To reach it you have climbed and climbed and climbed for hours on end, starting from a mountain chalet called Bezbog, or Godless. British expat Tony McMurray, who is a financier, a philanthropist and an avid Vagabond reader, did it, in his successful effort to conquer Bulgaria's 56 highest peaks. You will read more about his climbing odyssey in this journal's next issue, but the challenge now is to guess the name of the mountain summit pictured here. A hint: Not far from Bansko.
The city was cosmopolitan and rather rundown, part Danubian and part post-Ottoman – a place where one could drink a huge Viennese coffee in a brightly lit coffee shop that served both Mitteleuropean cakes and pretzels, and Middle Eastern kataifi and baklava.
A look into its history will reveal why. Though it has medieval origins, after the 1878 liberation from the Ottomans the village was populated by ethnic Bulgarian immigrants from the Banat, now in Romania, Hungary and Serbia. The Bulgarians, offspring of the refugees from the failed Chiprovtsi Uprising two centuries previously. They were joined by a number of German families, who set up their own telltale quarter replete with a school and a Roman Catholic church. All of them were forced to resettle in the German Reich in the 1930s, leaving their houses and belongings behind.
Situated in the heart of what is probably Bulgaria's best farming land, it has a rich history of which... almost no material heritage remains. Everything was constructed anew in the 1960s and 1970s: brutalist office buildings, prefabricated housing estates, the inevitable megalomaniacal hotel and some rally-friendly squares paved with slippery slabs that seem to be in constant need of repair. But do take your time.
In Antiquity and onwards the area developed as a thriving centre for mining lead, iron, silver, gold and copper. As it happened, one of the first Bulgarian rebellions against the Ottomans originated here, in the 17th century. It was organised and led exclusively by Roman Catholics, the main religious group in the area. Today the town's main claim to fame is the local carpet weaving craft.
Cultivating the rose bushes is difficult enough, but the real challenge comes with picking up the buds: it can be done only within a few weeks in May and early June, and only very early in the morning. A relatively simple procedure follows as the rose petals are boiled and distilled, and – bingo! – the attar of roses that Bulgaria has become world famous for appears.
Besides the fortress, it sports plenty of Ottoman-era heritage, including a well-preserved city wall, a post office, a cross-shaped barracks and perhaps the most eccentric mosque this side of the Bosporous. A local maverick warlord who fell out with the sultan replaced its crescent with a... heart. And the town used to be a major meeting place for a lively Jewish community. Its magnificent synagogue, dwarfed only by the one in Sofia, lay in ruins for decades but was recently restored.
A successful negotiation of the cobbled streets, which can become treacherously slippery in wet weather, will open up a new world for you, both out- and indoors. Many of the splendid mansion-type houses can be visited, and you can sample the atmosphere of the local well-to-do folk who studied in Western Europe, whence they imported both goods and customs, and did successful business all over the world – all that at a time some Bulgarians still refer as the Turkish Yoke. Some of Bulgaria's best painters lived here: do not miss the art galleries and the antique shops.
Men and women in bathing suits partake, come rain or shine, of some hot mineral springs that flow freely through the yellowish mud. A very un-orthodox church with bold, non-Christian-like murals stands nearby. So does a small one-storey village house, a cabin really. The place is well known to thousands of Bulgarians who used to frequent that house to converse with Vanga, this country's only officially-recognised and government-endorsed clairvoyant; a mystic, who died in 1996, but who continues to star in various tabloids internationally.
Come Yuletide, and the streets swarm with adult men dressed in what appears to be a combination between early 20th century gendarme uniforms and traditionally embroidered white shirts. They march to rhythmic tunes in what looks like a symbiosis of tap dancing and the Bulgarian horo. They enter bars and restaurants, whose patrons are only too happy to disperse tips. Each part of the city has its own band. At the end of the day they all converge in the town's centre and prizes are given out to the best participants.
A bridge spanning over a turbulent whitewater river, which was constructed in such an incredible location that it was quick to gain notoriety for being otherworldly, a structure no human hand was able to accomplish without assistance from supernatural forces. Predictably, legends and myths about the bridge proliferated through the centuries, and some remain to this day. So does the bridge.
