Storks

Bulgaria must be one of the three avid readers of this blog, as it has seen what Romania had to offer and tried raising it. This past week or so has been nothing short of spectacular, however the psy-trance raves that seem to be using my tracker as a navigation tool have not been appreciated.

Crossing the busiest border yet, the perks of being on bike meant I could rather gracefully pull a Frenchy; skipping the queue and speeding straight to the front. A few horns and angry comments from fellow travellers later and I was in Bulgaria, greeted with Bulgarian Cyrillic and immediately scrambling to get my bearings. Is that a sign for coffee or a landslide warning, who knows and I didn’t care under the midday sun. There was one main road due south, hugging the coast which I followed. Cycling without a care in the world, on pothole free tarmac and surrounded by fields of sunflower and lavender that mercifully masked the stench my cycling jersey had been building up over the past few days.

The first summit across the border into Bulgaria from Romania.

I made good distance on the first day, but sadly most of the remote beaches were off limits to me as I was running short on water, and to camp overnight without it would be silly. However, with every closed door comes an open window (I have a great silver lining analogy at the end of this blog, so keep reading), and by extending my first foray into Bulgaria I pulled over to explore some very cool, rather creepy cave monasteries. After muttering a prayer about the upcoming ferry and crisps in Bulgaria being half decent I pressed on to a beach, well off the road and with hopes of it being deserted.

Bolata beach was everything I needed at the end of a long day. Relatively few people, even less by the time the sun had set, ample supplies from a petrol station 4km back and the sea to cool off in. With no lights anywhere near me I made the decision that tonight would be a star gazing event and I was not let down. Satellites zipping overheard, the Milky Way doing its thing and a shooting star to cap the evening off. This is what the expedition is all about and it’s important to remember to reap the rewards after tough days.

The rock-hewn church of Saints Constantine and Helena

I continued along the coast, wild camping as I did but for two out of the next three nights I was awoken by psy-trance raves that had evidently popped up after I had gone to bed. Inclined not to join, or to try and ask them to turn the volume down via Google translate, I endured what I am pretty sure the CIA cooked up in the 60s as an interrogation method. Truly there is no poorer genre of music in the world and I can now relate to my parents anguish during my unabashed dubstep years. Sorry mum.

One thing I will say to the second group of ravers is fair play. Started at 10pm and were going strong when I left at 9am the following morning. I can only tip my hat to you and send Victor down for the next event to go in my stead (dear ravers, do get in touch if you ever read this, personal details in the contact tab of the website).

Despite the amazing views and strange people, what has struck a chord with me most this week has been witnessing the fledging of white storks, these huge marauding birds that commonly roost on top of electricity pylons. Their development can be used to trace my own progress through Eastern Europe; from seeing pairs building nests in Croatia, days old chicks in eastern Romania to noisy, often belligerent fledglings in Bulgaria.

Like these birds, I’ve done a lot of growing up myself. From needing serious shelter and general support in the week from hell in Hungary, to huge personal growth and feeling more confident in my abilities and endurance over the past few weeks. It seems our timings are aligned as, much like the birds ready to flee the nest, I feel deep down that my time in Europe is ready to close. The storks will fatten up in Europe before flying south to Africa, whilst I intend to fatten up myself eating ice cream and having a few restful beers on Burgas beach before either getting the ferry to Georgia, or cycling to Istanbul where I will then take a train to the east of the country and cycle into Georgia.

Getting ready for bulking season - Nessebar, Bulgaria.

On the ferry front, things do not look positive. No news from the shipyard means the ferry company have advised me to ‘take appropriate action’…. despite not telling me what my options were. However, my frustrations and despair at receiving the email quickly dissipated when a Bulgarian bloke, apparently a preacher, happened to come by where I had pulled over for a coffee and demanded to bless me and the bike. Readers of the blog are probably surprised I didn’t burst into flames like the baddie in Raiders of the Lost Ark; but being both religious and superstitious I thought being blessed a marvellous idea.

After donning a shawl over my head, a lot of holy oil and a very long Bulgarian prayer I genuinely felt better about whatever was in store. After all, this is an expedition and who am I to complain about having to go through Turkey, how blinded I was being. Not long ago I was in a flat or an office environment dreaming about the big escape and to even have these options is a blessing in itself. Every cloud has a silver lining, but you still have to look for it (I am copywriting this phrase).

If Carlsberg did preachers….. leaving Nessebar quite literally on a wing and a prayer

I now near the end of my journey following the Black Sea, feeling that my time in Europe has both challenged and changed me in some ways. My tent has about five pitches left in it before it gives up on me and your guess is as good as mine about how I get to Georgia; but like my fellow storks I feel the need to move onto pastures new. In the meantime I’ll enjoy fattening up with a decision on my migration decided by the end of the week.

Lastly, a special word for the sponsors of this expedition who without their support I would never have got this far. Backing me from the proverbial stork egg to the fledgling writing this blog. To the: alpkit Foundation, Fishmongers’ Company, NESI and the JWCT I will forever be indebted to you. There’s still many a mile ahead but to have had all your dedicated support has been nothing short of amazing.

One storm too many and one less peg now to hold the tent down