Today is 'pack up and leave Eastern Europe behind for a while day'. Having had one of those nights where we tossed and turned and kicked each other in time to the limping electric fan. I awoke with one of those faces which indicates that I need something. His interpretation of this, beyond rapidly made tea and coffee, was to fit an even higher pressure shower attachment to the outside hose so he can make sure I am drenched regularly in icy well water more efficiently. Also as we are due out to dinner by the river tonight to play live music, a hearty breakfast down the road was in order, we had looked forward to local dishes including omelettes and rustic potatoes, tomatoes and sausages. No such luck!
My morning routines are the same wherever I am minus the cold shower, try and remember to take my LDN and then try and fit my first dose of NDT in at least an hour away from any buckets of coffee I consume. Today it is allergy central, clearly last night's red wine disagreed with me, I kind of knew after the first sip, but I am very very rebellious about my best set up routines for optimum health. I like fun in my life and so does he, I am married to the best man in the world, who puts up with me in every state.
I must say one of the joys of Bulgaria is that I can get hold of lots of medication I need at the drop of a hat, as long as I rustle enough notes at the pharmacists in any location, things appear like magic. I once asked for a particular antibiotic and their reply was 'would you like the ones we have here that don't work or the ones you have in England that actually work?' sad but true. A particular brand of allergy pills that works for me and is so rationed in the UK can be bought cheaply in bulk. I must ask about other more useful things!
Anyway I was on a mission this morning and so was he. Breakfast at the local truck stop, no nonsense food where I can practice my awful and limited Bulgarian ordering very basic and healthy meals. This morning on arrival, perhaps due to it being Sunday, it felt as if the iron curtain had dropped back down again, it took me many minutes of using my extremely terrible dialect and over use of simple words to get any smiles or indeed service at all.
So... no sausages, (the gluten free ones I can eat), and no eggs and of course no omlettes and certainly nothing else, however a plate of chips with cheese on top, not quite what I had in mind. At this point my husband spotted some ancient members of the village eating soup and got very over excited. His obsession with bob zup, (bean soup) is legendary. Let me explain further.. I have been with my darling and ever so loved husband for 23 years now, apparently a strict vegetarian. When first together I made him gourmet and sensible vegetarian meals, alongside what our first wave of children at the time were eating, which was not vegetarian, however seeing as he always wanted to eat their dinners as well as his own, this special service was removed and swapped for meat twice a week, fish twice and the rest vegetarian, in other words sensible.
This does not stop his quest of endless vegetarian bob zup, the fact that the soup is made with a variety of pork stock and basted in lamb fat seems not terribly vegetarian to me. We once stopped at a suspect road side cabin, years back, as we travelled between Romania and Bulgaria. My hackles were up before the car even stopped, (perhaps due to the fact my son had spotted an actual wolf stalking some sheep in the distance), actually myself and friend Dithers were more alerted to the brown stained , originally white lace curtains in the window. There was a chalk board advertising bean soup - bob zup outside. He of course shooshed us about our sensible womanly gut reactions to what was a menacing and filthy roadside dive run by feral gypsies.
We did not really want to go in, but he marched in to a cafe with opening displayed back of lorry contraband displayed on the tables, alongside people sitting in the half light snarling their gold teeth at us. We paid roughly 30 times the asking price to get out of there in one piece , such is my husband's love of the wretched soup. I snap and snarl every time we pass that dump, which I might add we did yesterday, going there and back to the most beautiful pool in the world, in my opinion. An olympic sized open air pool filled with mineral water. My tutting and facial expressions are apparently legendary in such situations.
This morning he reduced me to a dry retching wreck. Having eyed up the old people in the corner of our village road side diner consuming soup, he marched to the counter and asked for a bowl, the lady of the establishment then took him around behind the counter so he could inspect what was on offer. He returned to our table and announced that it could be tomato but might be tripe soup. There is no way, tomato soup or tripe soup could resemble each other in any guise. Tripe soup it was. As it arrived at the table, I felt that awful urge from childhood to heave, that used to be brought on by my mother's Friday fish pie in the 1970's. He then proceeded to announce he did no like it at all, but ate it anyway remarking on the nasty flavour and crunchy yet slimy nature of the contents. I made him go home and do a double teeth clean followed by mouth wash.
My tone for the day as I clear up the house is now set on maximum disgust, chips for breakfast is not ideal for me, (of course plus some fruits). I also note that the mosquitoes in my immediate locality have evolved once again, and realize that during the hot sunny hours of the day, it is easy to bite me as they know I apply something horrible after 5 pm, plus fill the house with electric plug ins.
I can see I shall need to have several cold showers today just to keep my temper at bay.
Looking forward to coming home to the UK for one day before disappearing to France, tripe soup is banned.