There's a famous joke about a British tourist in Paris who, mustering his meagre schoolboy linguistic skills, ordered a citron presseé in a café. He was beginning to savour the prospect of a freshly squeezed lemon juice until the French waiter laughed and asked if he wanted a squashed car!
I don't go out of my way to hang out with other expats in my free time. Of course, there are a couple of bars in Sofia you can go to if you really need a conversation about football, or to reminisce about good ol' stuff from the old country, like meat pies, or Eastenders.
But chances are you're going to end up copping an ear-bashing from some tedious old property developer, or casino manager, who is much more interested in your girlfriend than your views on TV soaps, British pastry dishes, or Liverpool FC.
It is just after nine o'clock on a Monday morning. While I have coffee with friends in the courtyard of Ivan Vazov's house in central Sofia, the ground floor windows of the edifice opposite open. The building concerned houses a laboratory. Soon, a strong scent of lavender wafts towards us. Or sometimes it's of mint, roses or geranium – the aroma varies. But it always manages to override the capital's musty air for a few minutes.
You may think that Bulgarians are non-violent, peace-loving people who hate sending troops to Iraq. You are wrong. Many Bulgarians believed that King Simeon's aggressive wars (see Vagabond 10) marked a high point in the country's history and that the 40 years of calm under his successor, King Peter, were a period of decline that actually led to the fall of Bulgaria under Byzantine rule. However, the long years of peace enabled the country to resist for decades before losing its political independence in 1018.
HALF A COUNTRY FOR A PRINCESS
This situation has now been clarified by customs authorities who confirm that cars can be left anywhere in accordance with Ministerial Act No. 725. So readers can now disregard the information on this particular subject in our June issue.
Susannah then wrote to us again.
Dear VAGABOND,
Many British actors approaching 60 appear a little dissipated. By contrast, the fit and muscular figure I meet in a Sofia café looks like he could do 40 press-ups and then sprint around the capital's Nevskiy Square. But, then again, the performer in question once played athlete Harold Abrahams, forever immortalised in the 1981 movie Chariots of Fire.
She's the former manageress of a special café for mentally ill people (that enjoyed protected status), a property consultant who uses her background as a psychotherapist to help clients and a journalist who writes about real estate. And, as if this wasn't enough, she's also written two books. It may sound like an exhausting remit but Stanislava Ciurinskiene copes with her diverse roles admirably well. “They complement each other,” she says. “I became interested in psychology because I wanted to know more about myself.
You're in a prefabricated, concrete-housing building, furnished with the standard, ugly wallpaper, carpeting and lamps from the era of “developed Socialism”. It's the kind of home few Europeans aspire to in 2007. Indeed, until 1989, thousands risked their lives to leave this type of apartment and the drab uniformity that stretched far beyond interior designs.