The ride to Kurdjali reminded me that we are in a country where the mountains stamp the people and their history. Rolling hills studded with rock formations. Vistas of snow-covered peaks. Add to the scenery a mixture of Bulgarian and Turkish rolling off the tongues of bus drivers and newspaper hawkers. Set deep in the Rhodopes, an island surrounded by mountain walls, going to the city felt like going to another world.

I travelled to Kurdjali to talk to Bulgarian Turks, thinking they were sufficiently different from Bulgarians I'd met elsewhere to merit a special trip to meet some of them. But while the landscape seemed new to me, my first realisation upon reaching Kurdjali was that I couldn't tell the difference between a "Bulgarian Turkish" town and a "Bulgarian" one. Red-tiled roofs; the odd socialist-style monument. Other than the strings of tobacco on a few verandas, I might have been in Blagoevgrad.

The difference came when I met my companion's father, a middle-aged dentist who served as my driver, tour guide and interlocutor for my two days in the area. This guy convinced me that Bulgarian Turks are the most patriotic, optimistic people in the Balkans.

"Kurdjali is not Pristina," he said, drawing a distinction between Bulgarian Turks and Albanians in the former Yugoslavia. His point was that while the Bulgarian Turks were unquestionably persecuted by the Bulgarian state during the communist era, and while they now received flak from nationalist politicians who use them as a scapegoat for the country's problems, they've always considered themselves Bulgarians. They're not interested in separation, even though they've got plenty of reasons to nurse a grudge.

The dentist and his family had their names changed in the 1980s. His wife and daughter will tell you the Slavic names they were assigned and shrug, not because they're blase about that period of their lives, but because it was absurd to have had your name changed, especially by fools whose ideology is now discredited but who then hid behind a veneer of power. If you ask the dentist his name, though, he'll refuse to utter it.

The family moved to Turkey when that country allowed them to escape Bulgaria in the late 80s. But they came back a year later when communism finally tumbled. The dentist and his wife said they had little interest in living in Istanbul, even though they have family there. They are rooted in their town and saw no reason to stay away.

It wasn't easy, of course. The dentist told a story about how, after he returned, he and his fellow Bulgarian Turks marched in a demonstration in Kurdjali, demanding the state recognise their old names. He saw a neighbour criticising the marchers, some proud Bulgarian who thought the country might fall apart if people with non-Slavic names were allowed to live here.

"What are you doing?" the dentist said he asked the neighbour.

The neighbour said he and his family should go back to Turkey where they belonged.

"What are you talking about?" the dentist said he told the man. "I've been living here my whole life, with you."

It was the only time the dentist seemed to express annoyance with all the bull he'd dealt with. It seemed like a reasonable response to someone telling you to leave the country because you wanted to use the name your parents gave you.

It struck me that the dentist and his family should be a celebrated as a bridge between Bulgaria and Turkey, a country on the rise with or without its bid for EU membership. Instead, the politicians who ostensibly represent them - Ahmed Dogan and the Movement for Rights and Freedom party - are often seen as exploiting their place in the government, as if they are somehow behaving differently than everyone else in the National Assembly.

As Turkey and Bulgaria's economies expand and grow more closely intertwined, Bulgarian Turks will capitalise on their links to the country and use that capital to further expand their role in Sofia. Let's hope their success doesn't encounter the mountains of ignorance they've met in the past.

Kurdjali is a well-planned city. Long, tree-lined streets lead to plazas with theatres - both a Greek-revival-cum-Stalinist playhouse and a 60s-era, box-shaped theatre. The twisty, narrow streets in the older section of town allude to Kardzhali's Ottoman influence. Kurdjali is nestled in the mountains, but it sits on two enormous lakes fed by the River Arda. In the fog, the city feels like it's on a calm sea.

That feeling worked well at Moby Dick - yes, Melville fans - the restaurant where we dined. It's on a barge on the side of the lake away from the city, along with a number of other barge restaurants. Cross the main bridge to get there. My catfish ("Som" in Bulgarian) was excellent, as good as the catfish I had at a wedding in Tennessee, where they know how to prepare catfish. It cost about seven leva.

With an enormous hall-like dining area, a view of Kurdjali and the lake, I'm positive Moby Dick in the summertime would be one of the best places to have dinner and drinks in Bulgaria. Because it's not exactly a place loads of expats visit, I'm also sure people there would strike up conversations with foreigners and be open to foreigners who strike up conversations with them. So go in June.

In terms of tourist activities, Kurdjali is an excellent base for travelling around southeast Bulgaria. Perperikon, supposed birthplace of Orpheus, is nearby, as is the Madzharovo Nature Reserve, home to vultures and wolves, for the wildly inclined.

Within the city, we visited the city Historical Museum. Except for some exhibits on tobacco, the traditional crop farmed by Bulgarian Turks, the museum's collections were run-of-the-mill: old Bulgarian folk costumes, ancient coins, a catapult. The real gem of the museum was the museum itself. A former school built during the Ottoman period, its Moorish architecture has more character than Sofia University.

I stayed in the MG Hotel in Momchilgrad, a small town outside the city. Perched on top of a hill where locals carry water bottles to and from a natural hot spring, it's the only hotel in town. For 40 leva a night, with a drip somewhere that kept the bathroom floor wet for my whole stay, it seemed a bit expensive. But a nice, if simple, breakfast was included, the rooms and beds were clean and the television worked - which is more than I can say for plenty of other small-town hotels in Bulgaria.

Buses leave for Kurdjali a few times a day from the Sofia Central Bus Station, about every three hours or so. Best to check with the station (090021000 or www.centralbusstation-sofia.com ) to be certain. Tickets cost 17 leva for a one-way trip.