Grateful to my parents
Marin the driver dropped us off at the skyscraper of a hotel yesterday evening. My room on the 15th floor provides a great view of Sofia, a town of cobble stone streets, rumbling trams, girls bearing cleavage, naked tummies and bra straps. Also the archaeology museum boasting beautiful, gleaming solid gold vessels made by the Thracians 1000s of years ago.
I've gotten too used to the high life provided by my parents and am annoyed that the only English shows I can find on the 60 or so cable channels are CNN, a sports channel, and a ridiculous show about girls competing for the love of a dippy Italian boy. The mini bar fridge is stuffed so full I can barely squeeze in my bottles of water and a diet coke. The enormous window won't open. But I pause and think. There is no way I could have seen the Madara horseman, the tombs built 2500 years ago, Veliko T and the Black Sea as well as Plovdiv and Sofia and Rila Monastery in only 8 days without having a driver and I couldn't have afforded one on my own.
Marin drove mom and dad and I from Plovdiv up a narrow road winding through forested mountains to Rila Monestary. On the way we pause for sheep and buffalo yoghurt as thick as ice cream. The mountains rise up on all sides of the monastery. Swifts dip and swoop in the clear air. Black robed, black haired, bearded monks stride through the clumps of tourists and hikers, one fills large plastic bottles with cool spring water spouting from pipes.
Tomorrow we fly to Bucharest, Romania. Marin will pick us up at 6 AM. It's so relaxing not to have to worry about buses or how to get from place A to place B. I'm very grateful to have parents willing and able to plan such a trip and take me along with them.