The Foreigner

Lozen to Momin Prohod, Bulgaria

The highest mountain in Bulgaria: Musala. The view from our abode.

The Foreigner is a 1984 American theatrical production written by Larry Shue that takes place in a Georgia fishing lodge. Betty, the proprietor of the lodge, has never traveled. Froggy and Charlie arrive at the lodge. Froggy tells Betty that Charlie is a foreigner from some exotic land and does not understand a word of English. “A foreigner!” Betty exclaims. She is thrilled! She speaks to Charlie veeerrryy sloowlly, and VERY LOUD assuming Charlie will understand.

The actual plot is far more complicated. It’s an intricate comedy with a twisted plot. (Charlie is not a foreigner, and is in fact an Englishman. So! He overhears all sorts of conversation he should never hear!)

While it seems a great majority of young people here in Bulgaria speak English, our “lodge” proprietor for the evening does not. We resorted to google translate. Most people understand “Hello!” Then, it was clear the woman had no clue what I was asking so I pantomimed. Folded hands under my tilted head. Ah! That was clear. She typed into her phone in the Cyrillic alphabet. It translated. “You pay cash?” I nodded. She handed me a form to fill out with passport information. It was in Bulgarian. I guessed. I then pantomimed bicycles. She shrugged and handed me her phone (I do not have Bulgarian on my translate app). “We need a secure place to store our bikes.” I hit the translate button and her eyes showed she understood. She gestured, come with me. I followed. We rolled our bikes up a steep cobblestone street to a gate. She unlocked the gate, we rolled them inside. We are now nestled into a little room that looks out to the highest peak in Bulgaria, Musala.

As I mentioned, it seems most of the young people speak English. Although the farther away from bigger cities you go (ride) the less this seems to be true. We stopped in a tiny village to have our usual picnic lunch. Two young boys were nearby on bicycles. They did not understand a word of our attempts to be friendly. Several days ago (I lose track of days!) we were en route somewhere and stopped to check our maps. An older woman came out of her gate and spoke nonstop Serbian, gesturing for us to come inside. Have a drink of water. Wash our face. Listen to music. At least, that was our interpretation. We said, “English?” She shook her head, then continued to talk at us. I smiled and nodded and laughed and shrugged. We gestured we were continuing on down the road. She shook her head no! Then gestured come in come in! We protested. She protested. Finally we climbed on our bikes and rolled away while she continued to talk at us and we continued to say “thank you!”

The foreigners!

I am envious of Europeans, in particular, those who grow up in smaller countries where they must learn several languages in order to communicate with the rest of the world. While we have met people who speak only their native language in smaller villages, we have also met people who speak so many languages they are not certain of how many. What a gift.

We are in the small village of Момин проход (Momin Prohod), in the middle of the mountains. The weather is perfect. We met a fellow bike traveler today, a Frenchman named Patrick, who is riding from Istanbul to France. Patrick has traveled the world on his bicycle. Patrick a tout le monde sur son velo!

Patrick!

Lozen to Momin Prohod, 40 miles