ON a daytrip to Vratsa with "the girls", I met my good friend Detelina's parents - honest, genuine Bulgarians, good people who work the land in a village outside the city. Surprised at my interest in their country and my enthusiasm for their humble and nearly self-sufficient way of life, they extended an invitation for me to experience village life firsthand. Eager to spend a "day on the farm", I accepted, as an escape from chaotic Sofia was exactly what my body and mind yearned for. Located 60km north of Vratsa, the village of Rogozen is a site where a huge amount of Thracian gold and silver was discovered in 1985. Detelina's family has lived in this village for four generations and own many houses there.

We travelled to the village by car this past Saturday, a drab and dreary afternoon hinting upon winter, but as it turned out, we had a mission beyond just giving me a chance to milk a cow. A friend from the village, Virghina, wanted a new dog, so we were to bring her an adorable seven-week-old puppy, half Bulgarian shepherd and half English collie. My loving companion on the drive up, it was sad to drop the pup off with Virghina, although I knew she would be well taken care of and enjoy the freedom of farm life. We stayed at the farm for a bit and saw how Virghina made banitsa, a type of Bulgarian pastry. This kind was specific to the region, stuffed with shredded pumpkin, baked and sprinkled with sugar (very tasty). After a glass of sweet homemade wine, we headed to the house of Detelina's father, which shares a large plot of land with her uncle's house and their barns and farmland. There I helped cut wood with a chainsaw for the approaching winter. It was empowering, though I ended up with wood chips stuck in my long curly hair and was filled with dread that a single slip-up could cause me to return to Sofia minus a foot.

Everyone who's seen pictures of my latest adventure, Bulgarian and foreigner alike, has laughed in earnest at its ridiculousness. I rode in a donkey cart for a sightseeing tour of the village of Rogozen. It was fun, although I must admit, it would have been quicker to walk. But on the way we saw the sleepy village cemetery where Detelina's grandparents are buried, cows and horses grazing leisurely in pastures, geese, dogs, cats, sheep, pigs, and a strong woman impressively chopping wood with an axe in her garden. I learnt a lot about the village and Detelina's family, including that her original name was Yoanna, like her grandmother, but she was forced to change it during communism, because no one was allowed to have the same name as the then queen of Bulgaria.

By the time we finished our donkey-village tour, it was dark and getting cold, so we headed to Detelina's grandparents' house to eat some bean soup and help bring in their pregnant cow. Her grandmother was knitting and showed me how she makes tarlutzi (traditional Bulgarian slippers). Her grandfather was engrossed in a football match on TV, sitting next to the pechka (stove) and grunting every once in awhile. After eating spicy bean soup, kufteta (Bulgarian meatballs), and fresh bread, the grandmother gave me a pair of tarlutzi to keep my feet warm, and we headed back to her father's house with full stomachs, warm feet and refreshed hearts.

For a while we sat on tree stumps next to the grain storage barn, talking with her parents and passing around a bottle of her father's homemade rakia to keep our blood flowing. Then it was off to the dairy farm to get fresh milk. We showed up at the barn right when they were about to begin milking the cows. The couple who owns the barn, Svetan and Velichka Stoichevski, were very excited to have us there. Svetan is from the village and was a schoolmate and soldier with Detelina's father. Velichka is from Sofia, a nurse for 30 years who always dreamt of having her own farm, a dream that has now come true in the form of her company Shteslivi Kravi (Happy Cows).

In total they have 11 cows, two of which are pregnant, and about 10 calves. That night happened to be the last night they were to milk the pregnant ones, as they then gave them an injection to stop the milk flow until delivery. It was really interesting to see how they hooked the udder up to the milking machine and used air to suck the milk out like a vacuum. Luckily for me, they have one cow that prefers to be milked by hand, and they let me have a go at it. I wouldn't claim that I'm a natural, but it wasn't so hard really. I could only manage one teat at a time, unlike Svetan, who could squeeze two teats at a time and milk a cow in under four minutes. They let me take the milk home that I had "taken" from Iva, the dairy cow, and I definitely have a special appreciation for it, as it makes every cup of coffee that much more enjoyable.

The only thing I didn't get to do that I would love to experience for the first time is driving a tractor. I've been invited to return in the spring to help out with a new set of farm chores, all new to me but highly enjoyable for the short-term, and I suppose then I will get the chance to drive a tractor on a sight-seeing tour of the village! Maybe this is the beginning of country living for me, a way to fulfill a long-held desire for self-sufficiency and a return to nature. Maybe this is a new version of alternative tourism, "village tourism": a way to experience village life for yourself, and simplicity, humbleness, and relaxation through honest, hard work. I learnt some very valuable things over the weekend, and I have a newfound respect for celani, "village people". I highly recommend a trip to a village and some farm work for anyone who feels overloaded with work, has an absurdly complex love life, feels unhealthy in the dirty city, or just needs a break from the globalised world. There is no terrorism in the village; there is no traffic, no information overflow, no drama. Only simplicity and life in its rough and altruistic form, giving us fresh milk for our tummies, wood to keep us warm, and a donkey to cart us around.