As seasoned MOHOmers we think we’ve see it all. Experienced it all. Done it all. What else could we possibly add to our already lengthy portfolio?
We’re budging up the Black Sea coast. One last stop in Bulgaria to go. Then we’ll be chasing vampires. Registering at Camping Laguna, just north of Varna, we’re asked to pay in advance. A dictum from above, the young lad informs us. It’s not the norm. Normal practice throughout is to pay on departure. With the option to leave early or extend.
Once pitched up, we discover, perhaps, why the money up front. The sanitary block is in no way sanitary. Not really fit for purpose. I’ll leave it at that. Further elaboration may cause alarm for those readers of a weak constitution.
To compensate we have a lovely large pitch. Two minutes from the beach. Although getting and stepping onto the sand could be considered to be a work of art.
It’s gone seven. Table and chairs set ready in the last of the evening sun. Dinner’s on it’s way. A calm and pleasant end to the day beckons. Not for long. A petrol strimmer strikes up on the overgrown adjacent pitch. Just what Mary-Ann could do with – NOT. Dust and grass bits fly in all directions. He’s intent on scouring every last inch. Like a wanton detectorist. He notices me laying up. Pretends he hasn’t. Wants to get the job finished. He doesn’t . . . say no more.
As our dining window draws to a close we spot smoke rising up through the trees. White billowing cumulus curls head our way. Accompanied by the familiar sound of what we think is a leaf blower. Someone burning damp leaves perhaps? Typical. Suddenly, a Dan Aykroyd impersonator appears. Must be his birthday. He’s wearing his brand new Ghostbuster outfit. He’s garbed head to toe. The real deal. Gas mask – and some. Acts as if he’s a post apocalyptic survivor. Pumps his lethal potion into the undergrowth. Making sure he gets them before they get him.
He backs onto our pitch. About to turn. We’re too young to become toxic waste. I jump up. Waving arms and shouting. He backs down. Backs off. Circles around to the other side. It’s no good. It drifts over. We head indoors. Away from the noxious odour. Shut up Beastie. Bide our time. Hope we don’t have to wait 5,000 years.
Day 66 is much calmer. Maybe we’re still under sedation. We Scoot out a short distance. Visit Aladzha Monastery. Another one of those perched high up. No more than a series of narrow cave-like openings along a rock face. Perfectly positioned for Monks suffering from Medieval madness.
