Beached in Bulgaria

Last weekend we took the brother and sister-in-law to Obzor, a small Black Sea beach town in Bulgaria, a five hour drive from Bucharest. We reasoned with the new highway leading from Bucharest to Constanta we could easily cut off 45 minutes of driving, thus making the drive feel oh so short. Sure, if you drive a sports car without children. With the VW filled with sticky children and luggage, Nettie and I hopped into the teeny rental car where we bonded: engaging in loud conversations over the roar of the engine at 55 mph and Romanian hip hop playing on the radio.

Black Sea in June: still cold.

Six hours later, everyone arrived relatively intact, excited to stretch our legs and get onto the beach. Wading into the Black Sea, I tried to ignore its chill and instead focused on the thousands of hermit crabs scrambling along the sea bed. Wait. Hmmm, no. The idea of pinchy crabs having access to my toes did not appeal to me so I scampered back onto the beach. I blew up my son's inner tubes, content to float and kick the waves but somehow I exceeded the recommended weight limit. One bob in the water and I went ass up. Back to the sand for me. I'm not much of a water person anyway.

All day in the SAME swim diaper. Whatever you imagine first is probably correct.

 We all just hung out relaxing, or at least faking it. There's only so much relaxation afforded to parents on vacation when kids are involved, right? All weekend the kids enjoyed digging and eating the sand, and splashing in the startling cold water. But I felt at peace even with knowing the nights would likely end with two sandy children sleeping in our beds. 

The sun-exposed pass-out sleep

I liked the idea of using this beach trip as a practice run for our upcoming R&R in Menorca and I thought I packed well: loads of beach towels, cheap beach toys, sunscreen, swim diapers and suits. I decided to go big and buy a hearty two piece bathing suit that would guarantee support and coverage of the essential tidbits.  I was so proud, giving myself a pat on my pasty white back. Then I realized I had a very hungry daughter.

Hangry babies and bounce proof bikini tops don't exactly go well together. Without any chance of discretion I ended up giving the beach and pool goers full on hard core show; I damn near ended up taking my whole top off just to gain access. Not that any of this mattered since boobs, cheeks and junk of all shapes and sizes strutted up and down the resort.

Taking a sun-rise schlep along the beach. Thanks Margo.

Aside from my impromptu brusque showing, we enjoyed a relatively uneventful and quick weekend. I didn't know this ahead of time, but I paid for an all inclusive stay involving another show of sorts: mass consumption of buffet-style food and drink. In a way I enjoyed the easy and continuous access of food that my insatiable children regularly require but after 24 hours, I saw enough gorging and wastefulness to cover me for at least ten more years. I think we all felt the same.

That bubbly could take off the rust on your car. No amount of free could make us drink it.

Dillon trip #2: Veliko Tarnovo, Bulgaria

In order to satisfy historical appetites and a increasing obsession with Bulgarian wine, I drove my brother and sister-in-law down for a quickish yet long day to a crazy-old Bulgarian town about three hours from Bucharest called Veliko Tarnovo. Origins of this city date back to 3000 BC, the beginning the Bronze Age and has endured empire after empire.  If the expansive bluffs and cliffs could talk imagine the stories they might tell about a city once claimed to be Europe's Third Rome (after the Byzantine Empire and original ancient Rome). 

We walked directly to a highly rated restaurant right at the food of the citadel walls and scoured over their fifty two page, multi-language menu before setting on a cheese platter, a veggie platter, a meat platter, and a hot pot of all the above. Filling up (and out) nicely, we simply took a walk around Tsaravets, Veliko's big time fortress used primarily from 1185 to 1393 and enjoyed the expansive views  provided on the hill. 

While reading up on the city, wishing we had time to visit the central square for shopping and catch their popular night time light show, of I found an interesting fact: Just 100 years before the birth of the great Mark Schlink, and 133 years before the birth of Deets, Russian general Joseph Vladimirovich "liberated" Veliko Tarnovo effectively ending the Ottoman Empire that reigned for 480 years. 

Road trip to Sofia

Loading up the car with ample amounts of clothing, food and toys, along with a stroller, pack n play, and a smattering of electronics, I found it hilarious yet comforting to over prepare for the official Schlink Family Road Trip #1. Mark found it embarrassing but said nothing, knowing how I needed to anticipate whether Margo would need her goose down snow suit AND fleece suit in order to feel centered. Believe me, I had my reasons.

We cheered victory as we crossed into Bulgaria, stopping only once in the 90 minutes it took to get to the border. Of course from there Sofia, "only" four short hours away quickly became a six hour trek as we attempted to tame the lion that is Margo. Aside from her frequent protests of forced five point harnessing, boredom and hunger, the drive though long, was rather merciful. With beautiful changing landscape, decent roads, and lack of Romanian drivers, I think we handled our car load quite well. It didn't hurt knowing we'd arrive to our friends' home with promises of wine and beer. 

I think our friends were impressed by our ability to make ourselves at home so quickly. In less than ten minutes we feng shui-ed the apartment with exploding duffel bags of clothes, books and toys as well as children littering the floor. All in good stride they took us to a popular Bulgarian restaurant for a feast of meat, cheese,  rakiya (brandy) and wine. If pork is the national vegetable of Romania, then sheep must be Bulgaria's. Gut stuffing delicious. 

Literally rolling out of bed the next morning, our friends saw to it that we sampled what I think is Bulgaria's best kept secret: their yogurt. Take it via cow, buffalo or goat, I had a love affair and it saddens me know people could be deprived of such decadence. I polished off my breakfast as well as Deets' much to the eye roll of my husband who thinks any breakfast not in pastry form is unacceptable.

Due to intense and reportedly rare rainfall, Mark opted to keep the kids at home while I got the grand tour de Sofia ala Rachel, who is easily fifteen times smarter than me. And a history buff too. It was awesome, though I freely admit I remember very little. That probably explains why she's so smart.

A nice shiny building.

Bulgarian bathhouse.
Powering through the rain.

Despite the chill of heavy wet denim, threatening to slide down my legs, we hit churches, historic buildings, markets, and even the hot spring fountains. Braving the downpour, locals were busily filling their giant containers to collect the healing and medicinal spring water. Holding my chilled hands under the warm water, I resisted the fantasy of hopping into the fountain altogether; I doubt I could slip my clothes back on anyway, never mind if was socially or hygienically appropriate to swim in a drinking fountain. 

For a kidney cleanse use fountains #2-4. For liver detox, #5-7.

All I can tell you is that it's a church.

Back home thawing out, the children woke from their naps and we relaxed among great conversation, homemade mac n cheese and of course more wine and beer. On this evening I learned several things about Bulgaria: 1. Finding roadside trash is rare, thanks to mobsters who (successfully) run waste management. 2. Buildings may or may not include right angles or level ceilings, but there's cheap labor thanks to mobsters who run construction projects. 3. Historical buildings may burn down randomly creating opportunity for more property acquisition, thanks to mobsters who run the real estate market. 

Just like that, the weekend flew by probably because mobsters run that too. It was time to pack-out and head south for Thessaloniki, Greece.  I'd like to thank our dear friends Rachel and Andy for showing us unrelenting hospitality and a great time. I can't wait for our paths to cross again!

Heading South for the Border

Today we felt the need to escape the gray skies of Bucharest, the communist apartment blocks, the stray dogs. We packed up the kids to head south for the border to Bulgaria for another view of gray skies, communist apartment blocks, and stray dogs. Just across the Danube River, lies a city called Ruse. The Blond City, aka Little Vienna, is important for international trade, gorgeously preserved 19th century buildings, and an archaeological reserve full of prehistoric skeletons and is home to about ten different types of bats. But it also has a Metro. 

Cruising the incredibly neglected road to border control and adding another stamp to the passports,  we rolled right into a Metro ninety minutes later for some prime time warehouse shopping. Turns out Bulgarian wine is awesome. The country used to be quite prominent in the wine business before the fall of Communism, they used to rank second in the world for wine production. With five diverse grape growing regions, they have room to cultivate a good variety of wine. I won't pretend to know anything else about it. It's good.   

And cheap, but only if purchased in country. How cheap you ask? We averaged about 5 dollars a bottle. In Romania, the same bottles would cost about fifteen.  So we started piling up bottles around Deets in the shopping cart, who helped pick out a few labels too.

Deet's highlights: watching a forklift
move pallets of beer
and eating sheep's cheese.

All that shopping made us hungry, and what better way to sate an appetite than giant flaming skewers of meat? A friend highly recommended a traditional Bulgarian restaurant in the center of town, telling us to look for the restaurant with the wooden sign. Seriously. So we were to navigate the one way streets written in the syrillic alphabet successfully and just find the "one with the wooden sign."

Meat on a stick: perfect for Dukan dieters.

Turns out, she was totally right. The wooden sign was unmistakable. The workers at the restaurant, Mehana Ciflika (written as Механа Чифлик) were able to spot tourists a mile away. They saw us creeping up the street looking for parking and directed us to a piece of open sidewalk. Here we could take our pick of virtually any body part belonging to a chicken, sheep, goat, or pig for our meal: boneless lamb heads, pork shins, sheep intestines, ect. ect. We ordered several types of skewered meat which they promptly stabbed into the ceiling and lit on fire. For more cholesterolic fun we also ate stewed meat along with sheep's cheese fries.  It was all I could to not lick the plate clean.

With full bellies, a full trunk, and only a bit of leftover Bulgarian currency, it was time to head for the border. We celebrated the end of our day by drinking a $5.50 bottle of  2010 Enira Cab from the Bessa Valley Winery, and watching Blue's Clues intermixed with Tom Train. Success!