The city that was never meant to be

This is the tale of the city that was never meant to be…

I absolutely love this place. Really, I could totally see myself living there.

So the city I almost moved to (twice) was…

Panoramic view. Photo by Den Nation.

Besançon!!!

I’m not surprised that nobody recognised it from the pictures. Hardly anybody has ever heard of Besançon. I certainly had never heard about it.

Back in the spring of 2007 when I was in my 2^nd year of university all the language students were deciding where to go on their year abroad. A language degree at a British university usually lasts 4 years; the 3^rd year is spent in the country or countries where your language(s) are spoken. You could spend your year at a European (Erasmus) or non-European university, on a work placement, or as a language assistant teaching English. The year abroad is obligatory for most students, but if you have a good reason not to do it, you could be exempted from doing it and go directly into 4^th year. Most mature students, which was what I was, that ask to be exempted receive the exemption.

I asked to be exempted from the year abroad, but the more I thought about it, the more it bothered me not to it. I knew that I probably would never have a chance like that again, and that if I didn’t do it I would regret it forever. So I told the head of my programme that I changed my mind. That decision changed the rest of my life forever.

Comté and Morbier come from the region surrounding Besançon.
Photo by Den Nation.

As I had changed my mind quite late in the process, there were no spots left at the universities (Erasmus) that were reserved for my programme (translation).  So I had to pick from the universities that were reserved for regular language students. Brest, Arras and Besançon were the cities that still had spots. I couldn’t see myself going somewhere as remote as Brest and while I was tempted by Arras, I chose Besançon. It fit all my criteria: surrounded by small mountains, small city known for its friendliness, bucolic region, beautiful architecture, great local cuisine, campus in the city centre, low cost of living, safe, easy access to other countries (Switzerland, Italy and Germany), etc. I read everything I could get my hands on about Besançon and stared at countless pictures. I really had my heart set out on going there.

Then, one day, my euphoria ended. I was leaving the language building at uni when a professor stopped me, “Did you hear, Den Nation, a spot opened up in Bordeaux and you’re no longer going to Besançon! Isn’t that great?!”

My heart just fell to my stomach. “No, I hadn’t heard, that’s good, thanks for telling me,” I replied, trying to feign some enthusiasm.

I didn’t want to go to Bordeaux. I was absolutely against it. However, because of the programme I was enrolled in, I didn’t have a choice if one of the reserved schools had a spot. I was going to Bordeaux whether I liked it or not.

I had the summer to try and get used to the idea, but I couldn’t. I tried to tell myself that it would be great; that the weather would be better, that the city was beautiful, that the food was good, anything to convince myself. But I couldn’t fall in love with it: I didn’t like wine at the time and Bordeaux is pretty isolated from other countries; except for Spain that is, and I was going to Spain during the second semester of my year abroad.

Along the Doubs River and facing the Citadelle. Photo by Den Nation.

I decided that I would just stay and travel in the region and concentrate on learning the language. Now, years later, I’m glad that I took that attitude. I was there to learn about France and the language after all.

It was during my semester as an Erasmus student in Bordeaux that I met my husband (I think I’ll save that story for another post) so now when I think back on when that professor told me about the change and how I felt… I am so grateful that a spot became available at the last minute!

The summer after my Erasmus year was over I finally made it out to Besançon. It was everything I thought it would be and more. It was such a moving visit: it confirmed what I knew all along, that it was the place for me in France. In my 4^th year at university back in the UK I befriended a girl from Besançon (she was as Erasmus student) and we are still friends to this day. All the signs kept pointing me in that direction…

Fast forward to June 2009. I was finishing my 4^th year at university in the UK with my bisontine friend. My husband had applied to be a fonctionnaire and had taken and passed the competitive exams to be accepted at a fonctionnaire. The nature of his job (academia) meant that he had to audition for a particular position in front of a jury – he couldn’t just be muté (sent by the French government to work in a certain place). So he went around the country auditioning in several cities, including Besançon.

We had left Bordeaux together after the summer of 2008, me to complete my 4^th year of university and him to Paris for a CDD. We really didn’t think that we would ever go back to Bordeaux and Besançon had already slipped from my fingers. There was no guarantee that he would get an academic job. We were almost certain that he would be working another CDD job another year as he was inexperienced and applying again the next year.

Besançon is famous for its grey and pink façades. Photo by Den Nation.

He got the job in Besançon!

I just couldn’t believe it. I kept thinking excitedly, “It’s baaaaaaack!” I was so ecstatic; it was like I was walking on air. I couldn’t believe I was being given another chance.

But guess what? A few days after Besançon offered him a position, good old Bordeaux called and offered him one too. I was incredulous; how could it come down to the same two places again?

You already know which one we picked. Well, my husband picked Bordeaux, not me. I actually think that professionally Besançon would have been easier for me (close to Switzerland), but the position in Bordeaux was more prestigious for him. Thanks to Bordeaux’s prestige in my husband’s field, it will be easier for him to obtain a more higher ranking fonctionnaire position one day. That’s why I said yes.

That was the tale of the city that was just never meant to be.

Bordeaux, the city that was always just meant to be. Photo by Den Nation.

The day after the harvest

"Aaahhh," I screamed to my husband from the bedroom, "I can't move, help me!"

This was me the day after I picked grapes for a vineyard near Bordeaux. Today I'm going to tell you about the reality of grape picking.

There are loads of people with romantic views of coming to France and spending a few weeks getting "back to the basics" by participating in a grape harvest. The reality of the work is very different from the image these people have in their minds. How do I know this? I was one of these people.

Most of the work is done by family, interns who are paid next to nothing, immigrants from developing countries, or people who are "experts" at this kind of work - people who are used to physical labour and toiling in the fields.

Looks so innocent, doesn't it? Author of photo: Den Nation.

There are opportunities for tourists to experience picking grapes during a harvest, but let me tell you something: make sure that the owners are aware that you are a newbie and don't ever try to work as fast and as hard as the "experts". The wine chateau will have their own employees, either the immigrants as seasonal labour or the "experts". I find that the chateaux are not hiring immigrants like they used to: they prefer cheap interns or free help from their family or friends. There are also tons of wineries around Bordeaux looking to hire labourers, but my feeling is that they want to hire skilled labourers (the "experts") not immigrants who are just passing through. This is probably because technology has erased the need for the immigrants doing manual picking; the chateaux need skilled labourers that know how to handle machinery.

Please don't do what I did:

Me: "There's nothing to this, of course I can keep up with the "experts".

Me the next day: "What was I thinking..."

The experience is wonderful, but this is the reality: it is back-breaking work, you will be dirty, the sun will burn you, and your muscles will scream in pain the next day.

At the end of the day I felt fine. I laughed all though the evening with my fellow workers during the dinner at the chateau. I declared that I had never felt better. Haha!

You know how you feel the day after having done some strenuous exercise after a long break? You know the pulling and burning in your muscles that you feel that make walking uncomfortable? Well, the day after I picked graped I felt that. I felt like that times a hundred.

It was the worst muscle pain I had ever felt. So bad that I physically couldn't get out of bed. I went to move my legs and was doubled over with pain. I crawled on the floor to get to the bathroom in the mornings and it took 5 minutes to crawl a few metres. My legs were the worst, so I would use my arms to pull myself on the floor and drag my legs behind. It even hurt just to move my head to the right 5cm. And you know how that pain you feel after exercising lasts a day or two? Well, this lasted 10 days. I'm not kidding, I dragged myself around the house for at least a week.

The moral of the story? Don't be like me and assume that anyone can pick grapes. It's a great experience, but it's not for everybody. You have to start at the crack of dawn as grapes are best picked when it is cooler outside. You work the entire day because when the harvest has to come in, it has to be done ASAP. 10 hour days are not uncommon. A grape harvest is an extremely intensive and delicate operation, one where timing counts for everything. I had these thoughts of spending the day outside under the sun eating the grapes while I worked, talking with the others, admiring the grapes while I picked them, taking the time to breath in the fresh vineyard air... Yeah, right.

The "experts" are like robots - they are so fast you can't even see them picking. I wanted to be just like them, to be part of the gang.

My neighbour works at a wine chateau. She gets up everyday at the crack of dawn and spends the day doing what she loves. This involves a lot of physical activity, but she is used to this and is very athletic to begin with so has little problems with the physical aspect of the job. Being a woman in this industry makes everything harder, but she has such motivation and she works even harder.

Me? I had these ideas of doing some harvest work every year to pick up a little bit of extra money. Who was I kidding?! There's not an athletic bone in this padded body of mine!

I think I'll just to stick to doing what I do best...

Drinking wine!

Cheers! Author of photo: Den Nation.

News

Ok, so I'll just come out and say it: I'm starting a master's programme this autumn. Actually, I've already started. I am going to keep on blogging as to be honest, I am really enjoying interacting with my "Den Nation Blogging Family." I can't believe how many great blogs there are out there and I am happy to finally have "met" you all (after lurking for a couple of years).

I've decided to enroll as a full-time student while still working part-time on the side and travelling (of course, I can't give that up, but this means I'll be working in my hotel room all of next week). Maybe I am crazy, but after spending months of wallowing in my self-pity, I've decided to finally get out and try to change things. This involves finally completing a master's degree. I can't explain it, this has been something that I have wanted to do for a long, long time. A dream you could say. I want to prove to myself that I can do it.

Thankfully I have found an online master's programme that I can fit around my schedule (and my travels!). I am really intimidated by some of the other students, not because they are unfriendly, on the contrary, but because it seems like they know so much compared to me. I feel like I have years of reading to catch up on in order to reach their level of knowledge.

I'll leave you with a few pictures of the city I'll be staying in next week. Any guesses as to where I'm going?

Along the river. Author of photo: Den Nation.

Panoramic view of the city. Author of photo: Den Nation.

For anybody who has been to this city, this picture is a dead giveaway.
Author of photo: Den Nation.

I know there are some of you who know where I am going - please abstain from guessing!

Note: This is one of my favourite places in France and this was where I was almost sent to by my home university on my Erasmus year. At the last minute, the placement fell threw and I was sent to Bordeaux instead. In my last year at university in the UK, I met a French girl from this city who remains my friend to this day (one of my few French friends). I always wonder how my life would have turned out had I been sent here.

My language gaffe - in English!

Those of you who live in a country that speaks a language that is different from your mother language know all about language gaffes.

Every native English speaker living in France knows about the preservative/préservatif false friend. Never, never make the mistake of telling your French hosts at the dinner table that you think American food is full of condoms and that you prefer French food because it's not full of condoms.

But what if your language gaffe wasn't in French, but in English? It's kind of hard to imagine when your native language is English. But it happened to me. 

So, without futher ado, I present my British language gaffe. Enjoy! 

Cardiff Castle in Wales. Author of photo: Den Nation.

It is my second year of university in the UK. I am going down the stairs and am in between classes. My teacher stops me and asks: 

Male teacher: "I heard you talking in class about how you have a really important appointment later today and that you don't have enough time to make it over there on your bicycle after your last class. I'm heading to that area after your last class so I can drive you there."

(Note: This teacher had a really relaxed attitude and a friendly approach with his students. He was the type of guy that would say hello to his students in the supermarket and drive them home. He was always up for a chat and a cup of tea. He had absolutely no ulterior motives in his offer.)

Me: "Oh, thanks, that's really nice of you, but Dave (not his real name) is going to give me a ride in his car." 

Silence.

Later, once I am in Dave's (my classmate) car. 

Me: "The teacher was really quiet today after I told him that you were going to give me a ride."

British Dave bursts out laughing.

Me: "What?" I am slightly annoyed. 

Dave: "You basically told him that we were going to have sex in my car." 

Me: "I did not!" Now I am really annoyed.

Dave: "Yes, you did. 'To give somebody a ride' is British slang for having sex."

I am just gobsmacked. And really ticked off. Please somebody just open a hole and swallow me up. How could I not know this?

Me: "So what was I supposed to say?"

Dave: "You should have used 'giving a lift' instead or something along those lines."

Needless to say, I couldn't look the teacher in the eye for weeks afterwards.

Edit: Read my comment to Crystal about another British language gaffe I committed. 

Not your everyday houseshare

We all know how difficult it is to find affordable, and acceptable, housing in Paris. It is so hard that many people are scammed in the process - I've read some blog posts written by expats who have been cheated out of their money. Finding a place to live in Paris is a long and expensive process, one that I am relieved to not have to go through.

I'm not here to talk about finding housing in Paris, though. I'm here to talk about another "type" of housing. One that I never imagined existed, at least not in cold Paris.

A few years ago my husband's friend was looking for a place to live in Paris. This friend came from Algeria and had an Algerian name. It's already hard enough for a Frenchman to find accommodation in Paris, but it's even harder for somebody who has a foreign name (especially for someone from Africa or Asia).

When my husband's friend would call a potential landlord, the conversation often went like this:

Husband's friend: "Hello, I'm calling to ask about the room to rent. Can I have an appointment to come and see it?"

Potential landlord: "What is your professional situation?"

Husband's friend: "My name is .... and I work as a scientist at the ..." (gets cut off)

PL: Rambles off some excuse to get off the phone and get rid of my husband's friend.

Two months go by like this. My husband's friend is getting tired of crashing at friends' places. One day he sees an ad for a room that looks promising. He calls the number and the person who answered the phone was surprisingly friendly. He feels that something is not quite right, but he goes over to visit the property anyway.

A café in Paris. Author of photo: Den Nation.

He is interviewed by a friendly couple in the apartment's living room. The apartment was clean, the couple was friendly, the price wasn't too expensive (for Paris), the location was all right. Everything was too good to be true...

"Oh, by the way, we are nudists," the couple mention at the end of the interview.

"Nudists, what?" said the friend.

"That's right, we believe in nudism, this is a nudist apartment."

Our friend is silent, obviously confused.

The couple continues, "Yes, there is a no-clothes allowed rule here." "As soon as we enter the apartment we remove all of our clothing and the clothes stay off." "We know what you must be thinking, but we are serious and this is something we really believe in."

Our friend is speechless.

"There are 3 of us living here now and we are totally comfortable with being nude and you would have to be too." "So what do you think?"

"I'll have to think about it," responds our friend.

He really did think about it. It's not that this kind of living arrangement bothered him, it just really caught him off guard, but ultimately he decided against it. He found a place to live shortly afterwards.

A Parisian residential building. Author of photo: Den Nation.

I'm not against this type of living arrangement either, but a few questions come to mind. What do you do if you want to have company over? And what about the winter? I asked our friend about this and he didn't ask the first question, but the answer to the second question was that, yes, they kept their clothes off all year, even in the dead of winter. I just can't imagine that! When I think about how cold some apartments can get in France, I can't imagine living nude in January in a freezing apartment. Either their heating bill must be really high or, in the case of shared heating (where the temperature is controlled by a central source so the apartment units of a building are all at the same temperature) there are some elderly people living in the building that have managed to convince the building's management to keep the temperature high. That, or the building is insulated quite well. Can you tell I suffer during the winter here in cold apartments?

So, I wonder, has anybody else had any experiences like this, in France or anywhere else?

Home alone

I'm home alone.

"Yeah, so what," you may be thinking. 

It's not very often that my husband goes out without me. Yes, that's right, we rarely go to any social event separately. 

I know, I know, it sounds clingy and needy. But this is the way things are done in France, especially out here in province. 

If you are in a couple, you attend social events as couple with other couples. If you are not in a couple, you spend a lot of time with couples. You tag along. 

At least, this is the way it works when you are around my age, 30. It's unusal to go out without your other half. I wrote another post about this here: http://dennation.blogspot.fr/2013/04/france-vs-canadadenmark-cultural.html

I can picture it now, my husband arriving alone at the meal, a meal where there are only couples, and greeting everyone with la bise and having to awkwardly explain to everyone that I stayed home because I have too much work. Only it's not because I have too much work (well, I do have a lot on my to-do list).

I'm at home because I can't stand another evening of being socially awkward and being ignored. 

Maybe it's my introverted side, but I just don't want to force myself anymore. I can't tell you how many times I've forced myself to go out with my husband to these "couples' evenings" when I just wanted to stay home. I know that the best way to meet people is to force sometimes, but if I am not having fun, then it's just not worth it. 

I was out walking today and reflecting on how I feel lonely in France sometimes. But then I thought, "Yeah, but so what? You're so happy alone in your den, avoiding people that don't really care to be with you." (If you want to know more about my "den", read this post: http://dennation.blogspot.fr/2013/06/sunday-ramblings.html). And you know what? I am so much happier here. I feel a bit guilty about him having to deal with the social stigma of being out without me, but I am just so happy to be back in my den.

My Den. Home sweet home. Author of photo: Den Nation.

Saturday I want to a bachelorette party. I hesitated to go - I didn't want past experiences to come back to haunt me. I went because there would be no in-the-street dancing and dressing up. I also wanted to get to know the bride a little better. I don't have any problems with people who do dress up and dance in the streets, but it's not my idea of fun. No, the programme was excellent, right up my alley. Spa, medieval festival, good food, wine bar - all things that I love to do. So what was the problem? 

These women knew each other quite well. So maybe it wasn't really a cultural problem, but my introverted side rearing its ugly head. They sang along together to girly songs in the car, talked about other people they knew and made jokes that I would never understand (some cultural, but some related to their past). They are nice women, though, but I wondered why they invited me. It's my husband that is friends with the groom. My husband says it's because they found me interesting and wanted to get to know me better. Now I wonder what they think...

It is very risky for me to go out with a group of people I don't know very well. At the end of the night, I went home exhausted and was in a bad mood. Every fibre of my being was screaming out for some alone time. And believe me when I say this, that bachelorette party was not the worst of it. That was actually a success compared to some of the other epic failures I've had. No, don't feel badly for me - I have enough experience now to "feel" the potential for a failed evening. And tonight I had the strength to say no! 

So I've come to the conclusion that, while I know I should force myself to go out more, I'm just going to accept that I'm an introvert and a foreigner and I need to stay home in my den when I don't like the social setting. It's better if I get to know people one-on-one first and not in a group setting. 

I sound like I'm ranting and maybe I am, but at the end of the day, I am not an accidental expat/immigrant. I chose to leave my comfort zone in Canada and I choose to stay here (my husband and I can find jobs in Canada, unlike other French/North American couples I know), so it's up to me to do something about my problems/challenges or like tonight, just accept that this is who I am and realise that I actually prefer being like this rather than fighting it. 

You know what? I think I'll go and make myself some tea, just like a good old granny. I'll drink that in my den while listening to some cheesy 80s music and eat some goodies from the Alps. I think tonight is the night to bring out crystalgoestoeurope's Bonnat chocolate (thanks again, Crystal, I was saving the chocolate for a special occasion) and Biscuits de Chalais (cookies made by nuns living in the Alps). Crystal also inspired me today to drink some rose tea. 

Cheers!

Bulgaria

I'll just go ahead and admit it: part of the reason I decided to go to Bulgaria was to eat. And let me tell you, Bulgaria did not disappoint. So much so, that I'm still paying for it now as I try to lose the weight I gained in Bulgaria, the food lovers' paradise.

Of course that's not the only reason I decided to go to Bulgaria. I first visited Bulgaria 10 years ago when I was 20 years old at the height of the 2003 European heat wave. I wanted to go back exactly ten years later to see what, if anything, had changed. 

One of the things that struck me the most about Bulgaria back then was how poor the elderly people were. I remember getting off the train in Burgas and being met by a crowd of elderly people offering rooms to rent in their homes. I was struck by the numbers - there were at least 30 elderly people, mostly women, offering rooms. 

This time around I noticed that there were less elderly people milling around the stations offering rooms. However, I felt that the elderly people were still very poor. On more than one occasion I saw elderly women begging on the streets. These were not homeless people - it was clear that they were begging because their retirement pensions don't cover their basic costs. 

Since the fall of Communism, elderly people have seen the value of their pensions fall greatly as after the fall of Communism, wages increased and prices skyrocketed. A lot of elderly people don't even have the money to live in proper accommodation; I saw a lot of elderly people come out of homes I would only describe as being shacks. 

While there were still very little signs or information in English (or any other language), there were a lot less scammers looking to take advantage of tourists. Back in 2003, the bus station was full of men calling out to foreigners, offering this or that, and making false promises. I remember one conversation with a young man: 

Young Bulgarian: You know that there are no more buses for Varna today. The last one left 20 minutes ago. I know of a place where you can stay cheaply for the night. I'll take you there in my van. 

Me: Yeah, right. I'm pretty sure there's another bus. 

Young Bulgarian: No, there isn't, I'm telling you.

Well, yes there was. I just turned the corner and there was the bus loading passengers for the trip to Varna. And that was not the last bus of the day. 

Another reason why we went to Bulgaria? It was the cheapest ticket we could find at the last minute. I wondered why that particular airline flew to Burgas, as Burgas is not a particularily attractive city. On arriving in Burgas we discovered why - organized buses were waiting to take all the Danish tourists to Sunny Beach. I had never heard of Sunny Beach and from the sounds of it, I will never go there.

I have Danish friends who loved going to Sunny Beach in the early 2000s, back before it became the Danes' place to get drunk for cheap abroad. I went through Sunny Beach and was horrified to see all the new high-rise buildings. It looked just like the places I had seen along the Spanish coasts. The coast is now being built-up for mass tourism, but I can't really say I'm surprised by that. 

While the Black Sea was warm, in my memories the water was of better quality back in 2003. There was a lot of seaweed in places and the lifeguards yelled at everyone not to go in too far because there were a lot of waves. I am not an expert on currents and am unfamiliar with the Black Sea, but to be honest I didn't enjoy swimming in the Black Sea as much as I enjoy jumping around in the cold waves along France's Atlantic coast. Trying to swim in knee-length water full of seaweed is not my idea of fun. To be fair, I visited beaches that had a high number of visitors, so maybe if I went closer to the Turkish or Romanian borders where the beaches are quieter, I would have enjoyed it more.

In my opinion, the heart of Bulgaria lies in its historical sites. There are so many monasteries to visit, Roman ruins, fortresses, medieval towns, coastal landscapes (where there are rocks and cliffs), mountains, vineyards (yes, the wine was actually very good), intricately decorated churches, folklore festivals, wildlife, etc. Not to mention the food. 

I'm happy to report that the food is just as good in 2013 as it was in 2003.

Fried fish along the coast. Author of photo: Den Nation.

Poached eggs with yoghurt and cheese. Author of photo: Den Nation.

I know the above photo doesn't look like much, but it was one of the best dishes I had in Bulgaria. Bulgarian yoghurt is delicious, slightly-sour with a tangy lemon flavour.

Shopska salad. Author of photo: Den Nation.

How can something so simple be so good? The Shopska salad is to Bulgaria what wine and cheese is to France. It is so good on its own that there is no need for any dressing. We ate a Shopska salad at almost every meal. What is its secret? Fresh ingredients. And what they call "snow cheese", or Sirene cheese, a feta-like cheese that is eaten all over the Balkans. Other ingredients include tomatoes, bell pepper, red onion and cucumber. That's it.

Sea bream. Author of photo: Den Nation.

I love, love, love grilled fish, the speciality along the Black Sea coast. This fish was so good that we ordered it for lunch and dinner. I have to say, last night I ordered the same fish in Arcachon, the closest beach to Bordeaux, and it wasn't as good as the sea bream I had in Bulgaria. Not all food is better in France!

Pizza in Veliko Tarnovo. Author of photo: Den Nation.

I'm serious, this pizza was so good that I can comfortably say that it was better than most of the pizzas I've had in Italy. I don't think that all Bulgarian pizza is created equal, though. I think that it's this particular restaurant that makes excellent pizza. This restaurant is famous in Bulgaria - people from around Bulgaria travel to Veliko just to eat at this place! If you are ever in Veliko Tarnovo, please go and eat at Shtastlivetsa.

Bulgarian dessert in Veliko Tarnovo. Author of photo: Den Nation.

This is Shtastlivetsa's signature dessert; you will not find it around Bulgaria unfortunately. I'm not really sure what it consists of, but I know it was made of marscapone, walnuts, chocolate and honey. Desserts are not Bulgaria's forte, but this was one of the best desserts I've ever had in my life. 

Tarator soup. Author of photo: Den Nation.

 Tarator soup is perfect on a hot summer's day. It is a cold coup made of yoghurt and cucumber (garlic, walnuts, dill or oil are sometimes added).

Roasted peppers. Author of photo: Den Nation.

When I was a child I would recoil in horror every time my grandparents would eat roasted peppers. Now I love them and they were everywhere in Bulgaria. These peppers were served with chunks of garlic bread and Bulgarian cheese. I could hardly move the night I ate them.

Veliko Tarnovo's fortress. Author of photo: Den Nation.

Veliko Tarnovo's fortress reminds me of Carcassonne in France, only without all the crowds and souvenir shops. The fortress contains the ruins of 14 churches which leads me to wonder: What kind of fortress needed to have 14 churches? 

I hope to make it back one day to discover the western part of the country. I'd like to make it out to Bulgaria's wine country, Melnik, in the south-east part of the country. I would also like to visit the city of Plovdiv and Rila Monastery. 

The food is enough to pull me back one day!