Adventures from Bulgaria: Summer in the Mountains – Days 2 & 3

Leaving Rila

By Valeria Idakieva

[Sequel to “Day 1,” published on January 24.]

After a cup of coffee, I left the lodge in the morning and met the first strangers for the day.
    I had not adapted yet and my body was aching all over, but the clear sky held a promise of a sultry day, so I had to hurry up the hill while the air was still fresh and the sun merciful. When I climbed higher, all city worries forgotten, I was immersed in the majestic scenery of the Rila Mountains. The next day I was going to leave Rila and continue in the Rhodope Mountains, where the views are completely different from what I was enjoying here, so I sat there soaking in the tranquility of the mighty slopes and the wide open spaces.

    Then I continued on until I reached a crossroads where I had to choose whether to follow the original route, which was going to take me near some peaks, or take a shorter path to the Belmeken dam, the highest dam lake on the Balkan peninsula. I was sitting there looking at the map when I suddenly heard loud thunder. I lifted up my eyes to the sky and saw that the fluffy white clouds had turned into a massive, dark storm that was quickly covering the sky. That view and memories of previous storms in the mountain put me right onto the shorter track; at least I could find some shelter in the sports complex near the dam, in case of a thundery storm.

    Soon it was drizzling and I was almost running, as if I didn’t know that you can’t run away from a storm in the mountains. Still, strong wind was blowing and I hoped it would carry the storm somewhere else.
    And it did! After some time, the sky above my head was bright blue again and, as I went down, beautiful, flowery meadows led my way to the dam.

    It was too early for me to stop walking and spend the night at the sports complex near the dam, so I decided to continue to the resort village of Yundola. Unfortunately, the route continued on an asphalt road and soon my feet were protesting against being tortured on the hard ground, but all I could do was to take off my shoes when I stopped for rests. At about 8:00 p.m., I entered the resort village. After a hot shower and dinner, I was at last barefoot and happy again.

Early next morning, I left the nice place where I had spent the night.
    I had to trudge on the asphalt road again, but a thought kept me moving fast – that it was only 10 km to the village of Avramovo, in Blagoevgrad Province (of Bulgaria^*), where I was going to leave the asphalt, and the Rila Mountains. After the boring road, along with many cars, I finally caught sight of Avramovo, perched on a hill.

    I was ready to jump for joy when I stepped on earthen track again, but it was already too hot, so I put off the jumping for later. Still, the grassy hills and pine forests were a welcome change of scenery after the asphalt road and whizzing cars.

    I was sitting, blissfully enjoying my rest and the foliage that was soothing my senses, when suddenly there was such loud thunder above my head that my heart skipped a beat. Dark clouds started crawling all over the sky. I jumped up quickly and started walking, with the hope that the wind would carry the storm somewhere else again.
    Not this time. The farther I walking, the darker became the sky in front of me. It was clear that I was heading for the eye of the storm. It was not my first storm in the mountains, but I had forgotten the feeling, and now it was time to remember it. After all, I was not going to sit down and wait for the storm to come over my head, so I continued walking. It was drizzling, but soon larger drops started falling and in no time they turned into a heavy downpour.
    The only thing I could do was to put on my raincoat and hide under some bushes. Bolts of lightning ripped through the air, and the sky was rumbling far and near. But after getting over the initial shock, I began to feel a part of the nature around me, listening to the little streams that were starting to run down the path, and quietly waiting for the storm to exhaust itself and give way to the sun again. After an hour or so, the sky cleared and the little streams invited me to follow them along the path. After the rain, the air was fresh and full of strong fragrance from the pine trees.

After a cup of coffeeI had to reach the village of Medeni Polanyi (Honey Meadows) where I was going to sleep at the local school, since in this area there is no place where tourists can stay for the night. I had contacted the head teacher beforehand, and when I neared the village I called him and arranged to meet him at the school.
    I entered the village almost at dusk. Curious children and dogs rushed out of the houses to see me. The village is a mixture of 19th and 21st century – muddy roads, satellite TV saucers, cafes, little shops, and women wearing headscarves – the population is mostly Muslim.
    I was ready to drop down with fatigue, but when a man explained that to get to the school I had to go down the hill through a small forest, cross the river, and climb up another hill, I had to continue. The faster I reached the school, the sooner I was going to be able to rest.
    While I was crossing the river over a bridge, the silent dusk was split by the muezzin’s call to prayer, coming from the loudspeakers of a mosque. It echoed in the hills, filled the air around me, and left me with the strange feeling that I was back in time in some other century.
    I was on my last legs when I finally reached the school. The head teacher was waiting for me and, after the usual talk about where I was coming from and going after that, he declined my offer to pay for my stay there and left me in the room of the second graders. Looking around the rooms of the school, I noticed that the children’s names on paintings hanging on the walls were typically Muslim – Abdullah, Sevdzhan, Hatidzhe… – but the same names were signed to letters to Father Christmas.

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* Another village named Avramovo can be found in the Kardzhali Province, farther to the east.

Copyright © 2018 by Valeria Idakieva