Immigration border slogan

Editor's Note: In Capka Kakapo's own words, her generation of Eastern Europeans grew up when the Berlin Wall fell, and their childhood coincided with the Prague Spring, so the "border" has special significance for her. Therefore, for her, the trip to the border is quite attractive.

Kapaka Kakapo was born in Sofia, Bulgaria, on 1973. She moved to New Zealand with her family on 1992 and now lives in Scotland. He published the novel Peace Villa, the memoir Nobody Street and Twelve Minutes of Love: The Story of Tango.

Whether writing novels, memoirs or travel notes, Kapakapova has the temperament of a poetess-keen, delicate and profound.

In "Working Border", she returned to her hometown Bulgaria, where she had been away for 25 years, and explored the story of the border with Turkey and Greece. Once published, the book has also won many awards, such as the Scottish Blue Cross Book Award in 20 17, Edward Stanford Durman Travel Writing Award in 20 17, Al rodham Global Intercultural Understanding Award in 20 18 and Highland Book Award in 20 18.

"The border I want to talk about is echoed with the seductive voice of the siren. Its uniqueness stems from three points: the remains of the Cold War still exist there; It is one of the most vast wasteland in Europe; Since the birth of the mainland, it has always been the intersection of continents. "

As a child, Kakapova heard that the border area was full of soldiers and spies. This is a shortcut to the west and a forbidden area for two generations. What's left there now?

After the "Cold War", cities declined and villages were deserted. However, Kakapova found that there are still many legends about firefighters, smugglers, treasure hunters and border guards in those ancient border areas. The wilderness before us has an end. But in people's stories, boundaries are everywhere-visible or invisible,' soft' and' hard'.

From the coast of the Black Sea all the way to the west, across the Thrace Plain, over the Lope Mountains, and finally back to the starting point-the mysterious Strania, the border is not only a fascinating walking note, but also a secret history of the Cold War that spans time and space. It tells us that people crossing the border are not just numbers, they are people, and they also carry stories worth listening to.

Authorized by the publishing house, this abstract selects several chapters and follows the author's delicate brushwork to explore the ancient Bulgarian fire dance ceremony buried in the border jungle.

Border: The Edge to Europe [New Zealand] Kapaka Kakapova (with) and Ma Juanjuan (translated); Social Science Literature Publishing House ‖ Thorne

It all started in spring.

We set out from the disco cafe to the Dashengquan. The motorcade slowly drove along the canyon to a place that could not be found on the map. This is a clearing in the border forest, and it is also a crossroads where hunters' footprints and paths are intertwined. On the way, we passed the abandoned border barracks full of snakes, which used to be the place where elegant "Poles" spent their childhood. The ceramic tile-decorated door is dilapidated, and a ghostly slogan is written on it: national border, national order.

I sat in a Soviet Picari with the women in the village. The road was full of potholes. Although the driver tried to control the vehicle, everyone was bumped up and down on the hard seat and struggled with his teeth. Women like to hold children with idols in red clothes and lace on their legs. I glanced down and was surprised to find their expressions so lifelike.

"Some of them are very old." A woman whose body is as strong as men say. The oldest icon has a history of 300 years. Women take care of them like orphans.

"So we only take them out of the church on St. Constantine and St. Helena Day. “

Despina, who lives on the same street as me, said. Her husband is ill in bed, and she takes care of a lush garden alone. "Dear, what do you think of our village?" The woman who asked this question was chewing gum.

I like her frank appearance, and she always likes to say things are different. "Cherry will fall soon. You can't eat such cherries in the city. "

"Maybe Scotland has cherries." Despina said.

"No, Scotland has whiskey." The woman chewing gum corrected. She winked at me. "Men wear plaid skirts, right? “

The women snickered. To show that I am an old friend, they handed me an icon to put on my lap. A woman with blue eyes has been sitting still. Her eyes look a little scary. I try not to see her, I wonder if this is the so-called evil eye.

"Few people come here, dear," said a woman who used to cook in the school cafeteria. "You should really see the village in the past."

"There are schools and libraries here," Despina said. "There are orchards, fields, herds of livestock and thousands of cows. Our village used to be very rich. "

"Let bygones be bygones." Women who chew gum are full of emotions.

"A few years ago, we went to Meliki," said the manly woman. "We visited the Greeks. They are lovely people. "

"Lovely person." Everyone echoed. /kloc-0.00 years ago, the ancestors of Meliki people in Greece left these icons, and they still kept the fire dance ceremony named "anastenaria", which is called "nestinarstvo" in Bulgarian.

"We have also been to Strania, Turkey," continued the woman chewing gum. "We went to our original village and saw our parents' old house. However, no one lives there, leaving only ruins. "

"Empty village", the man-like woman added. She cleans the streets in the village. People call her "ears" because she has extremely sensitive hearing. She can hear whispers in the room a few blocks away, and maybe even hear the thoughts in other people's heads. I saw her sweep the invisible dust in the empty square with a broom every day, and then turn into the other side of the mountain. I tried to keep my mind blank when I passed her, but she always stared at me sideways, which made people shudder.

Map of bghistory.info in the Strania Mountains.

The truck finally stopped and people gathered in the glade.

People call this place "hometown", which is a wonderful metaphor. For hundreds or thousands of years, it has witnessed the gathering of hordes of Zoroastrians, musicians, revelers, mysterious diviners and ordinary drunkards. Until the end of1940s, Stalin replaced nature as an object of worship. Our generation happened to witness mutton soup boiling on the fire when growing up, and women got off the truck to stir the soup.

There are five wooden platforms named "odarche" in the open space, and one in each of the five villages on the border. When the wooden platform is empty, it looks like an execution platform. Now, people line up from the river and put icons on the wooden platform one by one. All this looks very much like the scene in the movie Wicker Man. The person holding the icon did not stop to pray, but took small steps and danced a regular circle dance with gestures at the scene. In the smell of orthodox incense, the smell of paganism clearly comes to my face.

With the rhythm of bagpipes and cowhide drums, I joined the team leading to the river, where women "washed" (actually didn't touch the water) the icon. They took off their clothes, "scrubbed" them, then put them on and put them back on the wooden platform.

This open space is a permanent meeting place, and the wooden table like a platform is fixed. By noon, the carnival atmosphere is already very strong. Here, idolatry seems to have transcended faith, carnival or culture-it has been given another meaning. Although I know it, I can't say what it is. It should be a feeling related to the border.

The Greeks also came with icons. A group of Greek women are bending over to work by the river. This is the hometown of their ancestors, and their grandparents are buried in Valley Village. Therefore, "hometown" has become a special tourism brand: ancestral tourism.

I started along the steep mountain road to the direction of "Dashengquan", and the spring just gushed out-this is a big event. Once the "Dasheng Spring" begins to gush, all the springs in Stranja will start to drip. A girl ran over and patted me on the shoulder. She is dressed in white and looks like a goddess.

"Hello, my name is Iglika," she introduced herself. "Iglika" means primrose. "What's your name?"

I stopped and saw that she was blonde and had long wheat-colored hair, just like the characters in the song. Out of superstition, I can't help worrying. Aren't you afraid to attract evil eyes and live like her? I told her my name, and she smiled, showing her teeth as white as pearls and jade.

"Your name is water drop!" She took my hand and held it in her cold palm. "There must be some kind of close relationship between you and water. We are very similar. Do you know that?/You know what? I studied at Manchester University for two years, but I can't stay in Manchester. No one can live there, I am back. "

On the way to Dashengquan, she kept talking like a gurgling spring. But when we reached our destination along the stream of people, she disappeared. Iglika comes from the village of Cross, hence its name, because it is close to one of the few river bridge ferries on the Veleka River. The Veleka River originates from the mountainous area of Turkey, with a total length of 1.47 km. It cuts the Strania Mountains to form a canyon and finally pours into the Black Sea, regardless of any boundary. Rivers are the boundaries of the mythical world-so people must "clean up" the icons here.

I didn't see Iglika again that day. The villagers in Valley Village invited me to sit at their table. People pass each other a large bowl of mutton soup, which is called "kurban"-stewed with lambs slaughtered that morning-which means offering sacrifices to animals (from Arabic "kurban"), usually accompanied by bagpipes and drums. Although I have never seen it with my own eyes, in the rural areas of Greece and Bulgaria, Christians and Muslims still keep the tradition of holding kurban in major celebrations. In the past, every village where the fire ceremony was held had knives, axes and stumps dedicated to sacrifice. Now everything is gone, except the chapel on the edge of the village. They usually stand on mountain springs, and people worship icons before the ceremony begins.

"There is a church in Novo village, Sabel, in the mountainous area of Strania. It is built on a mountain spring and is an ancient place of worship." I don't know who said it behind me at the right time. The woman who speaks has light brown hair and smoky complexion, and her eyes are mysterious. Her name is Marina, and she seems to have been sitting on a huge oak stump not far from the table for a long time.

She said that there was a well in the church in Zabonovo village, where the primitive and mysterious battle was held. Until now, if you come to the well at the right time of the seasonal cycle at night and know the doorway, a man and a black bull will come out of the well at night and fight until dawn.

Marina is a scholar who studies ethnography. She stayed in burgas for 30 years, and then returned to the border town to take care of her elderly parents. She didn't ask me about the purpose of this trip, because she has another way of getting to know people.

Oaks sway quietly over our heads, and the summer sky is full of vitality. There are children, old people, drunkards and ethnologists here. You can see an outsider like me at a glance in the crowd-after all, we look stiff. People gulped down homemade spirits, and people stood guard on every wooden platform to guard the icon.

Marina said: "The manifestation of the gods is a kind of belief. People think that the icon is the embodiment of God on earth and the medium between man and God. " I asked her, where is the "great holy spring"? Because in my eyes, it is really not big. "We can't look at the problem from the surface. "Marina shook her head and told me a story with a smile.

In ancient times, every spring, a deer ran into the mountain and washed the mountain spring with antlers until the spring water gushed out. It comes every year, and after clearing the mountain spring, it is slaughtered voluntarily as a sacrificial kurban. So people here never hunt stags in the forest for fear of hurting deer with golden antlers. Marina said that it began to run to the sun in the Bronze Age, and fire was its secular incarnation.

In my opinion, the forest is now full of all kinds of hunting crimes, and people can get their prey at will.

"That's how the great holy spring came into being," Marina concluded. "Because of this, generations of Zoroastrians first realized the harmony and unity with fire here. Spring water gushes out, clothes are washed, and turn counterclockwise. These ceremonies have been with us for many years. "

But what does all this have to do with fire "Obviously," Marina said, "today is the Torch Festival between Saint Constantine and Saint Helena. Worship them, that is, worship the goddess of the earth and her son and lover-the variant of the sun god. The core of Zoroastrianism is to express the duality of Dionysus and Apollo. The sun and darkness mysteriously came together, which was very short-lived. These two can only be short-lived. "

Bucks are both hunters and prey; Mother and son are lovers.

"Metaphorical thinking is like this," Marina said with a smile, revealing a nicotine tooth stuck by nicotine. Of course, what I really want to know is: When can we meet the firemen?

"Fire is the secret of the night." Marina said.

"So we have to wait here all day?" However, Marina suddenly disappeared, just like an elf in a tree.

"According to tradition, the ashes in kurban are the scene of a fire. "A young man sitting at my desk said. He looks very strange, always sitting without drinking, pale and bloodless, with a pair of prominent critical eyes, at first glance like a cold-blooded reptile. He is a local fireman.

Soon, the band came-a man with a big drum, a chubby bagpiper, a gypsy accordion player like a melancholy Egyptian, and a young singer with a sunflower face. The singer brought a fresh breath, as if opening a door, emitting a beam of light and glowing all over. The bagpiper walked down the steps with the same trembling notes. This is not music created with consciousness and mind, but the ancient sound of time. The accordion player played a sad tune to the rhythm of the cowhide drum, and the singer turned on his voice.

The crowd began to stir, and the clearing seemed to bring everyone up. Everyone leaned on the grass with glasses up and stared at the mirror-like river. "Real fire walkers usually have another talent," Marina said as she sat back on the stump. "They can either sing or predict."

Map of pinterest.at in ancient Bulgaria

Fire dance pinterest.at map

She said that during the First World War, a torchbearer named zlata was very famous in the nearby village of Urgary. She cruelly and accurately predicted which young people in the village would never come back in the war. Firefighters can spy on the future from coal, but here, the future is always bad news. The Greek women who came to Dashengquan today are descendants of those who jumped into the fire. Their ancestors saw everything with superhuman foresight before the Balkan War: war, exile, loss of homes, livestock and children, which led to a long road of plunder in Greece.

"Why?" They threw themselves into the ashes and wailed: "Why do you want to farm, have children and build houses?" Woo-woo-woo-the blackest black! "

They used to live next door to the house I rented. Before everything happened, they knew they would lose it forever. During the great migration after the Balkan War, many families lost their babies and children in the forest. Refugees of all ethnic groups were attacked by various miscellaneous armies, and even children were not spared. This is a typical Balkan dilemma: civilians are more afraid of war than combatants, and the remnants of war persist in the dark.

"Fire and water," Marina said, "together, they are a kind of group therapy. Without it, people will go crazy. " She went on to say, "Fire and water are both purifying and destructive. So the person who jumped into the fire must have conveyed something. "

"What news?"

"Pain," Marina said, stamping out the cigarette butts on the roots. "We all know suffering, but experiencing suffering, fire and water will make others feel the same-this is an experience from other places, so loving fire is not a family tradition."