22 June 2012

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.

20 June 2012

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.

19 June 2012

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). 

Castle Hunting: Baba Vida

Baba Vida castle (Баба Вида крепост), sits in the unexciting town of Vidin, watching over a broad stretch of the Danube.  When we arrived, on a still-hot evening as the sun was going down, there was a volleyball game happening on part of the outer wall.  A few straggling sunbathers lay out on the grass (including a suspicious, naked man) and an elderly couple toweled off after their swim.
The fortress was serene and jumbled, a confusing cluster of towers, brickwork and walls.  It's a mix of styles - Bulgarian, Austrian, Ottoman - and periods, with 19th century touches and old Roman foundations, still visible, underneath.  We slept in town and came back in the morning to take a closer look.
There is a legend about Baba Vida which goes something like this:  at the end of the 10th century, a great Bulgarian king died.  His lands were divided amongst his three daughters, who each received a stronghold and city.  Two of the daughters married bad men who squandered their father-in-law's wealth and lands, but the third, Vida, never married.  She settled quietly in the town of Bdin (currently Vidin), where she built a castle and remained much beloved by her subjects.  After she died, the townspeople began calling the fortress "Baba Vida," or "Granny Vida."  Nobody's quite sure if this is true, but it's certainly a strange name.
Bulgaria once had many castles, but most are ruined - other than the sham castle in Veliko Tarnovo, this is pretty much the best the country has to offer.  It's in great shape, with a grassy moat and pretty towers, a lot of history and a nice compactness.
There are parts of the tenth century structure still intact. However, like most castles that remained in use, there have been many modifications.  The biggest additions are mostly lost in the scrubby riverside undergrowth - long cannon embankments that surrounded the older fortress.  Bits and pieces of these are still visible, but not much.  A lot of the riverside wall was destroyed to build a modern levy, and other parts were flattened to make way for apartment blocks.
Luckily, the main stronghold has remained, though it's in a much different condition than it used to be.  The Ottomans, who ruled the region from the 14th to the 19th centuries, made the most changes, along with Austrian allies who occasionally were charged with the castle's defense.
As cannons became more common, castles began being built specifically for them.  Older buildings, like Baba Vida, were often retrofitted - but any new structures had a decidedly different look to them than the antiquated, high-walled tower-cluster that had dominated earlier periods.  High walls were great for archers, but terrible for big guns (I've covered a lot of this in more detail here and a little bit here).  By the 1600's and 1700's, most medieval castles had been abandoned or completely overhauled.  By the 1800's, they were almost completely obsolete - there was only so much one could modify an old fortress, most rulers preferred to build something new.
Baba Vida is different - it was used right up until 1865.
Like many fortresses, Baba Vida had to be refitted for cannons at a certain point, which changed how the outer walls were built and necessitated a system of ramps inside to get artillery from place to place.  Later, when Vidin wasn't strategically important anymore, the castle was used for munitions storage.  At the beginning of the 1800's, some 15 feet of sod and soil were piled over the inner roofs to make the gunpowder rooms safer.  Consequently, most of the fortress is now a large, elevated, grassy surface covering bunker-like chambers beneath.  Because of this, the towers look quite stubby from inside.  There are interesting doorways built to access the lower parts of the towers and some nice wildflowers.
Because most medieval castles weren't used into the 19th century, they were never outfitted with defenses that reflected the military shift towards smaller, lighter guns.  As old cannons were replaced, for the most part, by more portable firearms (muskets and rifles), the need for thick, heavily-fortified battlements diminished.  But because Baba Vida was a guarded munitions store, it got new, brick parapets with narrow, slitted firing positions.  Interestingly, these smaller embrasures are very similar to the old arrow loops that were phased out when cannon architecture became more common.
It's interesting to find, in this river delta, a castle made primarily of stone, which is scarce.  Typically, small stone castles (as opposed to quarried rock structures) crumble and are in worse shape, but here an amazing amount of detail has survived.  After the Ottomans took power, this part of Europe was rarely fought over, and the fortress, in its present form, was never seriously attacked.
Baba Vida is at the outskirts of Vidin, where the town trickles out into a mess of low branches and former floodplain.  Around the castle is a tree-filled park that winds its confusing way along the riverside into the heart of town.  Much of the park has been neglected and has a post-communist messiness that manages somehow to be endearing.  There is a graffiti'd statue of Mother Bulgaria and a popular pizza place, an almost-derelict rowing club, an abandoned church (or maybe synagogue).  Walking to our morning photo session, we passed a young prostitute standing in the shade of a sycamore.  A few early risers were already lying out on the "beach" by the water.  Swimmers and kayakers dotted the smooth surface of the Danube.  Behind it all, completely ignored, the castle was a pretty yellow in the slanting light - we had Bulgaria's premiere, best preserved castle all to ourselves.

16 June 2012

Veliko Tarnovo

As we passed through town (eating salads and ice-cream, drinking lemonades, trying to stay out of the heat) we saw the sights and felt that Veliko Tarnovo was putting on a show.  That was fine with us, because it wasn't working.  There's a show alright - sunset on the rooftops - but the tourist shtick was a little off base.  Sure, they've got visitors in droves, but the people of the old capital don't really care.
Bulgaria is beautiful in June, maybe nowhere more so than Veliko Tarnovo.  Swooping down into town, one feels as though they've found a sun-drenched cliff village, something like a colony of swallow nests.  The town sits at the crux of a series of twists in the river Yantra, winding itself along the water and up a series of steep streets towards a fortress and a jumble of old buildings.  This was once the town of kings, the capital of the Second Bulgarian Empire - it's now ruled by university students sitting at cafes.  It's impossible not to find Tarnovo beautiful, but it's also more than a little tacky, alternately quiet and energetic, idyllic and jarring.  More than anything, it's a tourist town.
It begins with the prime tourist sight, Tsarevets fortress.  Once, this was among the largest and most impressive castles in the world.  From 1185 to 1393, it was the seat of power of one of Europe's biggest medieval empires - a kingdom that reached from present day Moldova in the north to Epirus in southern Greece, incorporating much of the old Byzantine lands and the Balkans in general.  The complex was huge, ringing three hilltops and including a ninety foot long throne.  The main citadel had been inhabited for at least four millennia before the Bulgars used it as their capital.  Truly a historic place.
It's too bad, but what currently passes for the seat of kings was constructed in 1981 by communist "historians" who based their castle design on whimsy and guesswork - it's essentially a modern pile of stones made to look old.  The kicker is the technicolor light show at night, supposedly designed to tell the story of the second empire.  Tsarevets is fun to look at, but nobody should consider this an honest-to-goodness castle.
From the street, most of the houses in the old town don't look very impressive - they're just small timber and plaster things, it seems.  From the inside, though, Tarnovo's residence have a wooden grandness that is pure, countryside Victorianism.  The Sarafkina House, now a museum, drops five stories towards the water - the entryway is on the fourth floor, the views of the river at the back are terrific.
After the Mongols and Ottomans reduced Bulgaria to a shambles, Veliko Tarnovo lost much of its importance but little of its allure.  In the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, it was the home of a number of prominent Bulgar families, wealthy enough to import gramophones and silks.  In a great collection of old photographs in the the Sarafkina house, the townspeople are shown dressed in very elegant suits and very muddy boots.
The houses and churches of town are all a little askew - creaking staircases, tightly bunched angles, leaning balconies - as though the concrete and roof tiles really were set down by nest building birds.  There are many decorated surfaces in hidden places, down alleys and on old walls.  Little icons appeared in courtyards.  Graffiti faces stared from within broken windows.  The church at the summit of the castle was covered with 1980's murals - not religious, of course, but depicting the struggle of the proletariat.
Tarnovo (as it was once called, before "Veliko," meaning "old," was added in 1965) is one of those peculiar places that has gone through many peaks and lows.  When Sofia was made the new capital, and as communism concentrated life in urban centers, the grand families moved away and the old buildings began to deteriorate.  This part of Bulgaria became a backwater, tourism was almost nonexistent.
Cresting at the moment, Tarnovo makes it hard to discern - through chain link fences and between communist walls - either the magnificent old capital or the elegance of the past.  Even as the area becomes the most affluent in the country, it still has plenty of grittiness left over from harder times.  It occurred to me, passing waiting taxis and sneaker stores, that there's only a certain amount of niceness that a place like this can have.
Prettiness is boring when there's so much of it, even if that's what brings in visitors like us. Becoming a thoroughly modern kind of place is the goal, tourist money lines the path there.  Cafes with heat-fighting mist systems line the boulevard and surround the parks.  Strip clubs and piano bars fight for the crowd's business, sleek pizza places and bistros have snapped up the best vistas.  The city has become too prosperous to linger over history (though lingering over the view is still encouraged).  
On the day we spent in Tarnovo, the sun was so oppressively bright, the air so sticky, that it was difficult to wander far without needing another lemonade.  As we sat in the shade or trekked across noon-beaten avenues, we mingled with young people in sunglasses and old tourists with shorts and white legs.  We looked at the view, we marveled at the old buildings, we scoffed at the castle.  'What a place!' we said.  It felt like a perfected idea of old Bulgaria, the most beautiful place a tourist could imagine.  Why did it leave us feeling so empty?  We're not really sure.

Lifestyles of the Rich & (in)Famous

It's not every day that you get to sleep were Mikhail Gorbachev once laid his famously birth-marked head. And don't you just dream of such a day? We booked a triple room at Arbanashki Han, the only one available online in our price range. When we arrived and they noticed we were a couple, they apologized that the triple had three individual beds, all narrower than a twin. "For 10 euros more, we can give you the apartment." We declined. These things happen, no problem at all, we'll get through. "Can I just show you the apartment?" the eager, nice gentleman asked. "It is very special." Pride was as much of a motivating factor as those 10 extra Bulgarian levs. The big, wooden door was opened to revel a massive, two floor suite. "Mikhail Gorbachev stayed in this apartment in 2002," he told us. We'll take it!
The Arbanassi Inn (Han = Inn) is also known as the Hadjihristov House. Built in 1646 by a wealthy merchant family of that name, it was one of many affluent homes in Arbanassi. The 17th and 18th century were wildly successful years for the village. Traders and craftsman did business with Russia, Poland, Greece, India, Persia, everywhere, using the mighty river Danube and benefiting from a tax exemption that covered all residents. At the end of the 16th century, Sultain Suleiman the Magnificent had actually gifted the entire town to his son in law, making it 'royal property' and therefore free from any taxation. Arbanassi has been VIP real estate from the beginning of its written history.
During Communism, the house, like most property, became state owned. Chairman of the Fatherland Front, Pencho Kubandinski, took a liking to the Hadjihristov House, renamed it "Arbanashki Han" and began to summer here. This is his original desk and library, right there in our (and Gorby's) suite. The 'notorious Arbanassi dames' of yesteryear were no longer prancing down the streets in silk and fur, servants following with jewel boxes in hand. There were no longer Wallachian princes building their second homes in the bucolic area overlooking Veliko Tarnovo. But the new upper crust - i.e. Kubandinski and his friends in high offices - kept Arbanassi's status as an elite retreat in tact.
"Real estate here is more expensive than in the states!" a Bulgarian man from Memphis, Tennessee told us. He'd visited the Arbanashki Han over a decade ago and looked a little sad at the construction being done on the leafy property. An in-ground swimming pool and conference center. "Rich digs" means something different nowadays. "Foreigners like to come and see old things, but Bulgarians like everything new!" he lamented further. Case and point: Kaloyanove Fortress. Its lobby is pictured above.  Welcome to Cribs, everybody.
We booked a night here on a lark, reading that it was a "Medieval Castle." We can't be sure exactly when it was built, but it was nominated for the 2008 Building of the Year Award from a Bulgarian hotel association.  According to the lobby pamphlet, the Fortress is a "great challenge to history."  Lost in translation.  A statue of King Kaloyan, or Kaloyan the Romanslayer as the kids call him, stands out front near the moat and drawbridge.  The tsar's monument is "one of the newest in the history of Bulgaria," the management boasts.  New, new, new. 
I doubt that living like a king was quite like this in Medieval Times. So... odor-free.  There were towel doves on our bed and a shower/jacuzzi thing smack in the middle of our room. The bathing contraption was so big and shiny that I fully expected Merlin to go in and emerge dressed as Batman. The hotel has a DJ at night, folk dancing on occasion and, by request, can give you a helicopter ride. The interior is the work of an Italian firm and the sound system is American.  Their slogan is "Enjoy a Royal Party!" It all reminded us of another thing our Bulgarian-Tennesseean neighbor had told us. "Now, all the buildings here are built by the mafia. Short lives, but rich ones!"
And then there is the truly named Arbanassi Palace, home of Todor Zhivkov who ruled Bulgaria as the head of the Communist Party for 35 years - one of the longest non-royal reigns in history.  He had this residence built in 1975, about halfway through his time as leader.  I'm sure he would have bristled at the word 'palace,' but that's sure what it is.  The location is magnificent, looking out over Veliko Tarnovo and the mountains.  Seeing it from afar, it couldn't have looked more perfectly like a Communist Palace - grand, but without ornamentation, big, blocky, but with subtly rounded towers that evoke hilltop castles.

After Zhivkov's forced resignation in 1989 and the subsequent fall of Communism in Bulgaria, the building was turned into a hotel.  Once you get up close, it looks more like a hotel than someone's home anyway.  So, a no-brainer.  If you're wondering why Mr. Gorbachev didn't stay here instead, it's probably because during his 2002 visit they were tearing down some walls. They were renovating. I'm not sure if the solarium, Turkish bath, tennis courts and swimming pool were part of Todor Zhivkov's original floor plan.
We didn't stay at the Arbanassi Palace, but we did stop by for an evening cocktail.  It felt a little like trick-or-treating at a certain house just to catch a glimpse of what it looks like inside. There was a chandelier and leather-chair filled lobby bar, but the outdoor terrace beckoned. The views were vast and gorgeous, the sunset sublime.  A white circle with an H in the center marked a helipad on the field below.  There was no wonder at all why, in all of this large country, Zhivkov chose this spot for a residence.  We clinked our glasses and Robin Leach's voice popped into my head.  To shampansko wishes and caviar dreams!