Issue 123-124

One of Bulgaria's oddest quirks, the Council of Ministers passing decrees every year to "combine" holidays, is about to change.

The architecture? The silver-haloed icons of the Virgin Mary? The elaborate carvings of the icon doors? These may all be astonishing, but have you noticed the river of fire, on the outside western wall of most of the churches, flowing towards the gaping mouth of a dragon-like monster? Have you bent to see in detail the devils in the flames? Have you wondered what were the crimes of the sinners they torture?

The man in the middle is Bulgaria's former Prime Minister Boyko Borisov. The location is Hitrino, a village in northeastern Bulgaria. The occasion is a major train accident at the village station that resulted in a huge explosion leaving eight people dead and devastating many people's homes.

There's a minibus going everywhere, I swear. Even in the shittiest little towns, six to eight people get dropped off every two hours. I couldn't imagine what anyone else wanted in Stefan Voda, unless they somehow had jobs and still wanted to live there.

It was picturesque, like Grigorievca, with tin-cutout wells and weathered gingerbread on the houses and gates. Some fluffy yellow dogs with curly tails were scuffling around by someone's fence. I remembered how no young people stayed in the village and wondered if they all – the girls, anyway – ended up like Cristina.

Historians disagree when exactly it appeared, and Balkan and other nations disagree on who makes it best. But in spite of its ability to ignite disputes, Rakiya remains one of the things that unite Bulgarians. There is hardly anyone able to imagine the beginning of a Bulgarian dinner without the cult – and rhetorical – question: "Will you have one small Rakiya?".

However, in Bulgaria the question is not only about a single small Rakiya. In this country, Rakiya is institution.