Sofia | profile

Yesterday we walked through incredibly sunny and bright Sofia with Kalina, a young journalist who speaks Spanish. The large public buildings shone in splendid splendor. Its walls are immaculate, unlike the rest of the buildings where people live or do business, which are completely covered in graffiti. The commentary since I arrived at the airport has been that the city was full of snow before, in mid-December. If you are going to be in the sun for a long time this year, it is possible to wear tank tops and shorts. That has changed, although there are presidents who deny global warming. In the square in front of Parliament there is still the giant pig from last night’s demonstration, which forced the president, represented by the pink pig, and his cabinet to resign.

However, no one celebrates and everyone goes about their work, just a normal day.

After a tourist postcard day, today dawned gray and cold. We go to state television and radio with Kaloyan, my translator. Everything is still very Soviet. I tell him I like it and he says that even though he was born here, he doesn’t feel like Sofia is his city. We had a coffee and met Svidna, a very nice teacher. People generally seem very friendly to me. They all want to show me the places worth seeing and also feel sorry for me because of the long journey I have taken to get here. And the long journey that still lies ahead of me. He offers to accompany me shopping for souvenirs.

We stroll through the Christmas market that takes up half of the Plaza del Palacio de la Cultura, the Christmas carols are hellish, all the decorations are decorated, but it smells delicious of sausages and chestnuts. Rose oil and everything that comes from roses is something typical of Bulgaria: soaps, creams, perfumes, candies, candies… Svidna tells me that rose oil is very expensive because I don’t know how many tons of petals are needed for distillation to just fill a small bottle. We enter some shops, the smell of old ladies’ talcum powder (that was the smell of roses for me in my childhood) comes through the doors every time someone enters and fills the street, it stays on their clothes, on their hands. We move on to the old women’s market, which, he warns me, isn’t what it used to be. Before reaching this open-air market, where there were very few stalls and movement, we crossed streets with clothing shops that looked quite similar to Balvanera. And also the ruins of ancient Sofia, which were found during excavations for the construction of a hotel. They date from the time of the Roman occupation.

We enter a craft shop and she shows me the Kukeri, some hairy, masked dolls with a cowbell on the bottom. It is a very old tradition: in winter it is celebrated at the beginning or in the middle in all villages in Bulgaria. Short days are considered dirty: the little sunlight and long hours of darkness allow evil spirits to take to the streets and take over people. The men wear masks and leather suits attached to a belt with giant cowbells and dance to ward off evil. Svidna says it’s beautiful and scary to see her. In a weed shop he explains to me what each individual weed is for. The saleswoman doesn’t like that we walk around so much and don’t buy right away, so she treats us badly. I leave with two large bouquets of mulsaski, a powerful herb that grows in the mountains and is good for the bronchi.