A visit to Bulgaria has been on my bucket list for many years. Luck would have it: I have a 5 day window between gigs. Following a brief Skyscanner scroll, my flight to Varna, Bulgaria is booked! Three days later I touch down, somewhere along the Black Sea coast.

 

Following the usual stampede to disembark the plane, my adventure isn’t getting off to the best start, boarding the delight we all know as airplane shuttle buses:

 

I am thrown around like a popcorn kernel, between armpits - clutching my bag for deal life.  I am now in medical need of a beer. However, my beer will be warm by the time my hands are anywhere near it:

 

The queue for non EU passport holders stretches almost back out onto the runway. Surprise, surprise - there is only one lady ‘manning’ the queue. I remind myself this is one of the many benefits bestowed on me by Brexit voters. Blessed be the fruit.

 

After exiting departures, I hop aboard the airport bus waiting outside the terminal. I attempt to pay the driver, however, he waves me on, so I take a seat. As the bus pulls away, a rather stern faced bus attendant corners me. She must be 80 years young and I can already see that she is the kind of person who really enjoys her job. 

 

I suspect she has a line on her face for every tourist she has filleted with a steak knife.

 

As I produce my card, to happily purchase my ticket, she mutters something under her breath in Bulgarian. It transpires, through my limited Bulgarian, she does not accept credit cards. Nor Euros for that matter. Nor does she understand English. It appear she understands only cash.

 

As she begins to crack her knuckles, probably to forcibly remove me from the bus, my knight in shining armour (a kind fellow passenger) pays for my 2 LEV ticket (the grand tune of £0.87). 

 

There is a beauty in paying it forward. Only a couple of months prior, I paid for a British girl’s ticket in Marrakesh. I love good karma, my mercenary ticket mistress? Not so much.

 

It’s a short stroll to the hostel, from the bus stop, past the golden dome of Varna Cathedral. I have arrived at my destination for the week: Nomado Hostel. I punch in the gate code and collect my room key from the hostel desk.

 

When I book a hostel I often have a gut feeling on which one to choose. The big lure for me is an outside space and kitchen: places to socialise and meet fellow travellers.

 

Perhaps I have made a terrible choice? This hostel appears dead. Licking my wounds, I commandeer a table in the courtyard, uncork a bottle of red, pour a generous glass and put some tunes on.

 

Midway through Duran Duran’s greatest hits, the hostel gate pings open and two Romanian ladies arrive.  I offer a glass of red and some pretzels. 20 minutes later, I am fluent in Romanian (via Google Translate) and have made two new besties. Cristina & Sofia.  It’s Cristina’s birthday. They pour me a large glass of sparkling Zarea Hugo (it’s as if prosecco and mojito had a love child). I have a new favourite tipple!

 

The following day my prayers are answered and I meet my new Nomado hostel family: Mailys from France, Vlad and Ghilip from Ukraine. Within minutes, we have slotted seamlessly into our family roles: Mum and Dad and the naughty Ukrainian children!

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And the next 4 days are spent in the hostel courtyard, sunning ourselves on the beach and hanging out.
 

I have appointed myself as the new hostel chef,coordinating and cooking the meals.  Mailys’s French pals from her work placement have become unofficial hostel guests and we laugh over dinner and drinks.

 

Food, alcohol and laughter are the world’s best levelers in my humble opinion.

 

I’m reminded how much I enjoy bringing people together. The validation is that I am surrounded by other travellers, balancing their need to work with their love of travel

 

It seems the slowing of pace is just what the doctor ordered. It seems I have uncovered the new art to staying put. These hostel experiences, for me, are like a warm hug that I didn’t know I needed. 

 

A gentle reminder that the clues that you are in the right place are around you, if you care to pay attention.

 

It really is enough sometimes just to prepare a meal and eat it. I realise it’s possible to resist the tempting tourist checklists. The irony is, I have learnt zero Bulgarian and have spent most of the week practising French!

 

It’s scary how comfortable you can get in a hostel (even when your modest, single bunk is full of Black Sea sand). I realise we have created our own little enclave in the courtyard of roses.

 

Sometimes you don’t need to leave home to have an adventure. Bulgaria will have another visit.

 

I ordered adventure and was delivered a courtyard of roses.

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#ianstracks #varna #bulgaria #travels #travelblog #adventures #solotraveller #blog #britabroad #adhdblog

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