From the hustle and bustle of Rome, a hot pink plane operated by WizzAir (a Hungarian based discount carrier) brought us to the relative tranquility of Sofia, in southwestern Bulgaria. While we were thrilled to have escaped the tourist hordes descending upon central Italy in mid-July, we didn’t quite know what to expect from Bulgaria, a country whose geographic and historical contours had largely eluded our consciousness. After deplaning and making our way to a grim terminal with stern black and white signs brandishing a Russian-looking script, our expectations began to be colored with visions of a spartan, post-communist land of stolid suffering and hard drinking.Having had to check luggage in Rome (the invariable result of flying a budget airline) our mutual apprehension mounted as the crowd of waiting passengers from our plane thinned to a half dozen or so with nary a sign of Kaberi’s conspicuous red and black rolling backpack. Only when her mobile repository of newly-purchased clothing and battle-tested toiletries emerged as the very last piece off the conveyor belt did we both finally exhale.
Exiting baggage claim for a modest arrivals hall, our hopes of a grand reunion were dashed upon discovering that Vik’s Stanford friend Victor was nowhere to be seen. Fifteen minutes later, after Vik had conferred with a terse airport desk clerk and then brazenly commandeered the use of a mild-mannered stranger’s cellphone for our own purposes, Victor appeared as if straight out of a photo shoot bearing wavy-length hair and a khaki linen suit. To our chagrin, Victor had been waiting for us at Sofia’s modern and sophisticated new terminal a few kilometers away, oblivious to the meager location of WizzAir’s Bulgarian digs. After dispensing European kisses for Kaberi and a manly hug for Vik, Victor loaded our bags into a sporty red Alfa Romero sedan and sped off like a man in search of the nearest facilities.
After a twenty-minute straight shot past a Kodak factory, an AIG branch office and several cellphone shops, we found ourselves smack dab in the center of historic Sofia. Making our way around the striking King’s Palace (now the seat of the Bulgarian parliament) and the largest orthodox church in the country, we quickly arrived at Victor’s prime location apartment on the top floor of a Communist era building. Once the preferred haunt of Bulgaria’s communist intellectual class, the building boasted busts of artists and writers on its walls (depicting several famous former residents) as well as the requisite busy-body neighbor on hand to chide us for loading more than two people on to the elevator.
Our appreciation for the apartment’s trendy location only grew with time. We soon proceeded to take a quick tour of the neighborhood, stopping to admire a photographic exhibit in an adjacent park brimming with Japanese tourists. After enjoying a jolt of caffeine at a Starbucks look-alike within a stone’s throw of our starting point, we commenced an uptempo night on the town with Victor and his girlfriend Lily. We began with dinner at the nearby VinoBar, a chic restaurant opened by the wife of the Swiss ambassador, where the different dishes we shared were complemented by Victor’s selection of superb, homegrown Bulgarian wines.
Our post-dinner exploits involved an ample dose of bar-hopping, beginning with drinks at the aptly-named neighborhood nightspot, By The Way, continuing with shots at a typically-European techno dance club (where Vik’s worn cargo pants actually represented fashionable attire) and culminating with a drink at an outdoor beer garden called Toba&co. By the time we finally called it a night, it was just past three in the morning. By our undiscriminating standards, Sofia’s nightlife appeared to compare favorably with virtually any other major city we had visited, save for New York or London.
The following day proved to be a bit more low-key after we slept in until noon. Our afternoon began with lunch at the hip brunch spot Moto where Vik’s inclination to stay indoors to listen to buoyant lounge music was trumped by the group’s desire to sit outdoors to bask in sunshine. Afterward, we took a winding, scenic drive through the Balkan Mountains to the quaint Bulgarian village of Kopripischtitsa (try saying that five times fast). Rolling brown hillsides and dense green forests eventually receded to reveal a gathering of traditional wooden cottages arranged around a meandering brook and narrow lanes hewn from assorted local stones.
The four of us took the opportunity to wander through an 1850’s home-turned-museum before patronizing a local restaurant to sample traditional Bulgarian dishes like a Shopska salad and cucumber yoghurt soup. While we relished the cool, rural air, we made a point of getting back on the road by 6:00 p.m. in order to ensure that we wouldn’t miss the 7:30 p.m. English language showing of the newly-released movie Harry Potter back in Sofia. Our downtempo day then concluded with a late dinner at Egur, Egur, a local Armenian restaurant.
After a second consecutive late wakeup (Kaberi included!), we enjoyed a late Sunday brunch at a prominent Sofia Irish bar. Following brunch, we visited in turn the Museum of Foreign Art (for a surreal viewing of several Burmese and Indian pieces), the large Cathedral (where Victor, in a prior life as a tour guide, teased visitors with the claim that the 120-ton chandelier had only fallen twice) and an antique flea market where items on offer ranged from old cameras and fake watches to Nazi and communist memorabilia. After Victor negotiated capably on our behalf, we returned home with what we thought was an early-model Leica camera for Kaberi’s antique camera collection (Vik originally had designs on initiating a lucrative eBay transaction). Only upon perusing the Internet later that afternoon did we learn that we had likely purchased a well-executed Russian fake.
Our last night in town proved to be a lovely conclusion to our stay. Victor prepared a home-cooked traditional Bulgarian dinner over which we animatedly chatted until midnight. Looking back on our visit to Bulgaria, it was clear that our time on the ground here with our hip local host had largely overturned our pre-conceived notions of contemporary life in a post-Communist country.
