How Did All This Happen? by Bishop John

Author:Bishop, John [Bishop, John]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2013-10-10T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 19

A TOWN THAT DIDN’T EXIST

I was to learn that being American first and from New York second made Joe a celebrity everywhere we went in Eastern Europe. People would continually ask us questions about life in the West, but it was always Joe they wanted answers from and it was always Joe who they thought would be best placed to help them get in contact with their uncle, cousin, brother or school friend who had managed to escape to the West and from whom all contact had stopped. I, on the other hand, was just a source of minor interest, somebody who was travelling with ‘The American’. That was, until we reached a town that did not exist.

It was the fourth day on the road in Bulgaria and the grey skies had soaked us in rain when we pulled into what we thought was a café but – as we were now becoming accustomed to – was actually a café without food. There seemed to be food shortages everywhere we went, so we asked the lady who was trying to run a café without food the best place for us to go. She indicated a position on the map, which had no town marked. We both thought she was possibly a bit mad due to the lack of food but, rather than spend the rest of the day in the company of a hungry, mad woman, we rode in the direction she suggested.

From the main road, we found a smaller road, again unmarked on the map, but which seemed to be in the direction of the phantom town. We rode slowly down the empty road till we arrived at an unmanned checkpoint. Lifting the barrier, we rode into the town of grey, square, pre-fabricated buildings that we were to learn later was called Belene.

The town felt like it had been plonked there no longer than 10 years previously and, looking at the buildings, it seemed unlikely that it would be there in 10 years’ time. As a place, it provided an ugly contrast to the old country villages that we had been progressing through.

Amongst the characterless buildings, we found a small, empty café and quickly ordered hot chocolate and toasted cheese sandwiches before we lost the energy to talk. When the food and drink came, the relief was immediate and we ordered a repeat.

Whilst we sat there drying off and wondering if one of the square boxes was a hotel, four middle-aged men entered the café. Before Joe or I had time to think what their intentions might be, all of them sat at our table.

‘Hello. My name is André. Where are you from?’

The speaker had a warm face that held the friendliness of a child in a school playground meeting new friends, although his greying hair was testament to the fact that it had been some time since André was in a school playground.

Before I could speak, Joe had once again become the Ambassador of the West and told the four-man greeting party that he was from New York.

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