Our first stroll
28.04.2019
“Your name will be celebrated this week, Yana! No, you don’t know me… But come meet the sun with me……“.
I’ve always loved the three dots. There’s air in them, there’s freedom, a certain wish that’s hidden from all others, but so vivid for you. The three dots are full of stories about ordinary, small-scale life. My life. And now ours. No, I didn’t know that boy back then, but my intuition told me he knew me. I wasn’t wrong. When you are brave, when you listen to your heart and can also hear what’s happening in the other person’s heart, you can’t be wrong. You just can’t.
My grandmother used to say that two people get to know each other when they start laughing together. We laughed away all the hours from 02:00 to 19:00, not counting the time I fell asleep. Back then – 20June 2018, we didn’t have the red sneakers yet. But we did have a road ahead. We were going to Begliktash. Our first sunrise together was expecting us.
~~~
The moment I said his idea was absurd, as I couldn’t possibly get into a stranger’s car, I remembered the rainy afternoon and my spontaneous decision to get myself and my daughter in a total stranger’s car in Milan. The rain was pouring, Ellie had a fever, I didn’t have the slightest idea of how far we were from the hotel or which side of the pavement I should catch a taxi. So… I wasn’t exactly truthful in my explanations about strangers’ cars.
~~~
We met three hours before sunrise on the eve of June 21. These days we celebrate every 21 that comes our way. It’s our lucky number, both devilish and innocent. Seconds before I emerged at the corner to join George, a fleeting thought crossed my mind: “why, oh why am I so crazy?” “Crazy”is a word that seems to define my whole childhood spent along the steep, dusty paths leading to the banks of Ogosta river. Grandpa used the word to sum up all the outcomes of my stubborn insubordination. Whenever I was given a command, it felt as if the sea stormed over my skin, and my grandpa loved to have the last word on what and how things must be done. He was a great one for ordering people about, even when he seemed to be quietly knitting his fishing nets.
~~~
During our first shared trip to Begliktash I told George nearly everything about me. Everything uncovered. He already knew half of me, as I reveal myself in what I write. He was able to read the silence between the lines and the stories my beloved three dots held. My profile is public.
While we were travelling, I was busy arranging family trips, checking on various tasks for my daughter, and work projects. I was a calculator, but one for plans, not for money. I planned everything about the expectations and satisfaction of everyone in the group.
“I’ve found out about the likes of all people that matter to you. But what about your own? What do you like?”
“I dream of travelling without direction. Of stopping when the sun sets, and starting again at sunrise, without knowing where I am going, but this is impossible. In order to get somewhere, surely I must have an idea of where I am off to”. George just smiles and I already know what he holds in the corners of his lips: There is a beautiful idea and a direction for my impossible journey, which, for nearly a year now, has been our joint journey.
~~~
Red Sneakers’ first “stroll” covered the great Thracian sanctuaries. George promised then to make a Thracian magus out of me. Recently a charming lady told me I can heat a glass of cold water by just looking at it. There, I am a magus now.
The red sneakers lay in their boxes on the back seat of the car, while on the day before 21 August George was waiting in front of my apartment building. I picked up my hold-all and bravely rushed to the freedom of being myself, even though without direction. 6 days on the road were expecting us, most of them in the Rhodope Mountains. This was the moment for George to “open” his social media profile and reveal the secrets of places he had always loved and where he drew the energy to recover his true self. I didn’t know these places yet. We call this journey our first “stroll”.
– Where are we going, George? We aren’t on the motorway?!
– Look there, Yana… On the motorway people are rushing. And we‘ll take a stroll.
Five days later, when we are going to try some cheeses at Milkana’s house in the village of Smilyan, we are talking to her about roads and people and she’ll say…. “You are like the French. They travel like this. As if they are just out for a stroll. They would stop somewhere for a while, and then go somewhere else. They enjoy each other’s company and the countryside. And they hate motorways. They drive between villages, the river and the mountains”.
~~~
Every morning we wake up in a new bed and in the daytime we reach places shrouded in myth and legend, stories about kings, brave strong men and samodivas. The stories there are like our own: wild, authentic, strange.
Apart from the fact we are together, the best thing about this journey was our firm refusal to keep track of time. Yet everything turned out spot on, even though we never looked at a watch. And while children ask ”Are we there yet?”, I was not impatient, merely curious. I would start the day with ”Where are we going, George?” instead of “Good morning!”
We arrived at dusk. We left our luggage at the small hotel in the forest near one of the banks of Koprinka Dam. We set off on foot along the wall of the dam and walked straight into the sunset. The moon threw its mysterious light over the water. In this mystery there were stories that were “destined to remain a secret”! We walked down some stairs to a small unassuming restaurant. ( I admit I found it rather nondescript at first) I can say now that it was nice and cosy. And it’s hospitable. Long after our first “stroll”, in a cold winter night the owners of this place gave us food and shelter and it was midnight and they were about to close. There were no other people in the area, just the blizzard and our hungry selves. They fed us and told us about their fish soup – how they cook it, what makes it the most delicious fish soup ever, how difficult it is to make. This conversation, though on a culinary topic, was not about fish, but about people. In the August evening of our Rhodope trip, I first tasted fish soup. You too must try it there, at “The Wall” restaurant. And do add grilled catfish to your order.” We give this fish such a thorough cleaning…Not a single bone remains…It’s hard to make the soup but we do cook it a lot, as people like it and keep ordering it.”
I didn’t know what exactly to read in this confession: was it a businessman’s joy, or grief? Yet I liked it that they shared this with me.
We returned to the hotel, following the same route along the wall. In the fishermen had already set their nets and we threw our bags in the car and set off. Years ago I had been on fam trips and some of them took me to the Valley of Roses. I had to write about the region. Many of my colleagues then travelled to Buzovgrad megalith, but I didn’t. I was obviously meant to see it with someone else. Bubakaya was a favourite place of prof. Alexander Fol’s. the megalith offers a magnificent view. A door to what is beyond, in the west. We stayed up there long, staring at the horizon and feeling free, the wind whistling around.
From Buzovgrad we headed for Plovdiv, passed through the village of Shipka and the travel bug took us to Buzludja, where on the mountain ridge we found an old solitary road in search of the village of Skutare. For all the 6 days we only got on the motorway once, and for no more than 15 km.
Skutare turned out to be mu surprise in George’s itinerary, a wonderful experience resulting from a kind invitation by a stranger: a lady, who a month before we started the trip, had written to me to say I had a wonderful smile and she would love to meet me. She then invited me to visit and I brought George along. Now this woman and I must have known each other in another life, as when we first embraced, it didn’t feel strange and awkward. She put us up, fed us the most exquisite home-made goat cheese, we told each other stories, drank wine and laughed a lot. The next day we parted. It’s been 8 months already, and we still feel the pull of the place and it’s not the memory of a wonderful night, warm not because it was the summer, but because of the people. Apart from that we didn’t know a thing about Skutare. Now we do – we know the road to the village.
And so another morning came and we set off again.
“Where to, George?” He is silent. He’s only smiling. Long before August 21 I had mentioned I don’t even flirt with winter, let alone love it. Well. Two days before August 21, he told me winter will be really beautiful. On the third day we travelled long and stopped at the Stone Mushrooms near Beli Plast. Then we sat for a while on the thrown hewn in the rocks of Perperik.
At sunset we arrived at Kardjali dam. We took our bags and headed for our bungalow – one out of the four in Sezoni(Seasons) apart hotel. We unlocked the one named “Winter”. It was something like a pent house studio, with a room, or rather a bathroom right below the stars, commanding a breath-taking view of the dam at sunset and sunrise. In “Glavatarski Han”. A hundred meters up the “Winter”, we tried the most delicious patatnik (a traditional potato dish of the region).
A third morning together… the road was leading us to Smolyan. We stopped to do some shopping. Again I didn’t know where we would spend the night, but at least I gathered we would cook. Wine, meat, vegetables. There would be some cooking all right.
From Smolyan we went to the village of Arda. I made a small change in George’s itinerary and we ended up at Milkana’s. This woman exudes such warmth with her “Milky Home” house, her calm words. We sat on the verandah and ordered home-made fruit juice and cheese mussaka and then Milkana came. I first met her five years ago when we had stayed at her place for just one night, but it turned out she remembered it. Imagine how she treats her guests, if, five years later she still remembers them. Hers is not an ordinary guest house. It’s a home with an open heart, we told her we’re off to Arda village. ”It’s nice up there”, she said.
~~~
A small and pretty mountain village in a warm and quiet late afternoon with houses on both banks of the river, joined by a little stone bridge. We stopped at “Kara Ivan” house. An old neighbor had the key. She put down the pile of chopped wood she was holding and smiled at us. I fell in love with this house… And its yard… and the vast expanses… and the dew on our bare feet early in the morning, two cups of coffee waiting at the window sill. Now, let me tell you, nothing beats such a morning!
ОFrom “Kara Ivan” we popped into “Geranitsa”, which is an old hunting lodge very near the border with Greece and deep into the mountains. An exceptionally beautiful place and funny, too, particularly for kids. I’m saying that as the kid I am.
Next to the entrance of the lodge there stands a 600-year- old tree. People dedicated it to those in love. Well, we climbed it. Anyway , we have told about “Geranitsa” in our
“Off the road” story.
We woke up very late on the next morning, logs were still smoldering in the fireplace, it was sunny outside and the wind invariably accompanied us. It seemed we took this journey together – me, George and the strong Varna wind.
We BBQ-ed some veal steaks, and having tidied up the bungalow, left a one-word note and hit the road again. We went to a [place I used to confuse with Beliktash. It was, however, Belintash. We arrived an hour before sunset. We settled in “Starite Kashti( The Old Houses) complex, where we also gained a new insight in the subject of mekizzi ( pieces of fried dough). So, if you ever spend a night there, and they offer you some mekichki( little mekizzi) for breakfast, be warned! They won’t be the size of a toddler’s hand you expect. No, the mekichka looks as if it was made so as to fill a giant frying pan, it is that big! We laughed the whole morning, after George had rushed in carrying five of these huge things for a breakfast in bed.
The night before we had made the spontaneous decision to walk to Belintash. It didn’t take long, as we nevertheless drove for part of the way (even across the forest). We met the sunset at a most wonderful place. Around us hikers were unfolding their sleeping bags. The whole sky was above them and all the stars. You could touch the Milky Way if you stretched your arms.
The next day, which was a day before the last one, the road took us to Asen’s fortress. After a walk in the area we had lunch at “Vodopada”( The Waterfall) tavern near Bachkovo. We had fish and it was delicious. Well, everything was delicious but the fish was more delicious than ’everything’.
In the afternoon we arrived at The Lake. For the first time in35 years I was passing through Kostenets again. Today “The Lake” is among Red Sneakers’ favourite places. A traveller can’t help loving it. It is beautiful in all seasons and all seasons are beautiful there. In the quiet of the evening and the whisper of the water one can hear many questions. And, more importantly… find certain answers.
So this is our first “stroll”. And wherever we roam, we always return where our first date began – most often to Varna, and sometimes, to “The Lake”. On June 21 George told me he was a Thracian magus, just to cheer me up and make me smile. On 21 August I said I was a Thracian magus. But he always knew that, long before I had discovered my magical powers. I gathered up the energy of Bubakaya, Perperikon, Tatul and Harman Kaya. And George’s too. His before anyone else’s. I know now that the summer of our second trip in the Rhodope is coming. Now George knows every place our red sneakers will step in August.
~~~
Now, pick up the map and remember all the places that make up your own story, and tell it on a journey to someone who deserves it. Someone personal, precious, beloved. Give them the gift of the road, give them yourself.
Have a beloved road!
From Yana and George
