So I started writing this with the idea of making a somewhat fanciful account of the search that Jason and I undertook to find Canon Bulgaria. Somewhere along the way, fanciful became fantastical, which became absurd. I wanted to recreate our thought processes and experience. To do that, it seemed necessary to diverge from reality. If that makes any sense. It's long. If you get bored and frustrated, that perhaps that will mean I've succeeded. "Only in Canon will you find such a device." The thick-necked young squire at the gates of Technopolis shook his head at me, expecting me to walk away or to find something else among his wares of interest. I was happy to surprise him.
"Very well. How can I go there?"
He froze for a moment before placing his hand on the back of his neck. His monstrously thick neck. "Well..." he mused. He disappeared into a backroom from which I heard a series of crashes. I winced at the idea of the possible damage to such adequate technology. Finally he reappeared with a small yellowed piece of parchment on which was drawn a tiny map. Somewhat right of center on the map was a black arrow indicating "Canon, Шоссе 125."
"Shoh-say one twenty five?" I pronounced, favoring him with a blank stare. "Is it far?"
He chuckled. "No, not far."
I turned to my bearded companion, Jason, who knew these lands more intimately. "Have you heard of the Shoh-say one twenty-five?"
Jason gave a shrug and turned to the squire. "It must be in the outlying realm, along the Great Road, yes?"
The squire shook his head to indicate in the affirmative. "Yes, near Pliska."
Jason nodded at me, pulled his hood over his head, and proceeded toward the exit, secure in the assumption that I would follow. I stared at the squire. I was uncomfortable with his nonchalance regarding the location of Canon. I'd heard of the tower, of course, but I had never heard of anyone who had actually been there. The only reason we could be sure of its existence was the steady stream of Wonders that came out of it. And if there was any way I could acquire a DV180HC in this land, then I must make the journey, however arduous.
***
The land became barren so gradually on the path to Pliska that we were walking for miles before we noticed that the functioning storefronts had been replaced by boarded up doors and windows. Before long we began to regret that we carried technology instead of food.
Finally, we came upon a small hut exuding the smell of cheap Mediterranean spices. Our request for food was met with a series of grunts followed by a long pause. We considered our growling stomachs.
Two hands emerged from the window with two steaming rolls of meat. Sustenance at its basest level. We devoured them.
When our heads cleared, Jason gave me another curt nod.
"Pliska is not far."
I shook my head. "I don't worry about Pliska. How will we know Canon when we see it? Scholars say that the eye of the eagle may not distinguish it, nor the nose of a hound, nor the ears of a dolphin. Only the enlightened few may know it."
Jason spat on the ground. "We will find it. If we are not enlightened now, then we shall become so."
***
Pliska stands at the center of an unfathomable crossroads. All roads may lead to Rome, but most travelers will lose themselves first in Pliska's labyrinth.
I stared at the dissolution of the Great Road and sighed. I searched for the five red glyphs that marked our destination, but found only inscrutable markings in a gross perversion of our alphabet. I was ready to return to Technopolis in shame and partake of their inferior wares when Jason pointed to a building along one of the paths.
Шоссе 121 was written across the doorway. I could taste victory. Turning to Jason, I exclaimed, "Shoh-say one twenty one cannot be far from one twenty five. We must be close. It is now only a matter of a time." We scurried with enthusiasm along the path, even as it wound into a dark wood.
Such was our confidence at the time. We recklessly bounded through the wood, failing to conserve our energy. The lack of more signs did not deter us and when we saw a yellow building in the distance, we fancied ourselves to be well on our way to Canon.
"What do you reckon, Jason? It must be shoh-say one twenty-three or even one twenty-four by now."
Jason nodded. "Perhaps Canon is somehow contained in this yellow building. Or perhaps just beyond it."
The sign above the dark oak doorway was not disheartening so much as it was baffling. "Department of Philosophy. Шоссе 121."
An old crone stumbled through the snow in the yard. I approached her.
"Old woman. We seek shoh-say 125."
When she looked up, I saw that her face had a ruddy glow. She gave me a warm smile. "Of course, young man." She indicated a road that led behind the yellow building. "It's just along that path."
I looked back at Jason and gave him a thumbs-up. After bowing and thanking the old woman, I set off along the path with Jason behind me. "Canon is right back here," I assured him.
***
A thousand alleyways stretched out before us with no remarkable differences between them. We passed one after another, each leading nowhere in particular, offering no signs or landmarks. Still, I craned my neck around each corner expecting to see the five red glyphs of Canon. It was the first sign we saw that crushed my hopes.
"Shoh-say forty-eight, Jason." I stared open-mouthed over his shoulder wondering how we missed 77 шоссе's to come to this one. "The old crone deceived us. Let us return. Perhaps the Department of Philosophy has our answer."
The way back passed slowly, the snow seemingly having deepened over the past hour. Or however long it was.
We wandered around the yellow building, reluctant to enter. Finally we spotted three denizens of the Department and rushed toward them.
They walked side by side by side, three girls with furry-hooded leather jackets showing faces that revealed them as precisely nineteen years old. Their synchronized strides exhibited more confidence than we were accustomed to seeing among women in this land. I balked for a moment, allowing Jason to pass ahead of me. When brute force is required, I am always pleased to have Jason at my side.
"Excuse me, ladies. We seek shoh-say 125."
The three stopped and exchanged glances, giving us the opportunity to take them in. On the left stood a scrawny blonde with alarmingly large eyes. She devoured Jason with those eyes. The girl beside her lingered slightly behind the other two, just a large enough distance to be noticeable. She was also scrawny, but less so, and she wore her black hair in a bun on top of her head. Her heavily made-up eyes took in the trees above us. The last one seemed to be appraising us with more caution than the other two. Her features were angular but I was struck mainly by the lack of make-up on her face, at least as compared with the other two.
I caught up with Jason and stood beside him while we waited for a reaction. As I started to wonder if the girls had understood our words, the blonde began giggling.
"Canon? You seek Canon? Well, I guess all human actions are equivalent and all are on principle doomed to failure. Still, don't you think you'll need a drink for such talk?"
I eyed her warily. "We seek Canon, yes. But we want to get there, not talk about it."
The blonde glanced back at the dark-haired girl. "What do you think, Didi?"
Didi nodded and looked at me. "Of course. You can get there, but a good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving. There's a cafe here."
Barely visible under the snow was a bar of the subterranean variety of which I have a certain fondness. Before I could consider whether to object, the big-eyed blonde had hooked herself onto Jason's arm and was leading him down the steps. Didi followed him and I saw no option other than to follow as well. The girl without make-up, whose name would turn out Simone, walked behind me.
***
"What did you say your name was?" Jason was avoiding eye contact with the big eyes by staring into his beer. She giggled as if she couldn't speak without doing so.
"If you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you," she managed in a squeal between giggles, "I'm Sveta."
"So why do you seek Canon?" Didi muttered at Jason.
"Not me," said Jason, gulping down his beer. "My friend here. He needs something that can't be found elsewhere."
Didi continued to look above us. "A friend should be a master at guessing and keeping still: you must not want to see everything. You've come far on your friend's journey. You speak strangely."
"No, we aren't from here," Jason began evasively, throwing me a glance.
The girl without make-up, who I realized had been staring at me for a while, spoke for the first time. "But where have you come from? The search for Canon is not a simple one. You must tell us about it, because for an occurrence to become an adventure, it is necessary and sufficient for one to recount it."
I coughed. "I have no need of adventures in this journey. Simplicity would be preferable."
"Still," she remarked, "it may be worth telling. You may learn something, for to understand is to perceive patterns." She lit a cigarette and placed the lighter on the table.
No counter-argument came to mind and so I began to tell her. I spoke of the large-necked squire, our hopeless hunger, the lying old crone, and the labyrinthine alleyway. The other two seemed uninterested in the story, but they continued to order drinks for us. Jason, as usual, managed to consume them at a faster rate than I could. When I reached the end of the story, I began musing upon the mystery of шоссе 125.
"What is a shoh-say..." I realized then that I didn't know her name. "What did you say your name was?"
"Simone. I am interested in your shoh-say. I believe that at the center of your being you have the answer; you know who you are and you know what you want."
"I'm not sure anymore. I'm beginning doubt that Canon can be found here."
A sudden spastic giggling reminded me of Sveta's presence. She exclaimed, "You doubt! Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom! Don't you think you would be happier here?"
My mind was already clouded by the beer. "I'm not sure I understand..."
To my left, Didi snorted. "Making itself intelligible is suicide for philosophy. Simply put, there is no Canon. It is only a manifestation of your boredom and anxiety."
"Yes!" screeched Sveta, "Boredom is the root of all evil - the despairing refusal to be oneself. Wouldn't you rather stay and drink beer and whiskey with us?"
Jason's head shot up at the mention of whiskey. "Yes. I would like some whiskey."
Simone shook her head. "I don't think it's true. A taste for truth at any cost is a passion which spares nothing. Your journey will be difficult, but it is worthwhile."
"I think you're right," I muttered, "but I don't see how whiskey could hurt our cause at this point. After all," I tried to raise my voice a little, "to the mind that is still, the whole universe surrenders."
With a deep sigh, Simone accepted the bottle of whiskey from the bartender. "No, whiskey will not bring stillness to you. A pity that the world is a republic of mediocrities, and always was."
"Relative to what?" Jason inquired.
Sveta's large eyes glared at Jason and in a low voice that was not her own she roared, "Relativism is just epistemological atheism, while anti-relativism is theology in disguise. "
"That said," whispered Simone, for the first time speaking to the other two girls, "the possible ranks higher than the actual. They will continue on their journey, even if they are not strong enough to do so of their volition." Only then did we all notice that she had fashioned a Molotov Cocktail during her speech. With a rueful smile at me, she hurled it onto the floor behind Sveta. "Don't worry," she said softly, "we do not burn, but the time has come for you to leave."
I grabbed Jason by his suspenders, and ran for the door, dragging him behind me. From the burning bar, we heard the girls scream after us with their nonsense siren song.
"A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything!"
"Not the power to remember, but its very opposite, the power to forget, is a necessary condition for our existence!"
The last thing I heard as we returned to the light was Simone's voice as she called after us, "it belongs to the imperfection of everything human that man can only attain his desire by passing through its opposite."
***
We were out of sensible options, so we decided to continue in a direction that was away from everything we'd seen before. In a clearing we met two old men with white beards.
"Well," Jason said sarcastically, "if you can't trust white-bearded old men, who can you trust?"
This time I approached them. "We seek shoh-say 125. Canon."
"Canon?" the old men exclaimed simultaneously. They turned their backs on us and consulted each other incomprehensibly. When they turned back to us, they were smiling. "Yes. Continue the way you are going. It is far." With that, they seemed to forget about us and instead occupied themselves with the sky.
We had walked a few meters past them when they hailed us with a single voice. "Wait! Do not place your trust in logic. It will not serve you."
Jason and I nodded.
From there we passed countless grey buildings, each bearing its own шоссе number. There was no discernible pattern. 43. 19. 167. 85. 22.
"Is there a limit to the possible number of шоссе's?"
"Yes, but not for our purposes."
Carriages flew by. After minutes or hours or days, we noticed that we were walking on concrete. Walls sprouted up and disappeared just as abruptly. They surrounded nothing. We walked up staircases that ended in cliff faces, which we scaled for lack of other options. The men we saw walked in pairs and wore uniforms. Camouflage. We stared at our feet as we traversed the concrete terrain. Aware that we were conspicuous, we avoided eye contact, not wishing to give any invitation to trouble.
When a stone threshold of sorts came into view, we quickened our pace and rushed through. Looking back, we saw the inscription. "Mad House, Шоссе 181."
"When do you think the mad house began on the other side?"
"Hard to say."
***
From there, I cannot tell you far we walked. We crossed valleys and great highways. Eventually in the distance, we saw a great white and blue cluster of buildings. As the five red glyphs on one white tower came into focus, C A N O N, we leapt with joy. Our hunger and thirst abandoned us and within moments we were standing before the entrance.
At the desk sat a thick guard in a uniform. As we stared through the doorway at him, he looked up at us. Indecisive to the last, we circled each other and made a few furtive steps away from the door. The door opened a crack and his head shot out. He had a white mustache.
"What are you looking for?"
"C-c-Canon, sir." I stammered.
"Fourth floor, elevator's over there." He smiled and opened the door for us. The lack of confrontation was unsettling.
Although the elevator was designed for only one person, Jason and I, both slight of build, managed comfortably. When the doors parted we were in a white hallway with five locked doors, all unmarked.
"This could easily go wrong."
"Yes. That one has a buzzer."
For some reason the buzzer terrified me and, in spite of everything, I considered turning back. Jason looked at me. I closed my eyes and pressed the button.
***
The office was exactly what one might expect from any office. One counter separated us from two perfectly composed young executive types. A man and a woman. The woman smiled at us.
"What are you doing here?"
"We want to buy a DV180HC, " I responded enthusiastically, for our journey was at an end.
She blinked. "Here? In your land we sell in Technopolis."
"They don't have one."
"Very well," she mused. "I'll check to see if we have one." She typed for a few moments. "No we don't have one. They cannot be acquired here at this time. Here's a phone number that you can call for assistance."
We thanked her and left.
***
Outside the Canon Tower, we caught an overcrowded bus and dozed on our feet until we reached Technopolis. The squire smiled at us as he handed us the same wares he had proffered hours or days or weeks earlier.
***The sirens of philosophy quote freely from Friedrich Nietzsche, Jean-Paul Sartre, Albert Camus, Isaiah Berlin, Thomas Carlyle, Lao Tzu, Martin Heidegger, Soren Kierkegaard, and St. Basil. I found the quotes mostly on http://brainyquote.com/, a quite helpful site. The idea for their manner of speaking came from seeing the David Bloor quote about relativism on Anna Aberg's computer.
As far as reality goes, we didn't actually speak with any of the girls around the Philosophy Department. The two old men were DHL delivery-men and not old. We didn't find out until later that the place with the military guys might be an asylum. An old woman did point us down a random alleyway that we wandered for a long time. The Canon model number isn't real. We were walking and searching for a long time. The scene at the end is basically exactly how it went.
I'll try to ease back into the blogosphere with some photos from a winter's sunset. When I venture outside, I'm often reminded of the beauty of my village, something easily forgotten after two years.
Writing hasn't been coming easily to me this past month. In fact, not much has been coming easily as far as mental work goes. I suspect that my new pechka is sucking the oxygen out of my room more than I'm used, causing something akin to altitude sickness when I'm in my home. Either that or I'm merely losing energy to winter itself. Spring cannot come soon enough.
It seems I have only four months left in Bulgaria. When I say it, it sounds like nothing. And yet America still seems far from me. 
