3- and 2D

the question for the day was: if it's imposed rather than sought out and, ultimately, unwanted, should one feel bad about refusing to pay for assistance?

pulled into Sofia a couple hours late, so decided to head straight to Plovdiv. on the way to the place to buy my train ticket, was latched onto by a man doing the usual "hostel? taxi? half my kingdom?" routine, which i detest. i admit, the backpack i carry shuffles me into a certain crowd—but i wouldn't have it on me in the first place if i wasn't using it to schlep all of the housing and food that i would require for my stay (would just take a couple layers of pocketed clothing if i intended to be all non-hardcore with all them there "backpackers," but then i wouldn't look like i was one of them, now would i? ah, the inanity). as i tried to shake him loose with my perfected means, he persisted in following me down to the ticket place, stayed as i bought said Sofia-Plovdiv-Sofia ticket, and up to the train itself. when he also got on the train, i realised that something would have to be done. when he started petulantly yelling in my face and kicking my feet, i was never more certain of this fact. i may not be good for much, but i certainly can stand my ground and, in doing so, realised that the question posed above does not pose much of a dilemma after all.

spent a pleasant two hours with a married couple and their small daughter, who were off to see grandma in a village just outside Plovdiv. the whole scene (i promise you, this does not happen whenever i see a pair plus spirited youngster—just when the woman involved is clear about the correct running of the world and vocal about it in an Eastern European language. well, all right, then) reminded me, fondly, of Masha, Leonya, and Elik. later, we were joined by an old man and an encorduroyed student type, both reading newspapers. i used the opportunity to brush up on my Bulgarian, over their shoulder; this amounted to cyrillic (plus a few additional letters. so cool!!) practise. all along the tracks, the telephone wires were hung with what seemed to serve as counterweights of some sort: semi-cylindrical bricks of cement. along these same tracks, i saw more stands selling more toilet paper (often solely) than i have seen in my short life. i suppose there is a permanent market. within a few minutes we stopped at a station whose only (and largest) sign was one declaring TOALETA, so maybe there was something i ought to have known about, but had soon forgotten as the civilisation smoothed away and the mountains rose nearer.

Plovdiv, itself, has a great many hills instead of the mountains which populate the southwest of Bulgaria. we pulled into the station and i catapulted straight into a great little town, the sort of place which is immediately recognisable as such. its main feature, apart from the hills, is the collection of third century Roman ruins found scattered all over the city, remnants of when it was called Philippopolis. they were repairing one of the main pedestrian boulevards, so there were piles of stone all over; at its end, though, part of an ancient amphitheater. i spent the rest of the day climbing up (!) to points all around the city, looking at it from various angles. stone passageways, dark churches. up on one of the main ruins, a huge boulder was cabled into immobility; only utilitarianism can answer (and defeat, beyond a doubt) Sisyphus, it seems. the entire city is overrun with cats; they seem to be the modern variety. just because this aspect of travel (arrive, walk around city all day until dark) is also routine doesn't mean that it looks to lose its appeal anytime soon. it was all completely relaxing and beautiful, especially with the warm-ish sun.

as it looked about to set, i thought i should make some work of finding a place to camp. had heard about somewhere a few kilometers from the city, so started walking in that direction. got mired up in some agricultural equipment (why does this always happen?) and a whole lot of garbage, but got some better directions (i think i can speak Bulgarian if i just change some key vowel sounds and lengths, plus the usual low mumble) from a man who was guarding it all. which meant that i was hiking along the railroad tracks. made the mistake of heading along a path leading into the woods, down which i saw some horses go. everyone knows that, in order to reach a campground, you must stay on the mainest, busiest road in sight. by the time i reached "4th Kilometar" (from where?), it was a little late and a lot dark and cold. found someone around the place, explained my wishes (not all of them, which would have been both time consuming and ill-contrived), and ended up on the lawn outside the 24-hour bar of the place.

when i unpacked the Gear, something seemed to be missing and when i realised what it was, i knew that it would be a night of flat camping. i will not go so far as to term them indispensable (obviously, or the story would not continue), but tent poles, my comrades, are somewhat important. nonetheless, i spread the tent out, threw everything into it, and, after eating quite a lot of my supplies, settled into the heap for what would be a, well, chilly night.