Wednesday, June 20, 2012

How To Entertain The Bulgaria-Serbia Border Police

Where the hell am I?

The bus left me on a lonely dirt road that supposedly went to the Serbian border.  The road drifted away and disappeared around a distant corner.  All I could see were haystacks, cows and miles of rolling hills.

Hills.  I wasn't ready for hills.  After 3 hours of sleep, a wild night with a Brazilian backpacker girl, a city tour of Sofia and several hours lost in the Bulgarian countryside I was ready to collapse.  The Red Bulls had worn off much faster than expected and my guitar had suddenly grown a lot heavier when I stepped off the bus.

I shook myself out of my exhausted haze and started walking down the snaking road towards the corner.  The corner soon gave way to a large descending plain of rolling hills on my right and a farm that meandered off into the horizon on my left.  In the distance I saw a farmer with a scythe hacking at hay as several cows lulled around him.  Chirping birds and evening crickets gave the surroundings a tranquil, pastoral feel that I was completely unable to enjoy since I had no idea where I would sleep that night.  I had the vague feeling of a trespasser as the dirt road slowly brought me in the farmer's direction.

Maybe he would offer a wayward traveler a place to stay?  Sunset was evident now and long shadows played over hills which refused to show a large sign or line that said in big letters, "SERBIA."  This was not the kind of road I expected to find any hitchhiking cars on...maybe tractors or donkeys.

Among the tranquil bird and cricket chirps I detected sounds of civilization: cars!!  The large hill descended to a highway - the same highway I had lost when I got on the bus.  The Serbian border would be there somewhere. 

The farmer became a distant concern of mine as I scanned the highway for signs of a border crossing.  I saw it; cars were forming lines in front of highway border checkpoints and two large gas stations.  I breathed a sigh of relief and walked through the trees that lined the road.  Although my route was not the obvious border choice, clearly others had taken it since there was a worn path that lead down the hill to the gas station.

And several border police. Damn. 

Well...even though I magically appeared out of the middle of nowhere like an illegal immigrant, I wasn't doing anything wrong, was I?  The hill was clear and I felt completely exposed as I walked towards the gas station.  Once I walked through the trees, the police saw me instantly and pointed as I descended the hill.

They stared me down as I advanced on them with my guitar case and black backpack.  There was nothing I could do so I continued walking casually as if it was perfectly normal to be wandering around alone on a international border at nightfall.  They stopped me.  They had guns.

They didn't speak English, but "passport?" is an international word.  I stood there tensely as they flipped through my blue passport.  "Amerikan??" I nodded, and fortunately they liked Americans.  Smiles broke across their faces as they pointed at my guitar.

Did I mention "guitar" is another international word?  I celebrated my first Bulgarian-Serbian border crossing by performing "Hotel California" for a quartet of armed border police.












No comments:

Post a Comment