Grenztanz!

Quite a lot going on here, at the border with Turkey, because there is a police car every few meters, or a border officer cruising in a car.

But they are not really interested in Berta, but rather in the present small trucks...

Oh, that's not right either, because one of the local officers indicated that I should give the noble steed a good kick and step on the gas.

The unrefined Gaijin would like to experience something like this in Austria, because there this request would of course be immediately fulfilled.

Here in Bulgaria, playing with curves is a tricky matter, because the worn-out roads of today's journey brought a fine thrill:

Sometimes there was simply no asphalt in the middle of the curve, there were potholes where you could have taken a nice bath, and exquisite bumps that would have allowed a K.I.T.T.-style takeoff without turbo boost.

But the unworthy traveler even likes that and didn't want to leave the Bulgarian forest he was moving through, because it was also cool under the numerous oaks and the misty sun was nicely kept away from the delicate, velvety skin of the unnecessarily present (the forearms don't matter anymore anyway, because they can handle anything now!).

Actually, the Mieselsüchtige could already switch to Greece, but the peculiar guy has decided to quickly ennoble the Bulgarian mountains BOSAMO style, because the present unprepared wildlife and the innocent people in the vicinity should learn how a bellowing, splendid ox can put the nasal mucosa and the olfactorius to the test of endurance and that spontaneous crying fits in a group can provide relief while they whisper courage to each other and wait for the traveler's departure.

P.S.: Two things never disappear: BOSAMOS' foul odor and the writer's mistakes, so don't even try to improve anything here!