We accept a last minute invitation from our campsite owners, Martin and Shirley, to visit the village where they are living.
We meet an 86 year old lady, one of eight children, full of smiles and seemingly unaware we are non-Bulgarian-literate.
The mayor, who lives next door to our hosts, gives us fresh eggs from her own chooks and grapes from her vine. She also escorts us around town – including giving us a guided tour (with tasting – ooh la la) of the brand spanking new ENORMOUS high quality vinery that has recently opened. At the other end of the economies of scale continuum is a teeny boutiquey vinery right across the road from Martin and Shirley. We peek in and keep wandering up the road to a block of land with enough buildings to start a commune; they are “full of potential” waiting to be realised. The village also boasts a memorial chapel.
We eat the most delicious cakes, dispelling the myth we had heard – that Bulgarians have not worked out how to make food tasty.
We wish we could stay longer.
There is that land we saw…….we do know how to buy it (find a village you like, check no other Brits are already living there, find a Bulgarian to do some negotiating, have them approach the mayor of the village to find out who owns it and if it could be bought….and according to Martin and Shirley, who gave us these instructions, with a little time, the rest would be history)