Above the rooftops, above the summer city

Some friends and I were shooting a music video for my mate's band. The location was an abandoned rooftop in the very heart of the city. Feeling the pulse of Sophia, hundreds of years old streets were buzzing with the whispers, songs, conversations, yells, running feet of the people beneath us. Their shoes made click-clacks, yet the only thing we saw from them was the tops of their hats.

Across the street from us, on a terrace, a couple were having romantic dinner. There were candles, a few plates, all else was dimmed and quiet. It wouldn't occur to me to make this up, it would be too corny for my taste, had it not been true. Now... it's a small confirmation that romance doesn't have to be big. In fact, the smaller the gesture, the more genuine it is.
Well, except from the big lights coming from our video production, big speakers booming.I wonder if we embarrassed them, when we looked. Whether we annoyed them, or whether they liked us. The quiet romantic dinner and the loud music video couldn't have been more than 25 meters away yet they seemed worlds apart. To me, though, they went together well.

We had a few beers, we danced for hours, laughed and found common friends with new acquaintances. Really, what happened was, we had a party and someone filmed it, there may even be shots of me in the video, doing cartwheels.
The scent that night was so Sophia. A slight tinge of summer dust, honking cars mixing with song beats. The gold on Alexander Nevski's domes almost reflecting the light from our roof, the city bubbly with summer sounds and smells, yet the approaching fall causing the temeratures to drop, just making us dance harder....

London town

For all the times I've been in London,  it was at 2 am that I saw it be its warmest and kindest.  That particular night, I had been travelling on a bus from Oxford, it was only me and the driver. It felt like it was just me and the driver in the whole of England. The motorway was quiet, long, with the occasional lights flickering with the frequency of a slow heartbeat. Monotony was exciting,  it kept me alert before the lack of sleep and the nurturing rocking of the bus took the best of me.
I woke up and I immediately felt light, curious, tranquil, the street light around me evoking a feeling of magic.  I wondered which city this was, it never occurred to me that it could be London until I recognised some familiar landmarks. It was a sleepy masculine London rather than the annoying fashionable hipster London full of slow crowds of pretentious people. It was calm, its voice-soothing, the timbre- metallic yet warm, its skin made of stone. It was dressed to impress and an attitude to remember: regal, altogether composed, intelligent and...cheeky, somewhat. One you could fall in love with, because it was ultimately honest. Bitch had style.
Vacated by its usual inhabitants, who were resting after a day of shopping, working, rushing, changing tube lines, calling each other to arrange dinner plans, the city behaved like a person. When left alone in its own company,  it was stripped of expectations and conversations. I loved it for that, it was a thousand times more alive to me than during the day. It claimed the respect it felt it deserved, for its history and looks, much like a well-groomed man, respect I gladly showed. Respect I would never have shown during the day, when London usually behaved like a spoiled slutty teenager.

I exited the bus, said goodbye to the driver. It felt special to me that we had shared this bus ride only with each other, in the middle of the night.  Walking towards my train, once again I felt protected by the city which used its tall, dark buildings to snuggle me with their metallic and stone arms. I couldn't sense neither the cold nor the tiredness anymore.  

Better than chocolate

They are light, they are smooth and the are incandescently, voluptuously dainty. So I got 4.

These are my four little fairies of indulgence:

Blueberries and honey,raspberries with chocolate, cherries with coconut and carrot  cup cake. 

Mmmmmm...

Two of them are still left. I will have them with peaches. When grandma called earlier today, she asked "Are you eating well?" 

Yes, grandma, I am eating peaches!

The good, the bad and the Pork Pie

I'm experiencing a quarter-life crisis, which turned out to be an actual thing. This had brought up some moments of self-reflection.
Recently, I was at the seaside with my family where I found some temporary friends to hang out with. One particular night ended up with me coming back home in a slightly jollier and tipsier state than was advisable, only to be caught by my mum who gave me a stone-cold look and said "I never want to see you like this again". Fair enough. What I didn't think was fair was the conversation followed next day, where I was explained that now was the time to think about the person I want to be, these are the best years of my life and I am wasting them, getting wasted. Untrue, as it isn't my habit to do so but I do agree that seeing your kid coming back home very tipsy is somewhat ugly, even if they are 23. Lesson is sinking in, I don't want to become a drunk, it's not the person I am.
There's something to be said about the moment where you're in the car, at 3.30 am, having just driven all three of your friends to their houses after an awesome night out, some drank, some drank tonics and all danced. You're in the car, feeling good and protective and responsible, the road is empty and your only company is the voice of the GPS lady, who tells you where to go, because, frankly, you don't know which way gets you out of these tricky small streets in a neighborhood you've never been to. Then a favourite song comes up, I turn it up, and there it is- a black Ford Focus, buzzing through the streets of Sophia at night, in its own bubble of Euphoria, feeling good, like there's nobody else in the world. Which there wasn't, they were all asleep. It felt like a small prize for what had just happened, like I had earned hearing two songs I enjoyed, consecutively. When I offered to drive the 3 boys to their respective homes, it was a natural response, I wouldn't want my bros to be walking the streets at night or have to pay lots of money for a taxi, and it was hardly an inconvenience regardless of the distance because I enjoy driving and I hadn't had anything to drink. However, by the third address, their praises and appreciation had gone to my head a little, I was happy they were safe but the bit of me going through the quarter-life crisis was also pleased to find yet another answer to its concerns- this is the sort of person I would like to be. Responsible, choosing not to drink so I can drive, enjoying myself and taking care of my bros, taking them home.

Pork pie is an excellent place, as many of you Sophianites will know. It's an open-air bar. I was there last night, with the fore-mentioned three boys and this night will stick like a post-it because it was some of the most honest fun I've had recently. Dancing in a company that was not my usual one, the conversations were honest, the music was not mine but was not foreign either, in it was found more honesty that I have been finding in familiar, close environments. Yet again, I feel a revised list of who to keep in my life and who to expel is forming in my head. Here I am, a step closer to the person I want to be, its best and happiest version. Writing this memo to myself will serve me as a marker in 6 months time, 2 years or whenever I need to remember what makes me better and what I don't need anymore.

The ultimate Dutch experience

You remember a few posts ago, when I was promoting the idea that we should all try new things, even things that we've set our minds to never do? I ran, that time. I ran a few times. Well, I jogged, in the city.
Here was my new adventure:

Some random people I found on the internet, riding effortlessly. In other words, nothing like what happened to me.

I found a picture that illustrates both everything and nothing about my experience. Yes, I rode on the back of a bike, sideways, like a girl. Indeed, I was in the Netherlands. However, this girl is more photogenic, she is effortless and the black and white picture captures her ease. In my case, I was digging into my friend, and all the colours in the world wouldn't depict the terror in the first five minutes.
I dug into my friend with one hand, and with the other held on the back of the grill I was sitting on. I got used to it, got a bit cheeky, enjoyed it as much as I could. But being on the back of a bike for nearly an hour meant that my muscles had to do what they hadn't do in a while: tense! My abs tensed to keep my legs high, my legs tensed so they wouldn't get caught, my bum was on the grill so it was constantly in pain as each individual piece of metal dug deep into my big ass....for the past two days I have had muscle pain where other people, surely, don't have muscles at all! I am positive nobody has that many muscles in their body that could hurt at the same time!
It was the ultimate Dutch experience, though. We were going to a football game Netherlands-Slovakia (2:0), I was wearing my Dutch Pride orange t-shirt, and rode on the back of a bike. Suave :)

A terrace somewhere in the city of Rotterdam

How good it is to have a terrace in the city center, the birds sing to you, the cars honk, the people talk, you're here when life is happening!

So, today, I had a good day. I went to see my supervisor and talking to him, counterintuitively, helped my stress levels, I felt better and reassured about what I was doing.

Wait, sun is back from behind the clouds, I will come back to finish writing this overly inspirational piece in 5 mins. 

OK, so I'm back but I had to go out, because as I was typing the previous sentence, I was listening to a happy song called "Walking on the Sun" and suddenly the sun reappeared. So, you see, I had to enjoy it. 

After seeing my supervisor, I was on the tram, where I played pick-a-boo with a 1-year-old-or-so toddler, a really cute one. I hid behind the seat, and he laughed heartily, like nothing else mattered in the world. Sometimes, rarely but it happens, children are awesome, they make you smile.

I then got back home, opened up a beer, put on some songs, opened the balcony door and sat on the terrace, enjoying the sun, sippin' my beer and smoking  a cigarette. [yes, smoking is bad and I'm still a non-smoker, except for exam times and the two-three weeks before submitting my master thesis. Understandable, yes? Now get off my case]  I sang out loud, my voice merging with the thousands of other sounds- cars starting up, cars parking, a couple making out right there, a woman opening up the door to a boutique, someone paying for a pair of shoes worth hundreds of euros, laughter, the chocolaterie Specker downstairs where it smells of butter, cocoa and dreams, the wind going through the trees...

At that moment, there was nothing more sublime than the feeling of the great music of the '90s, the cigarette in my hand and the beer. 

The sun's back. So, I'm off... you know where to find me. Listening to the sounds of the city of Rotterdam.

Trumpet in the city

I was going to go for the more obvious and, surely, better selling "sax in the city" but here I am, demonstrating a surprising quality of judgement.

Where I seemingly lack a sense of judgement, however, is my preference in cities. Call me crazy but I don't like London, yet I am so fond of the smaller, dustier, poorer, described-by-many-more-pejorative-adjectives capital of my native Bulgaria, and my home town, Sophia. Recently, a rare opportunity presented itself for me to show that it isn't only for silly subjective reasons that I like Sophia so much. For all its shortcomings, it is a city with soul and life to it. There is particular vibrancy in the spring and summer, when the streets, much like the trees and nature, blossom with colour. Countless small festivals, events and other cultural curiosities sprout in the city.

This time, Sophianites awoke to the sound of 11 old pianos, each uniquely decorated, spread around various locations.

Photograph: Dnevnik.bg

Photograph: Dnevnik.bg

Photograph: Dnevnik.bg

Photograph: Dnevnik.bg

Photograph: Dnevnik.bg

Photograph: Dnevnik.bg

 I was proudly showing a friend of mine around Sophia. We'd been walking around in the sun for a while when we decided to sit down and seek sanity under the shadow of a tree. As we sat and rested our legs, we found ourselves next to a piano which was "dressed" particularly remarkably. Take a look.

A young boy played beautifully, while his friends patiently waited. He finished and I don't think he had even realised we were listening, because he was surprised when he heard our applause. It must have been clear by the enthusiastic, albeit shy, clapping that it was more than just a polite gesture on our part because he continued playing, dedicating the next song to us. We smiled, half coyly, half proud of ourselves.

As he finished his beautifully played song, and just as we wished him and his friends a good day, we saw what must have been the coolest moment, and what was the reason for me to say out loud to my friend: "This is so going in my blog!". First, our heads were pulled in the opposite direction towards a surprising sound. This was no piano. We then saw the source, a friend of theirs, smoothly biking with no hands because his hands were preoccupied playing a trumpet. Yes, take a minute and visualise. You stand up to leave, and out of nowhere, the sound of  a trumpet melts into the symphony of the piano in the summer heat. He was so cool, he could play the trumpet and cycle at the same time, no hands.

When you have a trumpet so breath-taking, the beauty of its reality blows away the semi-accurate, vulgar and easy pun of "sax and the city".