The saying "bitter like pelin" aptly describes the opinion of a large part of the drinking community, and probably of all teetotallers, in Bulgaria. They believe that this wormwood wine is definitely not to die for.
But the strange drink - neither wine, nor sangria, nor aperitif a la Fernet - has enough fans among the rest of the population. So many, in fact, that the EU has agreed to accept it as a Bulgarian trademark denoting an aromatic wine-based drink.
At the beginning of October, another spanner was thrown into the works in Bulgarian-British relations, already fraught with questions over immigration and British labour market policy. It came in the form of a rare 12th Century Byzantine plate. The ancient treasure was a source of consternation both for Christie's and for Bulgarians, who accused the auction house of trying to sell an artefact that had allegedly been smuggled out of the country.
Until recently, Germany was considered the "locomotive" of Bulgaria's accession to the EU. For years, it was seen as the most outspoken advocate of Bulgaria's membership. In 2006, however, an increasing number of warnings have been voiced in political circles in Berlin and especially in Munich, that neither Bulgaria nor the other candidate country, Romania, are ready to become full members of the exclusive European club.
As I drive frequently, I am stopped frequently - usually for speeding. The best advice to foreigners that I can give is, when stopped by the police, be sure to speak absolutely no Bulgarian - even if you can. Even a basic understanding of the language is a sure indication to the police that you should know better than to break the traffic laws. You might even try saying in your most innocent mid-western American accent (if you can do one) " I am sorry officer, but I just don't understand... I am sorry... what". Complete ignorance is the best defence.
There are probably not many English authors who can claim to have accompanied the launch of their book with a live set of Bulgarian folksongs. At the Helikon bookshop in Sofia this October, Christopher Buxton picked up his guitar and sang for the audience attending the Bulgarian launch of his novel Far From the Danube.
"You need a 64p stamp to Bulgaria," said the clerk at my local Indian-run postoffice. "It's not in the EU."
"Yet," I added.
"Ah yes," he smiled. "I read in the paper. They're afraid Bulgarians and Romanians will take their jobs."
"We just bought a house in Bulgaria," a woman in the queue said. "Frankly, I don't think they'll come in their hundreds of thousands. Why would they, there's so much going on there."
London has poured cold water on Bulgaria's mounting excitement over its entry into the EU next year.
While preaching the benefits of integration and the free movement of peoples, the government of prime minister Tony Blair last month announced
Unveiled by Home Secretary John Reid at the height of a xenophobic tabloid newspaper campaign that portrayed Sofia as hopelessly corrupt and crime-ridden, the new rules would severely restrict the right of Bulgarians (and Romanians) to work in Britain. Note that Bulgarians will still be able to live in the UK after 1 January.
Well, 'tis the season and all that and, as this goes to print, people all over the Western world will be gearing up for that special festive time when we see family, exchange tokens of love, wallow in gluttony and try not to get into any rows over the dinner table. In many families the flow of conversation throughout the big day will be largely affected by the flow of wine. Normal conversation taboos will slowly be eroded.
Somewhere in outer space the voice of Bulgarian folksinger Valya Balkanska is hurtling toward the stars. The recording of her singing the folksong Izlel je Delyo Hajdutin, the Bulgarian Shepherdesses' Song, was one of 27 tracks included on a gold disc that was launched into space onboard the Voyager spacecraft in 1977. It was part of a NASA project in collaboration with American popular scientist Carl Sagan, to bring a greeting from Planet Earth to any alien life forms out there in the far reaches of the universe.
The Bulgarian name for Christmas, Koleda, still bears traces of the holiday's pagan origin: the Roman festival Kalendae, celebrated on 25 December, the day when the new sun was born. Despite some minor differences, both Anglican and Orthodox Christmases have gradually lost their religious significance. They have been commercialised and, for many, are now just another excuse for a shopping binge.
Hackscomplainthat little is happening in Bulgarian literature these days, but they are wrong. In October, a book by a young woman made headlines in the tabloids, some of which took the unusual course of kindly publishing both sympathetic interviews with the author and large excerpts from her oeuvre. Some Bulgarians old enough to remember Communism and its collapse at the end of 1989 were infuriated, but others hailed the book as a "literary phenomenon".
OK, you've been to Greece, Turkey, and possibly southern Italy. You've kind of got used to manic drivers, street dogs, piles of litter, and Roma women approaching you with offers to read your palm. You had a dodgy tummy in Athens; you developed aches, pains and allergies in Istanbul; and your purse got nicked in Naples. You think you've seen it all? Bulgaria can still surprise you.
Georgi Lozanov is Bulgaria's most prominent intellectual. A philosopher, a professor of mass communications in several universities, a former member of the Electronic Media Council, the incumbent editor-in-chief of a popular lifestyle monthly magazine, and an outspoken critic of the system, he is by Bulgarian standards the equivalent of Noam Chomsky, with a strong dash of the Wildean penchant for bons mots - no matter whether he is talking about the legacy of Communism, organised crime, the petty games played in the Bulgarian media or the best restaurants in Sofia.