House humor
Gabrovo is a town in central Bulgaria, whose inhabitants are known for their attachment to money and their commercial enterprise. For this reason have become the protagonists of the Bulgarian jokes about stingy. In order to substantiate these rumors, and of course, profit, April 1, 1972 they founded the house of humor, appointed to collect and pass on the jokes about them. I learn in this way that, during the feast, the inhabitants of Gabrovo dance in silence and with shoes lined with felt to dampen noise and make the musical accompaniment of the orchestra that is playing in the nearest town. The jars have a protection that allows you to not wet his mustache with the beer foam, thus avoiding to consume a towel to dry them. Reproductions of typical mugs and other items are obviously for sale in the gift shop of the House.
Over the years, the House, whose motto is "The world lasts because it laughs," has launched a series of competitions international humor and satire, with sections for painting, graphics, sculpture, photography and cartoons, all areas in which today has an amazing collection. In 1983 he started publishing the magazine "By the way, whose director, Todor Dinova, describes the Bulgaria in the preface to the first issue:" It is a small Balkan country, located at the crossroads between Europe and Asia. For over 1300 years this state has the same name and has never moved from his seat. It has withstood the vicissitudes of history, not for the strength of its population or that of his hosts, but for that of her smile. " Among the pages of the magazine, then find some knowledge of the previous days: the devils that live in the frescoes of the monastery of Rila and Otto Reisinger, the cartoonist of Slovenian origin whose boards are displayed at the National Gallery of Art in Sofia.
deserves a space the man who runs the hostel where I have settled in Sofia: a pot-bellied man of about fifty badly worn, with white hair and shaggy beard and unkempt, not speaks English but knows a few words of several other languages, is cross-eyed and very kind. His number is most amusing mimic American tourists that have battered the coffee machine, door handles and washing machine. In it is around the hostel, he repeats the gestures of the unfortunate guests, shaking his head with disgust and disbelief and mutters face the greatest disappointment with "Amerikanski, amerikanski.
Delicious are my guests to Madara, a city of northeastern Bulgaria. My goal is to visit the Goljamata Peshtera , the large cave in which the worship of Dionysus and Cybele, and I stop for tourists in a house located near the archaeological site. It is a construction of the sixties, never restored and run by a couple rather advanced in years. The owner me talk about trying to slip a bit 'of English in its German, shows me the room ohne bathroom and ends every sentence with a slight bow.
The archaeological park is famous for the bas-relief dating from the eighth century, which is reproduced on the coins Bulgarian: the Khan kills a lion, accompanied by his dog who is the faithful people. It can be reached via a staircase that opens in the middle of a forest, on top of which I appear, heralded by the sound of a flute, a man in traditional costume that has the air of being there since he was appointed guardian of Dionysus' sacred area dedicated to their cults. Now he pretends to be a seller of wind instruments, buy a whistle, that man chooses and gives me thoughtfully accompanied by a long series of recommendations for the child who'll give the object.
Unfortunately you can not visit the caves and, therefore, I'm going home. The lounge bar is furnished with three tables with chairs in metal-coated synthetic leather and consumed and the first one I tried was sold because he had a broken leg. On every table there are tablecloths with floral prints and pots with plants that grow in water. On the windowsill inside a large glass semicircular have sided flowers in a vase and succulent plants, next to a television broadcasting the soap opera followed by the owner. I ask how one can reach Varna and the lady tells me that the only option is to take the morning train for Šumen, where I can find a connecting flight to Varna. Given that I will cover some miles on foot to reach the station, estimated that out of the house around 6.30 and, therefore, balance the account and greeting, they are the only customer and I will not force the woman to get up early. The next morning, however, when I go out of my room that I'm the owner is making coffee.
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