"Quick," Ivo exclaimed, "The landlady is coming! Iliyana, get on the balcony!" Why was she being banished? It seemed unusual to me. It was the early 1990s and the coast was undeveloped and, arguably, more pleasant. We had been on business in Dobrich and decided to join Ivo's girlfriend and other friends for my first visit to the Bulgarian seaside. We arrived in Varna and found a room, as was then customary, with a baba.

The rooms were plain, a little austere and worn out, the bathrooms ancient, but clean, and it was only 10 leva a night. When Iliyana said she wanted to join us Ivo kind of forgot to tell the landlady in case she raised the rate to 15 leva. The landlady had come to show us the wardrobe that she had emptied for our clothes. I was surprised that she didn't guess she had an extra guest because there was an outbreak of giggling when Iliyana came off the balcony. The Varna beaches were uncrowded, the water warm and the tsatsa and beer cheap. Heaven!

My next visit to the Black Sea was to Balchik. We had been exhibiting at the Dobrich fair and became friendly with the girls who ran the exhibition, so one night they invited us to join them for dinner at this seaside place called Balchik. We arrived on the quay to a picturesque scene. Bright moonlight illuminated the calm sea and small fishing boats bobbed quietly at anchor. Many small buildings, which could only be described as shacks, huddled together on the quay with makeshift signs advertising such delicacies as zafrite, lafere and scumria - fish names which were a mystery to me. The furniture was old and battered, the toilets very dodgy, but the fish delicious.

Sozopol has always been a favourite of mine, particularly after my first visit to the Apollonia festival when the weather was unseasonably wet and rainy. I was in the company of two journalists, and because we couldn't go on the beach, we were chaperoned by their friend, who was trying to make some money by taking people on trips in his microlite plane along the coast and in an ancient minibus among what can only be described as a band of rambling drunks. We took in Dyuni, Primorsko and Kiten and had a memorable trip on the Ropotamo River, arriving back at Sozopol in the early evening in an alcoholic haze. The open air concerts were great, the restaurants cheap and plentiful and the rooms in a house, basic to say the least. But what fun we had!

The following year we decided to go to Sozopol for a week's holiday. We arrived hot and dusty from our journey, and parking the car, went to the accommodation bureau to arrange our room. When we returned we had been clamped. The clamper was getting more than his fair share of abuse from other holidaymakers but wouldn't remove the clamps without payment, so we paid our fine and went to find our rooms in the old town. Halfway down the quay was a barrier manned by an arrogant young policeman. "No, you can't bring your car in here. You haven't got a permit." "But we only want to unload our luggage, we can't walk with it - it's too heavy." "No, you can't!" At this point my companion got angry and started to argue fiercely. The officious policeman was ruffled, so he demanded my passport and said, "I'm arresting you for obstructing a policeman. Park on the pavement and I'll call my chief to come." After a wait of about half an hour in the burning sun, a battered police Lada rattled down the road, and the important-looking chief jumped out, "What's going on here?" The policeman gave his version; the chief frowned deeply and to our surprise proceeded to dress down his policeman, rapping out a command which went something like this: "Don't be so stupid, this is a holiday town, let them go and unload their luggage."

The young policeman, with a thunderous look on his face, reluctantly thrust my passport into my hand and raised the barrier. His parting shot was "Be back here in 10 minutes or I'll come and get you." We found our room overlooking the sea, and when we told our landlord that we should take our car back, he tapped his head with his finger and said, "Oh ignore these silly policemen, park your car here on the pavement." We did just that and studiously avoided the police barrier for the whole week. In the mornings we would buy newspapers and spend an hour or so over coffee and mekitsa in a cafe by the sea gardens, then go to the uncrowded beach for the day. Later, we would eat out in fish alley, sadly now consigned to history. This was a wide path down to the harbour lined with stalls on one side, selling all kinds of fish dishes, salads and beers at very low prices. After buying your fish delicacy, served on a plastic plate, and your bottle of beer, you wedged yourself onto one of the crowded tables on the other side of the passage and savoured the food and atmosphere.

Later it was a crawl round the bars and cafes overlooking the sea. A particular favourite of ours was a circular, probably illegal, bar wedged in between the old houses. We sat round the bar on high stools and talked to many interesting people, but after 11pm we had to be quiet, or the neighbours would shout insults out of their windows and tell us to shut up and go home.

My son came to join us one year when we went to Tsarevo. We were staying in a very nice apartment near the beach courtesy of the mayor, who wanted us to write some articles for his town. Matthew had acquired a taste for vodka and couldn't quite contain himself with the cheap prices, and coupled with the hot weather, he awoke on the day of our departure with a monumental hangover. We got on the road amid much moaning from the back seat, and somewhere along the road he cried out: "Stop, stop I haven't got a pulse!" "Of course you have," I replied, "or you would be dead!" We stopped and he looked pretty ill, so we decided to call in at Sozopol so that he could rest in the shady sea gardens.

After lying on a bench moaning for a while he didn't improve and we decided that we had better take him to the polyclinic to see what was wrong. The doctor examined him and, with a knowing grimace said: "Oh, he's badly dehydrated, he's been drinking too much alcohol; and not enough water, we'll put him on a saline drip for an hour or two. That will cure him." After a few hours, Matthew was fine and we left for Sofia, but with the bumpy roads and so much liquid in his body we had to stop what seemed like every few minutes for him to empty his bulging bladder.

Another year we had a very interesting short break. We were showing some clients around Bulgaria in their car and when we arrived in Varna they decide they wanted to go home through Romania, so we had to get back to Sofia under our own steam. We decided to stay one night in Varna, then catch minibuses along the coast to Sozopol. Annie, my old landlady, was pleased to welcome us in her apartment and immediately made a room available, moving some other guest out of her spare room. We went out to promenade along Varna's famous pedestrian walks, and sit in a cafe sipping our drinks watching the world go by.

When we eventually returned to Annie's at about 1am, her other guest was also arriving. "What's this?" he demanded when he saw his luggage in the corridor. Annie quickly replied "Oh, these are special friends of mine and I've given them your room, you will have to sleep with me in my bed! We couldn't believe what we were hearing, and turned away so he couldn't see our amazed and amused faces. Well, I suppose at 1am he was too tired to argue, so we all went to bed, and, unbelievingly, we could soon hear gentle snoring coming from the next room.

The minibus route, first to Bourgas, is cheap and reliable and takes a couple of hours, and then in the same bus station we took the second bus to our favourite, Sozopol. After a few days holiday, we booked a Sunday evening ticket on one of the coach services to Sofia. Arriving at the avtogara in plenty of time, we hopped on the coach and found a seat. About five minutes before it was due to leave, the driver discovered that he had been overbooked by a good few seats, so a massive argument ensued outside the coach, as, being Sunday evening, most people had to get back to work the next day.

The problem was eventually solved by anyone travelling up to Stara Zagora being instructed to stand in the corridor between the seats, and the rest to sit down. It was extremely hot and the driver refused to turn on the air conditioning or open more than one small window. Thankfully, we were at least sitting and had plenty of water. The coach eventually coughed its way into a darkened Sofia sometime in the small hours.

Well, things have changed dramatically. This year we stayed in the new four-star Hotel Otdih, which belongs to a friend of ours in Kavarna, rock and roll capital of Bulgaria. With two beautiful swimming pools, fully self contained, air conditioned rooms with balconies, cable TV, internet access, good restaurant and service. Times have definitely changed, for the better? - Well that's debatable, it depends whether you want to experience the local culture, have good basic fun, adventures, some inconvenience and questionable standards of the old, or now like us, become more staid, and enjoy the international comfort and blandness of the new.