A trip to Bulgaria that didn't go according to plan at all

I went to the city of Nessebar with the feeling of a person who has finally decided to arrange a normal vacation without adventures, unexpected surprises and running around with a suitcase on unfamiliar streets. I booked my accommodation in advance, looked at photos of the Old Town, and roughly outlined where I would walk, where I would have breakfast, and on which days I would just lie by the sea, because after several trips I already knew perfectly well that if I didn't plan anything, there would definitely be some surprise, and if I planned everything down to the smallest detail, there would be more surprises more. At that time, of course, I still did not know how precisely this rule would work in Bulgaria.

It all started on the way, when my transport was delayed, and then it turned out that next I needed to somehow sort out the transfer, which for some reason I hadn't thought about at all in advance. I was standing with my suitcase, my phone in one hand, and a map in the other, trying to pretend that I knew exactly where to go, even though I was actually ready to ask the first person who looked more confident than me. At that moment, I was still optimistic and convinced myself that small difficulties were even useful, because later there would be something to remember, although an inner voice was already rather sarcastically asking why I needed all this "journey for the soul" in the first place.

Nessebar greeted me with rain

When I finally got to Nessebar, the first thing I saw was the sea, the old houses and the sky in such a color, as if someone from above decided to turn off the sun on the day I arrived. A few minutes later, it began to rain, and not the beautiful rain that looks good in photographs, but a completely real one, capable of turning a neat traveler's hairstyle into an independent art project in five minutes. I hid under a small canopy and just stared at the wet streets for a while, trying to figure out why in the photos Nessebar looked like a place where a little Mediterranean fairy tale was sure to happen every day, while in my version of the fairy tale all the characters were running around with bags over their heads.

I got to the apartment already wet and a little tired, and there the following surprise awaited me: the room turned out to be noticeably smaller than I imagined from the photos. In general, I believe that photographs of hotel rooms sometimes live a separate life and have absolutely nothing to do with reality, because in the picture the room may look like a small palace, but in real life you open the door and realize that it's better not to open the suitcase yet, otherwise it can't be put back together. I put my things down, changed my clothes, looked at myself in the mirror and decided that there would be no plans today, because my vacation was already actively planning me without my participation.

A day that should have been ruined

The road to the Old Town

The next day, I woke up thinking that now everything would definitely get better and I would go sightseeing, but the weather decided to continue the experiment. The rain kept coming and going, heavy clouds hung over the sea, and my plans for a long walk through the Old Town looked less realistic, especially after I realized that I had left my umbrella in the room and didn't want to go back for it at all. At some point, I just gave up and went for a walk as is, because if you constantly wait for the perfect weather, you may one day discover that the entire vacation has passed between the door and the weather forecast.

And that's when everything suddenly changed. 

I turned off the usual tourist street because I wanted to hide from the next rain, and found myself in a quiet alley where there were no crowds, no souvenir shops, no people trying to sell me another magnet with a view of Nessebar. There was a small cafe there that smelled of fresh pastries and coffee, and I went there solely because I was wet, cold, and ready to consider hot tea a full-fledged attraction.

Sometimes the best route is the one that doesn't exist.

I stayed in the cafe much longer than I had planned, and then I talked to a woman who worked there and knew the city very well. She told me where to go, where it's better to look at the sea, at what hours the Old Town becomes especially beautiful, and where you can have a quiet dinner without feeling like you're in a tourist pipeline. I wrote down a few places on my phone and suddenly found myself thinking that this was the first time during the whole trip when I wasn't in a hurry at all.

After that, I just went for a walk without a route. Nessebar turned out to be completely different when I stopped trying to see it "correctly" and allowed myself to just turn off wherever I wanted, stop near the old stone walls, look at the sea and look into the small courtyards. I got lost several times, got caught in the rain again once, and then spent another ten minutes trying to figure out where I was on the map, even though there was such a small city around me that it seemed enough to just walk in any direction and sooner or later reach the sea again.

And then my perfect dinner was lost.

Koprivshchenskaya cavalry

In the evening, I was going to have dinner at a place that I had found on the Internet in advance and had already mentally included in my list of "must-have vacation experiences." At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to try Koprivschenskaya kavarma. I've heard a lot about this dish, and I've already imagined eating lamb with onions, bell peppers, mushrooms, and other ingredients. 

However, the restaurant was closed that evening, and I stood in front of the door for a while with an expression on my face, as if I had personally come here solely to make sure that it really wasn't working. In the end, I had to look for something else, and I went to a small place nearby, where at first I was even a little upset that everything didn't turn out as planned.

Baked pepper salad

And then they brought me dinner. I ordered a baked pepper salad for the Koprivshchenskaya cavalry. On a full stomach, everything didn't seem so bad. Yes, it was raining again outside the window, and the lights were reflected on the wet stones of the Old Town, but I suddenly realized that I was completely fine. I was sitting there alone, without a perfect plan, without a nice pre-selected table, and without the feeling that I had to catch five more sights before 9 p.m., and for the first time in days, I was just enjoying being somewhere else. At that moment, I finally decided that my vacation didn't seem to be ruined–it just refused to match my scenario.

Nessebar taught me not to argue with travel.

After that, I stopped trying to get everything back to the original plan. If it was raining, I took a coffee and went for a walk around the Old Town, if it was sunny, I went to the sea, if some place turned out to be closed, I just looked for another one, and if I turned the wrong way again, I was no longer nervous and perceived it as part of the route. It turned out that traveling is much more enjoyable when you're not trying to make every day be perfect.

The old mill

When it was time to leave, I caught myself with a strange feeling: I had hardly visited where I was going to visit initially, but I saw much more of what I was not looking for at all. I remembered the old mill, the wet streets, the smell of coffee after the rain, the old stone houses, the sea under the gray sky, the occasional cafe, and the very evening when my carefully chosen restaurant was closed. And, probably, that's why Nessebar remained in my memory not as a perfect picture from a tourist brochure, but as a real trip in which everything went a little wrong, but it really turned out.

Now that I think back on that trip, I even find it a little funny how much effort I put into preparing the perfect route. Because Nessebar quickly explained to me a simple thing: sometimes the best vacation starts at the very moment when you stop trying to control every step of it. And if one day I go there again, then, most likely, I will not plan anything in advance at all – although, knowing myself, I will at least book a place.