Bulgarian Food

This seems like a fine place to start a conversation about Bulgarian food.  Meat triumphantly front and center, but vibrant green salad looming brilliantly in the background.  Like in the rest of Southeastern Europe, grilled and roasted meats are a staple and a signature of Bulgaria's national cuisine.  Pork reigns supreme, but there are plenty of other options.  Since our visit coincided with the last days of spring, lamb was widely available and recommended.  Bulgaria exports lamb throughout the EU, so there is often less available for local consumption outside of the spring season.  This is what we like to call perfect timing.

Bulgarian salads are not content with just playing second fiddle, though, and often demand entire pages of a menu.  You can break almost all of the choices down to a few key ingredients: yogurt, tomato, pepper, egg, eggplant, cabbage, carrot, corn, mushroom and ham.  But the combinations are endless and the herbs, oils and chopping methods employed are always thoughtfully based on the salad at hand.  What you can almost always count on is some crushed walnut on top and a single black olive buttoning it all up.

I'd half convinced myself that Bulgaria was an easy place for a non-meat-eater.  So many vegetables! Meatless guyveche!  But just two nights ago, we met up for an evening of sight-seeing/talking/eating/drinking with our new friend Carolyn.  She has a really great blog called Karolinka In & Around Bulgaria (and if you think she seems funny and charming on that, she's even more so in person).  Anyway, Carolyn came to Bulgaria 4 years ago as a Fulbright Scholar... and a vegetarian.  That is to say, she is no longer one. 

Her reasoning made me realize something about Bulgarian cuisine and the people that eat it. Dining outside the home is treated as a social event, rather than just public nourishment.  I thought back to all of our dinners.  Dishes would often come one at a time in no particular order.  Portions were large.  Service was friendly but slow.  These were hours-long affairs with just the two of us.  I can't even imagine what dinner with friends must be like.  And when said friends have all ordered a lot of meat, to not share would be anti-social and culturally awkward.  It'd be like going to a pub in the UK and saying you don't drink beer. Anyway, this is how one becomes an in-house vegetarian and a social carnivore.  It also helps that Bulgarians happen to know how to cook meat very, very well.

And don't even try to say you're on a gluten-free diet at holiday time!  Bulgarian breadmaking is an artform.  At this house museum in Veliko Tarnovo, breads were displayed with their corresponding celebration or occasion.  There is a special design for the godmother or godfather, the bride or the groom, each individual saint's feast day.  We were never served bread as festive or beautiful as this, but in a restaurant at which homemade bread was available, it was recommended with pride and passion.  I have a feeling that in Bulgaria, a kitchen only becomes a true kitchen once it is filled with the smell of baking bread.

Then, there is tarator (which we've already covered).  I can't go without mentioning it again here. Above we have its thicker relative, snezhanka (Snow White).  This is essentially tarator which has not been watered down - yogurt, cucumber, garlic, dill and walnut.  There are an array of these sorts of salads in Bulgarian cuisine.  Just as the word 'salad' can apply to tuna, egg, crab meat, potato or anything else mixed with mayonnaise in America - yoghurt-based mixtures are made from all of the above and more in Bulgaria.  Ice cream scooped onto plates to start the meal, they are refreshing, simple and delicious. 

To begin the meal, smother the meal and end the meal, there is always cheese.  Another excellent point Carolyn made about the non-sustainability of a completely vegetarian Bulgarian diet (I promise we talked about more than just food) is the abundance of cheese one would have to consume.  There is always mish-mash (a sort of scrambled egg version of a Spanish omelet), but otherwise it will be fried cheese or cheesy gyuveche dishes day and night.  Above is a surprise from a waiter in Arbanassi.  We'd ordered house white wine, which came with slices of apple in the pitcher and he brought us this to go along with it.  Your eyes are not deceiving you - that is a block of cheese fried and then charred on a grill with honey, crushed walnut and golden raisins on top.  It was as good as you'd imagine.

Gypsy Kitchens: Bulgarian Tarator

Tarator (таратор in cyrillic) is the soup version of a gin and tonic: refreshingly cold, simple, herbal and perfect for a summer evening.  A cynic might call this cucumber and yogurt soup, but it's more than that.  Tarator's a curative.  As we endure a Balkan heat wave, this is the kind of food we crave.

Tarator is served in countries from Albania to Turkey (with varieties popping up, we've heard, as far away as Iran and Armenia), but it feels particularly Bulgarian to us.  Why?  Because this is the heartland of yogurt.  Bulgaria even claims to have invented the stuff (though others doubt this) and traces its "culture" of culturing to ancient Thrace, some 2,000 years ago.  In 1908, a bright young Bulgarian named Stamen Grigorov identified the bacterium that causes natural yogurt to occur and later named it after his homeland - Lactobacillus bulgaricus.  Bulgarian yogurt really is tasty, with a wonderfully clean sourness that is more refreshing than other types.  The strong tang is perfect for mixing with the other soup ingredients.

We started with cucumbers and fresh dill bought from this old woman on Graf Ignatiev street in Sofia. She was wearing an adorable little paper hat.
We picked up some walnuts from another stand, and some garlic.  We didn't have time to go to the big market, so the yogurt came from a bodega near our rental apartment.  Olive oil, mustard and salt - the only other ingredients - were already in the kitchen.  This is partly what makes tarator so great: it's incredibly simple to make.

Start by julienning two sizable cucumbers into less-than-bite-sized pieces.  Grating the cucumber will make it mushy and slimy, it's better to put in the extra knife work.  Add to this about a third of a cup of finely chopped walnut, two crushed and minced cloves of garlic and a good dose of fresh dill.  Then, add two cups of plain, unsweetened yogurt and between two tablespoons and one third cup olive oil.  Salt generously.  Add two tablespoons coarse mustard - horseradish also might be good, or wasabi.  The mustard isn't a traditional ingredient, but we liked how it supplied a deep, complex note to the soup.

Stir everything together thoroughly.  At this point, the mixture is essentially what is known as Snezhanka salad (Салата Снежанка), or "snow white" salad, which is a relative of tzatziki.  It could be served as is, with soft bread or pita.
If you're still set on soup (you should be), slowly mix in cold water until it's a good, soupy consistency.  Put in the fridge for at least two hours before serving.  That's it.  It's delicious.  Serve sprinkled with a little more dill and crushed walnut and maybe a drizzle of olive oil.

The sourness of the yogurt is a perfect foil for the sweet crispness of the cucumber and the grassiness of the dill.  The walnuts add earthiness, the mustard provides spice.  It's a refreshing, bright mix.
It takes about twenty minutes, most of which is spent chopping, to do the "work" part of the recipe.  The rest is waiting - you could have a gin and tonic in the meantime.

Bulgarian Tarator
Ingredients:
2 large cucumbers, julienned into short pieces
2 cups unsweetened, plain yogurt
1/3 cup crushed or chopped walnut (plus a little more to garnish with)
2 crushed and finely minced cloves garlic
1/3 cup fine quality olive oil
2 tbsp coarse mustard
2-4 tbsp fresh dill, de-stemmed and given a cursory chopping
Cold water and salt


Method:
- Combine cucumber, yogurt, oil, walnut, garlic, mustard and dill in a large bowl.  Mix and salt well.
- Pour in cold water and mix until thoroughly combined, adding more water if not yet a "soupy" consistency.
- Refrigerate at least two hours before serving.

This, by the way, was the first bowl of tarator we encountered in Bulgaria, at our very first meal in the country.  This was on a hot day in Balchik, sitting by the placid Black Sea.  It was delicious.  We were hooked.  It made up for a particularly bad bowl served to us later, in Vidin - that one tasted as though the restaurant had just poured milk over grated cucumber.

Check out all of our recipes.

Things Bulgarian People Like

Re-Posted Death Notices.  We first noticed posted death announcements in Albania.  In each country since, we have stopped and looked at the simple, mostly black and white flyers with the departed person's photo, age and a brief word about them, hung at/near their residence.  In Bulgaria, we would see the same person's face on multiple notices, called "necrologs" here.  One young woman's face appeared on so many that we thought maybe it was actually a notice about her being missing. 'Have you seen this girl?'  As it turns out, Bulgarian tradition calls for a reposting of the necrolog on a number of anniversaries - 40 days, 3 months, 6 months, 1 year, 18 months, and then every year until there is no one left around to remember them.  Even with newspaper obits a regularity, most people still prefer this style of commemoration and continued celebration - to see one, two, five sets of grandma's eyes greeting you at your front door.

The Black Sea Coast.  It is pretty simple to see why Bulgarians would adore their coastline so much.  What country doesn't love their beach?  It's been funny, though, how adamant everyone has been about us getting back to the coast.  In other countries, we are asked where we have been and where we are going.  In Bulgaria, the question is always simply, "Have you been to the coast?!" When we answer that, yes, we spent three nights in Balchik, loads of suggested itineraries and recommendations are thrown our way for further travel down the coast.  It doesn't matter that it would now take us about 7 hours by bus to get there.  The thought is, why would we be anywhere else? 

Cautionary Cars.  The number of road fatalities in Bulgaria is about double the EU average and it was placed in the top five in car accident deaths in a large scale study of European countries, conducted in 2007.  It's so interesting that the ones who get the unfortunate crown are all countries with a low car ownership percentage and less traffic density. (Poland, Lithuania, Romania, Bulgaria).  Since then, the rate has dropped.  In fact, in 2011, the number of people killed in car crashes was the lowest it had been in 44 years.  We saw these totaled vehicles displayed throughout our many hours on the road.  Who knows how much they factor in to the positive change - and how much more of it has to do with road rehabilitation and the huge amount of traffic cops we also saw along our drives.  But there they are. Graphic proof of the risk.

A Side of Ice.  I've gotten a cup or small bucketful of ice with water, lemonade, wine, just about everything but beer.  There's always that joke that Americans have to come to terms with the fact that they won't often be served ice in Europe.  Some go so far as to say ice is 'an American thing.'  Well, I assure you, it is also a Bulgarian thing.  And it is wonderful.  Speaking of icy drinks...

Not Your Average Lemonade.  Well, not my average lemonade at least.  Beginning in Serbia, through Romania and now in Bulgaria, I have been on a lemonade kick.  Like fresh orange juice in many other locales, squeezed-to-order lemonade is a popular mainstay in the Balkans.  In Bulgaria, I was happy to see my summertime companion was just as readily available.  But I never knew exactly what I was going to get.  It could be lemon juice with sprite, with club soda or with water.  More than once, it was lemon juice with nothing else at all.  Merlin took the first sip of that one and the contortion of his face was priceless.  (and on that note)

Shopska Salad.  The Shopi people after which this ubiquitous salad is named are historically from the area surrounding Sofia.  So, even though it was absolutely everywhere in Macedonia, it is considered a Bulgarian thing.  Menus here almost always have a very long list of salads - which we'll go into with greater detail in a Bulgarian Food post to come.  But Shopska almost always wins out.  Here, a dozen or so tables are pre-set for a big party in Balchik.  All of the Balkan essentials are there, shopska salad, Coca Cola and Fanta.  The weddings that would inevitably be taking place wherever we stayed on a Friday or Saturday, would have the same place setting.  But, of course, with wine.  Tomato, cucumber, shredded sirene and a black olive on top.  It's as simple as that.

Front Yard Vineyards.  Bulgarian wine is great and they produce a lot of it.  Some statistics place it close to the tippy top of wine exporting countries in Europe.  Around 80% of Bulgarian wine winds up in the UK, the US and Russia (depending on how well they're getting along at the moment).  This is probably because it's a) way cheaper than any of their Western European competition and b) Bulgarians aren't crowding the wine aisle in the grocery store themselves.  They're simply making their own!  Especially in Southern Bulgaria, we saw grape arbors stretching door to door down small town streets. 

These Roadside Patrolling Stations or whatever they are.  Anyone know?  We just saw a manned one today in Sofia. I have to assume it is for policing purposes, but the design is just too unique not to mention.

Honorable Mention

Confusing Head Gestures.  Obviously, they are not confusing to other Bulgarians, but the fact that people shake their head for "yes" and nod it for "no" was very difficult to get used to.  It is something to know and keep top of mind if you plan on traveling to Bulgaria.  You sort of don't realize how much communication is done with nods (especially when their is a language barrier) until you find yourself in this situation.  You order something, they shake their head.  So, you order something else.  Now, they're confused. Your confused. Everyone's confused.  All because of a simple head shake.  Luckily, Bulgarians happen to be extremely nice and willing to work with bumbling reverse-nodders like us.

Everything's Coming Up Roses

 If you've ever sniffed rose perfume, chances are you've smelled Bulgaria.  This is the land of Rosa damascene, the damask rose, which French scent houses and essential oil companies call "Bulgarian gold."  Over seventy percent of the world's rose oil is distilled here in Bulgaria.  Though a lot of the industry is centered around the town of Rosa damascene, the whole countryside is redolent of the flowers.

Rose oil is called "otto" here, and it's special for a couple of reasons.  First, the climate of Bulgaria is supposed to be better suited for growing roses than anywhere else - the flowers have a more ambrosial quality, some say, and the otto smells more like roses than oil produced in other countries.  Also, the Bulgarians grow older, heritage varieties which have much more scent, and they have a longstanding tradition of distillation and cultivation.
Most importantly, Bulgaria isn't a wealthy country and it's very, very expensive to produce rose otto.  A single ounce of high quality oil requires about one hundred and seventy pounds of rose petals - thousands and thousands of flowers.  The process is labor intensive, highly agricultural, thorny and nobody else wants to do it.  Not exactly romantic work, but the people here are proud of it.
At one of dozens of "Rose of Bulgaria" stores, tourists can buy all kinds of pink skin creams, shampoos and perfumed soaps.

It's no surprise that people eat roses - they belong to the same family (Rosaceae) as apples, plums, cherries and myriad other fruit trees.  Rose water - a byproduct of otto production - is common here, and finds its way into some foods.  There are cakes and Turkish delight (appropriated and dubbed "Bulgarian delight") made with the stuff, as well as marzipan, syrup and even a few cocktails.  There are also more than a few varieties of tea made from the petals, and a whole host of products made from the rose hips.
When we were staying in the little town of Bachevo, we made these rose-jam butter cookies using two different Bulgarian preserves - a "jam" made with candied petals and a rose hip "marmalade."

The marmalade (on the left) obviously tasted much fruitier, and it was hard to detect any rose essence at all.  The jam was much sweeter and the taste was surprising - it was difficult to distinguish between flavor and fragrance.  The scent of a rose is so distinct; it's a shock to have it meet one's tongue.  In fact, the first impression it gave was of eating soap, though it doesn't actually taste soapy at all.  

On toast, the hip marmalade was better.  On cookies, the floral jam stood out in a great way.  

 

At the Queen's Winery House in Balchik, which hawks its wares right inside Queen Marie's seaside gardens, there's a rather syrupy-sounding rose wine.  We assumed it would be a cloying, saccharine sip, but it was actually not bad.  Or, rather, it was bad - but not as bad as cough-syrup-pink rose wine with honey could be.

Rosa damascene was brought to Bulgaria by the Ottomans in the 16th century, and the Turks still cultivate the flowers heavily - Turkish oil is now the main competition for Bulgarian otto.  China has begun distilling recently, and Morocco and Pakistan have rose industries.  Persia claims to be the birthplace of the genus, but Syria disagrees.  France is the largest importer of otto, and has a long history with the plant.
But it is Bulgaria, certainly, where the rose smells sweetest - it has come to be a symbol for the nation.  There are blossom festivals in the springtime and harvest traditions, roses planted in roundabouts and postcard pictures of baskets of flowers. In the evening, especially as dusk settles in, the gardens and trellises of this nation are as fragrant as any place on earth.

Belogradchik

Nature made a castle in the Bulgarian mountains.  All the Romans did was put up a little wall.
Imagine, looking at these spires of sandstone, that they are the towers and gatehouses of a citadel.  In the evening light, high above the town of Belogradchik, we stood on the balcony of an amazing creation.  Yes, it really is a castle.  Yes, it's been fought over for two millennia.  Yes, it's only a pile of rocks.

In the northeast of Bulgaria, twenty square miles of land bristles with odd, red and yellow rock formations.  They crop up in pine forests and beside rivers, on the outskirts of villages, bordering fields and up against houses.  The village of Belogradchik sits beside the biggest and most astonishing cluster, the reason for the towns existence.  Driving in from the plains beyond, it rises like a huge crown against the sky, its sides fissured and golden.  It's immediately evocative.

Some stones have been named - Adam and Eve, The Bear, The Pine - and given stories.  One legend, recounted on an information board, recounts how a local nun "wasn't able to hide her beauty under her frock."  One thing led to another and she and her shepherd lover and newborn were all turned to stone.  So too were the monks in her monastery, for forbidding her love.  It's a slightly confusing story.  Another tells of the Rebel Velko and his exploits fighting the Turks for independence.  A very convoluted mythology has sprung up around a schoolgirl, a bear and a lecherous dervish.

It seems impossible to believe, but the small wall there between the rocks - not much bigger than a small house wall - was all it took to create a fortress.  Belogradchik Castle (Белоградчишка крепост, also called "Kaleto") rises in a nearly perfect ring, like something created by magic in a fairy tale.  To the west, the land is a little higher, and a few low walls were added with time, but the original fortification was just a little caulking in a crack, basically a door shoved into the only approach point.  To the south and east, the walls rise almost two hundred feet, unbroken.  The view from the top is phenomenal.  To look out from the pinnacle is to see an ancient land, first-hand.

The regions towers were formed over millions of years, as softer rock around them was washed away.  The sandstone itself has been kind of "glued together" by a silicone type substance that preserved some stone but let others erode.
It's interesting to see one or two pop up along the roadsides, but to really appreciate their beauty one has to take in the whole expanse.  The best view is from the fortress, looking out over the eastern slopes.  Pillars and outcroppings march into the distance, filled in below by pines.

The Romans built the first known wall in the first century, some time before they erected the better known fort at Bononia (which forms the foundation of Baba Vida castle).  At the time, the region was a backwater, too far from the Danube to be easily accessible and quite unfriendly to Roman rule - the original castle lasted just a few centuries.  But the place was too magnificent to let lie, and both the First and Second Bulgarian Empires used Belogradchik as a northeastern base and the Ottomans made it the capital of their Kaaz region.

Once one has passed through two low gates, walked up the steep path and entered the fortress door, there's nothing but stone.  It seems more like a hidden canyon than a castle.  A few steps inside, there is only limestone and grass, a few twists of brush, rock rising on all sides.  Further in, the view opens up, the mountains reappear.

We spent about an hour climbing the rocks and poking around as the sun got low.  When we left, the ticket-seller was standing by the lower gate, waiting for us.  She had me help her pull the heavy door shut and get the chain in place before we waved goodnight.  Over dinner at a Mexane garden, we watched the rocks burn redder and redder in the evening light.  It's more spectacular than anyone could have dreamed up, a natural wonder.

Gypsy Kitchens: Gyuveche, a Catchall Casserole

At every Bulgarian mexana (tavern), someone next to us inevitably gets brought a small, glazed and painted earthenware pot full of something piping hot and seductively aromatic.  The top is removed, steam escapes and a fork digs right in, the diner puffing on each forkful to cool it down before the bite.  The pot is called a gyuveche, derived from the Turkish güveç, and the word often serves to describe any dish that is made inside.  Ordering one is like getting your own personal casserole, comfort food for one.  Making a gyuveche yourself is even more satisfying, as the general rule is 'use whatever you've got in your fridge.'  With one night left in a rental, a fridge that needed to be cleared out and pretty little gyuveche pots staring at us from our cupboard, we decided to try out this traditional Bulgarian dish.

What we wound up with closely resembles a dish called sirene po shopski , which combines cheese, egg, tomato, chili pepper and herbs.  However, there's no real point in defining it.  Gyuveche can be whatever you want it to be.  There are a few suggested guidelines that can be applied to any number of ingredient combinations.  The first is that there really should be sirene and kashkaval.  In Bulgaria, all cheese is called one of these two names which are most often translated to "white cheese" and "yellow cheese."  Sirene looks and crumbles like feta but, unlike its Greek lookalike, can be made from sheep, goat or cow.  Kashkaval is basically everything else, any and all Bulgarian cheese that resembles something from a deli counter (cheddar, muenster, swiss, emmental, etc). At the bottom of your finished product, sirene will remain fluffy, a lot like scrambled eggs.  At the top, the kashkaval will provide a melted seal.

It is a very simple casserole with no added liquid or starch needed.  The gyuveche is sometimes referred to as 'the original crock pot.'  It steams, boils and bakes its contents all at once.  The sirene goes into the pot first.  No oil.  The brined cheese exudes enough liquid when cooked that there's absolutely no way it will stick.  Whatever else you have goes on top of the sirene and then sliced kashkaval covers it all.  In the case of sirene po shopski, along with many other gyuveche meals, an egg is cracked on top.  The savory icing on your layer cake.

So, what leftovers did we have hanging around?  Eggs, tomato, hot peppers, onion, a bag of frozen peas (which we'd used to keep our groceries cool en route home) and olives stuffed with almonds.   We went out to the local shop for the kashkaval and tried to find the fresh herbs that are ever-present in Bulgarian cuisine.  Most people just go to their own backyard for herbs, so they are difficult to find in small towns.  Luckily, our rental's owner keeps a pot of thyme on the kitchen window sill.

Once you have your ingredients figured out, dice everything up to a nice forkable size.  Layer them into your gyuveche - white cheese, all non-cheese items, yellow cheese - and place in the oven, pre-heated at 375° F.  Cook for 20 minutes, then remove lid and add an egg.  Since we were making two pots, we tried cracking an egg on one and pouring a beaten egg onto the other.  The cracked egg stayed mostly separate, binding to the kashkaval.  Its yolk could then be broken and mixed in after serving.  The beaten egg seeped down and was incorporated into the whole dish.  Go with what sounds better to you.  We each had a different preference.
Once the egg is added, recover and cook for another 10 minutes (less for a runnier yolk if using the cracked egg method).
Garnish with ground black pepper and fresh herbs and wait at least a minute or two before serving.  We know it smells too good to wait, but tomatoes can be a real tongue-burner.

Our Gyuveche Recipe - Sirene po Shopski with Olives and Peas
makes two single-serving pots

Ingredients:*
1 large tomato 
3 small hot peppers 
1/2 frozen peas (defrosted) 
3/4 cup crumbled sirene (outside of Bulgaria, go with feta) 
about 3 cubic inches of kashkaval (cheddar, emmental or even mozzarella would work) 
fresh rosemary (parsley would be ideal, any herb will do) 
8 large green olives - ours were stuffed with almonds, which was a nice touch 
white onion 
black pepper 

*please don't just stick to these ingredients, have fun with it! salt is not listed because the cheese should give you a good dose. 

Method: 
- Preheat oven to 375° F. 
- Dice tomato, peppers, onion and olives. Tomato should be a little larger than the rest, about the size of a die. 
- Crumble your white cheese into the bottom of each gyuveche until you have a good base layer. 
- Add your diced vegetables, as well as your peas and a few sprigs of fresh rosemary. 
- Slice your yellow cheese and lay over the top. Allow some veggie to peak through. 
- Lid your pots, place in oven and cook for 20 minutes. 
- Put on an oven mitt and THEN uncover each pot and add in your egg by either cracking it right in or beating it and pouring it over. Cook for another 10 minutes. 
- Remove from oven and let sit for a minute or two. Garnish with black pepper, some more fresh herbs and enjoy.

Check out all of our recipes.

Cave People

Sometimes, people just don't know what to do with us.  We arrived at Magura Cave to find a sign posted near the entrance.  It stated that all visits must be on a guided Bulgarian-language tour which leaves every hour on the hour.  It was twenty to, we don't understand Bulgarian and when the ticket seller asked "group?" we shook our head and figured we'd totally struck out.  After more was said that we couldn't understand - we shrugged, she sighed, smiles all around - she ripped two tickets out of a book, told us the price and pointed to a staircase.  Down we went, not knowing that we wouldn't emerge for almost an hour and, when we finally saw light again, it would be overlooking a lake somewhere that was clearly not where we'd parked our rental car.

The cave is very, very big - a series of galleries and halls which span 2.5 kilometers.  It is dimly lit and slippery, devoid of metal staircases and colored lights.  Let's call it a more naturalistic approach to tourist infrastructure.  For a few moments, I was worried we were going to get lost.   Even a movie theatre aisle gives you more direction via runner lights than parts of Magura.  But, caves have a certain serenity to them and being on our own, it was easy to just forget about the outside world (and the fear that we would never again see it) and get swept up at the wonder of our surroundings.

Magura Cave is famed for its cave drawings.  Painted in bat guana, they depict people dancing and hunting; there are instruments, plants, animals, and a solar calendar which some say is the earliest one ever found in Europe.  The cave art dates back to the Epipaleolithic, Neolithic and Bronze Ages - a collection and layering of drawings that span thousands of years.  We kept looking out for them, not knowing whether they were open to the public or not.

It seemed unlikely that they would have just let us spelunk unsupervised with the paintings just out in the open.  We never did find them, but a random bench set up facing a beautifully craggy wall made me remember that everything we were looking at was art in and of itself.  Sure, we may not have seen dung paintings from 12,000 years ago - but we saw formations that began to get sculpted 15 million years ago.

As it turns out, the "Art Gallery" is in a wing of the cave that is now closed to visitors due to renovations.  Magura Cave is on a mission to earn UNESCO status, which probably accounts for the sprucing up.  Hopefully, when the drawings are once again publicly accessible, the rules will change about flash photography and smoking in the caves.  The smell of cigarettes and a flutter of camera bulbs up ahead informed us that we were not alone after all.

Our fellow cave people were IBM employees on a bus trip from Sofia.   It was a large group which included a convivial fellow who struck up conversation with us and translated a few bits and pieces of the tour guide's spiel.  There was information about a sanatorium which was opened inside the cave in 1989, but closed just a year later.  No one knows why.  There was the mention of a wine cellar in a wing we hadn't visited, which produces sparkling wine which is said to taste very similar to bubbly from Champagne.  A big stalagmite that looked like a mushroom was identified as "The Mushroom."

I wish we could have understood more.  I happen to be fond of cave tours.  The dates and geological details never quite stick in my memory, but stories about first discoveries and expeditions, folk legends about certain features and charmingly hyperbolic statements about the country and its cave are all wonderful parts of any spelunking experience.  And even though it feels more adventurous, more magical and more exciting to explore a cave on our own, there's a unique, quirky, community vibe that comes with being underground with a bunch of strangers. 

We laughed along with jokes we didn't understand.  We passed along alerts about a particularly slippery spot.  We joined in when everyone began to place coins on this special wishing stump.  Sometimes, it's pretty easy to figure out what's going on without knowing the language.  Speaking of making a wish... Yesterday was Merlin's birthday and a high school friend sent him this greeting: "Happy bday!!! Don't get lost in a cave, or go OD on yoghurt."  He knew we were in Bulgaria where both things are very, very possible.  (He also sent this amazing Bulgarian birthday song which is too good not to share).