Day 36: The town that time forgot

Marker 732 to Oryahovo (53km)

Once again, camping by the river meant that we could get a quick getaway, on the river before the wind or the sun could start ruining our peaceful paddling. Shortly before stopping for lunch, we passed the 700km marker, the markers have been steadily ticking down, the Black Sea is slowly becoming a real prospect.

It turned out to be a very pleasant day on the river, the nicest day for a while. We arrived into Oryahavo in the afternoon sun, pulled the kayaks out of the water and headed uphill, into town, in search of a hotel. Our first stop was the only hotel on the map that had any online information. We went inside and asked if they could accommodate three weary travellers for the night. After a short wait, we were informed that there was no room. We then headed further into the town in search of a second hotel that was also on the map, but only its name was given, nothing else. One of my biggest regrets of the trip was that I didn’t take a picture of the hotel, or more accurately, what remained of the hotel. We would later find out that this hotel was active during the communist period and housed a large number of Vietnamese visitors, who subsequently devastated and abandoned the hotel. The hotel has since been left in this condition, standing as a shrine to that forgotten era. I went into a café next door to ask if there were any other hotels in the town. Apparently, there was another one down near the river, not that far from where we left the kayaks.

We were on our way to the hotel when we were approached by a man called Nick. Nick spoke excellent English, in fact, he worked as a translator at a nearby power plant. He said that we were welcome to stay in his guest house for the night. A little cautious at first, we agreed to view the property and then make a decision. Despite being quite basic, it was fine for us and he agreed to stay. We arranged for Nick to come back in an hour so that he could show us to a good place for dinner.

As promised, Nick returned an hour later and then proceeded to take us on a tour of the small, mostly derelict town, that Toby would later describe as “the worst place on the whole trip”. The tour genuinely included sights such as “The school that burnt down”, “The concrete wall” and a number of houses that had been abandoned by their owners, who had moved to other, more affluent parts of Europe but had kept houses in Bulgaria for tax purposes. The tour lasted far longer than three hungry kayakers would’ve liked, but eventually we arrived at a restaurant. Nick continued to tell us about the town, he spoke with real honesty about the countries issues but also with a sense of pride that was quite endearing. After a large dinner, we retired to bed, ready for another day.