We left Plovdiv and headed to the Rhodope Mountains, legendary home of Orpheus. Travel can be romantic and rewarding, but many times it is anything but. We had punctured a tire a few days prior, and so needed to find a replacement. We also needed lev from the bank, and paying with credit card is out of the question in most Bulgarian establishments. Suffice it to say, buying a tire and locating an ATM machine took us several hours in the morning; Google maps has some work to do in this country.
At last, we arrived at our first stop at the foot of the mountains, Assen’s Fortress. From the 9th century until the 15th, it guarded a key pass to the Aegean Sea. Luke had researched the history, and succinctly fills us in below. An “A” in History for the day.
A sign pointed the way towards what we thought was a remote chapel. Upon arriving, though, we found the place deserted and the entrance barred. Understanding Cyrillic would have been helpful, but the neglected air did prove interesting at the least. Luke enjoyed his use of the privy, a chute that funneled fluids down the valley. I suppose for a boy, variance is amusing.
Not far from Assen’s is the Bachkovo Monastary. The walk towards the monastery is lined with vendors, and we were only too happy to partake of their wares. Laden with baklava, raw honey, and roasted nuts, we approached and prepared to learn of its history from Serenna.
Ah, unfortunate girl, her lack of research resulted in the loss of electronics for two days. A harsh, but hopefully beneficial punishment.
As evening approached we reached Pamporovo. Roman, an outgoing Bulgarian with a warm smile greeted us outside the entrance of that night’s lodging, a hotel. By the time I exited the car, he was already pointing us toward the grocery neighboring the building; Adam had explained that his wife was going to need a bottle of wine after a day of navigating the difficult roads. I think everyone was afraid of me.
Here is where I break to talk about Roman. While traveling long-term there are two things that keep me from becoming homesick. The first are warm locals and the second is nature; the Rhodopes were to provide me with both. Roman was happy to practice his English with us, and hearing our native tongue for the first in awhile, we responded with enthusiasm. By the end of the next morning, Roman had brewed us a pot of tea and provided a bouquet of dried flowers with which to steep it, a traditional crock of homemade yogurt and wild berries, which included the pottery itself, and a plate of his own handmade cheese. I insist you meet Roman by watching his video below.
It was after meeting this kind man that I made a vow. Whenever I meet a foreigner, I will extol to them a level of kindness far beyond what I naturally would give. I will do all I can to make them feel greatly welcomed in the country to which they have traveled or moved. God has provided us with angels in human form, and I will be one too.
When our new friend heard of our delight in Bulgaria’s rich yogurt, he directed us towards a yogurt festival in a nearby village, and so to it we proceeded. The festival itself was not huge, but the atmosphere very enjoyable. The smell of fresh dairy permeated the air, as vendors demonstrated the traditional ways of making cheese still utilized today. As the kids and I plopped down in front of a stage to listen to folk performers, Adam brought us plates of inexpensive but delicious street fare. The finale was a sausage, the juiciest I have ever eaten, tasting like a cross between a German bratwurst and a Turkish kebab. From out of the crowd a young man in costume started a dancing line, the kind that weaves its way through the people, picking up additional dancers as it proceeds. I had been pulled into two of these lines since arriving in Bulgaria, and was glad this time I had a tremulous plate of food perched on my lap. No “beckon and I’ll come my lad” for me this time; there were too many people to witness my awkward American feet. Besides, the man in costume looked just like Balkie of the Balkans, so I much preferred to reminisce over my first television crush while gazing at him. As a soloist sang at the end, accompanied by an accordion, I started to choke back tears. The music was melancholy, and I had no idea as to what it was about, but something within me must have understood. Did she sing of her home, a lost love, or a broken promise? I wish I knew.
Although camping is certainly done in Bulgaria, it does not seem to as popular as in other countries with sizable mountains and forests. It was difficult to locate a campground in our vicinity, and with “wild camping” frowned upon; we wished we had done a bit more planning. After a bit of searching, we did find a pond with a lovely copse of trees that seemed ideal. We had spent twenty nights in our tents thus far, becoming home to us, and we eagerly took to our sleeping bags after listening to Luke's quickly improving guitar playing around a campfire.
The next few days were spent traveling through small mountain towns, schooling and writing the first half of the day, kayaking or hiking the second. We visited Orpheus' hometown, Gela, idyllic and befitting a demi-god of music and poetry. Shiroka Laka was especially lovely with its white authentic Rhodopean homes.
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| Shiroka Laka |
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| Gela, Home of Orpheus |
If you google photos of Bulgaria, one of the first you will see is of Rila Monastery, and although it is not in the Rhodopes, our time at it is to be added here. A blog post I read before visiting remarked that Rila was a top attraction because of how photogenic it is, but I think that is a statement that downgrades it to something quite less than its reality. Rila is breathtaking, a veritable feast for the eyes. The juxtaposition of black and white stripes with colorful frescoes made me hum with artistic pleasure much more than I am certain a monastery aught. Around the ninth century, Christianity made its way to Bulgaria. John of Rila came to the mountains to live a life of solitude in a nearby cave. He lived there for about seventeen years, seven of them spent sleeping out of doors trying to achieve spiritual perfection. Later, he started the monastery as his teachings had grown in popularity. His relicts are said to contain miracle working power even still today.
We left Rila and prepared ourselves for new adventures in our next country of choice.
And so twenty-one days of traveling through Bulgaria ended on a bus to Serbia. A bus with no bathroom where the driver tried to extoll from me extra money to put my bags in the bottom luggage compartment, money in a currency I no longer had. I had been there for almost a month and was not to be pushed around at the very end. “No. I don’t have any more lev, but my bags are coming on this bus.” I just had to look him in the eye and say it loudly four times . Then he caved.
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