'The Hike' - Chapter Two - Mostly Swearing And Asking Where The Hut Is
Chapter Two:
Day 2:
For some, the struggle here may seem like a joke, provoked by an unprepared, winning drug addict who is absolutely asking for it. But for me, at that specific time of my life, it was the biggest challenge I had ever initiated. I was planning to do around 50 km a day, galloping from hut to hut like the horse that attacked me the day before, but my legs had other plans. I remember walking around in the middle of nowhere, laughing at myself the whole day, partly from that ridiculous plan, the other half from pain, a full joke. You reach a point where it's all just a joke. I was talking to myself often, mostly swearing and asking where the hut is. With the morning freshness and the good weather, I found the path to be quite charming. Not long after I collected my baggage and took off, being sure that there was no fire left or any garbage, I found the hut. The hut looked closed, not only closed, but like a haunted house without windows. Even during the day, the building had this malignant vibe around it. I was definitely safer in the forest. If I had walked for 15 minutes more, I would have had the worst haunted mansion experience, no doubt. Good for me that I stayed where my body chose to give up. I made my feet clap faster to escape the consuming energy of that house, and the moment I lost sight of it, I looked around and I remembered how beautiful the path was. Here the sun was just peeking up through the leaves, and I acknowledged its presence with a smile. The path down from the hut had this running stream I drank from the last day, and I followed it until it became a dirt road that was leading to a village that I had to cross.
Along the way from Proboinitza to Lakatnik, I rediscovered singing. There I sang a lot, the Miley Cyrus version of Elton John's 'Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me' until I reached some houses in the village of Goubislav and realized that I was scaring the dogs, one of which attacked me, I believe because of my singing, but I was feeling myself. A truck appeared from somewhere and it made the dog retaliate into his yard. I said hello to the driver and continued on my way, leaving his questioning face inside the truck.
In Sofia I was alone even when surrounded by people. Here, I was really alone and I dived into the feeling. Although the houses gave me some courage, and the 20 people across the whole village started to acknowledge my presence, I felt free from all the noise of the city, the cars, the crowds. Here I felt I could be myself. Hearing the song of a rooster to this day feels like a sound of vacation.
During the path in this small village, whose name I had to Google, I found trees with fruits that I devoured. And even though I was scared to take off my backpack because I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to pick it up again, I stopped and sat on a bench by the typical outdoor faucet and stayed there for a while. Another one of those moments where you feel great and the birds are singing, the skies are clear, and the lack of any other sounds gives you a rush of life. Bees and butterflies, that kind of stillness. After a while, I decided to take off, so I did. From the village, I had to go down to reach Lakatnik, and the dirt road became bigger, and eventually became an old asphalt road that was leading to the village. Here, the sun was strikingly harsh, and I sped up the tempo.
I met some people along the way, and everyone asked me why I was alone. Of course, there was a simple answer to all of their questions, but when was I ever capable of explaining something simple? To all of them separately, I gave a speech about how I do not have a job, home, partner, or any kind of anchor anywhere. I told them that at this age, which was 28 at the time, I could do whatever I wanted and that I was free. The more I said it, the more I reminded myself. The people were kind of in shock for two reasons: the way I looked with this gigantic backpack, and the second reason was that I would ever think that it is a good idea to go alone throughout the whole Balkans. I remember that most of the information I gathered from people and the internet always stated that you should do the trip with at least someone else. Never mind that, I was enough, in all senses.
Back then, I was also a smoker. Sometimes I stopped for a cigarette, sometimes I just climbed with it in my mouth. Now, having 17 months without a cigarette, I cannot believe the amount of poison I let enter me during my quest and how I was even able to function up there. I often wrote so I could memorize the feeling, and I was consistently entertaining myself with songs and jokes. For a while, I missed the old muddy roads. Walking with this bag on asphalt road was another kind of pain that I was trying to avoid. Finally, I saw Lakatnik, and I immediately went to a shop and bought some cans of food that were super heavy. I am pretty sure I looked like a homeless guy, which at this point in time I was. Yeah, I had a mother and a father with separate homes in my hometown, but the idea of spending time with any of them never appeared, ever. I found a restaurant, where the waitress looked at me with such pity, and behind that pity, I caught disgust that she took a lot of time to take my order. At last, the food arrived, and I ate. The people around me noticed me, but nobody gave me any attention. This stop here looked a lot like the one where I met the cops. Lots of cars and trucks parked and moving around in the middle of the mountain. A vital artery through the body of Bulgaria, connecting the north and the southwest parts. There was a guy, and he approached me, a conscious guy, and he offered me a job in Spain if I passed the truck courses. Super supportive, shared all his tricks. Bravo. While the waitress gave me the cold shoulder because of my appearance, he was impressed by it. I was impressed that he had a bigger backpack than mine. He's a big guy, but... Eventually, I said goodbye to this fella, who was definitely charming, and at this point if you showed me any attention at all and a little respect I would like you. I went on my way, with the knowledge I collected from this guy, who tried his hardest to explain what is coming up.
Passing the Lakatnik train station brought back another memory. A long time ago, I was right on that station with a friend going to the Artmospheric open-air festival where we tried magic mushrooms for the first time. This festival was incredible, and the trip was so funny and visually stunning I will remember it till the end of time. The stars and the psychedelic trance blasting from the speakers, we dancing in the dark, falling in some holes one by one, laughing like crazy. One of those memories that you are glad they are part of you.
The road from down here to the old Lakatnik village was annoying, there you go, I said it. I mean, I enjoyed most of it, but there is something really nerve-wracking when you get up here and you have to go down there, and then back again up. My mind didn’t understand how mountains and hills work at that time. Little by little, I arrived in the Lakatnik village, surrounded by sheep. Here I found one of the old shops, like an old kiosk with all the products displayed, and still the shelves looked empty. I talked with the woman that was working there, and I heard her story. She was working in the only shop in the village, explaining how everybody is leaving this incredible place to go find their luck somewhere else. I didn’t consider myself a social butterfly, but in a place where only two people exist, we find something to yap about and to connect with each other. The shadows of our differences never appeared under the striking sun. I ate some sweets and proceeded with my quest to Trastenaya Hut, where I heard they made delicious raspberry wine. Those last kilometers are always the hardest.
The hut is very beautiful and tranquil. Across the field, the ground was covered with raspberries that were being collected. The hut looked like a regular, normal house that was stuck in the early 2000s. There were 3 beds in my room. Two with springs, and one resembled every bed in every rented house we used to book during our childhood vacations on the Black Sea. I chose one of the spring beds; of course, I'm classic. After the hut manager begrudgingly let me take a shower, telling me a couple of times that I must be quick, I walked around, drank a couple of beers, and completely forgot about the magnificent homemade wine that was there. The setting was pretty beautiful, to be honest, and after a night in the woods, the hut seemed like a castle. A non-social mountaineer arrived, even more antisocial than me. He told me something: "The tourist just passes through, the mountaineer connects with the mountain," and I understood him, but there was some aggression in the way he said it that was unsettling. I mean, look where we were, what’s with the attitude, dude? He was one of these guys who knows everything—a good thing that he left right away. As I waited for the force to pick me up, the hut manager mentioned that it's getting harder and harder from here. I do not know where my mind was, but I didn't think enough about the nearest future as I should have.
Night 2:
All I could think about back then while I was pushing myself to this hut was a freaking bed, and I didn't have the chance to lay on it until early in the morning. I had the luck to meet the husband of the hutkeeper, who, before becoming the hut manager, was the mayor of Lakatnik. He and his son both were fantastic company through the night. We spoke while the night was at its fullest about everything, from politics to alien conspiracies. One of those meet-and-greets where you click with the person and you go through everything in life in a short span of time. I drank the famous rosemary wine, and it was delicious. After a bottle, the son, whose name I can't recall, made a bet with me that if I could tell the singer singing the next song, he would give me a free bottle of his homemade wine. Man, he played one of the most recognizable voices from our time—Tina Turner. It was a song I didn't know, but the voice—you can’t mistake it. The music was blasting, the discussions were flowing, and the night was going great. At one point, after hours of talking, the hut manager asked me if I could go to sleep because he was seeing that I could stay up all night, and although in the morning I am leaving, they both have a lot of work to do. Yikes. Around 3 in the morning, I was finally feeling the long-expected hug from the spring bed. I knew I would have a hangover tomorrow, that damn wine, those damn beers and lines. At least I am in the hut that I asked for.
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