Bulgaria: Where the Mountains Meet the Sea. This makes Lasnamäe look really good

 

Our hotel breakfast was great - the kind where you feel you might need a nap afterward. There were pastries, fruits, cheeses, eggs in every form… the works. But as we were heading out, we made a rather tragic discovery: they’d hidden the sparkling wine somewhere off to the side, far away from the rest of the buffet. By the time we noticed, we were already walking out the door. A true breakfast crime.

Today’s plan: a little road trip to Plovdiv, Bulgaria’s charming ancient city. We had a rental car booked, of course, and were meant to pick it up at 9 a.m. When we rolled up around 10 (details, details) to the edge of the park where the car was supposedly waiting, we quickly realized… there was no rental office. Just trees, benches, and a very patient lady who had been standing there for an hour waiting for us. Apparently, the “office” was simply her favorite parking spot. Fifteen minutes and a few signatures later, we were off!

Plovdiv is only about an hour and a half from Sofia - but why go straight when you can dramatically detour into the mountains?

The beginning of the detour was stunning: fiery autumn leaves, winding roads, postcard-perfect scenery. Then, as we climbed higher, the fog rolled in - thick enough to make us feel like we were driving through heavy clouds. Visibility dropped to about two meters, and in an entire hour we saw exactly one other car. It felt almost eerie.

Our first planned village stop involved a steep, gravelly road descending almost vertically, so we took one look and collectively decided: not today. The next village was friendlier - perfect for a photo stop. As soon as I stepped out of the car, though, I managed to plant my boot squarely into a pile of something organic that clearly wasn’t leaves. Ten solid minutes of scraping later, I had learned a valuable life lesson: never step off Bulgarian roads without checking your surroundings first.

Luckily, a bit further along, we found a random outdoor tap with running water in a park (what are the odds?), and I gave my boots the spa treatment they deserved. We crossed over a hydroelectric dam, descended from the mist, and an hour later rolled into Plovdiv.

Our first stop: doughnuts. There’s a place there rumored to have the best ones in Bulgaria, and after one bite of the salted caramel and cherry ones and without even having seen any other doughnuts yet, I can confirm - the rumors are true. We even got a plain one “for the road,” though to be honest, it barely survived three steps before disappearing.

We wandered through the Old Town, climbing up to the ancient ruins. Plovdiv is one of the oldest cities in Europe, and you can feel it - cobblestone streets, pastel houses, and the kind of views that make you forget your calves are burning. From the top, you can see the modern blocks stretching out below. Scott took one look and said, “You know, Lasnamägi is starting to look pretty good.” A true compliment - if you know, you know.

After some aimless strolling and a few disappointing cookies, we headed back to Sofia for dinner.

The plan was a famous ribs restaurant — smoky, hearty, the real deal. Except… when we arrived, they told us it was fully booked. Just as we were about to slink away in defeat, the hostess came running after us, waving her notepad: “I checked wrong — we can fit you in!” And just like that, we were saved. Dinner was superb.

Bulgaria: Where the Mountains Meet the Sea. Of smooth Skies and rough Rooms

 

After a battle with the taxi gods in the morning, we finally managed to secure a ride to the airport. From there, everything went suspiciously smoothly - the kind of smooth that makes you wonder if you’re accidentally in a parallel universe.

 
Despite it being rush hour, the streets were practically empty. (It was Friday, after all - who actually goes to work on a Friday?) Security was a breeze, with only one other person in line, and both our flights - Tallinn - Riga and Riga - Sofia - left ahead of schedule. By 2 PM, we were already in Bulgaria, basking in the satisfaction of efficient travel.

 
Our pre-booked taxi arrived within ten minutes, and the driver even gave us a quick mini city tour on the way to the hotel. So far, so good.

That’s when things took a slight turn. Our assigned room turned out to be located somewhere behind the boiler room, with a stunning view of… a wall and a rooftop littered with cigarette butts. The complimentary bottle of sparkling wine on the table didn’t quite sparkle enough to make up for it.

We asked for a new room, and about an hour later, we were relocated - this time to one featuring a strong but persistent eau de sewer in the bathroom. Scott, ever the problem-solver, engineered a makeshift fix involving a wet towel over the drain. Surprisingly effective! The crisis was (mostly) contained.

Our hunger led us next door to a place gloriously named Cheesus, where we indulged in grilled cheese sandwiches that felt like divine intervention after the hotel saga.

We then wandered around the city, admired Sofia’s famous cathedral, and went on a mission for traditional Bulgarian food. Unfortunately, the locals seem to love dining out as much as we do - nearly every restaurant had a queue at the door.
In the end, we landed in an Italian bistro that turned out to have a rather creative interpretation of “Italian and European cuisine.” Apparently, this also includes Japanese, Chinese, and Thai dishes.

By 9:30 PM, we called it a day and collapsed into bed.

Mas que solamente un Ciudad. How we did not go to La Sagrada Familia

 

We were both up before the crack of dawn - the kind of early that even the roosters are still considering their options. Since sleep clearly wasn’t on the agenda, we decided to make good use of the time and go for a run. Scott stayed around Gran Via, while I headed down to the sea for some salty morning air and sunrise vibes.

By brunch time, we were more than ready to eat. We picked Bellini, just a couple of blocks away, and by 11 a.m. we were completely stuffed - in the best way possible.

Our grand plan for the day was to finally visit La Sagrada Familia, Gaudí’s world-famous cathedral. Of course, being spontaneous tourists, we hadn’t bought tickets in advance. “We’ll just grab them on the spot,” we thought. Famous last words. Turns out, no tickets are sold on-site anymore. Not a single one.

So, plan B it was - Casa Batlló. One of Gaudí’s most beautiful residential masterpieces. Funny enough, despite having been to Barcelona around 15 times over the last 20-something years, I had never actually gone inside. And wow, it did not disappoint! The flowing lines, the vibrant colors, the dreamy architecture - it was all simply stunning. We left totally impressed. And with a touristy photo of us.

On the way back to the hotel, we grabbed a few empanadas - because, well, when in Spain - and then took a well-deserved nap before dinner and the concert.

Dinner was at Angus Grill, because I had a serious craving for steak. Things started promisingly - the tartar was chunky, flavorful, and absolutely delicious. But then… halfway through Scott still working on his tartar, a young waiter appeared out of nowhere, holding our next course, the medium rare steaks in hand. “Oh, sorry, I’ll take it back to the kitchen then…” Um, sure, let’s just… cook it a bit more then? Moments later, as soon as the last bite hit Scott’s fork, another server reappeared and plopped the plates back down in front of us - slightly overdone now, but still delicious.

To release the meat coma, we decided to walk to the concert venue - and to my absolute joy, I discovered that you can actually take escalators up Montjuïc hill. No endless stairs, no sweaty misery. Just a smooth glide up to culture and entertainment.

The concert was scheduled to start at 9 p.m. By 8:58, maybe 15% of the seats in the sold-out arena were filled. Classic Spain. At 9:20, the star finally took the stage - and suddenly, everything snapped into gear. The vibe transformed instantly. The music was incredible - just as expected - and the sound in that 17,000-seat basketball arena regretfully as well.

Afterward, we walked back to the hotel under the warm night sky. The air was soft and the city was very much alive.

Where Mountains meet Magic. Above the Clouds in Pyrenees

When we rented the car, the grand plan was simple enough: pick it up in Nice, drive through the mountains to Andorra, then head to Barcelona and drop it off there. Easy, right? Except that returning the car in Barcelona apparently costs a casual €600. (for that price, I’d expect the car to drive itself home, maybe stop for a croissant on the way).

So, we revised the plan. The new drop-off point became Perpignan, the nearest French city to the Spanish border. The only catch? We had to be there by 9am, or face a late fee. The plan was to leave at six, meaning most of the drive would be in the dark. But then, last night, a thought struck: if we leave before sunrise, we’ll miss it—the mountains, the clouds, the first light of the day. When would we get this moment again? So we agreed: if it costs us an extra hour or two, so be it. Some things are worth more than punctuality.

At seven sharp, we hit the road. Around half past seven, the first hints of dawn began to stretch across the sky. A soft pink glow rose behind the mountains, and the valleys below filled with drifting white clouds - like a giant sea of cotton. The air was crisp, the silence broken only by the hum of the tires, and for a while it felt like driving through a dream. The peaks turned golden as the sun climbed higher, the whole landscape bathed in warm light. And then, as quickly as it appeared, the magic faded. By eight-thirty, we were back in the real world - sunshine, traffic, and Gaili, ever the mapreader telling us to take the next exit.

We dropped off the car in Perpignan, planning to stroll around, grab breakfast, and maybe explore a bit before catching a ride to Barcelona. But travel plans have a mind of their own - apparently, only a couple of buses and trains leave Perpignan each day. So, after handing over the keys, we went straight to the bus station, grabbed something to eat, and waited for our fashionably late bus.

By three o’clock, we were in Barcelona. We checked into our hotel, dropped our bags, and immediately went hunting for something sweet. The first cookie café we found was good enough - huge cookies, cold milk, and the satisfaction of being back in Barcelona.

The rest of the day was pleasantly uneventful: a bit of wandering, a dinner of arepas, and an early night. After all, we’d already had the best part of the day long before breakfast - somewhere up in the mountains, chasing the sunrise and driving above the clouds.

Where Mountains meet Magic. Cold Coffee, Clean Bins, and Mountain Views

After yesterday’s long day on the road, today’s plan was simple: take it slow. Since we were still full from last night’s dinner, we decided to just pop out for coffee. The morning air was freezing — think 10°C after yesterday’s 25°C in Nice — so I was already dreaming of sipping a steaming hot latte.

Scott ordered a cookie frappuccino, and I, for some reason, very confidently asked for an Iced Brown Sugar Latte. I walked up to the counter, took my drink, and was genuinely shocked that my iced coffee was… cold. To this moment, I still have no idea what I was thinking ordering an iced drink when all I wanted was warmth.
Luckily, Scott once again saved the day. He chatted with the barista, explained my tragic coffee miscalculation, and somehow managed to get me a free hot cappuccino instead. The barista even threw in a few pumps of syrup — bless them.

Coffees in hand, we headed back to the hotel, grabbed the car, and drove up into the mountains. Near the village of Canillo, we paid €6 per person and took a walk up to a spectacular viewing platform with nearly 360-degree mountain views. We were among the first ones there, the weather was perfect, and the scenery was absolutely worth it.

Back in the village, we stopped for a quick snack — or so we thought. What arrived could have easily fed a small African country. My buckwheat galette with goat cheese, walnuts, and honey was delicious. Scott only managed to eat half of his salmon salad before surrendering.
As we sat there, people-watching and digesting, we noticed something fascinating about Andorra’s dedication to cleanliness: apparently, it was trash bin washing day. Yes, an actual truck was driving around washing the street bins one by one. Sparkling clean!

After a short rest back at the hotel, we went for an evening walk — admired some modern tube-and-bath-style sculptures (don’t ask), wandered along the river and through the old town, and noticed that Andorra has the same quirky pole-top statues as Nice. We then lingered around until 8 p.m., waiting for the restaurants to finally open.

We chose a cozy-looking place in a side street. However, since we weren’t guests at the hotel attached to the restaurant, our food apparently wasn’t a top priority. Luckily, we weren’t in any rush — and when our dishes finally arrived, they were absolutely worth the wait. Maximum deliciousness.