For some 8 years or so during summer and a touch longer my second home had become Burgas, a city at the Black Sea. Yes, that…almost endearing, a la “feels like home” aroma of freshly cut grass in the yard back in Riga slipped my mind for the mix of Bulgarian spices, almost melting sun and a touch salty air from the sea sink in me instead. Or me to sink in all that.
Do you know what made Burgas really vibrant and alive for me? Opposite to everything described in the travel – guides, of course. There was a path, a flight path right across the top of the house I lived at. A very busy one starting early in the morning and buzzing all the way through the night whole summer (the route, not the house, though…). Hearing them passing over soon to land always brought special feelings – like keeping my finger on the city’ s pulse. Knowing that as long as they were heard, everything was happening, life was going on. Last summer one night something was missing. Seagulls were brawling till they just got bored of themselves. Whispering leaves of trees in front of the house were the same – holding their breath for a moment from time to time and then out of the blue trying to imitate a soft summer rain (that i’ve often fallen for rushing out on the terrace and realizing – no, not a single drop of rain). A juicy female alto from some beach bar melted in the pitch black night – „I will survive, oh, as long as I know how to love, I know I’ll stay alive…” was as convincing as always. At least to me, not necessarily to the Renaissance-ish ensemble of cicadas. Lonely steps and echoing sounds of flip flops on one end of the path and bubbly giggling – further ahead on another. Yet something was missing. Strongly. That night and all day long. City was missing its pulse. Because of the bomb explosion the day before in the Burgas Airport it was closed and all the routes were redirected to Varna. I heard just one plane that evening (most probably the one bringing “the 7 wise men” of Bulgarian government back to Sofia) and though I hoped for more, all I got was silence. Comatose. That lasted for a couple of days before we got…the pulse back. Good things come to those who wait…like there was any other choice…
dark cloud over sunflower fields
life is fragile
Carpe Diem Haiku