Even as I type here now the most unexpected happens. I've been left in sole charge of a fully packed Mostel which is a lively place, It's 11:30pm & the door bell just rang so I shot down the steps to find my old friends the Police! 2 of em! For a moment all those fond memories from last summer came flooding back, & I would have been a little optimistic to see my old drivers licence in their hands... not so.
So after a bit of miming I figured they wanted to see the manager, so I pointed to myself, to which their eyebrows raised, next was a mime about noisy hostelers, who were on the top patio yacking & laughing.... Ohhhhh I said & reassured them in international mime language that I would quickly sort the problem, no bribes necessary!
So the last 10 days have been pretty hectic & I have been flat out working, but not on the house! I'm now a hostel manager & brainstormer for some new backpacker adventure tours. (manager for the night as everyone has gone away / home)
Stanimir had last year bought about 20 acres of land right out in the back of no where & yesterday Assen, Ira Stanimir & I went to look at the farm & discuss some future plans to turn it into a hostel experience of some sort.
Well we turn up & have a nosy around, it's a really beautiful hilly & isolated area & is farmed by a few older people between the ages of 50 -70. Sort of sad because this is typical of Bulgaria, all the younger folk have gone abroad or to the city to get an education or live more western lifestyles with all the mod cons, so once these older folk pass on, the land will be left to go wild or some large company will buy it all up.
Amazingly Assen told me that the mafia & other crims have cottoned on to agriculture & have bought up large plots, invested in harvesters & the like & started big business! Bizarre is the theme for Bulgaria I think.
So we are toodling around & Stanimirs farm manager Nicolai comes charging up the track in a 1970's Lada with old horse wagon in tow (tied on with wire) & a huge load of hay, almost
completely covering the wagon. He was racing the setting sun, getting the hay in, so we switched to farmer mode & pitched in literally, with wooden pitch forks! It's often done here like my mum would have done it when she was a kid on her family farm, horses (this time a lada for a tractor) wagons and pitch forks! 
We got back to the barn to unload the hay & there were three women & one guy (Nickolai) all over 50, one woman who was really short & about 70 years old was, with all her feeble strength trying to get the hay thru the narrow doorway, crazy as most in her condition in NZ would be in a rest home. What I found out in the next few minutes most people just wouldn't believe. This poor lady last year lost her house in a fire, too poor to rebuild but determined to stay on the land she grew up on, she now lives in a hay stack! Yes you're not hallucinating I did write Hay Stack! Remember too that here in the winter temperatures fall below minus 20C! & I dare say she can't light a fire in there...
So after a few frantic wagon loads of hay all was done & we retired to the old house for rakia (I passed on this & had home made peach juice. They were greatfull for the help & gave me their first ripe cuecumber & a jar of peach preserve to take home. Almost everything they eat is grown on the farm, such a totally diffferent lifestyle to us westerners & I think much healthier.
Today was much different, carting young English backpackers around, swimming & later in the evening an energetic game of soccer, the first game I would have played in 20 years possibly.
Hopefully the Mostel doesn't burn down over the next few hours, & tomorrow I'm sure will be another interesting day.
Chow!
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