The country of the largest natural reserve in Europe, beaches with stones and resorts, the most extended underground social network ever, its good cuisine for uncompetitive prices, but not only...
Just a while after the guys got out of the country, I had to do the same. Yes, it had been more than 2 months and a half that I was back from Jordan, that I was living daily in this swallowing city of Istanbul, hitting the dusty pavements and breathing more the fumes than the sea breezes. Not that I was getting sick with Adana kebab nor ayran, since my beloved family members and friends paid me quite relievant visits in terms of food, among those an unforgetable 166TL(or 80€) dinner with Pierre and Flo.But still, since I had by the same occasion to renew my god damn tourist visa, I packed up quicky and took the next bus to Bourgas, Bulgaria.
I originally had to meet Zlatena, this happy-ever graphic designer that previously hosted us in Sophia with Jan. But she turned out not to be in the area at this time, so the plan B was Couch Surfing. First experience, great experience. I sent several messages to a lot of people living in the area, after creating a profile dealing with "Me". I faced the unconfortable mission of describing myself with funny, convenient, attractive words so that I hadn't to stay in a hostel for three days. But this was before I checked out Martin's page.He has already welcomed more than 40 people on his "psychedelic time capsule for guest psychonauts" (ie his couch), collected the finger nails of all over the words after that all those backpackers removed their high boots and scratched their achy feets drinking a beer in his room, and currently knows that his future wife is gonna be Latvian, like his first couch-surfer.
Life in Bourgas was somehow really relaxed, and I had a horrible dilemma many times during the same week : should I smoke rolled Victory cigarets of hand-rolled ones, the so-called "katchak" in Bulgaria. When Martin first aked me the question, I answered: "it's a different pleasure my friend !" After what he nicknamed me "the Epicurian", hence the titles of those post that I deem quite fitting...
I have to admit that between the bulgarian moussaka of his parents, the nights spent at the "Marina bar" with his buddies around the pool game and 'babyfoot' (the one that gives me a translation in english for this games has a lollypop), and the chillout sessions listening to psycho-rock music, there was not much to worry about but wandering when we should go out.
I did threw my fat ass off the sofa to get it up on a bike, and went around the city, the seashore, the next resort, the other resorts, until I reached the shopping malls under construction. Concrete ten-stories flats and snazzy condos have a great future on the Bulgarian seashore, since Russians, Germans and English (plus rich Bulgarians of course) are flooding into the brand new villas and commercial areas as Katrina did in New Orleans. Yet I have faith in the EU to mitigate the setbacks of an unleashed touristic development, and to persuade the local population of the skyrocketting incomes it would induce. They obviously seem to crave for it.
The concept of the 'Marina bar' worth an explanation, since I believe its the kind of behavior that animates Bulgarian's way of life, in Pomorie at least. Two pool tables, 1 babyfoot, several fridges under a wooden shelf hardly upholding a wide panel of alcohols, and 1 computer. The bar is officially owned buy two guys working on it alternatively, but when none of them is there, it's still open. And it's not hardly ever happening. Which comes down to the situation where anyone that wishes a cold Staropramen or a fancy cocktail goes on the other side of the counter and help himself, from grabbing the appropriate glass to opening the cashier. And the party goes on with the crazy music brought by Martin on a USB stick, which ranges from the beloved Prodigy to jazzy-soulful Morphine. Lose your tongue, get braindamage or memoryless, music will still be on the last sought bar to make you jammin' with unknown people.
After four days and three nights in Pomorie, I headed back to Istanbul, halting for an hour in Bourgas for a coffee in the Bourgas hostel where I slept in the first night. Ivan had welcomed me @4 o'clock, bringing me to the dorms and going staight back behind his turntables to sleep. Yet another easy-going pal running his own business to afford new HipHop vinyls each months, nothing more. That makes me think, again, about my long-lasting studies and the purpose of it all. Anyways.
"Too much text, not enough pics, not enough posts". I'll try to work on it (although I forgot my camera for this trip), but I have to admit that this blog is now definitely more like a personal diary than a link to my former/coming life and its potential readers. Don't get me wrong, all of you are adding to the motivation required to undertake such 'essays'.
All the best.
