Moving on swiftly …

High hopes for Bulgaria were encouraged by such a great and unexpected experience in Romania. If such a new and under-developed member of the EU could be so pretty, so medieval and hospitable, then Bulgaria – far more established on the tourist map – must be even more remarkable, right? Well, I am sure 2 million Brit second home owners can’t be entirely wrong, so our experience was just unlucky or, even more likely, misplaced. We didn’t head to the coast, and only drove quickly through the mountains. But we got so hacked off with the appalling roads, lack of signs, general state of disrepair, depressing buildings, surly people and indifferent food that we moved on very swiftly.

After crossing the border at Ruse we stayed just two nights in Bulgaria despite having planned on much longer. The first was spent in an entirely surreal 4 star hotel in a tiny, downtrodden town near the capital. We had parked up to find it (the hotel being heavily advertised all down the motorway) and two big eyed and scraggly kids came straight up to beg from us. Hey, maybe all the Romanian orphans emigrated? The poor boys ended up being given only bananas, as it was all I had while Joe was off trying to locate cashpoints and said hotel. It’s not since South America we have seen begging kids and these guys were poignant and bloody persistent. Bulgaria was also the first place I’ve had to shout at someone to STOP CLEANING MY WINDSCREEN at the traffic lights (hey, it was almost like London!) and where they’ve been incredibly hacked off when I’ve refused to pay, spitting and no doubt kicking my lovely car. Well, Joe finally returned to the car complete with little beggar in tow, and we found the four star hotel. I would name it, but fear horse heads in my bed. It stuck out like a sore thumb. It was plush, empty, new and almost certainly a laundering operation for mafia money. Black tinted windows adorned massive Range Rovers that sat outside the entrance. We asked about secure parking, and was told that the street in front of the hotel was perfectly secure. I’ll bet it was – who’d mess with the local Bosses? Whole wings of the immaculate hotel were set aside for a ‘business group’ sharing the hotel’s name and were strictly out of bounds, as Joe and the kids discovered whilst seeking the swimming pool. Startled secretaries ushered them back through the large glass doors they had mistakenly gone through. We saw the same business name throughout the otherwise depressing and scruffy town. Thank goodness no one asked us for any Favours and we got our passports back from the Range Rover driver after he had screeched off with them for a couple of hours – just long enough to get all the details for a good forger, no doubt.