Monk Business
Aug 16, 08:17 PM
Monks, eh? What can you do with them? I’m writing this from the balcony of the very nice Bachkovo hotel in the village of Bachkovo, up in the Rodopi mountains, although unsurprisingly there’s no internet access here, so I’ll be popping into Asenovgrad tomorrow to post this and to do a bit of other business whilst I’m at it.
I took the bus this afternoon from Plovdiv straight to Bachkovo. It was a hot ride – the bus was packed, and the passengers were all protesting that the air conditioning system was on the blink and pouring even hotter air into the vehicle. By the time I arrived a Bachkovo, I was pouring with sweat, along with the other passengers, some of whom had to suffer the same journey for considerably longer. Anyway, there was a fairly cheerful corps d’esprit amongst those on board, which made the journey bearable.
At Bachkovo, I got out and walked up to the monastery with my various bags and bits and pieces. The approach to the monastery is described in my somewhat over-pious guide to the religious architecture of Bulgaria as “ “, but to me it seems fairly cheerful – a load of cheap eateries and souvenir stalls and places selling sweets and charms and copies of icons. Confectionery for body and soul. Inside the monastery courtyard, which was fairly busy, I spent about ten minutes looking waif-like in the hope that somebody would apprehend me and ask if – given that I clearly had all my worldly possessions with me – I was looking for a place to stay. This cowardly approach got me nowhere. These guys are Orthodox, after all. They mean business and have no time for this kind of namby-pamby approach. So I took the bull by the horns and approached, first of all, an old lady who worked at the monastery. Could she tell me if I could stay there? Of course, she said, and sent me upstairs onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard, where I wandered about for a bit asking various other people. They all sent me in several circles in search of the elusive person who could sort me out. Finally a policeman told me to ask in the church as he said that somebody there could help me, and there I asked a cheerful fellow with a splendid beard and a Bachkovo Monastery logo on his coat. He advised me to go to the Secretary’s office, which I did. There I was told by a young man (who looked the spitting image of a second-rate American actor whose name I cannot remember), to wait until 5.30 for the person who dealt with accommodation. He pointed me to the window where this functionary was to appear at the appointed hour. He would be able to take my details and find me a place to stay.
It was not long after three in the afternoon, so I put down my bags and sat in the courtyard for two hours. I have always loved cloisters and courtyards. I find them exceptionally peaceful places to spend time. I sat and looked at the trees, gazed up at the mountain tops over the roof of the monastery, and watched the tourists and pilgrims go to and fro. The time passed quickly. At 5.25 there was a resounding peal of bells in 14/8 time. As the bells faded away, I looked up at the window with all the pious hope of a believer, full of faith that any moment now it would pop open and a friendly monk with a ledger might appear. Sadly, the window remained resolutely shut.
Ten minutes later, I decided to go to the highest authority. It was difficult to ascertain exactly who this was (other than the obvious Higher Authority, but I did not think that He would be very useful in finding me accommodation), but a likely candidate was the monk who was distinguished from all the others by the fact that whilst their hats were drab and grey, his was purple and velvety and splendid. I also noted that his beard was velvety and splendid, although black rather than purple, and this seemed a reassuring sign. Not only this, but he wore robes embroidered with elaborate swirls and suchlike that clearly marked him out as Somebody Who Knew. It also suggested, I noted, a secret liking for heavy metal, although I put this thought to one side.
To his side was an acolyte with jam-jar thick spectacles and the foreward-leaning stoop of one who is too earnest too young. I approached them both with a broad and – I hoped – reassuring beam. After all, they must have seen me sitting there with a look of simple contemplation for the past two hours. Perhaps they had been impressed by the air of calm that pervaded me. Perhaps they were waiting for me to approach them with a humble request for accommodation, at which request they would throw open the doors of a simple cell and welcome me inside.
Did they have any beds for the night? I asked.
No, said the Man in the Velvety Hat.
Oh, I said, somewhat disappointed. It was not so much that he said no, but that he said it in such an unfriendly fashion. He didn’t make eye-contact.He didn’t even glance at me. My broad and reassuring beam had clearly not had any effect whatsoever.
Will there be a place to stay tomorrow, perhaps? I asked.
No, again.
Why not?
No room.
What about the man in the window who was supposed to pop out at five thirty and to take bookings?
No room.
So that was that. I thanked both the Man in the Velvety Hat and his acolyte, and bade them a friendly farewell. Neither of them replied. The monk gazed into the middle distance where clearly something more interesting was happening, whilst his acolyte simply stared at me through his glasses, neither friendly nor unfriendly.
I decided that I would have to seek some lodgings elsewhere. Outside, amongst the heathen traders, I had more luck. They cheerfully told me where I could find a hotel, with much gesticulation, and wished me good luck. So I walked into the village and found myself here in the Bachkovo hotel, which is no bad place to be. As I write this, the evening star has risen over the hill, and bats are swooping for insects over my head. A few fireflies are doing their thing. It’s a peaceful place to be. Tomorrow morning I will walk back up to the monastery, and have a quick look round, although my enthusiasm is somewhat dampened, before heading on up to the meadows above it where I’ll have my lunch. Then in the afternoon, I’ll head into Asenovgrad (which my guidebook to religious architecture calls “Christ-Loving Asenovgrad”…) to sort out the next stage of my journey.
But for now, it is dark, the glowing screen is attracting moths, and I have a chapter to write. Good night all!
#1 · Frank O'Connor
Aug 17, 03:13 PM
In this case, “no” probably meant “$25.00 American”.
#2 · Nick
Aug 18, 11:00 PM
Not bad, Bill! I am from Plovdiv (as a matter of fact I used to be from Plovdiv since I live in Sofia now). I like your stile of writing about my country. The point of view of a side-looker is kind of funny to me. We, Bulgarians, would never experience what you have because we are used to lieve our difficult and sometime nonsence life! And do not miss to klimb up to the Assenova Fortress! It is near Assenovgrad. The view from there is marvelous!
Take care and good luck!
Nikolay “Nick” Yankov
#3 · Ann
Aug 26, 02:23 PM
Thank you for the nice post. I enjoy reading your posts. Thank you for the
time and effort you spend for keeping blog lively and attractive and that
makes it worth visiting and re-visiting.