FUTURE DIARY OF A PLOVDIVIAN CHILD

FUTURE DIARY OF A PLOVDIVIAN CHILD

June 20th 2019 - Plovdiv

The streets of Plovdiv were feverishly animated early this morning. Caravans had been driving through them in convoy, carried by a warm and soft wind coming from far away. The inhabitants of the convoy had gathered on the city square, formed a circle with their vehicles, set up tents and big tops of all colours and all sizes. From the window, I couldhear them laugh and shout “hello” to anyone passing by while they were unloading big suitcases.

The first one to come near them was Radko, Missis Lyudmila’s son, from the secondfloor. Radko was always the first one to go to see new neighbours in the area, the first one to ask questions, to want to know who they were and how they had gotten there. He would come back with his head full of details we would all want to hear about, listening to him religiously on the little bench of the Tsar Simeon Park.

But this time, when we gathered around him to assail him with our questions, and in spite of the little smile he always carried on such occasions, he decided not to tell us anything! We felt that, this time, something really special was happening. He only said that if we were patient, we would know more about it the very next morning. And he started to laugh and to run in all directions.

June 21st 2019 - Plovdiv

This morning, the inhabitants of the convoy opened the suitcases they had been unloading the day before. Musics, words, dances came out of them, put together in a way we had never seen before. Everything was unlike anything, but, in all, there was tremendous joy, a desire to share with others, furious energy invading the entire street. They had gathered to announce, throughout the neighbourhoods, that they would be in the city for several weeks. That each day, in their caravans, yurts, big tops, and even in the streets, they would give performances and concerts. Radko was already downstairs with Misssis Luydmila to follow their parade. I joined him and clapped my hands with him and with all the others. We had received flyers with the programme printed on them that we were to give out to the by-passers. I bumped into Mister Daskalov, our teacher, and timidly handed him one out. It’s the people of the PLOVIDV CARAVANA, I told him, carefully reading the paper to him. I was a little afraid of his reaction. He read it attentively, and something incredible happened: he took a few flyers from my hands to give them out himself with us and started to sing at the top of his lungs. I had never seen Mister Daskalov so cheerful.

The parade was running through all the neighbourhoods of the city. There were more and more of us, the people from the Plovdiv Caravana took everyone with them to their imaginary world, my friend Radko, Missis Luydmila, Mister Daskalov and me at the head.