Peonies!

This past weekend, thunderstorms forced us to cancel our overnight hike. However, I got a call from Sam on Saturday asking if I wanted to see wild peonies in bloom. Tis' the season, and since the anticipated thunderstorms never really materialized, I was feeling antsy for a hike. About an hour from Sofia, near the town of Klenovik, there's a mountain famous for its peony fields. Because it doesn't lie in the rainshadow of Vitosha, the climate there is slightly different, and so is the vegetation. Our guide was Tim, a Brit who has lived here for ten years and knows the area well. On the way, he offered a handsome prize to the first person to see a peony. It didn't take long...

But first, in the car on the way there, we spotted a stork's nest on the side of the road. One of their favorite places to roost is above powerline poles. This particular nest had about five babies in it, a few of which are peeking up in this picture.

And right next to it, a field of poppies.

Finally, we got to the mountain and commenced our search.

It didn't take us long to find the first one...

And then a few more...

And more...

And bushels more...

And then a whole field!

Sam's dog Annie very much enjoyed the peony hunting.

As did the bees.

And the moths.

Overall, the day was a great success. And Tim, of course, won his own contest. Luckily he didn't specify a prize when he made his challenge. We decided his prize would be seeing more peonies.

Plovdiv

Though Sofia is Bulgaria's capitol, most people in the country consider Plovdiv, the city with the second highest population, more representative of Bulgaria's culture. It's cleaner, the roads are smoother, and the town has preserved much of its architectural flair from the Bulgarian Revival. On our way back from the Rhodopes on Sunday, Betsy and I stopped off in Plovdiv for a quick tour of the old town. You can see why Bulgarians are so proud.

Spring in the Rhodopis

A rainstorm approaches our meadow

Did you know pussy willows turn pink and orange?

This Way to Beauty

One of Bulgaria's Sunflowers, 8 months later

Maybe I should get a smoke blue hat too, it's quite becoming.

Shiroka Laka

Shiroka Laka is now one of my favorite Bulgarian towns. Will, Georgi, and I spent a day there on our recent swing through the Rhodopes; we were enchanted by its old-world atmosphere and enthralled by the stunning hiking available in the surrounding hills. The tiny village is composed of about 100 homes, virtually all of which are constructed in the Bulgarian Revival style of wood beams and jutting windows, often with stone foundations. Unlike the colorful houses of Koprivshtitsa, though, these are mostly white or cream color with dark wood accents, rendering them more aesthetically consistent with the mountainous environment. It's a thoroughly charming walk back in time, further enhanced by the fact that these houses are painstakingly preserved as such; there is even new building going on in the same style. Wood smoke and arch bridges complete the experience. On Monday, after a hike to a nearby ridge that brought us to an alpine pasture, we returned to town for dinner at a local restaurant. Sitting outside in the crisp mountain air, we enjoyed patatnik (a Rhodopean potato specialty), kachamak (a Rhodopean corn meal specialty), and other local dishes (bean stew, shopska salad). As the sun went down, we remarked about how there was nowhere else in the world that we could have had the combined outdoor-culinary experience that we had that day.

This was one of several stone arch bridges we saw in the Rhodopes.

The sun sets on a home built in typical Bulgarian Revival style.

Will and me outside the Ethnographic Museum.

The town church

Will enjoying our last few moments in Shiroka Laka, as we waited for our breakfast outside a restaurant

A Weekend in Sandanski

Rila Monastery under Snow

One of the many murals, and me

On the drive

The indoor pool at Spa Medite (photo carefully angled to avoid swimmers)

When I told my seniors I spent the weekend in Sandanski, many faces lit up and they shouted "Intriga!" To my amusement, one immediately handed me a business card for an exclusive night club in that town, for the next time I return. Silly me, spending all my time at a spa when I could have been dancing the nights away at Intriga. Ah well, maybe next time.

Brett and I took off on a bitterly cold day in Sofia after getting a jump start from a team of friendly ACS maintenance and security guys. We drove around the crowded ring road, across the cobblestone way that leads to the main thoroughfare to Greece, through an intensely foggy mountain pass, and out into the sunshine of Southern Bulgaria, snowy mountains cresting the Horizon. We pulled off the main way for a quick trip to Rila monastery, excited to see it in its winter garments.

The drive up the mountain was gorgeous in that full sunshine just after a snowstorm kind of way. Every branch and curve of the river was wearing melting tufts and peaks of snow, and giant icicles hung from rocky patches on the sides of the road. Snowy pine forests ranged across the shadowed hill to our right as the sun beamed onto the cliffs on our left. We swerved often to avoid patches of rocks on the road but since we were virtually the only travelers headed toward Rila, it didn't much matter.

We joined five other visitors, one gigantic dog and one wandering monk in the courtyard to enjoy the splendid colors of the monastery framed in white mountains. Then we took off for Sandanski.

We arrived into the outskirts after an hour and were pleased to see large signs pointing us ever upward to Spa Medite, which turned out to be in "Sandanski Heights." We added our car to the three or so others in the spa lot, and went in, taking note of a grassish looking tennis court and NO SNOW.

Checked in, and having checked out the fluffy bathrobes in our closet and made massage appointments for later, we headed out for some tennis, stunned to be playing outside after waking up in weather so cold as to kill our trusty 1994 Volkswagen Golf.

For the next twenty four hours we enjoyed the comforts of Spa Medite - a giant jacuzzi in a private deck, a heated pool in the middle of a solarium, a gym, massage, pedicure, and a lovely restaurant that produced Brett's "2nd favorite ever meal" and the best creme brule we've ever tried.

Throughout it all, I found myself wondering, why do we seem to be the only ones here? At dinner, we joined one other couple in a restaurant that could seat at least 40. The bar was empty save for the barman. My name seemed to be the only one on the spa schedule for Saturday, and the jacuzzi was available the moment I asked for it. What was going on?

It was my pedicurist, Sonia, who tipped me off. "The border is closed," she said. "Most of our customers come from Greece." It turns out that protesting farmers have parked trailors and tractors across every border crossing between Bulgaria and Greece, and trucks are back-parked for miles. No Greek tourists can come and enjoy the chocolate croissants, Turkish lights massages and outdoor tennis of Spa Medite until the farmers get what they want. It struck me as amazing that the border had really been closed for a whole month.

Photo from The Sofia Echo

Here's an excerpt from an article about the blockade:

The farmers drove tractors and heavy machinery to the borders with Albania, Turkey and Macedonia to block border traffic there as well.

Earlier this week, the Bulgarian government appealed to the European Union to take "immediate" action to end the blockades.

Greece's socialist government, which is struggling to cope with an unprecedented economic crisis and pressure from the European Union to curb the highest budget deficit in the 27-nation bloc, promised to provide state aid by mid-March and urged farmers to dismantle the roadblocks.

However, the government rejected the farmers' demands of new subsidies worth about 1 billion euros (1.4 billion dollars). Agriculture Minister Katerina Batzeli said in a televised discussion that the country's precarious fiscal situation made subsidies impossible.

The country's farmers estimated their income has declined by 25 per cent in the past 10 years. The farming sector is composed mainly of small-scale farmers who rely on handouts from the government to survive.

Last year, a monthlong protest in which farmers blocked roads also triggered major problems for commercial truck drivers and travellers. (Read more: here)

We enjoyed our weekend at Spa Medite, but felt bad for it too. It is providing a wonderful bit of tourism inside Bulgaria, a country that deserves and badly needs effective tourism, and now it is undoubtedly draining money every day. On the other hand, what are the Greek farmers to do?

Back to Rila

On our way to Sandanski this weekend, we decided to take a little side trip to Rila Monastery, the most visited site in Bulgaria. We first went there on our orientation trip a year and a half ago. Founded by the hermit Ivan Rilski in 927, it is now a UNESCO World Heritage sight that sits amidst the Rila mountains. Earlier this year, I was able to peer at Rila from the ridge far above, during a hike on Maliovitsa (in the background). Ever since then, I've been wanting to see it coated in snow. The weather kindly obliged, and the only question was weather we'd be able to make it up the rock-strewn access road. Luckily it was on the south side of the mountain, and early morning sun was already melting the snow.

Rila is known for being a sanctuary to Bulgarian heritage during the long Ottoman occupation. Its library houses 16,000 volumes, many of which are hand-written originals. The impressive frescoes were painted in the 1840s and remain remarkably bright today. (Thanks to Thomas Cook for this information.)

Bulgaria's stray dogs have even made it to Rila, where they beg for alms from visitors.

Though it is often overrun with tourists, Rila is still a working monastery.

You can see the monk from the previous picture on the middle level here, perhaps walking toward his room. These halls are off limits to tourists.

The impressive fresco lining the main monastery.

Colors of Koprivshtitsa

Scenes from the Village

The only village church we saw

My father and Marilyn