Chicken Soup Before Seven -- Sofia, Bulgaria

I'm starting this post from Ahmed's living room in Plovdiv, Bulgaria. My host busily cooks steak in the kitchen and currently smears something light brown and delicious smelling onto long pieces of bread. The salad in front of me has perfectly carved radishes, grated beetroot and carrot and an exotic dressing of some kind or other. 

It's been ages since I've written, but it's also been ages since I've had time to do much writing. Bulgaria has taken me captive. I've been occupied with drinking its coffee, being mesmerized by its fascinating statues and architecture, freezing my ass off and meeting an entire crowd of beautiful, ridiculous people. 

Leonita and her friend took me to a park just outside of Pristina and treated me to a coffee on my final morning with them in the capital city of Kosovo.

"You need to have a picture in Kosovo," Leonita insisted, grabbing my camera. 

"I don't usually take pictures of me..." I protested feebly.

 

Then I was driven to Pristina's main bus station, walked to my bus and hugged goodbye. 

"I'll come back," I smiled. "You know I will. I still haven't seen full-blown crazy Leonita... and I think I need to see that." 

"Yes," Leonita laughed. "Yes, you do." 

As I climbed into the bus (with yet another non-functional WC), I couldn't help but overhear (because they were projecting like they were auditioning for a Broadway show), a couple of Australians a few seats behind me. A sullen young man and a gregarious older chap.

"You going to Skopje?" Gregarious moved up to sit across the aisle from me. 

"Well, I'm going to Sofia. Just changing buses in Skopje," I responded. "How'd you like Pristina?" 

"Eh, there's nothing here. We just grabbed a coffee and took a picture with the Bill Clinton statue. Didn't we, you rude bastard?" Gregarious turned to face Sullen, who was sitting in the back with his headphones in."That's my son. He's so rude. Always with his headphones, never listening to anyone. He's not friendly at all, I'm the friendly one, but some people think it's creepy. It used to be fine, used to be charming...but now that I'm old, it's creepy. Especially when I talk to young women. I mean, not creepy with you, you're different. But now that I'm old, it's all changed. This is our fourth trip together. That sulking bastard plans it all, does all the research, books all the tickets. I just come along for the ride. Isn't that right, you asshole?" 

Sullen didn't look up, but I glimpsed the smallest hint of a smile on his downcast face. 

Weirdest father-son banter ever. 

"We were in Peru when we found out Trump won the election. We're big Trump supporters, me and my son." 

"OH," I tried to curtail my disgust and anger. 

"You're a Hilary supporter, aren't you?" 

"Yes," I didn't elaborate. 

"You can always spot a Hilary supporter." 

Because I'm not a white male? And why do you even CARE who won the election? You're from freaking Australia. How can you even tell me that you're a Trump supporter? The only way it will affect you is that the main cities on your island will be underwater soon because Trump doesn't believe in climate change. Enjoy that. 

Gregarious eventually wandered back to take his seat next to Sullen, and my mind began to wander. Towards things like my general lack of preparation pervasive in this trip.  

Crap... I forgot to tell my bank that I'm going to Macedonia, because it's just a quick stop in Skopje. But... I still need to buy a bus ticket in Skopje. If they don't accept credit card, will I be able to withdraw the money from an ATM? If they DO accept credit card, did Boy tell HIS bank that I'll be in Macedonia? 

What if I end up in Skopje with no money and no way to withdraw funds? There's only one bus this afternoon, and it leaves at three... Boy won't even be awake by then, so I couldn't get him to call his bank and tell them that I'm in Macedonia. 

WHY DO I DO THIS? 

Blurgh.  

By the time I reached Skopje, I'd managed to swallow most of my anxiety, so I looked only slightly frazzled when I rushed to the counter, asked for a bus ticket to Sofia and presented my credit card. 

Please, please, please, please... I held my breath. 

Transaction went through with nary glitch. As I signed the receipt, I began to notice how difficult it was to control my fingers. 

Because my whole body was shaking. 

Where is this coming from? 

I stumbled to the waiting area, dropped Ellie and tried to stuff the bus ticket into one of my many pockets. 

I'm cold, but not THIS cold... I fumbled with my zipper, dropped the receipt, picked up the receipt, dropped some euros and finally managed to stow everything safely in my yellow jacket. 

My body holds everything. Feels everything. I'll never escape my anxiety by swallowing it. 

It took another five minutes of sitting, breathing and listening to Jack Johnson before my body stopped shaking and the anxiety left me. 

I boarded the bus to Sofia at three that afternoon, delighted to escape Skopje without really having to set foot in the pretentious city (I... errr... don't have pleasant feelings for Skopje...). The journey was six hours long, and three hours in, I became truly desperate to use the loo. So desperate that I tried the WC door, even though I knew it would be locked. 

"We're stopping soon," came a friendly voice from across the aisle. "I made this trip yesterday, and I know that we're about to stop." 

"Oh, thank god," I exclaimed. 

The fellow introduced himself as Oleg, and we chatted until the bus lurched to a halt at a cafe, small shop, and WC. 

"Thanks for giving me hope," I laughed. 

"And for distracting you until we got here," Oleg added. 

We talked the remainder of the journey, and by the time we arrived in Sofia, I felt as if I'd made a new friend. Just by sitting on the bus.  

"There's someone from Couchsurfing who said he'd meet me here, but I don't see him yet," I scanned the cars for a sign of Rumen. 

"Do you have his number? I can call him," Oleg asked. 

"No, just his contact info on facebook." 

"Okay, let's go in and get coffee or water, I'll make a hotspot with my phone and you can write him." 

"Awesome." 

A few minutes later, I received a message from Rumen, telling me he had arrived and was waiting for me. 

Oleg walked me to Rumen's car and Rumen drove me to Yana's apartment on Vitosha boulevard. Once there, he called my host, helped me drop off my luggage and then bought me some butternut squash soup. 

How was this so EASY? Usually when I arrive in a new city, I have to wander around aimlessly for a bit, in search of free wi-fi or a cafe with internet. Then I have to trudge with Ellie for about an hour to get to my host's place -- if they're even home. Often, I have to (get to) spend a few hours in a cafe while I wait for them to finish work, or a party, or some other aspect of their equally complex lives.

I returned to my host's apartment with a very full belly and an astonished, grateful heart. 

That was just so perfect...

Yana is the kind of person who had me doubled over in hysterics within a few moments of meeting her. 

Vladimir (her flatmate) is the kind of person who immediately offered me food slow-cooked in clay pots, and when I commented on my need of new shoelaces, said, "I think I have some." 

"Well, if you're not using them, I'd love to have them. If they're, you know, just hanging around somewhere." 

"That's exactly what they're doing," Vlad smiled and handed me some flat black laces (that had been hanging on the coat rack)."Flat is okay, right?" 

"I'm a vagabond. I'm thankful for whatever shoelaces I can get." 

I slept on the kitchen couch that night, warm and cozy in one of Vlad's sleeping bags and thrilled to pieces that I'd ended up with such kind, hilarious Bulgarians. 

Also, I now have a friend named Vlad. I feel like everyone ought to have a friend named Vlad. 

I had to leave with Yana and Vlad around nine the next morning because they both had work and the spare key wasn't faring so well. 

"I will be late," Yana sat down at the table and waited. 

Hold on... is she deliberately waiting so she can be late for work? That's awesome. I think I love this person. I could never, EVER do this. Deliberately be late for something.

"Okay, I'm late enough now. Let's go," Yana stood up and gloomily trudged towards the door. 

I spent the morning wandering Sofia, soaking in the sights but snapping few pictures, as it was well below freezing out, and every part of my body wanted to be tucked away inside several layers of clothing. Including my dry, frigid red fingers.

SO FIERCE

Alexander Nevski Cathedral

I don't remember the statues from last time I was in Sofia...but they're gorgeous. I love that they're so blocky... so unrefined... so raw and emotional. 

I met with a Mitchell and Tsveti at one o'clock in front of Alexandar Nevski Cathedral. The couple had contacted me on couchsurfing a few weeks prior, had told me that they wouldn't be able to host me, but would love to meet up.

Yes. Yes, please. 

Mitchell and Tsveti are an American/Bulgarian couple who have spent the last couple of years hopping in and out of Bulgaria -- three months in, three months out. During their three months in, they meet with couchsurfers like me to introduce us to the wonders of Sofia.  
 

Tsveti holding the communist version of Winnie the Pooh

Petko and Pencho Slaveykov, father and son Bulgarian writers

I took this same photo last time I was in Sofia. This statue will always get me. The pure ecstasy. Ah. Joy captured in movement.

The German Christmas Market. Where I bought hot raspberry wine and used it to warm my frozen fingers.

Tsveti said that these mineral springs are all over Sofia, but that this one is the most accessible. Apparently, each spring has different health benefits. Some springs help with digestion, some help with the immune system... I'm not sure what this spring helped with, but the water was lukewarm and tasted mildly of sulfur.

Sofia's synagogue

These handmade socks and slippers are everywhere in the Balkans. Because people think that cold feet = death. Along with wet hair. Both are death sentences in this part of the world. 

I said goodbye to the friendly couple and then started the cold walk back to Vlad and Yana's flat on Vitosha Boulevard. 

I was not meant to live in a cold climate. I was meant to live in places like the south of France and Mexico and Greece. Not... Bulgaria... in December. Gosh, my hands... where are they? Do I still have those things? 

I popped into a small shop on the way home to purchase some red wine and chocolate to share with Yana. She'd had a rough day at work and I'd had a freezing day of exploring, and wine and chocolate cure all ills (it's science). 

Vlad was still out, but Yana and I consumed the contents of one of his many clay pots, and I nearly lost my bananas. 

"It's so good!" I exclaimed through a mouthful of aforementioned good. "What's in it?" 

"Everything," Yana confirmed my suspicions. 

"Vlad makes everything delicious, then." 

 We opened the bottle of Bulgarian Syrah and made ourselves cozy on the couch. Yana presented me with a travel journal she'd made from her previous eight month trip through Europe.

"This is fantastic!" I flipped through the colorful, eclectic pages. Pages that had not been written in by Yana, but had been filled out by people she'd met along the way. 

I need to do that. I have my blog wherein I can keep track of my experiences and tell my story... but it would feel so... so nostalgic and sweet to be able to flip through a worn book and be transported back into the thoughts of someone else. Not always my thoughts. I get tired of it always being my thoughts. 

Yes. I'll start this. I'll ask people I meet to write, draw, paste something in a book. With their name (however they want me to remember them) and the date. 

After we finished the wine, we broke out Yana's birthday present, a tea liqueur her friend had bought for her from the Czech Republic. 

"You have 25... Martin?" I read the note on the bottle, confused. 

"I hope I don't!" Yana laughed. 

Oh yeah... English probably isn't Martin's first language. And in a lot of other languages, one says "I have 25" instead of "I am 25."

We'd drunk a good deal of Martin (he was delicious) and had erupted into a spontaneous dance party by the time Vlad came home. He encouraged us in our debauchery by offering us some of his raspberry wine. Then I did what I always do when I'm drunk and happy and surrounded by playful people.

I put my hosts on my feet.

"I don't want to leave tomorrow... " I groaned. "I'm having such a good time here. Who knows what the next place will be like?"

"Well, if you want to come back, you can," Yana comforted me.

"I'm sure it'll be fine... there just won't be any spontaneous dance parties. Or Martin."

Vlad, Yana, Yana's traveling panda and me.

I hugged Yana goodbye and Vlad gifted me with a jar of raw, unfiltered honey from a friend's beehives.

"I don't want to go..."

But I did. I walked to Diana's apartment on the other side of Sofia, shoulders feeling a bit heavier than usual (and not just because of Vlad's honey weighing down Ellie).  I rang the bell, and a chipper Australian voice came through the speaker.

"Hello?"

"Hi... it's Aimee."

"Okay, I'm the next floor up."

"Thanks!"I pushed open the door as Diana buzzed me in.

Diana was a waifish, middle-aged woman with a shock of dyed red hair that enthusiastically went in every which way (like it was running late for tea and needed to get a move on).

"You can put your bag here. You'll sleep in this room tonight, but you'll be in my room tomorrow night because I have a guest from airbnb."

"Oh, that's cool that you do both," I said as I lowered Ellie to the floor.

"Well, I need the money. Would you like some tea?"

"Tea sounds great," I sat down in her small kitchen and looked around. On the wall was a photo of a smiling, blonde-haired girl about my age. "Who's this?"

"Oh, that's my daughter," Diana said. "Do you take milk?"

"Yes, I definitely take milk," I said, remembering that Diana had lived in England for a while and hence, would be well-versed in the making of tea.

"She lives in Australia, my daughter. She does up-jewelry. You know, where she takes trash and turns it into necklaces."

Then Diana proceeded to show me every single piece of jewelry and clothing her daughter had ever made. And the internet was painfully slow.

If I ever see another earring made of recycled cans again, I am going to buy crocodile leather boots in spite.

"Do you like living in Bulgaria?" I asked after we'd exhausted her daughter's website.

"Well, I..." Diana started. Then promptly began to cry.

"Is everything okay?"

"No, I'm fine," Diana stood up and lifted her arms over her head. "If I stretch, I won't cry. Crying would make me sick. I can't get sick, I have to sing tomorrow," Diana leaned to the right. 

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, I'm singing in an opera tomorrow. Would you like to come? It's free."

"I mean, that sounds great. What are you singing?"

"Something by Mozart. Oh, I have so many dishes..." Diana looked dejectedly at her sink that was full to bursting with plates, bowls, cups, silverware from Odin knows when. "I do the dishes sometimes, but my thumb... my thumb hurts so bad. Someone injured it."

"What happened?"

"I told you, someone injured it."

"Oh dear."

"So many dishes..." Diana sighed.

I sighed too, but inwardly.

Yana, where are you? 

"I need to go meet a friend," I said as the clock ticked closer to three. "Do you give your surfers keys?"

"Well, yes, but when will you be back? I want to have dinner before seven because I can't eat late. So you need to be back by six so that you can go shopping for the ingredients... and then I can make chicken soup."

So I can go shopping? Am I hearing this correctly? What if I don't want chicken soup? What if I just want to grab something cheap to eat from a bakery somewhere?

"Umm... okay, I'll be here at six," I swallowed my annoyance, grabbed my camera and left Diana's apartment to meet with Mihail.

I need to stop doing that. Swallowing my annoyance. I need to start saying things like, "Hey, I understand that you want chicken soup... it's a perfectly reasonable thing to want. But I would rather grab something cheap tonight, which is also perfectly reasonable. If you're not okay with me eating what I would like to eat, I can always find another place to stay." 

Mihail was another couchsurfer who had offered to host me, but whom I had regretfully declined because I'd already confirmed with Diana.

Which wasn't the best decision, turns out. Maybe I can make up an excuse and go back to Yana's... hrmm....I hate lying. I hate breaking commitments. But... but life is so short. And a short life should not be spent with people who make you eat chicken soup before seven o'clock.

I met Mihail in front of Alexander Nevski Cathedral.

"Mihail?" I asked timidly, unsure how to pronounce his name.

"Aimee?" he smiled. A smile that told me we might possibly be friends for a very long time.  

Yes. He's a good one. Win. I've just met another good one.

We walked for a few minutes, talking nonstop. We walked until we ran into the Christmas market, wherein I stopped the nonstop talking to insist on buying a glass of hot wine. Then we continued our walking conversation towards a cafe called "The Apartment." Which may very well be the classiest cafe I've ever visited.

 Watch this video about it. And then go there.

The Apartment

I would have been happy to wander Sofia with Mihail (who told me to call him "Misho", which is easier for me to pronounce) all night, but I had to get back to Diana's to do the shopping so that she could cook a chicken soup.

This feels so weird. Never in my five years of couchsurfing has a host made demands like this. I mean, I suppose she's allowed to. Just makes me feel a little used. Through the years, hosts have given me a lot, but I never ask them to. I let them give what they're comfortable giving. And as a guest, I give what I'm comfortable giving. Like the bottle of wine and bar of chocolate I bought for Yana last night. It felt great to give that. But I feel resentful about going shopping tonight. Blurgh. 

At about ten past six, I rushed up the stairs and towards Diana's apartment.

"I'm sorry I'm late, got a little lost," I fibbed.

"You ready to go shopping now?" Diana doggedly asked.

"Sure, I'm ready."

"You want me to come with you?"

"That sounds good. Just so I know what to get."

No. It doesn't sound good. Know what sounds good? Not pressuring me like this. 

So we went shopping. And Diana filled the basket with a massive bag of Polish apples, a bag of rice, two bananas, chicken, vegetables and yogurt.

"Do you need milk?" Diana asked in the dairy aisle.

"Umm... no. I think I can eat an apple tomorrow."

"I need milk..." Diana voice trailed off.

GOSH. This is sad and guilt-trippy and awkward and I wish I was with Yana. 

I washed and dried Diana's pile of dishes while she made chicken soup that evening. Then she switched on the TV on the kitchen table to a Turkish soap opera dubbed in Bulgarian. Something that I couldn't understand and had absolutely no desire to understand.

"I'm... uh... gonna take a night walk."

"I'll stay here... I'm not feeling so well."

"Okay. See you tomorrow, then."

"See you tomorrow."

After my night walk, I messaged Yana, telling her that if she would have me, I would very much like to come back the next day.

I'll figure out what to tell Diana. I'm not going to stay here another two days, that's certain. There's nothing horribly wrong... just horribly unpleasant.  And I don't need either of those things.

I'd arranged to meet Misho for coffee the next morning, so I rushed out of Diana's home at nine o'clock, telling my host goodbye and that I would try to attend the opera that evening before I flew out the door.

It would be nice to attend... I love music. And I could go to Yana's afterwards. We'll see what happens. 

Misho took me to Chucky's coffee. Where the cappuccino was so divine that I wanted to escape into some alternate universe wherein coffee cups magically refill themselves, over and over and over again.

But not like Village Inn. Not that alternate universe. The universe wherein your cup is filled with liquid bliss and not liquid poor life choices. 
  

 "So, I was doing this research on Nepal," I told Misho as we sipped, "and I realized I should probably have done more research earlier. Before I, you know, fly there in a week. For instance, I learned that I need to have extra passport photos with me. And that the visa for forty days will cost one hundred US dollars. And that they don't accept credit card, that the ATM in the airport is usually broken and that the person at the exchange office is never there. So what I need to do is withdraw over a hundred dollars worth of Bulgarian Lev and then convert it to US dollars so that I'll have something in the airport if the ATM is broken. Which it probably will be. I mean, if I have the money, the ATM will probably be fine. But if I don't have the money, the ATM will probably be broken. So which version of Murphy's Law do I want?"

Misho helped me withdraw money and convert it. He showed me where I could take passport photos. He showed me where I could print off all my travel documents. Then I gave him my travel journal and asked him to fill my first page.

"See you in Plovdiv on Friday," I hugged Misho goodbye."Thanks for everything."

Then I scampered off to meet Oleg, the friendly fellow from the bus who'd given me hope regarding the loo. He'd offered to show me some medicinal tea that would cure my cold hands and feet, so we met at noon in front of the cathedral. We walked to the tea shop, stopping to admire some of Sofia's curiosities, including its shortest street, on our way.

Tea shop was full of grannies and grandpas, all picking up tea for their various ailments.

Oleg took me for yet another superb coffee after purchasing tea for my hands and feet. Wrote me a lovely letter with instructions on how to brew the tea and walked me to the giant head, where my free food tour would commence.

Stefan Stambolov, a Bulgarian politician, journalist and poet. And the meeting place for free tours.

I found a smidgen of free wifi near the big head, and logged in so I could quickly check my couchsurfing messages. 

11:00

Diana: Hi Aimee, I don't have other keys and I need to give them to my Airbnb guest

13:00

Diana: He arrives shortly. Could you cone back just fir a sec to give the keys?

14:00

Me:  I'm sorry, I haven't had internet all day. I just started the food tour - I'm so sorry. Can I give the keys around 16:15? I wish we had communicated this earlier. I'll be back as soon as the tour is over to give the keys. I also think it might be a good idea to go back to my first hosts for tonight, because I got a really bad cough last night and I don't want to make you sick.

That's a good excuse, right? Oofta. I feel like a terrible person. 

So I spent the remainder on the tour trying to enjoy the company, the food and the information, but ended up spending most of it on my phone, looking for wifi to see if Diana had messaged me back about the keys.  

One of Sofia's many "Squat Shops." Aptly named stores which sell things like snacks, cigarettes and alcohol. The necessities.

One of my favorite parts of Sofia is the way they view benches. Benches are not nailed down. They are liberated and can be moved wherever happy bench sitters fancy. If you have a large party of friends and can't sit on one bench, no problem -- pull up another bench. Or seven.

I rushed back to Diana's as the food tour drew to a close. She wasn't home, but I gave the keys to her very unhappy airbnb guest (the apartment was freezing), shouldered Ellie and walked to meet Yana at a hiking presentation in the city center. Which was in Bulgarian, but there was free wine and many pictures of idyllic mountains, so I didn't mind. Eventually though, the wine ran out and the pictures began to all look the same, so Yana asked me, "Do you want to go?" and I asked the Aussie guy (another couchsurfing guest), "You ready to leave?" and we all tip-toed out of the  convention center.

We purchased ingredients for dinner and then returned home, where Yana prepared cheese banitsa and I washed out Vlad's empty clay pots. Yana also introduced us to the largest knife in the house:

And we all laughed at the fact that somehow, I've accumulated four hats (the grey beanie isn't pictured), even though I only have three pairs of pants.

The Aussie fellow had practiced acro yoga before, so more of that happened.

I'm so happy to be here right now. Here and not watching Turkish soap operas dubbed in Bulgarian. 

My final day in Sofia, I met with a Turkish couchsurfing host named Sefa for a cup of coffee and then with Ramen for some homemade moussaka.

I feel like I've made a community in Sofia. Like, if I came back to live here, I would have friends to hang out with every day. This is nuts. 

December 8th is Student's Day in Bulgaria, which basically means that everyone goes out dancing and drinking through the wee hours of the morning and straight into the normal hours of the next day. Which, after delaying by about two hours, we eventually did. Yana and I managed to dance until about one am, but then we linked arms and strolled home through the bitterly cold air, leaving Vlad and the Aussie to carry on the proud tradition.

I don't want a hangover on a travel day. Even though it's only a two hour bus journey, I'll have to walk at least an hour with my bag on the way to the station and then who knows how long afterwards. It's just better to not feel like a swarm of bees has taken up residence in my skull when I can't just laze around and wait for them to leave. 

So I caught the bus to Plovdiv at eleven o'clock, feeling melancholy about leaving Vlad, the Aussie and Yana, but comforted by the fact that I would have one more night with them before I fly to Nepal on the 15th.  

Which I'm now sort of, kind of, a little prepared for. Thank goodness.