Adventure on the Bulgarian Express
I’m back on my favourite perch – the horizontal branch of the tree from which I can overlook the river – having returned from my adventures in Bulgaria. I’ve travelled by train, plane, bus and taxi and worn out shoe leather. No boats – though I have swum in the Black Sea and my grandson discovered the delights of riding a unicorn in the shallows (plastic unfortunately!).
I have watched my 1 year old wee boy experience the sea for the first time, witnessed a romantic wedding and been reminded again and again of the reality of loss. It is the arc of things: birth to death and in between these two end points, we fill in the space with connection and adventures.
Adventures
What I noticed about this particular adventure, was that I didn’t judge it: neither good (i.e what I wanted) nor bad (what I didn’t). I had no clue what to expect so I had few expectations to be disappointed. Until I returned to England, caught an earlier train than I’d anticipated which didn’t connect to an onward train, leaving me stranded for an hour and a half in Newbury. I started to huff and puff internally and then realised: 1 ½ hours with tea and cake in the sunshine, reading my book wasn’t so bad. Especially when a kind station officer helped me onwards. Better surely, than being stuck in Paddington?
So why had I thought I should be able to control things on home turf when I had no expectation of doing so in Bulgaria? In fact, our trains here in the UK are dreamy by comparison and the toilets relatively clean (I’m serious!). 7 hours in the heat, in a chocabloc 8-person carriage from Sofia, with an active baby and copious luggage, was ‘interesting’. An elderly Bulgarian couple, he a retired lecturer from Manchester University, integrated us into the carriage. When they left, a Roma family came to the fore and shared their food with us. With their departure, a shyer lady on her own, all smiles and clapping hands, delighted in the baby. She got out at the same station as us and four days later, making ready for our next journey, I saw her on the exact same platform. Her joy when I accosted her was beautiful.
“Anu! Anu!”, she cried calling my grandson’s name and when I took her to our carriage, he recognised her and clapped his hands obligingly. So easy to touch the human heart, to bring joy, however momentary.
Ceremony
We had travelled for my nephew’s wedding to a beautiful Bulgarian girl. The orthodox churches are highly decorative: beautifully painted with Jesus and Mary, the apostles and various saints, gold everywhere glinting with the light from huge, sparkling chandeliers and candles. Most of the wedding ceremony was sung sonorously by the young, serious priest. My grandson, resplendent for 5 minutes in pinstripe shorts, blue shirt, bow tie and a clean face, enjoyed the sound of his own voice echoing around the cavernous interior of the church, but listened spellbound when the priest was singing. On our way out, the priest eyed him seriously, twinkled, his mouth twitched into a smile and he made the sign of the cross over Anu’s head. I can’t tell you why that touched me so much but I was more moved by that than by the ceremony itself.
Be Gentle
One afternoon, I walked alone through the seaside town. When someone dies, there is a tradition of pinning a notice with a photograph to the gate of the house. As I paused by one such notice, a dog in the front yard barked and a weary voice, whose cadence sank with sadness, hushed him. I glimpsed an elderly woman in black widow’s weeds as I walked on. I like the tradition. A place for friends to pause; an announcement to the world to pass or enter with respect; an understanding that within this house lives sadness. After my loves died, I wanted to walk around in black with a notice pinned to my head: “I’ve lost my son and my husband. Make allowances. Treat me gently.” Alas, the expectation here, or at least other people’s hope, is that ‘normal’ re-establishes itself as soon as possible.
More travel
We took a train from the Black Sea coast to Plovdiv, an ancient Roman city. We’d been given seats in a carriage that appeared not to exist, our heftiest luggage carried hither and thither by a young man on the direction of his girlfriend, who had learnt English from films and had never before spoken it. We celebrated my daughter’s birthday with lunch in a brilliant restaurant, with plastic grass and flowers on walls decorated with metallic pink sprayed kitchen utensils and ate chocolate lava cakes when we got home. We looked down on the city’s ancient theatre, eating enormous ice creams and back in Sofia, had the best and cheapest meal of the holiday sitting upstairs in a Turkish take away.
More memories more gentleness
I will cherish countless memories: dancing the horo (traditional Bulgarian folk dance) in the street before walking to the church; lighting candles for my lost loves in the tiniest chapel on a rock beside the sea; witnessing my grandson’s first ‘stand alone’, joining me in clapping himself; seeing fields of pink roses and acres of lush forest through the train window; listening to the street musician playing Ave Maria on his electric violin; reading a fictional autobiography of Julian of Norwich by Claire Gilbert sitting on the swing in our private courtyard in Plovdiv. (Here’s a quote from I Julian: “I feel how my harsh guilty loss and pain… have passed from me, leaving a soft grief that I know will never leave, but which I can abide. I am grateful for it: it will keep me gentle with others, gentle on myself.” Yes and yes again to softness and gentleness.)
Acceptance
Through most of this blog I have been writing “we”. I know now what a gift ‘we’ is and I don’t take a moment of ‘we-ness’ for granted. It was an adventure with my wonderful daughter and adorable grandson and I loved it. But what I also loved, was to feel myself accepting experiences and trusting in the unfolding path. For all I will cherish those memories, this wisdom, I hope, I will take with me into my day by day, ongoing, often pedestrian, unfolding path.
With love,
Nickie
News
If you know anyone local to South Devon who is dealing with loss, please do share this with them. It will be gentle, beautiful, safe and nurturing. Connecting with nature, engaging creatively and being with others, are tried and tested ways to manage loss and loneliness. Click here for more details