Denver to Amsterdam
Passport control at the airport asked no usual questions about the purpose of my trip, length of stay and so on. I showed my Australian passport, got a stamp and was free to go. Serbia did not care.
My driver met me outside of the airport. As I explained in the previous post, the transfer to Byala was found through a Facebook group that helps to connect travelers like me with people who would like to earn some money. The driver’s name was Alexander and this was all that I knew about him.
Now picture this ‒ it is midnight and pitch dark, I am a woman traveling alone with a sizeable amount of cash in case I could not withdraw money from an ATM, I am met by a total stranger who promised to deliver me safely to my apartment in Bulgaria.
The car was an old and battered Opel. Alexander apologized for the car and said that he borrowed it from a friend. His own nice Range Rover broke down while he was driving a Russian family from Byala to Belgrade right after they passed Sofia. Alexander made it to Belgrade just in time to drop off the Russians and to pick me up.
Transfers were not Alexander’s usual business. He owns a restaurant in Nessebar which he had to close because there were hardly any tourists in the area. He needed to survive somehow during the pandemic and started driving. It was his fourth ride and 48 hours on the road without sleep.
The latter statement caused a great deal of concern from me. On top of that, a thunderstorm broke out when we left Belgrade. The dark road, rainwater streaming down the windshield and the drowsy driver was a recipe for disaster. I asked Alexander to stop at a motel where we could stay until morning. He, too, knew that it was the right thing to do and did not argue.
Jenine was the first roadside motel that we came across and we turned right into it. It was rather rundown, with cheap rooms for €20, but it was only for a few hours. We took two separate rooms and wished each other good night.
My room was stuffy. I kept the balcony door open all night and still could smell old dusty carpet. For some reason, there was only one sheet on the bed and no other to cover myself. Instead of a second sheet, the motel provided a warm blanket that was hardly needed in July. I used a bathroom towel as a sheet replacement.
After 4 hours of sleep, I got up and knocked on Alexander’s door. It was 7.30 a.m. and we agreed to start early. There was dead silence behind his door. Alarmed, I banged and yelled, and managed to wake up Alexander 20 minutes later. That’s how exhausted he was.
We left the motel at 8 a.m., soon stopped at a small café for breakfast and resumed driving. The thunderstorm was gone, the weather was lovely, we listened to the music and talked.
Alexander is a Serb, 36, married with a 7-year old daughter. He worked in Russia for years and his Russian was almost native. He was born in a village that is 15 minutes from the border and probably has a lot of Bulgarian blood in him.
We got to the border by noon. After one hour of waiting to leave Serbia, we were on the other side. I said I was traveling to my apartment in Bulgaria, got a warning not to overstay 90 days in the country without a visa and an entry stamp in my Australian passport.
We had lunch between the border and Sofia, and then drove non-stop via Stara Zagora to Byala which we reached at 8 p.m. The total driving time, without stops for the border crossing and meals, was 9 hours, not bad for 855 km (530 mi).
I carried my backpack to the apartment. We both were hungry and went to a local restaurant to celebrate my successful arrival and our acquaintance.
My friends know that I am not a talker, especially with strangers. It is easier for me to write than to talk. I mostly listened to what Alexander had to say and he spoke from his heart as if he had known me for years. Without having any idea of my situation, Alexander talked about married life, that love does not last forever; it gets replaced with friendship, at best; that we live to seize the moment and not to regret our mistakes; that we should not act as others expect us just to please them, and about other things. If I had doubts about leaving home and going to Europe, what Alexander said was an answer to them.
Alexander could clearly see that I was old enough to be his mother. Yet, he treated me as he was senior to me, protective and caring. Our dinner and conversation were over. We said goodbye to each other and he disappeared from my life.
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What a trip! A story in itself:) Yes, I also found Balkan people to be open-hearted, ready to help and to talk, even when the language is only half understand, when needed, accompanied with a lot of gestures. So different from Germany and very charming!
Very true about the Balkans! This is another example of how we never know what life will throw at us, good or bad.