THE VAN INCIDENT

A story I forgot to share. So here it is, especially for those who warned me for the unsavory types waiting around every corner in Bulgaria!

Biking on a deserted road in Bulgaria I am thinking of funny cultural quirks. I think about how tracksuits (trainingspak) are everyday fashion --lucky me, fitting right in, riding my bike in Hema sweatpants-- and how Bulgarians don't spend energy on little niceties. How the lack of smart phones makes people look around them instead of at their screens, and how many Bulgarian guys look just like the stereotype Balkan criminals you would see in a Hollywood movie: the scrawny, unshaven gypsies and the burly, gold chain-wearing dudes. I snap out of my thoughts when a rusty, yellow van passes me (you know, the kind that would be just perfect for the same movie). The van pulls over and an arm appears out of the window signing for me to stop. I stop, try to look tough and peek inside the van. My heart skips a beat. There is the cast: the scrawny, unshaven gypsy man, a wide grin showing his one golden tooth and most others missing. The driver is a burly white guy who resembles a pittbull, lower jaw sticking forward and all, wearing a shiny track suit and a huge gold chain. The pittbull jumps out of the van and comes to the other side of my bike, standing uncomfortably close. I can see the faded tattoos in his neck and the many scratches and scars on his hands as he suddenly touches the map that is mounted on my handlebars. He bends over to take a closer look and points at a town on the map enthusiastically, then clapping his hands with relief. I saved them with my map, they finally found their way! The couple drives away as happy as two little puppy dogs.