Bulgaria is the land of hurry and makes me feel tense.
Upon the arrival of the plane, people spring up convulsively before the fasten seat belts sign is off. They struggle with their luggage (I get the constant impression that pieces of it will fall on other passengers or myself) and then run into the airport bus, and out of it to passport control desks, which are not open yet. Last week, a lady was so taken up with her race that she stumbled and fell on the few stairs leading to the counter. Strange she wasn’t trampled upon by a horde of similarly minded athletes.
I can remember a life spent queueing. The last 3 or 4 comrades, in a queue for reasons unknown: “what’s this queue for?” “maybe shoes” “I’ve heard it’s sugar” “Let’s hope it’s toilet paper”.
Play everything double-speed or – even better – fast forward. A life of gathering and overstocking. Of eating when you’re not hungry. Of things done carelessly. As long as you do it in a hurry, everything will be fine.
And now, back into the city of ma lassa perde (“leave off”). Wondering how to reconcile these two mindsets and stay sane.