6th October 2013

We woke late to a morning of frost and bright sunshine, a welcome change from the usual gloom. After a strong coffee to shake off the chill, we managed to coax our now thoroughly wheezy car into action and headed into Dryanovo.

First stop: the garage, where David was due to pick up the elusive spark plugs he’d ordered yesterday. I assumed it would be a simple handover, so Banjo and I waited in the car. Thirty minutes later, after multiple rounds of bonnet-lifting and a healthy dose of head-scratching, David finally emerged, plugs in hand. Here, “simple” clearly translates as “long-winded and overly complicated.” You’d think spark plugs for a mass-produced car wouldn’t require a dramatic Bulgarian theatre performance, but apparently, that’s half the charm of the local mechanic’s life.

Next, a pleasant wander through Dryanovo market. I bought a jar of honey to sweeten our coffee, while David searched for boots, finding neither fit nor appeal, but did pick up a socket for his newly acquired spark plugs. After traversing the full length of the street market and back, we paused for coffee in a café by the park. Sitting in the sun, warming ourselves for the first time in days, I even risked removing my new 2-lev hat.

On the way to Ritya, Milen’s grandfather handed over 2 levs for two loaves of stale brown bread for his dogs. Dogs here thrive on bread alone, though Banjo, in his English finery, would surely protest. I took a stroll around the town centre while David handled the “dog food.” Along the way, I had a classic “senior moment” and realised my hat was missing; fortunately, it was still in the café, where I reclaimed it triumphantly. Hat safely on, we navigated the car’s protests through the town streets.

Back in Ritya, David wrestled the new plugs into place, and the car seemed to reward him with a slightly smoother startup.

A test drive revealed it was still a bit lumpy, but I just smiled: “That’s called driving down a Bulgarian road, David.” Tomorrow’s frost would be the real trial.

Later, David launched into a heroic cleaning mission. Pots, cutlery, and pans had been piling up like a scene from a culinary disaster movie, leaving few flat surfaces untouched. Yet he soldiered on, transforming the kitchen back into a reasonably orderly state, a true hero in the trenches. Meanwhile, I tackled the wood store, shedding layers in the sunshine to clad its side. Stationed at the chop saw, I obeyed David’s enthusiastic architect-style instructions, his shouting of measurements reminiscent of a football coach on the sidelines. We pressed on until the sun sank, at which point the chill forced me to re-layer just as we finished.

Dinner was a hearty hot-pot, the perfect antidote to a chilly day, followed by a film to round off the evening. With bellies full and spirits lifted, we rolled off to bed, ready to face whatever tomorrow might throw at us.