The Flight to Sofia

"Nothing is itself either virtuous or shameful, just or unjust, pleasant or painful, good or bad. It is our opinion which gives these qualities to things, as salt gives savor to meats." 

A Voyage to Bulgaria and The Balkans

Chapter 1 - Reasons, The Flight to Sofia, A Gentleman From Louisiana, and German Airports

Why am I going to Bulgaria, a country about which I know almost nothing? Adventure mostly, and for the inspiration that comes from being untethered and unsure. Travelling these past few years has given me a strange combination of feeling simultaneously lost and at home. 

Lost, because I'm in unfamiliar territory and at home, because I'm comfortable with myself. 

These have been important opportunities to reflect and learn. I've had surprising revelations and discoveries. There are cathedrals, bridges and ossuaries which dot the roads of my selfmap with little stars and triangles. 

I also need a break from relationships and work. I've had some misadventures in both of those universes lately, (all my own fault), and it will be good to step back and reflect, to get better insight into what I want. I usually just wing it or let my subconscious run the show. 

But, you know, I could achieve that aim in Upstate Washington. Bulgaria is beautiful with a rich history and a sublime, craggy countryside. Classical ruins and gypsy dancehalls, rusted strings of bells, stadiums covered in vines, meat pastries and feathered hats, Communist memorials and water-based stews.

I bought two new leather bags for the trip. They're smaller than what I usually bring. I'm looking forward to discovering the uses of their hidden pockets and pouches. I had a pretty good system with the old bags, and there will almost certainly be moments of panic when I can't find a key or a cord or a document. Then I'll find them and that little pouch will always be the Passport Pouch. Etc.

A cross-Atlantic flight is like the Norse vision of Valhalla. Wars and battles broken up by epic feasts served by uniformed valkyries. First you must achieve glory in the struggle to find an overhead bin, then you seize the armrest from your neighbor! Then, endless yeast rolls, a banquet of hot noodles, a bottomless drinking horn of coffee or wine, then back to war!

I had the middle seat. Dude to my right drank three mini bottles of wine and slept the whole time. He twitched and swayed in his sleep. He rubbed my arms and kneed my thighs. Perhaps he dreamed he was an ocean horse, swimming and stroking through the waves.

The old man to my right did nothing more offensive than smell. I'm sure my own travel-sized Speed Stick wore off after a while as well. No worries. And the valkyries kept bringing marvelous platters of food. The hall was alive with the ringing of silver goblets and plastic knives.

I watched movies and read Middlemarch. That's going to be my big book for the trip, Middlemarch. It sure starts off sweetly! One of the movies was Noah, which was crazier than a yeast roll.

As we landed in the foggy city of Munich, (where I am now, waiting for the connecting flight to Sofia), the Ocean Horse awoke and wanted to talk. Middlemarch had to go away for a while. Two sisters were looking over their mother's jewels.

"You get any sleep?" He had a Southern accent.

"No sir, the movies were too good."

"I never can sleep on a plane, but I took half of one of these Ambiens, and then I took another half of an Ambien, and put together I had a whole Ambien. That did the trick. Hope I didn't snore on you too much."

I thought the wine might have helped. And I thought the drug might have been responsible for the twitching. I know whenever I take a Nyquil or something, my body kind of fights what my brain has been bribed to do.

He told me he sold tractors in Louisiana and loved football (The Saints). His fancy brother-in-law was making them go on a river cruise to Vienna and Budapest. He was very worried about people not speaking English in these places.

"When it comes to languages, I only speak the one: English. Now, I might get surprised. Once the tractor people flew us out to India and everyone spoke English there. It was dirty, filthiest place you ever saw, but the people were really grateful for what they have. They weren't like Americans."

I told him I was going to Bulgaria. He wanted to know where it was, so I showed him whenever the little flight tracker map would come up on the screen.

"Is this a Muslim country?"

"No, most of the people are Orthodox Christians."

"Ok, but is it near Russia?"

"Not really, there's a lot of other countries to go through to get there."

"Ok, well you've shown me twice now and I'm not ever going to get where it is, but you have a good time."

I will try.

A man in the airport is riding a bicycle. It's making a little white dog crazy. A woman needs a man like a little dog needs an airport bicycle.