A gift from God in Central Macedonia
If you accidentally missed the first two parts and to understand why it is „A Gift from God“, Take a peek at the Great Easter in Gabrovo и Mysteries of St. Nedelya. Koprivshtitsa: Archaeology of the Spirit 2 And here is this one – Koprivshtitsa: Archaeology of the Spirit
Having passed through the triumphal arch of the Bulgarian Renaissance, we are leaving it to climb to a higher — this time geographical — destination.
At 14 km in a south-eastern direction, at an altitude of 1604 meters, amidst dense beech forests, Mount Bogdan lay — the modest leader of the Central Mountains.
Bogdan is a gift from God.
Bogatun Peak – the mountain gift of Central Moravia
An easily accessible mountain gift that you reach not to tear the vastness apart with shouts of delight over an alpine feat, to cast envious glances at the lowlands from which you emerged with a grimace of horror, but to humbly withdraw to the small meadow amidst the larch canopy under the warming sun rays, as we did.
The path slopes slightly down to the wide open field and begins along its broad slopes.
From here the view stretches south over the wooded hillsides all the way to the fertile lowlands of Thrace, while to the north we see the mighty mass of the Central Balkan Range, which, along with everything else around it, forcefully holds the Middle Mountains in vassal submission.
And not just in a literal sense.
One of the few hikers here told me:
„Stara Planina has taken over the people. The chalets there are lively and healthy, full, the routes are more well-known, the local authorities take care of tourism.“
Here the huts are abandoned and almost destroyed. There are two or three working ones left, and they are difficult to reach — only on foot or by jeep. The mountain is left only to its most passionate devotees, who, understandably, are few.
The mountain guide is sorry, but I’m not.
Among the centuries-old beech forests of Central Bulgaria
Loneliness among the ancient forest brings back forgotten chills from the tales and legends of the Brothers Grimm. The shadows in the empty beech and oak trees become increasingly mysterious, and as ants of growing anxiety crawl over their backs, the sense of closeness with some ancient, primordial state of freedom becomes increasingly tangible.
You squeeze tighter what you have at hand — the handle of a torch, a knife, or some thicker stick — and you keep moving forward, ignoring all the noise, in anticipation of surprises from a predatory wild beast, forest fairies, trolls, or other unfriendly creatures.
The lonely shepherd's path reaches from the west at the feet of Bogdan.
From here, its entrances are higher and more impressive, covered with a powerful remnant of an ancient beech forest that once covered the entire mountain, while in the lower part it passed the baton uninterruptedly to the lower, branchy, dense oak forests.
The ruins of the Bogdan Hut
Between two giant boulders at the bottom of a triangular solar meadow and the beginning of the wooded ridge at the top are the remains of Hut Bogdan.
It was almost completely destroyed.
I compare its remoteness from human presence with the ruins of Thracian sanctuaries that abound around it. Only the more massive remnants of its skeleton protrude above the ground.
The enjoyment of the fairytale forest setting is marred by the breath of human recklessness, wantonness, and a savage squandering of fragile beauty; and I think to myself how many times man is the most dangerous predator—yet also the one who feeds not only on the flesh of animals and plants, but also on the labor, joy, and dreams of other people.
The man with the big Ч In fact, he is also a spiritual cannibal who destroys more than he creates.
Even the stone foundations of the old building and the concrete of the new one have survived. It is clear to see that the destruction did not happen all at once; many people contributed to the destruction over the years.
A prominent criminologist shares that if you don't immediately replace a broken window in a building with many windows, soon all the others will be broken too. Otherwise they will last longer.
Why, when we see something damaged, our first instinct is to destroy it even more, rather than saving it?
Why is this plunder, devastation, tearing down, and termite devastation of everything that is helpless and vulnerable?!
Among the strange multicolored sunbeams piercing the dense pine branches, the hut extended its slender leg like a young maiden. Hadjim Dimitir, He died of his own hand.
Here, behind the sturdy walls, a welcoming, life-saving and beautifying fire burned. On the traces of a stove that had once been filled with smoky pots, pans and trays, the thirst and hunger of the forest wanderers were quenched. The yak roof provided a deep, reviving sleep, enhancing the traveler with the joy of nature, supported by a human, cozy dwelling and shelter.
Now the bricks have been torn down; the wooden house is crumbling under the more fragile foundation of stone and concrete.
The silhouettes of the once modern bungalows that were added to the structure have survived only because the slabs from which they were built are useless.
His number still shows on every bungalow.
He was needed to bring order to the chaos.
Now only the two centenarian books in front are being read again to combat the sclerosis.
A tomb of happy memories, a monument suitable for a mountain that has lost its human form.
From Mount Bogdan to the Srednogorec Hut
From here, under the southern slope of the peak, through the shadows of the beech arches, the path winds along a reddish-brown carpet woven from the fallen beech leaves.
I often stop to photograph a giant tree linden, a stunning tangle of huge trunks that grow forever intertwined like Siamese twins, or a huge trunk twisted like a gargoyle's leg.
At some point I realize that I am wasting my time.
There are plenty of such sights, mysterious tree forms and communities all around, and there’s no reason to fear that I’ll miss out on anything.
From the steep peak of Bogdan Bllato, the trail continues for two or three kilometers to the east at almost the same level, until it descends slightly after another such distance into a shallow wooded basin at the bottom of which, hidden beneath the southwest slope of Little Bogdan, a small herd of deer is grazing peacefully and hospitably. Srednogorec hut.
Recently renovated, the forest house offers cleanliness and amenities for about seventy people. As in a kind of medieval Rome, here you find roads from almost all the villages in the foothills of the mountain — Koprivshtitsa, Karlovo, Kliusura, Bogdan, Karavelovo, Starosel, Hisarya.
Several separate fairs, processions and weddings could be held on the vast fields around without interfering with each other.
The feeders for wild animals suggest a close coexistence with the wild forest inhabitants.
In autumn, the meadows are flooded with a sea of purple minzuhar, like a transparent purple veil from an invisible celestial curtain.
Night in Central Gora
We meet the young mountain guide Christo and settle down in the warm room with new cheerful mountain lodge furniture.
As I walk around the neighborhood, a fog falls.
From it emerge the trunks of centuries-old beech trees, broken by a heavy winter storm, as gigantic dragon-like teeth.
There is a primitive fear permeating me, and a mood takes over that surely inspired Conan Doyle to write „The Lost World“. I’m waiting for something supernatural to happen at any moment, or at least for a pack of wolves to surround me.
Shortly before that, our host shared that this year the wolves had eaten five or six of his horses.
I ask him why he doesn't keep dogs.
He says that it doesn’t work — one, that dogs can’t handle the wolves, and two, that the horses get used to the dogs and then don’t run away from the wolves, which made them easier prey.
On a wide meadow near the hut, ghostly silhouettes of horses emerge from the thick undergrowth.
They must be the ones of Christos.
They look at me politely and still bend their heads towards the wet grass.
The magic is complete.
I was annoyed that we were late and couldn’t go for a walk in the sun anymore. But I also think that this ghostly state is especially prevalent on the empty mountain.
Mysterious, scary, magical
I'm coming home in light and warmth.
The bark rattles joyfully like a flock of sparrows in a blooming juniper; a hot soup lifts a tempting cheerful mist.
There are almost no people; the TV screen glows softly in the background; the wine is wonderful; the story is moving.
New things, strange destinies, strange events, choral joys and sorrows are infused into the hearts with the warmth of the fire and the good wine.
From the outside, the mountain is enchanted by the fog and darkness — immense and terrifying.
The world is impossibly distant and the tiny human presence becomes unusually joyful and precious like a ship in the middle of a stormy night sea.
We stay up late, and then, filled with a good conversation with good people, excitement, juicy conversation and always wonderful wine, I fall into a dream amidst the gentle breath of the resin from the warm pine in the room.
This is the end of the third part of a total of five by Atanas Krestev.
And the fourth one is very special…
Expect:
The Thracians – Priests, Warriors and Coup Leaders
