Audiofly @ Beach Bar Mania, Sunny Beach

Mirror

Af en eller anden grund står de kommende skatteydere konstant beskydning af nypuritanske grupper. Nu vil politikerne kaste sig over de unges sociale samvær på gymansierne og erhvervsskolerne.

Måske er det lidt i tråd med den udvikling, der er sket på arbejdspladserne. Der var engang at vi havde rigtige arbejdere til og der blev serveret øl til frokosten på B&W skibsværft. De tider er ligesom forbi og idag skal man ikke være mere end 15-20 mennesker i en virksomhed før at man er nød til at have intranet med billedearkiv for at finde ud af om det er en kollega eller en fremmed som går forbi på gangen.

Der er ikke længere tradition for at medarbejderne tager en øl på vej hjem om fredagen. Det har medført at man bliver lidt fremmedgjort i forhold til kollegaerne og da man intet har til fælles med dem, så er det nemmere at erstatte fastansatte med vikarer og konsulenter.

Men selvom at arbejdspladserne idag fokuserer så lidt på dagligt samarbejde at mange af dem er nød til at koncentrere denne snak i medarbejderssamler (MUS) en gang hver halve år, så mener jeg at det er forkert at presse de unge ud i voksenlivets isolation.

Erfaringer vanskeligere tilgang til alkohol for de unge vil få den betydning, at de enten kriminaliserer sig selv for at få alkohol eller vælger et andet rusmiddel end alkohol. Skal de alle være små sne-prinser eller sne-prinsesser blot fordi at de ikke må gå ned i supermarkedet og købe en øl? Financierer de så ikke det ækle fænomen hvor alle der ligner en der har kørt på to hjul og har et rå look bliver skydeskive for vanskelige unge?

Der er en kedelig tendens til at vi gør barndommen kortere idag. Tidligere end før fjerner man den naturlige Danskhed, som man så smuk så i “Huset på Christianshavn” hvor at folk kendte hinanden, forbandede systemet, var lidt mistroisk for “smarte” fyre og klarede alt over en bajer. Det er erstatter man så med en indstilling om at være pæn, poleret og international orienteret for at de skal klare sig i en global verden hvor at outsourcing er et fint ord for at finde et sted på kloden hvor at den social dumping er tilstrækkelig slem til at der er nogle stakler der kan lave en given vare 2 øre billigere.

Der er jo ingen problemer med ungdomsdruk. Der er et problem med unge som ikke bliver passet af deres forældre. Jeg taler ikke om at forældrene skal rende rundt i haserne på de unge hele tiden. Jeg taler om at de skal fylde termokanden op, forlade husalteret og gå ud i de grønne områder med et par muffins for at sætte sig ned ved deres børn og snakke med dem imens at de byder ungerne disse muffins. Pludselig vil de forstå at de unge gerne vil snakke og skulle samtalen være lidt svær at få igang så er den lille sidegevinst at ungerne får lidt fast føde ved siden af alkoholen.

Men sådan gør forældrene ikke. De lader istedet ultrakristne såkaldte sundhedseksperter komme til at påvirke politikerne til at vedtage dobbeltmoralske initiativer som langsomt gør os til USA nr. 2 og de har jvf. Glamour selvfølgelig ingen problemer. Det er for nemt at lade politikerne lave endnu en lov.

Så sluk dog det fjernsyn. Lad dog de unge beholde deres danske ånd så længe så muligt. Det er ikke for sjov at jeg på det engelske wikipedia finder dette link under “Danmarks kultur” for vores kultur er tæt forbundet med alkohol. Alkohol skal man selvfølgelig have respekt for, men når man ser ud i verdenen og ser at ikke kun danske borgere har brug for at koble af og glemme al den grusomhed der smides i hovedet på os på gaden, via fjernsynet, aviserne og internettet, er så alkohol ikke den bedste option? For hvad skulle vi sætte istedet?

Så derfor: Forældrene skal passe deres arbejde. De skal gøre vores manipulerede politikere arbejdsløse. De skal tage ud og gøre deres barn selskab uanset om det er i parken, i fredagsbaren eller til halbal. De vil opleve at deres unger har et bedre ordforråd end “arrhgg” som de siger når de får nej til at tage til “Sunny Beach”.

Afsted med Jer!

Satoshi Tomiie @ Dance Club Mania, Sunny Beach, Bulgaria

Mirror

Anul ăsta a fost plin de vacanţe, asta aşa, să îi fac în ciudă crizei şi să îi arăt că nu mă sinchisesc de ea.

Am început cu Veneţia în martie, parte din Europa în iulie iar weekendul ăsta am lenevit la vecinii bulgari, unde nu ajunsesem până acum. Nu sunt fan al zăcutului la soare, aşa că am ales totdeauna ca în vacanţă să vizitez locuri noi şi interesante. Dar săptămâna trecută m-a lovit nebunia şi am făcut rezervări pentru 3 zile la Sunny Beach, la Iberostar. Bună alegere! Hotel fain, cu personal foarte amabil, camere frumoase, mari şi curate, servicii ireproşabile, mâncare  bună şi din belşug, într-un cuvânt 3 zile perfecte. Staţiunea în schimb nu mi-a plăcut, e zgomotoasă, făcută în grabă şi fără noimă. Dacă ieşi din perimetrul hotelului dai de spaţii verzi neamenajate, garduri vii neîngrijite, multe hoteluri încă în construcţie. Faleza e un mic bazar şi cu greu îţi faci loc printre miile de turişti. Plaja ok, ieri au fost valuri mari aşa că am profitat şi ne-am luptat cu ele un pic.

Drumul până acolo e bun, am făcut 5 ore din Bucureşti, e liber şi plin de verdeaţă, o bună bucată se merge pe coastă. Am ajuns mai repede decât aş fi ajuns de pe litoralul nostru.

Una peste alta, le dau dreptate celor care preferă Bulgaria României (în discuţia asta nu intră Grecia, Spania sau altele asemenea, doar noi şi vecinii noştri care acum câţiva ani se asociau câte doi să cumpere un pui, de săraci ce erau). 1-0 pentru ei, ne-au furat toţi turiştii nemţi, ne-au luat până şi pe noi, aştia mai puţini patrioţi. Dacă îi ajungem?? Hmmm…ei o au pe asta cu all inclusive. Şi merge, pentru că, din amabilitatea staffului hotelului deduc că sunt destul de bine plătiţi. La noi nu o să meargă. Pentru că patronii de hotel preferă să plătească prost angajaţii şi să îi convingă cu câştigurile fabuloase din bacşişuri. Care se dau atâta timp cât plăteşti la fiecare masă. E simplu. Eu una prefer să plătesc o dată şi apoi să nu mă mai intereseze, să nu stau la fiecare masă să calculez cât să las bacşiş, cât nu, dacă e mult sau puţin, etc. Am aceeaşi filozofie şi cu spitalele private, dar asta e altă discuţie şi o las pe o dată viitoare.

Here/
is a Kinnear!/
You should/
be here./

Varna Cathedral

Nearly 500 thousand German tourists visited Bulgaria during the last year and spent over two billion euro in Bulgaria, said the mayor of Varna Kiril Yordanov, cited by Darik radio.

For the summer 2009, however,  German bookings for Bulgaria for the upcoming summer season mark a fall of 20% on average.

The global downturn is not the only reason. The Turkish and Greek governments provided assistance to their travel sectors, allowing these destinations to reduce costs dramatically and become more competitive. It emerged that Bulgaria could profit from the crisis at the ITB in Berlin. It would help if the government improved sector marketing on a worldwide scale.

The ongoing reconstruction of the road between Ravda and Sunny Beach is another challenge facing the season. So far no viable predictions regarding the completion term have been made.

But still, Bulgaria has a beautiful nature, beautiful architectural sights (esp. the churches) and beautiful beaches. We will go to Bulgaria this summer-join us if you like!

Perioada: 27 mai – 5 iunie 2009

Traseu:

Ziua 1: Brasov 0 km, ora 3.30AM – Bucuresti 5.30 – Giurgiu 237,5km – Varna 440km – Sunny Beach 537,5km (municipiul Nessebar) – oprire peste noapte la Hotel Regata

Ziua 2: Sunny Beach – Burgas – Karnobat – Jambol – Elhovo 707km – Topolovgrad – Harmanli – Svilengrad – Granita BG-GR 819km – Orestiada – Soufli – E90 – Hrissoupoli – Keramoti 1131km – Ferry Boat spre Thassos

Drumul la Bulgari e bun; nu sunt gropi. Pe anumite portiuni soseaua e denivelata sau are prea multe petice de asfalt, incat zici ca mergi pe drum de piatra cubica. Politia la Bulgari: spre Grecia pe la 7 dimineata eram in Ruse. Pana in Sunny Beach (Burgas) nu am intalnit niciun politist. A doua zi am plecat la 4 AM spre Svilengrad. Din Harmanli exista o mica portiune de autostrada. Spre final, traficul e deviat pe o singura latura a autostrazii unde limita de viteza e 60km/h. Exact acolo stau politistii. Eu aveam vreo 125, las masina sa curga in frana de motor… imediat dupa trecerea pe “circulatie in ambele sensuri” iese din boscheti seriful suparat. Mai mai sa-mi ia carnetul, zice ceva nervos in bulgara din care nu am inteles decat “carnet” si “60″… imi zicea ca limita e 60 eu aveam 104, iau carnetul iau carnetul… eu zic “didn’t see , didn’t see”… si configurez mental harta spre buzunarul unde-mi zaceau maruntii de 5 si 10 euro , pregatindu-mi replica invatata de pe forum “cofi, cofi”. Exact atunci intreaba “Turcia?” eu zic… nu… Grecia… si incepe sa-mi spuna ca la prima sa fac la dreapta apoi la stanga si ajung la Grecia… intre timp se indeparteaza de masina si zice “slow slow 60 60″. Merg deci mai departe… spre Grecia… consternat de faptul ca nu am luat nici amenda, nu am dat nici spaga… Deci pana la urma… mai exista si politisti bulgari.

In rest despre bulgari: au mult mai multi km de autostrada decat noi, au mult mai multi km de plaja decat noi, mult mai multe locuri de cazare pe plaja decat noi (si mai ieftine), munti mai inalti decat ai nostri unde se poate skia mult mai bine, mai ieftin si mai sigur decat la noi…. daca mai trec de vreo 2-3 ori pe la ei poate mai gasesc cateva lucruri … La intoarcere drumul a fost impanzit de politisti, dar nu am avut niciun incident.

In Grecia majoritatea drumului am mers pe autostrada, fara evenimente.

Cazare: Hotel Regatta 3*, Sunny Beach, Bulgaria – apartament 2 camere, mic dejun tip bufet suedez. Curat, ingrijit, vedere spre mare, piscina.

Hotel Aloe, Skala Potamias, Thassos – o camera rustica avand paturi separate, baie, chicineta, terasa, vedere spre mare. Mic dejun standard (cutiute cu unt, gem, miere, un suc, ceai/cafea, rar sunca cu cascaval, iaurt sau cereale) – nesatisfacator.

Cu engleza stau cam prost in ambele parti, dar sunt binevoitori.

Plaja si intregul complex hotelier din Sunny Beach era in “dezvoltare”. Fiind la inceput de sezon erau in derulare tot felul de lucrari de amenajare si reabilitare. Apa rece, nisipul ok. Am facut o plimbare pana la Nessebar (sunt doar cativa km , la intoarcere a fost mai greu).

Am luat cina la taverna “Andromeda”; nimic special in afara de privelistea superba spre mare. Preturi comparabile cu cele din Grecia,  insa meniul mai slab.  La intoarcere am luat pranzul la hotel, insa nefiind sezon nu prea aveai din ce alege. Oricum, am testat supa de castraveti (supele aici erau maxim 1,5 euro, in Grecia 4 euro). Puteai plati si in euro dar la monede te taxau suplimentar.

Harti utile:
 
cea mai utila a fost insa aceasta harta:

June 4, 2009

Its probably a part of the pangs but really i am missing L in the most animal of ways. I know it does not sound too sweet or smooth but when something has been such a huge turn on then keeping the thought at bay for too long is kinda imposible.

To feign innocense i am putting all the blame on a news article i read a few days back. It was about BUTTS and how they are the In thing. The article was all praise for J’lo for bringing the trend to the fore. Since then there have been a lot of good butts to steam roll the competition. It also said that “studies show” that men find posteriors as the sexiest part in women. Not that saying “studies show” brings any relevance of credibility to the findings but then personally i too find bottoms of great interest. (sorry breasts, but do not worry you are not far behind)

Now you could probably term me a sick pervert but hey hey staring a the area above the navel and below the neck of a woman is out right indecency but only because the lady can see you doing that. Admire a good arse and no one sees you smacking your lips. Plus in my defence (and coming back to L) i have seen the oh-so-perfect hips ever.  Too much volume on them is just so over the top. too thin is a sign of being fraile.

L had just the right volume on them. In any kind of wear they made their just presence felt. with of without clothes i have never admired any one more than L. Now i am definitely in love (still) with that fantastic girl. you see this green lady on the right. She turned green with envy because of my posts on L.  Being in love with her does not mean i go blind to a great ass. I know a great one when i see it. Feeling them was a rich and fulfilling experience.

So a newspaper article just sets the clock back to the wonderful with her. i can not stop thinking about the curves on her. Term me a pathetic guy but i am proud to have owned that great body for a long time (5 years). To be fair to her she was just so good a human being i never admired her sexuality. maybe i should have. Too late now. I can only think of the good times. We see a man snuffing on a long neck of a beautiful girl- i had the same experience. L had such a perfect neck that any top, even polo neck just suited her to perfection. i told her a gazillion times she could have been a great model but somewhere secretly i was always hoping i could just keep her hidden from this big bad world. I am selfish. i admit that. I like to hace my girl for myself. a possessive streak exists in me but i never got demanding on that. i just secretly hoped she would never venture out in the modelling world.

So a great neck and a great pair of hips is not the only thing she possessed. Her legs were so long and petite that i just prayed i could run my palms on them without having to worry about work, or office, or that someone wouls see me. I always pictures us lying on a lonely sunny beach with the whipping waters giving us company and no one else to see me being so fully devoted to serving the girl’s body. she has a perfect figure and i just wished i could have seen the sun bounce off her great skin while i rubbed oil on her and massaged her gently till the point where it would be impossible to say what would she be covered with more of, my sweat or the massage oil.

coming back to reality

i have lost her. i can only tell the world what a big loss i am going thru. till newsparer remind me of her i shall continue to remember the good times we have had.

Det øverste bildet ble tatt på Kreta for litt over et år siden. Det nederste bildet har flinke Jona fra hodetmitt.no tegnet, er hun ikke flink?:D

Nå har jeg pakket ferdig min lyserosa koffert, uten å måtte sette meg på lokket, noe jeg er ganske imponert over. Klokka fire i natt kjører vi hjemme fra, og ti på ti i morgen tidlig drar flyet fra Værnes. Noe som vil si at jeg om under tjuefire timer ligger sånn, sjalu?:)

Siden jeg har store planer om å holde meg langt unna internett hele den uka jeg er i Bulgaria, lar jeg Ukens Fotoutfordring gå til jeg kommer hjem igjen neste onsdag. Så får kanskje flere somla seg til å bli med;)

Sunny Beach is located on the Black Sea and is a modern Bulgarian resort with modern day amenities. Exceptional hotels located right on the beach offer amazing views of the sea and immediate access to the sandy shore. The town forms a crescent that touches on the ancient town of Nessebar to the South. Sunny Beach sprawls about 10 km (6 miles) of bay coastline, clear calm water, and serene breeze. It is perfect for those relaxing and lazy vacations in which you can sunbathe all  morning, take a leisurely lunch with a cold beer or cocktail in the shade, play some beach ball in the afternoon and after some more basking in the sun, you can go back to your nice hotel, freshen up and head to a bar filled with loud music and people who are dying to have fun and dance the night away. Pools, sandy beaches, great entertainment, and beautiful people. It’s always sunny in Sunny Beach.

Good morning everybody. What a good thought.  I was reading one magazine and I came across with one article.  It was a good article written by Glenn Plaskin  which everyone must learn.  This is one way for us to have a good life.

Imagine: a sunny beach a tall, cool drink, tropical breezes, romance in the air.  And waiting at home:  a stable job, handsome house, sleek car, country club membership, state-of-the-art electronic gadgets and enough money in the bank to make it all possible!

Shouldn’t that be enough to make anybody happy?  Evidently not, since many of those blessed with material success still say they feel discontented, bored or depressed.  Why is that?  And why, after eight years of record-breaking economic growth, isn’t the nation’s happiness index on the rise?

To the contrary, there is much evidence today of a spiritual yearning that no amount of affluence can satisfy:  Witness the millions who purchase books on self-help and spirituality and who pursue meditation, yoga, psychotherapy and other forms of self-inquiry.  The key question is this:  If material abundance isn’t the answer, then what is? Some of spiritual leaders have good ideas about it.

How many unhappy people are walking around with more money than their parents ever saw?  Yet they’re miserable.  How do we know that?  Look at their faces. 

Indiska ambassaden har idag beviljat oss visum, ni minns säkert hur det gick sist. Skickade nu ansökan med bud. Då gick det bättre. Fast rätt blankett var ju ifylld denna gång.

Det är lätt att raljera över andra länders krångliga regler och byråkrati, de har nog sina skäl, vi svenskar tycker oftast att vi ska ha lite gräddfil ut i världen, vana att vara välkomna överallt. De tar bra betalt för visum, fiffigt om man är ett relativt fattigt land. Minns den fantasktiska baren på “Miami beach” Koh Lanta, Thailand. Det är muslimer som driver hotellet, de vill inte servera alkohol. Det gillar inte västerlänska turister. Lösning: man hyr in en buddist från stan som får servera restauranggästerna öl och driva baren vägg i vägg med restaurangen. Mong driver baren på Miami beach, riktigt cool kille, kompis med alla, har alltid ett korttrick att visa, jonglerar med eld på kvällarna.

Kom att språka med en kvinna i denna bar, hon var från Österrike. Hon drev på 70- och 80-talet en skidstuga i alperna. Hennes specialitet var att ta emot svenska turister. Hon hade nämnligen väggfasta möbler i massivt trä. Svenskarna var bannlysta på andra ställen eftersom de var fulla och jobbiga jämt. Damen i baren kunde verkligen bekräfta att så var fallet. Nu lär det vara liknande på Bulgariens Sunny Beach. Skulle vilja prata med dessa hotellägare som tar emot svenska tonåringar på fylleresa. Hur går snacket? Undrar om det fortfarande är väggfast monterade möbler som är lätta att skölja av som är tricket?

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Bucharest has proved an interesting (read traumatic, dull and surprising) experience.

It all began when we made the mistake of not pre-booking a hostel. Hardcore travellers may scorn, but when getting to the nearest hostel involved a trek through unlit, empty streets in the hot August night, two days unwashed, sweaty and overtired and eventually having to scramble through sand and dug up road to something called the Funky Chicken hostel where they had no rooms, I think we were entitled to the brief gratuitous strop that followed, and the eventual taxi and expensive room that followed.

We awoke the next day already tired of cities and longing for the coast, we so packed up and sensibly booked a hostel in Sunny Beach or, as it is known in (in which it sounds far less promising) Slanchev Bryag.

A city centre metro station

This done, we went into the city to have a nose round. We used the underrated metro system (underrated is generous, but the guidebook described it as awful and nonnegotiable and it was only one of these things and since we made it to our desired stop all in one piece I will let the picture on the left do the talking) to get into the centre. Allow me to say this: of Ceausescu’s many faults, among the more offensive was what he did to Bucharest in building the People’s Palace. He knocked down the old town, bashed down all the churches and relocated thousands of people when he decided that their pesky homes were in the way of what is frankly a big ugly building that is famous for being mostly big but quite ugly. Thus there is absolutely fuck-all to do in Bucharest. It is a really bleak city, grey all over, with wide streets dominated by grey, concrete buildings that are just such a shame compared to the lovely countryside we had been in before.

Slightly lopsided People's Palace

The People’s Palace has the misfortune of being at the end of a very long, shadeless park, or an attempt at a park that was just a scrubby, grassless field populated eerily only by vast numbers of portaloos.We went on a tour of the palace proved to make up for the park and the shocking ugliness of the building, mainly due to the nature of the extremely camp tour guide Dan, with an excellent lisp. He was insistent for the first half of the tour that the palace was 100% Romanian all over, and was very excited by showing us the Romanian marble floors and Romanian oak banisters and the Romanian velvet curtains. Unfortunately, when we stopped for a toilet break I couldn’t help but notice that the toilet was of a Swedish make (I know my toilet brands) and then it all came out that some of the mahogany on the walls came from Africa. Poor Dan looked crushed. Still, despite the negative connotations of the building to most Romanians, Dan seemed incredibly proud and was insistent that while you could rent out the rooms for conferences, none of us plebs on the tour could afford one. There was me thinking it would be a good place to host my 18th. So proud was Dan of the scale of the building that, on entering the central foyer, he uttered possibly the best sentence ever uttered by a tour guide: ‘No offence guys, but do you even know what is a lobby?’ Causing us all to really think about what inferior rubbish we considered a lobby back home.

Hello Budapest!

I also liked visiting the palace because I got to make my palace joke. I have very few palace jokes so I was pleased to be able to break one out. My palace joke is based on the fact that in 1993 Michael Jackson visited Bucharest and was invited to stand on the front balcony of the palace, look out across the city as some sort of bizarre symbol of democracy and greet the nation. Unfortunately for Jackson, his first words when he stepped onto the balcony were a whopping great ‘Hello Budapest!’ while presumably his staff all smacked themselves on the head.

Thus my palace joke is to casually stroll (you can only casually stroll out onto the balcony if you’ve been before, and I had, so I was feeling much superior to my fellow novice tourists) out onto the balcony, saunter up to the edge, lay my hands on the railings and cry out to the empty streets below a whopping great, ‘Hello Budapest!’ It goes down a treat in the right crowd. Alas, Dan got in there too and explained the joke before I had time to saunter, which was a little disappointing.

Piata Universiteii

The other excellent thing about the tour was that the most Irish Irishman I’d ever met (and I have met at least 5 Irishmen) latched onto us. He also had the benefit of looking extraordinarily like Napoleon Dynamite which pleased me greatly. He also stood at the back of the tour group with us and giggled at Dan’s lisp, which is always comforting. We walked back to Piata Universiteii together exchanging travel stories, which made me feel like a real backpacker.

As soon as we parted ways with Tom the Irishman, we bumped into Andy the awkward, one of the English boys we’d met in Prague. As you do. It would have been surprising but his lost expression as he floundered on the edge of a busy road made him seem right at home.

Later we bumped into Tom again in the station and discussed the novelty of going to the toilet in Ceausescu’s palace, which feels like the appropriate action to such a character. I took a photo of the toilet as I was rebelling, having not had the chance or indeed the funds to purchase a photography pass.

Bucharest Station

We came to board our evening train to Varna in Bulgaria by means of a £30 fee to a concierge on the train who was remarkably dodgy looking and kept changing the destination of our carriage, which was slightly worrysome. The ripoff fee, however, did get us the peace of a carriage with beds and a reasonably quiet Australian. This was very welcome after having sat around in Bucharest station, which is a real hell hole for the female traveller. Everywhere you look, men are gawping at you or making cat noises at you to attract your attention. Suz and I were patted, stroked and hissed at by all means of men including the security guard, shop owners, conductors and the unofficial payphone attendant. While the station appeared much less seedy by day than by night, it was still just a bit too much for those who are used to the more stoic northern European way.

I awoke at 3am on the train to find we were still at the Bulgarian border which we had stopped at some four hours before (and you could tell it was the Bulgarian border because of the Cyrillic sign for hotel and the decreasing friendliness of the border officials stamping up and down the train every half hour. As I lay there listening to the immigration officials barking (they don’t seem to be capable of any other noise. I feel sorry for their wives) at each other and repeatedly slamming doors, seemingly to keep some kind of rhythm or at least make everyone aware of how irked they were at having to do the night shift, I began to feel slightly apprehensive. Finally at 3.45 the train started up again and I was glad to be the only one awake to notice that we were going back in the direction we had come from. Too tired and fed up to care, I rolled over on my bunk, slid off the leather seats onto the floor, picked myself up and proceeded to

Één van de activiteiten die je op de Off Road Adventure mag doen is quad rijden. Een echte aanrader! Bron: Mariska Bechis

‘Beep, beep…beep beep…beep beep’, de wekker gaat om acht uur af. Met een klap doe ik hem uit: stilte. Ik kijk naast me en daar ligt mijn geliefde nog in een diepe coma, heel ver weg van hier. Waarschijnlijk door de gezellige avond van gister. We hebben bij een mooi en authentiek restaurantje gegeten, met twee heerlijke, rode, Bulgaarse flessen wijn erbij. Met een lief stemmetje maak ik hem wakker: ‘Lief, we moeten opstaan. Vandaag gaan we “off road”’.

Het ontbijt verloopt zoals de afgelopen twee weken: meneer Jong moet nog even wakker worden, terwijl ik alvast in de keuken bezig ben met tosti’s maken en water opzetten voor de koffie. Veel koffie voor vandaag. Terwijl ik naar onze kleine, blauwgeverfde balkon loop, lijkt het alsof er een groot hardcore party aan de gang is in mijn hoofd. Maar als ik buiten sta verschijnt er een grote glimlach op mijn gezicht: wat is het toch heerlijk hier aan het Zonnestrand. ’s Avonds één groot feest en overdag met je dikke kater aan het strand liggen. Maar Bulgarije bestaat niet alleen uit zon, zee, strand en drank, maar ook uit bergen.

Terwijl het feest zich van mijn hoofd naar mijn maag heeft doorgezet, lopen wij ons appartement uit. Twee minuten later zien we aan de overkant van de hoofdweg ons vervoersmiddel voor vandaag al klaar staan: een witte, stoere, grote jeep met aan beide kanten een rode, bloederige tekst geplaatst, de ‘Off Road Adventure’-jeep. Mijn vriend en ik mogen instappen. In de jeep zitten we met een internationaal gezelschap: de Bulgaarse gids, een Brits gezinnetje met zo’n typisch roodharig, bleek, dikkig, Brits kindje, wij de Hollanders en natuurlijk…Duitsers! Die zijn overal aanwezig.

9.30 uur: het avontuur gaat beginnen. Met onze stoere monster betreden wij de ongelijke paden van de berg, samen met vijf andere rijdende draken voor ons. Gelukkig is inmiddels het feest in mijn maag gestaakt, want de naam van deze activiteit liegt er niet om: je schokt, schudt, stoot door de jeep heen. Twee tips: de avond ervoor niet te veel drinken en neem anti-wagenziekpilletjes mee!
Één ding verzeker ik: het is onwijs leuk om dit te doen in Bulgarije. Tijdens het avontuur krijg je een prachtig landschap te zien en stop je om stoere activiteiten te doen: pijl en boog of met een geweer schieten, quad rijden en voor de liefhebbers een rondje paardrijden. Je eindigt ’s middags bij een schitterend, schoon en niet-toeristisch strand met een barretje om je avontuur met een koud biertje te beëindigen en het feest van vanavond alvast te beginnen.

To begin with, I seriously underestimated the scale of the tourism boom on the Bulgarian coast. I assumed it would be like Palanga in Lithuania – a few restaurants, some bars, a man with a monkey and a some stalls selling pashminas and cheap jewelery. I was quite wrong.

We stepped off the minibus that had taken us from Varna all along the coast, dropping off tourists into crowds of impatient Germans trying to get on board in Slanchev Bryag at about midday, tired and wanting a wash after a night on the train.

The map on the hostel’s website gave the impression that the town was a few streets, maybe ten hotels. No street names were given and when we arrived we arrived the reason for this became apparent: the buildings to house the huge crowds were still being built, streets springing up between them as a consequence.Maps and anyone we asked to help us find the hostel clearly couldn’t keep up.

Eventually we located it between three building sites, 2 resorts and a giant puddle in a muddy soon-to-be-paved road. It was a surprisingly nice hostel, brand new and ridiculously cheap with a small pool, generously sized beds, a reasonably quiet Australian and internet.

We went out to have a go on the long-awaited beach and explore the tacky tourist haven that we were to spend two days of unashamed beaching in. It was like what I worry areas of the south coast of Spain have turned into. There was absolutely no way you would ever know you were in Bulgaria. Signs advertising jacket potatoes, beeg and Yorkshire puddings, 1 Euro beer and hair braiding (the desire of every 13 year old who has ever gone on holiday with their parents, it seems) filled the main boulevard towards the sea. There was a man with a small, unhappy looking alligator in his arms. There were chubby, sunburt, poorly dressed (of the ‘my teenager daughter has this in a size 10 so I bought it too’ school of dressing), their kids in football kits in tow. You could overhear them complaining about the Cyrillic being a bit foreign and tricky. They alone seemed to populate the awful football themed pubs which advertised the nice safe Strongbow and Heineken.

Cloudy beach

The beach was lovely, or would have been if it had been sunny. The sand was clean and the novelty of swimming in the Black Sea was great. Even the rented sunloungers were of a reasonable price (£4.20 per lazy sunbather) for a tourist town. Perhaps due to the weather the each was only half full; I had been a little apprehensive as the guidebooks had only pointed remarks to make about the place and how it has the capacity to sleep 30,000 but the beach can only take 10,000. However it seemed as though the other 20,000 were drinking in the pubs instead, lucky us.

I wanted to at least give the Brits points for venturing east to Bulgaria, but judging by the conversations I overheard (naturally while travelling we had our radars on for English) there were only three topics of conversation: ‘Oooh, thank god everything’s written in English here;’ football; and how cheap everything was. It was a cause of great despair to me, but at the same time the Bulgarians were perfectly willingly succumbing to this and new buildings were coming up every day so the Brits could own a flat in this mini city of high rises.

Having said that, the nightlife was good. After the emptiness of Budapest and the…concrete of Bucharest, we were pleased to find mojitos not only freely available but with one free if you bought two. After some pottering about in the centre of the town we discovered that Euro-trance music sensation Basshunter was playing that evening. Too good an authentic Euro-trance an opportunity to turn down, we happily forked out for tickets. Basshunter is the sort of music that English 13 year olds think is really good, German boys have as their ringtones and all Swedish people love because he is Swedish and famous. Popular in Europe, Suz and I had been (only slightly) disappointed not to have heard any yet and therefore had not had an authentic European clubbing experience. Playing at a venue called Der Groede Viking and costing a respectable £6, we decided that the best thing to do would be to go and enjoy it in a strictly ironic way.

British-Bulgarian nightlife

Der Groede Viking was the sort of disco 14 year olds dream of. Flashing strobe lights, cheap drinks, a smoke machine with an overenthusiastic controller, a heaving dancefloor full of beautiful Scandinavians and an Irish hen weekend and electric Eurotrash pop music. The place won me over by playing the curious one hit wonder of 2005 by Romanian pop group O-Zone called Dragosta Din Tei. It inexplicably became famous all over Europe and was now a kind of novelty. Suz and I knew all the words.

We made friends with the Irish girls as they were seemingly ecstatic to have found people who spoke English. They complained about their heels hurting and the club being too hot in the way that women do when they put their heels on and go out to tacky clubs. I complimented one of them on their outfit (what else do you say to someone wearing a frilly leapard print corset and not much else?) and she gleefully screeched back at me “I’m wearing cycle shorts! I got them at JJB Sports!” And that was that.

Basshunter was excellent, if you like that sort of thing. Though having said that, we left after two songs and proceeded to embark on the almighty trek back to the hostel. Such is the consequence of booking the cheapest rooms in town is that you have to find your way through the maze of hotels and their adjacent building sites and scramble through undrying puddles and muddy bits of wasteland before you’re home. All of which plays havoc with one’s flip flops.

The rest of our time spent in Slanchev Bryag was slowly despairing at the Britishness of it all. Even the weather had turned cloudy and stormy. We dined in a beachside restaurant on mediocre tourist food hurled onto our table by a surly waitress. The menu came in Swedish, German, English, Danish, Norwegian and every other European language but Bulgarian, and there was a photo of every dish. We slunk back to the hostel in the evening past awful live bands with lead singers who clearly didn’t speak a word of English belting out love songs of the Bryan Adams variety in a garbled fashion, evident that they couldn’t destinguish the individual words. Ageing couples sat in silence, pints in hand, the men gawping at the young Bulgarian waitresses while the wives sat on grimly. It was pretty bleak.

On this trip we seem to be meeting more and more lone travellers and the concept of backpacking alone scares me increasingly. While they seem perfectly happy to travel, eat, drink and entertain themselves without the company of another, I cannot imagine the loneliness of doing so alone. Perhaps this is just because Suz and I are together for most hours of the day apart from naps and toilet visits, but the number of books I would have had to carry about if I travelled solo is daunting. And I say that as someone who spends 80% of the year living alone.

In times of great loneliness I tend to do my writing with the knowledge that someone (usually my mother) will read it. I am immensely enjoying travel writing on the go but I can imagine it eventually becoming my sole means of communication should I travel alone. I feel as though, come my gap year, I will spend ever increasing amounts of time scribbling furiously, writing comments about passers by and slowly forgetting how to talk, so if some kind backpacker were to befriend me, I would simply make a series of gurgling noises and grin excitedly, which might be a potential put-off. I suppose that when you travel alone you become good at just locating people of your own language and being friendly.

Naturally, the weather the next morning was boiling and sunny, a real kick in the backside when you have to slog along in a rucksack through tourists in various forms of swimwear going off to enjoy themselves. However I was very happy to be leaving Bulgaria and visiting the furthest point from home possible to us: Istanbul.