Well connected, it’s something I continually hear about the neighborhood of Trakiya. It may be considered a town unto itself at times, but with multiple bus lines moving through at short intervals, it keeps itself from feeling severed from the city of Plovdiv.
“That was something we always had from the beginning..”
Pepa looks down into her coffee and then out the window facing the street from her apartment on the second floor of block 7.
“We didn’t have sidewalks or grass, but we had big streets and lots of busses. Streets like those of Paris they would say. There were still no cars. Everyone was waiting for theirs to come, they had the money, but we all still waited. So they gave us busses that came all the time, it was a real luxury, so easily to be able to get to the city whenever we wanted.”
She smiles with her pink lipstick, raising the floral china coffee cup to her mouth as she pushes its matching plate full of cookies over the lace tablecloth toward me.
It was only complicated in the mornings.. We were all so serious. I had my first job then, as a secretary at the Voina Bolnitsa. We had just moved in. There was no looking for jobs back then like you do now, there was going to be work for you. You just knew you had a place, everyone, and we all would get up and go to work at the same time. Every morning you would hear the panelka wake up.. you can hear everything, the bangs of pans, the sound of water running through the pipes in the bathroom, and the smells, the smells of coffee and breakfast, and the children…
She stops herself, looks up at me, “But, of course, you know this, you know how this is.. now that you live here with us.”
I smile and nod. I am familiar with the sounds and the smells that know no walls. They are, at times, incredibly annoying, distracting, and worse, a tad too revealing, but I also feel a very strong sense of comfort from them.
“… And you would hear the elevator would kick in at 7:15 and it wouldn’t stop for a breath for a full half hour. It made me nervous, really. A constant reminder of the time quickly passing. And I was always rushing to get out the door. You had to be on time. They didn’t care if the bus was late or the bus didn’t come. You had to be on time. It was your responsibility…. and we took it seriously…. Very seriously…”
She pauses for a sip of coffee, looking back out the window onto the bus stop.
“Once we were all at the stop and the bus would come, we would all squeeze to the door. It was very crowded.. you had to throw your elbows if you wanted to get on! And you had to. You had to make sure you got on that bus. And so, we did, we would pack ourselves in, trying our best to keep our hair and nice clothes intact, neighbors on top of neighbors, we would ride through the forest and into the city.”
Pepa’s stop is a small glass shelter with an aluminum bench now.
I sit on its cold surface and look up the street that curves around block 10 and out of sight.
I never know when the busses are going to come.
Maybe there is a schedule, but probably not.
I met the lady at the new shiny little newspaper/alcohol/cigarette stand near our bus stop.
A chance for consumerism as you wait.
Her name is Galya.
It’s 9:30 pm. Unlike Pepa going to the center for work, I go to the center for nightlife.
Trakiya, not by design but since the changes, tends to cater to a specific genre of entertainment: Chalga, also known as Turbo Folk.
I’ve been waiting for the bus for 20 minutes.
There are 4 different busses that pass our stop.
The old rusted sign hanging crooked from the lamp post says that each of them is on intervals of 6-15 minutes.
I look up and down the street, a taxi whizzes by followed by a black Mercedes with tinted windows, both taking the curve of the street a little too fast, pushing me back up onto the curb.
I approach Galya, ducking to see inside her little window surrounded by all your cigarette and magazine choices..
‘Are they done?’
She laughs. This is not the first time I have asked her really confused questions regarding the busses.
‘No! Of course not! They go until 10:30 sometimes, and midnight sometimes.’
‘huh…. sometimes….. ‘ I repeat, still ducked. Galya continues giggling,
I smile and resume my position on the bench, slouching to bury myself into the warmth of my coat…..