All language subtitles for Rainn.Wilson.and.the.Geography.of.Bliss.S01E02.1080p.WEBRip.x265-RARBG

- 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.