Plovdiv, a city of good wine, music and historical battles.

Plovdiv can lay claim to being one of the oldest cities in Europe, even older than Rome, Athens, and Istanbul (Constantinople). The first traces of civilization date back to the Mycenaean period.

I was posed the question by a friend far far away, "Do Gypsies still exist in Bulgaria?", Here's your answer. Yes, Gypsies still exist, and are these days employed by the municipality – not directly I suspect but most likely by a contractor of the government. On the one hand it was good to see that this group, which lives on the outside of society, is in Plovdiv working within it, but at the same time what other job could they really do?


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gypsies

Under Ottoman rule, Plovdiv was a center of the Bulgarian national movement in Eastern Rumelia. While the city was liberated from the Ottomans during the Battle of Plovdiv in 1878, it was not originally part of the newly established Principality of Bulgaria. Instead it was the capital of the semi-independent Region of Eastern Rumelia, until that area finally joined Bulgaria in 1885 after the Unification of Bulgaria. Plovdiv is the original capital on Bulgaria.

Today the city is rich in music, arts and culture. Take a walk through the old city and as you pass the Academy for Arts and Music, you can hear a violin singing softly. The notes seep out of the classroom and down into the old cobbled streets.

A man winds his music box for pennies in the Old City.



Under communist rule since the end of World War II, Plovdiv was the center of that country's democracy movement, which finally overthrew the pro-Soviet regime in 1989. Many battles were waged in Bulgaria, which is why the people say these days there is peace – "a tired nation", a man who works at the Ministry of Agriculture said. The great Turkish-Russian War was fought at Plovdiv.

Murals are commonly found in and around the city...



As are street buskers...



The windy streets of downtown are home to cute cafes, boutique clothing stores, mosques and churches alike. A church bell rings followed by the Namaz, evidence of the peacful existence between both Muslims and Christians.


Well worth a visit...

Bar Talk


“Life is like Carrefour, you place your order and you get what you want.” Hagen said taking a swig from an oversized pint of Danish beer.
Running through Farah’s mind was the old proverb “behind every strong man is a strong woman”, but she didn’t dare say it, a little clumsy perhaps to say such a gender centric cliché to a European, so instead she said, “Two heads are better than one.”
“Exactly! The Clintons, they’d never have made it alone, it takes two to be successful, a counterpart is all I want. I have one but sometimes she is strong, but sometimes it's not enough.” Hagen said in a weary watered down Hanover accent.
Zac stretched out his hand, “Zachary, nice to meet you.”
“When you find that woman, don’t let her go. That’s my advice from 46 years of experience.”
Farah smiled and thought back to last summer and remembered the feelings of sharing her utmost self with the only man she’d ever truly loved. Then she wondered why she was still thinking about him at all and consoled herself in the fact that he just wasn’t experienced enough to understand what had been on offer.
“The Queen speaks German, she’s German, we are a nation of thinkers, we want to solve problems. We may not have any resources, no steel, nothing in the ground. But we have our minds.”
Zac moved closer to Farah in a naturally protective fashion.
“I don’t want to think German anymore, I am ready to give up my German and become European. We are European, and the British and the French are just fucking that up.”
Farah finished off her side dish of sautéed vegetables.


“I learned in the US to survive, I didn’t learn any facts in my university years in Germany, but I learned to survive, to be an individual. These people here they don’t want to be individual,” Hagen said.
A Brit, an American and a German, sipping from their drinks at staggered intervals in a central location, downtown Sofia – what a bunch Farah thought, what a bunch!
“No one wants to take responsibility, they want the power but not the responsibility,” Zac at long last had joined the conversation.
Farah said nothing but just listened, attentively, and knowingly that the German sitting to her right would surely have some answers to her many questions, the questions she had been trying to ask the ministries repeatedly for the past month. What a spot of luck she thought to have ended up sitting next to a German businessman who was working on the government deal with Siemens to supply the much needed rolling stock, the deal she had to write about. The ministries had proven themselves useless at offering up information, but a German, what a spot of luck she thought.
“All I want is a house on a hill, with some steps down to a private beach, just two metres, doesn’t matter, with a wife who I can have sex with three times a day,” Hagen was voicing his ambitions.
“It’s not about the result, it’s about the journey,” Zac’s mum with her masters in therapy, was quite clearly a huge influence in his life.
“Isn’t that what every man wants,” Farah joined the conversation again having finished her side orders.
“Yes, a simple life,” Hagen added. “What is that not what you want? No it’s not is it, a woman wants more brain.”


Farah smiled and again thought back to her last relationship, which she thought had been based on “brain” as Hagen put it, but then she thought that’s probably why it had all gone wrong. Of course, she thought, that’s not what he had wanted. It had been his initial face, it had to be. An intellectual himself, but at the same time it went against everything that made him a man according to his dad’s outlook. It had been drummed into him by his father for 25 years, “don’t listen to your mother, she’s just a woman”. He had no respite she thought. We were doomed from the start.
“Do you know how you are going to pay your bills for May?” Hagen said.
“No, I don’t, honestly I don’t, but I’m doing what I love and it’s just kind of moving.” Farah realized that for the first time in her life, she was completely free. Her job was as mobile as the cell phone tucked in her jean pocket. She could absolutely move with the wind, or the story more importantly.
Hagen looked puzzled, but at the same time a certain respect washed over his face.
“No planning? No planning at all?”
“None, it’s been this way for the past year. I can’t explain it, but for some reason, it’s kind of working out. That’s all I can tell you.”
And it was she thought. It was somehow. Somehow it was.

Shooting Sofia

The sun was shining on Sofia for the first time in months. The never ending rain and snow filled pavements made it sometimes difficult for Bistra to walk, which had these days, just become a good excuse for her to stay at home. The icy paving slabs were her first line of defence when asked to venture out, since the slaying of her only son, Georgi, some six years ago. At the time of the hit Georgi was driving a black mercedes in rush hour traffic. Not acknowledging this vital piece of evidence, Bistra had convinced herself it was a hit which had "gone wrong", and that 19-year-old Georgi was an innocent bystander in the crime. In reality, everyone knows that mafia hits rarely "go wrong" in Bulgaria. And innocently wounded bystanders were not common in this town.

Just last week a guy had been hit clean in the head while tucking into a medium-rare Beef Rosini at his favourite restaurant. They say that the killer hit the target from a range of up to about 50 metres. A sniper, so they say. Guess it doesn't pay to have a favourite restaurant in this city. There had been some 150 killings within the last three years with zero prosecutions, Georgi knew what he was doing, either that or he had just got himself in too deep.


The 48-year-old Slav, had peered out of her window often, but just couldn't bring herself to venture out, constantly living in fear that she would have to revisit the site of the killing. It was easier to stay inside and remember the happy days of walking arm in arm along Vitoshe Street with her son. But today, looking at the sunshine, she ached to go out, to feel the warm rays on her pale skin.

"Let's go sell some gravy in the market, " Radistina said – Bistra's best friend. The best friend who had for the past six years been her lifeline to the outside world. Radistina would sit and read the newspaper everyday at 2pm to Bistra, and then discussions would follow. However, she was always careful to censor the weekly "mafia hits", which occurred in the Bulgarian capital.

"OK, let's go out," said Bistra in a somewhat unfamilar tone.
Radistina quickly got the coats from the hallway, not wanting to make a big deal out if it, for fear that Bistra would change her mind.
"Let's go to the market and sell gravy like we used to," Bistra said.
Radistina quickly went to the pantry and gathered a few jars from the overstocked and collapsing shelves, that were also laden with cartons upon cartons of cigarettes.


Standing in the market like they used to, Bistra placed herself in the sunshine, it felt good.
"When will I stop thinking about it," she asked her best friend, "it just seems like yesterday that we were walking through these streets together, me and my Georgi."
"It's always going to feel like yesterday, I'm afraid to tell you. You loved him. Love doesn't just disappear, not real love."
"Let's talk about the people we see, I want to think of something different today."
Radistina smiled and thought maybe her best friend was finally starting to free herself from missing Georgi. While she knew it would never leave her, it was good to see her oldest and dearest friend bathing in the Sofia mid-afternoon sunshine.

Things are going to be better she thought, better, better, better. The sun was at least shining again.

Bahrain government purchases 22 Cobras from Turkey

The Bahrain government has recently purchased 22 Cobras from Turkey, and at $400,000 a pop that's no small amount of petrodollars we are talking about. Designed and produced in Turkey, the Cobra comes complete with an amphibious kit. "An optional amphibious kit consists of double hydraulic thrusters with joystick control and closing louvres. The system allows the vehicle to enter water without preparation," reads the the sales jargon.



Currently the Turkish military have four, so the nautical engineer, who works for the company told me, on my return journey from Bahrain. However, this report states that there are five currently in operation in Turkey. "The Cobra family of light armoured vehicles is manufactured by Otokar Otobus Karoseri Sanayi in Turkey. The Cobra designs incorporate the mechanical components of the HMMWV vehicle from AM General of the USA. Cobra vehicles are in service with the Turkish Army (five vehicles) and the Maldives (three vehicles)."



Interesting that Bahrain with a population of 707,000 people should need 22 of the beasts. The engineer I sat next to on the plane, said that there are currently only two people in the kingdom that can drive these great contraptions. Personally I'd like to drive one down Istiklal on a Saturday, it would certainly cut down on parking problems – you could just roll on up and roll on over – what ever gets in your way!

The King of Bahrain was in Turkey only three weeks ago, although it was not widely publisized, was he inking the deal? And why was he inking such a deal? The editor at Al-Wassat newspaper, Bahrain, wrote up a piece based on the information I'd gathered on my trip back to Turkey – my source: I saw the photos of the damn things being driven around like rally cars on the mudflaps of Bahrain and spoke to the engineer who had gone there to train the drivers. Straight from the horses mouth as they say.

The official word is "No response from the government yet".

For more info on these fun little rides:http://www.army-technology.com/projects/cobra/

Central Market, Bahrain 5.30 a.m. Beyond the skyscrapers that house the region's financial centre, Bahrainis go about their business as usual...

The results of reporting in Bahrain:

Dear Jody,

It was great meeting you and thanks for your e-mails. The eldest son of the tortured man visited the society and I filed his case with full information. I transferred his case to Karama Centre and the doctors will follow it up.

A. Alderazi

Abdulla Alderazi is the Deputy Secretary General of the Bahraim Human Rights Society

Unfortunately I received a phonecall on Friday night from Mohammed who told me that his uncle was now in the IC unit, barely breathing. Mohammed also told me that he had to lie and say that he was from the UN in order to get in to see his uncle. It seems that we may have got to his uncle too late. While this family suffers the pain, which their own country has inflicted on them, all I could do was try to reassure them that at least his uncle was in the right place, and would hopefully have the drugs needed in order to reduce the physical pain. Although the trauma will never find closure.