blog-vertorial bulgaria
Sakar Hills Camping, Biser, Bulgaria
Bulgaria is not a country that beckons tourists. Possibly because there’s next to no tourist industry. But, in my humble opinion, that actually makes it all the nicer. It’s real. It’s raw. It’s relaxing. It’s a place to experience how other people live, without hyped up cultural shows. It’s a place to experience real archaeology, to get your hands grubby fossicking about in the dirt, without any ropes or DO NOT TOUCH signs.
It’s a place of vineyards and rolling forested hills, of donkeys dragging carts along the road, of blue skies and glorious, but gentle sunsets. It’s a place where total strangers welcome you, invite you for coffee, and the lady in the shop will know your order (dva chleb, merci) after just a few days.
For all that, though, I strongly suspect Bulgaria will remain a place that people pass through because they *have* to – on their way to Turkey or Greece. I doubt many will put down roots for a couple of weeks as we did in one small village far enough off the main road to hear no traffic noise, but close enough for it to have not been a massive detour. If they do, they will not be disappointed, but even if they come only for a day or two, they will be well rewarded.
Sakar Hills Camping is on the very edge of the small village of Biser. This may well NOT be on your map – the nearby towns of Harmanli and Lyubimets are more likely to be. It’s smack bang between the two, and the directions on the website are PRECISE. These guys know that there are not many worse things than looking for somewhere to stay at the end of the day, so they have marked the way clearly, investing in plenty of signs along the road to assure you, that you are still going the right way (Bulgarian council workers have, unfortunately, removed a few of these, but there are still enough to inspire confidence at the end of a long day).
Here’s what you see as you drive up the road:
Once you arrive, you are not only at a fantastic campsite, but you are welcomed into the family. If there happens to be a gathering, you can contribute your own salad, throw a few sausages on the BBQ and spend the evening hanging out with whoever has come to celebrate.
As for the facilities themselves…….power and water is a given, handily provided at each site….there are sparkling clean tiled toilets and showers, an outdoor sink area, a washing machine (without the hefty fee we have seen attached to the use of many of these machines across Europe, putting them in the *luxury not for us* basket – here you can actually afford to put a load through!), and they even let you hang your washing out (unlike some places that seem to worry their camp will look like a gypsy camp if people perform normal daily tasks!)
There’s a walnut tree, which is best to visit in autumn (ask us how we know!) Friendly Farmer Ivan from up the road – who passes by a few times a day and always honks and waves – delivers crate loads of organic whatever is in season and campers are encouraged to help Matt, the site manager, eat it all up.
Added to all this is a wonderful wooden gazebo with two big tables and benches, all handmade by a Bulgarian guy in the village. This provides a fantastic place for sitting, eating, chatting, drinking coffee, drying washing in the rain…..
Along the road and round the corner is a little shop that sells bread and beer and sausage and tasteless biscuits (cookies for you American readers) and washing powder – oh, to enter, you go through the “cafe” and you’ll see a sliding door on your right – it’s the only way in to the shop as the door is permanently closed. And if you go further – over the bridge and through the village, you’ll find a couple of little restaurants.
You might think that’s all that really needs saying, but there’s more!
Matt, and his parents Martin and Shirley, are the most wonderful hosts. Matt is a very patient archery instructor and also doubles as an onsite babysitter (heehee). Martin, an ex-landrover-offroad-instructor, is not only a very safe jeep driver, but also a most well-informed tour guide. He chats as you drive along and shares snippets of information that fill out your understanding of the area in a most natural way. They all know the best (and incredibly inexpensive – this is the only country in Europe where we have been able to *afford* to eat out frequently) places to grab a pizza or spaghetti, or enjoy a leisurely meal of local delicacies. But they don’t just point you in the direction of Harmanli with a set of directions….they *take* you. I guess it’s a good excuse for them to indulge! They’ll also accompany you on vehicle-fixing expeditions (and will know the right people to go to), and take you to the fair if it’s in town. If you are small and cute, they’ll even buy you a lollipop – the biggest one possible!
Actually, you don’t have to be cute to be on the receiving end of these guys’ generosity. Living in comfort, they became aware that many here, especially the children, are not so fortunate. Bulgaria is still a poor country and they decided to make a difference. So was born The Woolly Project. But it’s not just about giving hats and coats to kids – we were able to leave no-longer-needed items (like bicycle and babyseat) here, knowing Matt will get them to the orphanage, where they will be used and much appreciated. (Here’s another longer report if you’re interested.)
Final word from Matt:
I need a wife. One who is willing to live in Bulgaria. More details on Facebook. 🙂
PS We haven’t written about this, but don’t want it to slip from our memories…Biser was the place where, for the first time ever, we saw the sunset reflecting off the underside of fluffy cumulous clouds high up in the sky. It was a truly magnificent sight.
Tags: 2008/09, children, justice, postcard: Bulgaria
rayres
Hi Rachel wonderful stories from Bulgaria, I would volunteer to help Matt, ha ha ha but I am not in his age range………what a wonderful attitude, are they Christians? If you publish AYRES TRAVEL book, lots of us will buy it, could be useful for getting your farm house etc love and warm wishes to all of you, Renate Morrison