30th November 2023

The final day of November began with no power in either the house or the village. Without warning, sometime overnight, the authorities must have disconnected the electricity. Neither Mark nor the 82-year-old gentleman who also lived along the lane knew the reason when we met them during our now customary morning walk. The rather frail, elderly Bulgarian hobbled on two sticks outside his house to speak with us and explained that this was quite a common occurrence, adding that the power would probably be restored by 3 p.m. David had previously told me that the man, whose English name is James, was highly respected in the area as a renowned wood sculptor, regularly exhibiting at the monastery we had visited a few days earlier. He was almost right: the electricity returned at 3.20 p.m.

The day turned out gloriously warm, enticing us to eat our Greek salad seated on garden chairs against the house front, basking in the sunshine and watching the fruits of our morning’s labour burn satisfyingly on the bonfire, sending smoke and ash swirling upwards.

The morning was spent clearing the tangle of tracks running along the two-metre-high southern wall of David’s property, leading into what was once a field that also belonged to the house. Mark usually parked his car at the start of this track, but moved it when asked, so we could gain access without risking damage. Meanwhile, some Bulgarians working down the lane were renovating a property in the village centre and had blocked the road with their vehicle while laying concrete around the front of the house. As a result, neither Mark nor we could go anywhere until they had finished. Fortunately, we weren’t in any hurry.

We worked steadily throughout the day, cutting back the trees and bushes that threatened the integrity of the wall, logging the larger trunks and branches, and burning the rest. Several of the trees proved tricky to fell, as they leaned either towards the wall or dangerously close to the power lines. With the help of rope, brute force, and a chainsaw, we managed to successfully bring down all but one. Unfortunately, that final tree caught the wall as it fell, dislodging a few of the decorative tiles that typically top walls in this region.

A very friendly dog from somewhere in the village appeared to watch us work, tail wagging enthusiastically. Several times, we had to shoo him away, as he insisted on positioning himself in precisely the spot where the next tree was due to fall. We later learned from the workmen that his name was Ritya, a most fitting name, I thought.

With the power back on, life became significantly easier once we retired indoors for the night. I would never have imagined deriving such satisfaction from the simple sound of a flushing toilet, the alternative being to lug a heavy container of water upstairs and pour it manually down the pan, having first collected it from under the roof downpipe where the melting snow was channelled. Washing the dishes also became less of a chore, as we could now use hot water from the tap rather than waiting for a large pot of snow to melt and then boil on the wood burner, a process that took an age.

That said, even with the electricity restored, we opted to make another hotpot and cook it on the wood burner; it just seems to taste so much better that way. After supper, we settled in to watch the Elton John film Rocketman before heading to bed around 11 p.m.

1st December 2023

The first day of December was an absolute gem, 17°C with a light, warming breeze. We were up early at 8 a.m. and set off on our usual leisurely walk through the village. Our loyal companion, Ritya, had been left to fend for himself overnight, guarding the renovation project in the village centre. He soon caught up with us, tail wagging. We fed him some of Banjo’s old treats (Banjo being David’s dog, now left behind in the UK), which were, admittedly, three years past their best-before date. Ritya gobbled them down with gentle appreciation, then happily accepted a bowl of yoghurt that had been open in the fridge for some time.

The morning was spent finishing off the clearance of the track and burning the remaining debris. Mark dropped by for a chat, and then, over our lunch of ham and tomato sandwiches, Milen arrived. He kindly volunteered his daughter to act as an interpreter should the house be put up for sale, though I don’t think David was particularly enthusiastic about the idea.

After lunch, David climbed into the loft to investigate the staining on the lounge ceiling. We suspected it might be the result of a broken roof tile, the same one we had noticed lying on the ground behind the house during our first week. By late afternoon, most of the snow had melted, with only a few shaded patches remaining, along with the mounds where we had piled it high while clearing the lane with snow shovels.

On returning from his lofty investigation, David reported that the soil used by the Bulgarians for roof insulation was bone dry, but he had discovered large piles of faeces scattered throughout the space. A visit to see the 82-year-old James, accompanied by photos of the mystery heaps, led to the conclusion that squirrels had taken to using the loft as a latrine. Rather amusingly, years ago, David had hung bags of mothballs from the ceiling in an effort to deter rats, and it was directly beneath these that the squirrels had decided to squat.

With the roof space fully investigated, we spent the remainder of the daylight hours clearing four years’ worth of leaf debris from the base of the pool. It had been mostly emptied the previous week, leaving behind a 10cm layer of soggy detritus. Using a snow shovel, David scooped the mess into a wheelbarrow stationed at the poolside, and once full, I wheeled it to the base of the fruit trees, tipping it out as mulch to nourish the trees and, with any luck, suppress the weeds.

The last four metres at the deep end of the pool still held water and sludge, so we set about pumping it out over the wall and into the track we had recently cleared. It was dark by the time we finished, but peering through the gloom, we dropped the pump into the pool pump house, which was half full of water, and drained that as well.

Throughout the day, the internet had been dreadful, and the poor connection continued well into the night.

I watched a film I’d downloaded in the UK from Netflix on my laptop before deciding to have an early night. David, meanwhile, watched the England women’s team beat the Netherlands 3–2 on his tablet in what sounded like an exciting match. Despite the internet cutting out regularly and the match constantly buffering, he kept me updated, right up until the score reached 2–2. Then, without another word, he too retired for the night.

2nd December 2023

We were surprised to find, on checking the score the next morning, that England had indeed gone on to win the match 3–2 in extra time.

Before breakfast, we both had a shower in preparation for a shopping trip to Dryanovo. However, the process had become rather convoluted. The previous day, we discovered a leak in the pump system, unfortunately, on the ‘good’ side of the piping. This meant we now had to keep the stopcock to the house turned off unless water was actively needed. To take a shower, one of us had to go outside, lift the cover of the sunken pump house, switch on the pump, then turn on the electricity supply to the hot water tank and wait for the water to heat. After showering, we had to return outside to switch off the pump to prevent the pump house from flooding.

Of course, while the pump was on, the toilet cisterns would fill, giving us exactly one flush before the whole rigmarole had to be repeated. We were getting used to it.

On our morning constitutional through the village, we met our friendly companion Ritya and gave her a few treats. On the way back, one of the villagers came out to greet us. She was the widow of the gentleman from whom I used to buy honey during past visits, and was eager to introduce us to her new boyfriend. She invited David into the house while I walked on with the dog, keeping her entertained by throwing a stick, which she gleefully retrieved and dropped at my feet every time. David later reappeared carrying a large jar of honey.

We drove into Dryanovo and parked near the bustling open-air market. After a couple of circuits around the many stalls lining the street, we eventually managed to buy all the vegetables we needed for the remainder of our stay. By the time we’d finished, it was around midday, so we stopped at a small restaurant in the centre for coffee and lunch. Two other English couples were dining at a nearby table, but we chose not to engage them in conversation, as we still needed to pick up a few final items from the supermarket before heading back.

On the way back to Ritya, we stopped to fill a petrol can,  an essential item when using a chainsaw.

We had taken our internet device with us to Dryanovo, as it had stopped working in Ritya, and we wanted to determine whether the issue was a weak signal or simply that the SIM had run out of data. It didn’t work there either, confirming that we would need to travel to Sevlievo over the next few days to top up the data. In the meantime, David inserted his UK SIM into the device, which worked, at least until that too ran out of data.

As the sun set, we were treated to a spectacular view over the distant Shipka mountain.

That evening, we watched a film on Netflix and kept an eye on how much data it consumed from our SIM card. We were disappointed to discover it used over 4GB, and promptly resolved to limit our use of Netflix films in the future.

Family news: Jamie and Ruth flew to Reykjavik to spend some time exploring Iceland.

3rd December 2023

Overnight, while much of the UK awoke to a covering of snow, in Ritya the last vestiges of Sunday night’s blizzard had disappeared, and we woke to a cloudy morning that felt a little chillier than of late.

We began the day by finishing the task of barrowing leaf debris from the pool and redistributing it as mulch around the various trees and shrubs in the garden. David then turned his attention to cutting down the stumps of the trees we had felled along the track, bringing them down to ground level. As I wasn’t needed for this part of the job, I took our friendly village dog, Ritya, for a walk of about an hour through the surrounding countryside, which is slowly returning to wilderness. Many of the local farms in this area have been abandoned for decades, and fields that once produced crops are now being reclaimed by nature. The last time I followed that track, in 2015, it was still in use by loggers, but now it was overgrown with thorny shrubs and blocked by fallen trees brought down in the recent snow. I tried to follow the same route as before, but eventually had to retrace my steps, as all traces of the once well-used path had vanished under thick undergrowth. Still, both the dog and I got some good exercise and enjoyed each other’s company.

Returning just before midday, I found David cutting up the trunks and branches we’d lopped last week into regular-sized logs, ready for the woodburner. I helped out by wheelbarrowing the logs into the barn to season.

Lunch was cheese and onion sandwiches again.

The forecast had suggested rain after midday, but it didn’t arrive until dusk. By then, I had swept up the remaining debris around the pool. David had planned to jet wash the pool surfaces, but the petrol washer he brought over from the UK four years ago refused to start. After an hour of tinkering, he managed to get it ticking over, but it wouldn’t draw water from the barrel. Another hour passed as he tried various fixes, but nothing succeeded in coaxing the machine into action. As the rain set in and darkness fell, he reluctantly admitted defeat, resolving to try again in the morning.

Our evening meal was a jacket potato with sweetcorn, stuffed with garlic and onion relish, and supplemented with Bulgarian sausage, all washed down with a glass of beer.