One Man in Bulgaria

A casual message from a young friend whom I met in Dobrinishte last September, at this point your screen should wobble and we would be at that moment in time just as the old TV programmes used to do, unfortunately I still haven't caught up with that part of the blog so we must press on. Elena is a member of a Folk dance troupe and was in Pomorie where they would be dancing in front of the Municipal building at 11:00 hours on Saturday (the 17th). I wished her luck and hoped that she would enjoy her holiday. That evening (Thursday) I inquired about buses to Pomorie over a glass of Rakia as I sat outside the garage with my neighbours. It was opined that mini buses ran quite frequently from the little bus station destined for Burgas. I had heard of this station before but never established its location so thought no more about it.

Emerging from the museum the crowds have gathered. Parents help their children into their costumes, fathers carry the heavy masks for their sons but all around the tension builds as the various youth groups line up and wait their turn to parade down the avenue to the central stage where the judges wait. Groups have arrived from towns and villages around Pernik and from afar to attend this prestigious event. Costumes and dances reflect the local traditions of these villages but all follow the themes of the mummers traditions. From Morris dancing in England to the mountains of Switzerland these pagan traditions win through to the modern age. The battle for survival during the long dark winter months and the hope for new life in Spring are reflected in the dances, the offering of bread, the hobby horse, the bear and the devil.

Friday morning dawned, not clear and fine but, as you can see, cold and foggy.  My spectacular view across the city to the surrounding mountains was not to be revealed today. Sophia had been shrouded in fog when we arrived yesterday. As we passed the airport on the way into the city my fellow passenger explained to me that the Germans had used the fog as a means of hiding the airfield which they constructed at the time of WWII.  It has only been in recent years that one could turn up as a passenger expecting to fly out on Monday morning but not leave until two days later.