The Bulgarian winter

Our first Bulgarian winter

There was no water.  The previous day’s hesitant spitting followed by a gregarious rush had given way to a total silence.  Not even a distant gurgle. Our pipes were frozen solid. We had taken extreme care to prevent freezing – even getting up in the nighttime to run the taps. This deference to the elements, however, had failed to protect our outdoor supply from the Bulgarian winter.

Desperate optimism led us to visit the mayor’s office in case this was a mains problem.  “No” we were informed by his secretary, who spoke a little English, this happened to certain houses in the village each Winter when the weather conditions were below freezing.

The frost showed no signs of abating, in fact, more snow was forecast.  Drinking water was not a problem – we purchased a few ‘gollyam’ (large) bottles from our village shop. We quickly realised, however, that this was an expensive way to flush the toilet, and would not afford us a bath!

A few days into our ordeal we conceded to the situation and decided to attempt the hazardous journey into town. Our plan was to find a hotel in order that we could at least take a shower.

On leaving the sanctuary of our home we were shocked to see that the road was by now an expanse of ice, lined on each side with abandoned ‘humps‘ of vehicles -rebuking our naive attempts to travel.  

Giant snow drifts

As we ventured further, we came across Impassable snow drifts taller than a person, which mounted each side of the street. There was a gap only here or there – dug out by persistent pedestrians we assumed.  I admit to worrying that we would be found dead, buried alive in a massive snowdrift in minus twenty temperatures.  Fortunately, the ‘four wheel drive’ that we had been admonished to buy by our Bulgarian friends for just such occasions lived up to expectations, enduring the critical conditions, and we made the six miles into town.

The town was even more submerged than our village.  It was difficult to make out the various landmarks under the white carpet or even where the road had been. The street venders had disappeared along with their clientele, unable to count change in the freezing temperatures.  The streets were deserted, apart from a straggle of warmly wrapped hardy pedestrians. The town’s people hibernating indoors or in the various bars and coffee shops we assumed.

I wished that I had purchased long johns!

We arrived outside of what we could still discern as a hotel under it’s thick cloak of snow.  Nearby, buried cars warned of a similar interment if we were to leave our vehicle for very long.  Struggling from the car the Siberian wind tore at my trousers rendering them useless against the cold.  I now wished that I had purchased the ‘long johns’ we had laughingly purveyed in the market back home.  Friends had joked that the Bulgarian winter was nothing like England; I wished that I had heeded their words!

Slushing our way into the hotel foyer, the warm air returned us to civilisation.  We booked a room for an indeterminate length of time, in order that we could retain the bathroom facilities. Then we slowly made our way upstairs, dripping as we went.

Each day’s arctic adventure to the said hotel brought warm water and a clean toilet.  But back home the dishes mounted in the sink, laundry in the basket, and things got rather grubby.  

The petchka becomes our god 😊

In our home, the ‘petchka’ was our one consolation against the Bulgarian winter and keeping it fed became our main occupation.  It proved to be a hungry ally against the cold as it burned only wood. It did however facilitate the added bonus of ‘off grid’ cooking.  I learned that food took a good few hours longer to cook, and became adept at negotiating the hot plates to vary temperatures by positioning the pans strategically.  This was in addition to negotiating my way around the various warm bodies of our cats and dogs worshipping at the shrine of the petchka for most of the day.  

The fruit we had bottled in autumn – that we never thought we would eat, dwindled as pies and crumbles became the order of the day in providing an extra layer of fat against the outside conditions. I confess to putting on a good few pounds!

Jeff the hero

I greatly admired Jeff’s determination – not only in venturing to the wood store to return arms laden with logs, but even in attempting to take the dogs up the lane.  They were very reluctant to follow him further -having to tunnel their way.  Ozzie was very fearful of being buried alive, whilst Chris, slightly smaller and more adventurous, morphed into a fluffy wet termite. I attempted to join them on there walk on one occasion but the cold made my face feel like it was about to crack.  Jeff jokingly told me about a lady whose joints had frozen and who’d been unable to walk whilst waiting for a bus. I worried about his short expeditions outside.

The cats at least were able to keep warm, facilitated by their litter tray – now looked upon with envy by the dogs who had to relieve themselves outside.

Bulgarian winter nights

Trips to bed were preceded by carefully expedited plans of pre warming our sleeping quarters.  I now understood the Victorian penchant for the wearing of a night-cap! I wished that I had purchased something similar from the market back in England along with the long johns!   Bob caps were attempted but slid off in the night.  

In the mornings, Jeff was admonished to alight the stairs first in order that he could get the fire started! (Few people here have central heating.) I was very appreciative of our internal staircase (unusual in Bulgarian houses), albeit of a refrigerated temperature, to then transfer me to the steadily warning kitchen.

The scenic beauty of the Bulgarian winter

Of course it was not all ‘gloom and doom’.  The scenery was unbelievably beautiful laden with snow; icicles formed on our house of stalactite proportions.  There was a camaraderie amongst neighbours against the arctic conditions.  The dusty streets were transformed under their pure white mantle; the aroma of wood smoke replaced the rose perfumes of summer. Children skated and sledged around the village and warm nights around our cosy fire afforded a welcome confinement for reading.  We also learned yet a further wonderful aspect of our traditionally built home: the same mass of cob that kept us cool in doors in summer, soaked up the days heat in winter to keep us warm at night. I thought of the poem by Wordsworth, quoted at the beginning of this post, and was once again grateful for our life here.

The intense winter lasted only a matter of weeks, to be replaced by ‘normal’ winter conditions we were used to in England.  Patting ourselves on the back for our fortitude we later learned that this had been the worst Bulgarian winter in one hundred years!