5th October 2013

Another bitterly cold day, but with supplies running dangerously low, we had a mission to Sevlievo. Work clothes were reluctantly swapped for something clean, warm, and only slightly wrinkled, almost like going on holiday, if your idea of a holiday includes dodging potholes and negotiating for wood.

The journey was grey and drizzly, with the car heater blasting until a curious smell began to waft from the vents, prompting a quick window-down intervention. Roads here are far from smooth, and to add a dash of excitement, we encountered workmen with a bulldozer scraping back flora from the roadside. Rather than cart it off, they generously dumped it right in the middle of the road. No warning signs, naturally, just a recipe for impromptu head-on encounters. Thankfully, in this part of Bulgaria, you’re just as likely to meet a couple of gypsies in a horse-drawn cart as another car. We did pass a lorry and, astonishingly, a Trabant that somehow managed to overtake us, a moment of shameful admiration.

Arriving in town, we discovered it was Market Day. The affair was modest, with most stalls offering “well-loved” (read: second-hand) items. I bagged a woolly hat for 2 lev to fend off the chill, while David negotiated for some wood straight off the back of a lorry, promising to return later for collection.

Next on the agenda was picking up a long-awaited blind for the apartment and delivering a wood carving by Milen’s grandfather. David managed to sell it for 50 lev, a modest fortune. I had a glance at it: intricate work, likely worth every lev. As we headed back to the car, a little kitten had taken up residence on our front wheel, a photo opportunity too good to pass up. Cute as anything.

Supermarket stop: David insisted on the “famous” 0.99 lev sausage in a bun, which delivered all the charm and nutritional value of burnt sawdust. Undeterred, we filled our trolley with whatever essentials we thought we might need.

Back at the market, we loaded ten hefty packs of machined wood onto the roof rack. The vendor, eyeing our teetering pile, had clearly hoped to keep the sale off the books. Upon realising we were travelling all the way from Dryanovo, he relented and gave us a receipt, likely anticipating a trail of timber or a run-in with the local police. Our van made it home intact, albeit at a distinctly unhurried pace.

After a quick coffee, we set to unloading, then David zipped off to Dryanovo in search of spark plugs for our ailing vehicle. I took Banjo for a stroll before collapsing on the bed, where I may or may not have drifted off while listening to music. David returned plug-less but with an appointment for tomorrow, a minor triumph of Bulgarian supply chains.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with saws blazing, chopping every last scrap of wood, adding to David’s already monumental woodpile.

Evening brought a treat: a meal at the bar and an attempt at a film. Halfway through, we agreed it was far too absurd and called it a night. Outside, a frosty minus three greeted us, Bulgaria’s way of reminding us that winter was very much on its way.