.