'The Hike' - Chapter Nine - A Mirror of Life Itself
Chapter 9:
Day 8:
Everything has its role in this unexplainable coincidence.
I wandered through so many paths, stumbling and failing, just to arrive here. All the while, those around me seemed so sure—like they had a map for life—while I felt endlessly 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 transformative views—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’s 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’s called the Route of Friendship. Kom-Emine is the longest hike in Bulgaria and one of the most challenging experiences you could face. Having someone with you can be an absolute pleasure, but being alone was the thing I needed.
I found myself again on the wrong path while looking for Momina Poliana. I came across another hut that was closed, and no one was there. Svishtiplaz actually looked very comforting—if only the hut people were there to let me in. But even the building itself provided some security and warm feelings. The warm sun touched my skin and I took my shoes off, then my socks, and gave myself 15 minutes of still existence. The surroundings of the hut reminded me of all the American movies with porches and the views in front of them—almost wild, but safe. I did what I did there, what I always tend to do, even when I don’t want to, and I went on my way, ready to find the hut I was aiming for.
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 here, 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, living my Gandalf-realness fantasy. I was just wandering through my mind 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, as they’ve been doing the last couple of days—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 asked 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.
I came here as an escape, diving into new experiences, and meanwhile, I began a process of rediscovering who I am. The different characteristics and traits that emerge in new circumstances started to kick in—traits that had been muted by comfort. For example, in tense and critical situations, the chemicals that light up my mind make me logical and focused. To my surprise, I become well-equipped to deal with the situation quickly. The lack of similar responses in other areas of my life often made me think I was lazy or jaded, but here, I was using those abilities constantly—because I was challenged. One trait can seem distant and unfamiliar until you channel it in the right circumstances, where it becomes clear how capable we actually are.
This journey has become a mirror of life itself. It has been long and tough, challenging, fulfilling, joyful, dangerous, constantly changing, transforming, scary, lonely—and full of colorful people. Memorable.
As I was setting up my home for the night, I noticed movement. I turned around and saw, beyond the small pond, a large dog pacing quietly along the edge of the fence. Just because one storm is coming doesn't mean you can’t be eaten by a hungry dog. It looked like a Bulgarian shepherd—strong and imposing. Fear has a way of heightening awareness and preparing us to act, but it can also take the driver’s seat and cloud judgment. I was following the dog with my eyes until it dissapeared. I reminded myself that I am the shit and if it came down to it, I’d rely on my Rexona, even if the dog seemed overwhelming in size and presence. It never returned, but I spent the night holding my deodorant and a lighter. I even arranged a few benches to form a kind of barrier—a small gesture of control in a space I couldn’t fully claim as mine. The storm pressed on, the darkness deepened, and sleep didn’t come easily. But eventually, fatigue overtook the noise, the tension, and even the fear. I drifted off. I woke a few times to the sound of the wind, but the exhaustion held me down like an anchor.
Dawn came quickly.
Iliya Badev
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