'The Hike' - Chapter Eleven - The Descent
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 understood the benefits one gets from hiking.
Until my twenties, I didn’t work out much—I’d say not at all. I was chubby until I got to high school and until the drugs began to flow into my nose. After that, I didn’t consider sports an interesting activity, but I was an adventurous type of teenager. I was always looking for new places around my city, hitchhiking, traveling alone or with some close friends, using my imagination to conquer lands with a stick. My imagination could have taken me places, but what I lacked was a good role model, which I needed badly. My mother and father were sporty in their early years, but after they had me, they split. I saw my father do an acrobatic move only once—because of his football history—and that stuck with me for the rest of my life. Can you imagine seeing your parents doing sports and being great at it, like that one time I saw my father, but constantly? Once you stop, it’s gone. If you don’t use it, you lose it.
After I turned 20, I started running with a friend of mine, then alone, and doing some yoga, cardio, and whatever the internet algorithm brought to my attention. I loved doing cardio with my best friend—we religiously followed this old Ellen Barrett beach aerobics video and the Pump It Up workout with the team from Eric Prydz’s Call on Me. Those were the days. I think neither of us got skinny because of those, though. Meanwhile, I started doing push-ups. I still do a lot of them, which is why I have this body right now. Then I got into fitness, but it started messing with my head—seeing all those fucking sexy guys and my lack of confidence in front of them—so I mainly worked out at home. I felt somehow muscular and ready before the trip, and I also had this gigantic ball of amphetamines that could take you anywhere. I smoked everything, which, for some reason, I didn’t see as a problem. My lungs were so fucking open from the fresh air that I huffed and puffed like crazy in the mountains.
One of the main things I missed as a child was learning to be healthy—something I still struggle with. Just by having a dog, I have some idea of how hard that can be, especially with someone like me. But man, I wish my parents had taken better care of me and taught me sports and healthy habits when I was young. Here on this trip, no matter how much food I eat, I get thinner and thinner each day. I lost all of my fat and even some of my muscle due to the amphetamine consumption and the constant movement up and down the hills. To be honest, I became so skinny that, by the end, some of my friends commented on it—although I felt great and strong the whole way. I never learn.
When I saw how far down the next hut was, I still didn’t know how hard it would be to hike there in this freaking heatwave. Shoes play a big role—big, big, huge role—when it comes to hiking and these adventures. Never, ever will I go on a trip like this so unprepared, carrying so much shit on my back. I still bring tons of unnecessary stuff on my adventures, but with every new journey, the load gets smaller and smaller. Okay, learning slowly but steadily.
I saw Benkovski in the distance and went that way. The descent was supposed to take an hour, but it lasted longer. You see this building in the distance, and it feels like it never changes—it should get bigger, I thought. But it took forever, and my feet were screaming. A couple of times, I felt so exhausted that I had to stop. I found some shade, rolled myself a cigarette, did another line, and listened to some music. I lost a lot of highs going so far down, and the thought of climbing back up tomorrow was terrifying. So I pushed that thought aside—until tomorrow. For now, I had to focus on getting to Benkovski.
I started fantasizing about all the food I would order and eat—the beer, the salads, and hopefully the famous biscuit cakes made in Bulgaria. I had some money, but I was acting like I had a lot more. Especially after a hard day—which, let’s be real, every day counted as a hard day—I loved treating myself to a food coma. Boy, food tastes incredible here. Incredible. My senses and fantasies fueled my body as I went down the hill one last time. The heat was almost unbearable, and even the ground felt like all its moisture had been sucked out.
Whole corridors of erosion helped me move forward, leading me to the hut. Around those corridors were short blueberry bushes, and I saw a couple of gypsies from far away using the same dry canal system to collect them. I passed another building full of sheep, and from there, I had to slide down to the river, cross it, and climb back up. Oh my god, not again. This last 500 meters—with this dramatic twist—just crushed my soul and body.
But it was beautiful. The shade from the trees finally allowed my eyes to open, the cool breeze from the stream and the cold water I gathered refreshed me, and soon I was standing in front of the beautiful old hut. A nice young family served me everything I needed and had dreamed of.
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