"Borovets in Summer" a Borovec Travel Page by St_Vincent

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I certainly didn't need one of these

In keeping with my penchant to visit ski resorts and not ski, I visited Borovets in June 2002 during the football world cup in Korea and Japan. In answer to your first question dear reader, it’s a small ski resort high up in the Rila Mountains. In answer to your second … yes I know it was summer and everything was closed but it seemed like a good idea at the time…and it was cheap.

Before embarking on any overseas holiday I generally do a bit of research about the language and in most countries you can make a decent attempt at learning some useful words and phrases phonetically beforehand. I use the word “useful” here in the phrasebook context which seems to think I will need to know “ where is the fire station please ? ” or “ is this egg from a chicken ?”

However the particular delight one gets in surprising the locals with such linguistic dexterity was denied me since Bulgaria adopts the Cyrillic alphabet. The only words I could make out were Restaurant and Hotel, probably because that was all there was open in Borovets. It was however, refreshing to find that when it comes down to the important things in life I could still locate biera and vino on the menu without any difficulty at all.

Indeed I had no difficulty ordering them either, but at around £0.40 for a pint of beer I found it difficult to order enough to really feel that I was doing my bit for the local economy. I soon realised that the concept of multiple beer drinking was a little unusual in this part of the world. Most people would drop into the bar, order a beer or a coffee and sit around for an hour or so as if they were waiting for a bus. Now, you tell me, what is the point of that ? Interestingly a request for another beer usually met with the question “one more beer sir ?”. Well it’s one for now but don’t count on it being my last, keep an eye on my glass, you’ll be well rewarded.

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The long-toothed one

Everyone seemed to want to sympathise about England’s departure from the World Cup although one waiter went a little over the top (almost literally) . “I am very sorry…” he said….” for England ..… the World Cup eh….Seaman eh…is no good eh”. At which stage he did a passable impression of the ponytailed one (David Seaman) trying to reach the long toothed one’s (Ronaldinho) free kick. A little further and he would have completed the entertainment by falling over one of his own tables and landing in the flowerbeds below. Still at least he wasn’t an Arsenal suporter, and his tip reflected such.

One waiter who did express a football allegiance was at a small restaurant we visited near the Rila Monastery. He’d visited England and spent about three months somewhere in the Midlands with friends before returning home, because it was too expensive. During this time he worked in the packing department of a peanut factory but couldn’t afford the rent. I made the obligatory joke about him being paid peanuts and we agreed that I would stop making stupid jokes that he didn’t understand and he would go and get me a beer. On his return with the aforementioned foaming ale he felt the need to explain to me that “ I am support Liverpool”. I thanked him for the warning and made a mental note to check the hub caps on the van before we left.

It was also at this restaurant that the old England v Germany distinctions were highlighted. Our party of around 15, plus a couple of Scots who didn’t seem to join in with the jovial banter about how cheap everything was, were led to our tables. We orderly and casually split into groups and filled each table. The party of Germans, who followed a few minutes after us, on the other hand, stormed the restaurant and headed to the first tables they saw. I realised that it must be so much easier to be a tour guide for an English party than a German party. The poor German’s guide was running around trying to interpret the drinks orders; a couple of small beers, mineral waters abound, orange juice but only if it is freshly squeezed, have they got mango and banana, no OK then a mineral water. Meanwhile our guide and the waiter seemed to have an unspoken understanding which said, “they’re English, bring them all large beers”. Such are the things by which great nations are judged.

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The ponytailed one

My next encounter with the locals was Hristo a local taxi driver who had also been to England staying with friends in the Lake District. He said he found it very cold, very wet and very expensive, strange how everyone wants to tell you that they’ve been to England and then tell you what they didn’t like about it.

This reminded me of an elderly American couple, Mary and Meredith from Indiana, whom I met on the Gibraltar to Tangier ferry earlier in the year. They were on a European tour and had just come from Portugal, through Spain and had decided to spend the day in Tangier, as Africa was the only continent that dear old Meredith hadn’t yet visited. Looking at the way he was shuffling around the deck I thought this might be his last chance. Anyway I duly asked the question that was expected of me, had they visited England. Of course they had, and of course they loved it, unfortunately the only thing that the well travelled, but desperately frail, Meredith seemed to remember of our green and pleasant land was that it took him three hours to drive from Gatwick to the A40. I was not so surprised by this revelation as I was by the notion that they let this pitiful old bugger get behind the wheel of a car.

Back to Hristo my taxi driver. He told me that he lived in the next town called Samokov but there was no taxi work there so he came to Borovets every day to work. He then told me he hadn’t had a customer in Borovets for two days !! …. keep working on those decision making skills Hristo. Having jumped in the cab, I then realised why he didn’t get much work, the look of derisive amusement he gave me as I hunted for the non-existent seatbelt was only surpassed by his blasé response when I tried to open the window and the handle came off in my hand.

Anyway his English was pretty good (certainly better than my Bulgarian) and he took me to his home town and showed me round for a couple of hours, guiding me to his friends stalls in the market which would be “good place to buy…very cheap”. I assuaged my guilt by buying a couple of shirts for £2 and giving him a 100% tip. For all I know I could have been his only fare the entire summer season.

Watching television overseas is always an amusing diversion. Bulgaria seemed only to have one channel but at least they were showing the World Cup. As if to make up for the lack of their own channels they seemed to broadcast programmes from every country in Continental Europe which provided me with no small amount of amusement. I could watch the German version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire, Wheel of Fortune from Italy or a hilariously dubbed episode of Hart to Hart from somewhere (not even UK Gold will show stuff that old). There was also a programme advertised call Koch Duell which I assumed was some late night offering from Holland. It turned out to be Ready Steady Cook, minus thankfully the irritating Ainsley Harriot.

There were two English speaking channels one of which was the rather insular CNN. They did actually deign to cover a sporting event outside of the US and indeed they had sent their sports correspondent, one Bud Coleman to Wimbledon for the tennis. On running through the main contenders for the Men’s title Bud was asked by the studio who his tip was. “Well I’m going to go for someone who no-one else has mentioned, I’m going for Roger Federra, I think he’s got a great chance this year to go all the way and that’s where my money’s going”. The aforementioned Federra gets stuffed in the first round by some unknown 13 year old from the slums of Santiago who’s so poor he’s still using a wooden racket. Can someone give Bud directions to Gatwick please? Taxi for Coleman!

Footnote- With the benefit hindsight I owe a huge apology to Messrs Coleman and Federra since the latter soon went on to dominate the tennis world for a number of years.

If you want to read about my first experience of not skiing in a ski resort visit my Cervinia page