Eurotrip

Well, it's been a while, and a lot has happened since the last time I posted anything on my blog. I visited my site today (for the first time in months) and reading through my posts, even the latest one seemed fairly archaic. I've been busy, that's true, however that hasn't been the sole reason for my latency. I just had to give myself some time and let things marinate before putting the whole experience into words. Long story short: it was lovely visiting Bulgaria; living there permanently...not so much:) So Mark and I made the decision to move to England and since we had already bought a car, we thought it would be quite an adventure (yet another one) to drive there. We realized America and Bulgaria are the two extremes on both ends of the spectrum, and we needed some balance, the happy medium, if you will. I certainly can't say that everything about our stay in Bulgaria was bad, not even in the least. After all, Mark proposed to me there, and really, there couldn't have been a more perfect spot for that than my parents' vineyard.
The eurotrip started early in the morning on a Monday, and it was late afternoon by the time we got out of Bulgaria. After careful consideration and consulting with a couple of people who'd already driven to England, we decided to go through Serbia. The other possibility was Romania, and although it was the safer option as it is now in the European Union, it would have taken a whole day to drive through it as nobody bothered to build a highway there. At the Serbian border, we were stopped for a passport check and a few cops, dressed in post-Communist blue uniforms, interrogated us in regards to our bulky luggage in the car. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a bit nerve-racking. Even though both Bulgarian and Serbian are Slavic languages, I couldn't always understand what they were saying. Mark, of course, didn't have a clue, so I was the designated communicator/translator. One of the cops poked his head through our car window in order to take a good look at Mark and then, addressing me, said that Mark looked like a Turkish mafioso. For about four seconds, I was not sure what to make of that comment, as I didn't know if the man was kidding or being dead serious, but then he suddenly burst into laughter and gestured with his hand that we could go. Like that wasn't stressful enough, after a few hours of driving through the "ghost town-ly" Serbia, we got pulled over by the police. As it turned out, the reason they'd stopped us was because Mark had overtaken a tractor on the highway. We were willing to pay them, but they would not accept Euros (as they begrudge the European Union) and that's all we had. They asked us to find a place where we could exchange our money and then go all the way back to give it to them. Anyway, eventually they let us go and the minute we entered Hungary was the minute I finally relaxed. We spent the night at a motel and continued with our journey the next morning. To be continued....