TASTY & TESTY SUMMER TRIP TO BULGARIA

 TASTY & TESTY TRIP TO BULGARIA

Going back to Bulgaria once in a while is about getting in a world I have left many years ago. I keep coming back to see if the sea is deeper, the mountains are higher, the people are as hospitable as they were before. Did the trials and errors of the politicians and economy have changed them? I kept my eyes wide open. I did not want to miss a thing.

I will not write a tour guide, or a beautiful story of the country, often neglected by foreigners, who favor the bordering countries -- Turkey or Greece. The Internet has plenty of them all. "This is Bulgaria" trailer on YouTube takes you masterfully into this tiny country in Eastern Europe and leaves you in one minute wondering how in the world you did not know about it. 

I am born and raised in Bulgaria. I visited her this summer along with my American husband and my family, residing in other parts of Europe. 

We all admired the beauty of the land, the little villages with churches; some were more preserved than the houses around; the pleasant Mediterranean climate, the beaches and the Black Sea. My husband was very excited about the trip (his second one.) It was supposed to be a laid-back, relaxing vacation, lying at the beach with family, eating nice food, engaging in the endless Bulgarian conversations. No plans, no pressure. 

My husband knows the food in Bulgaria is fresh and he will eat a LOT of it... I don't blame him. Americans love to eat. Without good food, the vacation is never complete. 
 
The first meal did not disappoint. It was sooo delicious, all countries' representatives at the table gave it a "hands down."  We called it "Bulgarian version of the Mexican fajitas." 

In my opinion, it was 10 times better. It had an abundance of vegetables -- eggplants, squash, onions, potatoes, garlic, peppers. Meat was represented by pork and chicken. Many spices, herbs, flavors... It was cooked in a deep cast iron pan -- slowly, very slowly, to allow each ingredient to have enough play time with the others.
 

I already said the blog post is about "tasty and testy." We already had the tasty. The testy, annoying, making you scream part was the customer service. 

My husband was the only one at the table not speaking Bulgarian. The rest were multi-language speakers.  Sometimes, among Bulgarians, I get away with not translating everything to him. Not this time. When I translate with one sentence a long conversation, it is clear to him, I am skipping what he is not supposed to know. So, I translated every word the waiter in a restaurant said to us. The commotion, the facial expression spoke for themselves. In response to our question about the wait time, he answered,"Do you expect me to go to the kitchen and cook for you?"

Just like that! Testy, uuuhhh. In a split second, the kitchen magic was gone. Our jaws dropped. 

We are both foodies. In the restaurant world we live, we have not witnessed anything like that. But, the good food compensated for the bad customer service. The waiter "took the cake."

It was a complete relief to see a  totally different type of service in a small village restaurant. What we did not find in the big city, we found it in the village. We saw the true, down to earth, friendly people, unscathed by any filth in life. They did not care who is from where. They smiled... They showed all they are capable to cook and it stood up in our minds. Everyone back in USA heard stories about the village, the hospitality and the smiles.

The Black Sea resorts offer in many areas the "Everything Included" business model. Extended eating hours, bars, restaurants. Variety was there, but cooking for hundreds of people coming at the same time always affects the taste and abundance of the most popular dishes. I could never get up early enough to get all the fruits I like, nor did I get the signature sweet bread. At least, I boast about making it around Easter in USA. However, all the kids were happy; they did not ask for variety.

Keeping it real, there is food and drinks all the time, clean pools next to the hotels, work-out areas, entertainments for children and adults -- tennis, children shows, saunas, massages,  aerobics. The Sea itself presents a memorable view. 

We snuck out one day to see a small little town close by. The old part with the souvenirs and handmade crocheted table cloths, the rose oil and rose beauty creams filled my bag. Excellent presents. All my friends smell like Bulgarian roses now. 

The cobble streets took us to a fantastic little restaurant. My husband got the fish of his dreams - turbot, the famous Bulgarian salad, and fresh mussels. It is all captured in the pictures below.

We had 3 hours of food blitz. I wish it was more. We met a young man, who served us. He was very serious at the beginning, but once he learned I was Bulgarian, he warmed up. He told us that every day they serve fish, whose road from the net to being cooked and served is very short. "Come again in the evening. There is music playing. I will save you a table!" He offered. We wish we could.

I am trying to save the real testy for last. It was again customer service, who made us think of not going to the same hotel again. It must have been our bad luck. 

It really weighs heavy on my heart. Americans say "nothing hurts like the truth." I debated a lot if I should be the one to criticize constructively, or I should be like most of the other expats in USA -- soaking in nostalgia, enjoying every visit without being bothered by the sand in my shoes.

I choose to stay true to myself.

It is not unusual to have problems with Internet connection in most European hotels. We had to find this special corner in the room or in the common areas, where the signal is strong enough to connect with my husband's office. Both of our phones could not be used at the same time. I gave up my rights in favor of the work my husband did. He needed to be in touch with  his office and did real work during vacation.

One day, the internet was down in any location of the hotel. We went to the reception area to explain the problem. The answer from the front desk was, "This is not my fault!"; "This is not my responsibility." After my husband asked for the manager, he was told that the manager was in a meeting. There was no "I am sorry, Sir. We are working on it. I apologize for inconveniencing you." An hour later, I tried to use my Bulgarian language. The manager was around this time

I have no clue how I kept my composure.  Maybe, living in USA really changed me.... The internet was back on shortly, but my husband did not get any "sorry."

You may argue, that this is not a big deal. The big deal [to me] is the lack of regret and respect for the customer.

The sign you see to the left of the paragraph was put on my fridge upon my return. It reflected the predominant business attitude. 

Then, I took it down and replaced it with a beautiful picture of the Black Sea.  

One hotel will not put a stain on the restaurant and cleaning crew trying to earn a living there. Tourism provides the major employment in the area. These people did quietly and diligently their jobs. 

We Thank All of Them.

Blog Disclaimer: Some characters appearing in this blog are fictitious or composite. Any resemblance to real situations and real people are purely coincidental. The owner will not be liable for any errors or omissions nor for the availability of this information. The owner will not be liable for any losses, injuries, or damages from the display or use of this information.

 

THE GIRL & THE RUFA FISH

THE GIRL & THE RUFA FISH

This a story about a girl I met at a rufa fish treatment spa.

While vacationing on the Black Sea in Bulgaria, I chanced upon a spot where rufa fish are used to feed on the dead cells on your feet. Two water tanks with warm water are filled with little fish, hundreds of them. They feed on the dead cells and exfoliate your feet. 

I am not an adventurous type woman. But when I saw something unusual like that, I jumped at the chance.

The place was not terribly busy; it was around noontime.

Photo courtesy of artztsamui/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Then, I met the young girl. Rosy cheeks, long brown hair, clear bright eyes. She asked me if I had any lotion on my feet and directed me to the water faucet nearby. I came back clean and the fun began -- for the fish, for me , and the girl. She set the timer and sat across from me. 

Our twenty minutes together was all we needed to get to know each other in our own special way.

The questions and answers were flying in both directions. She was a natural-born journalist. She had the passion and the wide eyes.

While she stayed with me, she kept her eyes closely on what was going on in the shop. The books were in order; the payments were in order; the smile never left her face. 

New customers came. Since there was no sign about the requirement to have the feet clean from any lotion, it became obvious the foreign customers did not understand what she asked them to do. She was quick on her feet -- she put me to work. Good thing I did not say to the clients "Wash your damn feet. The fish are crying!" I wanted to, but I was not the boss :)

After we took care of the newcomers, she was back, dangling her feet and writing in her memory notebook all she asked -- where we live, how far it is, when did I go to the USA, why, what do I do, what does my husband do. She told me about her family, her love for reading, learning English. 

Once she was done with this, she sized me up real well. She said, "Keep you sunglasses on. You look much better with them!" My response was, "You mean much younger." She smiled. 

The girl went on to tell me something no one mentioned to me in Bulgaria. Everyone complimented my Bulgarian.

"You know, your Bulgarian is very different." She spread her arms in the air, like the wings of a bird. 

I had to help her. "Give me an example!" 

"You do not say 'I am going,' you say it like 'I am gooooo-ing.'"

She said it like a little actress. I had to agree that may be my Bulgarian had become  a little "dramatic."

Once she was done with me, she moved on to asking my husband questions. I told her he was American. She guessed he taught English. I explained his occupation, which she liked. 

My husband was watching on the side the conversation between us -- the two chatterbox children. He jumped in,  shaking the girl's hand and introducing himself. She shook his hand. She was touched by the attention. The red cheeks were red from the sun, but the eyes were not lying. 

My time with the rufa and the girl was up. I gave her a hug and we said good bye to each other.

I will certainly forget a lot from the Black Sea vacation, but I will not forget the girl and the rufa fish. 



Blog Disclaimer: Some characters appearing in this blog are fictitious. Any resemblance to real situations and real people are purely coincidental. The owner will not be liable for any errors or omissions nor for the availability of this information. The owner will not be liable for any losses, injuries, or damages from the display or use of this information.