'The Hike' - Chapter Nine - Role Play
Day 8:
We are all playing roles. Society demands that we should be productive, or else we are nothing at all. Our families expect us to be straight and normal, whatever that means; and our friends expect to hear from us from time to time and to talk about them for a change. I played those roles for some time, and it turned out I am not very good at it.
I tried many directions; many around me seemed more focused, like they had it together, while I got lost. Many of the major life decisions up to this moment were indeed thrust upon me. I was flying from one wrong path to another, dreaming of some safety in this never-ending, ever-changing canvas. I woke up feeling that I had wasted a lot of time—back at 'Chavdar' Hut, yesterday at 'Kashana,' and in life in general. This damn storm. If I don’t keep moving, my brain feels like it will explode from bashing my existence, so I have to stay busy and channel that same energy to continue my quest. I collected my things, said goodbye, and this time found the right way to the next hut. Luckily, I didn’t encounter the pack of dogs that were meant to kill, but another familiar challenge soon appeared, and I had to find shelter quickly to avoid losing my life. The path from 'Kashana' to 'Momina Poliana' is one of the most beautiful along the way. Usually, the hike goes from 'Chavdar' to 'Momina Poliana,' and it lasts a whole day. It is one of the longest distances, filled with astonishing views that are life-changing, or at least somewhat therapeutic, and for me, it took three days to overcome it.
I guess for the last ten years, I was asleep in Sofia, not realizing what this town did to me. People say that it is not about a place, rather a mindset, and I honestly feel that these people are full of shit. In Sofia, I was constantly bombarded with pollution, sounds, and chaos that I forgot why I moved there in the first place. I wanted to be happy, and after ten years of absorbing the city, a breakup, losing my job, a world pandemic, and my last grandparent passing, I was anything but. The moment I left Sofia, although not entirely my decision, I felt better. It was like the suffocating choke of the city was finally letting me go, and I was ready for change. Since I got on that train from Sofia to Berkovitsa, the day my journey began, a huge smile reappeared on my face. The adrenaline from the fear and the scares along the way made my memories vivid and life colorful, and I realized what was missing. To achieve the full palette I had been dreaming of, I needed to challenge myself physically and mentally and pave my own path. I can assure you that our environment makes a difference in how we feel. So I went up the mountain, and at this point, I was getting closer to the best part of the journey—the most mesmerizing part, the 'Central Balkan Park.' Here, you don’t have a choice but to wake up. Not only do the views demand to be seen, but the Central Balkan is the most intense chapter. You must keep your eyes open for storms, bears, huge dogs, and sometimes wolves, wild horses, bulls, cows, and poisonous snakes, all while avoiding falling to your death, as many before and after me have. Many people, like me, decide to undertake this path alone, even though it is called 'The Route of Friendship.' 'Kom Emine' is the longest hike in Bulgaria and one of the most challenging experiences you could embark on. Having someone with you is life-changing, but being alone was the thing I needed.
I often don’t learn my lessons quickly, as I don’t remember calling ahead to let them know I’d be there. Sometimes, there is nothing in my head, and I feel enormously lucky that life moves around so I can survive. The stretches life makes for me to be able to tell this story are commendable. They call it 'Pronoia,' the belief that the Universe is conspiring to help you—the opposite of paranoia. After a couple of strong espressos and some speed, I was pronoia-tic plus and got to where I was supposed to be days ago. It always amazes me how the ridge of the mountain looks and how it makes me feel. Most of the time, it looks almost barren; here and there, forests appear, but up there, the rocks and small grasses are the only things around you. This weird feeling of being very high up and far away is like a tickle, one that I almost couldn’t believe or express in words. I love walking around the mountain, with a stick in my hand, leaving my Gandalf-realness. I was just wandering through my mind and fantasies when I was suddenly reminded how quickly the weather in the Balkans can change. Being the tallest thing on the mountain in stormy weather is a no-no, and to me, it feels like a death sentence. This storm came out of nowhere, a threat that made me once more run down the hill, searching for shelter without even knowing if there was any. It’s funny looking back at how much baggage I was carrying, thinking I was prepared for anything, while actually being completely unprepared. In this clouding feeling of extreme danger and the ongoing thunder crashing where I had been not long ago, I encountered my saviors—locals. Seeing a car near the blueberry bushes quickly became my direction, the place to be (alive). The gypsies were far from the car, collecting blueberries. Slowly, they stopped what they were doing as I found a place near the Jeep. I felt like we had limited time and was ready to be taken to safety, thinking about how I was going to sell my rescue to those who didn’t know me. I sat down and watched their slow walk up the hill, thinking about my offer. The moment I was sure they would hear my voice, I started to explain how desperate I was for safety and if they could help. The contrast between my chaotic existence, fast-paced breathing, and pure fear radiating from my eyes at that moment and their calm, unbothered demeanor in the face of the heavy thunder was noticeable. As I said, the people in the mountains are different. The struggles that were brand-new experiences for me seemed common to them, and they knew that people in such situations needed help. They probably saw my huge bag and desperate run from a mile away because they didn’t need much convincing. The patriarch of the group told me about a hut down, down, down the mountain where they could take me. He took my bag, cleaned the garbage from the front seat, and let me sit shotgun in his place. While I was comfortable in the Jeep, he was holding on to it outside like Indiana Jones or some adventurous fella. You know damn well I needed a hero, and this gesture, combined with the feeling of isolation, made him seem incredibly attractive. Arousal crept in for a while, but I left it to cool down. One of the moments that changed my life was the kindness I received from these people. They didn’t hesitate to help me; although they seemed unbothered by the storm, the car was full. They probably knew I would be a dead man walking if I stayed behind, so leaving me was almost like murder. Anyway, I could dissect their kindness, but what's the point? Kindness should be felt and appreciated.
The hut was far away, and I lost a lot of altitude because of the storm, realizing that tomorrow would be brutal to climb back up. 'Paskal' Hut awaited me as the only safe place that could protect me right now. My heroes left me there; I hope I thanked them enough because I will remember the role they played that day in my life forever. Once the car disappeared and the sound of the engine became unrecognizable, I approached the hut. It would have been nice if someone had been there, but they were away. Now feeling safe to use my phone, I called the hut keeper. Months after this occasion, I was told there was a key there, and the hut keeper usually tells people in need to grab it, find a bed, and leave everything as it was in the morning. Being me, my stupid mouth ran faster than my thoughts, and I directly asked for permission to pitch my tent on the property. He allowed me, of course, forgetting to mention the existing key.
Night 8:
The first thing that made an impression about 'Paskal' Hut, besides its emptiness and creepiness, was the fence adorned with many horse skeleton heads, giving it a Wild West, Leatherface house vibe—very comforting when you’re alone. But after the possibility of dying ten minutes ago due to a raging storm, any roof was a blessing. Under the large summer grill kitchen/gazebo, I found a suitable place that seemed secure enough for my tent. Using the small amount of time I had before the storm and sunset, I set up the tent and quickly created a safe space.
Going back through these memories brings up so many interesting thoughts about role-playing and its many variations, how I've become fond of new experiences, and the different characteristics and traits that emerge depending on those new circumstances when I challenge myself. For example, in some tense and critical situations, the chemicals that light up my mind make me logical and focused, and to my big surprise, I become well-equipped to deal with the situation without panicking. The lack of similar responses in other areas of my life often made me think I was lazy and jaded, but here I was using those abilities constantly. One trait can seem awful until you channel it in the right circumstances. This journey has become a mirror to life itself. It was long and tough, challenging, fulfilling, happy, constantly changing, transforming, scary, lonely, and full of colorful people—memorable. I thought about the people who played significant roles in my life and how they vanished. They say people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Along the way, I’ve met many people—some who had a significant impact on me, and others who played minor roles, helping and shaping me before moving on to their own adventures. I’ve let some go gently, while others were pushed away more abruptly. The Germans have a word, "Mauerbauertraurigkeit," which captures a puzzling feeling where you find yourself wanting to distance yourself from people, even those you care about deeply. It’s as if you've lost the ability to appreciate and differentiate between superficial friendliness and genuine warmth. You can no longer sense the deep, complex nature of true affection or recognize that every interaction can be both straightforward and complicated simultaneously. All emotions serve different roles, but some are difficult to understand or even pronounce. Learning more about them has given me some control. The people I left behind may have forgotten about me or might avoid thinking of me because it causes them pain, but those experiences taught me a great deal. Some, I hope, think with a smile about the brief time we shared rather than getting angry about how I "Mauerbauertraurigkeit-ed" them into oblivion. With a few, I still walk the same path, which is a pleasant reminder of something meaningful within me. I grieve over lost relationships, but I often remind myself that grief is a testament to the connection and love we shared. Our complex emotions help us navigate complex circumstances. After feeling sad for some time, I am now grateful for each of them—those who are no longer in my life and those who continue this journey with me.When I was younger, I read that for the young, the past is nothing but a dirty pond, but for the older, the past is a field of gold worth spending time on. Actually, I think the quote I read was much darker, but now I can paraphrase it in this more positive way that someone writing a book and reflecting on their memories should master.
As I was making my home for the night, I detected movement. I looked behind me, and after the small pond, a huge dog was slowly running on the periphery of the fence. Sometimes, bad things come in packages. Just because one storm approaches doesn’t mean you can’t be eaten by a hungry dog. It looked like a Bulgarian shepherd, one that could probably kill me. Fear has a role in alerting and motivating us to deal with danger, but sometimes fear takes over and paralyzes us. I had a fear of this fear that could make me more vulnerable than ready, and the dog was just the right trigger for those thoughts. If it's not for this type of fear, I believe a man can usually deal with a dog. In my primal instincts, using my teeth and hands should be enough to destroy it if it decides that it wants to eat a scared motherfucker hiding from the storm. It never came back, but that night I clutched my deodorant and lighter like never before. I even grabbed some of the benches and constructed a semi-barrier, which looked like it could be a small obstacle before it reached me. With the ongoing storm, being alone, the darkness, and the fear of being attacked once more, I experienced the familiar insomnia that kept me awake for hours before I finally released the tension.
In the words of Bob Dylan from his song "Visions of Johanna":
Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're tryin' to be so quiet?
We sit here stranded, though we're all doin' our best to deny it
After some time, I was so tired that I set aside my fear and fell asleep. I woke up a couple of times because of the wind and the storm, but their role was insignificant compared to the exhaustion that took over my mind and body, preventing the fear from returning.
Dawn came quickly.
Iliya Badev
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