Marcus L Endicott

Original Map Circa 1990 Sofia to Bucuresti

Tuesday, June 19, 1990

I woke up early, and got complimentary breakfast at the hotel. The waiter didn't bring me what I wanted, but what he thought I should have. I checked-out with my American Express card. The first foreign use cost me $34. I posted cards before leaving town. The early traffic was not bad, and it was flat all the way to the border. I stopped to snack for brunch, before leaving Yugoslavia.

The border crossing was a breeze, even though the Bulgarian officials wouldn't take my picture. I told them I wanted to stay three weeks, hoping there was no fuck-up. The bank didn't want a traveler's check. So, I changed the remainder of my Yugoslav dinar, which was a big mistake. I would have come out way ahead by changing them back into dollars before leaving Yugoslavia. The Balkan Tourist office gave me a good camping directory, and sent me to Slivnica.

A cobblestone access road paralleled the main road from just past the duty free area after the border all the way into Sofia, which of course was not on the map. I waited around half the day for the campground to open, which it never did. I reluctantly went to the Balkan Tourist hotel, Slivnica. I got another terrible ersatz western room; this time for $10. I had a shitty pork cutlet at the hotel restaurant. I woke up in the middle of the night nauseated. I could hardly sleep, and switched beds, because of the first bedbugs in my life! I listened to the BBC, and wrote in my journal.

Wednesday, June 20, 1990

I was up at dawn after a terrible sleep. I had breakfast in the hotel restaurant, which was not included. I was the only person a great hall. They didn't even attempt communication, and just brought me what they thought I should have. I packed up and left, drawing a curious crowd in front of the hotel.

I headed down the main road, still early enough that traffic was light. I passed the no bicycles sign; the police never said a word, just smiled and waived. I now realized that Rebecca had been truly hysterical back in Belgrade. Bulgaria is logical, redneck but logical. In fact too logical, that's what's so chilling about it. I stopped for bug juice at a highway ghetto full of "change money" hustlers, caricatures of westerners.

When I got to Sofia's city limit, I could not get a passerby to take my photo in front of the sign. I found the center relatively well marked. I stopped by Pirin, the office of the Bulgarian Tourist Union, to ask about the youth hostel, which they said was full. So, I went to the main Balkan Tourist office to get a "private room." I got there just as the woman in charge was going to lunch, and waited an hour for her to return. I got an excellent place in the center, a block from the run-down British Embassy, for $10.

I showered, before going out to look for food. I went to the Krim, Lonely Planet's top choice, but was refused a reservation because of my daypack. They kept telling me that "this is not a touristic place" and "you don't go to a country looking like you are on an excursion." Funny, but I thought it was a touristic place and that I was on an excursion. I left my business card with them. Instead, I went to the Mexanak on the main drag, for a fine, authentic atmosphere, but little choice of food: "Grill, weis wein, rot wein, bier." I had two "shopska" salads, two plates of fries, and two beers.

Afterwards, I went to the "telephone palace," which was not listed in Lonely Planet, and tried to phone home. The woman there actually broke down laughing at my attempts to communicate. I left my business card, and got excellent service the next day. I also tried to call Lyubomir, without luck. Later, I listened to the BBC, and wrote in my journal. I was dead tired.

Thursday, June 21, 1990

I had two muffins for breakfast. It made the woman who sold them to me happy that I was American. I phoned the Romanian Cycling Federation in Bucharest, and tried to reach Lyubomir throughout the day, still without success. I mailed letters, a packet, and postcards at the post office. Most of the day, I wandered and snacked. I ate Bulgarian "doughnuts" for lunch.

I made youth hostel reservations at Pirin. I registered at the U.S. Embassy, and went next door to the USIA library to ask about a press center. There was a tacky teen hormone video showing. They suggested the Sheraton. At the Sheraton, they said telecom was okay, but 3 minutes would cost $20 and 10 minutes $80. On the way out, I met a representative of Helsinki Watch and gave him my card. Later in the afternoon, I called Dad from the "telephone palace" without a problem, for 55 lev for 6 minutes. I went back to my room, rested, and wrote a letter to the Romanian cycling Federation. I had a late dinner at the Budapest restaurant, recommended by Lonely Planet. The food was good and so was the service. I had fried chicken.

Friday, June 22, 1990

I got up late, though was not too snoozy, and showered. I went to the main post office to send a telex to the Romanian Cycling Federation. I had four jelly crepes for breakfast on the way there. Some Nigerians showed me the right window, and prodded the women into action. After some difficulty, the telex finally got sent. A full page cost less than one dollar.

I went back to my room, packed up and cycled a quarter of the way across town to the youth hostel "Iuhileina", 1 Pijni Prohod, in the "Krasna Poliana" complex. I missed a turn and went too far, but some teens helped me find it. The youth hostel was next to a compound overflowing with Vietnamese guest workers. It created quite a stir when I came in. The staff were all waiting for me. It was cheap and clean, but there was no hot water for ten days. I rested for a couple of hours, before going back into the city on tram #4 in search of dinner. I finally found a cafeteria, and Lonely Planet was right! I had an ice cream cone for desert. I called, and found out that Lyubomir was out of town until tomorrow night. I went back to the hostel, listened to the BBC, and went to sleep early.

Saturday, June 23, 1990

I got up late, and had a vitamin for breakfast. I took a tram to the "centrum," and found the big public market. There were lots of fruits and some veggies. I looked for cactus. I had big baklavas for brunch, dirt cheep.

I walked to the Alexander Nevsky cathedral, which was built as a monument to the 200,000 Russians who died liberating Bulgaria from the Turks, in the last century. This explains why Cyrillic script is used here. I saw the collection of icons in the basement; but, other than some dreadlocked black Christs, there were no surprises. I also went to the archeological museum near the U.S. Embassy, but was unimpressed. For lunch, I had a good half of a baked chicken with cucumber and tomato salad, bread, and bug juice.

Afterwards, I went to the national history museum, which was not bad. The exhibits were arranged in chronological order. I saw a few Americans there. The doorman was cordial, and wanted to have a long conversation in German. I went back to the market, and bought raspberries, strawberries, cherries, and a mystery melon. Then I took a tram back to the hostel, where I had to "run the gauntlet" of Vietnamese wanting to change money. Back in my room, after thorough washing I had a fruit feast, which turned out to be a little bland. I wrote in my journal, wrote postcards, and listened to the BBC, before going to sleep. I realized postcards were a good indicator of things to see and places to go.

Sunday, June 24, 1990

I was woken twice before 08:00, by maids barging in to ask whether or not I was leaving today. Slowly, I prepared for the day. Reluctantly, they re-registered me for another two days.

I took a tram to the base of mount Vitosha, and took the chair lift up the mountain. The sunny summer Sunday line reminded me of going to Disney World when I was a kid. From the top, there was an excellent view of the city. I rode a bus down the mountain to the bus station. I got a good pizza and big cheese pie there for lunch. I called Lyubomir, and spoke with his mother-in-law and wife, who told me how I could find him, after I explained that I was staying at the student hostel and couldn't call back after 23:00.

I took a taxi to the CDC (Union of the Democratic Forces) headquarters, and got directions to the meeting of the Green Party parliamentarians. I asked someone to point Lyubomir out to me. He did not seem particularly pleased to see me, but was wearily cordial. I got the impression that he was sick and tired of the press. I also met Solomon P., who asked me about ecologists in Israel. I told him that I hadn't heard a thing, but would try to find out. I went with the parliamentarians for ice cream and coffee. They invited me to come to the CDC the next morning to meet their leader Peter Beron.

After leaving, I happened upon a student hunger strike and the theater school, in protest against the recent election. I made arrangement to return Tuesday, at noon. I went back to the hostel for dinner of cheese pie and black cherries. I worked on my computer, listened to the BBC, and wrote in my journal, before going to sleep.

Monday, June 25, 1990

For breakfast, I ate cheese pie and cherries again. I took trams to the CDC on Rikovski street; where, I watched the coordination council meeting for more than two hours. I talked with Lyubomir and Solomon at intervals. Afterwards, I met Peter Beron, the CDC spokesperson and one of the original Ecoglasnost founders, briefly. Lyubomir loaned me the "zero number" of the European Greens newsletter. It was a gold mine, especially for the addresses of "observer" groups. I had chicken for lunch at a cafeteria.

I met with Kassimir K. of Ecoglasnost for about an hour, at 14:00. He invited me to their executive committee meeting, at 18:00 the following day. I spent an hour trying to call the Romanian Cycling Federation without success. I nearly wore a blister on my finger. I stopped by the marketplace and bought baklava and a watermelon, before going back to the hostel by tram. I worked on my computer, charged the printer batteries, listened to the BBC, and wrote in my journal. Before going to sleep, I discovered the melon was too young, and not ripe.

Tuesday, June 26, 1990

I had baklava and watermelon for breakfast. I went to the CDC to find Lyubomir, waited an hour, then met by chance. I returned his newsletter. He introduced me to Ivan (Ivanov ?), the Green Party computer expert. I made an appointment to meet Ivan the next day. I went to the phone palace and called the Romanian Cycling Federation. They agreed to help me, but wanted a telex. I had a good, filling lunch of beans, rice, salad, cheese, and bread.

Afterwards, I went to the campus of Sofia University to meet with students of the occupation strike. I met "chief of security" Ivan S., a biologist, who had recently been in South Carolina on an environmental exchange. Later, I called the U.S. Embassy and the tourist office in Bucharest without problem. Both gave the thumbs up. I wandered into a park, and photographed gypsy children sniffing glue.

I met with Rossita P. at the Ecoglasnost office, and sat in on their executive committee meeting. There was controversy over the structure of the CDC and the inclusion of Ecoglasnost in it. Later, I was made a card carrying member by the Bulgarian Green Party down the hall. On the way out, I met Jordan, a Bulgarian émigré from Sweden, with a support group there.

I was late when I got back to the hostel and discovered my new roommate, John, a young Aussie from Sydney. I remembered seeing him on the street some days before. We chatted for hours about traveling. He had been in Beijing during the Tienamen square massacre, and left with an Aussie evacuation flight. He told me of the "milk runs" from Hong Kong to Tokyo, Seoul, and Taipei, where travelers can make $200 using their full duty-free allowance to smuggle Rolex watches, and about smuggling Philippine girls into Hong Kong for $600. He showed me his Sony AN-61 Compact Antenna, a wire with a hanger clip attached to one end and a reel-in carrying case on the other, for his shortwave radio. I didn't get to sleep until 01:00. I woke up in the night with cramps.

Wednesday, June 27, 1990

I ate a muffin for breakfast, and went into the city by tram with John. I continued on to the university to visit Ivan S. I brought gave him the Alternative Press Center Directory and the Utne Field Guide to the Alternative Press to photocopy, and Rainbow flyers to distribute to all institutes and students in the country. We talked about the news and his visit to South Carolina, camping and rafting. It was amazing that we had both had been over Bull Sluice, in the same year.

Then I went to the CDC building, set up my solar system on the balcony, and typed a file to post. I met Ivan and Danko. They set up their system, interfaced with another Toshiba laptop. I called Friends of the Earth in London and got the office number for GreenNet. I called GreenNet and talked with Viv. She said it would be no problem to set me up a traveling account on GreenNet and bill it to my EcoNet account. After about an hour, we connected and uploaded fine.

Afterwards, I exchanged money at Balkan Tourist, and tried unsuccessfully to call the Servas hosts in Romania from the phone palace. I went to the Budapest restaurant to meet John for beer and dinner. We chatted for several hours, before returning to the hostel by tram. After re-registering, we listened to the BBC on his shortwave. I was not as impressed with his radio as I was with his antenna. I wrote in my journal, before going to sleep.

>Topic 21  ~r}iEcology in Bulgaria 
>gn:mendicott   reg.eeurope     1:11 pm  Jun 27, 1990 
> 
>Ecoglasnost 
> 39 Dondukov Boulevard, 4th floor 
> 1000 Sofia 
> BULGARIA 
> [PO Box 99, 1309 Sofia] 
> tel: 88-15-30 (Tuesday - Friday 2-4pm) 
> Rossitza Petrova, international contact, tel: 586376 (h), 70-88-41 (w) 
> Peter Tomov, press contact, tel: 88-03-87 (h), 87-98-61 (w) 
> Zdravko Atanassov, tel: 71-69-40 (h), 75-02-59/287 (w) 
> Danko Ivanoff, tel: 665-793 (w) [work telex: 23988], computer expert 
> [English speaking commition members: 
>  Boris Kolev, tel: 52-80-37 (h), 71-31/33 68 (w), organization-Sofia 
>  Zdravko Atanasov, tel: 71-69-40 (h), 75-02-59 (w), organization-countryside
>  Pirin Vodenicharov, MP, tel: 52-59-75 (h), 62 441/552 (w), ecological expert
>  Delcho Vitev, tel: 32-45-76 (h), 83-38-57 (w), ecological expert 
>  Krasen Stanchev, tel: 54-25-33, basic work programs 
>  Nicolina Nikolova, tel: 47-66-06 (h), 75-41-65 (w), basic work programs 
>  Rumen Danov, tel: 54-13-39 (after 2pm), publishing 
>  Edvin Sugarev, tel: 55-39-61, publishing 
>  Nikolai Genov, tel: 66-70-49 (h), 44-13-39, 83-35-15 (w), publishing] 
> [publication: EK/"Eco-Echo" (irregular/weekly newspaper, 30,000x)]
>
> [In order to realise their activities, the experts of the independent 
>  Association ECOGLASNOST need some help in few aspects: 
>  1.  Information about: 
>  1.1  Documents refew3ring or considering problems of preservation the 
>  environment 
>  1.2.  Documents on organizing and functioning of nongovernmental ecological 
>  movements 
>  1.3.  Already existing clean and nonwaste technical determinations and 
>  technologies 
>  2.  Apparatus for express analyses of polluted objects.  Expecially needed
>  for us are: 
>  2.1.  Apparatus for express analyses of beta and gamma rays as well as alfa 
>  rays / Rn - concentration / For ex. LB 133 / gamma / portable dosserate, LB 
>  1200 / gamma+beta / meter, BERTHOLD - Ameisgasse 4951 A 1140 Wien, tel: 0222
>  -942251, telex: 133060 
>  2.2.  Apparatus for express investigation of the atmosphere for dust,
>  phenols, nitrogenic, sulphuric and carbonic oxides 
>  2.3.  Portable multi-channel spectrometer, for ex. Remote Passive IR 
>  Spectrometer / HUGHES - Environmental Systems Inc., Luke Linberry, Bldg. A20
>  PO Box 10011, Manhattan Beach, CA 90266-8511, tel: 213-536-5541, fax: 213 
>  -536-5351 
>  2.4.  Portable multi-channel analyzer for the isotopic composition of the 
>  samples, including analyzer and detector 
>  2.5.  Portable gas chromatograph, for ex. Portable GS 311 gas chromatograph
>  / I'NU - Lindenstrasse 10 Germering 8034, West Germany, tel: 089-841-9009 
>  2.6.  Electronic scales 
>  2.7.  TLC aluminium sheets, Silica Gel precoated / without flourescence 
>  indicator / layer thickness 0.25 mm / from MERCK 
>  3.  Foreign experts to carry out investigations in controversial cases on 
>  polluted objects]
>
>
>Bulgarian Green Party 
>39 Dondukov Boulevard 
>1594 Sofia 
>BULGARIA 
>tel: 390142 
>tel & fax: (359.2) 390093 
>[publications: ELECTION ECOLOGICAL PLATFORM OF THE BULGARIAN GREEN
>PARTY; THE GREEN PARTY IN BULGARIA, ECONOMIC PLATFORM; ECOPOLITIKA
>(weekly newspaper, 25 - 50,000x)]
>
> 
>Wilderness Fund 
>c/o 
>Institute of Ecology 
>Academy of Sciences 
>Gagarin Str. 2 
>1113 Sofia 
>BULGARIA 
>Geko Spiridonov (speaks French & German), tel: 745288 (h) 
>[Mileva (speaks English), tel: 88-13-67 (h)] 
>[experts in engangered specyeF2 Mu5R|             

Thursday, June 28, 1990

I had a muffin and vitamin for breakfast. After the first, and only, hot showers at the Sofia youth hostel, John and I rode the tram into the city. I went to the new Romanian Embassy, and was surprised that it was so clean and modern, almost palatial. I got a visa in five minutes, for $30. The Indians in front of me could not get a visa without onward passage. I wondered if this was just for transit visas?

I then went by tram and bus to the Hungarian Embassy for a visa. I went to the Polish Embassy by mistake. I finally found the Hungarian Embassy; but, the window slammed shut for the day, just as I got to the front of the line. I went to pick up some software at the Rikovski street CDC. I met Danko and Ivan, and hung around chatting for a couple of hours. I got LapLink 3.0 and an anti- virus program, but found out I needed a special cable for LLIII.

I had a big chicken lunch at a cafeteria. I checked out the ZUM department store, a parody of the West. For 11 lev, I bought a kilo of what were apparently roasted almonds, but wasn't sure. I also stocked up on baklava for breakfast and creme wafers for the road. I sat a long time in the park, watching Indians, Africans, and local men discussing World Cup soccer, saying "Cameroon" and "Maradonna!"

I went to the Budapest to meet John again for drinks and dinner. I found a place to wait on the patio, and sat at a table with a Bulgarian cement mixer driver, named Ivan. He was wearing a "Born and bread in the USA - California" T-shirt. He bought me several beers. After John arrived, two other fellows joined us. They were both affluent, and obnoxious; so, I assumed they were Bulgarian Communist Party members, at least. John and I ended up leaving, and went to the Krim for dinner.

We had no problem getting seated. The live chamber music was excellent, but the food was average. Our waiter seemed like he was on speed, and asked to change money twice. I left early to meet Mira at her apartment and get some information on IUCN; but, she wasn't at home. I tried calling her, before returning to the restaurant for desert. I tried calling again after we left. We went back to the hostel, and John told more of his China stories. I listened to the BBC, and wrote in my journal, before going to sleep.

Friday, June 29, 1990

John and I had baklava for breakfast, and listened to the BBC. I packed up, got my "statistical card" back from the office, and had John shoot a few photos, before heading out across town.

I got lost twice. I rode through the thick black smoke of a synthetic trash burn of what looked like carpet pads and old basket balls. There was steady traffic on the highway with a good number of trucks, but no worse than home. I finally found the old highway. Half the time it ran right alongside the new one, and the other half through lovely countryside, and clean, lifeless villages. At intervals, I saw Bulgarian speedboats and race cars being trucked down the highway. It seemed not much different from home, essentially modern society.

I stopped at what appeared to be an abandoned wayside park, and lunched on unripe plums John had given me and a pack of creme wafers. Later, I stopped at a restaurant and filled my water bottles with four bottles of cold, refreshing, but synthetic lemon drink.

I was hot and tired, after a long walk up hill, and stopped to fill my water bottles from a wayside fountain. I started coasting down the mountain. My map flew off. I stopped to retrieve it and secure it better. I was going at medium speed, conscious of not losing control. After a long coast, I came around a bend and hit a huge oil slick. Just as I realized what it was, I instinctively braked, and simultaneously hit the pavement side first, quite hard. I was scraped and bleeding from my left elbow and left knee. I quickly dragged myself to the side of the road, where I sat a few minutes, stunned, taking inventory. I could move my fingers and toes without pain, but thought I might have broken ribs.

I pulled the bike out of the road, though there was no traffic. My gear was covered with oil. I crossed the road to sit in the shade. I sat in the ditch for a good while, pondering my predicament. I got out a water bottle and sprayed off my wounds, before wrapping them with a clean bandanna.

Afraid my trip was over, I considered the train trip to Vienna or Bucharest. I was afraid I would have to backtrack to Sofia for medical treatment. I was afraid of an operation. I was afraid to ride on tires slick with oil, and with intermittent patches of oil further down the long hill.

I could walk with little pain. I walked a few kilometers, feeling very isolated, alone in the mountains, miles from any town. A few trucks passed. None stopped; though, I didn't try to flag any down. I slowly rode the last ten klicks into Botevgrad, where I was surprised to find an excellent hotel.

At first, I thought it cost $56, and reluctantly said okay, but was elated when I realized it was only 56 lev! I had the porter help carry my bags. They locked my bike up in a room. I showered, then had the desk call a doctor. Two nice fellows came, but could speak no English. One of them traced and pushed on all my bones around the pain, without response. He said it was a "hematoma," which I interpreted to mean a large bruise. He had me rest, and keep an ice pack on my side. He wanted to give me a pain killer, "Analagin," but I declined, relieved to know I had no broken bones.

I listened to the BBC, and snacked on the rest of the bitter plums and salty "almonds." I got steadily sorer as the night went on, and found it difficult to move, roll over or get up. Many old friends visited me in my dreams that night, thank God. Life is frail, and this trip is serious.

Saturday, June 30, 1990

I woke up very sore, and could hardly move, or get up. My hands had fallen asleep at intervals during the night. I had a continental breakfast with cheese and apple drink. The waitress was cute and could speak English.

I read the Ecological Studies Institute report on Romania by Duncan Fisher, and worked on the computer for some hours. I had "yellow" baked cheese with tomatoes and cucumbers for lunch. Afterwards, I hobbled around the block, in the heat of the day. I rested in bed and listened to the radio most of the afternoon. I went in a "free shop" for the first time, where one could pay only in rounded dollars.

For dinner, I had a mushroom omelet, a small, cold fried trout, and beer. A good band played easy rock. There was some kind of affair going on. Earlier, I had seen a wedding procession, with a Slavic brass band. I listened to the BBC, and wrote in my journal, before going to sleep at sunset.

Sunday, July 1, 1990

I woke up early, with the sun, and packed. When I inspected the damage, I found out what the inside of a bungee cord looks like; it consisted of 14 big, thick and wide, rubber bands of different sizes. I had to wait an hour from the time posted, from 07:00 to 08:00, to get a good breakfast. I was surprised with toast and three free eggs with cheese and apple drink, served by the lovely English speaking lass. Afterwards, I chatted with the desk clerks, who were changing shifts and invited me to sit down and have coffee with them. I changed some money, paid for the room, packed up my bike, and headed out of town.

I only hurt when going over bumps, ouch cobblestones! After a little confusion, I found my way out of town. I passed an excellent hotel 10 klicks down the road at Pravec, the temporary end of the autobahn. I stopped there and bought four chocolate bars at the Corcom "free shop," for $2, for the first time. Down the road, after the autobahn started again, I found the old highway, where there was almost no traffic.

Along the way, I stopped to talk with some kids and gave them EarthSeals. Others chased me down to the next village for more. Later, I found a great bar, right out of the Middle Age. It was a true Balkan dive, with a coat of arms over the door. Inside, it was all primitive, almost Moorish decor. I bought two big bottles of synthetic drink, filled my water bottles, and guzzled the rest. On my way out of town, a man fell off his bicycle checking me out. The local gypsies were only interested in how much my bike was worth.

I cruised into the campground at Balkan, on the Vit river, before the village of Balgarski izvor. The restaurant was packed with locals, and a troupe of Irani families with BMWs and Mercedes. I registered for a "bungalow," at 50 lev, but would have camped, at 16 lev, if not for my injury. The shower was atrocious, of course there was no hot water. The bungalow was hot. I sat sweating for a few hours, before going for dinner.

I watched the swimming hole scene by the river, while the waiter avoided me. I finally scored some, wonder of wonders, real fruit juice, for the first time in Bulgaria. It was mango nectar from Cuba, canned by Arabs. I immediately had four. For dinner, I was served pork shish kebab, cabbage salad with extra tomatoes, and bread. I bought 10 of the tiny cans of mango nectar and three bottles of mineral water, half of which I drank during the night. (The other half I used the next day to fill my water bottles.) It was so hot, I wore no clothes, but there were mosquitoes. I still had some pain, but bicycling had not been a problem. I listened to the BBC, and wrote in my journal.

Monday, July 2, 1990

I woke up early. On the way to the toilet, I saw four bikes that had arrived in the night. I asked if they spoke English, and about them and their trip. They said yes, and told me they were Romanian ecologists bound for Sofia and beyond. They were from MER, the Romanian Ecological Movement, and were going to meet with Ecoglasnost. They were on a one month trip to the West to visit ecologists. We took photos, shared breakfast, talked a lot, trading info. I took two of them into the bungalow, and printed out a contact list for them with the computer. They were more impressed with how the hardware worked than with the information product.

We tested each others bikes, empty and loaded. Theirs were "imported from Russia." They had modified the front chain wheels, to double what appeared to be four-speeds to eight, but had to be shifted manually, with their hands! We parted merrily, late in the morning. God works in mysterious ways.

There was a good road to Pleven. I ate chocolate for lunch. I stopped at what appeared to be a collective farm for water. Between Pleven and Griviza, there was a killer hill... hot, hot, hot. I arrived at a decent campground, but it was under renovation. The fat manager blew-up when I asked him where the motel was, listed there on the map. I left, and went to find water.

I headed on down the highway, which was cooler toward evening. I got nauseated, but opened my Gatorade, which did the trick! I pushed on to the village of Slavjanovic, a chicken town, surrounded by corn and grain. I was hot and tired, and it was late when I pulled up in the "centrum," and asked some teenagers for a hotel. They laughed and said, "Ne hotel." A fellow a bit older came up with a cocky look on his face, checking me out. When I convinced him that I really was American, he said to come on, and invited me into the "House of Culture," their cultural or community center.

He said his name was "Angel," and that he was the "choreographer" for the local women's folk dance ensemble. I was surrounded by teenage girls in tutus! No one spoke a word of English. He had one of the girls go out and bring some beer for me and him, before taking me to dinner at a nearby restaurant. He invited me to his home to sleep. I met his wife and mother. He showed me his one- room back-yard chicken operation. We drank cognac and looked at his family picture albums. I slept well, but dreamed I was in some kind of prison, framed on a trumped-up charge.

Tuesday, July 3, 1990

I awoke with the sun, and thought I was in America. I packed up before the others were awake. I drank a bottle of Gatorade and ate a pack of creme wafers. The others came out, made me drink coffee, and eat bread, cheese, and a super fruit compote. "Mama" gave me a big bag of food to take with me, of peppers, fruit, bread, and cheese. Angel made me promise to write and come visit again. His wife looked like she still had a headache, but what with his job, I shouldn't wonder. After Angel tried a test ride, but looked like he needed training wheels, I hit the road.

I found the highway without much difficulty. It was good riding, but with killer hills. They were not so high, but had long, slow grades. The heat became unbearable. I stopped for lunch at a restaurant. The waiter spoke excellent English, and pulled up a chair to rap. I was low on cash, and changed $5 with him, at 11 lev each. I actually got fruit juice there, cherry and apple.

Down the road, I got a motel room for 34.50 lev. I had a cold shower, and passed out in the heat of the afternoon. I had dinner on the patio of the restaurant below. I had the ubiquitous "grill," but had to wait an hour after I finished for ice cream for desert. When I finally left, I bought ten synthetic drinks, as the water was cut off. I listened to the BBC, and wrote in my journal. Before going to sleep, I realized the next day was the 4th of July.

Wednesday, July 4, 1990

I woke up with the sun, and had breakfast of fruit, bread, cheese with a vitamin. I loaded the bike and hit the road. I kept thinking all day that if I had planned better I could have been at a 4th of July party in Bucharest.

I encountered more killer hills, and intense heat. Just as I was lamenting not seeing hemp in Bulgaria, I looked to the side of the road and saw some, bunches along the edge of a field, in a river bottom, near "Bjala." I stopped at a nice restaurant for lunch, of salads, bread, and pop.

I made it to Russe, maybe 75 klicks. While looking for camping "Koliba," listed wrong in my guide, I found the youth hostel "Hija Prista," surrounded with hemp. I registered there without problem. The only others staying there were a bunch of orphans, whose photo I took and promised to send. I took a shower, before spending my last lev for dinner at the hostel restaurant.

I tried to pray, meditate on world peace, at noon Central Time, but fell asleep, realizing that meat, and beer, and synthetic pop were keeping me out of tune with the ethereal.

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