I’ve finally managed to drag myself out of Sofia and I’m feeling rather smug about it. One might say proud of oneself. My usual M.O is to languish in this den of iniquity for months on end, doing my best to destroy my liver. You’ll be pleased to know dear readers, that I stayed but one night, and I didn’t touch a drop.
My friend Tan is taking me to the centre of the universe. Plovdiv, Bulgaria. From there we intend to visit the Mount Buzludzha abandoned Communist party headquarters, and then I will finally hitch to Istanbul to be there by Friday. I guess I’m cheating a little by not hitching from Sofia, but time is of the essence, and I want to cram in as much as possible before I finally begin to leave Europe.
As part of my sisters care package from home and at my request, she’s included a Haggis. I really wanted to cook it for friends at the hostel, and I haven’t had so much as a whiff of this delicious delicacy in years. However by the time I’ve returned to Sofia, it’s a month out of date. I still consider baking the hell out of it anyway, but I wouldn’t want anyone’s first taste of that sweet, sweet meat to be tainted. I opt instead to give him a tour of Plovdiv, which I think he much rather preferred.
Hitching a ride
It’s a beautiful little town, and quite rightly the European capital of culture for 2019. So they’re gearing up for the eyes of the world to be focused here in a few years, and everything is being polished. It’s charming, laid back, clean and welcoming. And the food is outstanding. Visiting a mountain restaurant with new friends and feasting until we dropped was a highlight, as I tucked into buttered veal tongue, hand cooked crisps, shopska salads (Bulgarian national dish with tomato, cucumber, onion and cheese) and homemade everything. All this a few hours after a kilo of skillet lamb. Diet my arse. I had no room anyway for my little meaty friend. The Haggis. You filthy perverts.
It’s a pity I couldn’t stay for longer and experience the town at the weekend when it really comes out to play. I’m already starting to regret spending eons getting wasted in black holes when really I could have been traveling for decades. Hopefully by getting back on the road I will have learned my lesson. Maybe Istanbul is the kick up the backside I so desperately need.
I have discovered I can’t write well about happy shit. I’ve really struggled with this post. But feareth not dear readers, for I will strive to find something miserable to vent about soon enough. Stay tuned.
Waiting for the bus into town. Wanted to chat up the local
The cutlure building. Haggis was pleased to know Plovdiv will be the European capital of culture for 2019
The fountains and park
Hanging with a local womaniser apparently. Haggis felt right at home
Fooling around in the theatre model
The amphitheatre. Or what remains of it
Chillin’
Strict diet of salad and no booze
A run in with a localhoodlum
Checking out al fresco art work
Choosing the right tat to send home to his sister
Ahhh culture
Visiting museums
Photobombing my Plovdiv view picture. The little bastard
Haggis day oot
I’ve finally managed to drag myself out of Sofia and I’m feeling rather smug about it. One might say proud of oneself. My usual M.O is to languish in this den of iniquity for months on end, doing my best to destroy my liver. You’ll be pleased to know dear readers, that I stayed but one night, and I didn’t touch a drop.
My friend Tan is taking me to the centre of the universe. Plovdiv, Bulgaria. From there we intend to visit the Mount Buzludzha abandoned Communist party headquarters, and then I will finally hitch to Istanbul to be there by Friday. I guess I’m cheating a little by not hitching from Sofia, but time is of the essence, and I want to cram in as much as possible before I finally begin to leave Europe.
As part of my sisters care package from home and at my request, she’s included a Haggis. I really wanted to cook it for friends at the hostel, and I haven’t had so much as a whiff of this delicious delicacy in years. However by the time I’ve returned to Sofia, it’s a month out of date. I still consider baking the hell out of it anyway, but I wouldn’t want anyone’s first taste of that sweet, sweet meat to be tainted. I opt instead to give him a tour of Plovdiv, which I think he much rather preferred.
Hitching a ride
It’s a beautiful little town, and quite rightly the European capital of culture for 2019. So they’re gearing up for the eyes of the world to be focused here in a few years, and everything is being polished. It’s charming, laid back, clean and welcoming. And the food is outstanding. Visiting a mountain restaurant with new friends and feasting until we dropped was a highlight, as I tucked into buttered veal tongue, hand cooked crisps, shopska salads (Bulgarian national dish with tomato, cucumber, onion and cheese) and homemade everything. All this a few hours after a kilo of skillet lamb. Diet my arse. I had no room anyway for my little meaty friend. The Haggis. You filthy perverts.
It’s a pity I couldn’t stay for longer and experience the town at the weekend when it really comes out to play. I’m already starting to regret spending eons getting wasted in black holes when really I could have been traveling for decades. Hopefully by getting back on the road I will have learned my lesson. Maybe Istanbul is the kick up the backside I so desperately need.
I have discovered I can’t write well about happy shit. I’ve really struggled with this post. But feareth not dear readers, for I will strive to find something miserable to vent about soon enough. Stay tuned.