The Bridge of Eagles

"The animals, most of them diseased, drag themselves through the city, collapsing in parks, sleeping in metro entrances, begging without hope. They keep going because their traitorous senses all whisper the greatest and most persistent lie of all: It is better to be alive."

Chapter 3 - Locked Out, The Bridge of Eagles, The Market, The Bridge of Lions

Woke up just before light. Jumped up and took a shower. This place has one of those bathrooms where the toilet and the shower head are in the same little space, so when you take a shower, the throne gets all wet. It's fine, but it's weird. It feels like the toilet is saying, "Don't mind me. I'll just sit here and get soaked while you shampoo your hair. Don't give it a second thought."

Figured I'd do some laundry, too, so I shoved all the travel clothes in the sink with some travel Tide. They're still wet nine hours later. This place is a dank cave. I moved them to a window.

Today's plan was to see the prescribed wonders of the city. All the guide book stuff, all the Sophia in Your Pocket landmarks. That's how I like to do it. First day is usually a random wander, second day postcards.

I packed my little camera bag and got my maps ready. The door to this place requires a lot of attention, so I set some stuff down to get it open. Then I saw the main door to the building was locked and I fooled around to see if I would be able to get back in if I needed to. During that period of testing, I locked myself out.

I had my room key, but the building was sealed tight. I had my camera, but I didn't have the map I'd painstakingly marked up. No idea when they would reopen the building, so I figured I'd just head in the direction I thought the Bridge of Eagles might be in. That was the main draw. And the main caw.

It was early on a weekend, so there weren't a lot of folks around. Some bells rang in the holy distance. A few drunks looked for drinks in the trash. Dogs. Cats. If you have a soft spot for stray animals, this place will murder you. They are everywhere, and they are hungry, and they are beautiful.

Bent old women swept the courtyards of nameless cathedrals. Women with brass hair whistled at unseen pets. Men clustered in the park and smoked. Everyone still smokes here, and they perform their tasks with cigarettes dangling from their mouths. Workman shovel, carpenters hammer, repairman screw, all with a bouncing white Virginia Slim sending its tobacco question mark up to Heaven.

I found a crazy park, and I found a crazy football stadium, but no eagles. Then... I saw a bridge rising in the distance, the hump and slope of it. There's no feeling like looking and finding. There's nothing like rewarded expectation. Surprise and expectation are the essence of life. Not sex, not comfort, not money. It's hope and surprise.

But it wasn't the Bridge of Eagles. BUT, it meant I had found the river. The mighty Perlovska! Which was no more than a trickle in a gutter. They built bridges to cross this? Fill that shit in, Sofia, it's not like it's a shipping lane.

I heard a guy yelling "Fuck you, nigga!" at someone else and instead of thinking, "Uh, oh, violent people!" I thought, "Hey, English. Maybe I can ask that guy where the Bridge of Eagles is!"

But I didn't. I asked two bus drivers. They were smoking. Neither spoke English. But, I learned that if you're willing to flap your arms and say "Most! Most!" a stranger will point out where The Bridge of Eagles is.

The word for "bridge" is "moct" and the c is pronounced like an s. So, most.

But when I found them I called the eagles "mocktingbirds" anyway, because you can pronounce things however you like in your head.

I figured I'd killed enough time that I could go back to the hostel and get my map back, it had to be open by now, but I also figured I'd done well enough without it, so... I kept going. Used metro stations to cross the street, all those underground stairs and passages are good for that, and there are stores down there. 

I bought an apple, but you're not supposed to bring loose fruit up to the counters. You're supposed to weigh it and label it yourself. I didn't understand, so the cashier rolled her eyes and did it for me. 

"Me want red red." 

"If you want the apple, sir, you must print a label."

"Wha? Red red no? I no have?"

"You can have it if you go over there and weigh it, so I can ring it up."

"Red red no?"

"Red red yes! You... just give it to me."

Then it was endless landmarks as the sun rose. Cool old churches in the center of town, a majestic mosque and a soaring synagogue, all of historic religious significance if you care about that kind of thing. I got a weird hot dog baked into a roll and covered in two kinds of Bulgarian cheese. It was probably bad for me.

At  a public fountain, dozens of people were filling enormous jugs with water. Like, this is where they get their water, I guess. It was a huge park with at least twenty spigots. Everything from those water-cooler type containers to little bottles.

I saw an advertisement for Chupa Chups lollipops that blew me away. I loved it. While I was photographing it, a man whose smile looked like his diet consisted of Chupa Chups alone was like, "English you? Dollars?"

I was like, "No thanks, sorry," and he was like, "You stay Sheraton? I give you two lev for each American dollar. This is good price."

It was a good price. You get 1,5 from the bank. What was his angle? I didn't have any dollars on me or I might have done it.

"That is a good price, but I don't have any. Sorry."

"We will go Sheraton, and you will get your dollars, and I will give you two lev for each dollar."

"No Sheraton, no dollars. I'm sorry."

"Sofia is very old. There is much history here. Are you sure no dollars?"

"Take care of yourself."

"Ach. A shame you have no dollars. You have Euro? I have good price for Euro."

I squirreled around and ended up in a beautiful outdoor market for locals. There was a giant, black column with some very, um, fertile figures carved into it. There were grapes and kittens and peppers and books, and garlic. Farmers with soil-crusted fingers carefully placed roots into canvas bags. 

I followed animals down alleys. A soccer ball (all kicked to shit) rolled near me and a gang of boys behind a fence yelled for me to throw it to them. I did, but it only got as far as the tallest boy's outstretched fingers. He didn't catch it, and it fell just short of the fence. 

They all looked at me with disgust for such a weak toss. When I went to pick it up and try again, they all started yelling. They had seen enough of my throws. 

I got some coffee at a cafe. A man was being interviewed on the porch. He smoked and told the microphone everything he knew. Fortified, I headed back. 

A nice long walk. I had been out for about four hours, and the city was coming to life. 

Door was open back at the hostel, so I was able to get it and charge some batteries and check on my sopping clothes. I studied the forgotten map to see if I'd forgotten anything. Oops. The Lion Bridge.

It seems you can only keep one animal-based bridge in mind at once.

I rubbed my feet, edited some pictures (I was very happy with some of them) booked a shuttle bus to the Rila Monastery for the morning and went back out. 

The Lion Bridge was under construction, and a dude told me "No picku! No picturooo!" But to stop me, he would have had to have stood up and come over to where I was, and I don't think they were paying him enough.

Then I took another way back home, so I could say I'd seen a new street, and now I am going to nap before dinner, and then I am going to get a Bulgarian gyro, and then I am going to sleep. Big trip to the mountains in the morning.