We were about 3 weeks into the tour, the last leg. It was a long drive from Zrenjanin to Sofia. A tire blowout on the Sprinter somewhere in central Serbia which gave us an excuse for an extended lunch. Val ordered a plijeskavica that was still so violently sizzling when it arrived that an unfortunate fly made the mistake of landing on it, and consequently fried to death.
Amy, Chris, Guy, Gino, Paris, Val, Saso, and Nika have spent a lot of time in vans of varying sizes together. Over the years, they've developed personal bonds and techniques that allow them to survive being in such cramped quarters with one another for extended periods that prevent them from committing what some might consider justifiable homicide. I do not possess these skills at this point, instead I rely on my generally affable, and con confrontational personality to get me through the trying times. Luckily, today is not one of those times. Everyone's in good spirits. Guy's wife is expecting a son to be born in the very near future and we spend a lot of the drive coming up with goofy names for the third Davis child. It's a beautiful drive and fun.
We stop to gas up the van. The Dollar to Dinar exchange rate is very good. Smokes cost us pennies in Serbia, so before we cross into Bulgaria, Amy, Val, and I decide to stock up on some cartons of Camel Blue. If you're not a smoker, this means nothing. But European Camel Blue cigarettes are a treat for the addicted. This was our last chance to spend the Dinar we had accumulated during our stay in Serbia. I buy my two cartons of smokes, and several sleeves of these oat biscuits that I had fallen in love with over the course of this trip. Who knows if these simple treats had crossed the border from the former Yugoslavia into Bulgaria?
Gino begins panicking that we had bought too many cartons of cigarettes. "They're going to stop us at the border! Why did you have to buy so many fucking cartons of smokes?!" Given some of the shit that had gone on in the last three weeks, it's hilarious that THIS is what Gino gets worked up over!
The sun sets as we come to the Serbian/Bulgarian border. The band has a lot of music equipment, and merchandise. They're a business working their trade across international borders. Consequently, the process of crossing those borders requires a lot of paperwork and bureaucratic fiddling. Saso does this all the time, so he's mastered the process of crossing Balkan borders. Saso, Nika, and Gino all speak Serbo-Croatian, and Val speaks Bulgarian, so this should be a breeze. Serbian border crossings on this trip have been simple. No muss no fuss, unlike almost every Croatian border crossing we'd had in the last three weeks. This Serbian exit was no exception. Saso runs off to file the paperwork. Val, Amy, and I chain smoke and find some coffee while the rest nod off in the van or hit the bathroom or grab a snack. Hop back in the van, cross the short nomansland... and there it is... Bulgarian border officials wave us off to the side. "GOD DAMMIT!" Gino rails. "They're going to bust us for your fucking cigarettes! I told you not to buy so many! Fuck!"
After three weeks and about 1 million border crossings, I don't sweat this anymore. I sit in my passenger side seat, eating my oat biscuits, and waiting patiently. Don't engage with Gino. There is no victory in that direction.
A Bulgarian border agent approaches the van. He speaks Serbo-Croatian with Saso. Gino is panicking. I play a game or two of Risk on my phone. The border agent and Saso exchange some papers. Turns out, the van in front of us got our papers and we got theirs and the border agent rectified that. That was it. We were on our way.
The immediate instinct is to say, "See?! I told you so!" to Gino, but again, that's a colossally bad idea. Not one good thing could come of that.
We are on our way! Next stop Sofia!
It's getting late as we approach the Bulgarian capital. It's pouring rain and slightly chilly. Weird for the middle of August so far south. This is Val's town. He grew up here. His mom lives here. His brother lives here. And I have been invited to go with Val to have dinner and spend the night at Val's mom's place.
Another home cooked meal by the mom of a Kultur Shock member! Fuck yeah! If it's half as good as the meal we had in Srajevo with Gino's mom, it will be a great meal indeed!
Val and I hop out into the rainy Sofia night. Grab our bags for the night, and grab a taxi to Val's childhood home. Ten seconds into the cab ride, Vall starts laughing. I speak zero Bulgarian, so I'm in the dark. Val engages in some chit chat with the driver and then explains to me that just ten seconds into their conversation the driver was deep into some seriously racist content bordering on conspiracy theory.
For the record, this taxi driver was a complete stranger.
It's dark and rainy, so I am not able to get a good glimpse of the city on the remainder of our drive. Ten minutes pass and we're dropped off outside what can only be described as a massive Stalinist block of apartments. I spent three weeks in the Soviet Union 22 years earlier and these apartments looked like every other block of flats I'd seen in Leningrad, Minsk, Odessa, and Moscow. "Don't bring up the dog from Motovun," Val says. "Really?" I ask, a little confused.
"Yeah. The people here don't have the same relationship with dogs that you and I have. When the Soviet Union pulled out financially, people couldn't afford their dogs anymore and just released them into the city. There are packs of feral dogs that wander the city even now. Oh yeah... I know you... DON'T PET THE DOGS!" "Copy that."
Val rings the bell. Some Bulgarian is exchanged. Bzzzzzz. We enter and take the elevator way up the building. Val's mom! Hugs. More Bulgarian. Val doesn't translate. I'm ushered to a seat at a table beautifully set and adorned with copious snacks. More Bulgarian. Val's mom is adorable! She loves her boy and is overjoyed to see him. She offers me a sospka salad. We're in Bulgaria now, so the usual sopska includes peppers! I slorp down a giant serving of the salad and some other delicious appetizers. In Bulgarian, Val's mom asks, "Did he eat at all today? He must be starving to eat that much salad before the main course." Val laughs. "What?" I inquire. "Mom thinks you must be starving since you're eating so much sopska before the meal comes out," Val laughs at me. "Oh shit! There's more? I'm stuffed!"
Almost as if on cue, she walks out of the kitchen with a dizzying array of food for the proper meal. Among it, possibly the best meatloaf I've ever eaten... complete with hardboiled egg in the center. I express my gratitude nonverbally as Val is understandably wrapped up in talking with his mother in his native language and translating is not at the front of his mind right now. As we sit around the table, chatting pleasantly, eating a Bulgarian smorgasbord, I find it hard to ignore the television that is on silently in the corner facing me. It's infomercials for a while, and then, at the stroke of midnight... PORN! I'm really the only person facing the television as Val his mom chat away the evening. I nudge Val. Point at the porn. "Yeah. That happens at midnight here. It's normal." Okiedoke! I ignore it and try to figure out what the conversation is about. Yawn! I've been in two countries today. It's only 300 miles from Zrenjanin to Sofia, but with a tire blowout, a minorly inconvenient border crossing, splitting off from the pack for a family visit, and a VERY large, delicious meal, I'm ready to sleep. I thank Val's mom profusely and she shows me to my room. We're pretty high up in the building and I take a moment to take a look at the neighborhood Val grew up in from this vantage. I hear dogs barking and howling. Look down to the park below. Sure enough, I see two packs of feral dogs wandering the park looking for food I assume. Whatever you do, do not pet the dogs. Resist every ingrained temptation drilled into you over the last close to forty years. Do not pet the dogs. Sleep. #serbia #bulgaria #kulturshock #travel #exyugo #sopska #salad #meatoaf #sofia #zrenjanin
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