Woody goes to the Bulge Area!
There are few things in life actually worth doing before we die. My job selling hurricane products is probably not going to impact mankind in any profound way, although it might save your windows. Playing playstation, though you may be saving the cyber-world, does not benefit anyone except the good people at Sony. And one can only visit so many bars at home before wanting to see new ones. Which lead me overseas, accross the pond, with Dominique to her father's homeland: Bulgaria.
Now I here you asking, "Where the hell is Bulgaria?" It's in Europe, between Turkey, Greece, Romania and Moldavia. Why did I go there? Because, as I said, that is where my girlfriend's dad is from and he had a condo and a car there, food is cheap, booze is even cheaper, and it's rich in history. So I bought a plane ticket and kept a running diary of most of the trip so you could all relive it with me. Unfortunately, words and pictures don't really do it justice, but I'll try...here goes.
The plane ride: First of all, Scuba Steve took us, and was 20 minutes late picking us up. He promptly made the time up by doing about 110 mph the entire way to MIA. Thanks, Scuba, you're a good friend, mad fat-fatty props on the driving. After being told to get almost nude and nearly violated during the security check, we wrap our suitcases in plastic. Is this something new? Why do they reccomend we do this? Is it for freshness? Will my underpants go bad if I don't? I didn't get it. Anyway, onto the plane and I settle in for a good 10.5 hours in the air...ouch. The juice pushers (the German word for "stewardess" translates directly into "juice pusher" so that's what I call them, besides, it more polite than "Air Whore") were all hot and I was under the impression that there would be a steady stream of free booze from someone who told me that is the case on international flights. I was greatly mistaken. Alitalia, the airline we took, reported 1st quarter losses in excess of 135 million, which meant 1 beer with my meal. Crap! However, in reviewing the safety pamflits, I got a chuckle when I noticed that women are not allowed to leave their high heels on during an in-flight emergency. Too formal, I guess. Plane crashes are really more for flat sandals and sneakers. About 7 hours into the flight, aproximately 12:30am EST (eastern standard time), the sun came up, which was a bit of a mind-fuck. Seeing as though I cannot sleep on planes, I was headed for a lovely case of jet-lag. Breakfast was served at about 2am EST, which I found appropriate, considering if I wasn't on a plane, I'd be drunk in a Denny's somewhere in South Florida eating breakfast anyway.
We get off the plane in Milan, Italy and there is no fancy jetway. You get off and get on a bus right there on the runway. While on the bus ride to the terminal, I see a Saudi Air plane with Arabic writing on the side and jokingly utter a "BOO!", until I realize that I am of a skin color lighter than everyone else on the bus and they are probably not the biggest fans of America or Americans. I immediately start humming the Canadian National Anthem. We get on our connecting flight without being lynched and continue on to Sofia, the capital city of Bulgaria. At baggage claim, I wait for 25 minutes before giving in to the reality that they went 0 for 4 on getting any of our bags here. Yeah, thats really awesome...I'm starting to see why they've lost 135 mill this quarter, really sharp there in the luggage department. As for the capital city, it reminded me of Urban New Jersey (without the smell) with a touch of European flair added for good measure. On the way from the airport, the first thing I see is graffiti at least 10 feet tall and 20 feet wide, stating "FUCK BUSH", which led me to believe it's artist was at the very least mildly anti-republican. Another thing I noticed on the drive is that traffic laws are more guidelines than laws, and lanes and stop signs are optional. It was a little tough getting used to four cars accross 2 lanes, but the cars are tiny, so I guess it works. I get to our condo and turn on the tv, flipping to their version of VH1. Already I am enjoying myself because I am greated by Bon Jovi's "You Give Love a Bad Name"....this place is great. The Music TV Stations actually play music. While watching TV, I am warned by my GF's step-mom to be careful while her little brothers are in the room because after 10pm, there is porn on tv. I assumed she meant "Skinnimax-soft-core-rubbing-and-touching-porn". I was greatly surprised later that evening to be greated by a huge schlong inflicting what must have been near-permanent dammage to some poor French girls bunghole while saying, in a very enthusiastic French Accent "Oui...awww, OUUUIIII!!!" as he blew his Euro-Load. It was kinda funny. The next day I wake up about 4 in the morning (it's 7 hours ahead over there and my mind is still confused) and flip on the TV to CNN. Bush is down town visiting. What the fuck? I never gave Bulgaria much thought, but the second I go take my vacation there, ol' Bushy jumps on Air Force 1 and heads right over after me. And, for security measures, they close all of the down town shops and restaurants, so I had nothing to do that day. Geez, that guy can't stop fucking over us Americans, huh? Even in other countries. Thanks, Bushy.
The next day, we climbed a mountain, stopped at the restaurant half way up, had 5 beers for 3 dollars. Happy hour with a bonus. Sweet.
We made our way downtown finally (with no help from our glorious President), and stopped at a McDonalds for a taste of home. To my taste buds delight, the food was amazing. It looked and tasted just like the menu pictures, instead of like over here, where it looks and tastes like someone may or may not have just stepped on it in the back. However, there was 1 thing the Bulgarian Mickey D's had that was the same as the American ones: The person who took my order still couldn't speak English. Ah, good to see my streak of 547 non-english speaking fast-food orders is still alive. While downtown, I did a fair amount of people watching. The cool hairstyle for young men (and some women) is the Euro-Mullet. Similar to what Billy Ray Cyrus, or Andre Agasi circa the late 80's, or Jaramir Jagr, it's cut way short on top, spiked and in some cases frosted blonde, and long in the back. It was like I was back in '84 at a Hall and Oates Concert. I also came up with a new game: Gay or European? Here's how you play: You pick a flamboyantly dressed, feminine Euro-Guy, he may or may not be holding hands with another similarly dressed Euro-Guy, and decide if he's Gay or European. It's harder than it sounds, but loads of fun. One thing that was confusing was the language. It's a Slavic base, and the alaphabet is Cyrilic, so reading signs was very difficult. For example, I kept seeing "PECTOPAHT" on buildings, and assumed it was the name of a franchise or something. It's actually how you spell "RESTAURANT" in Bulgarian. So I was a little embarrassed when I suggested to go to the local "PECTOPAHT Restaurant" for dinner one night. I felt like quite the horse's patoot.
At one point around 10:30 pm driving home with her dad and her 2 little brothers (ages 5 & 7), we were pulled over. The cop walks up to the car, and upon seeing the children, let us go immediately. The moral of this story? If you are gonna drink and drive in Bulgaria, bring a kid with you....the cops will just let you off no questions asked.
We spent a few days in a town called Varna, on the Black Sea. $80 bucks American got us a 4 star suite 10 minutes from downtown, shops, clubs and the beach. We went to one club and they had some Bulgarian Blonde Pop Star singing and dancing all over the place. I decided to name her Christina Bulgulara, while she sang in Bulgarski. There was also a guy dressed exactly like the "bad guy character" from every 80's John Hughes film (Pretty in Pink, 16 Candles, etc.); he had the pink polo, with a white sweater tied loosely around his shoulders, khaki shorts, and loafers with no socks. Oh, and a mullet. It waslike someone went back in time and brought back Andrew McCarthey. I noticed that they seem determined to bring back the 80's. We left that place and decided to check out a Bulgarian Nudie Bar. Good idea. Every girl was hot, which was something I noticed everywhere in Europe, and the lap dances are free, but a tip is appreciated. This is something we should adopt here in the states, I think. Back to the hotness for a second. European women are almost all attractive. I'd say at least 75% are good looking; however, the other 25% have uni-brows and could easily be mistaken for Russian Lumberjacks.
The next day we lounged at the beach and drank at the Bulgarian Irish Bar with a few Scottish fellas, drinking English beer. (You get all that?) The Scotts were quite impressed by my drinking and deduced there must be some Irish or English in my family, of which there is both. Ahh, Grampa woulda been proud to know his lad drank a few filthy Scotts under the table.
The remainder of our trip was spent at the pool, hiking in the mountains (they were a 15 minute drive away), fishing, and meeting her extended family, none of which spoke English, so there was no pressure to impress anyone. My overall impression of the country was good. It was very affordable, as they have not converted currancy to the Euro yet; the clubs and bars a free from douche-bags, which is more than I can say for us here in the states, and the scenery and history was utterly amazing, so if you're a dork like me, you'll love it.
Upon our arrival home, I immediatley went to Mississippi Sweets BBQ and ordered a pulled pork platter and a rack of baby back ribs. Hey, all they eat is soup and cheese and bread....I was hungry!!! But other than the lack of greasy, fattening, hugh-portioned, not-very-good-for-you food, it was an amazing experience!
There are few things in life actually worth doing before we die. My job selling hurricane products is probably not going to impact mankind in any profound way, although it might save your windows. Playing playstation, though you may be saving the cyber-world, does not benefit anyone except the good people at Sony. And one can only visit so many bars at home before wanting to see new ones. Which lead me overseas, accross the pond, with Dominique to her father's homeland: Bulgaria.
Now I here you asking, "Where the hell is Bulgaria?" It's in Europe, between Turkey, Greece, Romania and Moldavia. Why did I go there? Because, as I said, that is where my girlfriend's dad is from and he had a condo and a car there, food is cheap, booze is even cheaper, and it's rich in history. So I bought a plane ticket and kept a running diary of most of the trip so you could all relive it with me. Unfortunately, words and pictures don't really do it justice, but I'll try...here goes.
The plane ride: First of all, Scuba Steve took us, and was 20 minutes late picking us up. He promptly made the time up by doing about 110 mph the entire way to MIA. Thanks, Scuba, you're a good friend, mad fat-fatty props on the driving. After being told to get almost nude and nearly violated during the security check, we wrap our suitcases in plastic. Is this something new? Why do they reccomend we do this? Is it for freshness? Will my underpants go bad if I don't? I didn't get it. Anyway, onto the plane and I settle in for a good 10.5 hours in the air...ouch. The juice pushers (the German word for "stewardess" translates directly into "juice pusher" so that's what I call them, besides, it more polite than "Air Whore") were all hot and I was under the impression that there would be a steady stream of free booze from someone who told me that is the case on international flights. I was greatly mistaken. Alitalia, the airline we took, reported 1st quarter losses in excess of 135 million, which meant 1 beer with my meal. Crap! However, in reviewing the safety pamflits, I got a chuckle when I noticed that women are not allowed to leave their high heels on during an in-flight emergency. Too formal, I guess. Plane crashes are really more for flat sandals and sneakers. About 7 hours into the flight, aproximately 12:30am EST (eastern standard time), the sun came up, which was a bit of a mind-fuck. Seeing as though I cannot sleep on planes, I was headed for a lovely case of jet-lag. Breakfast was served at about 2am EST, which I found appropriate, considering if I wasn't on a plane, I'd be drunk in a Denny's somewhere in South Florida eating breakfast anyway.
We get off the plane in Milan, Italy and there is no fancy jetway. You get off and get on a bus right there on the runway. While on the bus ride to the terminal, I see a Saudi Air plane with Arabic writing on the side and jokingly utter a "BOO!", until I realize that I am of a skin color lighter than everyone else on the bus and they are probably not the biggest fans of America or Americans. I immediately start humming the Canadian National Anthem. We get on our connecting flight without being lynched and continue on to Sofia, the capital city of Bulgaria. At baggage claim, I wait for 25 minutes before giving in to the reality that they went 0 for 4 on getting any of our bags here. Yeah, thats really awesome...I'm starting to see why they've lost 135 mill this quarter, really sharp there in the luggage department. As for the capital city, it reminded me of Urban New Jersey (without the smell) with a touch of European flair added for good measure. On the way from the airport, the first thing I see is graffiti at least 10 feet tall and 20 feet wide, stating "FUCK BUSH", which led me to believe it's artist was at the very least mildly anti-republican. Another thing I noticed on the drive is that traffic laws are more guidelines than laws, and lanes and stop signs are optional. It was a little tough getting used to four cars accross 2 lanes, but the cars are tiny, so I guess it works. I get to our condo and turn on the tv, flipping to their version of VH1. Already I am enjoying myself because I am greated by Bon Jovi's "You Give Love a Bad Name"....this place is great. The Music TV Stations actually play music. While watching TV, I am warned by my GF's step-mom to be careful while her little brothers are in the room because after 10pm, there is porn on tv. I assumed she meant "Skinnimax-soft-core-rubbing-and-touching-porn". I was greatly surprised later that evening to be greated by a huge schlong inflicting what must have been near-permanent dammage to some poor French girls bunghole while saying, in a very enthusiastic French Accent "Oui...awww, OUUUIIII!!!" as he blew his Euro-Load. It was kinda funny. The next day I wake up about 4 in the morning (it's 7 hours ahead over there and my mind is still confused) and flip on the TV to CNN. Bush is down town visiting. What the fuck? I never gave Bulgaria much thought, but the second I go take my vacation there, ol' Bushy jumps on Air Force 1 and heads right over after me. And, for security measures, they close all of the down town shops and restaurants, so I had nothing to do that day. Geez, that guy can't stop fucking over us Americans, huh? Even in other countries. Thanks, Bushy.
The next day, we climbed a mountain, stopped at the restaurant half way up, had 5 beers for 3 dollars. Happy hour with a bonus. Sweet.
We made our way downtown finally (with no help from our glorious President), and stopped at a McDonalds for a taste of home. To my taste buds delight, the food was amazing. It looked and tasted just like the menu pictures, instead of like over here, where it looks and tastes like someone may or may not have just stepped on it in the back. However, there was 1 thing the Bulgarian Mickey D's had that was the same as the American ones: The person who took my order still couldn't speak English. Ah, good to see my streak of 547 non-english speaking fast-food orders is still alive. While downtown, I did a fair amount of people watching. The cool hairstyle for young men (and some women) is the Euro-Mullet. Similar to what Billy Ray Cyrus, or Andre Agasi circa the late 80's, or Jaramir Jagr, it's cut way short on top, spiked and in some cases frosted blonde, and long in the back. It was like I was back in '84 at a Hall and Oates Concert. I also came up with a new game: Gay or European? Here's how you play: You pick a flamboyantly dressed, feminine Euro-Guy, he may or may not be holding hands with another similarly dressed Euro-Guy, and decide if he's Gay or European. It's harder than it sounds, but loads of fun. One thing that was confusing was the language. It's a Slavic base, and the alaphabet is Cyrilic, so reading signs was very difficult. For example, I kept seeing "PECTOPAHT" on buildings, and assumed it was the name of a franchise or something. It's actually how you spell "RESTAURANT" in Bulgarian. So I was a little embarrassed when I suggested to go to the local "PECTOPAHT Restaurant" for dinner one night. I felt like quite the horse's patoot.
At one point around 10:30 pm driving home with her dad and her 2 little brothers (ages 5 & 7), we were pulled over. The cop walks up to the car, and upon seeing the children, let us go immediately. The moral of this story? If you are gonna drink and drive in Bulgaria, bring a kid with you....the cops will just let you off no questions asked.
We spent a few days in a town called Varna, on the Black Sea. $80 bucks American got us a 4 star suite 10 minutes from downtown, shops, clubs and the beach. We went to one club and they had some Bulgarian Blonde Pop Star singing and dancing all over the place. I decided to name her Christina Bulgulara, while she sang in Bulgarski. There was also a guy dressed exactly like the "bad guy character" from every 80's John Hughes film (Pretty in Pink, 16 Candles, etc.); he had the pink polo, with a white sweater tied loosely around his shoulders, khaki shorts, and loafers with no socks. Oh, and a mullet. It waslike someone went back in time and brought back Andrew McCarthey. I noticed that they seem determined to bring back the 80's. We left that place and decided to check out a Bulgarian Nudie Bar. Good idea. Every girl was hot, which was something I noticed everywhere in Europe, and the lap dances are free, but a tip is appreciated. This is something we should adopt here in the states, I think. Back to the hotness for a second. European women are almost all attractive. I'd say at least 75% are good looking; however, the other 25% have uni-brows and could easily be mistaken for Russian Lumberjacks.
The next day we lounged at the beach and drank at the Bulgarian Irish Bar with a few Scottish fellas, drinking English beer. (You get all that?) The Scotts were quite impressed by my drinking and deduced there must be some Irish or English in my family, of which there is both. Ahh, Grampa woulda been proud to know his lad drank a few filthy Scotts under the table.
The remainder of our trip was spent at the pool, hiking in the mountains (they were a 15 minute drive away), fishing, and meeting her extended family, none of which spoke English, so there was no pressure to impress anyone. My overall impression of the country was good. It was very affordable, as they have not converted currancy to the Euro yet; the clubs and bars a free from douche-bags, which is more than I can say for us here in the states, and the scenery and history was utterly amazing, so if you're a dork like me, you'll love it.
Upon our arrival home, I immediatley went to Mississippi Sweets BBQ and ordered a pulled pork platter and a rack of baby back ribs. Hey, all they eat is soup and cheese and bread....I was hungry!!! But other than the lack of greasy, fattening, hugh-portioned, not-very-good-for-you food, it was an amazing experience!
posted by Woody at
3:53 PM
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