My weekend UK Arts supplement would have me believe that in the cinema world, Romania is the next Brazil. Three hard hitting films on life before and after the downfall of Communism have suddenly put Eastern Europe back on the must-see movie map.
Bulgaria's carefree environment provides expats like myself with a sense of freedom and safety rarely experienced in our home country. Especially in the countryside, life here is sometimes safer for children and teens, less complicated for adults, and harks back to Britain's admirable values of 50 years ago, where everyone “looked out” for each other. However, whilst life here is so much more straightforward and relaxed, Bulgaria trails way behind the rest of Europe in terms of health and safety.
Today someone tried to kill me. Three times. As I crossed the street at a zebra crossing, a sports car shot through a red light and miraculously missed me. A plumber saved me from falling into a gaping manhole by sticking his head out of it just before I was about to step in. A chunk of plaster the size of a small dog came crashing down off a building as I passed by. And this was on a good day - the pack of stray dogs that usually prowls the pavements on my way to work must have had the day off.
Bulgarians are very conservative at heart. They crave the quiet life. They don't want fuss. They don't like hassle. This attitude has many positive sides. In Bulgaria, respectable folk don't have to put up with mouthy teenagers on public transport, as in Britain. You can walk around after dark in relative safety. There are no brawls in the street at pub closing time. The dominant philosophy is “live and let live”. Touch wood.
THE TREATY OF NEUILLY
When news of the 27 November 1919 treaty signed in the Paris suburb of Neuilly-sur-Seine reached Bulgaria, there was not a dry eye to be found. The victors in the First World War forced the defeated nation to accept a peace deal that Bulgarians to this day consider a national catastrophe.
It appears that there is a year long litter festival. This festival consists of adorning the trees and bushes with litter, and also along the roadside litter can be seen. There is normally a pile of litter outside each village. Presumably this pile is to further enhance the surrounding area; it can be dipped into as and when required.
A yuppie pukes up $500 worth of truffles and Bordeaux into a New York City gutter while his brother walks pinschers in Central Park. They are both Bulgarian and their father - or at least his remains - is packed away in a black box. Such a scene can only be straight out of an Alek Popov novel. Born in 1966, he is one of those rare Bulgarian writers who can describe the life of his compatriots abroad without tumbling from the lifeline of self-irony into the abyss of misguided patriotism.