- OK.
I look in the camera?
- Yeah.
- Like on "The Office"?
- Yeah.
- [chuckles]
- Yeah, but not my cup of tea.
[mellow acoustic music]
- Oh, really?
[laughs]
- I guess it's true that you
can't make everyone happy.
- Which is actually why
I'm visiting this country
in the first place.
We know a thing
by its opposite.
Hot means nothing
without cold,
and since I'm traveling
the world
to explore
the nature of happiness
and my own struggles
to find it,
I decide to visit
an unhappy place.
And if I'm going
to do unhappy,
I want somewhere
that does it with panache
and takes pride
in its wallowing,
Somewhere full of
beautiful expressions
like, "I don't want
to feel good.
I just want
my neighbor to feel bad."
[upbeat acoustic music]
Welcome to Bulgaria.
[Nicky Blitz' "Blast Off"]
- * Getting too close,
better pull on back *
- What if I travel the world,
exploring what makes some
places happier than others?
- * Need a one-two... *
- I'm looking at the ways
that where we are...
- * Yeah, I'm a-comin',
I'm a-comin' *
- Affect who we are.
- * Whoo, I'm a-comin' *
* I'm a-comin', yeah... *
- It's been said that
the search for happiness
is the chief source
of unhappiness.
- * I'm a-comin',
I'm a-comin'... *
- Well, that's okay.
I'm already unhappy,
so I've got nothing to lose.
- * Let's go *
* Let's all blast off *
[projector humming]
[upbeat music]
- Where are we?
Somewhere near
the sunny coast
of the Mediterranean,
certainly.
Or is this an Italian opera
out in the open air?
This is a land
that symbolically lives
on roses, on sunshine,
on delicate crops,
on subtle loveliness.
This, wherever it is,
is a land of happiness.
* *
[bells tolling]
- Holy hell, have things
changed since then.
[quirky music]
Bulgaria ranks 85th
on the World Happiness Report,
smack dab in the middle.
When you adjust for income,
Bulgaria,
a member of
the European Union,
suddenly ranks
near the absolute bottom.
- I'm a really happy person,
and that's not a common answer
here in Bulgaria.
- The air is very polluted.
It's a problem.
- [speaking Bulgarian]
- There are bumps in the roads,
holes in the sidewalks.
- Political problems.
- Someone may push you
in the metro.
- Older people are
really more pessimistic.
- We complain to each other
all the time,
and then after
we exchange complaints,
we say, "Let's go
to have a beer together.
We have to discuss this."
* *
- I hold a black belt
in dwelling on the negative,
so I knew Bulgaria would be
the ultimate place
to be amongst
my fault-finding brethren.
Years back, a Gallup poll
found that Bulgarians
have lower expectations
for their futures
than Afghans and Iraqis,
who have lived
in literal w*r zones
for decades.
So I wonder, what can I learn
about my own sorrows
by exploring
one of the unhappiest places
on Earth?
Oh, hello.
Hey, how you doing?
Yeah.
Is that--
- OK, please.
- You're free?
- Yes.
- OK, great.
Come on.
[speaking Bulgarian]
- Velcho.
- Velcho?
- Velcho.
- Rainn.
[upbeat music]
* *
This is
Bulgaria's capital, Sofia.
With a population of 1
and 1/2 million people,
it's not exactly Paris,
but it's doing
a decent impression
of a bustling,
mid-sized European city.
You ever watch "The Office?"
- The Office?
- The TV show, "The Office"?
No?
[humming "The Office" theme]
- No.
[upbeat music]
* *
- A very nice city, Sofia.
Lots of trees, lots of parks.
- No, not very nice.
Before 20 years maybe.
Now too much people
from village...
- Oh, coming.
- Is coming to Sofia.
- Too many people
from the villages
are coming into Sofia?
- Yeah.
Life is different now.
- OK.
So are you happy?
- [speaking Bulgarian]
- I feel you.
[tense music]
If people are fleeing
to the city
from the countryside,
I'm curious to know
what it is that
they're running away from.
Velcho agrees to take me
to a village
called Grozdyovsti.
Unfortunately, oof,
we seem to be
on rather different timelines.
- How long to Grozdyovsti?
- Two or three years.
- Two or three years?
- Yes.
- Are--are we crawling?
[upbeat music]
* *
- I think
it must be right here.
* *
OK.
Here we are.
[grunts]
Merci.
- Bye.
- This town
may look abandoned...
but I've been told
someone lives here
who is going
against the grain.
She's a former city dweller
who moved to the countryside.
Uh, hello?
And I want to know why.
- Rainn?
- Oh, hello.
- [speaking Bulgarian]
- This is Ejo Kirilova.
She lives with her two dogs
here in her hometown
of Grozdyovsti
where travelers stay
with her in exchange
for helping
with renovation projects.
Grozdyovsti used to be
a bustling town
filled with residents
going about their lives
in the idyllic
Bulgarian countryside.
Lately, though,
things have gone downhill.
- How many people live here?
- Today,
three people and a half one.
- The half a person is not--
wasn't sawed in half.
- She's a whole person,
but she lives here only--
- Half time.
- Half the time.
- How many--
when you were a little girl
and your mom
was a little girl,
how many people lived out here?
- I don't know.
Maybe 100, something like that.
- Yeah.
- Everybody--everything
was full of life here.
And now it's not like that.
Now everybody--
- Not with three
and a half people.
* *
Rural towns like this
have witnessed
population decline at
the fastest rate in Bulgaria,
which itself
has the fastest declining
population of any country
on Earth.
- So I'm renovating the houses.
- Renovating?
Yeah, a lot of
different houses here.
Who lives in all these?
- They're old family houses.
- Oh, wow, OK.
So what are you doing today?
What would you
normally be doing?
- I was going to make
the elderflower juice
because it's flowering
right now.
- Uh-huh
- And this is the time.
I have only three days
to pick the flowers
and make the juice.
- What do we need?
We need elderflowers,
and we need--
- We'll need to buy sugar...
- OK.
- And we need to get water
from the village well.
- Great, let's do it.
- OK.
* *
You stay, sweetie.
Oh, go--no, no, no, no.
OK, oh.
Oh, well.
* *
So what's going on here?
- This is our old store.
- Oh, wow.
- It doesn't work
for a long time.
- And who--
who are all these people here?
- Well, this is
a Bulgarian tradition.
When somebody dies...
- Yeah?
- They put this, like,--
like a memory of it,
and you see this.
- Oh.
This is how you find out--
it's like an obituary.
- Yeah, it's--
- I don't know how
I would feel about going
to get some bread
and lemonade
and finding out
that my uncle died.
I don't know.
It's a little macabre.
- I hope that you learn
before that.
- Yeah.
* *
Doing anything
in the Bulgarian countryside
takes planning and usually
a lot of walking.
It's a Bulgarian puppy.
The closest store
is over four miles away
in another town,
and these days,
it's only open two days a week
because there aren't
enough customers
to keep it open full-time.
- More dead people, I see.
- Yeah.
- What--
what's going on in here?
- It used to be the pub--
the city's pub,
the village pub.
- Used to be a pub.
- But now it's the store.
- Yeah.
- [speaking Bulgarian]
- Having a beer.
OK.
His name is Nestor?
- Nestor.
- Is that right?
- Yes.
- Nestor, hello.
- [chuckles]
- Nice to meet you.
So he works twice a week,
Nestor?
- Yeah.
Twice a week,
the bread comes.
- And that's when they open
the store
is when the bread comes?
- Yeah.
- People come to get the bread,
and then they pick up beer,
and buckets, and...
- And things like that, yeah.
- Potatoes, yeah.
Does Nestor remember a time
when it was more busy,
that the store was open
every day?
- [speaking Bulgarian]
- [speaking Bulgarian]
- And now there are 25, 30.
- Wow.
[soft dramatic music]
Do you have
any cinnamon raisin?
It seems like bread day
is the most exciting day
of the week.
- [chuckles]
You can stay here,
drink a beer,
and talk with everybody.
- Yes.
Hi, buddy!
Hi, sweetie.
Hey.
Precious.
So I've never seen
an elderflower before.
Is this them right here?
- This is--the white thing.
- OK.
Right about now, as Ejo and I
forage for spring water
and elderflower
in the Bulgarian countryside,
you may be wondering,
why exactly did everyone leave
a place that looks
so beautiful?
- That is a gorgeous view.
Look at that.
These hills are just...
- Yeah.
- Completely uninhabited.
Well, when communism
collapsed in Eastern Europe
in 1989,
rural factories closed,
and all of
the collective farms
were broken up,
leaving no way for people
to make a living
in the country,
so they flocked to the cities,
and all the farmland
went to ruin.
- So who lives in here?
A troll?
[quirky music]
So two years ago,
you made a big change
and moved out here.
- Yeah.
- This is kind of, like,
a popular fantasy of like,
"Oh, I'm going to move
out of the city.
"I'm gonna move to the country.
I'm gonna to have bees."
I saw bees over there.
I'm gonna have a garden."
But for a lot of people,
that would get tiring
after six months,
something like that.
How do you feel?
Are you happy about the move?
- I'm absolutely happy.
I feel calmer.
- OK.
- In my case,
it happened so gradually that--
you know when you boil a frog,
and the frog
doesn't know
that it will get boiled
because the water--
- Incrementally...
- Yeah.
- Gets hotter.
- That happened to me.
Just one day,
I realized that I live here.
All my life, I loved nature,
and I loved to go outdoors.
Maybe that's why I feel
so comfortable here.
[quirky music]
- So far, the only person
I've met in this country
found happiness
by getting away
from everyone else.
I sympathize.
My inclination
is almost always
to be left the hell alone.
- Now we have to measure
3 liters of water.
- 3 liters.
- Yeah, two times.
Now we need to have patience
and to wait for it.
- All right.
My time in Grozdyovsti
makes clear
what so many Bulgarians
left behind.
- Let's hug it out, Bulgarian.
- [chuckles]
- But if I want real insight
into Bulgarian sadness,
into my own sadness,
I'll next need
a translator who's fluent
in the language of misery.
* *
[quirky music]
- I have a wound.
[speaks Bulgarian].
Call an ambulance.
[speaks Bulgarian].
* *
When I landed in Bulgaria
and I read some of the stats
about the population
brain-drain
and I looked at that airport
and the expression
on people's faces,
I was afraid a little bit.
* *
Sure, the more isolated
regions of Bulgaria
seem like a bit of a downer,
but I'm still baffled
to how a city
as cosmopolitan as Sofia
produces so many
unhappy people.
So many trees in Bulgaria.
- I know.
- It's kind of blowing my mind.
- Yeah.
Bulgarians love the nature,
you know?
- Dr. Elena Mustakova
is a friend of mine
and a renowned psychologist
who recently moved
from Washington, DC
to return
to her native Bulgaria.
I'm hoping she can help
make sense of the sadness.
- Tell me this--
I land in the airport,
and I definitely
feel like I'm in a cliché
of an Eastern Bloc country.
- Yeah.
- People seem
really, really unhappy
when you look at them.
- Yes, yes.
- They look dour.
- Yes.
- And they
kind of look miserable.
Now, that may not be
what's going on inside.
Maybe that's a front.
Help me to understand that.
- It's not a front.
It's a split in the psyche
between the private
and the public.
In the public space,
where there's no
interpersonal interactions,
people are miserable,
negative, and hostile.
- Miserable,
negative, and hostile, OK.
- [laughs]
- OK.
- As soon as they get into
interpersonal interactions,
there's laughter,
and very quickly people
will help you
and offer you things.
And it just--
everything changes.
* *
- Why the split personality?
Well, when you've endured
the history that Bulgaria has,
you'd probably be miserable,
negative, and hostile too.
In the 14th century,
they were conquered
by the Ottomans,
and over the next 500 years,
any sense of national identity
was either beaten
into submission
or forced into hiding.
* *
In 1908,
the Ottoman Empire fell,
and soon came the Soviets,
who taught a generation
of Bulgarians
that it was patriotic
to rat out your friends
and neighbors
for the good
of the Communist Party.
By the time communism fell
in 1989,
Bulgarians had been
abused and abandoned
by damn near everyone.
* *
- This is ten generations
surviving
extraordinarily resilient.
They had to become
very insular,
protect their families,
then really survive
in small circles.
[somber acoustic music]
* *
- [singing in Bulgarian]
- If surviving
in small private circles
is how Bulgarians retained
some sense of happiness,
then getting past
these outward cold facades
has got to be the next step
on my journey.
- [singing melody]
* *
- This is Ivo Dimchev.
He's one of Bulgaria's
most famous recording artists.
- [singing in Bulgarian]
- He's got a pretty devoted
following in Bulgaria,
which makes sense
since his songs
are about
very Bulgarian things,
like vodka
or a national pastry
called banitsa.
- [singing in Bulgarian]
* *
[singing in Bulgarian]
* *
- Hello.
- Hello.
Are you the new singer
for the musical?
[chuckles]
- Yeah.
[chuckles]
Yes, I am.
Ivo's currently
in the middle of rehearsals
for a musical he's written
called "In Hell with Jesus."
I'm sure the title
will go over gangbusters.
- I'm working with them on one
of the songs called "Vodka."
- I'd love to hear it.
- [singing in Bulgarian]
[singing in
Bulgarian together]
- And so on.
- [applauds]
Bravo.
- Bravo.
- Amazing.
He's not like any Bulgarian
I've met so far,
or like anyone
I've met in general,
now that I think about it,
which leaves me curious
about where
this guy came from.
- I remember when
I was, like, 10 years old
during
the communistic regime,
on a big holiday,
like Fourth of July,
like every kid
was marching in front
of the palace of the president,
and everybody
had, like, a uniform but me.
I dress as a woman
with high heels
and dress, makeup, and a wig.
- [laughs]
- And I dress like this,
and I went marching
with all my schoolmates
like this
when I was 10 years old.
- You thought
it'd be funny or you just--
- I feel--
unconsciously, back then,
I felt that there is a--
there is this convention
that we all have to look equal,
and unconsciously my mind
or my soul was like,
"No, we should--
we should create a balance."
- Yeah.
Have you suffered because of
this path that you've taken?
Has this been difficult?
- Yeah, I was very--
I was very abused, like--
and bullied, and beaten up...
- Oh, no.
- In school.
It didn't stop me.
- So you followed
your personal bliss.
- Yeah.
- They couldn't stop you.
- Yeah.
[chuckles]
- I can totally relate
because, although I'm dressed
a little more conventional,
I went to theater school,
and that's how I found myself.
I needed to express myself
in my own weird way.
- Yes.
[laughs]
* Drink it up *
* Drink it, drink it up,
my love, love *
* Drink it up,
drink it, drink it up *
* My love, love *
[imitates tambourine]
That's me.
It's a selfie sculpture.
It's a 3D copy of my head.
- Oh, I see
the resemblance now.
- Yeah.
There are many around.
* La, la, la, la, la,
la, la, la, la *
* Drink it up,
my love, my love *
People who listen to my songs
are art lovers
or, like, mafia bosses,
like mafia guys.
- Art lovers and mafia guys?
Why do the mafia guys
like your songs?
- Because they're--
they're most open-minded.
They're like
a contemporary audience.
- Nice.
Maybe they'll take you
to perform on like--
on an oligarch's yacht
or something.
- I just did two days ago.
- Whoa.
- Now that we've gotten
some playful banter
about Bulgaria's terrifying
ruling class out of the way,
I'm joining Ivo as a roadie
for his concert tonight,
and the crowd, I'm promised,
will be at capacity.
- I like to perform
in kitchens,
but I think this one
is too small maybe.
Oh, my God.
- It's a bedroom.
In case it's not clear,
Ivo is setting up
for one of his
"home concerts," which is
exactly what it sounds like.
- [singing in Bulgarian]
- For the price of a t-shirt
off his website,
one of the country's
most popular singers
comes to your place
and performs in your shower,
or laundry room, or--
- [vocalizing]
- Anywhere with a power outlet
for his amplifier.
How did you start doing
house concerts?
- It was the very beginning
of the pandemic,
and everybody was locked
in their houses.
It was kind of rebellion thing
for them, I think.
A brave thing to do.
- He's getting warmed up.
[Ivo Dimchev's "Banitsa"]
* *
- [singing in Bulgarian]
- This is
ridiculously awesome.
Just a Bulgarian superstar
casually making
himself comfortable
and belting ballads
about yogurt-based baked goods
in the middle of a complete
stranger's apartment.
[Ivo Dimchev's "Vodka"]
* *
- These people don't look
miserable, negative,
and hostile.
They look happy.
- Whoo!
[all cheering]
- Yeah!
[cheers and applause]
- Whoo!
- You've worn him out.
[chuckles]
- I began acting
when I realized
that lip syncing
Elvis Costello songs...
[playing drums]
Made my high school classmates
lose their sh*t with laughter.
In that moment,
I found purpose and belonging.
My front row seat
to Ivo's home concert
reminds me of something
that's easy to forget--
the mere act
of self-expression,
the sharing of your
inner self with others,
brings joy, whether you're
performing to a sold-out arena
or an audience of three.
That was incredible.
You've brought so much joy
into so many people's homes
during a pandemic!
- I didn't have a choice,
Rainn.
- What do you mean?
- I didn't have a choice.
I didn't have a choice.
I just think
it's the right thing to do.
I don't know.
I don't think about happiness.
I think about,
it's the right thing to do.
And then,
if it brings happiness,
I'm really, like, satisfied.
- Thank you for letting me
be a part of it.
It was gorgeous.
- Thank you for coming.
- It was amazing.
You're incredible.
Thank you so much.
- And thanks for helping me
with the speaker.
[chuckles]
- Oh, my God.
This thing is gonna k*ll me.
Where's the car?
[martial music]
- The fact that Bulgaria
is what they call
a socialist state
makes it a surprise for us
in the West to find
that it's a rosy land
of scent and honey
and the luxuries of life,
but we're beginning to learn
some exciting things
about little Bulgaria
as she, in turn,
is learning things about us.
- We didn't have a lot of
happy moments in our history.
- Some of
the older generations,
they had to live
through wars and...
- Yeah.
- Collapsing
of economic systems and--
- Depressions.
They didn't have
a choice to be happy.
- [speaking Bulgarian]
- Socialism was like living
in a hospital
or a fish aquarium.
You're not supposed
to do anything.
You're just supposed to listen
and say, "Yes, yes.
We glorify everything
you did for us."
- Most of the Bulgarians,
they do have
the understanding
that government is supposed
to take care of them,
the amount of their salaries,
for the holes in the streets,
for everything.
I don't think
most of them are happy.
[bells tolling]
- The Soviet Union may have
fallen over 30 years ago,
but it's clear
that the specter of communism
continues to loom large
in Bulgaria today.
[upbeat percussive music]
To understand
what life was like
under an oppressive regime,
I'm meeting with
an absolute legend
of these Sofia streets.
But he's a punk-rocking,
anarchist,
total badass skateboarder,
and I'm an unathletic
bassoon player, so...
[birds chirping]
First I'll need
a training montage.
[spirited music]
- [grunts]
* *
Ha!
* *
- So the first thing is,
find the center
of the skateboard
so the balance
is equal both sides.
[upbeat percussive music]
OK.
And that's a good start.
- All right.
Let's call it a day.
- [laughs]
* *
- Alexander Georgiev
has been called
the Godfather
of Bulgarian Skateboarding,
a title he earned
by introducing the sport
to his country during a time
when it was literally
criminalized by the state.
- Then I can teach you
how to pump.
- Yeah,
that's not gonna happen.
Today we're meeting
at a skate park
he's helped erect in front
of a former Soviet monument,
so basically a giant
middle finger to the past.
Whoa!
Oh!
- This is what you do.
- That's well done.
We got a little
a*s crack on that too.
Well done.
When I was growing up,
I was into kind of
the nerdier part of the world,
and the chess team,
and Dungeons and Dragons.
America is such
a land of individualism
and self-expression.
We were really privileged...
- Yeah.
- In that way.
- Yeah.
- So What was it like
growing up early-mid-'80s,
Soviet Bloc country,
trying to find this avenue
for individual expression?
- It was difficult.
It was very difficult.
I mean, this is like--
this is why
we became skateboarders.
It's like self-expression.
Or you go to school,
and you're not allowed
to be with long hair
or any clothes different
than whatever the--
- Tattoos?
- None of this.
- Were you ever arrested?
- Uh, we got--
yeah, we've been
a couple of times.
We've been beaten up
and all this, you know?
But this was normal
at the time, you know?
When you're different
than the average person then,
you know, you get in trouble.
- Right.
[mellow electronic music]
After communism fell,
Alex pursued his dreams
of touring
the world as a pro skater.
But he eventually returned,
enjoying the newfound freedom
to promote his sport
without catching a beating
for it.
But he soon discovered
that even
a post-communist Bulgaria
faced a lot of
the same political nonsense.
- You don't have
a stable political system.
These guys are not afraid to
show that they're corrupted,
you know?
- Yeah.
- Like, this guy's
being accused
for stealing government money,
and the guy doesn't care.
He's driving, like, a...
- Mercedes.
- Half a mil super car,
and he doesn't care.
- Yeah.
- You cannot
rely on government--
even on government systems.
I'm talking of health service,
and--or police service,
or whatever, you know?
You need to do it yourself.
* *
- Whoa!
All right.
I can totally do that.
- Not today.
- Not today.
My hip--
- [laughs]
- My hip's a little sore,
but yeah.
[tranquil music]
* *
Bulgaria consistently ranks
as the most
politically corrupt
of the 27 European nations.
Trust in community,
in government,
without these,
studies tell us,
happiness is elusive.
Americans
certainly aren't immune
to this lack of trust,
but in Bulgaria,
it's been a way of life
for as long as anyone
can remember.
I wonder, is there a way out
of this vicious cycle?
[upbeat music]
- The Soviets did
for architecture
what Burger King did
for gourmet food,
but there are
some interesting remnants
of this bygone era.
Take this hobbit hole,
for example.
It's called a klek.
Hello?
Which translates
to "squat shop."
You've got
a lot of stuff in there.
[chuckles]
Any bodies?
I'm kidding.
You're a cobbler.
[speaks Bulgarian]
During communism,
these holes in the wall
would have been basements
and b*mb shelters.
Nowadays they're used as
everything from coffee shops
to, apparently, cobbler dens.
Can you fix that?
I'll be back.
Merci.
[mellow acoustic music]
Bulgaria's economy endured
incredible change
in recent decades,
but the relationship
between a nation's wealth
and its happiness
is, well, complicated.
* *
There's an economic theory
known as
the Easterlin paradox.
It suggests that while
initially a nation's wealth
and happiness levels
rise together,
over time happiness
doesn't continue to increase
just because wealth does.
[cash register chimes]
Basically,
money makes a place happier,
but only up to a point.
Since joining
the European Union in 2007,
Bulgaria has improved
its economic standing,
but now, rather than
comparing themselves
to other
former Soviet countries,
Bulgarians measure themselves
against wealthier ones
like Germany and France.
It fostered a culture of envy
and introduced an unhappiness
that's harder to define.
Fortunately, I know where
they're working
on a definition.
It's a beautiful book fair
you got here.
I was looking for something
on a kind of--
that really ineffable,
particular Bulgarian
strain of sadness.
- [speaking Bulgarian]
- The grief that anchors
the Bulgarian soul.
- OK, my book is
"The Physics of Sorrow,"
so it's--if it works for you--
- Oh, you have a book called
"The Physics of Sorrow"?
- Yeah, yeah,
"The Physics of Sorrow."
- Amazing.
How did that happen?
[upbeat music]
Georgi Gospodinov
is one of Bulgaria's
most famous authors.
He was even nominated
for a Nobel Prize,
which--well,
obviously he had agreed
to do this show before
the nomination took place.
His writings center
on stories
about his motherland's
unique brand of misery.
- Tuga.
- Tuga.
- Tu-ga, slowly.
- Tu--
- Tu--tuga.
- Tu--
- Ga.
OK.
So could you feel,
like, your Adam's apple.
- It feels like you're crying.
It feels like you're weeping
when you say it.
Like, "tuga."
And what is this translation
of this particular
Bulgarian word?
- In English, it translated
like "sorrow,"
but it could be "sadness."
But it could be "melancholy,"
"sorrow."
- Ah, OK.
In his writing, Georgi
defines Bulgarian sadness as--
dear God, this is heavy--
"A longing for something
that hasn't happened,
"a sudden realization
that life is slipping away
"and that certain things
will never happen to you
"for a whole list of reasons,
personal, geographical,
and political."
- Actually, there is some
specific quality
that make us happy
even in our sorrow.
- OK.
- And this is
Bulgarian self-irony.
- Self-irony.
- It's not just irony.
It's a self-irony.
- That's kind of self--
self-deprecating combined
with not taking
yourself too seriously.
- Yes, yeah, not to take
yourself seriously
and to know
that nothing is forever.
It's all normal.
It's all part of
the human condition
to feel sorrow.
- Yeah.
It's interesting
because there's
a kind of a tyranny
of American happiness
that is very superficial.
My relatives
are from the Midwest,
where there's kind of like
a, "Hey, how's it going?"
Happiness is something
that you put on.
It's not necessarily something
that you're feeling inside.
But I think that it can
become oppressive
to talk about positivity
all the time
without recognizing
that we need
to understand
our shadows in order
to understand our light.
- Can I interrupt you guys?
There's someone
who wants an autograph.
- Oh, it looks like
you got a fan here.
- Yeah.
- [speaking Bulgarian]
- Oh, selfie?
Nah, I really--
I really don't do selfies, so--
oh, it's with him.
OK.
- [laughs]
[speaking Bulgarian]
- Oh, another fan.
- [speaking Bulgarian]
- Hi.
- [speaking Bulgarian]
- OK.
If you want,
I could just sign it too.
If you want my--
I could just--
- [speaking Bulgarian]
- I could just put my signature
in there too.
I could--
Do you want me to jump in?
We can do it later.
Two coffee.
- When I was five years old,
I had a huge pain in my ears.
So I remember how I--
I was sitting alone
with my great grandmother
and I crying, "Grandma,
I'm going to die,
I'm going to die."
She console me.
You will not going to die,
my boy.
There is an order.
First, I will die.
Then your grandmother will die.
Then your grandfather will die.
Then your parents will die,
and just then you will die.
- [laughs]
- Could you imagine?
[chuckles]
It's typical Bulgarian--
I don't know--consolation.
[upbeat music]
- I'm realizing why I feel
so at ease in this place.
I think I'm Bulgarian.
I'm a worrier.
I'm a pessimist.
For as long
as I can remember,
I've walked
a constant tightrope
in avoidance of bad feelings.
So this is
the only happy Bulgarian?
I've spent my adult life
running from sadness,
but my conversation
with Georgi is a reminder
that it's all
a delicate balance.
Let's get a selfie with him.
There is no joy
without also acknowledging
and accepting pain.
To happy Bulgarians.
Who would have thought
a Nobel Prize nominee
could be so wise?
[somber music]
- Around Bulgaria,
you can certainly find
small moments of joy
hidden amidst
the gloomy faces
and cracked
brutalist buildings.
[upbeat music]
* *
But for the country
to really free itself
from the shadow
of distrust
that has defined it
for generations...
Sweet Bulgarian cherries.
There needs to be some kind
of future to strive for.
Oh, that's good.
Fortunately, amidst the wave
of young Bulgarians
choosing to leave
their homeland...
there are some
who are choosing to return.
* *
Oh, hello!
- [speaking Bulgarian]
- Ah, very nice to meet you!
[tranquil music]
This is Dessi
and her grandmother Fidana,
also known as Bobo.
- She fixes me.
I fix her.
- Dessi is
a Bulgarian-born artist
who spent her childhood
in Detroit after her parents
immigrated there in the '90s.
But a few years ago,
she began splitting her time
between Bulgaria
and the states in order
to spend her days
boozing with her grandmas
here in the town
of Kyustendil.
- Nazdrave!
- Nazdrave!
- So you're gonna
take me on some kind of
Bulgarian adventure...
- Food tour.
- Here.
- Well, yeah, we're--
we're gonna create a--
what we call a zelnik.
- A zelnik.
- Zelnik.
- OK, a zelnik.
- We prepped the leeks
with some cheese.
- As Dessi and Babo
introduce me
to yet another
flaky Bulgarian pastry,
I feel like I've stumbled
into the museum home
of the sweetest,
most cuddliest
Bulgarian grandmother ever.
- Wow.
That's a whole lot of leek.
It looks like a human brain.
So what brings you back
and forth
from the states to Bulgaria?
- A lot of it has to do
with her and my other grandma.
And when I left,
I was so young
that I didn't really
conceptualize it.
When, you know, you have, like,
the awkward immigrant
experience of
"My name is longer
than the alphabet."
- What's your full name?
- Dessislava Dobreva Terzieva.
- [laughs]
OK.
- As I got a little bit older,
I became closer to my roots.
I actually started
to realize what it means
to have this bond,
what it means
to have these two perspectives
and also what it means to--
every time I see my grandmas,
I give them life.
I mean, it adds
years to their life...
- Right, right.
- Because it's
what they live for.
It's family.
- Right.
[upbeat music]
You could have
a Bulgarian TV show.
- She really does need
her own show.
- "Babo Knows Best."
- "Babo Knows Best."
- May I try it?
- So you don't want too much.
Spread that out and nicely.
- [speaking Bulgarian]
- Uh-oh,
she's already criticizing me.
- [laughs]
No, no, no.
- I can tell.
Is this OK here?
- [speaking Bulgarian]
- Well, you gotta put the--
- Sorry.
I almost forgot.
- The most important part.
* *
- So this has, like,
zero carbs, right?
- [chuckles]
Oh, yeah.
This is keto.
- [chuckles]
Let's get this in the oven.
- Babo,
[speaking Bulgarian]?
- [speaking Bulgarian]
- She's waiting for it
to warm up a little bit.
- Babo!
- [speaking Bulgarian]
- Ah.
- Ah, beautiful.
Can't wait.
[tranquil music]
- So this is
grandma's living room.
- Grandma's living room.
- And also my favorite room
in the whole house.
- Very simple, very lovely.
- In a way, it's frozen
in time because
it's the same furniture,
it's a lot of
the same little objects
as when I was born.
- Mm-hmm.
These relics
from the past continue
to provide meaning for Dessi,
and she incorporates
odds and ends
from Babo's home into her art.
- I take what exists,
and I either remove it
out of the context or I place
new things into that context
that don't make sense.
That juxtaposition speaks
to the immigrant experience.
It speaks to having
a hybrid identity.
- Is that you?
- That's me.
This is a traditional...
- Wow.
- Bulgarian garb.
And I can put it on for you.
- Oh, that'd be fabulous.
[upbeat acoustic music]
* *
How many Bulgarians does it
take to screw in a lightbulb?
[chuckles]
- [speaking Bulgarian]
- [laughs]
Stop.
It's become something
of a tradition for Babo
to help Dessi put on
the Bulgarian folk dress
whenever she visits.
- Wow, beautiful.
[applauding]
When was this dress
originally made?
- This dress is from 1928.
- 1928!
- My grandmother's mother...
- Yeah.
- Wore it to her wedding,
because back in the days,
this is what you wore.
- Right.
I can't really imagine
what that would feel like
to not only have
this connection
to your beautiful grandmother,
but your great grandmother.
- Mm-hmm, It's definitely
a point of pride,
and something I care
a lot about, and something
I nurture consciously.
- My family from America
is very fractured.
- Mm-hmm.
- Multiple divorces.
And I don't have any artifact
or connection
to their life
or my own ancestry.
That must feel amazing
to have that connection.
- Yeah.
- My dad used to make
a tater tot casserole
with a cream of mushroom soup.
- Mm-hmm.
- And a lot of cheddar cheese
and sour cream.
And maybe
I should embrace that.
- Well, yeah.
- My whiteness.
- [giggles]
- You know?
* *
OK, what have I gotten
myself into here?
- One, two--
- Polling might suggest that
Bulgaria is pretty unhappy...
Oh, I'm lost.
- But I got to say,
dancing with Dessi
in Babo's backyard
while she cheers us on
is pretty damn fun.
It's fantastic!
* *
So what are we drinking?
- It's homemade wine.
- From back here in the yard?
- From Grandma's backyard, yep.
- Wow.
So Bulgaria consistently
ranks among the lowest
on various happiness indexes
that are done around the world.
What's your take on this?
- Well, I had an amazing
childhood in Bulgaria.
I mean, from morning
to night,
just all day playing.
Front, back.
There we go.
I feel like we rank so low
on this happiness index,
and yet I come to Bulgaria,
and I'm like, "God,
these people know how to live."
And I love being here,
and that's what
keeps bringing me back.
- Oppa!
- Which means "bravo."
- All right, all right.
- [applauds]
- I would love for you
to ask Babo
what brings her joy
and richness
and satisfaction to her life.
- [speaking Bulgarian]
- Me, my brother, my cousin.
She has three grandkids.
- Yeah.
- Eh.
[laughs]
- That's great.
I love her.
She's so animated.
She's incredible.
- Yes, absolutely.
She's so cool.
- I think she's
been loosened up by...
- A little bit.
- Some of the--
the homemade hooch.
- Yeah.
Oh, yeah.
- Here's to that.
Cheers!
- Cheers!
- Nazdrave!
That's beautiful.
[upbeat music]
- My time with Dessi and Babo
leaves me hopeful
about Bulgaria's future,
but now I want to understand
how other young Bulgarians
reckon with their country's
fraught past and present.
- Hey.
- Hey.
- I know you.
How are you?
- Super.
- Following
a quick outfit change,
Dessi introduces me
to a few of her friends.
- My name is Dimmy.
- Dimmy!
- Yeah.
- I'm Monika.
It's very nice to meet you.
- Monika, hi.
Dimmy and Monika
are stand-up comedians
in Sofia's
underground comedy scene.
- [speaking Bulgarian]
[laughter]
- It's a daring profession,
since I imagine
performing in
a Bulgarian comedy club
is a bit like trying
to serve steak
to a restaurant
full of vegans.
[laughter]
[applause]
- Monika, what kind
of jokes do you tell?
- So my mom would say
I'm a dirty comic.
- A dirty comic?
[laughs]
- Yeah, I have a lot of,
like, generational jokes
because I live
very close to my--
and I'm very close
with my grandparents,
but we don't agree
on much in life.
I have, for example,
a lot of jokes
about taking my grandma
without her knowledge to Pride.
And...
[laughter]
And she was enjoying it,
and then she realized
it's Pride, and she got
very uncomfortable.
And I--the joke I do is
usually, oh, it's not
because she hates g*y people.
It's because she doesn't
like people enjoying things
on the streets.
[laughter]
- Showing joy.
That's very funny.
- For me, the thing that I like
to poke a lot at Bulgarians
and locals is materialism
because Bulgarians
foster a lot of jealousy.
They would rather just
do schemes, cheat the system.
- So corruption isn't just
like government officials.
- Oh, no, it's in the--
- It's kind of--it can be
on very low levels as well.
- It's in the head of people.
- It can be a bar manager
or whatever.
But kind of cheating
the system to get ahead is--
- It's a way of thinking.
- Yeah.
- We raise new humans
into this system.
- Right.
- And that's why I feel
these humans with us
tonight are on
for a different battle
to change the system
and stop feeding it.
- Yeah.
If you want any
of this to make the episode,
it's just
gonna be $20 apiece.
[laughter]
- What's your currency rate?
[tranquil music]
- I came to Bulgaria
bracing myself
for the unhappiest place
on Earth.
And there's no question,
there is a lot
of unhappiness here
because of
a corrupt government,
crumbling infrastructure,
a general lack of trust.
Bulgaria has
a lot of work to do,
but it's not beyond repair.
- I love a lot
of things about Bulgaria.
We're really creative,
really quick,
and we know how to enjoy.
- Now young people, they have
so many more opportunities.
- I have the choice
to study architecture,
or psychology, or-- -
Or to go somewhere else.
- Or to go somewhere else.
- To travel.
- I see a lot of young people
learning the steps
of national dances
and even rehearsing
in parks, which has never
happened during socialism.
Democracy has given us
a craving for an identity
that we thought lost.
- I'm trying to direct
the people's attention
to actually the good things.
OK, there's a hole
in the street,
but look, actually,
there's this
beautiful nature around us.
- [speaking Bulgarian]
- I love my country.
I don't want to leave it,
like, never.
* *
- Hiding amidst
the grim Balkan façade,
I found another Bulgaria,
a place where families
celebrate themselves.
Oppa!
Where strangers unite through
joyful self-expression,
where rebellious
counterculture
takes root in the heart
of the younger generation.
All right.
And where even a village
of three and a half people
can be a paradise.
Do I look Bulgarian?
[chuckles]
My time here makes me realize
that I, like Bulgaria,
am not beyond repair.
[upbeat music]
It's what Georgi said,
"Happiness isn't
the absence of sadness.
"Rather, it's coming
to terms with that sadness,
accepting it as a part of you,
as a first step forward."
- Bulgaria is quaint
in the most genuine meaning
of the word.
The simple life,
the sort of farm
we in the busy West
look for to find peace on.
Just listen
to the mountain music.
[upbeat acoustic music]
* *
- OK, any requests?
How about
a Bulgarian folk song?
* Oh, Bulgaria *
* You're my favorite area *
That's all I got so far, but--
- Yeah, you will expand on it.
- We can--let's--
let's sing it.
I'm gonna expand on it.
- [chuckles]
- * You're on my list *
* Now you're not communist,
Bulgaria *
* *
Whoo!
High fives.
Come on, Oleg.
Don't leave me hangin'.
* *
- Bulgaria is an unhappy place
with every opportunity
to be happy.
Iceland was the opposite.
[car horn blares]
All right, this is nice.
[cars honking]
I wonder,
how much of our happiness
is shaped by perspective?
[upbeat music]
* *
Next up,
I'm heading to a country
that understands the answer
to this better than anywhere.
All right, here we go.
I'm venturing in.
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01x02 - Happiness Is A Stranger's Shower
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The series follows actor and comedian Rainn Wilson as he travels the world in search of the science and psychology of what makes some places happier than others.
The series follows actor and comedian Rainn Wilson as he travels the world in search of the science and psychology of what makes some places happier than others.