Balkan Wisdom

Everyone needs a little escape from the hustle and bustle, the hum drum of daily routines, and perhaps now more than ever, we need time to unplug from our digital addiction. While Rob and I are loving our new city surroundings, we decided to take some time away to where all Sofians escape to on the weekends: planinata. My cousin's in-laws have a house in the mountains about 40 kilometers north of Sofia in a town called Svoge. Located in the western part of Stara Planina, Svoge is the meeting place of three different mountains, Mala planina, Golema planina, and Ponor planina. In fact, you may be surprised to know that more than one third of Bulgaria is covered by mountain ranges, mainly found in the central and the southwestern parts of the country, and each with its own unique nature, landscape and climate. While much of the country is still virgin land with rich valleys and lush forests, Bulgaria struggles with illegal logging. According to WWF-Bulgaria a staggering 2.5 million m3 of timber, or roughly a third of total annual production, is lost every year to illegal logging in Bulgaria alone. But more on that and other environmental issues in a later post.

The mountains give you a certain kind of perspective that both grounds and elevates the mind and body. The panoramic views alone take your breath away as you watch puffs of clouds float on by, tickling the peaks of mountain range after mountain range as far as the eye can see. Sunrise and sunset in the mountains, especially in the fall, are magnificent sights that fill your soul with such gratitude. In the early mornings, there is a thick fog that nestles itself between the peaks like a meandering river or a blanket of snow. From where we were in the villa it felt as though we are standing above the clouds, closer to the heavens, feeling lighter and perhaps more enlightened. Being in the mountains also gives you an appreciation for a different kind of time, one that is slow and patient, wise and weathered by age and experience, just like the ancient land upon which you stand. The same is true of the people who choose to live in the mountains, and in that way, there is a harmony and mutual understanding between the rugged terrain and its inhabitants. This weekend in the mountains I spent my time seeing, hearing, smelling, feeling and simply being, soaking up the age-old wisdom all around me.

Bulgarians are doers, makers, builders and fixers. We invented DIY before it became and trendy acronym. Jamming, jarring, pickling, juicing, curing and churning is not a fun weekend activity, it's a way of life. Self-sufficiency has remained a coveted characteristic of an authentic Bulgarian household, and for some mountaineers like my cousin's in-laws, a necessity. To unplug from their busy city jobs, they escape to their villa to work. But it's a different kind of work, one that requires you to rely on your hands, your intuition, and that old Balkan wisdom. I realize now that my country's tortured political history, including centuries of oppression under Turkish Yolk and decades of Communist control behind the Iron Curtain, has undoubtedly shaped Bulgarian culture. It has given birth to the frugal, resilient, stubborn and self-sufficient men and women who have continued to persevere and thrive no matter what warfare, famine, poverty or persecution has plagued their country. Though, in many ways it is also a lost art to fend for oneself. Indeed it is a biproduct of modernity and progress as technology and the internet replace hand-crafted goods and generational knowledge. Though it begs the question, to what degree are we gaining from innovation and how much are we losing in its place?

There is a harmony and mutual understanding between the rugged terrain and its inhabitants.

Being in the mountain reminded me of the underlying reason why Rob and I decided to move here. We came to experience a different way of life, one we did not grow up knowing, and to better understand for ourselves what kind of life we want to lead, what kind of life we want to establish for our family one day. Though we are far from even thinking about kids, much to my grandfather's bemoaning, it's still something that subconsciously drives us and also something we consciously talk about. When we look at the state of the world and society we tremble at the thought of bringing new life to a planet in peril. A broken democracy, a changing climate, an addiction to technology, youth so disconnected from the world, and now a global pandemic pushing us farther into the realm of a virtual reality -- it's enough to make you go spiraling into a full on anxiety attack. How do I bring a child into a world that I am afraid of and a future that promises more havoc than hope?

Then I realize that there are other ways of living and learning. I breath crisp air that soothes my lungs and an endless horizon that quiets the mind, and for a moment I find peace. Being in the mountains gave me space to think and be still, to ask the hard questions and be okay with not knowing all the answers. I know moving to the mountains, denouncing society and raising my children in the woods is not the answer, though at times it sounds like a good idea. We're still figuring out how we want to live, where we want to live and for what we want to live. And until we do, we'll soak in some more Balkan wisdom, and if nothing else, at least we'll learn how to make our own rakia!