It feels as if I've lost my words both in Bulgarian and in English. No eloquence possible; not a proper way to actually express what I'm doing, what I'm observing or thinking about.
On a recent night walk around town I discovered that near the canal you can smell the fermentation of beer in the Stella Artois factory. We were together with A. and he told me that when he was still a child, the beer clouds would come as far as his primary school; you could smell them all over the city. It's a sour smell, more like the one of a strange food, and it lingers in the air without being exactly unpleasant, but still somehow manages to leave a sense of discomfort.
Experienced the city during a heatwave. Felt enormously as if I'm in Balchik for some reason. I guess because the heat was sticky and was making my hair all too curly, the way it happens when I'm on the seaside. Spent a whole weekend lying on the grass in front of the house, reading, daydreaming and playing badminton. Have a guilty conscious now, because of all the work I am procrastinating on, but oh well.
It's lovely to observe how the place I live in is revealing itself layer upon layer as the seasons pass. First, a strange and gloomy winter that never really felt like a winter. Then in January some men from the staff came over and cut the branches of the trees in preparation for an upcoming spring; it looked all naked and sharp. Then late March and the two magnolias blossoming, one of them turned out to be really close to my house. And now is the lilacs time, purple and white, I never had an idea we'd have them around. Sometimes I suddenly remember how these cobblestone streets looked like to my eyes the very first days after I moved here; the sudden rains in the afternoons and the September sun, and that coffee I drank on my very first morning, sitting on that little platform outside my door (same morning when I managed to lock myself out, which in itself was the reason to meet one of the guys who turned out to be one of my closest friends in this town).
I'm happy that A. is back in town. What an unlikely, lucky friendship is ours: we met four years ago in this very city and somehow created a bond over a distance of 3000 km and many Skype calls. It's the first time since we've known each other that we can meet up almost every day; go for walks, go for beer, discuss all the minutiae of being not-so-young-now-but-still-confused, aspirations, melancholies, etc. A couple of nights ago we were sitting in that little secret park near Groot Begijnhof, and there was a group of friends on the other side of the tiny lake; one of the guys played LA Woman by the Doors with such gusto as if almost being Jim Morrison; and then something in Russian which sounded a lot like a song from Lyube.