The smell. Or the final episode of the public transport trip saga
So the time has finally come, I've rather dared to go to the capital for one of the medical examinations I need to have. And now the next challenge has opened up before me, rather the next torture that has nothing to do with my condition - the torture of traveling to the capital by public transport. And now I remembered that I never told you how I managed to get to the capital the previous time, at the beginning of this year. I only told you about getting halfway there, the difficulties in buying a ticket, etc. here, here and here.
Now, rereading the last post in this series, I remembered something I forgot to mention regarding luggage and its security in the luggage compartment of a bus.
I don't know if I've ever mentioned it to you before, but last year at this time I had my suitcase packed for emigration and at the time I was keenly interested in the security conditions in a particular country in Western Europe. This is a country with many immigrants, and therefore with a very high rate of thefts, assaults, kidnappings... like any other attractive European country.😅
Then I found out that immigrants and tourists protect their luggage from theft on public transport - trains and buses - by tying it to the vehicle, I mean, using wheel/bike locks. At the time I thought that such a lock would make my luggage very heavy, but it turned out that there are lightweight ones, but come on, where would people have so much time to lock and then unlock luggage when getting on and off a vehicle. Especially a bus if that is not its first and last stop. That's why I gave up on the idea of buying such a lock then.
But in Bulgaria in the past there were other theft insurances. I say in the past because they probably don't exist anymore. Or at least with this big transport company that I used then, on the way from the second largest city in Bulgaria to the capital/first largest city. In the past, when traveling by bus, drivers would stick labels on luggage that was left in the trunk of the bus. They were part of the passenger's ticket and, accordingly, insurance for their luggage, just as the ticket is supposed to be insurance for the passenger. And I was quite unpleasantly surprised when the driver of that bus didn't put a label on my suitcase, which he had so mercilessly kicked when he was putting it in the trunk while loading the other suitcases.
And as I said, I was glad that this bus was direct, didn't drag through villages like a folk song, and my stop was the first, so there was no chance of my luggage being stolen. But would the suitcase survive this trip? These only 140 km.🤔
Of course, with a company that, even though big, it doesn't give you a receipt when you buy a ticket and writes out your ticket by hand, and that also doesn't accept card payments, you can't expect it to provide or assume any guarantees against theft or damage to luggage, that's for sure. So I had to put up with it while I waited for the criminal-looking driver to fill one luggage compartment and close it, so he could go fill the other, and I could safely get on the bus when he had already closed the compartment containing my suitcase.
Right outside, I noticed a fat young man talking loudly on his phone with the microphone on, then watching videos... in Russian. I immediately wished this guy wasn't near me on the bus, because, God, how can you be so rude not to bring headphones when you want to watch stuff on your phone in a public place!🤷♀️
Then I started walking between the seats. There were still a few people inside, as I imagined there would be. Even though my ticket had the number 38 written on it! So I kept walking towards the back of the bus, I passed some very dirty seats, there was a whole big stain of something on one of them and I was glad that it wasn't my seat 38.
I sat down a little behind the seats with the dirt stain, chose some clean seats, as far as this can be done in public transport, and waited. As the bus suddenly started filling up with people, each passenger was looking for their seat, so I had to get up and move to my own, next to an elderly woman, who, as I already wrote in the last post, was talking loudly on the phone about some AirBnB she owned that needed to be cleaned.
The guy with the microphone turned on for Russian-language videos sat right across from me, a couple of foreigners ended up right on the seats with the big dirty spot and it didn't seem to make any impression on them. Later, when we were getting off the bus and I walked past them, I noticed that they, or at least the man in this couple, smelled of sweat (in the deep winter of early January!). But that was nothing compared to the young Bulgarian who sat down on the seats diagonally across from me. He smelled like he hadn't took a shower for a long time. A young man, normally dressed, on a Monday afternoon.
Its extremely heavy smell occasionally reached me during the journey afterwards.
I sat with my jacket on me and my backpack on my knees and I did not dare to move or leave my luggage anywhere else in this environment. Besides this smell, from time to time, in waves, I felt something else, which was incomprehensible to me where it came from.
It was the smell of a kitchen and an unventilated room in winter, seeping into the clothes, which is so typical of elderly people in Bulgaria, who try to heat one room in their home in winter with the meager means they have, so they don't ventilate and ultimately this smell soaks everywhere, even into themselves.
One of the biggest fears I have, if I ever reach any old age, which I doubt, is that I will not have the means to heat myself in the winter, as well as to take a shower, as is the case with so many elderly people in Bulgaria. Recently, information about a woman who lived in the dark and cold in her apartment for 20 years became public because her monthly pension was 168.73 euros, which is the value of the social pension in the country, which is why the woman was not only unable to pay for her electricity, but also to go to the doctor. She could only buy something for food, and that something could not be enough for an entire month.
In short, elderly people in Bulgaria don't like to shower for one reason or another, but this is the case with other people too, young or old, and as I've told you before too, I've been on the verge of feeling sick and fainting even in Lidl, in the summer, when you find yourself near such a person.
So, the heavy smell of an unventilated kitchen, of a room where you live and do everything for an entire winter, which in Bulgaria often covers an entire half year, came in waves towards me and I kept looking around, wondering where it was coming from, as the bus flew along the rutted highway, overtaking cars, they overtaking it in return, and it looked like the driver was racing someone between the billboards of betting sites on both sides of the four lanes. To my horror, I discovered right then that the Bulgarians had replaced the billboards with half-naked women, which advertise almost everything - from construction materials and water heaters, to exhaust pipes, with advertisements for betting sites. Horror, because you can imagine what these mass advertisements lead such poor and desperate people to.
The elderly woman next to me is scrolling through her Facebook feed and every time she comes to a video, it automatically starts playing with a blaring sound - folk music and all sorts of nonsense that can be found in an elderly woman's feed. The boy in the seat opposite me continues to watch videos in Russian. The young man, who smells so awful, starts talking on his phone, apparently to some girl. He talks and seems perfectly normal, but, God, why isn't he taking a shower?
A jacket sleeve dangles in front of my face, hanging from the overhead compartment of the bus. Where I didn't dare leave my backpack and my jacket. This sleeve has been swinging in front of me since the bus started. Back and forth. I stare at it.
And only then do I realize that the smell of a stuffy kitchen, which seems to come in waves, is actually coming from this hanging jacket sleeve.
This is the jacket of the elderly woman next to me. It doesn't matter that she looks good, that she is well dressed, despite her age (compared to most people her age), that she has an AirBnB that she rents out in the second largest, and heavily touristic city in Bulgaria. Her clothes smell. That heavy smell that is usually imbued with the clothes of elderly people in Bulgaria. This smell of despair, as I would call it now, permeated everything and everyone of this suffering people.
The bus enters the capital, people are moving around on their seats, I get off at the first stop and take a breath. I breathe. I inhale the dirty capital air. I regret not taking my perfume, I thought it would weigh me down. But now I regret it because I'm worried, this smell, all the nasty smell in this bus has stuck to me too, it has seeped into my clothes and skin and even if I take a shower, which I inevitably will do in the evening before going to bed, it won't help...
| 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.😊🧐🧭|
