Traveling With Lola

Malko Dryanovo, Bulgaria (You may know it by its more common name: hell) 

I have not been looking forward to writing this blog whatsoever, because this whirlwind trip has been a lot for me to process. This travel experience was probably my least favorite of all my experiences, and it cost me a ton in the end: monetarily, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. 

With that being said, I have never been one to sugarcoat things on this blog. Not all travel is glamorous vacationing, hotel stays, and perfect itineraries. I want to keep it REAL with everyone who reads this blog (shout out to my twenty email subscribers: seriously it means a lot), so I’m also sharing this experience because I want to let go of my negative feelings about this trip and hopefully share some insight (or at least entertainment 😅).

Bulgaria… Now, where do I start in writing about my trip to Bulgaria? I guess I could start with how I originally ended up in a town no, VILLAGE, of less than 50 people, with no food, stores, air conditioning, or civilization within an hour by car. The short story is that I was naive. But you’re here for the long story, so here it goes:

In planning the next leg of my backpacking adventure across Europe, I ignorantly decided to backpack through Eastern Europe over eight weeks, from July to early September this year. There was no real rhyme or reason for why this was, it just seemed like a fun thing to do. “Not many people backpack through the Balkans,” I thought. “I’ll be different,” I thought. “It will be a conversation starter,” I thought. I just didn’t know how much of a conversation starter this trip would end up being.

I booked an expensive, non-refundable flight (stupid) and though I’d like to think otherwise, my travel plans tend to go along the lines of “I don’t know, but I’ll just figure it out.” My usual lack of planning and research isn’t so bad. Not having a set itinerary typically challenges me to be confident, adventurous, and curious in the places I visit, because everything is up to me to figure out. And I always do figure it out in the end. In this particular case, however, my “wing it” attitude didn’t work in my favor. 

You see, my “I’ll figure it out when I get there” plan consisted of me identifying a volunteer opportunity on a horse farm/dog sanctuary near Malko Dryanovo, in Bulgaria. Many websites like Workaway offer flexible travelers these opportunities in exchange for accommodation, a great option for budget-conscious travelers. I found a listing in rural Bulgaria offering free food and accommodations in exchange for helping care for horses and dogs on a farm for a few hours a day. After chatting with the host, let’s call her Jane, through Workaway and Whatsapp, I decided this would be a unique experience that would also save me lots of money in the long run. Jane had dozens of positive reviews on the site from past volunteers, some of whom stayed with her for months. I felt comfortable signing on with her to stay for two weeks. 

At the time, I was looking for a horse-centered volunteer opportunity, and staying in a small village would be different from other types of backpacking I had done before. Staying in one spot for a while sounded nice, and would allow me some stability, not requiring me to unpack and pack my backpack for some time. I was sold!

You may have read my last blog about my long weekend in Budapest, which kicked off my “eight-week” backpacking journey. (if you didn’t read it, check it out HERE). After my long weekend in Budapest, my plan to get to this tiny village (a village so small that it doesn’t even come up on the weather app) was simple: I would walk from my hostel in Budapest, take a bus for 40 minutes to the airport, take a 90-minute flight from Budapest to Sofia, Bulgaria, take the metro from the airport to downtown, then walk a mile to the bus station, take a bus for three hours to the nearest town to Malko Dryanovo, where Jane would pick me up and drive me another hour to her farm. Easy peasy! 

What I failed to consider was that during my last few hours in Budapest, I ate a Gyro from a local shop on an evening stroll around Pest. I didn’t realize this wrap would be my downfall, plaguing me with extreme nausea and fatigue for my travel journey the next day. Thank you food poisoning! I first noticed a funny feeling in my stomach at approximately 4 a.m. after I left my hostel as I walked through the streets of Budapest, trying to find the bus station to the airport. I had two heavy backpacks on, and my stomach felt… how should I say? Not quite right. 

When I sat on the bus floor on the way to the airport, I knew something was really wrong. I found myself with a head dropped in my only available resource: a canvas grocery bag. It wasn’t until I was waiting in line at the airport ticket desk, waiting to get my boarding pass that I had to squat down and empty my stomach contents into this bag. I felt awful, but the people in line all around me didn’t even bat an eye. It was a temporary relief from my nausea, and I threw away the vomit bag on the way into the customs line.

I got my boarding pass and went through the security line just as my plane was boarding. I downed a bottle of fruit juice while running to my gate, still with heavy bags and a bowling ball in my stomach, just trying to make it to my flight before it was too late. While waiting in line once again on the tarmac, the all-too-familiar nausea returned. I excused myself, walked behind the wheel of the plane, and emptied my stomach of all the orange juice I just consumed, to the entertainment of the people watching from the plane window, I’m sure. Another temporary relief, I thanked my lucky stars that I sprung for an aisle seat in case I had another incident. I had another grocery bag that came with my juice for backup. I had a feverish nap on the plane, and I woke up as we touched down in Sofia, just in time to tuck my head in the aisle, this time to dry heave in the bag I had. 

As you can imagine, this was a terrible travel day. Why did I choose to travel even though I was sick as a dog? Looking back on it, I’m not really sure. I think I felt like my only option was to get to where I needed to be in Bulgaria so that I could rest. In all honesty, I could’ve stayed in Budapest, but I didn’t know what to do and was already committed to making it to Bulgaria.

I eventually did make it to the bus station in Sofia after feeling deathly ill, but I also realized on my journey that no one in Bulgaria speaks English. I don’t at all expect everyone abroad to speak English, but I wasn’t anticipating this extra travel challenge, and navigating, buying tickets, and getting transportation was hell on top of an already awful health day and travel experience. 

I did eventually make it through the three-hour bus ride to the next closest town to Jane, where she was supposed to pick me up. I thought making it to the pickup point would be the end of my negative experiences in this country. I was so looking forward to relaxing and recovering after making it to the farm. Sadly, I was wrong. 

My first clue that something wasn’t right at this farm came the next morning after this food poisoning fiasco. I woke up the next day at 8 a.m., my stomach feeling better but by no means “well.”  Jane was complaining that she wished I was up earlier to help do the chores, despite her not telling me what time she would’ve liked me to be up. She also knew I was sick, and she knew what I had been through the day before. Though my nausea was resolved, I was now dealing with a cold, not atypical for me after intense travel days, but I felt weak and exhausted.

The first couple of days, I didn’t notice the lack of food at the house because my stomach wasn’t back to 100% yet. But slowly, I realized that not only were there no provisions in this house, my accommodations were horrendous. And I’m not talking rough around the edges. Flies and mosquitos were excessive throughout the house, buzzing past my ears while I tried to sleep and landing on everything in sight. I stayed in my own room downstairs, while Jane had a room and bathroom upstairs. My room was gritty, dusty, insect-infested, and even the sheets couldn’t stay clean because the dogs would constantly jump and lay on my sleeping quarters after being outside in the mud. On top of that, it was during a very hot summer with no air conditioning.

 The kitchen was dirty like I hadn’t experienced before. Like a fraternity house, there were dishes piled up on the table, cat food was strewn across the room, and dirty, mucky water sat in the sink, mixing with rotting food. One day, while Jane was out on errands, I tried to do some cleaning in the kitchen. I sprayed a disinfectant on the kitchen table and wiped it with some paper towels so that I could have a work space. The paper towels were black, even after the second time of cleaning.

When I got my appetite back, I realized there was no food or means of cooking here. There were moldy fruits, and old, uncovered leftovers in the fridge. Besides that, there were minimal provisions available to cook. Even as I tried, it was a struggle to find clean plates or pans to bake anything in the oven. 

One day, I made a quesadilla with the most flavorless cheese I’ve ever had (I gobbled it up because it was the one real meal I had that day). There was, however, ~some~ food that was available for eating. One day my host made a chickpea salad* for lunch for us. And another day, she brought home a “Bulgarian delicacy” for my lunch. She walked in with a plastic bottle of what looked like milk. This was “cucumber-garlic milk soup,” she told me, meant to be drunk cold. I didn’t need to try that to know it would not satisfy my intense hunger and fatigue. 

*Room temperature chickpeas from a can with an onion cut up into it.   

These red flags kept piling up, and my frustration and discomfort continued to grow throughout the week. The day I knew I had to get out was Friday morning. Jane suggested we take some of these dogs on a walk around the neighborhood for a “quick walk.” These three rescue dogs were huge, built like Bernese Mountain dogs. They were sweet to us, but incredibly hyper, jumping all over me when I let them out of the yard. They were also reactive to other dogs, causing them to growl and lunge at any other dogs they saw. They stayed in a small paddock separate from the other dogs on the farm because of this.

We set off at around 10:30 a.m. and our “short walk” ended up being over 2 hours and over four miles through the Bulgarian countryside. I tried to enjoy the experience but the incessant bugs swarming my head, strong and powerful dogs jumping at any other dog they saw, and lack of water ruined everything. (Had I known this would be a multi-hour and multi-mile walk, I would’ve brought water).

My exhaustion and frustration grew to a breaking point as I was still struggling with a lingering cold during the heat of the summer day. I genuinely tried to be positive, but it felt like my soul was being crushed. The physical exhaustion that I was dealing with was catching up with me. I felt angry for being misled, discouraged from the heat, dehydration, and insects, and homesick for creature comforts (read: basic necessities to live). 

When I got back from the walk, I faced the fact that I had to get out of there. I was going on day five of two weeks, but I couldn’t stand to be there any longer. As Jane went into town with a friend, I called my mom crying. My parents told me to start looking for flights, and told me I needed to get the hell out of there, no matter the cost. The next morning I found myself in a cab for 2 and ½ hours to Sofia, Bulgaria, $2000 poorer after buying a last minute flight, feeling disappointed but relieved that I was headed home. 

Though I knew it was the right decision, for some reason, coming home within two weeks of my eight-week backpacking trip felt like a failure. I had no idea what to say to people about coming home early. I felt like people were going to say “I told you so” about backpacking in such a remote place. I felt like people were going to judge me. I felt like some people might think that I gave up, or didn’t do what I set out to do.

That fear of being judged has stuck with me for a while. But now, I realize that none of that is true. Yes, people can say what they want, but at the end of the day, travel is never a failure. Pushing yourself to have new experiences is never a failure. Getting off the beaten path–for better or worse–is never a failure. Learning about new people, cultures, and things is never a failure. 

Despite the terror and discomfort of this experience in Bulgaria, I don’t consider this time a failure at all. In fact, I’d consider it a success. Regardless of the likeability of a destination or experience, travel always has something to teach us. This experience taught me about myself and my limits, Bulgaria and its culture, and the potential downsides of free accommodation 😅. 

And, I’ve come to terms with the fact that sometimes plans change.

 In fact, you’d be hard pressed to find a travel experience that doesn’t have a change, inconvenience, or something else you didn’t expect. Change is actually a huge part of the beauty and risk of travel. My plans and perspectives of myself as a traveler changed a lot during this trip. But I’m so grateful for this experience, despite the hunger, sickness, bugs, sweat, misery, and tears. 

I’m grateful to learn so much from travel. I’m grateful for all the time I’ve spent backpacking and I don’t regret a single second of it. And I’m grateful to have the encouragement, support, and resources to travel across this beautiful planet. I’m so grateful that you all have been #TravelingWithLola along for this journey, and I’m not planning to stop anytime soon. But I think I’ll stick to private accommodations with food and AC from now on ;).