I awoke at the hostel in Sofia and noticed a decidedly funky smell. Thinking it was my fellow room mates, I showered and left for the bus station. The stink persisted. After sniffing around a little, I realized the moldy stench was actually emanating from me, and I would be stuck with it for the duration of my trip to Kumanovo: six hours. What with all the rain getting my bags wet, and me sweating up a storm from feeling queasy, a musty odor lingered.

It took awhile to explain to the hotel staff when I arrived at the Roma Parigi Hotel that I needed some laundry doing, and I don’t think it’s something they do on a regular basis, but everything came back to me this morning, clean and fresh. Unfortunately, my dark blue silk sleep sheet that hadn’t been washed before was amongst everything, so now all of my clothes are a dull gray. Better than a poke in the eye; worse things could happen. For instance, I could still be walking around smelling like an old cheese factory.

No Euros, no Lev, no nothing. The first two cash machines I tried were out of service. The third would not take either my Amex or Maestro cards. I began to panic. Thankfully, the fourth attempt at The Princess Hotel and Casino, across the street from Sofia’s bus station was successful. I took out 200 Lev and then converted it back into Euro, leaving just enough to purchase my bus ticket to Kumanovo. Expensive way to do things and bad planning on my part but not really much else I could do.

Then I screwed up again. Not wanting to take any Bulgarian money with me, I spent what little I had remaining on lunch for the trip. Fifteen minutes before departure I needed to pee and headed off to the bathroom. Shit! I needed money for that, too.

“Change!” the attendant said and pointed to the kiosk across the way.

I took out all the loose money I had buried in all of my pockets and set it on the counter. Coins ranged from English, to Swiss, to Turkish. The woman took what she could and handed me just enough: half a Lev. She laughed when she handed me the tiny amount of money.

I was thrilled. “I’m rich!” I exclaimed and walked away to relieve myself.

The dismal weather, lack of conversation and stomach cramps are getting to me. I walked around for a while and have now escaped to Flannigan’s Bar in the Radisson Hotel for the clean bathrooms, free wireless internet access, and to hear English voices. I did consider checking into the hotel for one night so I can be ill in peace, but the rate is 156 Euros! Forget that.

I have finally arrived in Sofia, the capital city of Bulgaria, to torrential rains and a terrible stomach. None of the signs are in English and I couldn’t for the life of me understand the map on the Art Hostel leaflet I picked up in Plovdiv. After some hunting and stopping to ask people, I found it. It’ll do for tonight. Now I just need to figure out how to get out of here.

Sunday morning and stranded in Jakoruda. Ho hum. The look on Angela’s face when I saw her said everything. She then looked at her watch, showed me eight fingers and said “Bus. Rozlok. Sofia.”

Then her neighbor joined in, speaking in German. “Acht Uhr! Schnell! Go!”

My watch said 0750 so I took it to mean a bus would be leaving at eight for a place called Rozlok, and from there I could connect to Sofia. I ran back inside, grabbed my backpack and began to jog to the station. A horse and cart came trotting along side me, with the farmer steering and his wife perched on the flatbed behind. She patted the seat next to her, inviting me to hop up.

“Bus?” I asked.

“Ne, bus,” she said and shook her finger. “Tuk, tuk,” and headed off around the corner, in the opposite direction.

At 0815 a green and white bus pulled up. Hoorah!

“To Rozlok?” (I have no idea if that was the right name).

“Ne, Plovdiv.” Blah. Then again, I knew I could get a bus to Sofia from there, so I got back on the bus and the bumpy road. 

Well, two actually.

First of all, when I realized I had to go back to Sofia, I had a “K” place in Bosnia picked from the hat, but now realize after studying my map again that Serbia is the next country over from Bulgaria, not Bosnia, so will need to re-do the picking.

Oh how I miss the heat of the Meditterranean. My sleeping bag came out last night and I’m now sitting here with two sweaters, socks and a blanket and am still not comfortable. How easy it would be to sneak back over the border to Greece and the islands, to see my skin return to bronze. Well, right now not that easy. I first of all have to reach civilization.

The second problem is that I slept through the alarm this morning, missed the bus to Sofia, and am therefore stuck in Jakoruda for one more day. What I’ll do is beyond me, but with any luck, I’ll bump into perhaps the second person in this town of 600 people who can help me pass the time.

Last night, while sitting at the supermarket, trying to have some kind of conversation with Angela, my host—she works there—a bright English-speaking light in the form of Fatime walked in. At 23 years of age, she already speaks five languages and hopes to become a translator when she graduates from Ankara (Turkey) University next year. To help me better understand the place I’d been deposited, I asked Fatime if she and her two friends, aged 16 and 19, would join me for coffee.

I sat with them for 30 minutes, paid for the drinks and then left them to their conversation. The coffee shop was full to overflowing with their friends, and being seen with an old “bird,” a foreign one at that, may cramp their style somewhat. I returned to the supermarket, picked up my shopping from Angela, including the hand-held water heater she was lending me to make coffee in my room, and said so long.

It’ll be interesting to see the expression on her face when she sees I’m still here.

I am right now in a very bizarre place.

It took three hours to get to Jakoruda on a rickety old bus from Plovdiv yesterday afternoon. On worse roads than I experienced in Albania, I seriously thought everything would fall to pieces on more than one occasion. Set in a mountainous region of Bulgaria, the Municipality of Jakoruda has its fair share of goat-herding peasants, farmers with horses and carts, and men peeing at the roadside. And if I thought Plovdiv was green, this is a downright jungle. Gullies and streams wind their ways through lush forests untouched by any human hand. At one point during the trip, the driver got off to fill up an empty Coke bottle with water from a fresh water spring at the roadside.

I disembarked from the bus, continually telling myself to “trust in the process,” and suddenly, not only do I find a house to stay in for the night (for 4 euros), I’m taken into a dark alley and up some stairs to a darkened room. Inside the room are about ten computers with high speed internet access. Never in my life would I have thought they’d have dial up on one computer, never mind a whole room full! I just wish I could communicate more with people to find out how it’s possible. Will try and do a little scooting around before I leave on the 5 a.m. bus tomorrow to Sofia. I figure one night here is sufficient to fulfill my self-imposed rule.

Rather than head to Macedonia, which was my original plan, I’m going to head over to Bosnia for “K.” Even if I wanted to go to Macedonia from here, which is closer, from what I can make out using sign language and plenty of s-p-e-a-k-i-n-g slowly (like that helps), I have to go to Sofia regardless, which will then bring me closer to Bosnia. Also, I mistakingly took the equivalent of 25 Euros from the bank today in Plovdiv, which will be useless once I leave the country, so I think I’ll visit Sofia for a couple of days to get rid of it.

It’s likely I will not take any photographs while I’m here. I feel a little uncomfortable taking my Digital Canon Rebel XT out of my back when there are so many people with so little.

I awoke early yesterday so walked back over to Symphonia Cafe for breakfast: crepe, three cappuccinos and fresh orange juice for the equivalent of 3,60 Euros. Plus free wireless internet. I then took a walk down the main street and up to the ancient theater which I’d been unable to see last night due to a performance.

At 1100 Damian and Sasho came to meet me at the hostel. Before getting into a taxi for the ten minute ride to Damian’s house, I popped into a florists to get Katya a gift. Damian told me she likes red and orange gerba daisies.

“Can I have four of those please,” I said to the shop assistant.

“No!” Damian shouted and made me jump. “In Bulgaria, one, three, five, ok. No two, four. Very bad lack.”

For lunch we had cufteta. I asked Damian what kind of meat was in the patty-like Bulgarian dish.

“Cow and pig,” he said.

I knew from an earlier conversation that Sasho is muslim so was curious to find out how strict he is about his religion.

“Ha!” Damian said. “He does not understand English and thinks only cow.” Damian laughed. So did Sasho, who then said something, which made Damian laugh even harder.

“My friend said he know what is and does not care. He is hungry!”

The first thing I noticed when I got off the bus yesterday afternoon was how green the town of Plovdiv is. The second was how cold it is compared to the other places I’ve been to recently.

As I walked from the station, through the park to the PBI (Plovdiv Backpackers Inn), a sweet scent from the overhanging trees prevailed. Children played, and friends and lovers sprawled on the benches and grass, reading books or simply snoozing. To get my bearings, I stopped at the Symphonia Music Bar which overlooks a manmade body of water.  Before my coffee arrived I realized I had no local currency and they did not accept Euros or my leftover Turkish Lira. Thankfully, there are many “Change” places dotted around so I ran across the street and returned before my drink had gone cold.

Last night I had dinner with Katya, her son Damian, and his friend Sasho. I met Katya and Damian back at the beginning of April, when I hadn’t even reached “C.” It seems so long ago. The group of 20 Bulgarians had been traveling around Europe, and because we’d all missed our connecting train, we spent a night together in the waiting room.

“My mother did not think you would be here,” Damian said, translating as best he could for Katya. “It is very good surprise. We are happy.” I’m happy, too. It’s really good to see them, even though communication is limited.

Damian and Sasho walked me back to the hostel after dinner and will be back again this morning to take me to their home. Katya will “Belgian cook” before I head off to Jakoruda (aka Yakoruda) at 1500.

I’ve been staying with a wonderful Turkish family the last couple of nights, out of the city center. Last night, Azra, who’s one and a half, successfully managed to pick up only one piece of paper from the hat.

The place I’m heading to now is Jakoruda, Bulgaria, but I’m going to be stopping off ın Plovdiv to vısıt wıth some folks I met at the begınnıng of my trıp, on the traın from Leıchtensteın to Nıce.