Pickup trucks, SUVs, military trucks, Humvees, fire trucks, ambulances. Honking. Singing. It all looks like a big tailgate party.
The sky over Baghdad is deep blue. Last night’s rain has washed the air spick-and-span. The day billows with promise—all green palms and golden mosques.
“Lock the back door.” The voice of our turret gunner is loud but calm, almost weary, like the voice of a steward on a commercial flight from New York to Paris.
The end of November. Sofia, Bulgaria. I should be wearing a sweater underneath a zipped-up parka. A woolen hat, mittens perhaps. It used to snow here in November – a few centimeters, no more, the pleasant foreplay of winter, but enough for all the horned up skiers and snowboarders to start waxing their toys, glancing up occasionally at the white, diaphanous lingerie of nearby Mount Vitosha (2290 m).
Georgi Stoev’s Gangster Pulp
Липсата на социални връзки, на връзки между нас самите и заобикалящата ни среда, е най-сериозният проблем в България. (In Bulgarian)
On the Trail of a Serial Killer in Macedonia
Radovan Karadžić was once feared as the Butcher of Bosnia. Now you can tour his favorite hiding places.
С Владислав Тодоров разговаря Димитър Кенаров. (In Bulgarian)
Among the Roma of Bulgaria