I've already said elsewhere that Bulgaria is the poor. The poorest nation in the EU in fact. And so it is. What may one expect to get for ones wedge then? Well it depends on where you are, as it does in any country. In the capital, Sofia, your folding stuff will disappear quicker, in the sticks, it will stretch considerably further.
Using the tried and tested pint comparison scale, in the UK, a pint in a swanky boozerama with carpet, fruities, candles and all the trimmings costs about a £5 in London and something like £2.50 in a similar establishment in Sofia. It's difficult to generalise as I've paid considerably more in both cities but it gives you an idea.
In Gostilitsa, the bar doubles as the local supermarket. Facilities are rudimentary but you'd be unlucky not to find a chair and somewhere to rest your beer bottle. Toilet facilities vary in quality from tree, to bush, to grassy knoll, to actual toilet (although the pervasive pungent atmosphere does hint at someone having suffered a terminal evacuation in the recent past). Personally, I prefer the tree option. The savings made on lack of decorative luxuries can of course be passed onto the consumer. A bottle of beer (a few ounces short of a pint) comes in at around 50p. Stella strength but much nicer to get drunk on. Zagorka and Kamenitsa are the top choices.
A loaf of bread comes in at around 50p and is pretty good stuff.
Any local produce costs next to nothing if in season and is usually sublime.
Dairy varies in quality and price. Butter can be cheap but the good stuff isn't. Locally produced white cheese is quite cheap but lacks any depth of flavour. Yellow cheese is surprisingly expensive and not that good. Think Edam but without the punch.
Protein is approximately half the price of the UK and if you're a creative cook, cheaper cuts represent even better value for money.
Anything imported is expensive, often German and not as good quality as UK supermarket equivalents on the whole.
A further note on imports/exports. Cross border trade remains at an exceptionally low level. People will talk about Bulgarian wine exports a lot (the fifth largest exporter in Europe someone told me but the 2011 production figures suggest they're 11th, so go figure). Whatever the case, wine is certainly an increasingly important commodity for Bulgaria. A few miles down the road from Gostilitsa is the town of Sevlievo. One of the wealthiest towns in Bulgaria as a result of being the home of the very large Ideal Standard sanitary-ware factory (the irony that one of the largest toilet making facilities in Europe is just a long piss away from the village where I use a tree for relief is not lost on me). Thing is, once you count out wine and loos, you start to run out of showpiece industrial success stories. Sunflowers and Bio-fuel is on the up, tobacco cultivation is in decline, energy export revenue from the old Soviet nuclear plant at Belene no longer exists following it's closure (Chernobyl style reactors have gone out of fashion for some reason). There are many small scale producers turning into collectives or being bought and turned into scalable commercial enterprises but progress is made at the traditional Bulgarian pace. Shame really, Bulgaria has EU grants up the ying-yang and should have done better. The problem seems to have been that the few entrepreneurs in Bulgaria concentrated on siphoning off the generous grants into Swiss bank accounts rather than invest in the country. Government officials often attract the most attention for such accusations it appears.
The majority of what Bulgaria produces is for the domestic market. There's only so much jam, honey and walnut oil that the rest of the world wants or needs.
The Lev is pegged to the Euro at a rate of 1.95Lv -1€. This offers the currency some stability and credibility. The recession largely passed Bulgaria by unless one was trying to sell a house (values tanked like the rest of the world). The one benefit of no-one wanting to lend you money is that you don't get into debt. And not trading with the rest of the world means you have no cash-flow problems because there isn't any cash flowing. I'm over-simplifying but there is more than a grain of truth in this.
All in all, Bulgaria gets on with things without worrying too much about economics. It's a terribly confusing subject really and they seem to have abandoned any interest in it. Nicking many many millions in Euros from the EU was fun and the EU bank is always giving money away. The EU did realise they've been turned over by the way but both parties appear to have shrugged their shoulders brushed the whole thing under the carpet.
'Now then Bulgaria, did you build that motorway with the money we gave you as promised? No? Well what did you do with it then? What do you mean you drank it? All of it? Blimey! You lot are going to have to ease back on the sauce before we give you any more. What was that? You want some money to upgrade your electricity grid? Oh go on then. How much do you need? That much huh? Well ok, but don't go on another massive bender with it this time.' (glug glug glug)
Thursday, 2 April 2015
Gostilitsa 2014
2014 was a funny old year for me one way and another. I didn't manage to get to Gostilitsa until late August and was there again in November. Both were brief trips 5/6 days. Both trips involved very little work on my part. I pottered a bit. Fixed a couple of things but didn't really move anything on much.
Having had the place for a number of years now, maintenance work aswell as improvement work comes into play. Keith arranged for the exterior timber work to be revarnished and a new septic tank was installed (the original one was a massive bodge job and had collapsed). Headway has been made on the slow process of pointing the interior walls and is now mostly done (there has been a lot of wall to point). It improves the look but also seals the property from the elements. It's an important task that should have been done by now in truth.
As the place is left unoccupied for long periods, the locals like to move in and occupy if they can. I've got protection from human squatters in the form of security cameras, strong locks, a diligent neighbour and Keith makes regular inspections. Oh, plus, there's nothing worth nicking in the place for the effort involved (speculative intruders take note). None of the above prevents smaller mammals from gaining entry. Byalkas I've mentioned in my wildlife post. Rats can gain a foothold, which sounds awful but they just scurry around in the cavities and don't do too much damage. Getting rid of them is important though. More poison.
All these little critters are annoying more than anything else but over time, holes in walls get bigger and I've lost a good number of roof tiles from their industry in my absence. So pointing and roof repairs are both improving and important maintenance tasks that require increasing levels of attention.
Keith also planted some vines this year. My hope is that a bit of greenery will soften to look of the place and offer a sense of maturity. I also plumped for a table variety rather than wine. The chances of my being there the week of harvest is slim and hanging around to do something with the harvest less likely still. If I do happen to be there when the table grapes are ready, I can at least eat them on the spot. I also went for white, rather than red. Red berry drop on the floor will stain, white won't (you see? the old cranial synapses do still fire occasionally) Over time, I'll get some herbs going and some other stuff that requires no regular attention.
The other noticeable thing is, the plumbing and electrics have been pretty reliable over the past few years. The odd burst pipe in the winter but that's to be expected. I overload the electrics from time to time but a quick trip to the hazardous junction box in the street sorts that out in short order.
In summary, working while I'm there has now become a choice rather than a matter of survival. Which means visits are now stress free and easy to enjoy. The price is the lost sense of achievement from those earlier trips. The pattern now seems to be, if I'm there on my own I'll relax, if I'm there in company, I'll graft. Either way, I'm happy.
This picture captures my mood for the majority of the year pretty well.
Late summer walnuts encased in their natural husky state. Bet you didn't know walnuts on the tree looked like that did you?
Local taxi firm gearing up for a busy Saturday night.
Having had the place for a number of years now, maintenance work aswell as improvement work comes into play. Keith arranged for the exterior timber work to be revarnished and a new septic tank was installed (the original one was a massive bodge job and had collapsed). Headway has been made on the slow process of pointing the interior walls and is now mostly done (there has been a lot of wall to point). It improves the look but also seals the property from the elements. It's an important task that should have been done by now in truth.
As the place is left unoccupied for long periods, the locals like to move in and occupy if they can. I've got protection from human squatters in the form of security cameras, strong locks, a diligent neighbour and Keith makes regular inspections. Oh, plus, there's nothing worth nicking in the place for the effort involved (speculative intruders take note). None of the above prevents smaller mammals from gaining entry. Byalkas I've mentioned in my wildlife post. Rats can gain a foothold, which sounds awful but they just scurry around in the cavities and don't do too much damage. Getting rid of them is important though. More poison.
All these little critters are annoying more than anything else but over time, holes in walls get bigger and I've lost a good number of roof tiles from their industry in my absence. So pointing and roof repairs are both improving and important maintenance tasks that require increasing levels of attention.
Keith also planted some vines this year. My hope is that a bit of greenery will soften to look of the place and offer a sense of maturity. I also plumped for a table variety rather than wine. The chances of my being there the week of harvest is slim and hanging around to do something with the harvest less likely still. If I do happen to be there when the table grapes are ready, I can at least eat them on the spot. I also went for white, rather than red. Red berry drop on the floor will stain, white won't (you see? the old cranial synapses do still fire occasionally) Over time, I'll get some herbs going and some other stuff that requires no regular attention.
The other noticeable thing is, the plumbing and electrics have been pretty reliable over the past few years. The odd burst pipe in the winter but that's to be expected. I overload the electrics from time to time but a quick trip to the hazardous junction box in the street sorts that out in short order.
In summary, working while I'm there has now become a choice rather than a matter of survival. Which means visits are now stress free and easy to enjoy. The price is the lost sense of achievement from those earlier trips. The pattern now seems to be, if I'm there on my own I'll relax, if I'm there in company, I'll graft. Either way, I'm happy.
This picture captures my mood for the majority of the year pretty well.
Late summer walnuts encased in their natural husky state. Bet you didn't know walnuts on the tree looked like that did you?
Local taxi firm gearing up for a busy Saturday night.
Bulgarian Wildlife
Bulgaria has lots of unoccupied space for a wide variety of God's creatures in which to thrive. Oh, and I did some actual research for this post. I still wouldn't call it reliable though. I just used the first source I stumbled across which could have been as made up as my own posts.
Here are a few vignettes of the type of thing you can expect to bump into. Or not.
Byalka - Bulgarian for Marten - not an animal we've seen in the UK for many many years but sort of like a stoaty squirrel. Sort of. Unpointed areas (and I have a few) can allow access to an inquisitive Byalka and they do love a roof space. Once they're in, they try and extend the opening by pushing what they can out of they way and they're extremely effective at what they do. Nothing says 'home' to a Byalka like a renovated barn roof. To improve the sense of belonging, they shit wherever they can and bite chunks out of anything that looks tasty and nourishing, like wood, mattresses, even car brake pipes I've heard. As cute as they look, they're basically a pain in the arse and difficult to evict. Killing them with poison works but the aftermath is unsightly. Stumbling across a dead Byalka after it has vomitted its intestines onto your varnished pine floor is enough to put you off your breakfast I assure you.
Snakes - There are at least 10 types of snakes found in Bulgaria, of which two are poisonous. The Common Viper and the Horn Nosed Viper. The other eight are basically pussies and can be discounted. Even the Common Viper is a poor excuse for a serpent, it's venom causes no more harm than a bee sting. The Horn Nosed Viper though is quite brilliant. A proper nasty slitherer. I have a feeling that Keith had one nibble at him which ended up in a trip to the hospital and days in recovery. He'll correct me if I'm wrong. Contact with them is rare and there haven't been any fatalities in many years, they tend to keep themselves to themselves, unless you're doing some serious garden clearance (which I think Keith was) and destroy their home in the process. I've never seen one to the best of my knowledge but they are around.
Here are a few vignettes of the type of thing you can expect to bump into. Or not.
Byalka - Bulgarian for Marten - not an animal we've seen in the UK for many many years but sort of like a stoaty squirrel. Sort of. Unpointed areas (and I have a few) can allow access to an inquisitive Byalka and they do love a roof space. Once they're in, they try and extend the opening by pushing what they can out of they way and they're extremely effective at what they do. Nothing says 'home' to a Byalka like a renovated barn roof. To improve the sense of belonging, they shit wherever they can and bite chunks out of anything that looks tasty and nourishing, like wood, mattresses, even car brake pipes I've heard. As cute as they look, they're basically a pain in the arse and difficult to evict. Killing them with poison works but the aftermath is unsightly. Stumbling across a dead Byalka after it has vomitted its intestines onto your varnished pine floor is enough to put you off your breakfast I assure you.
Snakes - There are at least 10 types of snakes found in Bulgaria, of which two are poisonous. The Common Viper and the Horn Nosed Viper. The other eight are basically pussies and can be discounted. Even the Common Viper is a poor excuse for a serpent, it's venom causes no more harm than a bee sting. The Horn Nosed Viper though is quite brilliant. A proper nasty slitherer. I have a feeling that Keith had one nibble at him which ended up in a trip to the hospital and days in recovery. He'll correct me if I'm wrong. Contact with them is rare and there haven't been any fatalities in many years, they tend to keep themselves to themselves, unless you're doing some serious garden clearance (which I think Keith was) and destroy their home in the process. I've never seen one to the best of my knowledge but they are around.
Brown Bears - Long considered a pest, the 1930's Brown Bear population declined to a mere 300 examples. In short, the Brown Bear has had a rough old time of it. Hunted to near extinction, they were given protected species status in the 1950's and by the 1980's, only high ranking government officials and foreign trophy hunters were granted the privilege of slaughtering them. There are now an estimated 1000 or so of the furry cuddlers roaming two strictly monitored areas in Bulgaria. In the last few years there have been isolated reports of bears coming into contact with humans and even a couple of attacks. Hunger has been suggested as a motive. Sources are not reliable and language tends towards the sensational. Personally, I've never been anywhere near one and wouldn't be bothered if I was. My only glimpse of one was years ago near the Black Sea coast and it was being led down the road by a guy on a chain. You don't see that these days. I've seen several sources claim that Bulgarians today are well disposed towards Brown Bears and I'm generous enough in spirit to believe them.
You won't see Brown Bears unless you're very lucky. They don't have too many reasons for coming anywhere near us if they can help it. We've not been very good neighbours to them.
Fireflies - Apart from being the best TV sci-fi series ever, the Firefly is one of God's better ideas. Basically, a fly (flying beetle in actual fact), with a lightbulb strapped to its rear end. The light emanated as they swoop and flit is a mating tool primarily and a deterrent to would be predators as an added bonus. Males and females flash luminescent signals at each other rather like Naval Aldis lamps and morse code. Dot dot dash (Are you up for it?) dash dot dash (sorry, I'm on this week) dash dash dot (fair enough, how about an antennae job?) dot dot dot (dream on fly-boy). The effect is spectacular. To see a swarm of Fireflies sparking in the still night air is a quite beautiful, natural miracle. The Firefly mating season is typically short, two weeks or so, but I've seen Fireflies many times in Bulgaria, so maybe I've caught them on the run-up while they're practicing, or maybe Bulgarian Fireflies can go a bit longer than elsewhere. I have no science to back up my speculation on the Bulgarian Firefly libido I'm afraid. A late spring/early summer trip to rural Bulgaria will give one a good chance of spotting them.
When medical science finally achieves interspecies splicing, I will be first in the queue to get a Firefly lamp grafted to my butt that glows brilliantly every time I feel horny. As far as I'm concerned, Fireflies are totally brilliant. The sun, almost literally, shines out of their arse.
Wild Boar - According to my online source, there were in the region of 40,000 Wild Boar roaming Bulgaria in 2009. They too though have had a traumatic history and extinction threatened after the two big European wars. There are apparently two distinct flavours of boar, one larger in the north and one smaller in the south. The central mountain range providing a natural migration barrier between the two ecotypes (this is all sounding quite believable isn't it? Not my own work you understand). I've never seen a Wild Boar. Presumably they snuffle in the woods and do whatever else it is they do but they generally do it out of the way.
Fish - I know less about fish and fishing than I do Wild Boar. Apparently it is excellent though. Carp gets lots of mentions. Have posted a pic of a man with a fish. To be honest I'm bored now and want to go back to making things up.
Note: If you're a UK reader, don't be too harsh in your assessment of Bulgarians and their penchant for killing stuff. It has been a national pastime since Spartacus was strutting around the place. Remember, different people think differently. That said, I can't offer any excuses for hunting purely for sport. I've looked at a bunch of stuff online in writing this and to be honest, there's a lot of 'man in comfortable truck shooting at badly frightened animal' tour packages available. It doesn't make pleasant reading to my eyes but there is obviously a market for it or those companies wouldn't exist.
There are also well organised, well disciplined hunts (including in Gostilitsa) which are less bloodthirsty and glory oriented. I'd like to think that at least some retain a spirit of man pitting wits against beast in an attempt to feed themselves. I buy into that concept more readily. I have gone on record as wanting to join a hunt to see how I'd feel about being so closely connected to the food I eat. I don't think my romantic notion of downing a Wild Boar then spit roasting it over a fire with my mates to fill our empty bellies really holds water though. I might be able to justify that sort of thing in my mind but it doesn't work like that in the real world. These things seem to involve a lot of people and theres a lot of shooting that can be heard in the distance. It doesn't feel like it's a starving hunter versus dangerous man eating porcine. You know, kill or be killed, that sort of thing. My appetite for being any part of that diminishes the older I get and the more I think about it. I don't know. I'm going around in circles. If Bulgarians want to carry on doing it because it's part of their cultural heritage, that's up to them, it's their country. Rich foreigners getting off on shooting shit doesn't sound right though.
Gostilitsa 2013
There were two visits in 2013 one early in the year and one in the summer. Both provided some very very nice photos.
The first trip of the year reunited the by now veteran team of cowboy builders that I'm able to call friends (until they read this) and our arrival was heralded by a hurricane that knocked out all services for the majority of our trip. Apart from lengthy visits to the bar, evening entertainment involved huddling around an iPad whose increasingly drained battery allowed us to enjoy episodes of Gavin and Stacey. As I write this, I find myself slightly red-faced at the memory of us departing to our beds claiming that a good night was had by all on the back of a tantalising glimpse of Alison Steadman's cleavage.
We moved onto the abandoned house for this trip. Clearing out the previous occupants belongings would have been fine had they died the day before but nine years of neglect leaves an aromatic aftertaste I can tell you. We burned a good deal of the detritus. The fire in the garden lasted the entire trip and one of our number, a client facing private banker, tended the conflagration almost too diligently and returned to work sooty, smelling of roasted pork and without eyebrows or fringe. Another contributor, decided that his vast experience as a grocer qualified him for the job of demolishing the house extension containing the bakers oven. Standing atop the subject of his destruction, he kicked, pulled, hammered at the stonework and generally bodged the job while subjecting his fragile human flesh to extreme high altitude danger. In the end, the long standing structure toppled and in my memory at least, he leapt rapidly and dexerously to a position of safety like Spiderman desperately needing a piss and remembering it takes him 15 minutes to strip to a sufficiently convenient state in which to do so.
We also dug out the old path to the old house, long covered by the construction waste of renovation works. Knowing that the previous occupant was physically challenged and required wheelchair access, it revealed a story whereby the son built a concrete path to the front door which included two impassable steps. Poor planning or deliberate cruelty? Difficult to decipher in Bulgaria.
The summer trip was for pleasure almost entirely and was brilliant. a bit more time in Sofia than usual and some visits to local places of interest for a change, including the wonderful Shipka Pass, site of a famous battle in the Russo-Turkish war.
The morning after the night before.
Private banker doing his fiery thing.
The beautiful nearby town of Elena.
Cherries ripening in the garden.
The place never looked better.
The first trip of the year reunited the by now veteran team of cowboy builders that I'm able to call friends (until they read this) and our arrival was heralded by a hurricane that knocked out all services for the majority of our trip. Apart from lengthy visits to the bar, evening entertainment involved huddling around an iPad whose increasingly drained battery allowed us to enjoy episodes of Gavin and Stacey. As I write this, I find myself slightly red-faced at the memory of us departing to our beds claiming that a good night was had by all on the back of a tantalising glimpse of Alison Steadman's cleavage.
We moved onto the abandoned house for this trip. Clearing out the previous occupants belongings would have been fine had they died the day before but nine years of neglect leaves an aromatic aftertaste I can tell you. We burned a good deal of the detritus. The fire in the garden lasted the entire trip and one of our number, a client facing private banker, tended the conflagration almost too diligently and returned to work sooty, smelling of roasted pork and without eyebrows or fringe. Another contributor, decided that his vast experience as a grocer qualified him for the job of demolishing the house extension containing the bakers oven. Standing atop the subject of his destruction, he kicked, pulled, hammered at the stonework and generally bodged the job while subjecting his fragile human flesh to extreme high altitude danger. In the end, the long standing structure toppled and in my memory at least, he leapt rapidly and dexerously to a position of safety like Spiderman desperately needing a piss and remembering it takes him 15 minutes to strip to a sufficiently convenient state in which to do so.
We also dug out the old path to the old house, long covered by the construction waste of renovation works. Knowing that the previous occupant was physically challenged and required wheelchair access, it revealed a story whereby the son built a concrete path to the front door which included two impassable steps. Poor planning or deliberate cruelty? Difficult to decipher in Bulgaria.
The summer trip was for pleasure almost entirely and was brilliant. a bit more time in Sofia than usual and some visits to local places of interest for a change, including the wonderful Shipka Pass, site of a famous battle in the Russo-Turkish war.
The morning after the night before.
Private banker doing his fiery thing.
Rubble. Spiderman survived to make it to the toilet.
Wheelchair access.
After a hard day grafting.
Just liked the photo (taken in Sofia)
The church at the southern end of the Shipka Pass. Rather ornate.
The beautiful nearby town of Elena.
Cherries ripening in the garden.
The place never looked better.
Gostilitsa 2012
I'll be perfectly honest, I don't remember much about this trip. Maybe is was the high alcohol content of the Bugarian lager or maybe it was one of those years when I had a short-ish visit on my own and was therefore pretty lazy. I don't recall. I do remember that I created a kind of raised wall by the walnut tree which made me sweat a lot in the process. I also remember that I had quite a lot of holidays that year, so I was probably time constrained. Finally, I think my cheap labour pool dried up a bit after a number of years of complaint over conditions and lack of wages. Overall, I think I deserved their scorn and rejection. Still I've never had a bad trip to Bulgaria and this will have been no exception. I also had a disappointingly small section of concrete laid. The first of several instalments designed to cover the front garden. I haven't, to date, managed to make any further investment to progress this.
I also managed to take a trip into Veliko Tarnovo (VT) to catch a few shots of the Tsarevets Fortress, the impressive visitor showpiece complete with laser lightshow on summer nights.
Rocks are heavy. Fact.
Bulgaria started a proud tradition of concrete laying in the communist era and this is some of their finest to date.
Orthordox Bulgarian Church near the Tsarevets viewpoint. Bulgaria is cursed with a small moon.
I also managed to take a trip into Veliko Tarnovo (VT) to catch a few shots of the Tsarevets Fortress, the impressive visitor showpiece complete with laser lightshow on summer nights.
Rocks are heavy. Fact.
Bulgaria started a proud tradition of concrete laying in the communist era and this is some of their finest to date.
Tsarevets Fortress.
Orthordox Bulgarian Church near the Tsarevets viewpoint. Bulgaria is cursed with a small moon.
Bulgarian History
I know all of this stuff but have been forced once again to do some research to make sure I get at least some of it right and don't look like a complete plum.
If you can't be bothered to read any further, the takeaway is; Bulgaria has a tradition of betting on red when they should have gone black. Oh, plus they don't like gypsies all that much.
So here we go, something like 5000 years of history in a nutshell and condensed into a couple of minutes reading.
Once upon a time there was a place called Thrace. And there was this guy called Spartacus, who had a dimpled chin and an American accent. Spartacus had a bit of a row with the Romans and ended up being crucified by Peter Ustinov. And then there was Macedonia, at its height ruled by Phillip II of Macedon (382-336 BC) and followed by his son, Brad Pitt The Great (356-323BC) who was supposedly poisoned at the age of 32, not before conquering most of the known world and inventing Fight Club in the process. Following the rise and subsequent fall of Thrace and Macedonia, the Central Asian Bulgars set up shop in 632AD. The First Bulgarian Empire was declared in 681AD after lots of chit-chat between Byzantines, Khazars, Thracian remnants etc.
The First Empire collapsed after the Byzantines got all fighty in c.11th and after a bit, The Second Bulgarian Empire was formed in 1185AD. It all went wrong again and in short, the Ottomans (for that, read Turks - and that bit is important) assumed control in 1396 (how am I doing so far by the way? 3000-ish years in one paragraph feels a bit thin but I'll plough on regardless).
Now it gets more interesting and helps gain an understanding of the modern Bulgarian psyche. There then followed a 500 year period of brutal Ottoman oppression forcing Christianity to go underground and Bulgarian culture was all but obliterated. The important bit is that Bulgarians rarely have a kind word to say about Turks. In 1878, The Russians, smelling the collapse of The Ottoman Empire, liberated Bulgaria in a bloody invasion and so began The Third Bulgarian State. And this is another significant point. Bulgarians to this day are quite Russo-centric as a result of their deliverance thanks to Russian intervention.
Another important point is that because of all these empires, borders have been frequently redrawn. This leaves plenty of room for territorial dispute and claim on 'historic Bulgaria'. Fundamentally, this has led to a largely down at heel Bulgaria jumping on any war bandwagon going if a significant protagonist promises a repatriation of disputed lands. Provided that party isn't Muslim and Turkish.
And so onto the Balkan Wars of 1912/13. These were messy affairs between The Ottomans, Serbians, Greeks and Bulgaria and they all pretty much fell out with each other at one point or other. It's actually really interesting but Wikipedia does it perfectly well and I won't repeat it here. The upshot is, Bulgaria ended up losing.
In an effort to salvage some lost pride and lost territory, Bulgaria sided with the absolute dead cert winner in World War I, Germany. With a quarter of the population under arms (1,200,000) Bulgaria made significant gains against Serbia but soon got bored and frankly miffed at the idea of fighting Serbian Christians alongside Ottoman Muslims and in 1917 gave up and went home. Well what was left of it. Greece took a chunk, as did Serbia, as did Romania.
In a further effort to REALLY regain some lost pride and even more lost territory, Bulgaria sided with the red hot favourite to win World War II, Germany. It didn't go well. In the end, and in truth it was by this time with some relief to most Bulgarians (remember they are Russo-friendly?), Russian forces ran amok and The Third Bulgarian State collapsed. And so began The People's Republic of Bulgaria (1944-1990). Actually, I could go on about all of this because I find it fascinating. There is also a war memorial in the main square in Gostilitsa which makes me wonder a lot. The Bulgarian Army didn't cross the Bulgarian border during the war, so how did this these bright young things lose their lives? The answers are out there somewhere. Now I have more time on my hands, I might do a bit more digging.
Communism did little to improve the lot of Bulgaria, although many old-timers recall the period fondly. An old Soviet nuclear power plant which provided a massive revenue boost to the country no longer glows with radioactive munificence and I usually get sour and resentful expressions from anyone I quiz on the merits/demerits of having it. Most people I talk to didn't want to see it close and see it as a clear example of EU meddling.
The transition in late 1989/early 1990 into democracy was peaceful though painful and the shockwaves can still be felt (though not as much as a rusting nuclear reactor blowing up). There has been economic hardship along the way and probably always will be knowing Bulgaria. There have been winners, but precious few. For the most part, people still have chickens, vegetables and hooch. Much the same as always.
Other highlights in Bulgarian history include;
St Cyril devised the most stupid alphabet of all time Cyrillic, counting out all of the South East Asian alphabets of course, or Asia Minor alphabets. Well Cyrillic is one of the most stupid alphabets anyway. Still, he did it in c.9th during The First Bulgarian Empire. And to be fair, they didn't know diddly back then. Why they persist with it today is more of a mystery.
Vasil Levski was arguably Bulgaria's most favoured son. He led the revolutionary movement that ultimately led to liberation after 500 years under the Turkish yoke. Captured in Lovech (not all that far from Gostilitsa really, about 50mins) and martyred by the Ottomans in 1873. Their Churchill if you will.
Major William Frank Thompson was a British SOE operative parachuted into Bulgaria to act as liaison officer between Whitehall and the communist/antifascist partisans in WWII. His exploits read much like one of our disastrous weekends in Gostilitsa without electricity or water but it's insulting to compare the two in truth. He was an incredibly brave chap but unlucky and was executed for his trouble. Six villages were merged after the war and renamed in his honour. His younger brother, E. P. Thompson, the highly respected social historian (I'm not a fan of his academic works as it happens) wrote two books in his memory.
Gypsies. A word on Bulgarian gypsies. I'm drifting off topic a bit here but Bulgarian history does have an influence on their cultural outlook. The origins of prejudice appear to be in the influx of Muslim Romani in the c.14/15th as Ottoman auxiliaries and has lasted until this day. Nearly 5% of Bulgarians are classified as gypsies and almost all hold menial positions or are used as casual labour and are treated as second, actually, fourth class citizens.
In all honesty, Bulgarians can be (not all of them you understand but in my limited experience and often in rural communities) prejudiced. Homosexuals, any non-caucasion and even country folk to urbanite's (and I've seen this) can come under unfair scrutiny for what they appear to be. Once again, don't judge by our standards without taking a moment to appreciate where others started out culturally and intellectually. I won't talk about this anymore. It's not something compatible with my way of thinking but a fact as I see it, regardless. And I'm not being superior, but I am glad I don't hold the same views. Alright, I am being a bit superior. Well bollocks to it. In this case I'm right.
Azis is an ethnic Bulgarian cross gender gypsy and pop-folk singer with a high media profile and competed with some success in the 2006 Eurovision song contest. Azis has achieved considerable notoriety as a result of his public persona in Bulgaria. Given his ethnic background and lifestyle choices, you've got to say, the man has got balls.
The extent of Bulgaria at its greatest during the reign of Tsar Simeon I, Simeon The Great (893-927AD). It's a lot more 'compact and focused' today.
Vasil Levski
W. F. Thompson
Now part of the university campus, The old military centre in Veliko Tarnovo as it is today. The Bulgarian Army was supplied by the Wehrmacht, so the helmet moulded into the balustrade will be familiar to anyone who has watched a war movie. There can't be many places in the world where such a public display of Third Reich millinery still exists surely?
If you can't be bothered to read any further, the takeaway is; Bulgaria has a tradition of betting on red when they should have gone black. Oh, plus they don't like gypsies all that much.
So here we go, something like 5000 years of history in a nutshell and condensed into a couple of minutes reading.
Once upon a time there was a place called Thrace. And there was this guy called Spartacus, who had a dimpled chin and an American accent. Spartacus had a bit of a row with the Romans and ended up being crucified by Peter Ustinov. And then there was Macedonia, at its height ruled by Phillip II of Macedon (382-336 BC) and followed by his son, Brad Pitt The Great (356-323BC) who was supposedly poisoned at the age of 32, not before conquering most of the known world and inventing Fight Club in the process. Following the rise and subsequent fall of Thrace and Macedonia, the Central Asian Bulgars set up shop in 632AD. The First Bulgarian Empire was declared in 681AD after lots of chit-chat between Byzantines, Khazars, Thracian remnants etc.
The First Empire collapsed after the Byzantines got all fighty in c.11th and after a bit, The Second Bulgarian Empire was formed in 1185AD. It all went wrong again and in short, the Ottomans (for that, read Turks - and that bit is important) assumed control in 1396 (how am I doing so far by the way? 3000-ish years in one paragraph feels a bit thin but I'll plough on regardless).
Now it gets more interesting and helps gain an understanding of the modern Bulgarian psyche. There then followed a 500 year period of brutal Ottoman oppression forcing Christianity to go underground and Bulgarian culture was all but obliterated. The important bit is that Bulgarians rarely have a kind word to say about Turks. In 1878, The Russians, smelling the collapse of The Ottoman Empire, liberated Bulgaria in a bloody invasion and so began The Third Bulgarian State. And this is another significant point. Bulgarians to this day are quite Russo-centric as a result of their deliverance thanks to Russian intervention.
Another important point is that because of all these empires, borders have been frequently redrawn. This leaves plenty of room for territorial dispute and claim on 'historic Bulgaria'. Fundamentally, this has led to a largely down at heel Bulgaria jumping on any war bandwagon going if a significant protagonist promises a repatriation of disputed lands. Provided that party isn't Muslim and Turkish.
And so onto the Balkan Wars of 1912/13. These were messy affairs between The Ottomans, Serbians, Greeks and Bulgaria and they all pretty much fell out with each other at one point or other. It's actually really interesting but Wikipedia does it perfectly well and I won't repeat it here. The upshot is, Bulgaria ended up losing.
In an effort to salvage some lost pride and lost territory, Bulgaria sided with the absolute dead cert winner in World War I, Germany. With a quarter of the population under arms (1,200,000) Bulgaria made significant gains against Serbia but soon got bored and frankly miffed at the idea of fighting Serbian Christians alongside Ottoman Muslims and in 1917 gave up and went home. Well what was left of it. Greece took a chunk, as did Serbia, as did Romania.
In a further effort to REALLY regain some lost pride and even more lost territory, Bulgaria sided with the red hot favourite to win World War II, Germany. It didn't go well. In the end, and in truth it was by this time with some relief to most Bulgarians (remember they are Russo-friendly?), Russian forces ran amok and The Third Bulgarian State collapsed. And so began The People's Republic of Bulgaria (1944-1990). Actually, I could go on about all of this because I find it fascinating. There is also a war memorial in the main square in Gostilitsa which makes me wonder a lot. The Bulgarian Army didn't cross the Bulgarian border during the war, so how did this these bright young things lose their lives? The answers are out there somewhere. Now I have more time on my hands, I might do a bit more digging.
Communism did little to improve the lot of Bulgaria, although many old-timers recall the period fondly. An old Soviet nuclear power plant which provided a massive revenue boost to the country no longer glows with radioactive munificence and I usually get sour and resentful expressions from anyone I quiz on the merits/demerits of having it. Most people I talk to didn't want to see it close and see it as a clear example of EU meddling.
The transition in late 1989/early 1990 into democracy was peaceful though painful and the shockwaves can still be felt (though not as much as a rusting nuclear reactor blowing up). There has been economic hardship along the way and probably always will be knowing Bulgaria. There have been winners, but precious few. For the most part, people still have chickens, vegetables and hooch. Much the same as always.
Other highlights in Bulgarian history include;
St Cyril devised the most stupid alphabet of all time Cyrillic, counting out all of the South East Asian alphabets of course, or Asia Minor alphabets. Well Cyrillic is one of the most stupid alphabets anyway. Still, he did it in c.9th during The First Bulgarian Empire. And to be fair, they didn't know diddly back then. Why they persist with it today is more of a mystery.
Vasil Levski was arguably Bulgaria's most favoured son. He led the revolutionary movement that ultimately led to liberation after 500 years under the Turkish yoke. Captured in Lovech (not all that far from Gostilitsa really, about 50mins) and martyred by the Ottomans in 1873. Their Churchill if you will.
Major William Frank Thompson was a British SOE operative parachuted into Bulgaria to act as liaison officer between Whitehall and the communist/antifascist partisans in WWII. His exploits read much like one of our disastrous weekends in Gostilitsa without electricity or water but it's insulting to compare the two in truth. He was an incredibly brave chap but unlucky and was executed for his trouble. Six villages were merged after the war and renamed in his honour. His younger brother, E. P. Thompson, the highly respected social historian (I'm not a fan of his academic works as it happens) wrote two books in his memory.
Gypsies. A word on Bulgarian gypsies. I'm drifting off topic a bit here but Bulgarian history does have an influence on their cultural outlook. The origins of prejudice appear to be in the influx of Muslim Romani in the c.14/15th as Ottoman auxiliaries and has lasted until this day. Nearly 5% of Bulgarians are classified as gypsies and almost all hold menial positions or are used as casual labour and are treated as second, actually, fourth class citizens.
In all honesty, Bulgarians can be (not all of them you understand but in my limited experience and often in rural communities) prejudiced. Homosexuals, any non-caucasion and even country folk to urbanite's (and I've seen this) can come under unfair scrutiny for what they appear to be. Once again, don't judge by our standards without taking a moment to appreciate where others started out culturally and intellectually. I won't talk about this anymore. It's not something compatible with my way of thinking but a fact as I see it, regardless. And I'm not being superior, but I am glad I don't hold the same views. Alright, I am being a bit superior. Well bollocks to it. In this case I'm right.
Azis is an ethnic Bulgarian cross gender gypsy and pop-folk singer with a high media profile and competed with some success in the 2006 Eurovision song contest. Azis has achieved considerable notoriety as a result of his public persona in Bulgaria. Given his ethnic background and lifestyle choices, you've got to say, the man has got balls.
The extent of Bulgaria at its greatest during the reign of Tsar Simeon I, Simeon The Great (893-927AD). It's a lot more 'compact and focused' today.
Vasil Levski
W. F. Thompson
Azis
Gostilitsa 2011
My visit, our visit, to Gostilitsa in 2011 was left until late in the season. My walnut trees were just beginning to consider dropping their head splitting bounty, the hops in the garden were just offering up an oddly familiar perfume, the bees were just beginning to snuggle down after a busy summer to begin their slow but inevitable cycle through autumn sleep, coma and death.
I should take a moment to describe the property in a little more detail. For anyone paying attention, the property comprises more than one building. Four in fact, plus a small extension with bread oven, a storage shed thingy and an outhouse. That is, a proper outhouse, for crapping in. If you haven't gleaned at least some of that until now, your device isn't loading images properly.
Three of the buildings were barns and the other, plus the odds and sods were originally residential. After much consideration, the residential property proved just too expensive to renovate for the space returned, so I decided (to the amusement of the locals) to convert the barns into living areas and leave the old house for later and as yet undetermined use.
Converting the barns was, as I have said, a costly affair. My position at work involves amongst other things, the construction of capital investment business cases. I am faintly embarrassed that my own significant capital investment fails on every conceivable criteria. Call it a labour of love rather than an investment. A folly if you will. I will never see a financial return on Gostilitsa. It does look quite nice though. I will, after a lot more work, have a substantial property. At the moment, I have a property in a various states of repair but in short include 5 bedrooms, 5 bathrooms and 3 kitchens/dining areas. Not only have I made the original investment, I have to date replaced I estimate, 40% or the original fixtures and fittings with more yet to do. Such are the risks of overseas investments but I've also been rather careless, slapdash even, in my choice of business partners and false economies. Some time ago, in order to identify the three separate units, I decided to name them, Wellington (after the Duke of Wellington who surely needs no introduction and is the standalone unit with atrium sticky out bit) and the two joined units, Wolseley (after Field Marshal Garnet Wolseley, 1st Viscount Wolseley, the highly decorated and successful Victorian soldier who's service includes the Crimean War, Ashanti and Canadian campaigns, Burmese war, Indian Mutiny, and doomed Egyptian relief of Chinese Gordon. It is the unit on the left as you look at them) and Montgomery (after Field Marshal Bernard Law Montgomery, 1st Viscount Montgomery of Alamein. If you need to Google him then I suggest you take a Webley .38, wander into the garden, place muzzle against head and do the decent thing before starting your research). In truth, the names given to each unit have yet to take a firm hold. Partly because it's easier to refer to 'the one on the left' or 'the standalone' and partly because no-one outside of military history circles really knows what I'm banging on about and I suspect deliberately refuses to join in.
Having now gotten the inside of the properties comfortable at least, more recent trips have focused on the outside with more genuine fun involved and I now have a great working relationship with Keith who generally employs folk to work on the more boring inside bits such as pointing walls.
And so the trip in the fine weather enjoyed in the autumn of 2011, included the installation of a kitchen in Wellington and the construction of a large Risk board in the garden. Actually, with the good weather, we got a hell of a lot done.
A garden Risk board doesn't build itself...
Did this bit myself. Was rather pleased with my efforts.
'Can yer see what it is yet?' (No longer an acceptable quotation sadly)
Tired bunny after a moderately hard day pouring concrete.
Upcycled broken tiles
Oh, come on! It doesn't look too bad for some office worker numpties on their hols does it?
Enjoying the fruits of our creative labour.
Oh yes, and we did a kitchen too.
I should take a moment to describe the property in a little more detail. For anyone paying attention, the property comprises more than one building. Four in fact, plus a small extension with bread oven, a storage shed thingy and an outhouse. That is, a proper outhouse, for crapping in. If you haven't gleaned at least some of that until now, your device isn't loading images properly.
Three of the buildings were barns and the other, plus the odds and sods were originally residential. After much consideration, the residential property proved just too expensive to renovate for the space returned, so I decided (to the amusement of the locals) to convert the barns into living areas and leave the old house for later and as yet undetermined use.
Converting the barns was, as I have said, a costly affair. My position at work involves amongst other things, the construction of capital investment business cases. I am faintly embarrassed that my own significant capital investment fails on every conceivable criteria. Call it a labour of love rather than an investment. A folly if you will. I will never see a financial return on Gostilitsa. It does look quite nice though. I will, after a lot more work, have a substantial property. At the moment, I have a property in a various states of repair but in short include 5 bedrooms, 5 bathrooms and 3 kitchens/dining areas. Not only have I made the original investment, I have to date replaced I estimate, 40% or the original fixtures and fittings with more yet to do. Such are the risks of overseas investments but I've also been rather careless, slapdash even, in my choice of business partners and false economies. Some time ago, in order to identify the three separate units, I decided to name them, Wellington (after the Duke of Wellington who surely needs no introduction and is the standalone unit with atrium sticky out bit) and the two joined units, Wolseley (after Field Marshal Garnet Wolseley, 1st Viscount Wolseley, the highly decorated and successful Victorian soldier who's service includes the Crimean War, Ashanti and Canadian campaigns, Burmese war, Indian Mutiny, and doomed Egyptian relief of Chinese Gordon. It is the unit on the left as you look at them) and Montgomery (after Field Marshal Bernard Law Montgomery, 1st Viscount Montgomery of Alamein. If you need to Google him then I suggest you take a Webley .38, wander into the garden, place muzzle against head and do the decent thing before starting your research). In truth, the names given to each unit have yet to take a firm hold. Partly because it's easier to refer to 'the one on the left' or 'the standalone' and partly because no-one outside of military history circles really knows what I'm banging on about and I suspect deliberately refuses to join in.
Having now gotten the inside of the properties comfortable at least, more recent trips have focused on the outside with more genuine fun involved and I now have a great working relationship with Keith who generally employs folk to work on the more boring inside bits such as pointing walls.
And so the trip in the fine weather enjoyed in the autumn of 2011, included the installation of a kitchen in Wellington and the construction of a large Risk board in the garden. Actually, with the good weather, we got a hell of a lot done.
A garden Risk board doesn't build itself...
Did this bit myself. Was rather pleased with my efforts.
'Can yer see what it is yet?' (No longer an acceptable quotation sadly)
Tired bunny after a moderately hard day pouring concrete.
Upcycled broken tiles
Oh, come on! It doesn't look too bad for some office worker numpties on their hols does it?
Enjoying the fruits of our creative labour.
Oh yes, and we did a kitchen too.
Gostilitsa 2010
In February 2010, I and my DIY-ing companions paid another visit to Gostilitsa. The excuse was another birthday celebration (a significant one) and we caught the village on the cusp of being snowed in. In the time it took us to get from Sofia airport to the main road turn-off to the village (including the aforementioned scuffle between our car and a rather large lorry coming the other way at some pace) the two of us that made up the advance party emerged into some passably bad weather. About four miles from the village, our Renault Laguna became snowbound. Still in a state of genuine shock from our earlier road traffic trauma, our ashen faces cooled considerably in the blizzarding air and no amount of pushing and revving could shake us free from the ever deepening white stuff.
One phone call and an anxious 15 minutes later, the sturdy figure of an ex-Army Air Corps Helo pilot emerges out of the milky gloom and now dark night. An angel who'd traded his wings in for a 4x4, he towed us the final leg, us being dragged behind our vehicle of salvation like a corpse tied by rope behind a badly panicked horse. After what had already happened earlier in the journey, that we were almost swept over the edge of the road into oblivion several times, struck the pair of us as merely mildly perilous at the time.
Given the lateness of the hour, we went straight to the bar with the angelic Keith to ease our nervous condition. Concluding that our nerves needed a considerable amount of easing, it was really quite late before we opened the door and got a fire lit in the house. After trying and failing to get some water to flow out of the taps and switching on a few lights, the electrics blew. The net result was that we cooked by candlelight on the wood burning heater, burnt the pine floor, ate something cooked drunkenly and appalling and slept cuddled up together around the embers of the dying fire.
I ought for the sake of clarity state that I had my onesie and old army greatcoat on all night. There were no shenanigans.
A rather cold and tetchy Scott and Amunden awoke the next morning, shook the frost from their beards and tried to start enjoying themselves. I don't really remember what that entailed but I don't readily recall the enjoyment bit. A day or two later, the other two partygoers joined us. Through tears of relief at seeing some fresh faces and the prospect of not now having to eat one of my best friends for breakfast, we made some more progress on the house.
The rest of our time was spent playing cards, playing chess, eating birthday cake, varnishing floors, losing tooth fillings (Graphic Designer), being cut badly by axes (Banker), getting burnt by the wood burning stove (Banker), severe stomach upsets (Grocer) and watching a bar fight between expats down in the village square. The last by the way, was quite exciting. When asked for our reaction to the impromptu cabaret, our collective response was a rather nonplussed, 'We don't do volatile', which appeared to be a sentiment appreciated.
As it turns out, the electrics tripped quite a lot in those early days. The problem is, most village Bulgarians rely on one light bulb, a fridge and satellite telly for the ultra-modern. Stick too many electrical appliances on and the whole thing trips out. Doesn't happen in the UK does it? Last time I asked, my place was rated as a small factory by EON in Bulgaria due to the number of electrical gadgets in use. So one has since learnt to be careful. Don't put the kettle AND oven on at the same time (do you know how much juice a kettle draws? It's loads!) Don't have more than 3 lights on when the washing machine is in use etc. There is also a way of fixing the problem should you get it wrong that we learned on this trip (another miracle offered up by Keith). You know the big grey box in the street with lightning bolts on the side? That's right, the locked one with razor wire around it. Well if you ignore the warning signs and mantraps and open it up with the end of a penknife, you can reset the electric yourself. Cool huh!
Snowy alcove.
It took about 3 minutes to turn the place into student digs. Men left to their own devices don't cope well domestically.
Traditional post-bar Bulgarian dress (no, I don't know what was going on here either).
One phone call and an anxious 15 minutes later, the sturdy figure of an ex-Army Air Corps Helo pilot emerges out of the milky gloom and now dark night. An angel who'd traded his wings in for a 4x4, he towed us the final leg, us being dragged behind our vehicle of salvation like a corpse tied by rope behind a badly panicked horse. After what had already happened earlier in the journey, that we were almost swept over the edge of the road into oblivion several times, struck the pair of us as merely mildly perilous at the time.
Given the lateness of the hour, we went straight to the bar with the angelic Keith to ease our nervous condition. Concluding that our nerves needed a considerable amount of easing, it was really quite late before we opened the door and got a fire lit in the house. After trying and failing to get some water to flow out of the taps and switching on a few lights, the electrics blew. The net result was that we cooked by candlelight on the wood burning heater, burnt the pine floor, ate something cooked drunkenly and appalling and slept cuddled up together around the embers of the dying fire.
I ought for the sake of clarity state that I had my onesie and old army greatcoat on all night. There were no shenanigans.
A rather cold and tetchy Scott and Amunden awoke the next morning, shook the frost from their beards and tried to start enjoying themselves. I don't really remember what that entailed but I don't readily recall the enjoyment bit. A day or two later, the other two partygoers joined us. Through tears of relief at seeing some fresh faces and the prospect of not now having to eat one of my best friends for breakfast, we made some more progress on the house.
The rest of our time was spent playing cards, playing chess, eating birthday cake, varnishing floors, losing tooth fillings (Graphic Designer), being cut badly by axes (Banker), getting burnt by the wood burning stove (Banker), severe stomach upsets (Grocer) and watching a bar fight between expats down in the village square. The last by the way, was quite exciting. When asked for our reaction to the impromptu cabaret, our collective response was a rather nonplussed, 'We don't do volatile', which appeared to be a sentiment appreciated.
As it turns out, the electrics tripped quite a lot in those early days. The problem is, most village Bulgarians rely on one light bulb, a fridge and satellite telly for the ultra-modern. Stick too many electrical appliances on and the whole thing trips out. Doesn't happen in the UK does it? Last time I asked, my place was rated as a small factory by EON in Bulgaria due to the number of electrical gadgets in use. So one has since learnt to be careful. Don't put the kettle AND oven on at the same time (do you know how much juice a kettle draws? It's loads!) Don't have more than 3 lights on when the washing machine is in use etc. There is also a way of fixing the problem should you get it wrong that we learned on this trip (another miracle offered up by Keith). You know the big grey box in the street with lightning bolts on the side? That's right, the locked one with razor wire around it. Well if you ignore the warning signs and mantraps and open it up with the end of a penknife, you can reset the electric yourself. Cool huh!
Snowy alcove.
The entire work force assembled for a group photo.
It took about 3 minutes to turn the place into student digs. Men left to their own devices don't cope well domestically.
Traditional post-bar Bulgarian dress (no, I don't know what was going on here either).
Bulgarian Landscape
I'd like to talk a bit about what one is likely to see when travelling through Bulgaria.
It is in a nutshell, poor. The road out of the airport in Sofia into the interior takes one through a gypsy shantytown which isn't the most attractive first impression for the first time traveller. I haven't seen them for a while but I clearly remember the sight of animal skins being stretched out to cure on a washing line type affair a few years ago. They looked suspiciously cat-like to me. No, really. This sole confusing and unsigned exit route, contains as many deep potholes as it does roughly laid tarmac and serves as an exciting rally stage for the similarly maintained main artery across the centre of the country.
My house lies in the village of Gostilitsa, slap bang in the middle of the country, nestled close to the Northern slopes of the Stara Planina mountain range that effectively splits the country in two, North and South. It is close to the old Bulgarian capital, Veliko Tarnovo, a beautiful ancient city with plenty to recommend it to visitors, although no-one has ever heard of it. Gostilitsa has at its Southern edge, an old Roman settlement and rather than put it in my own words, I'll just rip from Wikipedia in a rare attempt to not rely on hearsay and failing memory alone.
It is in a nutshell, poor. The road out of the airport in Sofia into the interior takes one through a gypsy shantytown which isn't the most attractive first impression for the first time traveller. I haven't seen them for a while but I clearly remember the sight of animal skins being stretched out to cure on a washing line type affair a few years ago. They looked suspiciously cat-like to me. No, really. This sole confusing and unsigned exit route, contains as many deep potholes as it does roughly laid tarmac and serves as an exciting rally stage for the similarly maintained main artery across the centre of the country.
My house lies in the village of Gostilitsa, slap bang in the middle of the country, nestled close to the Northern slopes of the Stara Planina mountain range that effectively splits the country in two, North and South. It is close to the old Bulgarian capital, Veliko Tarnovo, a beautiful ancient city with plenty to recommend it to visitors, although no-one has ever heard of it. Gostilitsa has at its Southern edge, an old Roman settlement and rather than put it in my own words, I'll just rip from Wikipedia in a rare attempt to not rely on hearsay and failing memory alone.
About two kilometers south of the village are the ruins of the Romanfortress Discoduratera. Built in the second half of the 2nd century AD, it was an important commercial center. It was located on the road from Nicopolis ad Istrum to Augusta Trajana. It also served as a customs station. Its layout conforms to other Roman stations: a square with each of its corners aligned with one of the four cardinal directions. The area of the fortress was roughly 12000 square meters.
In the middle of the 3rd century AD, Discoduratera was destroyed by the Goths. It was later re-built and live there continued on until the arrival of the Slavs. During the Second Bulgarian Empire the village came to live as a convenient place to spend the night in. The name of Gostilitsa is derived from the word gosti (Bulgarian: гости), Bulgarian for guests.
Also from Wikipedia;
Gostilitsa is home to the traditional Bulgarian folklore group Gostilovski Babi (Bulgarian: Гостиловски Баби, Grandma's from Gostilitza). The group has participated in and is a winner of many folklore events including the festival in Koprivshtitsa. As part of their act they recreate many local traditions such as Laduvane, Trifon Zarezan, and Lazaruvane. Most-colorful however is the Ponuda: on Babin Day (Bulgarian: Бабин Ден, Grandma's Day), all women dress as men and walk through the village until they run into a man whom they will then lift and carry around in the air. It is said that men are afraid to go out on that day.
I haven't been around on Babin Day but it sounds fun doesn't it?
The trip to Gostilitsa from Sofia takes about two hours and is along the only decent road across the Northern half of the country. Half motorway, half single carriageway, it is of patchy quality in places but has over the years improved. I won't dwell here on a near death experience that I and a close friend had in one snow covered nightmare drive but it lingers in the memory with some clarity. Generally, it's a nice drive and you get to see some of the beauty that is comprises the Bulgarian countryside. Mountains covered with pine trees and valleys dedicated to vines and sunflowers are reminders that this is primarily an agricultural nation. But the reason for dwelling on this subject are the incongruous communist era implants in the landscape. Abandoned factories blot the scene, electrical substations and their multifarious wiry tendrils stretch endlessly across an otherwise pristine vista. Cubist Police blockhouses and the like show there was (and remains in part) little room for aesthetic niceties in socialist society. Function over form fully maximised. In some ways it's a shame. It does ruin a good countryside photo. In others, these carbuncles are as much a part of what makes Bulgaria Bulgaria, as the geography, geology, flora and fauna. A reminder of the human mixed in with the natural history. It also offers an insight into who the people are or at least where they have come from.
The final mile of the drive always makes me smile. the view over the valley over which Gostilitsa presides is stunning and to see it means I'm nearly there. A few minutes from my home abroad.
Practicality over aesthetic every time.
Veliko Tarnovo
Gostilitsa 2009
It's 2009, the recession is now in full flood, my budget has been reduced to nothing and the old place has had a chance to dry out, plumbing patched up and ready for another lick of paint.
Unskilled Bulgarian labour runs to about 20levs per day. That's about a tenner give or take. Even at that price, I was unwilling and in all honesty, unable to afford too many days of uncertain productivity at a local level. I decided therefore to engage a team of moderately skilled UK based labourers on a short term contract. A long weekend to be exact. I can't recall how I pitched the idea to this small group of unenthusiastic DIY-ers but it wouldn't surprise me if it was down the pub one Saturday night and involved a romantic over-promise of exotic adventure and cultural improvement.
All three of my friends fairly leapt (dubiously in truth and with a deal of huffing and puffing from at least one of them - he knows who he is) at the idea. A trip to celebrate my February birthday in a far off land was thus conceived.
The upshot was a cold, muddy and generally primitive weekend which included barbecuing pasta bolognese in the snow. We fixed a few things, broke a few more, but as usual and with minimal persuasion, ended up agreeing the weekend had been a triumph. The first of many to date.
A road trip from the UK to Bulgaria followed in the summer which saw further progress. It was this trip that really saw the place move from habitable towards homely. The plumbing crashed again and resulted in a naked garden shower under a perforated bucket of water, more creative barbecuing, shaving in a washing-up bowl, failed electrics etc. etc. but it was at least three steps forward and only two back. Progress!
A third trip in October saw the addition of a new element in the Bulgarian equation. I had up until this point heard about, but never come across other Brits in the village. I'd been told it was a popular village with expats but I'd spent so much of my time painting, varnishing, assembling furniture and basically working, I'd never really made it out of the grounds to take a look around. After a brief email exchange prior to the trip, I met with Keith and Angie. These names will crop up again in these pages and always in glowing terms but in short, both Keith and Ang have been a mine of information, great company and help since our first introduction. I'll say no more, I'm not prone to gushing.
BBQ in the snow.
A fairly typical evening scene after a day of grafting. Smurf headgear indoors is a legal obligation in post-communist Bulgaria. The toilet roll on the table is more of a mystery but facilities were limited, so maybe we had to..... no, surely not.
The garden required a bit of light weeding during the summer trip.
Chernobyled.
I can't tell you how much I hurt getting it into this state.
The beginnings of a home.
Unskilled Bulgarian labour runs to about 20levs per day. That's about a tenner give or take. Even at that price, I was unwilling and in all honesty, unable to afford too many days of uncertain productivity at a local level. I decided therefore to engage a team of moderately skilled UK based labourers on a short term contract. A long weekend to be exact. I can't recall how I pitched the idea to this small group of unenthusiastic DIY-ers but it wouldn't surprise me if it was down the pub one Saturday night and involved a romantic over-promise of exotic adventure and cultural improvement.
All three of my friends fairly leapt (dubiously in truth and with a deal of huffing and puffing from at least one of them - he knows who he is) at the idea. A trip to celebrate my February birthday in a far off land was thus conceived.
The upshot was a cold, muddy and generally primitive weekend which included barbecuing pasta bolognese in the snow. We fixed a few things, broke a few more, but as usual and with minimal persuasion, ended up agreeing the weekend had been a triumph. The first of many to date.
A road trip from the UK to Bulgaria followed in the summer which saw further progress. It was this trip that really saw the place move from habitable towards homely. The plumbing crashed again and resulted in a naked garden shower under a perforated bucket of water, more creative barbecuing, shaving in a washing-up bowl, failed electrics etc. etc. but it was at least three steps forward and only two back. Progress!
A third trip in October saw the addition of a new element in the Bulgarian equation. I had up until this point heard about, but never come across other Brits in the village. I'd been told it was a popular village with expats but I'd spent so much of my time painting, varnishing, assembling furniture and basically working, I'd never really made it out of the grounds to take a look around. After a brief email exchange prior to the trip, I met with Keith and Angie. These names will crop up again in these pages and always in glowing terms but in short, both Keith and Ang have been a mine of information, great company and help since our first introduction. I'll say no more, I'm not prone to gushing.
BBQ in the snow.
A fairly typical evening scene after a day of grafting. Smurf headgear indoors is a legal obligation in post-communist Bulgaria. The toilet roll on the table is more of a mystery but facilities were limited, so maybe we had to..... no, surely not.
The hot water tank fell off the wall. Just, fell off. Rather than help, I decided to take pictures of the affair.
Chernobyled.
Ta-Daa!
It's a Jungle out there.
I can't tell you how much I hurt getting it into this state.
The beginnings of a home.
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