What the hell I was thinking?

                                                                                                                      A photo of the meal ...  Day 9: Benkovski Hut is one of the oldest, if not the oldest hut in Bulgaria, and it's so fucking far down the hill that, once again, I was cursed to descend and kill the inertia I had gathered. I never learn. I walked forward across the fields with short grass, amazed by all the beautiful scenery around me. Maybe that's one of the reasons I love being in the mountains so much—the view, the lack of sound, the clean air. It’s a no-brainer that someone would want to be here. Even an amateur like me ...

        The  Fountain of the Five Spouts ...  Still Day 9: I love walking alone on the top of the mountain, where you can look in every direction at the vast, misty horizons—amazed by the path you took behind you and stunned by the one ahead.  It's one of my favorite things to do: just walk on the short grass at the top and exist in the sunny, quiet day, especially after a night of scary, dark, stormy weather. The nice breeze gently moves the weeds on the ground and makes the heat of the sun just barely bearable. Precious moments that I carry with me, like fuel, pushing me to do crazy shit like this adventure again and again. While I was enjoying that and minding my own business, I saw a group of people going in the same direction as me. They were from Gabrovo, and I remembered that one of the guys I had traveled with earlier was Miro Cucko from Gabrovo. He was certain that if you asked anyone in Gabrovo about him, they would know who he was. So, I ask...

Day 9: I woke up early, fresh as a daisy. I made myself a quick coffee and my morning powder line, and I was ready to go. As I was packing my stuff and moving the barricade of benches back to their places, I realized that I had survived another night in the middle of nowhere. I felt happy and optimistic—right until I looked at how much I needed to climb back to be where I was before the storm. I started walking in that direction, and the path split in two. One would take me back to where I came from—back, but up there. The other was an imaginative shortcut through the mountain that I thought would save me some hours on the long way to the top. The real one had signs and everything I needed not to get lost and die. Mine, on the other hand, was mainly formed by positive thinking and laziness. I took the one I created and went with it, puffing another cigarette that almost suffocated me. What is up with cigarettes and fresh air? They seem even tastier up in the mountains. While struggling...

If I hadn’t started documenting my life through my YouTube channel and blog, I think I’d be lost by now. Seriously, how do people manage to keep track of their memories without writing them down? Maybe they just live healthy lives and drink Ginkgo biloba with a glass of water first thing in the morning? Hmm, let me think... What did I do on the seventh day of our journey? Ah, I remembered—dinner! We had decided to go to Scotland about six months earlier, right after returning from the beautiful Canary Islands. After receiving the invitation from the beautiful redhead in our group, she mentioned that her partner’s family wanted to invite us for dinner when we arrived. I immediately got excited because when you travel to a new country, you want to immerse yourself in the culture as much as possible. What better way to do that than by sharing a meal with locals? I firmly believe that the key to understanding any culture boils down to three things. First, the language—this opens up so much...