Our new apartment was on the far end of Bree Street, closest to Table Mountain. Located on the edge of the City Bowl and Gardens district, it was an easy walk into the center of the city or up into Bo-Kaap. Shopping was effortlessly accomplished on Kloof Street with several different grocery stores and gourmet shops nearby.
Our new home was very nice and spacious, in a modern building with underground parking, a 24hr doorman and laundry facility. Though it did have a few quirks, like an electronic key fob for the building and garage entrance, but a skeleton key for the apartment door. Really, when’s the last time you used a skeleton key? And there was the day when the handle to the apartment door pulled off just as we were about to go out for the day.
The balcony offered a wonderful view of Table Mountain and the reclining profile of a woman that gave the town its second name, the Mother City. Much time was spent watching the flat clouds, locally known as the “tablecloth,” gather and spill down from the top of the mountain. Several times brilliant rainbows formed after it rained, seemingly close enough to find that pot of gold.
Unbeknownst to us, Bree Street is considered “Cape Town’s hippest street.” The area is in the midst of gentrification with numerous restaurants, bars and cafes scattered between high-end boutiques, art galleries, mechanic shops, plumbing supply stores, classic car and motorcycle showrooms, along with marine and industrial supply stores. And I swear all the above seem to offer luscious cappuccinos!
That seems to be a Cape Town thing. It’s a thriving area popular with the afterwork crowd that overflows onto the street to take advantage of outside dining along this extra wide, tree lined boulevard. Aside from the weekend markets and the V&A Waterfront, it’s the only street that has outside tables in the city. 
It’s a competitive restaurant scene with many places offering two-for-one lunch specials, happy hour drinks and West Coast Oysters for R15, or $1.00 each. We enjoyed sitting with classic cars at Dapper Coffee, lamb burgers and sushi at Sotano, oysters at Clark’s. Splurging, we dined at Exhibit A, a high-end conceptual dining experience, where our friend Frankie was pastry chef.
The food was fantastic with intense layers of flavors and creatively presented, as if Salvador Dali had plated the food. The tasting menu included an excellent selection of South African wines which eased the agony of the breathtaking dinner tab. 
Formerly known as the Malay Quarter, the colorful homes of the Bo-Kaap neighborhood, located between Signal Hill and the city center, were only a few blocks away. One of the oldest continuously inhabited neighborhoods in the city, the first homes were built in the 1760s as housing for mostly Muslim slaves, who were brought by the Dutch from Malaysia, Ceylon and Indonesia to work. The neighborhood grew when slavery was abolished throughout the English empire in 1833. It’s said the houses were then painted bright colors as an expression of newfound freedoms. The neighborhood is home to the Auwal Mosque, the first built in South Africa in 1794 and still in use today. In 1957 the apartheid government declared Bo-Kaap a Malay Only Area and forcibly relocated everyone else. The pressure continues today under the new guise of gentrification. Bo-Kaap means “above the Cape” in Afrikaans and with its stunning location on the lower slope of Signal Hill and its close proximity to the Cape Town Business District, it has become a very desirable location. Old time residents fear the heart of Bo-Kaap will disappear and it will just become a façade of brightly painted buildings.
We walked the hilly, cobbled streets of Bo-Kaap several times, enjoying its cityscape. One day we encountered a small flock of sheep grazing, within sight of the city’s skyscrapers, as we made our way to the Noon Gun, a naval cannon fired once a day, every day for over two-hundred years. 
Originally it was a signal for ships in the harbor, back in the day when they used sextants to navigate, to set their chronometers which were used to help calculate longitude. Critical stuff when you are navigating around the treacherous Cape of Good Hope. It’s a tradition that has survived the Dutch, English and apartheid. 
The Cape Malay community has contributed greatly to establishing Cape Town as a foodie’s destination with a cuisine that embraces exotic spices. Cinnamon, cardamom, ginger, cloves, mustard seed, chili and roasted fenugreek seeds all flavor various curries, bobotie, biriyani, rendang, and samosa recipes that have endeared themselves to Capetonians.
We enjoyed a nice selection of Malay dishes at the Biesmiellah Restaurant, a simple establishment that doesn’t serve alcohol. For a healthy fusion experience we tried the Harvest Cafe & Deli where vegans, vegetarians and meat eaters will be delighted and awed by the sheer beauty of the food presented. Both are located in the heart of Bo-Kaap on Wale Street, near the Iziko Bo-Kaap Museum, which is housed in the first buildings, slave quarters, from the 1760s.
Renting a car made it easy for us to reach points farther afield in Cape Town and its outlying districts. Our day trips included taking the cable car to the top of Table Mountain for a hike around its flat summit, that offered spectacular views of the city below. This is a very popular activity and we purchased our tickets online ahead of time to speed through the queue. 
One morning we walked through the Kirstenbosh Botanical Gardens, a landscaping masterpiece featuring the native fynbos. The eastern face of Table Mountain rises dramatically behind the gardens, which were a delight with their indigenous plantings. Lucky for us, the plants were greening after much needed rain and the proteas were still blooming.
After our morning at the botanical gardens we headed over to Woodstock for lunch at Ocean Jewels Seafood, a small seafood shop and luncheonette committed to supporting sustainable fisheries and preparing very delicous seafood dishes, before wandering around Woodstock looking for the creative street murals and cool bars the area is known for.
Stopping to photograph a mural, a local fellow wonderfully introduced himself as the “curator of street art” and offered to guide us further. We admired his creative introduction, but declined the offer and continued along on our own. We ended the day with a few beers at the Three Feathers Diner, an eclectic place that’s part pop art palace and part auto mechanics garage. 
We returned to Woodstock to check out The Neighbourgoods Market, a Saturday only food event, at The Old Biscuit Mill, a renovated mixed-use industrial site with offices, galleries featuring local artisans, vintage shops and eateries. If you need a retail therapy fix, this is the place to head. They have an interesting photography store called Exposure Gallery that’s a combination camera store and gallery. What caught our attention was their extensive inventory of Diana cameras. These were beloved, old plastic film cameras from the 1970’s that Donna & I used in a college photography course. (Yes, we met in the darkroom, but that’s another story.) To our surprise the cameras are still made under the Lomography brand and have all sorts of accessories today. The Neighbourgoods Market was the originator of the weekend market concept in 2006 with “a vision of reviving the community market as a social institution.” It’s a terrific concept that has caught on all across South Africa.
Street parking in Cape Town can be challenging. During the day if it’s a business district there is usually an official city parking person assigned every two blocks, who photographs your license plate and has an electronic device that accepts your credit card payment, the preferred way, and issues a receipt for display on your dashboard. You estimate the time you are going to be gone and if you are away longer, they will bill you an additional amount before you drive away. Then there’s the practice in the informal economy, where one or two car guards will work a street, waving you theatrically into an open space and assure you that your car will be protected while you are gone. Occasionally disputes would erupt among them if someone felt that their territory was being infringed upon. There is the expectation of a small tip upon leaving the parking space.
James Michener’s play South Pacific, an appropriate story for the times about diversity and acceptance, was performing downtown at the Artscape Theatre Centre a large modern, multi stage and arena complex that hosts a full calendar of events. Uber-ing there and back was very affordable. Uber works very well in Cape Town and we constantly received promotions for discounts toward our next rides.
“You must attend a rugby game while you are here, it’s so South African. The playoffs are next weekend.” So Vincent, Donna’s friend from seminary, took us to our first rugby match. We are not sports fans and typically avoid watching any sports on TV. But this playoff match between the hometown favorites the Stormers and the underdog Sharks from Durban was a fascinating contest of almost continuous play; there was never a dull moment. Shockingly, the underdogs pulled off a surprise victory in the final second of the game and earned themselves a spot at the Rugby World Playoffs in Canberra, Australia.
A warm sunny day lured us to plan a full day in Muizenberg. The still hours of the morning were perfect for bird watching at the Zandvlei Estuary Nature Reserve. It’s a short distance inland from the ocean and in the dry season the Zandvlei is more of a lake than river, but in the rainy season the river slices through the sand at Muizenberg Beach and flows into the ocean. In the reserve an extensive boardwalk snakes through the marsh to several bird blinds on the water’s edge that offer the perfect vantage point for viewing waterfowl and two elusive hippos, which were brought to the reserve about 40 years ago to help control the wild grasses. We were really eager to spot them, but had to be satisfied with sightings of very large droppings, proof to us that we almost saw them! 
Muizenberg beach is renowned for its gorgeous stretch of sand, colorful beach cabanas on False Bay and interesting streetmurals scattered about town.
The consistent, gentle wave action here facilitates easily learning how to surf and draws huge numbers of surfers to its waters on the weekends. Some surfers refer to it as “the epicenter of Cape Town’s surf culture.” We spent the afternoon sitting on the beach watching folks of all ages and expertise catch waves.
That night we ate at the Blue Bird Garage Food and Goods Market. It’s a legendary weekend-only market that draws in a boisterous following who spend the evenings socializing at huge communal tables in what was an old mailboat hangar. 
On a cool Saturday we hiked up Lion’s Head Mountain along a trail that corkscrewed around the mountain to the top. 
The path deteriorated as we climbed higher with uneven footing that at times narrowed to the width of our feet as it edged, for short distances, along cliff tops. 
In some spots, ladders were used for short vertical climbs. If you plan to go, bring water and food. There are plenty of boulders to sit on to enjoy the 360 degree views the trail offers. We didn’t make it to the summit, with the last part a little too vertical for us, but we felt very satisfied with what we accomplished.
We spent several afternoons on Signal Hill, watching paragliders launch into the sky above Sea Point, and then gently drifting toward the beach as the sun slowly sank below the South Atlantic horizon. 
This is a popular spot at the end of the day with many folks making a picnic of it, clinking glasses of wine as the sun sets. There are also several food trucks that provide light meals and of course cappuccino. It is, after all, Cape Town.
Till next time, Craig & Donna
It’s here that we first noticed the really interesting street murals that could be seen on some of the homes. Not gratuitous bubble-scripted graffiti, but pictorial or political works of art relating to freedom, equality and hope by talented artists that enhanced their surroundings.
In our exploration of Cape Town, we accidentally and to our delight, came across many wonderful murals while walking or driving about. Behind our apartment on Harrington Street a wonderfully, whimsical mural of a dog dreaming about flying, by Belgian artist 
Farther down the street in District 6, across from Charlie’s Bakery, a colorful mural graced the back of a small building in a parking lot, while its front wall featured an understated portrait of Nelson Mandela by 
And at the bus station, under the highway, across from the Gardens Shopping Center the dismal gray walls sprang to life with imagery.
Turns out the Woodstock and Salt River neighborhoods are ground zero for freedom of expression based on the number of street murals we discovered just by driving around. One seemed to lead to another around the corner. 
When we stopped to photograph the mural of the swimming elephant, one of the unofficial parking guards introduced himself as the “curator of street art” and offered to guide us.
Traveling along Victoria Road in the Salt River district, the large mural of a pangolin, painted by Belgian street artist 
The festival is sponsored by 
His style is very distinctive, and we recognized many of his works as we traveled around the Cape. Back in town the exterior wall of Surfstore Africa is playfully illustrated with a giraffe wearing sunglasses.
Our most unexpected discovery happened at the indoor parking garage of the Pick N Pay grocery store in Sea Point. Here several beautiful portraits were painted on the walls of the driving ramp leading from one level to the next. 
Here gale force winds that blow in from Antarctica and colliding warm and cold currents build ferocious waves that can tower to 100 feet high. These seas have claimed over 140 ships since the Portuguese first sailed here in the 1500s. Within sight of the lighthouse, the most recent wreck of a Japanese fishing trawler from 1982 lies on the beach rusting away.
We stayed the night at the 
Afterwards we headed toward Wilderness (the town not the idea,) along a route that traversed barren farmlands and coastal pine forests before skirting the coast again at Mossel Bay. We arrived in time to watch the sunset from our balcony at 
Our room was luxurious and larger than several of the apartments we had rented on our round-the-world journey so far. We were hoping the owners, Leane & Deon, would adopt us. On our sunrise walk the next morning we only sighted a few other folks enjoying the quiet of this vast stretch of pristine beach during the winter season. We noted the considerably warmer weather, a result of the Agulhas Current which swoops warm Indian Ocean currents along the bottom of South Africa and wonderfully moderates the temperature. 
After breakfast we backtracked on N2 to the pullover above the Kaaimans River Railway Bridge. For railroad enthusiasts this was a destination for many years to watch the Outeniqua Choo Tjoe, the last continually operating steam train in Africa, cross the tidal estuary which slowed settlers’ advance along the rugged coast. The line stopped operating in 2006 when landslides destroyed an extensive stretch of track. Today it’s an interesting photo-op. 
Further up the gorge at Map of Africa View Point, raging waters over the eons have eroded a bend in the river to resemble the African continent when viewed from the overlook on the opposite side of the chasm. The sky was empty mid-week, but across the road hundreds of paragliders launch from the grassy slope on the weekends to catch fantastic thermals and awesome views of the coast below.
After spending hours rattling along dusty back roads we rejoiced to be on Route 2 again. A little while later we pulled over and enjoyed a late lunch and sunny afternoon on the outdoor deck of the Cruise Café, which overlooked Knysna Bay. 
We weren’t yet synched to the rhythm of life outside of Cape Town in the off-season and were surprised to find the restaurants and grocery stores in Plettenberg Bay closed when we arrived. Fortunately, we had a wonderful room with an ocean and lagoon view terrace, right on Lookout Beach, at 
The sun rose quickly the next morning from behind the Tsitsikamma Mountains, across the bay, filling our room with light. We spent the early morning slowly sipping coffee and savoring the view. Upon checkout we were delighted to find a sparkling clean car. This was a wonderful service the hotel provided for guests, and an easy way for the gardener to earn some extra money.
We kept to a strict schedule, and limited our stops for photos today, because we needed to be at 
Three guides and three open-sided 4×4 Toyota safari trucks, each capable of seating 16 people, were waiting for their respective groups at the reserve’s headquarters. Wonderfully, it was mid-week in the off-season, and we had Edward, our guide/naturalist, and truck all to ourselves, while the other two trucks left with groups of six each. Schotia’s 4,000 acres of gently rolling hills, bush and forest shelter approximately 2,000 animals from 40 mammal species and its’s amazing how difficult it can be to find them. 
But that was our goal as we rattled along the rutted paths to a high vantage point within the reserve, that provided distant views of the terrain surrounding us. Scanning the vista with binoculars, Edward was searching for elephants, giraffes, antelopes and zebra. “The animals are constantly on the move. We’re never really sure where they will be,” Edward offered. He seconded with, “There’s clouds of dust being kicked up over there. Can’t tell from here what they are, but let’s go investigate.” And our overlanding began, chasing a cloud of dust that turned out to be a small herd of white faced Blesbok, a stunning antelope species we weren’t familiar with.
Sightings of impala, kudu, wildebeest, warthogs, cape buffalo, zebra, hippos and crocodiles rounded out the afternoon.
On the way back to the lapa we encountered the hippos we had seen earlier, now grazing far from their waterhole. Large black masses, they were barely visible when out of the headlights.
Glasses of wine and a large, warming fire greeted us when we returned to the lapa for dinner. Inland the temperature fell quickly, and the warmth from the flames felt good.
Darkness covered the countryside early in June, the beginning of South Africa’s winter season. Our guide had just lit the oil lamps a few minutes earlier, handed us a walkie-talkie and said, “Use this to call the owner if there’s an emergency, you’re the only folks here tonight.’’ The owner lived somewhere on the other side of this vast reserve. There were no other lights around except for the moon. The bush has a life of its own and sounds totally different in the darkness.
We didn’t plan on being the only folks at the game reserve during the middle of the week, but that’s one of the benefits of off-season travel. Following spring-like conditions around the globe, we’ve been able to avoid hot, humid weather and the crowds, while managing to have some wonderful experiences along the way. Tomorrow, Edward would guide us through Addo Elephant National Park.
The eastern cape was once home to tremendous herds of elephant which were hunted by the Xhosa and the Khoe (Khoi) tribes for sustenance, and much like the American Plains Indians and buffalo it did not end well. As colonization spread across the region in the 1700 and 1800s the tribes succumbed to smallpox and were pushed into different regions, and the elephants were slaughtered to near extinction for their ivory and to protect farming interests in the region. With the killing of 1400 elephants in 1919, public opinion slowly turned. Only eleven elephants remained when Addo Park was established in 1931 with 5600 acres. 
The park was enclosed with an elephant proof fence in 1954, to protect the surrounding citrus farms from their rampages, when the size of the herd had rebounded to 22 elephants. Today the park is the third largest in South Africa and encompasses 1,700,000 acres. Home to over 600 elephants now, the reserve has expanded its mission to protect a growing number of mammal species within its borders.
We could have done a self-drive tour through Addo, but we thoroughly enjoyed Edward’s knowledge of wildlife and the region. It was a good decision. Sitting up high in an SUV provided better visibility into the bush, where in our small rental car we wouldn’t have been able to see much. And his timing was perfect in getting us to a waterhole just as a very large herd with calves was creating a trail of dust as it emerged from the surrounding dry bush.
We witnessed elephants smiling as they drank. It was a tremendous experience.
This would be Donna’s fourth trip to Cape Town and my first. Back in 1993 she visited friends she had made while attending Princeton Seminary, and a year later in 1994 she volunteered to be an International Observer for the first free and fair democratic elections in South Africa. In 2016 she returned to a city humming with positive energy and a growing economy. Unfortunately, this situation did not continue, and by 2019 the governance and economy of South Africa and its neighboring countries had stalled. The city was still beautiful and growing as a tourist destination, an amazing coffee culture had been born, but shuttered construction projects and an increasing homeless population were evident, and across many different socioeconomic groups, people were feeling disenfranchised. A multi-year drought exasperated many infrastructure problems that were being neglected. Fortunately, exceptional winter rains broke the severe drought and replenished the city’s nearly depleted reservoirs.
We immersed ourselves quickly into the neighborhood around our first apartment on Buitenkant Street, just a few blocks away from the District Six Museum, steam punk themed 
On the edge of the City Bowl and Zonnebloem districts, formerly District Six, our high-rise apartment building had a rooftop gym with fantastic views of the city, a 24hr doorman, gated parking and balconies with beautiful views of Table and Lion’s Head mountains. But the area immediately around us was in transition, without enough residential housing to call it a neighborhood.
![IMG_7861[42783]](https://i0.wp.com/2suitcasesfor2years.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/img_786142783.jpg?w=272&h=363&ssl=1 "IMG_7861[42783]")
We had to find a dentist also, as just before our flight into Cape Town one of my crowns broke. Fortunately, South Africa is recognized for good medical and dental care and is slowly becoming a medical tourism destination. I found Dr. Ramjee on Google Maps, checked his reviews and made an appointment at his office which was within walking distance of our apartment. With his jovial and comforting manner, I instantly felt at ease. Though only a one dental chair office he had a state-of-the-art digital x-ray machine, a dental assistant and a receptionist. Besides the broken crown, I needed a root canal as well – what fun! My experiences with Dr. Ramjee were excellent and I raved so much about him Donna decided to use his services when the need arose for an emergency root canal and crown also. Unexpected expenses that in the states would be costly, even with insurance, were much more affordable and payable out of pocket here. The savings were tremendous.
You just can’t walk enough miles along the coast or up and down Loin’s Head to keep the calories off in this foodie-oriented city. The Saturday- and Sunday-only food markets didn’t help, but they are a treasured tradition, throughout the region, that brings family, friends and tourists together to enjoy live music and good food.
In early June the castle hosted the 2019 Cape Town Coffee Festival which celebrated all things caffeinated with growers from across the continent, barista workshops and pop-up coffee stands. If you ever wanted to see thousands of folks ricocheting off the walls from too much free coffee, this was the place to be.
The coffee festival coincided with the Red Bull Cape Town Circuit where their F1 Aston Martin Red Bull racing car roared down Darling Street at over 150mph, passing the spot where Nelson Mandela addressed the nation upon his release from Robben Island, and turning the stretch in front of city hall, lined with bleachers, into a high-speed drag strip. At the intersections, souped-up street cars burned rubber and spun donuts while the Red Bull Air Force performed aerial acrobatics over the city. It was a raucous day that we could hear from our apartment.
Families and neighbors were intentionally sent to different communities to break the spirit of the people. The apartheid government was so vile it “regarded the district as both physically and morally tainted by miscegenation, wholly unfit for rehabilitation” and flattened every building except for Churches. Even the original streets were destroyed, and new roadways were created so folks couldn’t find their homes, now vacant lots, that they legally owned. Much of the area still remains abandoned. The District Six Museum commemorates this tragedy and the lasting heartbreak of this cruelty.
Despite our apartment’s faults, we enjoyed our time on Buitenkant Street. Watching the brilliant sunrises and the flat clouds – the tablecloth of Table Mountain – cover the summit and then spill down the side like a waterfall. The street life below spanned the gamut from groups of tutu-clad race walkers one day to noisily protesting sex workers or Fridays for Future demonstrators the next.
Heading north on Routes 64 and 6 we drove past fallow farmlands waiting for their Spring tilling, and forgotten industrial sites as we worked our way north towards Stara Planina, the Balkans Mountain range that runs east to west for 348 miles and divides Bulgarian into northern and southern regions.
Turning down the long driveway of the 
On a wintry, cloudy afternoon the silhouette of 
At the opening ceremony in 1981, tribute was paid to those who had gathered there ninety years earlier. “Let the work of sacred and pure love that was started by those before us never fall into disrepair.” Buzludzha was a huge success and a point of national pride for eight years, hosting communist party congresses and educational events. Schools and businesses booked tours for their students and employees. Foreign delegations were paraded through to witness socialism’s success. But then in 1989 the Berlin Wall fell and communism collapsed like a fighter jet breaking through the sound barrier. The monument to socialism was suddenly ironic, irrelevant and abandoned. In 1999 the security guards protecting it were removed and the building was left open to the public and it was looted. Anything of value quickly disappeared, and the rest was left to vandals and frustrated citizens who were known to take their anger out on the building with sledgehammers or spray paint. The red stars in the tower were shattered by gun shots. Soon the glass skylights broke and water damage from rain and the winter elements hastened its structural decline, and the building was eventually shut tight to protect folks from injury. The day we visited there was a lone security guard, suffering as he made his rounds in the bitter wind, protecting this crumbling modern ruin from a handful of visitors.
As we continued our journey north through the mountains on Route E85, the picturesque 
Woodcarvers, weavers and other craftspeople dressed in period outfits helped further to transport us to a simpler era at the beginning of the Bulgarian industrial revolution. We visited on a quiet day, but the museum has an extensive twelve-month calendar of events with many festivals listed that would have been nice to observe. 
Traveling along an isolated background road we worked our way towards Sokolski Monastery, known for its cliffside chapel overlooking the northern slope of the Balkan Mountain range. We weren’t disappointed; the church is stunning with its colorful exterior frescoes contrasting with the natural environment surrounding it.
Built in 1833, the monastery has played an important role in Bulgarian history. During the April Uprising of 1876 eight freedom fighters took sanctuary there. Later captured by the Ottoman army, they were thrown to their deaths from the cliff behind the chapel. The short-lived April Rebellion was brutally repressed, but a year later Russia would help the Bulgarian rebels defeat the Turks at Shipka Pass and begin the march towards freedom. In the courtyard of the monastery an octagon-shaped water fountain was built with eight spouts to commemorate those fallen heroes. Legend states the fountain has never run dry and its cool water holds healing powers. 
We made it to Tryavna just in time to have dinner at the restaurant next to our hotel. Enjoying a hot meal after a long chilly day, we were entertained by the waitress trying to keep a determined stray cat from entering the restaurant every time the front door was opened.
Generations of skilled woodworkers have lived in the Tryavna River Valley, turning trees harvested from the deciduous forests on the slopes of the Balkan Mountains into furniture and ornate wood carvings.
Crossing the footbridge over the Tryavna River at the clock-tower, the pleasant whiff of wood smoke came to us on a chilly Spring morning. Large woodpiles are essential in this region and we saw plenty of homes with the winter’s firewood neatly stacked, as we wandered around the village, with its parks filled with sculpture and tulips in bloom.
Over the centuries Saint Archangel Michael Church has been reconstructed several times. Its most recent incarnation dates from 1853 when the tall wooden belfry was added. Inside, the interior is richly ornamented with elaborate 19th century woodcarvings and iconography created by members of the Vitan family, famous throughout Bulgaria for generations of skilled artisans. The carved bishop’s throne is an exquisite masterpiece.
The safest way to order your cup of java in parts of Bulgaria is to ask for a traditional coffee, not wanting to offend anyone by calling it Turkish. The fact is Greek, Albanian, Bosnian, Persian, Turkish andthe same, plus or minus cardamom or a local spice. But here in Tryavna at the Renaissance Café the coffee was brewed on a very traditional sand stove. A shallow pan filled with sand was heated over an open flame, and a long handled, brass cezve was filled with coffee and water, then partially buried in the hot sand to brew. With diligent attendance our coffee was brought to a frothy boil three times before being moved to the top of the sand where it stayed warm while the grounds settled. The ritual of the event definitely enhanced our enjoyment of the brew.
We only just scratched the surface of this lovely country. There’s so much to see here, especially in its vast countryside. Hopefully one day we’ll get a chance to return.
Just outside Old Town Plovdiv, 
At just over a mile long the pedestrian mall in the center of Plovdiv is the longest in Europe, running from the Stefan Stambolov Square along Knyaz Alexander I, and Rayko Daskalov Street before ending at the footbridge lined with shopping stalls that crosses the Maritza River.
But the jewel of the mall area was the curved ruins of the Ancient Stadium of Philipopolis, with its fourteen tier seating area, unearthed in 1923. Situated below street level and surrounded by modern buildings at Dzhumaya Square, the ruins provided a dramatic juxtaposition of the ancient and contemporary, where you can actually see the layering of history and how the city was built over earlier civilizations. From this excavated section, archeologists have determined that the stadium was a huge 790 feet long and 165 feet wide and could seat nearly 30,000 spectators.
Across the square the Dzhumaya Mosque is the main Friday Mosque for Muslims in Plovdiv. Constructed in 1421, it replaced an earlier mosque built in 1363 on the foundations of a Bulgarian Church destroyed during the Ottoman conquest. It is one of the oldest and largest Muslim religious buildings in the Balkans. At the café in front of it we enjoyed some sweet Turkish tea and pastries in the warm afternoon sun.
After you crouch to enter through a low door and then look up in this intimate space, the WOW element of 
Our main destination was 
This is the only monastery to survive during the centuries of Ottoman domination over Bulgaria, when it was rebuilt in defiance of the Turks. The Bulgarian people have great affection for this monastery, as a symbol of their religion and culture during those turbulent centuries.
Thirteen miles from the monastery, on a side street in the town of Rila, we spotted a church with three small cupolas, that called for a quick stop. The church “St. Nicholas the Wonderworker Mirikliyski” was a surprising find with its cracked bell tower and muraled covered entrance porch, complete with woodpile.
The painter of these hell fire and brimstone murals might have gotten his inspiration from the tortured works of Dutch painter Hieronymus Bosch. Unfortunately, the church was closed and we haven’t been able to find any other information about this off-the beaten-path treasure.
The Unofficial Junk Museum is a vast, rusty and dusty collection of whatever the owner deemed representative of Bulgarian culture under communism. Radios, tv’s, typewriters, farming equipment, cars, motorcycles, household items and busts of Stalin are stacked everywhere. It’s fascinating! And of all the places to buy a bottle of homemade 
In the morning we followed Rt. 1 south for a while as it hugged the Struma River, which would eventually reach the Aegean Sea, before we turned off and headed in to the Pirin Mountains.
Melnik is situated in a wide gorge under striking sandstone rock formations, called hoodoos, that tower hundreds of feet high, created from millennia of erosion. Locals refer to these geological phenomena as Melnik Earth Pyramids. The village has been renown for making strong wine since 1346 from a regional red grape varietal, Shiroka Melnishka, and wine cellars still line its main street. 
Once a thriving village with one thousand residents, today it is now home to fewer than three hundred. The village was a delight to explore with its cobbled streets meandering between the whitewashed stone and timber homes built in the Bulgarian Revival style. Ninety-six of the village’s houses are historically protected. Any new construction in town adhered to that aesthetic. 
From the ruins of Bolyarska kŭshta, high on a hill above the Church of St. Anthony, we spotted the dome of what looked like a hammam, a Turkish bath, nestled between the traditional homes below, and went to explore. 
With the help of a kind woman, who somehow knew what we were looking for, we found the ruins of a small Roman era spa in a small side alley. Its dome was fully intact and the substructure of its once heated floor remained. There is also a single arched old roman bridge, near the parking lot, that you can still walk across. Before continuing to Kovachevitsa, we relaxed at one of the sunny cafes in the center of the village.
Kovachevitsa, an isolated, rustic stone village in the Rhodope mountains, was only 52 miles away near the border with Greece. However, it took us the bulk of the afternoon to reach because “someone stops every hundred yards to take a photo.” And stop we did as we were awed by the beauty of the border region as we drove through the mountains. So close were we to the border that our phones binged with a “Welcome to Greece” message from our cell phone carrier.
At one point we stopped to photograph a complete section of an iron truss bridge, just rusting away on the side of the road, only to have our car suddenly surrounded by a flock of bah-ing sheep.
So, we knocked on the ancient door of the closest building only to be greeted by loud barking. Retreating back to the car we pondered what to do when a voice behind us said “hello.” That was the only word of English our host spoke until he said “goodbye” two days later. The barking dog turned out to be a gentle giant, who welcomed us to the inn. In fact, all the dogs of the village were St. Bernard-size, and they must all have been related, because they closely resembled one another. Fortunately, they were good-natured.
Bulgarians fleeing religious persecution and the forced conversion policies of the Ottoman Empire sought refuge in the rugged Rhodope mountains and established Kovachevitsa in 1656. Agriculture and stockbreeding in the area thrived during the 1800s and the homes still standing in the village date from that time. The tall stone homes of Kovachevitsa are stunning and unique in an organic way.
At breakfast the next morning Google Translate nicely bridged our communications barrier with the innkeeper’s wife. Loading the Cyrillic keyboard into the app for our hostess to use, Donna’s phone was passed back and forth repeatedly during a lively conversation about family, each other’s lives, the village and our travels. Our hosts’ children live with their grandparents in one of the larger towns off the mountain as there isn’t a school in the village anymore. 
Most of the young families have moved away to find work, leaving only 28 year-round residents looking after the village till the tourist season starts. Strolling under blossoming elderberry trees, we had the narrow lanes to ourselves as we worked our way towards St. Nikolas Church.
On the way back to our inn we stopped to admire the woolen creations knitted by a lone street vendor with a toothless smile who was bundled under layers of clothing to ward off the mountain chill. Her prospects for a profitable day seemed slim as the street was nearly deserted. When we expressed interest in only one pair of socks, she assertively pantomimed that we needed more. Looking up from readying our payment we could only smile and chuckle when we found she had filled our bag with two extra pairs of socks. They were well made and a bargain, so we caved to her sales pressure. I’m wearing a pair now as I write this, and my toes are happy we she insisted. I wouldn’t have been surprised if we were her only sale of the day.
In the airport, at the tourist information kiosk, multiple large screen tv’s played flashy videos promoting Bulgaria’s culture, tourism, and natural beauty. We asked the woman staffing the desk for a map of Sofia and directions on how to transfer into the city. “Follow the line,” she snapped. Not fully understanding I asked again. “Follow the line!” she barked firmly a second time. She scowled in the direction of the arrows painted on the floor and turned away. Her previous career, I’m speculating, was a prison guard in the now closed gulags. She was obviously better suited commanding prisoners to “assume the position” than to being the first friendly face welcoming visitors to her country. I’m sure she was hiding handcuffs and would have used them if I asked another question. But that’s how it was, one day you’re communist and the next day you’re taking customer service courses and trying to embrace a free market economy. And for some the promise of a better life hasn’t been realized. Later, one of our hosts would express, “some folks prefer the old way, they’re still communists.” “Come and keep your comrade warm,” another refrain from the Beatles song, didn’t ring true. We weren’t feeling the love just yet. Aside from that rocky start, we had very enjoyable time in Bulgaria. 
The line led to a modern subway station adjacent to the airport terminal and for 1.60 BGN, about 90¢ USD, we rode the
We emerged onto the pedestrian only Vitosha Boulevard filled with folks enjoying a warm Spring day and an incredible vista of Vitosha Mountain towering over the city. Inviting outdoor cafes lined the street and we quickly chose which one we’d return to after meeting our Airbnb host. We stayed on Knyaz Boris just two blocks parallel to Vitosha Boulevard and as majestic as the pedestrian mall was, the side streets, though tree lined and harboring small shops and restaurants, were slightly dismaying with wanton graffiti tags on every apartment building door and utility box. There was a lack of pride in ownership. 
The idea that’s it’s not my responsibility is a leftover from the communist era, when the government owned and was responsible for everything. The front door to our building was no different, but our third-floor walkup apartment was an oasis with a sun-drenched living room and tiny balcony that we would call home for a month. And to our delight, but to our waistlines’ detriment, there was a baklava bakery across the street! 
Long at the crossroads of expanding empires, Bulgaria has had a contentious past with Thracian, Persian, Greek, Roman, Byzantine, Ottoman and communist influences. The First Bulgarian Empire, 681-1018, has been deemed the Golden Age of Bulgarian Culture, with the adoption of Christianity as the official religion in 865 and the creation of the Cyrillic alphabet. Independent for only short periods of time during the medieval age, the National Revival period between 1762-1878 brought Bulgaria to finally throw off the yoke of Ottoman domination that had lasted from 1396. Sadly, there were only six decades of self-government before the proud people of Bulgaria became a satellite regime of communist Russia at the end of WWII and fell behind the Iron Curtain.
Today Sofia is transforming itself into one of the most beautiful, cosmopolitan cites in Europe with its pedestrian malls, extensive park system and tram lines that weave throughout the city. But the past is always present and just around the corner in Sofia. Walking north along Vitosha past the end of the pedestrian mall there is a three block stretch that displays a vast stretch of that history on the way to the Central Market Hall, where we were headed to stock our pantry. We got sidetracked.
Seven millennia ago, put down the first foundations of what we now call Sofia. The construction of Sofia’s modern subway system in the 1990’s revealed multiple layers of antiquity and many of the amazing artifacts unearthed are displayed, in museum cases, on the subway platforms in the Serdika station and National Archeology Museum nearby.
Tragically in a 1925 bombing, the Bulgarian Communist Party attempted to kill the King of Bulgaria and other members of the government who were attending a funeral at this church – one hundred-fifty people died, and the cathedral’s dome was razed. Excavations behind the church in 2015 uncovered early ruins and a treasure of 3,000 Roman silver coins from the 2nd century AD. 
It ends just short of Banya Bashi, an Ottoman mosque built in the 16th century. The towering statue of St. Sofia is also visible just beyond the subway station. Ancient walls found during the renovation of the Central Market Hall can also be seen in the lower level of that building.
Nearby the oldest building in Sofia, the Church of Saint George, built by the Romans in the 4th century, has early Christian frescoes which were painted over by the Ottomans when it was used as a mosque, but they were rediscovered in the 1900s and restored. It stands surrounded by modern buildings in a courtyard behind the President of the Republic of Bulgaria building, within earshot of the Changing of the Guard.
In the crypt of the cathedral a small, state of the art museum showcases the development of Bulgarian orthodox iconography over the centuries. 
Nearby, the five gilded spires of the Russian Church, officially known as the Church of St Nicholas the Miracle-Maker, can be seen from the steps of Cathedral Saint Aleksandar Nevski. Built in 1914 on the site of a mosque that was torn down after the liberation of Bulgaria, it served has the official church for the Russian Embassy and the Russian community in Sofia. The religious murals that cover the interior of the church were created by Vasily Perminov’s team of talented icon painters, who were also responsible for the iconography in Cathedral Saint Aleksandar Nevski. Darkened by decades of candle smoke, the fresco paintings in the dome were restored in 2014.
In 2001 an early Christian mausoleum was unearthed near the American Embassy and it’s fantastic that things are still being discovered in 2019.
We had spent a wonderful day cruising from Aveiro to Nazare, but now twilight was fast turning to darkness as we drove along an extremely narrow lane at the base of the formidable fortress wall that encircled Obidos. We had arrived at our hotel 
Admittingly Donna is the more accomplished linguist of the two of us. I according to my loved one have been known to torture a language. So, she eagerly sought advice from the only person we had passed. From a short distance away, I watched the conversation unfold with the gentleman flailing his arms every which way for what seemed an inordinate amount of time. 
Smiling, Donna returned to the car. “About the only thing I got from that was we should continue following the lane until the next hole in the wall. He was very insistent about that.” “Did he know the hotel?” I asked. “Never heard of it, but I think he was intoxicated! My luck,” she laughed. The lane narrowed even more as we drove forward. Finally, there was an ancient portal, the size of a single door, through the wall that led to a short set of steps. Abandoning our car for few minutes we climbed the stairs to an inner lane in search of our hotel. After we finally found the place, the receptionist explained to continue driving along the wall until you reach an old city gate, enter there and follow the inner lane back to us and park anywhere you can. OK, piece of cake now, we thought. 
Inhabited since the 4th century BC by the Lusitanos, then the Romans and Visigoths, the city wasn’t fortified until the 8th century by the Moors. Bent entrances, with a quick turn and an additional, heavy inner gate were used in many Arab fortifications. In peacetime they were easy to navigate with pack animals, and during sieges provided a killing zone for the defenders of the city. Remember, these bent gates were built long before cars were envisioned. Obidos had two of them and tonight we had to navigate through one. Porta do Vale ou Senhora da Graça was a drive through chapel dedicated to Our Lady of Grace. In 1727 the old gate was renovated into an oratory chapel with sacristy, altarpiece, gallery, choir, and chancel by a local magistrate to commemorate his daughter’s death. You actually transit through the nave to reach the interior street. The gate was narrow, and it required a sharp k-turn just to line the car up to approach it correctly. Donna was driving and I hopped out to judge just how much room we had around the car. Driving up a slight slope on flagstones worn smooth from centuries of travelers, the tires spun with no traction as the car got halfway through the gate. Backing-up and then gunning the car forward through the gate Donna only had the length of our Fiat 500 to turn sharply right and exit the inner gate. It was do-able but nerve-wracking.
With only two main lanes that ran the length of village, interconnected by a labyrinth of stairs and smaller alleys, Obidos was the perfect size, only slightly larger than Marvao, to explore for two days and relax before driving back to the airport in Lisbon for our flight to Sofia, Bulgaria. 
The next morning, enjoying deserted lanes lined with flowering wisteria, calla lilies, and other interesting details we weaved our way to the 
We eventually made our way through the main gate of the walled city. Porta da Vila de Óbidos is another bent entrance that did double duty as a chapel to Nossa Senhora da Piedade, the Virgin Mary, patron of the village. Be sure to look up as you walk through, as Azulejos tiles from the 1700’s line the interior balcony.
Across the street we walked below remnants of a three-kilometer-long aqueduct built in the 16th century to supply water to the fortress. 
Dinner that night was a simple meal of bread, cheese and local sausages cooked uniquely on a ceramic hibachi, fueled with grappa, placed on our table at Bar Ibn Errik Rex. As flames danced from our mini grill, the waiter would return to our table occasionally and turn the sausages to ensure their perfection. It was an entertaining evening. A few good Portuguese beers helped.
With our GPS App still set to avoid toll roads, we drove through the Porta da Vila de Óbidos and headed towards Lisbon, less than two hours away if we didn’t stop. But, if you’ve been following our blog you’ll know that’s nearly impossible, there is always a quick glimpse of something that calls for a detour.
Torres Vedras with its aptly named citadel caught our eye. With a historical time-line similar to Obidos, the hilltop in the old historic district was continually fortified against waves of early invaders. Knowing a good piece of real estate when they saw it, the castle was seized during the Christian reconquest in 1148 and used by a succession of Portuguese Kings until it was heavily damaged in the catastrophic 1755 earthquake that hit central Portugal and Lisbon. Built just after the reconquest, Igreja de Santa Maria do Castelo stands just below the castle walls. The church’s bell cast in the 16th century continues to ring today.
Along the Sizandro River on the outskirts of town, an impressive two-kilometer stretch of a 16th century aqueduct with double arches still stands. Driving under the aqueduct we followed the river south along the R374. The high-density new developments around Torres Vedras quickly gave way to a landscape of vineyards and pastures. Finding a restaurant for a late lunch, though, didn’t seem promising along this rural stretch of road, dotted with the occasional roadside café with a farm tractor parked out front, until we caught a quick peripheral glimpse of a larger establishment, across a small bridge, down a side lane. It would take another mile before we could find a suitable place to perform a U-turn. With nothing else around for miles 
2 Suitcases for 2 years 