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.

Crossing The Bulgarian Border: The Man In Black

I needed some sign, any sign.  The gas station I had started at was deserted, so after chugging my Red Bulls I quickly abandoned the idea of hitching a ride from there and walked the kilometer into tiny Dragoman.  I choose a spot next to another small gas station that was directly on the highway and held up my 'Serbia' sign.

Thirty minutes later I was still standing there.  Things weren't going well and the sun continued getting lower in the sky.  I had just moved to another spot on the highway when I saw my omen.  A man dressed in black.

No, he wasn't the reincarnation of Johnny Cash, but a Bulgarian Orthodox monk.  He was standing in a small roadside parking lot and had a look of complete serenity despite wearing head to toe, all-black garb in the heat of the afternoon.  I would have expected to find him in a monastery and not standing on the side of a lonely highway.  Why was he there?

The same reason as I was.  He had a suitcase and was waiting beside a parked car.  I hoped he might pass his mystical hitchhiking powers on to me, so I approached him with a wave and a "Dober Den."  I knew he wouldn't speak English, and indeed he answered with a Bulgarian response and a question which I didn't understand.  I grinned like an idiot and asked, "Serbia?"  He pointed down the highway and responded, "Autobus."  I hadn't received his magical hitchhiking powers, but at least I had been blessed with an alternative route to get to Serbia.

I thanked him graciously, "Blagodarya."

I never feel comfortable saying this phrase out loud, because in English its sounds like, "Blog 'O' Diarrhea."  As follows...

"It's been great meeting you.  By the way, check out my travel website, "Blog 'O' Diarrhea."  It follows all of my horrible experiences I've had with foreign food around the world.  It has many color pictures....hey...where are you going?"

Poof! The man in black departed in a cloud of dust with the car he had hitched.  I stood there on the deserted highway wishing I had had his fortune.  He had told me of a mysterious bus, but finding it would be as difficult as gaining financial support for the "Blog 'O' Diarrhea."

I walked towards the center of the small town, while keeping my eyes open for any stray buses that could be parked on the side of the road or at random gas stations.  The sun created long purple shadows on the streets and hills of the surrounding area.  The heat and dimming light gave everything a hazy, out-of-focus quality.  Or possibly it was my fatigue.   Sunset would come soon and I was anxious.  The bus finally manifested itself.

It was sitting in the parking lot of an abandoned gas station.  I ran towards it as fast as possible and repeated my usual lost foreigner routine.  "Idem do Serbia? Serbia? Serbia?"  There were no signs nor marking on the bus to indicate it actually went towards Serbia, but the driver seemed very concerned with my predicament and tried his best to explain in Bulgarian where we were going.  I paid with my last Lev and blindly jumped on a crowded bus that for all I knew went to Romania.

After 30 minutes on the highway the bus veered off onto a small dirt road in a small village.  By this time I had gained support from practically the entire bus.  Everyone seemed surprised to find an American on the side of the highway in Dragoman and they were explaining in that - yes - indeed I was really going to the Serbian border.  I wished I could stay on the bus with the friendly locals.

We continued down the dirt road for a stretch before the bus stopped - seemingly in the middle of nowhere.  The driver waved for me to get off.  I looked around frantically at the wide open country and endless rolling hills, desperately searching for a "Serbia This Way" sign.  When I asked, "Serbia?" the entire bus shouted in unison, "SERBIA!!!"  They practically cheered for my travel heroics as I got off the bus.

I waved at the friendly Bulgarians as the bus drove away on the dirt road.  For a brief moment I felt elated from the positive vibes I had encountered on the bus...until the bus disappeared around a corner.  I looked around at the empty countryside that was devoid of any human signs.

Johnny Cash echoed in my mind as I wondered out-loud, "Where the hell am I?"