Merci (fr. Thank you) – a word that means
so much. Sometimes we just forget to use it. But it has the potential to enter
the soul, take it out and shake it like we Bulgarians shake our blankets out of
the window on Saturday mornings. It can rid the soul of all darkness and place
it back in a way that affects even the heart.
Some people say “thank you” easily; others
with great difficulty, some with no reason at all.
A whole novel could be written about Paris-Brest-Paris.
My words and emotions get so mixed up that it’s hard to make a story. And no
description of this adventure is enough to describe all that’s stored in the
heart. The story should be experienced.
And it’s not chance that this brevet is organized once every four years. The
participants’ happiness can only be compared to that of the Olympians. We were
all there following the Olympic principle – Participation Matters. The good
thing about brevets is that nobody is there to compete or win; we just share
the pleasure of participation.
Have you ever seen 60 cyclists together?
Now imagine 600. If that’s not too much, multiply that by ten. 6,000 cyclists
had gathered from all around the world. There were hundreds of participants
from Brazil, Japan, China,
USA, and Canada. There
were representatives coming from exotic and unpronounceable places. When I heard that my Bulgarian colleague
Stephen from Plovdiv
was there for third time I asked him: wasn’t he bored? His simple answer was
that no-one could ever be bored of it. Later, I realised that he was right. 
It would be an amazing spectacle if filmed
from above. What I saw on the roads in front of me was a huge red snake,
crawling up and down the hills. Its color came from the rear lights of all the cyclists
pedaling through the night. Behind me, countless glaring headlights illuminated
tens of kilometres.
If I have to be honest, I’ve never liked
the French. They’ve always seemed haughty, overproud and perky. They have the
most beautiful women, the most delicious food, the best wine, the best
politicians in the world... they are the best at everything. And I suppose I’m
not the only one who thinks this way.
It’s amazing how fast one’s opinion can be
changed. In few days, I discovered a completely different people – warm,
affectionate, kind and humane.
The collision between prejudice and reality
was sudden and unexpected. I went there to ride 1200 km at the most legendary
brevet in the world but why it was considered to be most legendary, I didn’t
know. I thought it was due to the fact that it was held at the brevet’s
birthplace and is successor to the first cycling competition organised on the
same route. I also thought that participation in it is a matter of prestige and
honor, once the qualifications are passed. 
But this wasn’t simple cycling; it was a
soul flight over the French meadows, stone houses and pretty gardens with
fragrant flowers. It was like a trip to paradise, a touch of God gifts. For
first time I felt that my efforts through the years had been worthwhile. Once I
was there I was attended by the angels of these fields. The route was not easy
at all but there wasn’t a Frenchman who was not applauding and shouting “ALLEZ,
ALLEZ!” Nowhere else in the would you see a man that has parked his car in a
layby in the middle of nowhere at 3 o’clock in the morning, standing in the
cold just to applaud you and support you. The families in every village do the
same. They pile tables with dishes in front of their houses and at the top of
every exhausting hill and man them day and night. And when you reach there
you’re treated with coffee, tea, sweets and juice for free. They are even
insulted if you don’t take anything. For the first time in my life I saw old
people who had bought cartoons of bottled water to fill up the containers of
all the cyclists tormented by the heat and 20 km climbs. 
The endless love of these people was
exciting. There were encouraging notices and posters everywhere, but a child’s
short and simple message was the most impressive. I saw it on the first morning,
written with large capital letters on the asphalt: MERCI. What does MERCI mean?
Why MERCI? Shouldn’t we, the cyclists, have been the thankful ones after all these
wonderful people were doing for us? They received us cordially, they helped us
and they tolerated us. But THEY are
grateful that WE are there. Frenchmen are people who respect others’ endeavours,
enthusiasm and adventurous spirit. These things are not valuable in Bulgarians’
opinion and adventurous people are considered crazy. Maybe this is the difference between Western Europe and the East, where it seems we still belong.
Western nations know that the adventurers pull the world ahead and are not
afraid of risk no matter whether they are artists, sportsmen or scientists.
Nobody asks why you do it or thinks it’s strange. Instead, you may see a mother
explaining to her 2- year old child how to support the cyclists that pass.
The Eiffel Tower, Versailles, Notre Dame
and Louvre that I visited before the start already seemed inanimate objects to
me after 90 hours of cycling from Paris to the ocean and back. In the last
kilometers before the capital I began to feel sorry for myself and for all the
participants. The experience of these days had reminded us that the most famous
symbols of France
are just monuments. Monuments that had lost their importance in comparison to
each small house in the tidy villages, which had its own style and was full of
people much more important than any tourist destination. Because France is not Paris,
as the old hands in our team had told us on our way from Bulgaria. 
You understand at once. It’s impossible to
forget Pierre and his family, who welcomed us at dawn in their cozy restaurant
and cooked the most delicious omelette, baguette, butter and homemade rosehip for
us. Nor the small children running for water to quench your thirst. Forever
imprinted in the memory are the inhabitants of Saint Martin, who organise their
town festival in honor of the brevet and celebrate day and night for four days
in order to meet every cyclist with live music by local performers. It’s
impossible to forget Monsieur Moric Philippe from MENEAC who treats every
cyclist to a huge feast at his house and asks for only one thing in return – to
send him a post card from his/her country. You can’t forget him, and many many
others…
You can’t substitute all these people with the
sights of any city, even if they were the 7 World Wonders. These Frenchmen are wonders
and they are wonderful.
The one and only time we realized that we
had lost the route was when we cycled through a village and no-one applauded
us. I was also impressed by the driving culture. Many cars and other vehicles were
forced to drive for kilometres at the same speed as us, but drivers didn’t get agitated,
didn’t beep their horns or rev their engines. They just kept driving safely
until the right moment to overtake, even if they lost half an hour or more.
I’ve never felt like a hero but these
people made me feel like one. I still don’t think that we did something
extraordinary, but when we entered a small town with a control point, we were
met by a crowd of thousands. People met us like we were coming back from a war.
Everybody shouted and applauded the newcomers. Tour de France had finished a
month ago and I could not believe that we were being met by the same reception.
I couldn’t stop thinking that they had made a mistake. 
It was difficult to cope with that catch in
my throat. I didn’t know if it would be acceptable if I just stopped holding back
my tears. I never succeeded to express my gratitude. And when I bowed down
deeply before these people they burst into applause again and again.
You can’t and you don’t want to forget experiences
like these. They give you wings and make you fly higher and higher. You forget
the 30 hours of riding without a break, the 5 hours of sleep during the
following days and nights, the inconvenience and the pain. Because all of the
misery melts in the people’s smiles and each kilometre brings you nearer to other
waiting, smiling people.
Merci to all the Frenchmen. Merci to all
the brevet participants. Merci to all the Bulgarian team. Merci to all the
adventurers. And Merci to all of the people who supported me even when I was on
so many bike rides last year, making this dream a reality.
