We were on our way back to the village, weaving around the potholes so familiar to Bulgarian country roads, that can easily catch the unwary with a shuddering bump or teeth-shaking rattle.
It was late afternoon following a day of looking at village houses in various states of repair, and at that time - a couple of years ago - the full scale house renovation and new building in the countryside had not yet really got underway. I was looking to buy property, having travelled over alone on a few occasions previously, and like a lot of similar would-be buyers was bemused by the often derelict (and occasionally falling down) condition of the houses. Many were abandoned, with the previous owners lost in time, or inheriting relatives scattered around the country. I had been very lucky in my first contact upon arrival in Bulgaria, as the young girl Agent, Kalina, who met me at the Airport in Varna, was very honest and helpful (and I must admit attractive) and who on a later trip took me to meet her family in the charming village of Prosenik, nestling beneath the low-lying coastal end of the Stara Planina mountains. Kalina's Mum and Dad, Jacko and Tanya, proved to be wonderful people, down-to-earth, open and straightforward, who immediately took this stranger in a strange land under their wing, insisting I stay at their house in the Village whenever I came to Bulgaria. Tanya fed me lovely local traditional meals, her bean soup being to die for, and believe me having a salad in Bulgaria is a world away in taste from supermarket stuff in England. On the road back to the Village that day, with the sun shining high in the vivid blue sky, we suddenly happened upon Kalina's dad, Jacko, standing by his car stopped by the side of the road. Bear in mind that this was a country road, not very wide but just big enough for two cars to pass safely, and lined practically all the way with bushes and trees. As we drew level, we immediately saw the reason for this somewhat stationary scene. The driver's side wing, lights and part of the radiator area of Jacko's car were smashed in, and there lying dead in front of the car was a very large fat pig. Prior to Jacko's arrival at that point a group of pigs had rushed across the road, and Jacko, having seen them rush across a reasonable distance in front of him, had carried on driving. Unfortunately, one of the pigs was further behind the others and suddenly rushed out of the bushes across the road, giving Jacko no chance to stop the car. Not quite knowing what to do (and of course needing to claim on the insurance!), Jacko had called the Police. After we had left him there and returned to the Village, the Police arrived, and apparently nobody in the vicinity would confess to owning the pig! This is because it is against the law there for allowing pigs to roam free and cross a public highway. Therefore, when Jacko asked the Police what he should do with the pig, they told him he could have it, so he loaded it into the boot of the car. As he knew a man in the Village who was a good butcher (and obviously curer), we had a few good barbecues after that! However, the one thing remaining clearest in my mind about that curious scene was the very brief picture that flashed past me as we drove away from Jacko and the pig. As we drew away and picked up speed, I glanced through a break in the bushes into the field on the other side of the road, and there among the growing vegetables stood a group of around eight pigs. They were standing in a circle with their heads lowered together. Perhaps they knew one one of them had gone, and were saying goodbye....
