Stories from the train
It is always a great adventure to travel with the Bulgarian railways. And this adventure can be very interesting, almost always surreal, if you are lucky enough not to get stuck somewhere in the middle of the road in the cold, the train does not derail or catch fire, hit a car, etc. (You know I'm not good at Christmas posts, so today I'm just going to post a story from last weeks.)
There was a Christmas skit that they did on TV one year. It wasn't a skit, but a whole program about how some random passengers end up at an intermediate station on the eve of the holidays and somehow no one can leave there, the train never came, the station officials were some unreal creatures, the unfortunate passengers were fallen into some kind of time hole, a non-existent reality. In short - a total nightmare that could easily be true with every attempt to travel by train in Bulgaria. Still, I'm interested in doing such experiments. And even if I don't want to do them, I have to, after I told you I have to go to the second largest city in the country, even for a dentist. And the distance there was about an hour and 20 minutes.
An hour and 20 minutes, for which I had taken a book, but how can one read with such extraordinary people around and such a strange atmosphere!
Some time ago I told you about the highly unusual conductor of this same train to the second largest city. This middle-aged man was like something out of a fairy tale, like an artifact left behind from an older, long-gone era. The man wrote the tickets by hand and was very polite and talkative, something atypical for such a government official. Because of all this, this man even looked like a psychopath 🤭. You know what today's notions of normality are. I must look like a psychopath now too with this book in my hands.
Anyway, when I boarded this train last Monday, another conductor came to sell me a ticket, and even though I gave him cash, he issued me a ticket from a typewriter like a cash register, he didn't write anything by hand, and that surprised me. I said to myself that things have obviously changed a lot on this train since the last time I traveled on it. But that was only until a moment when that same familiar conductor entered the compartment, took out the ticket stub and started writing by hand... then everything fell into place. 😅
On the seats on the other side of the aisle sat a young mother with a child. On the four seats in front of her were two young men and a girl. The men sat with their backs to the young mother, but one of them was constantly facing her and engaged in deep conversation. The conversation was in another language, so I didn't pay much attention to it as I tried to read the book. Then suddenly the conversation turned to Bulgarian, without any accent, and then I started to listen to it.
In fact, I now realize why for a long time after I came home from abroad, I felt like I was in a foreign country - the people around me were speaking a foreign language. According to statistics, the Romani people in Bulgaria is only 4.4% of the entire population, but in small towns, not to mention villages, their growing number is particularly noticeable. Every time I go to the GP, I always count the patients in the corridor, I do it unconsciously - how many Roma and how many Bulgarians are waiting in front of the offices. At best they are 50/50. In most cases, the Roma outnumber the Bulgarians. I say this for statistical purposes only.
But these young people on the train were somehow different. Roma in Bulgaria are a special population. Much can be written and told about them. But in general, this is what I realized about them recently - they do not want to integrate into the country where they have lived for centuries. They don't even want to speak the language of that country, and even if they do, they have a deadpan accent that seems to have been cultivated on purpose and is very recognizable.
But that was not the case with these young people. They spoke Bulgarian without an accent. They were also cleanly and well dressed, in no way different from the others. They were also very white and so I started looking at them and at first I thought I was mistaken. Were they really gypsies? Oh yes, they were, because they spoke in their language a while ago.
But the conversation they were having with each other, rather the young woman with a small child next to me and the young man in front of her, was even more extraordinary. The young mother talked about her unhappy coexistence with a man who beat her constantly. I looked at her child, and only then did I see something in her. She was darker skinned, she took off one of her winter boots to get a pebble out of it, felt it for a long time with both hands, then took her jacket and wiped her snot with it! Here, those, the other genes, could already be seen from miles away. Although the child was quiet and obedient, the way she carried herself showed 100% belonging.
But let's get back to the mother. She recounted her personal tragedy in detail with ease. As I said, from one moment on in Bulgarian, so that everyone around could understand everything.
I put the book on my lap and already started listening and watching them. Empathetic. After all, when you're telling such things in public, it shouldn't be strange that someone is watching and listening.
The polite boy in front of her repeated: I'm so sorry for what happened to you!
And believe me, that was one of the many strange things about this situation and a strange occurrence. If you know and have ever had contact with gypsies, perhaps you would be as surprised as I was at the kindness, politeness and sincere pity of this boy.
The woman was telling a sad and unpleasant story in front of her child. The child was small, but old enough, she had been through it all with her mother, and the way she handled herself, the equanimity of wiping the snot with her jacket even, showed the wisdom and demeanor of a precocious person.
This is the story of so many women, it doesn't matter if they are Bulgarian or gypsy, educated or not, young or old, poor or rich. I listened with interest, because of revelations some time ago about people I know, I wish I could find some explanation for myself as to why it comes to this, why it is allowed and why it is tolerated. The young mother here has been putting up with this for 10 years now. She too didn't know why herself.
The young man in front of her asked her if there was anyone to do something for her. She said: I have brothers, but they are not bullies, so they could not. But I don't want that either. God will punish him because everyone gets what they deserve.
"God will punish him." Again, the statement of a person who runs away from responsibility. Even to her own life.
I wanted to get up and go to this woman, to ask her if she knew that in such cases she should contact the police. This seems to me the most reasonable and logical solution. But I refrained. I'm not local and this woman probably knows well how things are in the police. Maybe she already filed a report, but no one responded, maybe the man who beat her had connections in the police, and no one would do anything about it, as there are many such cases, and they only become apparent when the woman dies. And after all, isn't it the job of the young man she's talking to right now to advise her to do that? Or the gypsies live by their own rules in this country anyway, and just as they don't want anyone to interfere in their lives, they don't want to involve any outsiders in it either?
Last stop, the second largest city in the country, the conversation ends, the young people say their goodbyes, everyone gets off the train and goes about their daily tasks in different directions... out anyway, finally out of the other reality we've been in, while we were moving along the train line with the conductor from the fairy tales.
Well, after this non-Christmas post, what can I do but say, Merry Christmas to all who celebrate!
| Thank you for your time! Copyright: | @soulsdetour |
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 | Soul's Detour is a project started by me years ago when I had a blog about historical and not so popular tourist destinations in Eastern Belgium, West Germany and Luxembourg. Nowadays, this blog no longer exists, but I'm still here - passionate about architecture, art and mysteries and eager to share my discoveries and point of view with you. |
Personally, I am a sensitive soul with a strong sense of justice.
Traveling and photography are my greatest passions.
Sounds trivial to you?
No, it's not trivial. Because I still love to travel to not so famous destinations.🗺️
Of course, the current situation does not allow me to do this, but I still find a way to satisfy my hunger for knowledge, new places, beauty and art.
Sometimes you can find the most amazing things even in the backyard of your house.😊🧐🧭|