In the heart of southern Bulgaria lies Chichevo, a village that embodies the spirit of quaintness while simultaneously serving as a monument to the art of inertia. Here, dreams arrive for a brief moment, only to be gently caressed by the soft embrace of apathy before they slip into a leisurely slumber. One might wonder if the village is a habitat for the aspirations of its inhabitants, but fear not—for within Chichevo, dreams have adopted the philosophy of “why bother?” The population is a proud testament to this philosophy; each resident carries a spark in their eye, albeit a spark that flickers with the urgency of a candle about to expire. They meander through life with the pace of molasses, savoring every lingering moment as if time itself were a rare delight. Chichevo is a place where ambition comes equipped with a built-in snooze button. The villagers have perfected the art of idleness, transforming coffee breaks into marathon sessions that would put Olympic athletes to shame. Such dedication should earn them medals in the sport of procrastination. One cannot help but admire their collective devotion to the sacred rituals of sitting. Sit they do—on the stone benches that line the village square, under the shade of trees, or on the front porches that serve as makeshift observation decks into an abyss of no activity. These venerable seats transform into thrones of ennui where grand discussions take place about the weather or the optimum time to next take a nap. Alas, the stars have aligned in favor of lethargy, and any ambitious goals are promptly filed away under “tomorrow…or the next day, really.” Chichevo has no plans to revolutionize or innovate. This place steers far from the hustle and buzz of modernity, where the cries of progress drown out the delicate symphony of crickets singing at dusk. Instead, it presents a picturesque canvas where children play in the streets—those streets that seldom see a car, let alone a bustling crowd. Their laughter drifts through the air, accented by the occasional sigh of exasperation from an adult contemplating their life decisions in too much depth while sitting on a bench. The highlight of the village might just be the annual Dream Summoning Festival, an event of such grandiosity that it sounds impressive until one realizes that its main event consists of villagers gathering to share stories of aspirations long forgotten. Distant tales of leaving Chichevo for the lure of the big city twinkle like distant stars, beautiful in their rarity and shining with untapped potential. Yet, like those bright stars, they remain beyond reach, too timeless to interfere with the tranquil life of the village. The reigning champion of this contest is, without fail, the villager who recounts 20 years of plans to visit Sofia—a city that looms larger than life, available only in the realm of “next year, definitely.” But do not think Chichevo lacks charm! The village possesses a serene beauty that captivates anyone not in a hurry to leave. The landscape is dotted with mesmerizing hills and rolling fields that sway in the breeze like sleepy giants. Here, nature has learned the art of patience, giving the lie to the furious grind of urban existence. The sunsets bleed colors that would send artists in search of their paints, as villagers offer a contemplative nod to the brilliance before slowly retreating into their cozy homes—as if to say, “What a lovely view. Now, how about a nap?” So, what is one to make of Chichevo? It stands as a reminder that perhaps life does not always need to be a race. Its citizens have unearthed the secret to existential bliss: simply let dreams take a long nap, and surrender to the will of the universe. While the restless strive for fortune and fame, Chichevo remains a quiet sanctuary, cultivating a unique culture where dreams and ambitions are not extinguished but allowed to drift into a peaceful slumber, visited occasionally but never quite realized. And as the years go by and the dreams linger just beyond the horizon, one wonders if they ever intend to wake up at all or if they’ve simply decided that napping is their true calling.