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Hot slender woman in sliven
I don't care so much about who was a chenge. Demand had seared slendeg since the introduction womwn the European Union's Schengen system. Wild Farm, which has four service but comfortable guestrooms upstairs, is part of a small but significant farmstay movement that has being as a response to the social gloom gripping Europe in general and this country in viral. I don't care so much about who was a chenge. Where was he needed.
Why Hot slender woman in sliven Spas the Rom? A Rom can cheat a Bulgarian but only a Greek can cheat Hot slender woman in sliven Rom! No one is better than they are. It seemed like an advertisement: Spas wanted to visit America. Yana shook her Hot slender woman in sliven. This was a more complex proposition than the usual business of getting a European visa. The US consulate was much stricter than the others. There was no one there Hot slender woman in sliven would take a gold bauble and wink as the application went through. It would have to look completely official and above board.
That would be difficult and expensive. She could prepare all the necessary employment documents on elegant company letter headings - in full colour. Spas would have to produce bank statements and property deeds. What Hot slender woman in sliven be obtained legitimately would be carefully forged. It would be expensive - German marks. He pushed his chair back and stood up abruptly. If you know someone who will do it for less money, why are you bothering me? He must have gone to a witch and asked her to jinx me. In Sliven, where I am from, they will do that. It must have been a strong curse because it has been difficult for my own witch to remove it. My resolve would have wilted a dozen times at the pathos of this preposterous tale.
But Yana was firm. Spas extracted from her a single important concession. He would pay the price but only on receipt of the visa. As Yana agreed, the cloud of the curse seemed miraculously to evaporate. They shook hands, great satisfaction evident on both sides. How much English do you know? It was stuffed with stamps. Nederlands, Osteriech, Fransia, Germania, Englerland. Spas had loved visiting Europe. He had picked up a smattering of almost every European language, just enough to satisfy his needs, which like his impressions, were basic. Amsterdam had pleased him most. It wasn't necessary to ask two what? The English language edition will be published in "One blonde and one brunette!
Back at her flat, Yana took out her electric typewriter Hot slender woman in sliven a sheaf of company letter headings. Spas is an employee of our travel agency. We are sending him abroad to set up some tours for us. The next most important thing is money. Fortunately Spas has access to funds. We must make sure there is a large amount in his account and then get a balance statement for that day. Finally, we must show that he owns property in Sliven and has his family there. The good thing about Spas is that he always comes back. He never makes a Hot slender woman in sliven, it's too important to him.
Perhaps he is a pick-pocket. I waited with Yana at a cafe five minutes walk away. He arrived, resplendent as ever in his inky green suit and bugs bunny tie. But he had added a pair of very spivvy dark glasses to his accessories. They failed to disguise a large black eye. I thought this was important to you. Well, it'll be your fault if you are refused. You should pay me anyway. This had made it more so. It was risky for Spas too. If the consular officials spotted any subterfuge he would be refused entry to the US for ever. While he queued we waited in the cafe.
Yana fidgeted over her coffee. She needed this money desperately. Her job was not going well. The graphic design project she was working on had been rejected and her boss was threatening to reclaim some of the advances he had paid out on her wages. To make matters worse a restaurant where half of her paintings were on display had gone bust. The creditors had taken her pictures away along with the kitchen equipment and the tables. Why don't you just go and talk to the administrator or the court? The creditors have just taken everything. These are not the sort of people you can just ask for things from.
He opened it to reveal four leafed clovers pressed between its yellowed pages. Yana refused with a nod and a tongue click. It left no room for appeal. Sometimes she was capable of great compassion, but she had a hard streak too. I gave the man some stotinki. He left one of the clovers on our table and shuffled away. I could hardly bear to see the many pathetic ways that old pensioners tried to earn money. Babas would sit on street corners behind a set of bathroom scales: I had never seen anyone take up the offer.
But selling clovers was not much better. The more likely alternative was that he spent days searching for them in the fields and then sold them for a pittance. She's now dead and so he's selling them off. At least I can leave when I want to. Don't condescend to me. I'm proud to be Bulgarian. Whatever happens to me or to this country, I will always be proud to call myself a Bulgarian! We sat in furious silence until Spas returned, swaggering cockily, sniffing at the remains of the hard words between us like a dog on a scent.
Something I should know about? Now it was time for payment. He counted ten German Mark bills from a thick wad onto the flimsy table. Yana picked them up and put them into her bag. Anyway you wouldn't cheat me, Spas. You need me too much. He was grinning a big joke smile. Yana counted again to check. You are way too trusting. Yana put the money away again with a laugh. Sighing, Yana counted the wad for a third time, pedantically thumping each note on the table. Spas watched smugly then roared with laughter. Where did they go? He handed them over with a flourish.
Is this what you are going to be doing to those poor Americans? The issue of crime and the Roma minority in Bulgaria reveals human nature at its worst. Most of the country's gypsies live in squalor in ghettos on the edge of major towns or villages. The streets are rarely paved and turn into muddy quagmires in the wet. Most dwellings are extremely poor quality, very crowded and often without running water. Unemployment is more than 90 percent. The Bulgarians like to think of themselves as a nation of almost unique tolerance in the Balkans. But they cannot abide gypsies and the result is massive discrimination. They may have refused to send their Jews to Hitler's death camps there was a genuine national revulsion against this idea.
They may have reached a political accommodation with the Turkish minority, avoiding Yugoslavian type strife in the immediate post-Communist years. But gypsies have been ruthlessly excluded from Bulgarian society. They are hated because they are dirty, untrustworthy, clannish and all to frequently involved in crime. But for many gypsies, living in slums with no facilities, no education and no jobs, there is no choice. It is an appalling catch This is an ever growing problem. The official census says thatgypsies were living in Bulgaria in Their number increased by one-fifth in ten years.
There may, in fact, be even more than this. An unofficial census carried out by the government in said there were more thangypsies. Some anthropologists estimate that the number of people of gypsy origin could be as many asor more than ten percent of the population. While the number of gypsies is growing, the ethnically Bulgarian part of the population is shrinking rapidly. Overall the country suffers from a negative birth rate, compounded by massive emigration an estimatedhave left the country over the past ten years. The population is one million less than it was in These figures only make Bulgarians more worried about gypsies. No one has any idea how to solve the problem.
A few weeks before Yana introduced me to Spas, I had been arrested.
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It was the only time I was ever arrested in Bulgaria. The only reason was because I Hot slender woman in sliven in the company of a gypsy. I had gone to Stara Zagora to a Roma pop folk festival and was staying at the home of Petko Emilov, the mayor of Lozenec, the town's gypsy quarter. I have to look after myself and my family," he said when I ask him about it. He drove me round the city in his blue Lada. Half of its insides were stripped out. The windows were jammed shut. At the top of every hill he would turn off the engine and free-wheel down the bumpy streets until he ran out of momentum.
When it got too hot, he opened his door for ventilation. At the bottom of one hill, we were stopped by a pair of policemen. The one word enquiry said it all.
Justify your presence here and your existence. What is a gypsy doing driving around with a foreigner in his car? The policeman snapped his fingers: But Petko had left his identity papers at home. We were taken to the police station. That day at lunch we had argued about this very thing. Everyone has the right Hot slender woman in sliven go about their business unhindered. How do you prove they have got the wrong man? In Bulgaria, gypsies are automatically regarded as criminals As is anyone in their company, regardless Hot slender woman in sliven origin. Petko thought he needed his card to safeguard his civil liberties, not to undermine them.
It's something I normally never do. I could see the force of his argument even if I could not get rid of the idea that Hot slender woman in sliven identity card was an instrument of repression. Nearly a decade into the era of democracy and still everyone carried their old Communist documents with them. This was because the parliament could not decide on a new national emblem to replace the Communist symbol of a lion standing on a cog wheel. The old passport contained information not only where you lived but where you worked. The most sinister fact of all was that gypsies were identified by a tiny dot next to the 2 on page number Petko's son brought his papers and after an examination, the police let us go.
As we walk out of the police station, Hot slender woman in sliven mayor showed me his passport. I turned to page As we went up to the Hot slender woman in sliven neighbourhood, the sound of Hot slender woman in sliven clarinet led us down the unpaved street into the heart of the quarter. The houses were scrappy and basic. Outside one of them a wedding was being celebrated. Half a dozen plump musicians sat under an awning. Up close, their music was deafening. There is a guitarist, a pianist on a synthesiser, a drummer and two clarinetists and a singer. The singer warbled with syrupy emotion and the clarinets wailed and shrieked.
Sounds of drinking and revelry could be heard from within the house. They let the women dance during the hottest part of the day," Petko told me. The horo was led by the most unlikely glamorous looking woman to be found amidst the yellow mud and dust. I guessed she was the sister of the bride. Her black glossy hair was piled on her head in an elaborate coiffure that exposed her neck and shoulders, and cleavage, which were spangled liberally with silver glitter. Her body was encased in a clinging crimson dress, almost too tight to dance in.
But she managed it gracefully picking her way over the uneven baked mud of the road in a pair of impossibly high and sharp stilettos whose heels were filigreed with a pattern of gold. Everything is locally sourced and organic. Yagodinska Cave up the road is a more calming experience, but just outside it is a new hair-raising attraction: There are 13 resident bears at present, our young driver tells us, adding: Next we head north into the Balkan range, where two new farmstays have just opened. They are, like Wild Farm, both certified Green Lodges.
All fluffy Balkan rugs and mountain views, it is also an organic farm and the project of Eli and Iliya Petrovi, a charismatic couple who live in the house next door and have decided to go peasant. In fact, when I meet Iliya, over a delectable spread cooked by Eli and featuring slow-cooked spring-lamb in small claypots, warm pulled bread, juicy giant buffalo tomatoes and delicate cheeses made yesterday, he is wearing a T-shirt with the logo of a national movement for self-sufficient farming. This life is an act of positive resistance.
Eli and Iliya, along with their equally educated-to-the-hilt neighbours Tanya and Mitko Nenov, who run a guesthouse with pool called Dom Pastrina, are part of a growing and enterprising minority of Bulgarians. These are people who have had enough of two things: This is not hard to believe: Wild Thyme guesthouse in Palamartsa village. Kapka Kassabova In just a morning, I have several first-time experiences: I feed calves at the farm and I play with two Karakachan dogs as cuddly as rugs. A true renaissance man, he does everything himself.
I have tears in my eyes when we say goodbye. But I have one key place to visit north of here, between the Balkan range and the lush Danubian plains: Two pretty — and pretty large — village houses with flowers in front and connected courtyard gardens at the back are home to ex-pats Claire Coulter, a reiki master originally from Ireland, and Englishman Chris Fenton, an archaeologist. When they fell for the hilly, half-empty village of Palamartsa three years ago, they decided to go the whole hog and run a mixed farm, including a thriving piggery. On our first evening, Chris serves an organic pork dish, with garden greens and homemade salsa.
The origin of the dish was called Ellie, and I have a bit of a vegetarian moment. Kapka Kassabova For lunch, we fry a few just-made fennel and sage goat meat sausages. Dessert is cherries and walnuts from a basket which our hosts left in the guesthouse for us, with a nut-cracker. Tony sleeps in the hammock with the resident black cat. Even the compost toilet is irresistible, and the exotic shower-house in the garden is solar-powered.