And why not, Bulgaria?

Why Bulgaria?

Even the taxi driver asked me this at the airport.  "You're American?  Why are you here?!?"

Because why not Bulgaria. I really enjoyed being in the Baltic states last summer.  It's a totally different Europe, it's very affordable, and I do like a bit of a challenge. 

It wasn't a challenge at all, it turned out.  Everyone in the main cities we stayed in spoke English.  The letters are roman, so even if you don't know what the hell youre saying, at least it seems like you have some grasp of what's happening.

I got a direct flight to Milan, which I booked through British airways, but because everyone owns everyone these days, I find out it's American Airlines.  It's like colonization payback.  Man, I hate American Airlines.  It's the only transatlantic flight I've been on in as long as I can remember with no personal screens.  The food was practically inedible.  Gummy sauce over salted chicken with freeze dried mashed potatoes that tasted like they just added water.  Fake butter and pasteurized gruyere.  I guess it was appropriately american.  The flight was on time and gentle, so I guess I really can't complain too much, because my next flight to Sofia wasn't even a connection, it was a completely different booked flight, so if I missed it, I was kinda stuck there.

A 5 hour connection in Milan.  I was desperate for some sleep, so I tried to get to the sleep pods, individual little capsules you can sleep in for 9€ an hour, but it was on the other side of the terminal.  I would have had to go through customs, exit the terminal, go to the other end of the airport, go through security again.  It was recommended strongly that I didn't do it.  Luckily, the few reclining seats combined with the padded backpack and pillow I brought allowed me to sleep even better there than on the plane.  

My $50 Ryanair flight to Sofia also went off without a hitch, except I realized I was more tired than I thought.  I forgot to get water before the plane took off.  You have to buy everything you want on a Ryanair flight, which was fine with me, but you had to wait for the drink trolley, which didn't arrive until an hour into the flight.  I spent that whole first hour retching in my seat from nausea, less the fault of Ryanair and more the fact that I had just eaten a bag of pretzels.  The poor lady next to me looked like she was really worried I was gonna barf on her.  So was I.  

I get a cab to the Airbnb.  She's an artist, and she rents out her bedroom while she sleeps on her couch to make some extra cash.  It's costing me about $22 a night.  She left the key at the Muse Bar next door.  I say to the bartender "Evelina left me a key?" And she smiles and says "oh yes! I'll show you, but it has to be fast, my baby is sleeping here.  I can leave her alone for a minute?"  It was only a minute but it strikes me right away... we're not in america anymore.

Jet lag hit me hard, and I don't have it in me to do anything tip next morning.

I get up early, and just go for a walk.  The guidebook and trip advisor suggest Sofia's not a big happening place anyway, so equipped with my iPhone and tiny blue dot, I am comfortable doing so.   

I go to the fancy, but local, coffee shop on the corner.  They have an extensive coffee menu, in Bulgarian and in English, and I am delighted to see "drip coffee."  I love a nice macchiato, but I really enjoy a large steaming cup of not-as-good coffee in the morning.  I order the medium.  I don't know why.  It turns out to be tiny as fuck and truly awful.  The large wasn't much bigger, but we'll call this strike one.  Anyway, it's only $1.  I've certainly made more expensive and regrettable mistakes.  But the place is really nice and has a large outdoor patio.  Smokers everywhere.  Ive almost forgotten this is a thing.  It's gorgeous outside, 80 degrees and dry.  I can't possibly be annoyed.

There's a big Sephardic synagogue across the street from a mosque.  Not appropriately dressed, I go in neither, neglecting the fact that tomorrow is the sabbath and that means I've missed my opportunity and have forsaken my people.  

I wander into a large street market called the Ladies' market, by accident.  Lots of fruit and vegetable vendors.  Cheese shops.  Meat stores.  Honey purveyors.  I don't see a lot of English at all.  This tickles me, and I am very entertained just trying to read all of the cyrillic and figure out what it's saying.  This proves to be harder than it might seem, as only the "cooler" modern restaurants' signs are written in English.  All of the street signs are transliterated into English, so this this how I'm trying to learn.  It's working, slowly.  So far, I've classified the letters into (a) ones that look like English and are pronounced like English, (b) ones that look like English and are pronounced like Greek (that word origin class I took in college proved to be a lot handier than I thought) (c) ones that look like Greek and are pronounced like Greek, and then (d)  all of the other motherfuckers like ж, ц, ч, щ, ш, я, ю, ъ, з, ъ.  The other motherfuckers are taking a bit of time.  Anyway, it turns out they say "merci" for thank you so at least I can be polite as I wander around practically clueless.  They have signs and prices on everything everywhere, so even if I don't know what something is or what it means, I can at least pay for it without drama.

At the far end of the market, there is a lady selling bread and pastry In a store you can't go into, like a liquor store in the hood.  One pastry looks like a pull-apart cheesy bread in the shape of a flower.  It's bigger than my hand and costs 1 Bulgarian lev, about 60 cents.  I don't know if that's per cheesy petal, per kilo, whatever.  I try to pronounce it.  I fail.  I point.  It's 1 lev for the whole fucking thing. 

I'm famished at this point and I haven't eaten a decent meal in a good day so I have to stop myself from eating the whole thing because it's amazing.  Imagine pillsbury biscuits filled with salty feta.  I would almost never allow myself to eat this cheese, carb, and fat bomb at home, but when in Bulgaria...  it turns out they're all called "banitsa" and they're the preferred Bulgarian breakfast.  

A lady starts talking to me as I'm walking down the street. I tell her in English that i don't speak Bulgarian.  She starts talking to me in Italian instead, which I also can't speak but I understand her.  "Aperto! Aperto!"  My purse is open.  She continues to tell me that there are a lot of people who will pickpocket me.  Also, she worked in Italy, not long, only a couple of weeks, but she learned a few things.  Man, she really wanted to speak to me in Italian.  I said "ho capito" which I'm not sure was right, but she looked satisfied, regardless.

I figure I'm close to the land of the hammam, maybe I can get a good massage.  A quick google search and I find this thai massage place about a half hour walk away.  I didn't want a real Thai massage, because they're wonderful but not relaxing.  You're fully clothed and they essentially "do yoga to you."  I wanted to just lie there and basically take a nap.  

The place is very nice and I opt for a decadent 1.75 hour scrub and massage combo for a whopping $60.  She rubbed me with all things coconut and although it was nice, what I've learned about "nice" places is that the cuter the girl, the more English she speaks (also in America), the nicer the place, the weaker and more blah the massage.  I've had a ton of massages, and there's no better in my opinion than the tui na Chinese  style massages I get at home, for $40-60.  I really like the shit kicked out of me, full pressure, hop up on the table and shove your elbows right the fuck in there kinda massages.  That, or perhaps i like a massage best when I'm totally afraid some guy is getting jerked off in the curtained off room next door.

So far I have figured out that there are a couple of types of establishments: ones catering to the international crowd, and ones that do not.  The well-reviewed American style burger joint, across the street from my Airbnb, everyone there speaks perfect English, including the patrons.  I Order a beer on tap.  He says they have local craft beers, much nicer.  I say I don't like very "beery" beers.  He offers me a light one with citrus.  He's got me pegged.  Also, the most Expensive beer they offer and the name is written in French.  it's twice the price as anything else, but that still is about $3.  I care a lot less about the price differential (it's three fucking dollars) than I do about getting the "authentic" Bulgarian experience.  I feel like This guy really wasn't swindling me as much as trying to give me what I wanted there. 

And that's the overall feeling I get about Sofia thus far... people are trying to be helpful, even when they can't be.

I spend my day just wandering with no real plan except to get a feel for the place, and try to acclimate to local time as best I can.  

I finally get hungry for dinner, and I settle upon a place on the corner, full of locals all day.  This is always a good sign.  There's a huge sign that says "Ресторант бирария беслец" and there's some pictures of some things posted outside that look like things I like to eat.  Meat, little fried fish.  I get the last table outside.  There's a good six pack of kittens that hang out outside, patiently but eagerly waiting for people to drop a bit of food.  The waitress very patiently waits for me to figure out what I want to eat, and although the menu has English and Bulgarian, she doesn't understand any English. She doesn't seem to mind too much.

I get a huge shopska salad (tomatoes, herbs, cucumbers, onions, shredded white cheese), a huge grilled trout, a lemon Fanta (my favorite European soda, mostly because I enjoy it mixed with beer in Spain) and a raki (local brandy) to finish it off.  

I didn't really want the raki, as I already was feeling very tired and headachy from the jet lag, but I felt it was a necessity.  Once again, when in Rome.  This was the only thing my waitress seemed to be confused about.  Maybe because I was ordering it at the end of dinner instead of the beginning.  She pointed to the part that said "50 cl."  I said "yes."  I should really say "da" at this point.  I should try.  I forget.  She brings me back an aperitif glass with the clear raki and a tumbler full of ice and a spoon.  I don't really know what I'm doing... do I pour the raki into the large class, or spoon whatever ice I want into the small glass?  I don't fucking know.  All I know is that I took a sip without the ice and it is like all the other raki/grappa/aguardiente I've ever had... it's like nail polish remover.  Unafraid to look even more ridiculous than being the only person here without a dining companion, I put some ice in the small glass and stir it about.  It is much more palatable, and the taste of the fig it's made of blossoms.  It's potent as fuck, and with just a few small sips, I'm slightly buzzed and my headache, exacerbated.

 All of the above meal was about $11.  This is ridiculous. I overtip a bit, for her having to deal with my non-Bulgarian speaking ass.  I accidentally leave my sunglasses there, she chases me down the block to give them back.  I decide I'm coming back tomorrow.