Plovdiv
The real answer to "why bulgaria?" Is my friend Lili. She's Bulgarian. I asked her about it, and she had nothing but great things to say. And Lili is cool as fuck. That's all it really takes for me. It's like complimentary racism. I know one Bulgarian, she's cool, I should go to Bulgaria. Especially if I don't know a lot of people who have gone to Bulgaria. I gotta go. This is how my brain works. Lili's from Plovdiv, and she says I'm gonna love it.
I also have a student from Bulgaria. I excitedly told her I was going, and she goes UGHHHHHHH DONT GO ITS AWFULLLLLL I HAVE TO GO ALL THE TIMEEEEEE. She's horrified. I say, "let me guess.... you're from a small village and there's no cell phone service?" YES ITS AWFULLLLLLL. 21 years of teaching and I really understand the young teenage brain. I spend the rest of the year taunting her with my excitement for my trip. "Hey, kid, you wanna teach me Cyrillic for community service hours?" UGH NO ITS AWFULLLLLLL.
I set my alarm to wake up at 9 am to get out of Sofia. I liked it here, but it was time to get the fuck out. I was so excited about my awesome evening that I couldn't unwind or sleep until 4 am. Get the fuck up and sleep on the bus. No naps for you. Get it together.
I walk to the bus station with my backpack and the tiny carry on I brought for the first month long trip ever. I feel so free! It's so light! I'll walk! It's only 20 minutes! I love walking! Yeah, I get there and it's adjacent to the metro. Google maps, you've failed me again.
Rome2rio, which I trust a lot more, tells me there's three different bus companies that go to Plovdiv, each about 3 times a day. So I want to get there Early because I don't know when it will come. Wrong again. There's an express bus which comes every half hour, even on Sunday. There's got to be a better way to find information in English.
I go to get some food, and I skip the coffee so I can sleep on the 2 hour bus ride. All of a sudden, I realize I can read and understand a lot more Bulgarian Cyrillic. Banitsa: the pastry everyone eats. Sirena: the feta-like cheese. Restaurant. Spinach. Fresh. Classic croissant. Kashkaval. Don't ask me to spell any of these things. I can't go backwards. Unrelated: No parking. Garage. People are really protective of the space in front of their garages. This sign is EVERYWHERE. I guess a lot of Bulgarian words are similar to Greek, even if it looks more like Russian than Greek. A lot of English words come from Greek, and many languages "steal" from English because it's "cool...". I can't say anything right but I'm starting to get what some stuff is. The human brain is magnificent when it works. And clearly my mind is more geared toward language acquisition than orienteering.
Three days in, I'm already over starting my day with a pound of phyllo and salty cheese. So I point to the banitsa that's oblong, a little more like bread than phyllo on the outside. She tries to give me the regular cheese banitsa; she doesn't understand me. I ask two more times, pointing. I'm determined. I order a fresh orange juice. Orange juice is "portokal" and I have heard this before in some other language. Don't remember which. I look it up later. Turkish. Man, I've been to a lot of places. The girl behind me and tells the lady that I want the other banitsa. Everyone is super nice. I thank her in English. Why can't I say "thank you" in Bulgarian yet?
Three giggly teenagers get in the tiny elevator. I motion they should go on without me. The boy says to me in perfect English "come on! Come in! Push the button! Do you need help with your luggage?" I tell him it's small! He giggles and translates to his female companions. I realize he's just excited to practice his English, which clearly he learned as a bell hop in a hotel.
I sip my fresh squeezed orange juice. It's a little sour and super foamy. Not bad. I tear off the tip of the banitsa (for some reason I almost always tear my handheld food instead of biting right into it) and the tip pops off. There's a hot dog inside. Sort of. Like a huge Viennese sausage. I did NOT want a surprise sausage today. I took two undesirable bites and throw it away. Let's call this mistake #2. So far, all of my mistakes are ringing in at about $1 each. I'm not mad about it.
The bus passes what seems like miles of dense, ripe sunflower fields, standing at attention, facing the same direction, like perky and pretty yellow soldiers.
I take a taxi from the bus station to the Airbnb. I don't even try to mess around with public transport today. I'd be taking taxis more often but I've been warned about taxi scams and I really hate feeling out of control. Like, what am I going to do if he drives me around for an hour? Tell him he's wrong? In what language? Anyway, the cab ride is less than $3 so I'll file that under "not scammed" today.
The Airbnb in in the same building as a bodega. The store owner excitedly runs out to greet me in broken English. He owns the store and lives in (owns?) the building. His son runs the Airbnb situation. He walks me THROUGH THE BACK OF THE STORE into a very clean, efficient if small, perfectly appointed studio with its own bathroom. It's got air conditioning and it was about $18 a night. I'm really living large here. He makes me a cup of coffee from the store. "On me," he says. There's a "tavern" in the basement that's all traditionally folksy and shit. No one is there. I think the Airbnb only has two or three rooms so I am not sure who's gonna hang on in this amazing underground tavern that I would love to have in my home. I love this man and I love it here.
I do my typical walking around with little aim. I'm right at the edge of the old town. It's beautiful and desolate. There's hardly anyone there. Everyone is gently harkening me into their store to look at overpriced shit. Im walking around with a Brazilian flag Pareo wrapped around my purse handle. You never know when you're going to lie in the park, or need to shield yourself from the rain, or cover up to walk into a church. As a result, random strangers shout out "brasileira!" At me. I pass one mask maker in the old time a good five times on this trip and it's the flag pareo that sets me apart. Anyway, It turns out that they're actual artisans with real functional craft studios and not just tourist bullshit. but as lovely as the lady in the ceramic store who explained the whole firing was, I wasn't buying her 50 euro Jesus plate.
I wander into the part of town called "капана." I'm pretty excited to say "kapana" until someone corrects me: "karpana." I don't understand where the extra "r" comes from. They translate it into English to call it "the trap." Pretty sure it's called that because the labyrinth of winding streets makes it hard to get the fuck out. Like a new but flat "old town." It's a bohemian neighborhood with shops, coffee places, restaurants. Colorful bunting marks the boundaries of the quaint neighborhood that is what williamsburg would have looked like back in the day were it quaint and underpopulated. Three quarters of it is closed because it's Sunday. I wander and wander. It's cute. I want to see everything when it's open.
I realize I haven't eaten anything since the hot dog incident. And in my classic summer form, I'm completely dehydrated because it's 90 degrees but dry so you don't feel it until you realize you're dizzy and taste like the ocean. I find a gelateria. Sure, gelato seems like an appropriate first meal of the day. This wouldn't be the first time gelato replaced an actual meal. So I order a large cup, mascarpone and pistachio, which is sold by weight. It's over 4 lev, which is only notable because a double scoop in a cone was 2 lev. That's a lot of fucking gelato, which I polished off without regret or incident. I'm realizing I can only digest dairy properly on the other side of the Atlantic.
I stumble back to the Airbnb to cool off. Upon second visit, i notice that it smells a lot like cat pee. From the outside, thankfully. In a town populated with a lot of feral cats, cat pee perfumes the air all over. I'm unfortunately intimately familiar with that smell, as my beloved cat Vespa had a small habit of peeing on anything crumpled up in the apartment until we learned not to crumple things. You don't train cats, cats train you. Anyway, cat pee smell means only one thing! New cat friends to meet tonight! I'm excited!
It takes me a long time to muster up the strength to go back out. It takes another cup of coffee "on me" from my friend. I wander to this gorgeous garden, full of people, next to the popular "singing fountain." Like at the bellagio in vegas. I decide to wait for it, with another beer I don't really want, at this restaurant in the park.
There's a certain Eastern European club thing that you have to see to believe. It's not like New York. I've never been into big clubs, and I've never been to Miami, but I presume it's similar to a Miami vibe. Just more... Well, if you've been there, you know, and if you haven't, well, i really just can't explain it. Club wear, tight and flammable, music that I call doosh-doosh-doosh because that's how it all sounds and that's what the guys look like.
Anyway, this one is spectacular in its cheesiness... lavender and white, pretty but tacky, multiple sections to give a different vibe in every section of this very large bar and restaurant.
Now why don't I like this shit? I don't know, there's nothing like listening to the moody drum and bass remix of "everybody dance now " for 25 minutes at a time. But the breeze is lovely, no one is bothering me (certainly not the waitress) and I'm wearing a tank top I got that says in huge block letters "rio, Ibiza, Venice" and I realize I'm one hookah, unironic cosmo glass, and pair of cheap neon heels away from fitting right the fuck in here. Who am I to judge? There's families, packs of dudes, old people, and a pack of 15 year olds drinking a pitcher of mojitos. Even this asshole American is welcome here. So yes, I'll listen to the extended extended extended remix of "with or without you" for a while longer.
The singing fountains don't sing on Sunday.
There's an Armenian restaurant near my Airbnb. It's called "bellagio." I've barely touched upon Bulgarian food but I've never had Armenian food and it's practically down the block. The restaurant has an outdoor garden and I sit alone. The man knows just enough English to tell me the menu is only in Bulgarian. Fuck, I might have had better luck with Armenian. The menu is extensive and I'm prepared to spend a lot of time trying to figure shit out. The man seems in a hurry. Or he's attentive. Can't figure it out. I tell him I'm reading, slowly. He doesn't understand me. He leaves. The menu has a few pictures, and I know enough to recognize quickly that they have food that looks Georgian, which Justin and I eat often at home. I butcher the pronunciation in both Armenian and Bulgarian, I'm sure, but I order pelmeni and khachpuri, even though it's not necessarily what I want and I'm sure a hell of a lot more food than I should be ordering. I shook under pressure. Anyway, the guy asks me an almost indecipherable "where are you from" before he walks away.
It's good. The pelmeni is the same as any other, but there's a lot of them. I barely make a dent. And I've ordered this khachpuri, which is a bread boat filled with very salty rich cheese and an egg mixed in for extra richness. Traditionally, the Georgian bread is made from a very specific dough and a very specific Georgian cheese. I'm pretty sure this one is made with the same two Bulgarian cheeses that are everywhere. Whatever, if it ain't broke... Bulgarian cheese is amazing.
I realize in retrospect that I might have ordered from the international section of the menu because it was the only part that had pictures. So much for my foray into Armenian food. I'm an idiot.
Bill is 12.30, he rounded up to 15 when he gave me my change. Good. A like a guy who's worked out the tip situation for me.
I walk down the street back to the Airbnb and start tossing extra pelmeni to random feral cats. They are all skittish. They do not wish to be my friend. Nor do they seem to want my pelmeni. Fools.
I wake up the next day. I can't sleep at all. I think it's because I end my evening in my bed lying down fucking with the internet and my body can't make the transition to "it's time to sleep." I need to fix this. Well, I guess I don't really need to fix anything. It's vacation, what do i *really* need to do?
I wake up at 11. I had thoughts of visiting a monastery in a closely town, but I wasn't really up for adventure. I'll see the roman sights of Plovdiv and go back to Karpana during the day.
Day 2, Plovdiv
Ok I'm starting to feel like a complete fucking moron. I keep returning to google maps like an abuse victim. "This time will be different." ITS NEVER DIFFERENT. I had one small plan: go see the roman forum in the old town, go to the trap to sit and relax with some coffee. Let's just say what should have taken me a half hour TOOK ME THREE HOURS.
This is not an exaggeration. I'm not mad, just incredulous. How is it even possible I can get THIS lost? In this walk, for all of you Fitbit enthusiasts, I had already walked over 12,000 steps. Well, to make a long and very arduous story short, at the end of the day, I finally figured it out.
- Google maps doesn't seem to understand this region in English, and it isn't set to understand ELEVATION. So, when I think I am taking a direct path to a very well-known area, it's not, because maybe you have to climb some fucking stairs. Today I walked along a big boulevard, which no one else was doing (first hint there, genius) and under a huge arcade before I realized that the forum was ABOVE me and google wasn't figuring that out.
- Signage isn't so great. I finally gave up on google, and followed instead the tourist signpost that pointed to the forum, 500 meters. But there was only ONE sign along the way. The rest you had to figure out. I walked in circles, I wish I had mapped my path; it was like "Big Ben! Parliament! Can't seem to get left!"
- When I finally gave up and said "fuck it, ask the Bulgarians!" I don't think they quite understand how confusing it is. I pass the information center in the old town. He says, in perfect English, "it's easy! Go down this one street (he gives me a map) and there's an underpass that goes under the big street. It's right there." 40 steps later, there's a fucking fork in the road. LEFT OR RIGHT, GODDAMMIT? Yeah, I picked the wrong fork tine.
- What they don't tell you about the underpasses (there are a few) is that there are MULTIPLE tributaries inside. Which way am I supposed to go?!? The answer was simple: follow the giant graffiti lion against the Bulgarian flag. That would have been helpful.
- I spent a lot of time trying to go around the old town instead of through it, to avoid stair climbing. It wasn't worth it.
Anyway, it's my fault. I should have been paying more attention to landmarks than a blue dot for two days. As soon as I did that, simple. Just in time to leave. I'm sure I'll return to my abuser in the next town. I'm slow to learn a lesson.
After hours of confusion, I remember IVE PAID FOR INTERNET DATA. I'm seriously stupid. Or just spectacularly dehydrated. Probably both. I'm rewarded with, after logging in, a traditional restaurant where I order a tarator soup (chilled yogurt, garlic, dill and cucumbers) and an enormous grilled trout (a Black Sea specialty) and a side of cucumbers and tomatoes (the tomatoes are amazing) with drink for about $9. It's just insane what fresh food is here and how little it costs. I got a fresh squeezed honeydew juice that tasted more like honeydew that I've ever had. I found a delightful coffee place; no cacophonous Murray hill assholes cackling on their phones, disturbing everyone's peace. In fact, unless Bulgarians are drinking, they are quiet as fuck. I decided to get a little fancy for Dinner, which I couldn't believe I was even hungry enough for. I got pan fried chicken breast stuffed with figs and Brie, carrot purée. It was still about $6. The ambiance is spectacular, the service is attentive and kind, the place is beautiful.
Now that I've figured it out, it's time to go. Time to sit on my ass on a beach chair on the Black Sea. I'm sure I'll find a way to get lost doing that as well.
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