Day 64 – Burgas to Malko Tarnovo (Bulgaria), 85km

Time to head to the Turkish border. Just a few hundred kilometers away lies the grand metropolis of Istanbul (aka. Constantinopol, Bizantium, Tsarigrad.. this ancient city is known by many names!) and the final destination of this ride.

First, tucked away in a busy cafe, I do some quick research about travel in Turkey, typing in phrases like “solo female travel Turkey” and “bicycle travel Turkey” and quickly absorb some quality tips and info. Bicycle travelers recommend gas stations for free camping (weird but true), Turks are found to be formal, polite and very helpful to tourists, and Western women report pleasant and problem free travel granted you too remain formal and not get too smiley (otherwise they tend to think we are all “Samantha’s” living out our lives like in the “Sex and the City” series…) Ok, duly noted. Also, on a whim, I quickly check Visa requirements for both Poles and Canadians and realize that tourist visas are required for Turkey and come at a fee. I experience a mild panic attack as I face the unanswered question: do you get the tourist visa at the border or do you have to ask for it months in advance??

A few Skype phone calls later, to the embasies in Istanbul of both my countries, and I calm down. Everything is OK to cross the border in Malko Ternovo; visas are attained on site and I’m even told how much they will cost: 15€ on a Polish passport and 45€ on a Canadian one. Kind of a no-brainer as to which passport I’ll be using

The no. 9 secondary road to Malko Tarnovo is fairly peaceful, running mostly through farmland and forest, and very up and down. I like it though – the ups give you time to think and the downs time to leave all thought behind…

I arrive in Malko Tarnovo around 18:00 and so with (theoretical) plenty of time to cross the border and seek lodging on the other side. However, my other Internet searches have revealed nothing as far as camping or cheaper hotels in the Turkish villages nearby (or petrol stations for that matter, if camping there is indeed as wonderful as others make it out to be). I would rather not put myself in an awkward situation my first night in Turkey, so I decide to wait until morning to cross the border.

I stop instead at the only hotel in town, where I’m warmly greeted by one of the employees – an perfectly beautiful woman, about 35 years old with dark hair and almond-shaped eyes. She gives my shoulder a big squeeze when I explain what I am doing and how I come to be here, tonight, at this hotel, on my way to Istanbul. I’m promised a good coffee and an omelette in the morning to give me strength to continue on my way!

Back in my room I relisten to some of my favourite Vinyl Cafe podcasts, this CBC radio show is a treasure and makes me laugh out loud, a lot. It’s a great Canadian connection when I’m far from Canada not to mention chock full of fantastic stories, both true and invented.

It’s been a good day, all in all, full of two of my favourite things: biking and stories

Kasia – your story-telling cyclist

Photos:
- dog at a gas station
- horses living in an abandoned building!

Where am I on the map?

With about 1 week left before I reach the Turkish capital, I’ve decided to update the European map. Here, from Ljubljana, Slovenia the black dashes track my progress through Hungary, Serbia and, currently, through Bulgaria.

The end is in sight!

Day 63 – “a strange day”, Sliven to Burgas, 115km

A strange day, in part terrible and in part wonderful.

After leaving Sliven, the no. 6 highway which had so far been a perfectly quiet and wonderful road turns into a nightmare as all the traffic from the unfinished autobahn below goes through it… I endure a very unpleasant 60km of fast cars, transport trucks and wind before turning off to quiet, peaceful and gorgeous country roads. I arrive at the Black Sea at a tiny village south of Burgas.

Am chased by big, nasty dogs (strays) – first time this trip. No harm done, but it gets me thinking. Am wondering what I’m going to do for the infamous Turkish sheepdogs which have a truly bad reputation…I’ve heard that they are agressive, huge and can and do bite. I start getting used to carrying rocks, I look around for a good branch to transport and hit with, if necessary. Anyone know where I can buy pepper spray? Best get used to it now, I’m only a days ride away from Turkey…

A bit tough finding a place to sleep. People that I ask to freecamp nod their heads consistently “no”, they look at me with fear and confusion. I hear one woman mutter under her breath “but what the hell is she doing alone??”… It’s like the isolation from lepracy, from back in the day when..

Finally some friendly English-speakers point me to the “only” hotel. They have no free rooms, but to avoid the tears of desperation that are risking spilling out the owner gives me her own little bed and bedroom for the night, however reluctantly. She threatens me “you will pay 20 Lev for this!”, as if it’s some kind of punishment. She too is afraid and weary of me…why must they continue to treat me like some freak??

She will actually smile to me in the morning – realizing that perhaps in fact I am not crazy. She’ll want to charge me 10 Lev, but I will give her 15.

A few hours of rest was won, and it’s time to venture into Turkey.

At this point the only thing keeping me going is the relative proximity of the final destination – just a few more day of this, I continuously tell myself.

Apologies for bullet-point format writing, have no strength or time left to write properly – just bear with it until I get to the Turkish capital…

Kasia – your drained cyclist

Day 62 – “The Universe provides”, Pavel Banya to Sliven, 106km

Today was, yet again, another example of direct manifestation. Ask, and you will receive.

My morning was off to a grumpy start. Last night I was helped and guided all around town by an older gentleman. He was smiley, I was friendly and grateful that he helped me find a good, clean motel for 10 LEV (5€) a night. Before parting ways he asked me “please, may he come up to my room” and smiling at me held the goodbye handshake I offered him several moments too long. He left me feeling sorry for his loneliness, sad and frustrated. I recalled my best friend from high school saying once “You can’t be friendly with guys, they always take it the wrong way.” At the time I had staunchly disagreed, but my current cultural context was making me realise that perhaps she was right; perhaps the fault was mine for being too nice.

This is a land of no cyclists. Aside from Brits Les and Ruth who I met several days ago in Berkovitsa, I have yet to see other bicycle travellers. Road cyclists are also an endangered species, for I’ve noticed a total of two or three in my week here in Bulgaria…and they were older men, of course. There’s not much hope of making spontaneous friendships with other ladies, for, unless you have some previous introduction or context, most women shy away from talking with the likes of me. Gone are the days when groups of girlfriends would approach me on the street (in France or Italy, for example), in a campground or in front of the supermarket, eyes shining with curiosity and inspiration at the idea of a solo female traversing a continent on a bicycle. Here, in the former East Block, most girls are still a bit too concerned with the brand of their sandals and the sex-appeal of their fluttery tops to appreciate an idea like the Ride to Read. I get the feeling they think I’m just a bit crazy for going so long without make-up!

In short, I was in need of some company, a spontaneous encounter to brighten my day, a shared coffee with a friendly and unassuming person. I’m a Gemini for goodness sakes! I wilt if I go too long without real human interaction.

So, realizing my grumpiness and its cause, I sent up the intention for a good meeting today. To be honest, I didn’t fully believe it was possible, but I figured it “can’t hurt to ask”, as they say.

I met my friend-to-be not even one kilometer into my day’s ride. We quickly realized that we didn’t really have any languages in common, but somehow made efforts at basic conversation – a mix of Bulgarian, Russian, English and German. Most importantly though, we spoke the language of friendliness and companionship.

Slavi, a road cyclist, accompanied me to the intersection but was surprised when I turned away from my planned route to stop at the gas station instead – I needed cold water and an Internet connection. He waved goodbye; neither of us knew that we would see each other again later on.

After the break, I plowed on in the roasting sun. Tired of seeing that desert mirage-like haziness of heat panning out in the distance; I continued gulping down huge breaths of hot asphalt-smelling air. It was scorching, and I was mentally exhausted and unmotivated.

But I kept the bike moving forward. Another 20km or so and who do I see but this morning’s friend cycling in the opposite direction – he jumped the metal barrier with his bike to rejoin me and continued on the road with me in my direction.

I admit it – I was cold and distant at first. After so many encounters that have started off well and fizzled into awkward and uncalled-for suggestions, I figured I would try a different approach this time. But all was well, this cyclist was glad to simply share some time and road space.

Over the next several hours, he showed me the good water spots, the natural springs that are often off the road, took me to a little hamburger joint where I was able to get some lunch and kept me company on the road. It was the cycling with him that I most appreciated. I can’t tell you how relaxing it was to have him there cycling in front, cutting into the wind for me, but also, and more importantly, changing my view and focus. I trained my eyes on his right shoe, just a meter or so away from my nose, mesmerized and calmed by his steady and strong cadence. I haven’t felt so relaxed and calm on the road in a long time. It felt like a guide had been sent for the sole purpose of allowing me a break from blazing my own trail, and I was overjoyed to take the backseat and simply follow. Of course there was no real navigation necessary since we were simply following the no. 6 eastward, nor do perfectly paved roads require any actual “trail blazing”; it’s more the concept that mattered. It was an indescribable blessing!

We shared one more coffee, exchanged numbers and emails, he promising to learn Polish and I Bulgarian (since conversation had been extremely limited!), and it was time to continue. I took to the road alone again feeling rejuvenated – like it was only the first day of my journey, not the sixty-second!

I arrived in the industrial town of Sliven astounded by the distance I had been able to cover, and knowing that it was greatly due to the pair cycling. A hotel was not difficult to find, and the evening quickly faded with the sun…

Kasia – your manifesting cyclist

Photos:
- Slavi, lunch place and the stray who got some of my hamburger
- hiding in the shade

Day 61 – “St. Francis would have been a cyclist”, Anton to Pavel Banya (Bulgaria), 100km

Today’s post is about animals, nature, reflection and tranquility.

I figure you’ve heard enough about what it’s like to be me while I’m living on the road and on the bicycle for days and weeks on end. I sleep, eat, write, cycle and repeat, and even though every day brings new encounters and experiences, I hope that you won’t mind if I dedicate today’s post to more general ideas, instead of summarizing my little adventures as usual.

You see, I was raised Catholic and especially aware of different saints and what their particular saintly powers were good for. My mother would have me say a prayer to Saint Anthony if I had lost or misplaced something: a precious notebook or the joy of living, you could interpret “lost” both in the literal and figurative sense. To Saint Christopher we prayed for safe travel.

It was Saint Francis that fascinated me when I was a little girl. I can still hear my mother’s voice in my ear telling me that “he would wait for the ants to cross before walking so as not to step on any of them”. At the age of six I wondered how anyone could get anything done in life if they waited for every single bug to budge…

Since then I’ve been fortunate enough to learn more about Saint Francis and to visit the basilica dedicated to his (and to Saint Clara’s) work in Assisi, Italy on more than one occasion. The monk is most famous for his love of animals, referring to them all as “brother” and “sister” and for his reveration of nature in general. He believed that nature was the reflection of God. Kind of a 12th-century spiritual ecologist.

During this ride I’ve thought of Saint Francis often. As you know, this is my first long-haul bicycle trip, and I come not from a background of road cycling but of commuter and urban cycling. So, it was my first time riding with, alongside and surrounded by nature and animals for so long. The ones alive, and the ones dead.

I’ve seen a lot of roadkill during these past 2 months. Hedgehogs, badgers, weasels, foxes, butterflies, snakes and lizards – you name it, I’ve seen it smeared on the road and in varying degrees of decay. The cars zoom by with maybe a flash of colour or fur to hint at what is lying splattered on the road, and I am left to contemplate the bulging, glass-like eyes of a puppy with his gutts trailing out, surrounded by flies and full of worms…

In reality though the bigger animals, from bird size to larger, are rarely at risk where bicycles are concerned. What has surprised me most of all, is the ability to see and distinguish between the smallest of the road users. I’m referring to the beetles, the ladybugs, the snails and maybe even…the ants. These are often crawling or oozing their way across the road, oblivious to the traffic on both sides, and on a bicycle I am given a choice I have never before been faced with on a trans-continental journey: to smear or not to smear?

That is the question.  I answer with the tiniest push on the handlebars, prolonging a little critter’s life by a few minutes, maybe longer. After a whole day of this Saint-Francis-like behaviour, I can’t help but sigh, catch and release back to nature the bugs that crawl into my tent or bags in the evening. I can barely recognize this spider-and-snail doting Kasia from the bug killing machine I used to be. Does it mean anything in the big scheme of things? Perhaps not. But it’s one more example of how bicycle travel has brought me that much closer to nature.

Cycling is silent. I often startle animals out of their summer reveree in the tall grasses next to the roads since they don’t hear the quiet bike until the last moment, and then jump and scurry off deeper into the brush. A flick of a green, scaly tail or tiny brown paws flash within my field of vision and make me smile. Enclosed in their noisy tin boxes motorists are oblivious to these precious details.

Cycling is so meditative. Especially as a solo cyclist there is ample time for reflection, for planning, for dwelling on past memories or strategizing for future dreams. And, of course, for simply being in the moment. Because the physical task, pedal right-foot and pedal left-foot, is so simple and repetitive, the mind, and heart, are at full liberty. Just as you steer the bike left or right, you can steer your intention and thought on whatever you like. Like saying a little prayer for safety and peace for the locals and their homes when going through particularly poor or forlorn looking towns…

With all this in mind I’ve come to the conclusion today that Saint Francis would have been a cyclist…if bicycles were around in his time and if he had needed to make a longer journey. He could meditate, avoid squishing his brothers, the bugs, and would enjoy the near perfect silence of the bicycle.

Such are my thoughts for the day, with a few snapshots from the road found below…

Kasia – your contemplative cyclist

Day 60 – “my day in images”, Sofia to Anton, 88km

Today, I cycled. I was tired and stopped earlier than usual because all I could think of was sleep and rest.

A good family in the village of Anton took me in for the night.

Today, I will tell my story via photos. Of me, the road, and my free camping spot for the night.

Time to rest!

Day 59 – “Sofia, inspiration and the mystery of the early-setting sun”, in Sofia (Bulgaria), 0km cycled, (but many walked!)

I wake up to the traditional Bulgarian breakfast that I already told you about in yesterday’s post, plus a bit of my own Muesli and fruits. One coffee, two coffees and I continue the usual writing, blogging, tweeting and researching iPhone frenzy I have grown so used to over the course of this ride. Inside Pavlina’s apartment I am alone, it is quiet (except for the yelping of a little puppy outside); everything is familiar and safe.

The same cannot be said for the unfamiliarity of downtown Sofia. I’m not one to get scared off by a new place or city, and in fact Sofia intrigues me with this energy of change and activism, with its many cafes, its neat and artsy shops. But it is a tough city to navigate for newbies and foreigners, a shortcoming readily acknowledged by the locals themselves. Firstly, as everything in Bulgaria, cyrilic reigns over all, and although I can now read this alphabet somewhat accurately it takes me a long time to do so. The brain, from lack of practice, feels like it’s peddling through molasses. Not that there is much to read of the kind of signs that are important to a new-comer: street names. These are very few and very far between even though the locals know all the street names by heart (do they study these in school??). There is tons of construction going on, mostly due to a new tram line project, forcing you to cross and re-cross the streets to avoid the mess. When asking for help, some locals are very friendly and warm while others immediately shut down and refuse to talk with you when approached in English. Not for any political or xenophobic reason – they’re simply uncomfortable and embarassed that their English is poor. I quickly switch to Polish to lessen their terror, and with most, this allows me to awkwardly continue our dialogue of streets, directions and destinations.

It is arduous, yet I set out in the persuit of sport clothing, hoping to find those dreamed-of longer shorts or one more T-shirt to add to my minimalist travel wardrobe. No luck! Furthermore, I’m left to fend for myself since the shopkeepers at one sport store claim to “not know of any other similar shops” when in fact there is another place just 100m down the same street…

I find some pants which could work but they are too expensive. Time to abandon this idea – too bad, I’ll make do with what I have and dedicate the rest of my time to more important tasks. Not to mention my dislike for shopping in general…

By 15:00 I am meandering down to the park near the radio station where Yanina from the “Ideas factory” (www.ideasfactorybg.org) has suggested we do a spot on today’s radio podcast about the Ride to Read. She tells me to come around the studio at 15:30 or 16:00 at the latest. Only a few moments go by – I had purposely come to this neighbourhood early to people-watch, sit and relax a bit- when I see a missed phone call from Yanina. I call her back and am surprised to hear her slightly anxious voice “Where are you? Are you coming?”. It seems a bit odd that she wants me at the studio so early, but don’t say anything about it. I run to meet her at the correct spot, quick. The park I was at wasn’t the right one (go figure!).

It’s fun doing the radio interview (and I’ll make it available here on the blog as soon as I receive the link for it myself). Everything is translated live into Bulgarian, and they seem very happy with the whole story. Their appreciation for the project is very visible, as they say “and maybe your story will inspire some Bulgarians to cycle for beautiful cause!”

I hope so!

Only once I get back home to Pavlina’s does reality hit. She is there waiting for me (since I have the keys), and I’m pleasently surprised to see her home an hour early. “It’s only 5pm”, I say, “that’s pretty sweet you got off work early!”. She looks at me perplexed and answers, “No, I didn’t, it’s 6pm!”

Ooohhh! Silly goose…I’ve changed time zones and didn’t even realize it!

Bulgaria is one hour ahead from Barcelona time… and it only took me 5 days in this new country to figure it out. I was wondering why Pavlina left for work at 8:00 when she said she would go at 9:00, why Yanina was rushing me when I thought I was early but was in fact I was late…and why, for goodness sakes, the sun has been setting so early!

Finally, as I reset my clocks, everything makes just a little more sense

Kasia – your time-zone crossing cyclist

Day 58 – “a head shaking day”, Godech to Sofia (Bulgaria), 45km

Can’t say that it was a grueling ride today! Rather, I savoured my ride into the capital which, as if to make up for yesterday’s climb, was almost all downhill. But today, and tomorrow, are less about Riding and more about Reading. This is a connection stop in Sofia – this ride has miraculously inspired more than one Bulgarian, and several people here have contacted me about spreading the word, meeting up and talking about the Ride.

They offer to write articles, conduct radio interviews, house, feed and culture me – how can I refuse such enthusiasm?

It takes me a while to find my host’s place, a young and energetic local who is in fact editor in chief of the most popular reading website in Bulgaria and, thus, a big fan of this ride for literacy. It is an ordeal. There are few cars relative to what you’d expect from a 1,5-million strong capital, so traffic is not so bad…but there are no signs with street names on them! I’ve input Pavlina’s address into google maps and so armed with my technology I successfully navigate to…completely the wrong address. I try again and finally find the right place.

Pavlina is talkative and excited about life. She works in a PR firm by day and spreads the joy of reading by night. In her spare time she travels, learns foreign languages (like Polish!) and entertains strange guests, such as myself.

Her energy is contagious and where I should be fading into the sleepy lull of a hot and noisy city, I question her instead on Bulgarian history, and the quirks and stories of Sofia. Her “crash course” is excellent, although I’m realizing quickly that I know next to nothing about the Byzantine and Ottoman empires! She speaks of famous Polish writers, politicians and generals like they’re the guys next door… while I make a mental note to learn more about her people!

It’s fascinating, and I’m absorbing everything like a culture sponge. Everything except the the Bo’za she will serve me the following morning for breakfast…the sour drink that looks like chocolate milk is actually fermented malt…it’s drinkable but otherwise definitely falls under the category of “acquired taste”. I’ll adore the Banitsa that goes with it though; what’s not to love about warm, flaky pastry stuffed with cottage cheese?

Sofia feels very normal, tangible and unpretentious. We run into a few of Pavlina’s journalist friends and I am again struck by how cultured, approachable and energetic they are. One guy, for ten years now, has been fighting a losing battle with the municipal government to input a city-wide recycling program. His friend is a political activist and just took part in the largest demonstration that Sofia has ever seen. It seems like everyone is involved in everything, from environmental activism to political betterment. With the bitter resolve that comes with the realization that your work and efforts may never amount to much, they plow on with determination. I sense a feeling of duty and mission in my Bulgarian peers, and as one guy puts it, “if we don’t do the work then who will?”

Amen, brother!!

We have a delicious and cheap dinner in a gorgeous restaurant packed with locals. I try a few of the vegetarian specialties like Szopska salad and Tarator soup before realizing that I’ve heard about and eaten this salad my entire life! My parents, like many Poles during the communist times, used to go to the Bulgarian Black Sea on holidays… my dad loved and still frequently makes Szopska salad. I was glad for the opportunity to try the original!

(just for the record, I prefer my dad’s version!)

By the end of the evening I realize that I have made two big cultural mix-ups between Bulgarians and Greeks. The first concerns yoghurt; what we refer to as “Greek” or “Balkan style” yoghurt is in fact a Bulgarian innovation, and the name of the bacterial culture proves it: Lactobacillus Bulgaricus. The second: the infamous shaking, instead of nodding, of the head to say “yes”. Again, I thought this was a Greek thing, but it turns out the Bulgarians are fierce head shakers too. It really confuses me! Every time I feel like I’ve said something coherent, smart or maybe even funny…my listener is there with a huge smile, shaking their head vigorously. Have I said something inappropriate, or did I miss a joke?
Body language is so firmly ingrained in our psyche; it takes fierce concentration to realize people are agreeing, not disagreeing with you!

All in all a very interesting first day in Sofia,

Kasia – your head-nodding cyclist

Photos

- a guided tour with Pavlina (yellow skirt)
- Szopska salad

Day 57 – “She’ll be coming around the mountain…”, Berkovitsa to Godech, 46km

…of which the first 23km were straight uphill! For sure that is the Ride to Read record as far as continuous uphill cycled in one day

It was a late start today. The early morning storm at 6:20 woke me up, it was thundering and lightening all around the motel, at which point I also realized I was sticky with sweat from the humidity. I turned on the air-conditoning (my, what a luxury!!) and was out again until 9:00.

Back downstairs at the coffee bar I enjoyed an American-sized latté and chatted, via 16 year old employee turned-translator who studies English in high school, with the bar lady. She doesn’t enjoy traveling alone, she tells me. It’s definitely not the first time I’ve seen this kind of a reaction – people can get used to the idea of bike travel pretty quick but the “alone” bit really makes them frown. Isn’t it funny though that I always hear this phrase at precisely the moment in my day when I’m speaking and socializing with others!

I guess that’s the Canadian in me, shining through. Alone, in my understanding (and without any addition of spiritual concepts) is trekking through the wild north through virgin territory that most likely hasn’t felt the footstep of man in decades, or more. In small, civilized and populated Europe you are never alone – this, however, is a concept that I have trouble explaining to Europeans.

…some of which I met, the bicycle traveller types, five minutes after leaving the motel. Les and Ruth are British, from Liverpool, and devoted bicycle travellers for many years – ever since they completed the world tour some 20 years ago. They tell me of crossing Canada by bike, in the late fall/early winter, of waking up, and then attempting to repack, a frozen tent! We have a bit of lunch and, inevitably, split ways, as I continue the climb to the capital and they detour to visit the thermal baths just 15km away from Berkovitsa.

And so begins my 22km climb to the mountain-perched town of Petrohan. I looked up the elevation difference between B. and P. – it’s approx 1,000m! With stretching breaks, lunch and refuge from quick, but intense, afternoon showers, it takes me about 3 hours to cover this distance. I watch my chrono flutter between 7 and 10km/h while I ride.

On the one hand I’m a fool for listening to a non-cyclist’s advice which steered me away from the main highway (which here equates to perfectly paved and very low traffic road) to a patchy, rough and country road. A word to the wise: when a non-cyclist encourages you to take the “lovely, scenic road where there are few villages and pretty views”, you can be sure this will be a mountain road where the loveliest view of all will be you, the cyclist, crawling along with a fully loaded bike at a thrilling 8km/h. On the other hand it is refreshing and nurturing to cycle in the cool of the forest; it’s a chance to chat with the trees again and realize that I’m quite fond of the sun when hidden underneath so much foliage. It’s the difference that let’s me choose free camping tonight – I don’t mind my own grime nor am I half as tired as usual, mentally.

There is a stretch of downhill and it’s getting late; I don’t want to see what is around the bend since intuition tells me it will climb again. Instead I turn into a gravel road decorated on both sides by farm homes and ask at one of the houses to put up my tent. The whole family is outside, sitting around a picnic table, and after the wife confirms it with her husband, she shows me to the field across the road, their field, where I am free to reign for the night.

The straw is freshly cut, the smell is tantalizing, and piled high in huge, round pyramids throughout the field. There is an ideal spot with large trees from the east which will provide much needed shade in the morning. There are almost no mosquitos and few ant hills. It is, in fact, the most perfect camping spot I’ve ever seen!

I fall asleep with lightening flashing, temporarily illuminating everything in the tent. I count the seconds between light and sound: raz, dwa, trzy…until I get to twelve – the storm is far away. There are noises scurrying in the grasses around me; I imagine that they belong to badgers, having seen a dead one on the road earlier in the evening… Now, it’s time to sleep.

Kasia – your peaceful cyclist

Photos:
- Les, Ruth and I
- a whole container of divine blackberries, for just 1 LEV (approx 0,50€)
- taking shelter from summer showers
- the Petrohan pass
- my map, learning cyrilic and a free-riding fly
- a potato and honey seller
- landscape
- camping spot

Day 56 – “Spanish and Judo in Bulgaria”, Borovitsa to Berkovitsa (Bulgaria), 85km

Woke up bright and early, and used the extra time to catch up on Internet and fundraising tasks. Got on the road around noon; with few reserves left I had to stop by a small shop in a nearby town to stock up on snacks (fruit and yoghurt, really) before reaching the larger city of Montana, some 50km away, for the regular supermarket visit.

Had some trouble finding a shop that was open, so I meandered around the teeny town munching on yesterday’s carrots. Tried to treat a young horse to a bit of the orange crunchiness, but he was too cautious of me to even let me approach him. I left his share of the carrot on the pavement in hopes that his curious nose would lead him to it eventually.

I finally found the shop, and next to it a little soup kitchen with warm and home-cooked meal smells wafting to me through the open door. I had a hunch that this was the kind of place where you could eat well and cheap. It was also a reminder that I couldn’t communicate what I wanted, how much it cost or what the food contained – I’m still finding Bulgarian a bit tough to navigate. Just when I was peering around in hopes of finding someone who could translate for me, an SUV with España license plates pulled up. I whooped with joy and surprise, almost as astonished to see this foreign car here in Bulgaria as I was to see an Ontario license plate about a week ago in Serbia. In both cases the vehicles belong to locals that work and live abroad, in this case it was a Bulgarian couple who live in Valencia, on the Spanish coast. He was kind enough to explain my soup choices (chicken soup please!) and also, although it was never my intention, offered to pay. We spent a few more minutes together; it was a relief to be able to chat with someone in a familiar tongue!

Rolling into Montanta city, I found the supermarket and a curious man and young woman in a parked car observing me and my shopping preperations with great interest. I did the only reasonable thing and waved and said hello – they looked a bit surprised that I was so forward but soon came out of their car for a real chat. Turns out the young woman is a Bulgarian national Judo champion, and the man accompanying her (her father? Uncle? Trainer?) showed off her muscular arms and calfs and patted my cyclist thighs with pride as well. They were athletes and could appreciate athletic tendencies in others

At a nearby gas station I questioned what felt like the 20th person today on possible campgrounds in the area – I was told that near Borovitsa there was one, but 23km away and with the day coming to a close it would be a tight squeeze to make it there by daylight. Making a lightning quick decision (and I find myself getting better and better at making these!), I hopped on the bike and decided to make it my end of the day 1-hour-23km challenge. Was it going to be uphill? A bit, yes. Was I going to struggle just to navigate out of Montana and unto the correct road to Borovitsa? Of course.

I raced the red, falling sun and made it in the dark dusk to the city. There, I found no campground, only a sign for a motel some 3km away. The locals swore it was the only accomodation in town and, at that point, I was too tired to care. Ever since I have arrived in Bulgaria information is scarce, communication difficult and when I do manage to understand something the next person I ask the same thing five minutes later points me in precisely the opposite direction. Here, even more than usual, I’m having to use my own common sense and intuition.

To the motel I cycled and, for the second time in one day, met a local Spanish-speaking woman who showed me the exact way of getting there, arranged my stay with the receptionist and gave me a huge smile and hug.

So that’s my cycling day, summarized.

Mentally, I feel good. The challenge at this point is to stay present in the moment and not let thoughts of what could or will be happening in the future take over. How am I getting back to Barcelona from Istanbul with the bike and all my gear? Will it be very difficult to transition back to a “normal” life after the ride? Will we manage to raise the necessary funds for World Literacy Canada?

I am struggling but also doing my best to lay these questions aside, for the time being. For now, I am in Bulgaria, in peek cycling condition and still loving it – it’s important to enjoy the moment!

Kasia – your love-the-moment cyclist

Photos:

- storks, in Poland, are said to bring good luck. If the same holds true in
Bulgaria then this was a lucky town indeed!
- the E79 highway to Sofia, very up and down
- here, horse-drawn carriages, cars and bicycles all share the road