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I also love to go to the high mountains. I can barely stand to get some peak and looked toward the wide expanse. With pleasure, contemplate so many things to see, learn and wish. Of course, one is always prevail, to get away from the top and fly alone over valleys, rivers, houses and streets. My childhood dream has come true for others, it was too late for me to fly with Delta-plan. I already had the desire to overcome longer distances and to see more, so airports are so important in my life. From the time of the AN-24 it's been many years, but I still remember how the small airplane was throwing in "air-holes" and shivered through the clouds over the Rila and Stara Planina Mountains. With a gratitude to the pilot I left the airport, and I promised myself to see the world only from the mountains.
I found later, that when I do promises, it is better to be alone, because many of them are not based on sufficient experience. The 20th century is not stagnant. To be slow so to miss your chances. I'm flying again, but now with more security and comfort.
During the
sixties the airports of Germany, Hungary and Czechoslovakia were for me the
porch to the forbidden West. Doors to other cultures, to a world in which
people can have their own opinion and proud to say from which country they are.
Their airports were spacious and comfortable, and the passengers enjoyed the
respect and reverence. Most of these were missing in Bulgarian airports. Each passenger
is watched as a potential intruder. His fault was that, although some will get
away from Communist hugs, the stronger, the closer you are to the Russian border.
In our days we came again to
the sad moments, to peek passenger’s
bags and suitcases. The motivation is different, now the travelers monitor
whether verification is accurate enough, because taking the plane they bet their lives. Before in Sofia’s airport I was afraid if I my flight could be canceled for an unknown
reason, now if
some Arab wants to inscribe his name in Golden lists of Allah.
The attack on the World Trade Center in New
York found us in Las Vegas. After having allowed the flights we went to the
airport and waited for three-four hours to gather volunteers to fly . Two days of
American sky wasn't moving either plane and we were going to end up among the
first. May sound strange, but the verification of our luggage happened in front
of us and we all had our eyes in
the hands of the employee who was checking out. Although we stayed so long at
the airport, in my mind there's only this memory, everything else was wiped out
by the significance of the terrible event.
To land in
Moscow and up to now is quite another thing. There you are a
"Westerner" and the object of special care and attention. Of course,
they cover not only your comfort, but also every possible step that may transferred you into the Group of spies.
The Russians at
their own airports may not be in the Hall of the foreigners, cannot enter
the cafeteria and breakfast sandwich with caviar, a measure of prosperity,
cannot easily get to a taxi and
cannot get the most rudimentary passenger facilities as foreigners. I admit it,
the feeling of privileges makes people feel the pleasant "ticklish"
of preferred. Every time I looked at those behind the invisible iron curtain I was trying to skip their eyes. They would have read
no sympathy, but reproach, that they led the world to this unfortunate
situation. We have paid for
it, on a par with them.
Part of this material was
included in a book published a few years ago but now I was
thinking again about the Russians. How long will they live with their pan-Russian syndrome? 30% of them probably do not have what to
eat and what to wear in the
frigid winters but praise Putin’s aggressive policy. A Premier, who spends their billions for
armament… What is wrong in their measurement system? How long they can follow their megalomaniacs Kings and then Stalin? If so, why in their minds are Western countries and America.
For now, the 78 ,700,000
of them are in United States of
America, 31,300,000 in Europe and there are other countries. How to regret for those confused
millions who withstand
against their own smart and brave children, that put their lives on risk for them?
Albeit slowly
things were
changing for me, I get more I was getting closer now to the airports of the
free world. The first was the closest to Bulgaria, that of Athens. I was there on the way
to Africa. We have landed after midnight;
there weren't many people and
this increased the feeling of space, luxury and serenity. Windows with the glow
of gold, precious stones, the soft folds of the elegant clothes, electronics
and many more "Western wonders" attracted the souls of our group "builders
of socialism", to which I had a bad chance to belong.
From Athens was my first flight
with transatlantic aircraft, under the French flag. You may think that my joy was philistine weakness to
brag. No, those were the first sips of freedom. For the first time, I was going
to work outside of my country, I'd have my money every month. I wouldn't be
afraid that the little currency with which Bulgarians went abroad will finish and I will end up among the beggars. I
slowly opened the door to independence. At this point I realized that the most
interesting my experiences at airports barely starting.
My first landing on the African continent in
Dar-es-Salaam was connected
with strange guttural sounds of authemic language Swahili. The ggraceful figures of African women, wrapped in the
traditional kapulana were
moving with floating steps, balancing suitcases and bags on their heads. I felt a strange
odor in the
International Terminal, which I have connected for always to Africa. Exotic blend of plant and
human odors, the balance between which changes depending on the hygiene of the
place. Then I
didn’t figure out these things. I was in Ecstasy, drugged by the
atmosphere that welcomed me the continent.
The small airport was sunk in abundant
tropical vegetation. Inside was lavishly decorated with sculptures made of
ebony and Rosewood, which contrasted the background of the frescoes in the highly saturated
red, orange
and yellow
tones. Abstractionism has come to Africa without any academic
training.
Now I compare what I saw in Dar es Salaam with works of Salvador Daly which I recently saw in London on the seafront square near "London
Eye"-the English version of the Ferris wheel. The artists of the African continent have
talent and learned methods that are transmitted with the generations, as well
as an innate sense of beauty, colors , swing and movement. This is
the label, which
represents
them around the world.
Recently I went
back again on these thoughts. At the airport in Atlanta were exhibited paintings and
sculptures of African artists. Welcome at the personal invitation of the
Mayor. Around one hundred very impressive works. They were stacked in a wide corridor, that takes passengers
from the Terminal to the central zone. Great idea, instead of wasting your time
in cafeterias and
shops, to enjoy the human imagination and talent.
I don't
know how Angolans live when
they stopped fighting each other for power, but at the end of the eighties the
airport of Luanda was the example of the disorder. Due to the lack of regular
transport, the purchase of a ticket was a strategic operation that requires
links, patience and more money. Even with a ticket in hand, nobody knew whether
the plane will take him. The
concept of reserved space there wouldn't make sense.
However,
if someone was lucky to rich the Hall for
departure on domestic lines using a serious athletic exercise and if he approach the stairs of the plane after
hours, he was not sure if somebody could take his turn at the last moment and let him wait again spending indefinitely in the close surroundings of very
perspiring bodies filled with bags and boxes. Any distraction could reduce his
luggage. So I ended up with a punctured bag and without documents. I leaned to
look for them and only due to my vociferous daughter never trod.
The airports of provincial
States of Angola were better. The airport in Benguela province, where I was
working, was a small
clean and well-organized. People were filling home. Nothing was forbidden. Everyone
could go anywhere. Thanks to this trusting atmosphere one warm night of February Savimbe forces building up in the air, but they
left the Tower, because they also needed it.
I never knew anyone who "worked" there. I wonder which of my students carrying a weapon under his shirt and against whom. To me were friendly. My absolute indifference to the military problems had discouraged them.
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