The Newsroom 27

23 August 2024

An original cycling trip on the banks of the Danube, between Bulgaria and Romania

This very long river flows through the poorest regions of the European Union. If you follow its course, you can visit some timeless villages.

Kristiyan Yulzari

Français/български

An original cycling trip on the banks of the Danube, between Bulgaria and Romania
The entrance to the village of Kudelin, Bulgaria | Kristiyan Yulzari

“Welcome to the place where three roosters crow,” Zdravko greets with a surprised expression and curiosity. The arrival of a stranger in the most northwestern village in Bulgaria is an event. Especially if it’s by bicycle. There is a timelessness in the centre of Kudelin (Vidin region), where nothing usually happens. No one is in a hurry. There is nowhere to go, anyway. The playground, say the few locals sitting on worn pink plastic chairs on the side of the only shop around, is echoing with children’s noise only on holidays and during the summer season. The poorest region in the European Union lacks workplaces which forces young people to flee to other regions.

At 62 years old, wearing a tattered navy striped T-shirt, Zdravko sips from a glass bottle of cold beer in the unusually hot April sun. Indeed, the roosters he is talking about are countries – Romania, Serbia and Bulgaria. Locals in the village of Kudelin jokingly explain that at the nearby mouth of the Timok River, which is a common border of the three Balkan countries, the Romanian rooster, the Serbian rooster and the Bulgarian rooster meet early in the morning and crow in enviable synchrony.

“There”, Zdravko points a finger, is the start. It is from Kudelin where the Bulgarian section of the Euro Velo 6 cycling route, which connects the Atlantic coast and the Black Sea, begins.

Many people talk about this part of Bulgaria on a negative note – declining population, fewer opportunities, lack of sightseeing, etc. Often such thoughts are expressed even by the locals themselves, who admit the region has been marginalized for the past decades. Whether that’s true or not, everyone will be able to judge by themselves at the end of this story in approximately 300 kilometres. 

To do so we embark on a journey along the bank of the Danube River with an electric bicycle part of the E-Bike network, built under the Interreg programme funded by the European Regional Development Fund of the European Union.

An E-bike Net on the Bulgarian-Romanian border near Nikopol | Kristiyan Yulzari

2 countries, 240 electric bikes, 32 cities and one goal – accessible cycling for all

The idea of an electric bicycle network that could be used to move around towns and villages came to Eftim Stefanov – at that time Executive Director of the Regional Development Agency and Business Center Vidin. He heard about similar systems in Germany and Austria that provided mobility for both locals and tourists and decided to create such in Bulgaria. The goal is to make bicycle tourism accessible to more people. 

“There is still room for great development here,” says Eftim, comparing the interest of cyclists to visit the Bulgarian section of the Euro Velo 6 and the other countries the route passes through.

The development of the network began in 2016 and lasted 24 months. Today, more than 200 bikes are deployed in 32 locations across the Danube region of Bulgaria and Romania. Thus, any tourist or local can rent a bicycle from one point, travel with it throughout the cross-border area of the two neighbouring countries and return it to another town where a bike station exists.

Renting bicycles from E-Bike for 5 euros a day, we’ll embark on a journey through towns and villages along the river to connect with locals on both sides of Europe’s second-longest river. Our route spans from Kudelin—Bulgaria’s most north-westerly village—to the picturesque town of Svishtov, situated at the heart of Bulgaria’s stretch of the Danube. We’ll explore the Danube’s dual role in people’s lives: as both a historical divider and a magnetic point of attraction. We’ll discover stories that paint the Danube not only as a spiritual refuge but also as a wellspring of opportunity.

0 km, Kudelin village: Smuggling in the Bulgarian Context

“Aromanian is our mother tongue,” exclaimed Momchil, who was recently elected mayor of Kudelin by the residents. Vlachs populate the villages in this region of Bulgaria. “We are Vlachs,” confirm the other men sitting around the peeled old table next to the local shop.

The Vlachs inhabit the Danube region, with significant communities in Belene and exclusively Vlach villages in the Vidin area. According to the majority of researchers, the ancestors of Zdravko and Momchil have a migratory origin. There are different interpretations of the both settlement of the Vlach population south of the Danube and the proximity to the Romanian people. Most, including Zdravko and Momchil, categorically state that the Vlachs are neither Romanians nor define their language as Romanian. “Modern Romanian has nothing in common with Aromanian,” says Momchil.

Zdravko (right) sitting at the local café with the village mayor, Momchil Ivanov (left) and their neighbour (centre) | Kristiyan Yulzari

At that moment, the shopkeeper’s son—a fervent football enthusiast—approaches from down the street. Formerly a player for the local football club, he now gauges the area’s progress through the lens of his beloved sport. “The strength of a football team mirrors the vitality of sport in general. If a community cannot sustain a football team, it is ill-equipped to govern a town, much less a nation,” he articulates, a tinge of melancholy in his tone. As he speaks, he gestures towards a forsaken wooden frame on a nearby wall, where a television once hung. It was in front of this now-empty space that the entire village congregated to witness the historic 1994 World Cup match between Bulgaria and Germany in the USA, where Bulgaria secured fourth place globally.

Back then, we travelled between Vidin and Ruse on ‘the rocket,'” his mother interjects, joining the conversation. The renowned vessel, a mere legend to those born after the Iron Curtain fell, journeyed the stretch between these two principal Danube cities in just six hours, cruising at a speed of 65 km/h

  • How long has this ship been running?
  • Until the establishment of democracy.

In one of the other well-kept houses, we meet 69-year-old Alenka. Her backyard, where newly hatched chicks, two wild pigs, and even a wolf can be found, would rival some zoos for diverse fauna. Life in Kudeelin, she recalls, was not always monotonous.

Alenka and her husband sitting in their garden in the village of Kudelin | Kristiyan Yulzari

“During the Yugo-embargo period,” Alenka reminisces, referring to the war in Yugoslavia during the 1990s when the UN Security Council imposed a ban on the export and import of goods to and from Yugoslavia in an attempt to cease hostilities in Bosnia and Herzegovina, “we crossed the border to sell fuel to Serbia.” This ‘business opportunity’ led to the migration of over 3,000 people from all over Bulgaria settling in Kudelin and the surrounding villages. The average profit per day amounted to about 150 German marks (approximately 570 leva*).

“Everybody was exporting fuel – as much as they could,” she recalls about this profitable venture, then continues, “I did that using a Simpson, a German motorcycle brand made in the GDR during the Iron Curtain era. I had a tailor-made seat to hide the naphtha in. With each trip, I was able to bring 50 litres per pass. The Serbian customs officers let us through because they found amusement in their job – otherwise, Serbs had no fuel,” explains 69-year-old Alenka.

“At some point, the fuel export halted, so we shifted to exporting cigarettes,” Alenka adds. “But now, the trend has reversed – Bulgarians head to Serbia to buy cigarettes due to their low prices.” Reflecting on the Iron Curtain era, she reminisces about the clandestine trade with Romania. “We had some excellent Bulgarian soaps, with ‘Clover’ being the most sought-after. In exchange, we’d procure pots and pans from there because enamelled utensils were quite affordable.”

5 km., Vrav village, On a catfish hunt on the Danube Boulevard 

The afternoon April sun cuts through the clouds. The wind blows in our faces, and here and there in the brambles along the roadside, we could hear snakes and lizards whose sunbath has been interrupted by our passage. After 5 kilometres of cycling on a flat, lightly trafficked but shady road, we enter the village of Vrav. The Vlach architecture is visible on every corner we pass by. The centre falls to the right of a square whose enormous signs would hardly go unnoticed. One of them says:

“Danube Boulevard

Outdoor Complex

Celebrating Friendship and Martial Glory

Bulgaria, Russia, and Cuba”

Next to it stands a dried-up fountain from 1987. Above the spout, a marble sign declares, “Water – the Source of Life,” but it’s evident that life has long deserted this place. To the left, in succession, are memorial plaques dedicated to the Bulgarian revolutionary Hristo Botev, bearing his timeless quote, “He who falls in the fight for freedom, he does not die,” and to the Cuban poet José Martí. 

Danube Boulevard leads directly to the first Bulgarian port along the Danube. From the liberation of Bulgaria in 1878 until the communist regime came to power in 1944, the port held significant economic importance. Here, barges were loaded with goods destined for countries along the Danube and Western Europe.

Vrav is home to around 200 people, predominantly Vlachs. Among them is the renowned hereditary carver, Zari. His name is well-known among fishermen nationwide for his expertly crafted “Klionks,” handmade with precision and care.

Sculptor Zahari Marino (Zari) poses with his bicycle | Kristiyan Yulzari

“Here in our region, we also call them ‘Buchka,'” says Zari. The device is designed to emit a specific sound that mimics the feeding of catfish.

“Catfish are territorial creatures,” explains Zari. “Catching one with a ‘Klionk’ in the Danube is a genuine challenge.” Zari, who has crafted thousands of them, speaks from extensive experience.

11 km. Novo Selo village: Return to the roots

Architect Elena Stoyche opens an event at the community centre in Novo Selo with a powerful keynote speech: “I would like every Bulgarian village to look like a postcard.” Despite it being a day off, the hall is full of dozens of enthusiastic attendees, eager not only to listen but also to share their thoughts on the architecture of Novo Selo. As Elena showcases photos, the children in attendance instantly recognize a house from their village.

Over the past two years, Architect Elena Stoycheva, alongside Architect Nadezhda Sucheva, has embarked on a journey to document the architectural heritage of Bulgarian villages, focusing on some of the most depopulated areas. Today, they are in Novo Selo to share their insights and impressions of Bulgarian village architecture.

Architect Elena Stoycheva presents the rural heritage project at the Novo Selo village community centre | Kristiyan Yulzari

“We discovered that the Bulgarian village is like a treasure that we are at risk of losing – its authenticity slipping away. We aim to raise awareness by showcasing the beauty and uniqueness of village houses, proving that rural architecture is not something to be dismissed,” explained the two women, who are currently filming a video series during their tours.

In Novo Selo specifically, they are captivated by the typical Vlach architecture of the region, which mirrors the Romanian style from the 19th century, notably the renowned “Brankovianu” style. It incorporates Eastern European, Renaissance, and rural elements. The houses in Novo Selo stand out with their intricate paintings and exquisite facades adorned with ornate ornaments, the two architects point out. “These houses embody a great deal of diligence, aspiration, and freedom, with folk art interwoven with external influences,” summarize Elena and Nadezhda.

However, the conversation with the locals in Novo Selo takes an unexpected turn. “Why aren’t our villages like those in Germany and Austria?” Elena rhetorically wonders aloud, unknowingly touching a sensitive issue for the locals. The response comes swiftly. “Because our skilled craftsmen are in Germany and Austria,” retorts one of the attendees in a disdainful tone.

The problem with the lack of skilful construction workers to restore the houses in the village turns out to be a big one, as people start complaining one by one. In this respect, however, Novo Selo has something to boast of – 27-year-old Rumen Dzhagarov. Having graduated in architecture in Sofia four years ago, he decided to return to his roots. Amid the COVID-19 pandemic, Rumen bought an abandoned house in Novo Selo, where his grandparents are from, and started restoring it with natural materials. 

“Everything is clay, stone, and wood,” Rumen proudly shares about his house. It’s a traditional “pletarka,” constructed from a mixture of mud, clay, straw, sand, and animal droppings. The initial condition of the house was far from promising – over 100 years old, it was half-destroyed and engulfed by dense vegetation. However, the young architect saw the opportunity in adversity. “When the house is falling apart, you can see its skeleton,” he remarks optimistically.

Rumen Dzhagafov and his girlfriend in front of their house, which is currently being renovated | Kristiyan Yulzari

“Through Rumen’s eyes, I realized that these houses are living stories,” says Lyubka Angelova, the secretary-general of the community centre in Novo Selo, which is set to celebrate its 150th anniversary in 2024.

77 km. Orsoq village: Living on stubbornness

The village of Orsoya is still present on the geographical map of Bulgaria, although it doesn’t exist on paper anymore after a massive landslide swallowed half the houses on Christmas Eve, 23 December 1978. Military and police barely managed to get people out of the rubble and the pits.

In front of the town hall, we meet Rosen, whose life revolves around the Danube, where he once served as an overseer. “It used to be a big village. There were people in every house. There was a school. A kindergarten. A community centre with a movie theatre. Everything fell apart,” the man says. 

“The ground shook beneath my feet. Civil Defense arrived, marked my arm with a distinctive band, and instructed me to prevent cars from entering the village. It was terrifying,” recalls 86-year-old Alexander, who resides in one of the few remaining houses.

Alexander (86), one of the few remaining inhabitants of the ghost village of Orsoya | Kristiyan Yulzari

Following the landslide, the village was officially closed by ministerial decree. However, a hundred resilient villagers returned to their fractured homes. Locals proudly declare that no taxes are paid here. “Everything is state-owned,” Rosen explains, just after picking up naphtha from the town hall to mow grass along the main Vidin-Lom road.

His story about the village continues. “We don’t have a shop, the mayor brings provisions when we call him”.

Getting used to,” Rosen remarks.

What do you mean, “getting used to”?

Getting used to everything.

115 km. Dolni Tsibar village: Beyond labels

The village of Dolni Tsibar is one of the many settlements in Bulgaria with a predominantly Roma population. In the Bulgarian media, it is known as the “Roma Cambridge” because of the high percentage of young people who graduate high school and continue their education at university.

The history, geography and civics teacher at the local high school, Yuliyan Bobev, however, does not accept that label. “Yes, there are no illiterate people here. But I don’t accept this nickname ‘Roma Cambridge’,” says the teacher, who tries to teach his students to be free people. “I try to tell them every day, “Be free people and use the freedom you’ve been given wisely.”

Here, unlike many other places so far, no one complains about the lack of people. “There are lots of children, lots of young people,” says teacher Julian about his village. 

“That’s the nice thing about the people of Dolni Tsiber. Wherever they go, however long they spend there – they come back. There are very few towns and villages where this happens,” he explains. 

In the summer season, the whole village gathers on the beach on the Danube. Nearly everyone here knows how to swim. “Children in Dolni Tsibar are like dolphins – they take to the water from a very tender age,” Julian Bobev elaborates.

220 km., Korabia: The house on the opposite bank

Sunrises and sunsets against the backdrop of the Danube are a mix of different colours. Each of them is different but equally captivating. Over the last week, we have been moving almost parallel to the river along the Bulgarian bank. At a time when the free movement of people in Eastern Europe was almost impossible, the only way to see the river from the neighbouring bank was by imagining it.

“I grew up in the village of Islaz on the Romanian bank of the Danube, just opposite the Bulgarian village of Somovit. My whole childhood passed by the river,” says tour guide Mirela Trandafir, whom we encountered at the cultural centre of the municipality of Corabia, a small town with a profound heritage on the Danube in southern Romania.

Mirela Trandafir posing at Corabia Town Hall | Kristiyan Yulzari

Each day, Mirela’s parents, who tended to their flock of sheep, grazed in the nearby meadows. While assisting them, she would often gaze across the river at the Bulgarian bank. “The Bulgarian shore was always a mystery to me. I used to wonder who lived there,” recalls Mirela Trandafir. From Romania, the Bulgarian side, in her childhood eyes, seemed like a distant, mysterious land with high limestone cliffs that reflected in the water and created fairytale landscapes.

“In the evenings, as a child, I used to look at the Bulgarian coast from the hills near my village. I recall it being illuminated with lights while we remained in darkness due to the enforced electricity cuts” This picture of the period when the regime of Romanian communist dictator Nicolae Ceausescu attempted to reduce the country’s foreign debt by depriving the population of electricity between 7 pm and 10 pm is etched in Mirela’s childhood memories.

“The dictatorship in Bulgaria under Todor Zhivkov had a more humane face than ours.” Years after the fall of the regime, she finally managed to visit Bulgaria. “We were travelling by bus when the driver turned towards Somovit. I had told him about my childhood memories of the opposite and inaccessible coast. At that moment, he said to me, “Mirela, now I’m going to take you to see the Romanian coast from Somovit.”

“However, I didn’t find the house that I had been looking at for so long as a child from my nursery window, but it was very exciting to visit for the first time this particular part of the Bulgarian coast that I had dreamed about so much as a child,” says Mirela.

306 km., Svishtov: Downstream to the Bulgarian Maldives

On the islands of the Danube, one can experience a true Robinson Crusoe adventure. Accessible only by boat or kayak, the latter is preferred, according to Radoslav Yordanov, founder of the Kayak Club – Svishtov since 2021, aimed at promoting tourism in the region.

Radoslav Yordanov (right), founder of the Svichtov Kayak Club | Kristiyan Yulzari

What began as a whimsical idea has evolved into a popular attraction drawing visitors from around the globe to Svishtov, eager to kayak along the Danube to the Bulgarian Maldives. This is what the locals call the islands around the town when during the summer season, the water level drops and fine sand appears around them.

“The Danube River is very interesting for tourists. Springtime is especially suitable for kayaking. It is green everywhere. The birds are singing. At such a moment one feels a sense of timelessness. It’s a completely other reality.” Describing kayaking as a means of escaping the hustle and bustle and communing with nature, Radoslav emphasizes its therapeutic benefits.

Born on the banks of the Danube, but a few hundred kilometres upriver in the town of Silistra, the man feels a special connection. “When I’m feeling down, I simply grab my kayak and head out on the water. It’s my way of unwinding and finding peace”

European unionThis article was produced as part of The Newsroom 27 competition, organised by Slate.fr with the financial support of the European Union. The article reflects the views of the author and the European Commission cannot be held responsible for its content or use.