Following is a factual account that established my first impression of the Republic of Bulgaria. I had previously worked in cities throughout North and South America, East Asia and Western Europe on various marketing and air service missions while serving for more than a decade as executive director of the Nevada Commission on Tourism.
Nevada is one of the top tourism destinations in the world. It's two principal cities, Las Vegas and Reno, coupled with the glacial beauty of Lake Tahoe, a plethora of fun, culturally unique and scenic locales, provide the magnetic attraction for upwards of fifty million visitors per annum.
Two of the areas in tourism management in which I developed a specialty are observing and understanding the best practices of others; and, providing evidence that a visitor's first impression of a travel experience determines the likelihood of his or her return visitation. With these two tools in-hand, S.W.O.T. evaluations of any country becomes an objective exercise.
Why had an assignment to review Bulgaria's tourism potential landed on my desk? In the midst of my service to Nevada, I was enlisted by the U.S. State Department as a consultant in tourism management to aid nations desiring such technical assistance. I have now completed over thirty missions in Eastern Europe, Central and East Asia. My first undertaking, however, set the tone for all that have followed. This is a chronicle of that inaugural undertaking.
Nevada is one of the top tourism destinations in the world. It's two principal cities, Las Vegas and Reno, coupled with the glacial beauty of Lake Tahoe, a plethora of fun, culturally unique and scenic locales, provide the magnetic attraction for upwards of fifty million visitors per annum.
Two of the areas in tourism management in which I developed a specialty are observing and understanding the best practices of others; and, providing evidence that a visitor's first impression of a travel experience determines the likelihood of his or her return visitation. With these two tools in-hand, S.W.O.T. evaluations of any country becomes an objective exercise.
Why had an assignment to review Bulgaria's tourism potential landed on my desk? In the midst of my service to Nevada, I was enlisted by the U.S. State Department as a consultant in tourism management to aid nations desiring such technical assistance. I have now completed over thirty missions in Eastern Europe, Central and East Asia. My first undertaking, however, set the tone for all that have followed. This is a chronicle of that inaugural undertaking.
I am not a careless traveler, coming to recognize the necessary safeguards to be embraced prior to visiting a foreign land. I don't take unnecessary chances, neither place myself in dangerous situations. Level-headed and capable of dealing in a controlled, thoughtful manner when unfamiliar circumstances arise are words that adequately describe me.
I came to realize that life in the United States is quite different than existence in many other countries – especially countries whose populations have for multiple generations been subjected to the communist doctrine.
It 1996 when comprehensive tourism survey for the spend a total of three weeks, commencing the scheduled arrive on President-elect Petyr below).
Mr. Stoyanov was elected President representing party. This was a major step forward in Bulgaria's movement toward a free-market orientation, and a positive step forward for United States relations in the countries of the Soviet Bloc.
my capital city of , representative
my capital city of , representative
the commenced from Las Vegas to Los Angeles, Frankfurt. Upon however, adding snowfalls conditions hours
Consequently, I had plenty of time to give thought to my present assignment. Almost twelve hours traveling from Las Vegas to Frankfurt, and then waiting a few more hours in the immense FRA terminal could be distressing for some people. Fortunately, the trials and tribulations of international travel were second nature at that point in my career.
The Commission on Tourism joined with our partners in Las Vegas to encourage international travelers to visit Nevada, and to stay longer than twenty-four hours. Prior to 1989, many foreign guests would deplane in Las Vegas just long enough to grab a meal, see a show and catch the first helicopter or bus to the Grand Canyon.
Our job was to put multinational heads in beds. Moving out with gusto, my team and I dispatched to the home offices of consequential tour operators and wholesalers in suitable markets around the globe.
By the time of this visit to Bulgaria, I was no stranger to having English spoken as a foreign language; I looked in both directions when crossing the street; I got over my initial embarrassment when my hand was held by a male colleague on our way to lunch; and, I learned to be cautious about the pocket I relegated to house an acquired business card.
But, what did this former Communist autocracy have in store for me? The only bit of trivia I knew about Bulgaria, with respect to tourism or any other economic driver, was that its Black Sea coast was a favored vacation destination for gilt-edged Soviets and those who were semi-elite, but desiring an elevation in Party status.
I also had learned reports that women tourists in BG typically wore one-piece swim suits, conveniently forgetting to put on the top piece. That bit of knowledge penetrated my teenage consciousness and had a similar effect upon me as the lingerie section of the J.C. Penney catalog.
What I knew for certain was that this journey would likely be adventuresome. I was eager to place my feet on Bulgarian soil.
When I ultimately could depart Frankfurt, Balkan Airlines was the carrier chosen for the final leg of my journey to Sofia, Bulgaria's capital. Balkan Air was unfamiliar to me at that point – as was the Balkan nation I was to evaluate.
, compartments. In their place , similar containment Sturdier would surely passenger.
Ultimately, the flight was delayed only two hours. The air aloft was turbulent, but the flight time was brief, just two-and-one-half hours, so 'tolerably' tumultuous. However, after we had been at altitude fifteen minutes longer than our total announced flight time, the pilot addressed us in Bulgarian over the plane's intercom.
Awaiting his message to be repeated in English and not hearing it, I asked an English-speaking cabin attendant to interpret the pilot's message. Rather, she went to the cockpit and asked the pilot to restate his comment in English. He apologized to all for his oversight and advised us that the Sofia airport was closed due to fog. Our flight had now been diverted to a place called Burgas.
If I knew little about Sofia, I knew absolutely nothing about Burgas. Was it in Bulgaria, or in another country? I sensed half-baked thoughts about this dilemma coarse through my mind. I finished baking them by telling myself that I would soon grip the answers to my questions. Sure enough, forty-five minutes later, we descended into Burgas airspace and landed softly to the gratification and applause of all passengers.
If I knew little about Sofia, I knew absolutely nothing about Burgas. Was it in Bulgaria, or in another country? I sensed half-baked thoughts about this dilemma coarse through my mind. I finished baking them by telling myself that I would soon grip the answers to my questions. Sure enough, forty-five minutes later, we descended into Burgas airspace and landed softly to the gratification and applause of all passengers.
I looked out my window and noticed the terminal lights being illuminated. We learned from the pilot that the Burgas airport operated seasonally – for the community sat on Bulgaria's Black Sea coast, not a desired travel destination for half the year. Seasonality also meant that there would be no border police or custom's officials present to process the 180 inbound passengers on this flight.
We departed the aircraft and entered the terminal complex – being directed into a reception room for incoming unprocessed passengers. The room was built to accommodate about 150 people – we were one-fifth again a greater number than that. We had no choice but to stand in those cramped quarters for almost two hours awaiting Bulgarian border police to arrive and process our passports.
Upon being allowed in-country, we then walked into the Customs' Arrival Hall, to claim our belongings. Everyone's personal effects were present and accounted for, except mine. The two bags that held the possessions I needed to successfully conclude a three week assignment were not among those present.
I sought out a Custom's official or an airline employee who spoke English to assist me in filing a 'lost bag' claim for my cases. Finding a cooperative Custom's officer, Stefan, I explained my predicament and was pleased to learn that he knew exactly what I needed.
I sought out a Custom's official or an airline employee who spoke English to assist me in filing a 'lost bag' claim for my cases. Finding a cooperative Custom's officer, Stefan, I explained my predicament and was pleased to learn that he knew exactly what I needed.
Stefan informed me that all desks were locked because of the airport closure for the winter. I told him that I could not exit the airport without having official documentation that my bags had not arrived on that flight, a form signed by an official of the government or the airline.
Stefan agreed to pry open a drawer labeled as to indicate it contained Lost Luggage forms. He smiled brightly upon finding one and happily presented it to me. The language of the form, however, was Cyrillic – not an English word to be found except in the title line of the document (below).
Stefan agreed to pry open a drawer labeled as to indicate it contained Lost Luggage forms. He smiled brightly upon finding one and happily presented it to me. The language of the form, however, was Cyrillic – not an English word to be found except in the title line of the document (below).
Stefan assisted me complete the form. He then dated, signed and officially stamped it! As he handed it to me, he wished me a good visit and pointed me toward the exit door. Briefcase in hand, I sauntered in the direction to leave the terminal building.
I departed from the terminal building along with Stefan (who turned off building's lights). I then learned from him that the coaches hired to transport the plane's passengers to Sofia had departed thirty minutes ago.
The lights of Burgas were shining brightly in the distance, but I had no idea where that community sat in relationship to Sofia, or, for that matter, what I should, could or would do at that moment.
About 100 yards away, a single taxicab whose driver was standing aside it smoking a cigarette; glanced in my direction. I walked to him and asked, "Where is Sofia?"
The lights of Burgas were shining brightly in the distance, but I had no idea where that community sat in relationship to Sofia, or, for that matter, what I should, could or would do at that moment.
About 100 yards away, a single taxicab whose driver was standing aside it smoking a cigarette; glanced in my direction. I walked to him and asked, "Where is Sofia?"
He responded, "Very far," and pointed in a westerly direction. At that point, I was tired, uncomfortable and a more than a bit apprehensive. I had no phone with which to communicate with Nikolai, my steward in Sofia.
I had no local currency, and no idea the length of time required to reach my destination. Creeping into the recesses of my confused cranial spaces, I also realized that I had no knowledge of the veracity of cab drivers in general, or Burgas-based cabbies, in particular.
I asked him the cost to transport me to Sofia? He responded with a number. I offered him a slightly smaller number, to which he readily accepted, making me believe I could have reduced my counter-offer amount. Expecting to sleep, I entered the rear seat of the fifteen-plus year-old Soviet-built Lada taxi cab.
I asked him the cost to transport me to Sofia? He responded with a number. I offered him a slightly smaller number, to which he readily accepted, making me believe I could have reduced my counter-offer amount. Expecting to sleep, I entered the rear seat of the fifteen-plus year-old Soviet-built Lada taxi cab.
I looked around briefly in an attempt to locate non-existent seat belts. And then, with a flurry of determination and a noisy tail pipe, we set out for Sofia. I expected that I might be able to snooze for some of the trip, but the noise level of the taxi, the road disrepair, and lack of safety restraints gave that notion a contentious air of impracticality.
About twenty minutes later we entered the Bulgarian fog bank that kept our flight from landing in Sofia. It was as thick as a decent Bloody Mary, only allowing us to see twenty-five feet or less in any direction. The two-lane road on which we were traveling had numerous ruts; oncoming auto and truck traffic heightened passenger fear levels. I didn't know the degree of the driver's fear – he didn't say – or if he did, I didn't understand.
About twenty minutes later we entered the Bulgarian fog bank that kept our flight from landing in Sofia. It was as thick as a decent Bloody Mary, only allowing us to see twenty-five feet or less in any direction. The two-lane road on which we were traveling had numerous ruts; oncoming auto and truck traffic heightened passenger fear levels. I didn't know the degree of the driver's fear – he didn't say – or if he did, I didn't understand.
After about four treacherous hours on the road, we briefly rose above the fog and entered into the foothills of the mountain range east of Sofia. We were in daylight, and the scenery was breathtaking. The driver asked if I would like something to eat. I responded that I was, but added that I had no Bulgarian money, He simply replied, "I will buy breakfast."
At that point, he exited the main highway, and headed onto a dirt road moving down a hillside for about two miles. I became keenly apprehensive because there were no signs of life anywhere – no other vehicles, no pedestrians, and no buildings – nothing but trees and shrubs.
We then turned into a grove of trees and approached what appeared to be a WWII-era Quonset hut. It was decorously painted using several shades of green, almost as camouflage to the foliage surrounding it. A few vehicles were located on the far side of the building – yet, there was no sign to identify its purpose on either of the two sides that were visible. We exited the taxi and headed toward a door in what I took to be the front of the structure.
We then turned into a grove of trees and approached what appeared to be a WWII-era Quonset hut. It was decorously painted using several shades of green, almost as camouflage to the foliage surrounding it. A few vehicles were located on the far side of the building – yet, there was no sign to identify its purpose on either of the two sides that were visible. We exited the taxi and headed toward a door in what I took to be the front of the structure.
Needless to say, at this point, my adrenaline was flowing and all of my senses were on full alert. I suspected that if ever I was to be attacked or robbed, it would occur there and then, likely as soon as we entered the building.
Upon opening the door, my heightened olfactory sense went into overdrive, indulged by a harmony of aromas including freshly baked bread, strong coffee, and chicken soup. My eyes focused upon a warmly decorated diner-style cafe, simple in form, yet immaculately maintained. We entered and were seated at a table near the kitchen!
Anyone who has tasted Bulgarian-style chicken soup knows the delicious nature of that preparation; and that morning, ours was in top form. I then consumed copious amounts of soup with bread, black coffee and freshly squeezed organically-grown orange juice (because that's the only way Bulgarian's know how to grow fruits and vegetables).
After breakfast and back on the highway about one-hour away from the capital, my driver, Alexsandar, asked where in Sofia he could take me. I honestly didn’t know where to be dropped and told him so. The airport would not be a good location because I should have been there about twelve hours earlier.
Upon opening the door, my heightened olfactory sense went into overdrive, indulged by a harmony of aromas including freshly baked bread, strong coffee, and chicken soup. My eyes focused upon a warmly decorated diner-style cafe, simple in form, yet immaculately maintained. We entered and were seated at a table near the kitchen!
Anyone who has tasted Bulgarian-style chicken soup knows the delicious nature of that preparation; and that morning, ours was in top form. I then consumed copious amounts of soup with bread, black coffee and freshly squeezed organically-grown orange juice (because that's the only way Bulgarian's know how to grow fruits and vegetables).
After breakfast and back on the highway about one-hour away from the capital, my driver, Alexsandar, asked where in Sofia he could take me. I honestly didn’t know where to be dropped and told him so. The airport would not be a good location because I should have been there about twelve hours earlier.
Alex suggested the Sheraton Hotel (photo), because he was certain there would be English-speaking employees there, and it was centrally located. I agreed with him and within an hour, we were approaching one of Starwood's Luxury-Collection of hotels, the Sheraton Sofia Hotel Balkan.
I paid Alex, offered him my most heartfelt thanks, and entered the hotel lobby. There were no other guests in the public spaces and only one employee behind the reception counter, a woman in her late twenties or early thirties. She looked up to greet me and smiled. She then stated, “You must be Mr. Tait.”
Given the craziness of the past several hours, I still had a measure of surprise left in me and showed it. She had no reason to know my name – I wasn’t to be accommodated at that hotel, or any other hotel, for that matter. I must have put forth my most confused look because she smiled even more affectionately and added, “Your colleagues have been frantic about finding you. They left messages at every hotel in the city thinking you might appear at one and be lost."
"You do look to be a bit worn-out," she added. Why don’t you have a seat in the lounge, and I will bring you a cup of cappuccino? Then I will call your colleagues and let them know you have arrived safely.”
I went to the lounge, sipped a delightful cappuccino (she opened the bar to prepare it for me), and collected my thoughts for about ten minutes when Nickolai arrived. After we exchanged greetings, I filled him in on my arrival adventure. He accepted the lost luggage report from me and took me to a market to purchase toiletries. Then it was off to my temporary quarters for a shower and shave prior to attending the Presidential Inauguration ceremonies, dressed in my travel clothes, but dressed, nonetheless.
As it turns out, Balkan Airlines, didn't lose my luggage; the culprit being the staff of the carrier I used to move me from Los Angeles to Frankfurt. My bags were delivered to me on the following day when the fog cleared, and the Sofia Airport restored service. Needless to say, the first impressions I had of Bulgaria, its people, cuisine and character were incredibly positive.
© 2011 Thomas Tait
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