BULGARIA and northward April 29th, 2014
Kirklareli. A one lane border crossing into Bulgaria. One lane road, cars crossing in both directions. We are a bit confused as to the protocol. No signage. We watch others. What are they doing? It doesn't help. David slowly works us through, guessing all the way. And we are on a new (to us) road north, on our way toward Burgas, a large Bulgarian city on the Black Sea.
Our route today shows an abundance of white blooming Spirea, fields of yellow mustard and marsh grasses bending in a small breeze. I am knitting...must finish this afghan before we reach our friends in Romania, four or five days away. Knit, knit, knit. We are back in a country with a different alphabet. Road signs aren't helpful as we scurry through Bulgaria, hoping we will not need to buy anything. We have no Bulgarian money.
Bulgaria has much natural beauty and a mix of old and new communities... modern cars and buildings but also humble homes and outbuildings, sheep and herders, horse and family carts. Darkish skinned people. No churches. Golden chain trees, lilac, grape vineyards. We come through a beautiful forest and pasture area as we descend to the sea at Obzor. We stop here. Maybe a popular Russian resort destination? An overly decorated building sits over the sea, many domes and red and white stripes. New apartments, some empty, some unfinished. We sleep next to a very green soccer field. No one is around. It is early spring and cool, good for a night's rest.
In the light of the morning we see that Obzor is a sad and gloomy place. In the little town center there is a nice park and shopping, the only 'feel good' spot. To be fair, the day is dismal, all grey and drizzly. A good day to be driving. The weather doesn't stop the bicyclists. They are packed up and on the road again...another day of legs going round and round. Wineries. Signs say WINE TESTING. Next town, Varna. Bulgarian and EU flags are flying, though the money is still Bulgarian lira they are slowly making their way to the 'west'. A long wall is painted with heroes, a custom of the the former Russian overlords. Russian buildings stand like a reminder, empty, but big, bulky, strong, imposing and depressing. I think now of the Crimea, the scramble for take-over. Putin pushing. The Ukrainians under seige again. A country that is heading toward westernizing, joining the EU. I honestly thought that we humans were 'getting it'. Were settling. That we all understood that it is no longer okay for one country to just take another... that the rest of the world would not stand for it.' Such disappointment. Yes, I have been called an 'idealist'.
Bulgarian countryside continues to unfold, full of fields and forests. The Black Sea is to our right. Gypsy is often lost so we are careful to keep the sea in view. Balcik. A pretty beach town. Sculptures. Our favorite: A bearded smiling man sits looking out to sea, a cup of coffee in his hand, relaxed and content to be where he is. Another: A naked woman on her knees in the center of a pattern of real and colorful spring flowers. Beyond this town there are huge crop fields of corn and grains. Are they co-op or corporate? Between them are four or five lines of wind rows stretching as far as the eye can see. Now at the border into Romania, we are stalled, while the Bulgarian computer system is attended to. Never mind, it is lunch time and we are due for a stop.
Romania. We are in new territory for us. The city of Constanta, named for the Emperor Constantine's sister. It is a large city, population 337,200; Romania's largest port. We do not plan to stay here long. Nothing in our guide books really beacons us, so we have chosen a few sights a bit north. But, the feel is fast and alive here, people move quickly, with purpose, carrying packages and smart phones. Good to see.
The rural areas are still 'old style'. Pretty villages. Carts full of fresh grasses for the animals. The horses are so sweet. They jog down the streets in a happy cadence, like this is the fun job they were born for. The carts hold grasses gleaned from anywhere it is free. Another sculpture. A woman wrapped in herself, thoughtful, pensive...formed into that pleasing heavy thick Eastern Europe style. There are many resorts. Many churches with golden domes and steeples...even a minaret, but we see no more headscarves.
We have come to the large wide delta of the Danube where it splits into three...so much water. River, sea and land-locked lakes where sand moved up to form spits and wide reaches of land. Black crows. A Hoopoe sighting number 3...an exciting bird find. An exotic feathered look all its own. Magnificent. Hundreds of pelicans swarm in the sky. No orderly 'V' for them.
Histria, a village of gorgeous little homes with detailed decoration, thoughtfully and carefully done, like homes of the arts and crafts era. Use of great color. Sweet. A man in a red sweater on his bike peddles past. He gives us a big smile and wave. We are welcomed. Sheep and cows are on the main village road. I love it. This is their village, too.
Birds love these delta marshes, little birds quick on the wing...goldfinch and small brown birds. A stork sits on her high big craggy nest that hangs and bulges with sticks and grasses. Little birds fly up to it. They are stealing sticks for their own nests. Lady stork remains calm, perhaps she built it with them in mind.
We are looking for Ancient Histria. Signs are good along small roads so we have no trouble finding it. It is the oldest town built on the territory of present-day Romania, founded by Greek colonists in the 7th C. BC. More than 1,300 years of uninterupted living from the historical periods of Archaic, Classical, Hellenistic, Early Roman and Late Roman. A friendly caretaker lets us in to the museum. Fantastic. Artifacts from all the people who have ever lived here.
The actual site has five different protective walls from different eras, uncovering remarkable monuments in their midst. We walk the old roads and in and out of ancient spaces. Not much is left intact but enough for us to imagine life as it might have been. From a high point, we can see 'forever' across the marshes and fields of the delta to land-locked water. A horse whinnies, dogs bark. The sun is setting showing a faint light streak in the western sky. We ask permission from the caretaker to stay the night. As we chat he eats pistachios and spits out the shells.
May 1
We continue northwest toward Transylvania. The strangest phenomenum... mosquitos swarm in the side ditches and in the fields. They look like dust devils. Moving dark mist columns for miles and miles, over green crops and full blooming rapeseed.
More sweet little villages. Rows of old style hay stacks on delta flat lands. Grasses for animal food are harvested by hand with a sythe. Horses and goats are tethered. “Hellooo.” And a wave and a smile from the field. A row of roadside cottonwood stumps must have been lovely as full trees shading the road. Today's ride is such a treat! Corregated metal roof shingles. They fit in, with their rusted patina. Brooms and baskets for sale, in a truck bed. The baskets are lovely, hand-made and sturdy, shellaced or oil rubbed to rich colors. Queen Ann's Lace is the flower of the day.
The prevelant car is the Russian Dacias. Their owners have kept them going for years. They remind us of little battleships, usually full of friends and family. David says, “It's a good day to be alive.” Oh Yes!
THOUGHTS and OBSERVATIONS:
> I have always been more productive when I have deadlines as a goal. This time it is the 'great deadline' of life.
> Who is to say that we should not spend half our life being responsible and productive and the other half in a blissful aware watch of life.
> It is a shock to me when I see a dog on a leash being walked. For months we have seen only dogs that are free and hungary and sleepy.
> Culture, the good and the bad and the inbetween, is taught. Our differences, our prejeduces, our tolerances, our religions and our customs are all taught to us. If we could learn to teach for the good of all humanity what would our civilization be like?
> Very many of the people in Transylvanian villages live off a credit card...always behind, always owing interest. It is the only way they can make it.
David stops to take a photo in one of the villages. A little girl stands in front of her house. Pretty. About eight years old, such a tender age. She wears a red hat, turquoise jacket and yellow pants. Wow! Our eyes lock. She smiles and shyly waves. What a sweetheart. She is dirty, clothes and face, but that face! I want to say, “Come, jump in!” But instead I hand her a white pencil with a red maple leaf on it. I shall never forget her.
Gates and fences are important here. Decorated stone, metal and wood march around each house. Filigree trimmed. Each house different and kept imaculately. Women in aprons, basket on arm, on their way to and from shopping.
A larger fishing village. Jurilovca, beautifully cared for, charming. A sophisticated use of color on the homes. Subtle turquoise and bright yellow, soft green and blue, yellow trim on a purple-grey. Extaordinary architecture and plantings. Some thatched roofs. Curtains in the windows... medium light blue and yellow green and large ginghams with flowers scattered, all blue and white. Gardens of tulips in every color, purple iris. Domed and painted orthodox church. Lovely shiny bright harbor.
Lipovens. A 200 year old fishing village of Russian origin, charming in its ornamentation and decoration. 'Lipo' is a Russian word for forest or trees. These people are 'old believers'. Today is a holiday for the workers, the old communist May first. We talk with Gabriel Timotei who is working in the marina. His English is good, learned from a small boy watching movies, then listening to American music, then learned in school. Every yard has a long stretching arbor, from one end to the other... summer shade. Oh, that our suburbs could look like this! Small homes with country gardens growing flowers and food. A few hens and maybe a goat for milk and cheese. We were on a quest to find another very special fishing village but Gabriel tells us that it is yet an hour and a half away in the opposite direction to where we are heading. I have told our Transylvanian friends that we would be in their village in a day. So instead we sit outside with a beer in hand, looking over a land-locked sea. Sun shining, breeze blowing. A Romanian flag flying. Dark blue, bright yellow and deep red. We continue on toward Bucharest (Buc Resti).
We are on highway E60. Here's a town of huge homes. Tandarei. Gypsy palaces topped with metal turrets of finely decorated handwork. I do not understand why the gypsy folks build these places. I am told that they are seldom lived in. Maybe it is to show us that they have riches but prefer the wandering life? Should I say it? Well, I will... Much of those riches are stolen.
Honk! Honk! A car passes us, folks waving and smiling. We drive a sweet flat farmland terrain with rows of trees planted long ago on both sides of the highway. It is a picnic day for the locals. This is another amazing day of culture watching. Three boys in a cart, race along the road, pulled by double horses, their lovely manes flying free. A man and woman clop along slowly behind their horse, their wagon filled with supplies. Village bicycle riders stay close to the road edge, water ditche and yellow rapeseed fields beyond. Some people on this earth carry the 'look of intelligence” in their eyes, like the woman who nods at us as she passes in her horse-pulled cart (The next day we meet her in her roll of museum manager). Tall graneries have cell towers on their tops. A horse and wagon is hitched to a rail at a neighborhood bar. (Domestic animals have to put up with us humans!) And we note the lovely custom of family and friends sitting outside their gates chatting and watching the people and cars go by their doors, their daily work is done.
We enter Bucharest. Gypsy guides us to take a wrong turn and we are in the poor part of the city, we might call it the slums. So far, it is not a pretty city. Apartments all the same size and shape hanging on from the communist regime. The streets are bad. Daisy's bones rattle. We are wondering where we should park ourselves when we find a tiny street shooting off the main thoroughfare, pretty with lots of trees and better apartments. We lock all doors and get ready for bed.
May 2
In the daytime, the neighborhood shines. David remarks that it could be Chicago. Last night a loud couple shook our van as if to say, “We know you are in there. Wake up!” This morning a man and his dog peek though apartment metal blinds at us, window open.
Bucharest. 70th century BC, founded by a shepherd who built a church here on a river. This city has only been released from its communist hold for two decades. It was here, in 1989, that the ego-driven communist leader, Ceasescu was 'taken down' in a bloody revolution. Much of this city had been bulldozed to make room for his Palace of Parliament which still stands today. He wanted a Stalin-like regime. Finally both he and his wife were killed and dragged through the streets by the citizens... in rage, and joy and relief. Bucharest was once known as the “Little Paris”, but an earthquake and bombing took away much of this beauty. How is it that unbalanced people are allowed to take high position? Not only take it but remain in it?
We walked miles today in the old part of the city, getting lost several times. Interesting neighborhoods. Mix of new and old buildings. Stopped for Vietnamese pho (noodle soup). Saw Ceausescu's huge palace. In and out of little squares in small neighborhoods. Visited Antim Monastery. Met and chatted with a fellow traveler on a street corner. Hailed a cab driven by Marion, more good chats. And here we are back at our home square and Daisy. Spania Piate. Time to move on.
On our way through a village we spy a fabulous old house. David stops the van to take a photo of an old woman in front of her house. Soon we are talking to the rest of the family and their neighbors. What crazy fun! The old woman pulls scallions from her garden for us! They will go in our soup tonight. Such an encounter, hard to pull away back on to the road. Honk. Honk. Wave wave. We won't forget you!
At 7:22 it is still light out but the rain hits hard with the accompanyment of thunder and lightening. We will stay here in the town of Vrzicni.
May 3
We wake in this lovely town on a Saturday morning with busy well dressed folks all around us. Saturday morning shopping. Last night a group of young boys leaned against our car to talk and visit. Little did they know that anyone was inside. It woke David in a start and he slammed up the blind. They just looked at him and continued their banter, ignoring us completely.
We have our usual quick breakfast and move on northward...passing glittering Roma women sauntering along the highway, and boys with fathers and grandfathers heading to the fishing river. We squeeze past a cartful of family,fireweed, almost obstructing the road. We smile and wave. A community water well sits at the side of the road...water for people and animals. Looks a bit like an oil derek...kids turn the wheel, a bucket goes into the well and back out...grandpa fills vessels to take home.
Now we are traveling through the most wonderful villages, all the stuff I love...water wells, horses and carts, bikes, little women in layered decorative clothing. David remarks, “There must be a company that manufactures all these cute diminutive ladies with crinkled faces.” Old fashioned and traditional homes in a row all in creative colors and designs. Fences and gates. It is like driving through a folk gallery...and it is not brought back to life from history, it is the real thing. YOU MUST COME AND SEE...SOON! A man is leaving the store in his robe. Little children whizzing about on bikes and scooters. Women walking with arms about each other. It's springtime...fresh time! The making of new gardens, the painting of fences, repairing of roofs. And cars...hoods up, heads and shoulders buried inside. Head scratching ...what to do? What to do?
Have you seen bee trailers? What a neat package for raising bees. Move them around. Process the honey. Clover? Fireweed? Wild flowers... Take your pick. The hives are behind little doors, sort of like condos. Each door a different color.
We are heading to Ploiesti, still on the flat fertile planes but moving toward foothills. David points to a movable shepherd's trailer...with temporary fencing for the sheep. We need groceries and gas before getting to Felsorakos tonight. We spend an hour shopping for food. Our cards do not work. Not at check-out, not at ATMs. We are forced to leave a full grocery cart at the store. Now gas. There is a station, let's buy bottled water and see if the VISA card works. Yep! So we fill up on gas. Oh oh...our card does not work for the gas. They are forced to take our Euros. Okay, now we buy a phone chip to call VISA to see what's up. Phone battery dead. We plug it in and drive over gorgeous mountains. A road we have taken before.
We get out the Transylvanian map to make sure of our route. We pull off the main road and travel through village after village. Remarkable places and people. We wave at each other, the locals sitting on stoops or chairs outside their gates. Daisy is a definate “who is this” type van “bumping along our road?”. A barrier in the road...the bridge is out. A gentleman on a bike takes us to a detour.
These incredible villages are set in or below gently rising foothills of the Carpathian mountains. Everything is green and sprouting, rivers happily gurgling from spring rains. The roads are a mess. We slam into deep potholes if we don't watch carefully...a bit like looking for deadheads from the bow of a boat...or running an obstacle course. Wow! There's the sign and road to Felsorakos! We follow our noses letting the church steeple be our guide. The gates are open to Jozsef and Reka's home so we drive in to their back yard. Reka is waiting. Out she comes to greet us. Such a comfortable and welcoming place to be after a day of hard knocks. Jozsef arrives after officiating at a wedding and we are happy together with polinka in hand...a beautiful traditional meal being laid on the table. Two of the dearest friends.
May 4
We follow Reka into the church and sit with her in the front row on the women's side of the sanctuary. I wave at some of my friends. We are special guests. The men sit opposite us. I nod at a few of my favorites. We do not understand the words of the hymns or the sermon. It gives me time to look around and marvel at this sweet place. It is humble, decorated by the hands of its congregation with integrity and honesty. The high walls are white. Turkish carpets adorn the floor. Pews are painted a soft blue. Hand embroidered red, white and blue fabrics hang along the pew fronts and grace the alter tables. Hymn books are covered in the same fashion. The pulpit is polished dark wood, a stairway leading up to it. The organ is on a loft floor, being foot-pumped by a second person. The organist is new since we were last here. She is very good. Her voice carries us all as we sing. Red and white carnations add to the freshness of this space.
David speaks out our greetings, our thankfulness on being with them and some small stories of our jouney that might be 'church-worthy'. Jozsef translates. Later, we meet in the manse gathering room for coffee and chat as best we can. The day turns rainy. We snuggle into the comfort of this home and its people. The tiled wood stoves throughout the rooms send out remarkablely steady heat. The fellows take naps. Reka is on her computer, periodically showing me photos of their family. We even turn on the TV and watch an American comedy which gives me time to finish the afghan for Reka. Before bed we discuss some aspects of organized religion. I am a supporter of Transylvanian Unitarian churches. I always have questions for Jozsef...and try out some of my ideas on him.
May 5
Jozsef is also an English teacher at the high school and a religious training teacher for the local lower grades. He has planned to teach some poems to the children today, rehearse them on Friday and then next Sunday they will perform them for Mothers' Day. However, this day starts with a bang and a panic. His information for this event has been gobbled up in the great computer ethers! He scurries to find a way around it before class this afternoon. It is another rainy day. I love it. Down time to write and relax. Reka keeps the fires burning and prepares a lamb roast for later. She is a perfect partner for her minister husband. She loves to keep a beautiful home and welcomes all who enter with complete sincerity. Everyone feels comfortable around her.
This home is the property of the church, so it is maybe a bit more special and spacial than most in the village. Rooms are large with high ceilings. Old world wood, tile-work...soft colors. Thick carpets. Good prints and paintings. Definately a home for gatherings of family and friends. Wine is made in the cellar...deep down in the cavernous underground! Polinka, a local brandy of plum, cherry or apple, is made by Jozsef's neighbors in basement stills. Clear liquid in lovely bottles, we embibe for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Today we go fishing for our dinner. A fish farm about a 45 minute drive away, into the hills and woods. Reka, Jozsef and David grab poles and about 6 lovely fish take the bait of larvae...then nothing. There will be ten for dinner so we need more! No problem. The farm owner dips a net into a holding tank and brings out as many as we want!
About 7:00, friends Janos, Janos and Elemer join Jozsef to clean the fish and prepare it for the barbecue, laughing and chatting the whole time. Elemer's wife, Yolanka, has cut the potatoes into french fries. They get put into a heavy steel pan in ½ inch of oil to deep fry over the outdoor fire, the chips constantly turned. When the fries are done and put into another container, the fish gets put into the same heavy pan...making the fish skins crispy and salty, the inside meat is moist. And to my delight, I can even bite off the tails with a crunch and a swallow. David and I add a salad to the table which we have set for ten. Jozsef and Reka, Elemer and Yolanka, Janos and Esther, Janos and Augie, Lou and David. We have shared many dinners and events with these folks before. It is like coming home.
I learn that Augie and Esther have a folk arts booth in two markets. They sell their own painted traditional boxes, clocks, stools and calendars. Elemer joins them in taking a class to learn the local Hungarian style of painting. Augie also has a job painting toy puzzles for a company in neighboring Barot. Elemer is also a talented wood carver. One of the Janos' is a forester. The other is a policeman in another village. Children of this group are all growing up so fast. There is nothing these families would not do for one another. When one needs help, the others are there. They are fun and funny and fun to be around. Our inability to speak their languare only adds to the hilarity. Teasing is fair game. It is late when we break up and go off to our beds.
