Spring Fling 3: Hidden Treasures

The Hotel de Russo — also known as my 32 sq. m. studio — has been very busy lately, hence a long interruption in updates. But before spring totally fades, I want to add in my last bits of reminiscence about a spring break now far gone.

After tackling the joys of Sofia, my dear friend and guide to all things Bulgarian — the incomparable Carolyn – agreed to one of my main requests for the journey, which was to see some “real” Bulgaria. And by “real” Bulgaria, I mean all those things the average American, Lonley-Planet-clutching/Rick-Steve’s-Reading folk can’t find.

And Carolyn didn’t disappoint: we headed for an overnight in Kazanlak, (in Bulgarian- Казанлък, thank YOU Wikipedia!), a small town in the central region of Bulgaria.  The town lies in the famous “Valley of the Roses” — that’s where all those pieces of tourist kitsch, the wooden dolls filled with Rose Perfume, hail from this region.

Carolyn LOVES history!

But the big draw here is the Thracian Tomb, which was built in the 4th century BC, near the ancient Thracian capital of Seuthopolis. The tomb — which was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1979 — is best summed up by Carolyn’s comment: I can’t believe we are standing somewhere so ancient, and just looking at it. Indeed. I can’t post pictures because you cannot take them inside, obviously, as it would destroy the fine paintings, but it is amazing. The tomb itself is small — Carolyn and I filled the space pretty well together — but the paintings preserved inside are amazing, depicting an ancient wedding feast. To stand there, my international cell phone in my pocket, in my mass-produced jeans and T-shirt did certainly invoke that feeling of insignificance — but in a good way. We are but blips on the radar; our time here is small compared to the great spector of history.

And, it is just freakin’ cool, period. Even without the philosophical blather.

And, crazier still: the tomb was found accidentally, by soldiers during the second World War. Could you imagine? Whoops, what is that hard surface? Egads, it happens to be a FREAKING FOURTH CENTURY TOMB! No, I have to say, of all the interesting things I have dug up helping my dad with his garden, 4th century tombs, unfortunately, do not make the list.

Overlooking Shipka

We followed the trip into the ancient world with a stopover in nearby Shipka, a tiny town about a 20 minute bus ride aways you can see from the picture, Shipka, as viewed from the hills around it, is postcard-perfect: small, red-roofed houses, teeny-tiny twisting lanes, even donkey carts roaming the streets.

We then scaled the hill to what was my favorite sight in Bulgaria: the Shipka Monastery. This Monastery sits high above the town, so that as you approach it, the huge, gold onion-shaped domes leap out at you from the moutainside. It is impressive from a distance, but even more so close up, where you can see the gorgeous colors and rich, warm gold accents.

For me, it seemed a place of immense peace, settled as it was into the forest. I’m not a religious person — I maintain that I will decide to align myself with one organized religion when I see evidence that this causes more good that harm in the world (alas, history tells another story, considering the amount of blood shed over conflicts about religions, all of which seem to claim peace and divinity as their goal…but I digress…) — but there was something about this particular building that I could see inspiring such feelings. Even a skeptic could “get” devotion there.

The one part of Shipka — and indeed, the Bulgarian countryside in general — I found a bit sad was the trash. I mentioned it about Sofia, but here as well, it seemed the whole of Europe had tossed their old plastic bags. We even passed a group of three teenage girls walking back to the bus from the monastery. One was finishing a bag of crackers — and she just dropped the bag where she stood. I watched with a weird amazement. How could she not even lift the lid of the trashbin standing next to her? Was it a lack of pride in country? A cultural difference I just won’t be able to understand? It just seemed, to me, that the land out there is so, so very beautiful — stunningly so. Could this 13-something girl not see that? Could the rest of the residents not? Perhaps it comes from a painful past, not being able to see what is good, and want to protect it, or believe that it deserves respect.

By far the best part, however, of the trip, can’t be shown in pictures: watching Carolyn order us dinner. See, we decided to hit a very traditional Bulgarian restaurant, after Carolyn assured the front desk workers at The Rose Hotel (FYI super nice staff, rooms for about $30 USD, great free breakfast, and the most  Communist-tastic architecture imaginable — cement blocks, here we come!) that she could order in Bulgarian, they steered us from the one restaurant with English speakers to a place called Magnolia. Carolyn, ever the hostess with the mostess, wanted to be sure I had a taste of everything Bulgaria had to offer. So she started ordering. Then kept ordering. Then ordered some more. Until finally the waiter asked her (and she had to translate this for me, because it was indeed in Bulgarian) “Would you also like breakfast for tomorrow?”

Apparently, he underestimated the appetites of two American girls after a long hike. Food aside, however, it just felt very special to be in a place where we really were the only ones of our kind. Like Budapest in its tourist-less January, the Bulgarian countryside isn’t teeming with all those things that pander to the Western tourist — a landscape so decidedly different that part of me wants to tell you not to go. But I will. Go. Find a Bulgarian speaker first, of course, but then go.