'The Hike' - Chapter Eighteen - The Arch of Freedom

Still Day 11:

I probably got a huge energy boost from that cake because, from here, I was on. The lack of shadow and greenery didn’t bother me; the path had this ease. I enjoyed it immensely and played some music. Because the surroundings didn’t suggest a storm or a bear, I dived into my musical trance. Many people appeared, going in the same direction I came from, with a tempo that almost annoyed me. Probably for the cake. It turned out that those two huts were not that hard to access from the closest towns. People just came by car to the Arch of Freedom, and from there, they hit the road to here, drank a beer, and kept on with their lives. I went in reverse. I kept on with my life, drank a beer, and hit the road to the Arch of Freedom.

While listening to one of my favorite songs—one that quickly became an anthem to this day and memory—I was jumping up and down the path like a goat. As I was giving way to the poor families who seemed like they’d never been to a mountain before, I thought about my appearance. I probably looked the same to the more experienced people around me—with that big bag and my antisocial tendencies—they probably thought of me the same way I thought about those knuckleheads in jeans. I mean, who goes to the mountains in jeans? I thought to myself while carrying my own gigantic blanket and a small pillow in the back of my truck. Crazy.

Here and there, herds of cows appeared. I don’t trust animals. No matter how much I love them, I always have this thing in the back of my head, ready to sound the alarm. The animals probably felt it, and they came as I imagine them almost every time—dangerous. Vicious circle. The horse and the dogs that attacked me here made me way more cautious. The way these cows stare at me. The way I stare at them, they probably think. A couple of times, it was very challenging to remove them from the small paths I needed to cross. You make noises, sounds, make yourself appear bigger, move rapidly to scare them—but you just don’t know if they will react scared or aggressive. These particular cows, unlike the ones I was going to experience soon, were cool. They almost had this swagger about them, unbothered, chill, and they moved for me whenever I needed. I was drunk with power. The mountain fields were mine, and no cow or human could tell me otherwise.

As I was approaching the Arch of Freedom, moving around the cows, I remembered the time I learned that there were psychedelic mushrooms around here. Boy, I was so excited. I made four trips to different places with different friends each time. The first one was when I was in high school. We were three adventurous friends who thought we knew mushrooms enough that we could go hitchhiking to the mountains—this very mountain where I was now—find psilocybin, and have fun. We had fun, yeah. Getting up here, losing ourselves, not finding any shrooms—it was fun, but when a snow blizzard hit, things got a little bit serious. I probably used the same blanket I was carrying around with me now to protect us from the cold and snow. We hid under a tree and covered the branches with my blanket to create a shelter, like those hideouts we used to make when we were younger—under the furniture, covered with an old sheet. I don’t remember being afraid, at least not like the times on this journey when I was alone in the dark. Probably because those two girls were with me. We stayed under the tree, under the blanket, under the falling snow, in our shelter from the storm.

In the morning, we woke up in our castle covered in snow. We moved around, got up, found the road, and hitchhiked back to reality with a soldier from Trigrad, who went above and beyond to help us get to safety. He even left his group behind to take us to the Arch of Freedom, where the cold wind killed me. 

In terms of reaching our goal, this trip was a fail, but in terms of having a precious memory for the rest of my life—of the challenge we embarked on—an absolute success. I forgot how important it is to wander and experience those adventures for a moment, but the second I learned about Kom-Emine, the spark grew and became this unstoppable fire that took over. And now, I was here. 

I couldn’t believe that in front of me was this monument—a symbol from the past—now reaching up, so big and visible. I saw it, and my smile grew. I had an idea of where I was on the map. Conflicted thoughts appeared. With the smile and the warm feelings, I realized how far I still was from reaching my goal, which was Cape Emine. For the past eleven days, I had been walking and walking, and those days seemed like months—in the best way possible. Why was I only here? 

The road became so easy to walk, the small rocks disappeared, and I decided to take my sandals from my bag and let my feet breathe for a couple of hours. After I changed, I felt ease—like I was lighter. I stepped faster and reached a family. When I passed them by, I asked if they could tell me the exact day. I love when I lose track of what day and date it is. It didn’t matter at all. That is what I call freedom. I knew I had to be at the Black Sea at the end of the month, relaxing with my friends. I don’t remember their answer—I think it was Monday—but I remember their faces when they saw me and realized that I didn’t know how I looked or what day it was. I was so foreign to them that their faces couldn’t hide their shock, and I chuckled a little. I didn’t need a mirror to know how I looked. I saw everything in their faces—I was free.

Iliya Badev

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