Original subtitles

- 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 war 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 shit 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 kill 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 ass 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 bomb 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 gay 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.