Dinner with a communist nazi

October 2017

Ribaritsa, Bulgaria, in a mountain chalet, around 10 pm.

“Listen, Hitler was a good guy.” 
Andon stared straight into my eyes when he said that. Simple, short and clear.
Before I could protest, he put his index down to the table, “you need to try the blueberry pancakes.” He turned towards the kitchen, loudly shouting, “Lilya! Blueberry pancakes!” Clearly it was a his-tavern-his-rules vibe. I glanced over to Annabel with concern. Our host had revealed some frankly frightening new colors. 

But first, let’s rewind.

Day 1
Our chapter in Bulgaria did not start smoothly. 
We hitchhiked across the border between Romania and Bulgaria, through the landmark Friendship Bridge, with a man named Cosmin. Twas’ all fun and games until our driver showed his perverted colors and tried to stroke my breast. As female travellers, we were used to casual catcalling and sleazy looks, but actually being touched was a first on our journey.

After shouting in his face and slamming the doors, we gathered our spirits on the sidewalk, processing the unfortunate event.
Soon enough, we were yet again proven that in life, the highs are worth the lows. Our next driver was none other than a former National Wrestling Champion, Vladimir. 
As vulnerable and unsafe Cosmin made us feel, Vladimir soothed our reactive fear with his open and protective heart. He gave us more context about the misogynist culture that shapes men in Bulgaria. He apologized for the previous encounter. I remember his broken English, the passion in his voice when he claimed “I wish I can find that man. I will punch him! I am national champion!”.

Vladimir went out of his way to show us the unique architecture of his hometown, Veliko Tarnovo, the ancient capital of the Bulgarian Kingdom. We weaved through cobblestone streets, admiring the castles and fortresses clinged onto the mountainous hillsides. After two hours together, he dropped us off at the village outskirts, waving us farewell and safe travels on our journey south. 

The following ride was rather uneventful. An intergenerational couple, who we initially assumed were a father and daughter and spoke little to no English. For 3 hours we sat in the backseats of their berline, watching the luscious forests and mountainous landscapes roll past our windows. 

Around 4:30 pm in the absolute middle-of-nowhere-countryside, our hosts pulled up at a stop sign. They invited us out of the car: “We now go west. You go South. Good luck.” The couple drove off, leaving Annabel and I stood in silence. We now had less than one hour before the sun went down. 

About 10 meters behind us, there was a two-pump gas station. A group of hooded young males were filling up their scooters. I actively ensured to not make eye contact, still feeling vulnerable and unsafe following the morning’s assault. As I turned my gaze away, the hood of a white car caught my attention. A white Audi, with a fairly well-dressed man getting into the driver’s seat. Subconscious biases are real, my brain directly thought “he looks rich. He’ll be safe.” I ran over to the car. 

The man’s name was Matio. Spoke fluent English (and French!). He was not going South. He was actually going to visit a plot of land nearby. Sorry he couldn’t help, but we should definitely find a means of transportation soon. When it gets dark, it gets dangerous (glancing at the boys behind us). Matio sped off and I felt deep terror grow in my gut. We were in the middle of the forest, had no phone service, the sky was already turning pink and we had only seen two cars in the past 20 minutes - our previous drivers and Matio. 

Annabel crouched on the ground and I turned away from the road, deeply breathing.
Suddenly, Annabel shouted “Sophia! There’s a car! Put out your thumb!”. The white Audi pulled up to our level. It was Matio. 
“Girls, I couldn’t leave in good conscience. Do you really have to go South? I have a cabin in the mountains, up North. I am sleeping there tonight. It is a long drive but you can come with me. ”

Usually, Annabel and I could briefly discuss our decisions in French. Matio spoke French, so this time we were cornered to radical honesty. He saw our hesitation and insisted “Look, I don’t have much time. I want to visit the land before the sun fully sets. It’s a yes or a no.” 
With half-convinced hearts and alarm-screeching minds, we climbed into the car. Annabel and I typed away on our phones, passing them back and forth: 
“Dude, is this safe?”
“Idk! I mean, we technically just hopped into a car with a stranger, to go to a cabin in the mountains.” 
“How do you feel?”
“Scared and safe. Both at the same time. Still better than being stranded on the road at night.” 
”Did you take a picture of his license plate? Maybe we can send it to our family chat when we get service?”
“No I didn’t.”
“F*ck, me neither.” 

15 minutes later, Matio pulled off of the main road onto a dirt trail. A green Jeep was waiting to lead the way.
Both vehicles pulled up to an electric fence and Matio turned off the engine.
“Ok girls, I am going to visit the land. It will take me 1 hour maximum.”
“Oh OK. Um, should we…?” Our confusion was obvious. Matio firmly interrupted. 
“Here are the car keys. Here is money.”
He tossed the keys and 50 levs (about $30) onto the driver's seat. My mind sharply reacted. He must think we’re poor, I don’t want charity!
“Oh no, no. We don’t need money!”
“Do you have Bulgarian cash?”
“No.”
“Then take the money. There is a house on the left. Go ask for food and water. I’ll see you later.”

Shutting the driver’s door, Matio left without turning back. At that moment, I felt an inner calm take over me. A stranger had left us with his car, the keys and with all his belongings. He must have trusted us to some extent. That simple yet powerful thought gave me more permission to trust him. Annabel shrugged and shared my thought out loud “Well. He left us his car keys and the car, so.”

… Continued.