This rain that has been falling almost incessantly here for the past 48 72 hours seems to have followed me back home from the Balkans. Travelling coast to coast, from Adriatic to Black Sea, over a three week period I experienced completely rain-free days only at the very beginning and end of my trip.
After a sunny start in Zadar on the Croatian coast a low blanket of rain cloud followed me all the way from Dalmatia to Srem, then eastwards to the Serbian capital. Rainfall dampened most of my days in Belgrade, pooling the pot-holed pavements of the Old Town, swelling the Danube and Sava rivers, soaking my inadequately-clad feet. The view from my apartment window was drear, smeared by a greasy film of droplets forever abseiling earthwards. Rain’s moist music filled my ears: gurgling drainpipes, the subliminal hiss of drizzle; the soft tintinnabulation of raindrops on roof tiles whenever it started to fall a little more heavily; in the distance, the rhythmic swish of car tyres riding wet cobbles. Any ventures outdoors necessitated frequent dodging into doorways and regular respite of strong coffee in smoky kafanas. Smudged ink in notebooks, vital scribblings rendered Rorschach by an ever-leaky sky – uninterpretable, beyond analysis. Water dissolving… and water removing, the song goes. There is water at the bottom of the ocean! Yes, but there was water in the streets too; thoroughfares transmogrified to shallow streams, solid surface rendered fluid.
I followed the Danube east then south along the Romanian border, enjoying a brief interregnum of fine weather before thick cloud and more rain greeted me at the east Serbian city of Zaječar. Reaching Niš, a balmy afternoon gave way to a brutal evening storm, with rainfall as dramatic and sudden as an opened sluice, lightning flashes illuminating the street like magnesium flares. Southern Serbia was a little better – just drizzle in Vranje and hazy sunshine in Pirot, although after dark it rained some more. Railroading into Bulgaria I thought I might have finally left the bad weather behind me but it was sheeting down in Sofia when I arrived, too wet to venture far from the shelter of the railway station while I waited for the overnight train to Burgas.
Mercifully, I finally managed to escape the rain on the Black Sea coast. I took a minibus to Ahtopol, the most southerly town on the Bulgarian littoral. By my reckoning this would be about as far away as possible from the concrete over-development that plagues much of the coastline. Ahtopol turned out to be refreshingly low-key: a quiet resort that still possessed a modest fishing fleet and a measure of unspoiled charm. Although summer had arrived the town was still locked in preseason inertia. The town’s beaches were virtually deserted, serried ranks of sunshades still unfurled. The sky – at long last – was blue, as was the water (not black at all). Tiny boats bobbed out to sea on gentle waves. Wild flowers bloomed on the cliff tops. Hyperactive flocks of house martins swooped low along the shore collecting flies to feed their young. In the overgrown scrubby area that led down to the beach, hidden nightingales sang, their joyous bubbling out-competing the construction noise of workmen trying to coax a new-build hotel into service for the season.
I had a couple of days before my flight home and so made the most of this long-awaited clement weather. Even so, I scanned every passing cloud, even the most flimsy and innocent-looking, for any sign of rain to come.
How unfortunate! Ahtopol sounds gorgeous, though so I’m pleased your trip ended well.
Thanks, Clare. The rain was a bit of a damper but it did not really stop me doing anything I really needed to do (most research for next edition of Bradt Serbia guide). Ahtopol was nice, although I fear that it will eventually go the way of all the other beach resorts on the Bulgarian Black Sea.
That is such a shame. It would be good if there were restrictions on coastal building.
I’d like to write as well as you do Laurence.
That’s really nice of you to say this. Thank You. You have made my day.
Gah! Such a pain when you get weather like that. Especially when you don’t have the right clothes or kit. I remember a week in France once when the weather was like that. What was worse was the weather was better back home in Glasgow!
Well, in complete contrast, Alex, I am currently enjoying wonderfully sunny weather on the Isle of Colonsay. Who’d have thought it?
Well I look forward to your writing on that! Sailed past Colonsay a few years ago and thought it looked a bleak, treeless hellhole. Friends of mine love it. It’s a Marmite place.
Well it is anything but bleak at the moment. I love it, although the fine weather has certainly helped. We had a night in Glasgow on the way here and really enjoyed that too.
Am back in Glasgow so get in touch I you want a tour / drink on your way back!
Thanks, Alex. We travelled south today but will definitely be visiting Glasgow again in the not-to-distant future. Would love to meet up for a tour/drink then if possible.
Absolutely – get in touch when you’re next here.