Beside the Seaside

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In Which I Gate Crash A Soap Opera All Stars Reunion

November 4, 2008 by Mike

Burgas

Route: Tsarevo - Sozopol - Burgas

So there I am riding along quite happily, wondering to myself, as y'do, if today will be a quiet enough day for me to have space here to relate the story of When I Was Arrested In Bulgaria For Spying.

It takes a while, so I was half-hoping for a quiet day with nothing much to report.

Some hope.

For example, I found myself almost immediately riding on a short inland detour. But when it's alongside a gentle, autumnal river looking as peaceful, as pristine, as picturesque as this, well it's almost enough to turn the head of a young man in search of somewhere to live besidetheseaside:

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(Sad to say, nothing's that natural without a reason. This is the Ropotamo river and it's in the middle of a bird reserve. I can confirm that the rest of the Bulgarian coast -- so far -- is doing a fair impression of the Spanish costas 30 years ago. I stopped in Djuni to visit the ruins of an ancient castle. Only, on closer inspection, having traversed muddy tracks, rocky tracks and someone's back garden, I discovered it was a half-built hotel instead..)

Then there was Sozopol. It's Ye Olde Bulgaria. Very pretty, very nice -- by which I really mean too nice. It's had a heritage makeover. The old buildings have been cleaned up; the new buildings pretend to look old; shops sell postcards and honey and tea-towels and woe betide you if you're looking to by a can of paint. That's not what the tourists want, now is it?

This time I wasn't complaining, mind. Ironic, I thought, verrrrrrry ironic, as I took pictures of the old houses and the new-old houses. What a hook on which to hang the story of When I Was Arrested In Bulgaria For Spying.

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But it wasn't to be.

Coming in to Burgas, the first big city on the Bulgarian coast, I was expecting to ride straight through. It's only 30 miles north of Tsarevo, for a start. Not much to say for itself online. There are bigger and more interesting cities to come.. and, not least, places with names like Sunny Beach and Golden Sands. Written, on my map, in English. Yes! Imagine what they're going to be like! I took Benidorm on on its own terms and loved it. Could lightning possibly strike twice?

I didn't need to get to Sunny Beach to get thoroughly Benidormatised. Just as I was enjoying the ride down the waterfront, working ot how many friends I could convince to buy shares in an old, semi-derelict apartment building shaded by trees and hidden behind the main drag, I turned the corner and found myself outside The London Pub.

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Hard on the brakes. An instantly cheery welcome from mine host and hostess, a Full English and a cup of PG Tips, happy banter in the front bar. Ride on to Sunny Bay? WhyonearthwouldIwanttodothat? I was putty in their hands, and asking around for the best place to stay.

Two things:

One. Even as I was getting off the bike, I heard someone say "Oh, Pete did that!" Then there was "Doesn't 'e remind you of Pete"; "Remember when Pete said that?"; "That isn't quite how Pete described it"; "I'm not sure Pete would say that" and "Hmmmm I wish Pete was still here."

Pete arrived on a bike earlier this year. He'd come in from the east, had no fixed plans, stayed for months. Pete, who I've contacted via the long-distance bikers' bible, if you ever read this.. you're a bloody legend here in Burgas. Everyone wants to see you again. And I owe you a drink or two. For the drinks I've been bought here, and more generally for leaving such a positive impression on the 'locals' (well, the local expats), that I got such a warm and immediate welcome. (I'd like to think that somewhere round the coast of Europe, I've made a few people think more positively about bikers too.)

Two. Maybe I've been away from Britain for too long.. although I flew back a couple of week ago!.. but Les Battersby was sitting in the bar talking to me about his sex-life, now he's retired to Bulgaria; Sharon from the Old Vic was serving, (her mum Ang has blonde hair now, and was working in the kitchen); Tucker Jenkins was eating a plate of chips and inviting me to karaoke later; strangest of all, a long-faced Blakey was propping up the bar, complaining about the quality of Bulgarian carpenters while doing an impression of Boycie out of Only Fools And Horses.

Verrrrrrrrry strange.

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