A different kind of wonderful

Much of what I saw in Bulgaria was shabby and not in a chic way. It was shabby in an unkempt, paint-peeling, windows broken, "what happened to this place?" kind of way. There's graffiti, cracked sidewalks and renegade gypsy camps. Lots of buildings are blocky and gray and worn, some with exteriors that seem to house the remnants of a horror story inside. (The country has a fair share of stunning buildings, too, I should say.)

Vratsa

I saw lots of people who were noticeably hardened -- not mean but hard, haggard, perhaps struggling and losing. There isn't the brightness, the carefreeness, the "let's grab a beer and work later" mentality that's so classically Spanish. For the 20 percent of Bulgarians who work for the equivalent of 1 euro an hour - minimum wage - it's about surviving. People sell tarnished coins and animal pelts and treasures from Grandpa's attic at makeshift markets to make ends meet. (Bulgaria, of course, isn't the only country where people do that.)

Even so, Bulgaria is an eclectic, endearing, intriguing ex-communist gem - nothing like the traditional European beauties of Vienna, Venice or Prague. I adored it and would love to go back someday. It's unconventionally beautiful, like a guy with a gap in his teeth or a crooked nose -- you have to look past a superficial flaw or two to see that he's peculiarly handsome.

Sofia

Vratsa

Veliko Tarnovo

Vratsa

Veliko Tarnovo

Veliko Tarnovo

Sofia

Bulgaria has plains, hills and mountains, green in summer and white in winter. It's got charming medieval towns that have endured centuries of Ottoman rule and later, communism. It's got what I'm told is an awe-inspiring Black Sea coast on its eastern side, which I sadly didn't have the good fortune of visiting.

Vratsa

And goodness, the food. MMM, the food. It was the most glorious sort of hearty and heavy - think meats, bread, potatoes. Even the salads alone were enough to over-stuff an empty stomach. Eating our three- and four-course meals was like de-layering those Russian dolls; when you think you've reached the end there's yet another surprise. And all of it was guilt-inducingly cheap: You can get a delicious meal with way too much food for the equivalent of five euros or less.

Is it lunch time yet?

Typical tomato and cucumber salad with delicious Bulgarian cheese.

Mix of veggies with chicken and pork

Potatoes and more of that delicious cheese

Pork and more delicious veggies

This was a starter...for one person (served on traditional Bulgarian ceramic).

Bulgaria may not have the Statue of David, the most well-manicured face or the most notable European architecture (we've got Churchill to partially blame for that. Sofia, the capital, lost something like 12,000 buildings when he ordered the city's bombing during WWII). But sometimes conventional beauty is boring. 

Un saludo,
Teresa

Where in the world was Teresa Lostroh?

It's been a while since I've penned a travel dispatch. I'm trying to move away from the whole chronological "this is where I went, this is what I did" formula, but in case you're asking, "Where in the world was Teresa Lostroh?"....Stick with me. I promise there's an entertaining line or two.

1.) Tenerife, Canary Islands, Spain.
Went there for Los Carnavales, a Mardi Gras-esque liquor-fueled free-for-all. Was a tourist by day and a martian/some sort of Asian by night (we dressed up for Carnaval, in accordance with the custom). Felt like I landed on the moon when I visited the Teide Volcano, the world's third largest. Declared my panoramic shot of Los Gigantes (massive rock formations) the most epic ever. Ate three times my stomach's capacity at a typical Canarian eatery - and enjoyed every second of it. Got two Spanish friends to ask for a take-home food box for the first time in their lives. Broke my camera during an ill-advised self-timer attempt, therefore losing my beloved "vivid" setting forever.

Lunar landing?

The "Los Gigantes" panoramic

2). Mallorca (Majorca), Balearic Islands, Spain.
Was hoping for a glorious, snafu-less return trip to my favorite place on Earth. Went to the Cap de Fomentor peninsula on the island's northeastern tip, where I captured more epic panoramics and several Awkward Family Photo shots with my roommate. Also went to Sa Calobra, a remote cove reached by a mess of winding mountain roads. Went out, got my iPhone 4S and wallet stolen, effectively losing all photo evidence of the trip. So much for snafu-less. Thank goodness for memories. Ate fresh oranges from my friend's orange tree. I think the saying goes something like, "Once you go fresh oranges, you never go back." Let Mallorquin food win my heart even more (snails, bread, squid, vegetables, frito mallorquin, etc.) Spent Sunday in the obnoxiously Anglo neighborhood of Magaluf, where Spanish is a foreign language, Brits run amok shirtless and sunburned and Happy Hour starts at sunrise. Dipped into a bar at 7 p.m. that was packed with hammered middle-aged Brits reliving Spring Break. Jammed to lots of oldies and continued jamming even after the Brits' bedtime struck at 9:30.

Cap de Fomentor, Source

Magaluf, Source

3). Cordoba, Spain.
Split my heart in sixteenths as I fell in love with yet another colorful Spanish town. Got my mind blown by the Mezquita's wondrous mix of Christian and Muslim architecture. The place is huge. Went to a flamenco show in a nondescript basement on some Cordobese side street. Ate oxtail and flamenquin, a traditional dish of pork loin wrapped in ham, breaded and fried. Both dishes filled my belly but didn't change my life. Decided I must return when the city's ubiquitous residential courtyards are flush with May flowers.

Mezquita

Mezquita

4). Sevilla, Ronda, Trujillo, Granada, Malaga, and Nerja, Spain
Parents came to get a taste of la vida espanola. Cried when I met them at the train station in Sevilla (hey, it'd been five months). Launched a 10-day tourist blitz on this fine country. Did a generally terrible job of sharing with them the delights of Spanish cuisine (the best meal they had was at the hotel restaurant, without me). Made the mistake of ordering a fried seafood platter at a restaurant in the interior of the country. Acted as translator at a Case International implement dealer in Don Benito for my dad, who has an insatiable curiosity about agriculture no matter where he is. Took parents to Sevilla and Ronda, two places I'd already been. Forced my parents to be in more pictures together than they've been in over the past 35 years combined. That's not hyperbole. I'm serious. Went to a flamenco show in a kitschy tourist haunt in Sevilla. Enjoyed it despite its kitschy-ness. Fell in love with yet another pair of Spanish coastal towns, Malaga and Nerja. Pretty sure my parents are still talking about Malaga's marble sidewalks. Despite my love for Malaga and Nerja, thought both towns would be infinitely better if we could expel at least 70 percent of the northern Europeans and make the towns more authentically Spanish. Dad drove through snow - in southern Spain, of all places - to get to Granada, where that damned white powder covered the city for the first time in 25 years. Mom about lost her feet to frostbite while we tried (kind of in vain) to enjoy the Alhambra in the cold. Most importantly, was reminded of how awesomely loving, generous, fun and supportive my family is.

Plaza de Espana, Sevilla

Snowy Granada

Alhambra in Granada

Malaga from the fortress

5.) Toledo and Guadalupe, Spain
Have to wonder if my superlatives lose their weight when I overuse them: favorite, prettiest, most Spanish. But each trip manages to equal or top the previous. Loved Toledo's sublimely medieval core, which is on a hill reached by arched stone bridges. Toledo doesn't have the bright-colored buildings (much of the city is sandy stone) or the it-feels-like-this-entire-city-is-smiling vibe of Cordoba, but it's as genuinely Spanish. Guadalupe is what every small town should be: quaint, walkable, endearing, enchanting. It's all of those things despite the omnipresent tourist shops and carbon-copy signs hawking Guadalupe's typical blood sausage. Must admit the blood sausage is worthily hawk-able, though. Town's massive monastery has perhaps the loveliest courtyard I've seen yet. There I go with the superlatives again...

Toledo

Toledo

Guadalupe monastery

Guadalupe

Toledo

 That's the quick-and-dirty version of my life as of late.

Un saludo,
Teresa

It's getting a wee bit chilly

Everyone here keeps reassuring me it won't snow, but at the same time the refrain "the cold really hasn't started yet" seems to be on repeat around here. Apparently December and January are worse, so I'm trying to mentally brace myself. To be sure, it's really not that cold here at the moment. There have been a few mornings around 40 degrees, but the afternoons are usually around 60 or higher. I know what you're thinking: "Teresa, you're from Nebraska. Forty degrees is nothing." You might be right, but the difference here is the lack of insulation from the cold. And the lack of heating.

I live in a lovely apartment, but we don't have central heating (that's not entirely uncommon around here). The average low during Extremaduran winters is 39 degrees, which is pretty chilly. My apartment windows aren't double-paned, either. I live with my landlords (a British girl and a Spanish guy) and they've provided a heap of blankets to keep me warm, so I'm all sorts of comfy when I'm in my bed. But I kind of wish I could go the whole winter without showering. Seriously, there's nothing worse than showering when it's cold.

The solution around here for homes without heating is the "brasero," which is basically a space heater that goes underneath a special table specifically designed for that purpose. Some braseros are gas; some are electric. Ours is gas. I keep telling my Spanish roommate that the brasero scares the heck out of me. It really does - I just can't understand how it's a good idea to put a gas-powered flame underneath a table and then cover it with a blanket.

The table and the aforementioned blanket

The brasero underneath the table

The "bombona," or the gas tank

Sorry that I kind of sound like a whiner. My landlords really have made every effort to make sure I'm comfortable, so hopefully this doesn't sound like I'm complaining about my home. I have a great living situation, but that doesn't keep Extremadura temperatures from dipping toward freezing. Here's to a long, cold winter.

(As a sidenote: Recommendations for any auxiliars placed in Extremadura: Pack a few pairs of really warm socks, sweatpants and sweatshirts. You'll be glad you did.)

Buenas noches,
Teresa