So much of what I loved in Bulgaria could not be photographed – the beautiful insides of cathedrals – but there is still much to share from a country that opened my eyes to a culture of which I had not been familiar.
First of all: where we lived for a week — a unit at Balkan Jewel Resort. Unlike the sites in Portugal, Austria, and France, there was an intimacy in its very design. Its U shape embraced not only the pool, playground, and restaurant, but also the people. The sense of community was powerful, perhaps a result of the country’s history.
The following photo is a view from our balcony where the only table available encouraged us to be outside and in the company of others.
Near our resort was evidence of another, sadder, fact of the country’s current situation. Nearby there were so many buildings — intended resorts, I think — that were left unfinished, no doubt when funds ran out with the most recent recession.
There was optimism as well in the new construction we saw, especially at the Melnik winery.
We arrived at an unscheduled time, but were kindly given a tour by the owner and her son. Not a thing was missing, at least from our point of view, including elevators taking us to various levels of the building where we had excellent views of the workings. The winery is built on land that belonged to the family for years counted in the hundreds, removed at one point into the Ottoman empire and later into the communist state, but ultimately returned.
The best part of the tour was the graciousness of Luka and her son Alex. Luka understood English and, I suspect, could speak it better than her confidence allowed, but Alex served as a really competent interpreter. (I think the English he knew was British English.)
Especially delightful was the private wine tasting, with mother and son hosting mother and son. (I’m not in the following picture for the obvious reason that I’m taking the photo.)
The wine was excellent and the price was right given the dollar/Lev exchange rate.
We were not allowed to leave without being gifted a fresh melon and bunches of grapes Doug got to pick when escorted by Alex on a visit to the vineyards.
Our next stop was the Rozhen monastery.
Of course, we were not allowed to photograph the insides, but I did sneak a peek into the chapel. The murals were outstanding, and I did get to photograph some on the outside as well.
The next day’s visit to the Rila Monastery was extremely moving for me. Still a bustlingly active monastery, it was here, as I understand it, that, under the protection of the Ottoman empire, Bulgarian art, history, religion, and culture were preserved for the 500 years of Turkish rule. The cathedral was beyond moving with its typically, but more-so, ornate physical interior and lovely chanting during what apparently were repeated sequential masses.
People were receiving the host with tears so meaningful it evoked the same from my eyes. It seemed like a visit to Mecca for Muslims, or to the Church of the Nativity in Israel for Christians.
I wanted a photo of the inside so badly, but none were available, not even on postcards at the souvenir counter outside. That, I believe, reflects the sacredness of the spot.
But I was able to photograph some of the external murals.
We spent the next to the last day in Bulgaria just hanging out because our planned tour was cancelled by the guide. It turns out the heat was too extreme. It was only when we got home that we realized we’d been living in a heat wave. Having too much of a good time to notice, I guess. But we were pretty much ready to ease off at that point.
And Doug managed a creative meal with one frying pan and one large pot.
Served on our delightful cozy deck.
Our final full day was spent in Bansko where there were some noteworthy things to record. One reminded me of the springs of mountain water we used to enjoy in Vermont, but much more central water supplies in the city.
And there was the recycling,
Especially beautiful everywhere, I thought, were the tile decorations as part of the architecture. Here is the second floor of one of the businesses. From another angle it’s included in the new header.
We also had the good luck to arrive in Bansko on the day of the international jazz festival. Our first inkling was the set up below.
And then front row seats (because we got there early) just behind the VIP section. The entire program was in English – I guess because jazz is primarily an American product.
We elected to stay in a hotel in Sofia the night before our flight home. On the way we intended to stop at a couple of recommended sites. One we never did find, which points up how terrible the signage is. It’s not just that the signs are not in English, there just was no clear indication at all. We missed one place totally, but quite by accident we did hit upon the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral, one of the largest Eastern Orthodox Cathedrals in the world. Built to honor the dead in the war which liberated Bulgaria from Ottoman rule, it is truly an awesome sight — in the original sense of the word.
As with the cathedral at the Rila monastery, we were not allowed to take photos inside, and again I found no postcards or other sources of pictures. To tell the truth, though, it didn’t evoke the emotional reaction I experienced at the Rila Monastery with it’s place in Bulgarian history.
It was at this site that we experienced a rather sour ending to our journey. We were on a large plaza surrounding this tourist attraction. Seeing a lovely restaurant we decided to have lunch before leaving the area. We carefully moved the car to an area where there was nothing to indicate that parking was banned. And we avoided areas where signs that clearly indicated restriction to handicapped parking. Consider that we were on a plaza where tourists were clearly expected.
But after lunch we came out to find that our rental car had been booted.
Not knowing the language, and having no functioning cell phone, we had to rely on the folks at the restaurant to call the indicated number for us. The three minute wait we were promised became twenty minutes before the authorities came. We had to pay a fine of 32 lev (not a huge amount) but credit cards were rarely accepted in Bulgaria, and we had been spending down our levs, so Doug was sent off to an ATM machine while the boot cops went off to free someone else, returning after about fifteen minutes to accept the levs Doug had acquired.
In the meantime, folks passing by expressed sympathy, and I searched but found nothing that looked like a “No Parking” sign. It turns out we should just have known that, to park in Sophia, one has to text the police and buy a one or two hour permit. Hardly a possibility for tourists like us with our language and cell phone limitations. It was clear there was no eagerness to make tourists feel welcome.
Still, I’d happily return for another visit with our new awareness. And, at the hotel restaurant we were treated very kindly by the host who brought us tap water and veggies even though we had declined to order them. With a smile, he indicated he knew we were almost out of levs. (Remember, credit cards are generally not acceptable.)
And so ended our four-week European adventure,with fond memories of Bulgaria in spite of the sour note at the end.
I won’t even bore you with the problems with our flight home. Well, just a hint, we were scheduled to fly from Paris to Minneapolis on a flight number that didn’t exist. Actually, we were lucky to get one the same day. Delta did give us some flight miles, but the truth is it was the fault of the travel agency, not the airline. So, thank you Delta.
Back in my college days, it was a pretty common sight to see a classmate sitting by the mailbox hoping the mailman (sic) would allow her to retrieve the letter she wrote in haste and regretted sending. Today there’s an even greater danger of doing something in haste that will be regretted later. That’s what I thought of as I decided to enter the following on my Facebook page. 4giveletGrow.
“WAIT! Don’t take action when you are in the midst of shock and pain over the wrong you have suffered. One of our forgiveness class members pointed out yesterday that e-mail heightens the danger; it’s so easy to press “send.” Wait! Process and wait!”
Today on 4giveletGrow:
“We can blame somebody and refuse to forgive him. But we cannot forgive him if we dare not blame him.” Lewis B. Smedes, page 77 in the “Art of Forgiving,” (my favorite book after my own.)
Yesterday on 4giveletGrow:
Today’s 2:00 a.m. thought. After the hurt two things are needed: grieving and rebuilding/restructuring – and they probably shouldn’t be done in the same place.
This morning I finished giving a four-session course on forgiveness to a wonderful group of about 15 people. I’ll miss them, but I’ll carry the good fruits of our relationship for a long time. And I hope they will too.
I know. I should have shared Bulgaria long ago, but the tail I’ve been chasing continues to elude me.
I have returned to entering stuff on my Facebook page, though. Please go to Facebook and search on 4giveLetGrow.
These are the entries from yesterday and today.
11/12/13: Finishing up a forgiveness course this week with a group of amazing people. One thought of many to follow. Forget about “Forgive and Forget.” You won’t forget, unless you’re extremely good at denial or repression. But you can find relief from the pain.
11/13/13: Picking up the pieces after the offense. hurt, confusion, anger — what did happen? Not at all easy, but the first step is to pull together the facts. What? When? Details. Maybe why? Any stories to share?
I’ve been chasing my tail, but I did catch part of it.
To tell the truth, I had thought I’d take the challenge of writing a blog entry every day, but it just didn’t work out.
Most recently I’ve finished a project called “If Mona Dies.” Yes, I got that from my big brother who did just that in 1998. but his humor stays with me.
What’s that? Well, I’ve been pulling together into one folder all the stuff my family needs to know “if I die” or become incapacitated. I had no idea what I was getting into. My life is just not that complicated, but it would be if someone else had to straighten out the pieces.
Don’t be alarmed. This is not an announcement. I’m planning on hanging around for at least another 20 years, but I remember what a blessing it was when my mother died with everything taken care of. All we needed to do was give away most of her stuff to the nursing home and take home a few small mementos. (a clock and a small leather change purse.) The rest had all been spelled out in the appropriate legal documents. Time to bid goodbye without frazzlement. (I know that’s not a real word, but it says what I mean.)
I want things to be as close as possible to that simplicity.
And I am grateful that I have this problem. Just as my hot morning shower reminds me of people who are deprived of that opportunity, so this activity reminds me how fortunate I am to have a home and all the stuff that’s in it.
Other things have been going on too. I’ve been teaching a course on forgiveness to an absolutely wonderful group of people at Mt. Calvary Lutheran Church in Excelsior. I’m still working at finding a new publisher for “Mrs. Job” or whoever she might become. And I’m still gathering data needed to write “My Father’s House.”
Oh, and in between, real life goes on.
My request to you. Please forgive me for failing to follow through on blog events.
I can’t believe I’ve been home so long since the four week visit to Europe. Time flies, filled with so many activities: working on finding a new home for the “new” Mrs. Job, doing research for “My Father’s House,” planning a course on Forgiveness for Mount Calvary at the end of this month, organizing photos, etc. But now I’m ready to share our stay at Mougins, France from July 28 – August 2.
One comment in general. In France, we are still in the alps, and sometimes my son forgets that I have a 28 year head start on him, but I did survive the walks up and down hills. No doubt it was good for me. And that’s what we did — uphill, anyway, on our first full day in Mougins. We climbed to the city. There was a rest on the way at — guess what — a cemetery. Somehow cemeteries become interesting tour stops. In this case, on the way to Mougins, I treasured it especially as a breather. Amazing the efforts to preserve our loved ones.
I will admit, the visit to Mougins was a delight. It turns out that Picasso spent the last 12 years of his life there, and they do take advantage of it, almost as much as Salzburg celebrated Mozart.
The street scenes were charming.
And that includes the shops. They even had a milliner’s shop there, along with so many other artistic delights.
For some reason I was into trees on this trip, like this one in Mougins.
I’m happy to say we went back down to our time share by way of an elevator. I think walking down is even harder than walking up.
Our next journey was to the Riviera. I have no desire to go back. I’m no longer a sun worshipper, nor do I like crowds, and we drove through plenty of both. I’ll say this for it, though. The waters are beautifully clear, enough to evoke envy.
And one finds the remains of great wealth, as in the Villa Ephrussi de Rothschild. It’s hard to imagine living in such a lavish place. It must have taken the inhabitants all morning to make the tour just through the inside to say nothing of the fabulous gardens outside. As for other activities, I can’t remember what they said about how often the owner’s clothes were changed during the day. More often than mine, that’s for sure.
But to see it was a pleasure both inside and out. My photo comes nowhere near doing it justice. What you see is just a small part of it.
And then there are the gardens.
Doug, seeking the ideal spots for photographs just missed being a part of the aquatic show.
It was all-in-all a delightful place to spend several hours.
And then it was on to Kerylos. Here’s where I confess even greater ignorance. I know the owners were somehow related to Ms. Rothschild (who also had a married name that I can’t remember), but the important thing is they wanted to live like the ancient Greeks, so their home was a replica of a Greek villa. I did manage to get one photo that reflected the style.
That made a day of it. giving us a chance to rest up for our guided trip the next day to Fort Royal where The Man in the Iron Mask was imprisoned. I don’t feel ignorant that I can’t tell you who he was, because “they” don’t know either
I’m not really clear on the history of it, or the artists, but inside where the cells were once occupied paintings have now been added. For example …
In Cannes enroute from the Fort we had our own moment of fame, except no one was there to applaud. But we did get to pose on the red carpet — stars for the moment.
One of my favorite visits was nowhere near so extreme either on the luxury end of the scale, nor on the misery-in-prison end. And we were fortunate to do it, because the Renoir Museum was just re-opening after being closed for repairs. I loved the repairs. They repaired it, but left it basically as the simple home it was when Renoir and his students worked there. This scene could have been in any home of the period (1920-30ish).
The house was filled with paintings and sculpture by Renoir and his students.
He never stopped painting, but toward the end of his life it was with great pain. Before he could even pick up a brush he needed a helper to wrap his hands, gnarled with arthritis. But paint he did, and here is where he did it.
Still into my tree thing, I picked this one up outside his home.
As if to emphasize the difference, a visit to the Grimaldi’s followed. One photo seemed to me to display the lavishness of the place.
Finally, the visits that most affected my sense of smell were two perfume factories in Grasse, Perfumerie Fragonard (on the inside)
and Perfumerie Montenard (from the outside.)
I did buy a gift of soap for a friend at the first stop. These days I really don’t like scents, but by the time we’d been through the factory Ihad become adapted, I guess. I bought what I thought was very lightly scented until I got up the next day and found the fragrance filling the room. I packed it in several layers for the transport hime. I hope my friend will like it.
One last stop before flying on to Bulgaria from Milan. We did go into the center of Milan, but I think I was suffering from something close to heat exhaustion so I was only half with it. Enough to get this photo, though, of the Milan Cathedral.
Thanks for keeping me company. One more country still to go — Bulgaria.