On 25 January 1944 a paratrooper landed in a part of Serbia occupied by the Bulgarians. He was 23 years old, a British officer with orders to make contact with the Bulgarian pro-Communist resistance. His name was Frank Thompson. Within five months he would be dead, shot in a ditch outside a village most Bulgarians had never heard of.
Seasoned ancient mariners caught in a storm along the west Black Sea coast would become weary when they saw a light, indicating the nearby presence of terra firma. This did not always mean that there was a safe haven nearby. Sometimes, people living on the shore would set fires along treacherous cliffs to lure hapless ships to their demise. Then they would rob the wreck.
Мen dressed in early 20th century military uniforms, patriotic songs and speeches, lots of banners and grilled meat stalls: the people who flock to a pristine meadow, overshadowed by a sombre stone monument in the Strandzha, in the third weekend of August, are here for a purpose.
Their annual gathering, at Petrova Niva, or Peter's Field, at a picturesque bend of the Veleka River, marks a heroic and traumatic event in Bulgarian history, the St Elijah-Transfiguration Uprising.
Small villages and clusters of old, abandoned houses define the Stara Planina mountains around Troyan. Gumoshtnik, whose name is hard to pronounce even for Bulgarians, is one of them. A quiet place, its streets are largely empty and its population is only a fraction of what it was a century ago. The churchyard looks like churchyards across Bulgaria: two monuments to fallen soldiers, an old school and a locked church.
When the names of the churches were forgotten, the villagers gave them new ones. The Letters. God's Gully. The Buried Church. One they called simply The Church, a name so stripped of detail it somehow contains everything that had been lost. Centuries of monastic life, a scriptorium full of manuscripts, royal burials, eight hundred monks – all of it reduced, in the end, to a name that was really just a gesture toward something irreplaceable and gone.
Few figures in European history have left a cultural footprint as deep and enduring as 9th century saints Cyril and Methodius. Revered as the Apostles of the Slavs, the two brothers from Salonica, the modern Greek city of Thessaloniki, are remembered as missionaries, scholars, translators and creators of the first Slavic alphabet. Their legacy bridges cultures, languages and centuries.
For most of us, "writing" simply means the signs that record speech. We rarely stop to consider that writing is an independent system, with its own internal logic, structure and rules. In an European context, we automatically think of an alphabet – letters that represent sounds. In doing so, however, we tend to overlook other graphic systems: pictograms, symbolic signs and complex sets of images that also transmit information. Whether or not they contain phonetic value, all of these are forms of written communication.
Less than 20 miles from Plovdiv, near the village of Sitovo on the northern slopes of the Rhodope mountain range, a narrow patch of smoothed rock bears a set of "letters" that no one has ever deciphered. Two great stone cliffs rise from a rocky ledge to form a right angle. Above them, a pyramid-shaped rock sits like a roof over the whole structure. One of the natural pillars supporting it has a strikingly human-like shape. Locals call it the Keeper.
If you have spent in Bulgaria more than a Bansko ski weekend or a binge drinking tour of Sunny Beach, you have probably become familiar with a number of concepts, events and personalities firmly embedded in the Bulgarian national consciousness. The pagan ruler drinking wine from the severed head of a Byzantine enemy he'd just had killed is one. The creation of the alphabet that you still struggle to remember is another. The idea of lost Bulgarian might, when the country experienced its Golden Age and "spread on three seas" is as good as the previous two.
When the young Patrick Leigh Fermor – a man considered one of the 20th century greatest travel writers – visited Ruse in 1934, he stumbled upon a strange town.
These include, but are not limited to, bad or non-existent asphalt, unpredictable and uncared-for potholes, confusing signage, maniacal drivers and traffic cops that contribute to the problems rather than try to solve them. Yet anyone who is even remotely interested in looking at the world from the window of a car will instantly know that driving through Bulgaria's lesser and off-the-beaten track roads is absolutely the best way to take in the natural and cultural beauties of this country and to experience a first-hand interaction with its people.
Whitewashed houses of stone and clay brick, with bay windows and heavy roofs of crooked tiles or even stone slabs: this is what Bulgarian traditional villages and towns look like.
А wise ruler who made Bulgaria a regional and international political and technological leader, and who tirelessly worked for the prosperity of the entire nation. A stupid person who caused the Bulgarian economy to collapse at least twice. A sly politician who played Soviet Union leaders like a fiddle, securing much-needed resources for the Bulgarian economy in the midst of a global oil crisis. A national traitor who was ready to make Bulgaria just another republic of the USSR. A patriot dedicated to protecting this nation's sovereignty from a possible attack by Turkey.
Аt first glance Dobrich might disappoint. The town is in the heart of Dobrudzha, in a region that's one of the first where the Proto-Bulgars settled at the end of the 7th century. Nothing of note has remained from these early times; after the Pecheneg inroads in the 11th century, this part of Dobrudzha remained depopulated for centuries. The precursor of Dobrich appeared in the 16th century, in Ottoman times. Its name was Hadjioglu Pazardzhik.
From Lord Byron to Hungary's Sándor Petőfi to Cuba's José Martí: poetry has a fair share of authors who deserved to be labelled revolutionary not only because of their groundbreaking stanzas and language, but also for their political stance and activities. Bulgaria has Hristo Botev.
If there is one river that defines Europe in terms of landscape, history and economy, it is the Danube, a 2,850 kilometre ribbon of water that flows from the Black Forest in Germany to the Black Sea in Romania. Some 470 km of its course make up a significant part of Bulgaria's northern border – and of its history, economy and life.
The image of two men, one young and sporting a dark beard and the other older and white-bearded, with books and parchments in their hands, are to be found all over Bulgaria. There are countless statues and posters, church murals and icons. Their images multiply on 24 May, when long processions of students crowd the central streets of every city carrying posters, usually decorated with flowers.
Prehistoric goddesses dancing in dark caves. Thick forests climbing up forbidding mountains, moist from the breath of hidden waterfalls. Intriguing museums where ancient gold treasures share space with... a nuclear power plant model. Red rocks frozen in phantasmagorical shapes, with macabre stories to add. Winding rivers passing by abandoned Communist-era monuments and factories, and picturesque monasteries. Towns that have seen better times, but still strive to reinvent themselves. Roman ruins amid drab modern houses.
Heroic monuments, usually to Communist guerrilla fighters, are rather a common sight in towns and villages across Bulgaria. The heroic monument in the centre of Sennik, a village in the hills near Sevlievo, depicts neither a partizanin, nor a 19th century revolutionary. The wide-chested man of bronze who stands defiantly on his trunk-like legs was a... wrestler.
The names of foreigners, mainly Russians, are common across the map of Sofia – from Alexandr Dondukov and Count Ignatieff to Alexey Tolstoy (a Communist-era Soviet writer not to be confused with Leo Tolstoy) who has a whole housing estate named after him. An understandable situation. After Bulgaria's Liberation as a result of the 1877-1878 Russo-Turkish War, the new nation was eager to express its gratitude to the Russian Empire, its diplomats and administrators who had laid the foundations of the modern Bulgarian state.