After numerous delays, our trip to the Balkan Range, or Stara Planina (literally Old Mountain) finally got under way on September 6. Originally slated for August 9, our college in Dobrich had not been able not muster a cost-effective number of participants, on account that most of the staff were either tending their gardens in their cottage retreats, or still recovering from the previous academic year.

We departed by coach, which then cruised down the motorway at an unheard speed of 70km an hour. Excellent! Turning left at the city of Sevlievo, the road began patterning itself after the irregular contours of the Stara Planina foothills. Crop fields and pastures gave way to woodlands. The main town serving the region towards which we were headed, Apriltsi, though appearing insignificant on the map, actually spreads out over a wide area along the Vidima River. Passing that, we approached the heart of the mountain range that runs almost the entire length of Bulgaria.

Here verdant, wooded slopes looming over a narrow valley had us glued to our windows. Then the bus came to an unexpected halt. “Alright folks. Here we are!” announced Todor Radev, the tour’s main organiser. The 37 passengers then disembarked, gathered their luggage and followed him to two medium-sized structures, one looking like a workshop, the other, a storage shed. “Now comes the fun part,” he explained. “We’ll hike up to the lodge through some fantastic scenery.” To our relief, the plan included leaving behind all heavy items, to be cable lifted up there. The sky was overcast and the temperature about 15 degrees Celsius.

We thus made our way up a steep trail flanked by wooden guardrails, a classical Boy Scouts scene (should be Girl Scouts as female participants slightly outnumber males). People who just the previous day sat mousing and keyboarding in semi-formal attire in plush offices, now trudged their way through the wilderness in the latest outdoor accessories.

If the adults found the going physically and mentally demanding, no one dared voice it, at least in the presence of the large contingency of little children merrily making their way along. “I want to expose my child to travelling, outdoor life, nature, hiking and photography from a very early age,” Violetta Dimitrova, an administrator, said, her little daughter in tow. “That way they’ll grow up appreciating and doing these things, and not just hanging around doing nothing. Watching TV. Listening to loud music. Snacking, drinking, smoking, playing video games and racing cars.”

A weekend retreat
An hour and a half later, we reached a large chalet with a single, sloping roof and a big sign post that read “Pleven”. To the south, a blue-grey peak towered above all else. Named after Hristo Botev, the 19th century poet and revolutionary, Botev Peak, at 2376 metres, is the highest in the Stara Planina range.

Once inside, we made our way into a large hall that served as a reception area, dinning hall, community centre, internet cafe, TV lounge and pub. Our small room on the top, fourth floor contained two bunk beds, with the hallway toilets and showers one flight below. Here the four of us fought over the two electrical sockets for all of our devices.

It all looked familiar, as if all lodges in Bulgaria had been cast, with some leeway, in a master mould. Simeon Sabev confirmed this. The 29-year-old self-described “guy for everything” explained that this 120-bed mountain resort, housed in a main and secondary building, like most recreational lodges in Bulgaria, was constructed during a building scheme under communism. Completed in 1971, its workers had hailed from its epigenous city 85km to the north-west. “I am from Pleven. All five staff members here are from Pleven, including the owner, Dinka Boeva,” Simeon said, pointing out one of three ladies in the kitchen, washing and cleaning up.

George Georgiev, the barman and manager, said that about 95 per cent of the guests are Bulgarians who come by car, coach or taxi. Sometimes though, hikers chalet-hop as they traverse the breadth of the Stara Planina. That evening brought two Czech backpackers who had crossed over Botev Peak, having started out from Kalofer to the south.

Should anything unforeseen happen along the way, volunteers based in an emergency shelter nearby come to the rescue (another small building housed a mountaineering school). Simeon recalled how the entire staff once helped comb the region in search of a lost mountain biker. “When we at last found him in an isolated ravine the following day, he ecstatically hugged and kissed me,” he said. Another time they spotted some guests in a forest clearing feeding a brown bear.

Following a meal of coleslaw, lentils and stuffed peppers, we rested up and went upstairs to our room. Out of fear of rolling off, I opted for the lower bunk. But that night saw difficulty in sleeping as the spring foundation and overlying mattress sagged considerably. The one above consisted of solid plywood.

Mountain shopping
At 8.45am the following morning we split up into three groups. The “Children” would go to the Water Hole Cave while the “Yaks” (mostly females, including a little girl) would tackle Botev Peak. Both lay within the Severen Djendem Reserve. Situated north of Botev and established in 1983, it consists of 930ha of subalpine forests and 680ha of alpine meadow. The reserve in turn formed part of Central Balkan National Park, which at 716.7 sq km is one of the largest protected areas in Europe. The “Homebodies” stayed put.

In preparation, members of the first group brought along heavy coats and small rucksacks – except for Elizaveta. The other Yaks laughed at her plastic bag with a picture of Preslava, and light blue umbrella. “You look like you’re going shopping,” they teased her.

The initial phase involved a walk up a wide path through dense forests of beech, fir and Siberian juniper. It felt alternatively like a tropical jungle or Robin Hood’s forest. Numerous signs along the way warned of snow avalanches. Huffing and puffing, by the time we reached the timberline, everyone was down to T-shirts.

Next we carefully made our way through craggy outcrops among rhododendron, silene and yew scrubs. After reaching a certain point, the temperature suddenly plummeted. We put our coats back on, and walked parallel to the slope, crossing numerous cool, crystal-clear streams along the way. At about lunchtime we descended upon a swathe of whortleberry shrubs, gleaning off and feasting on their sweet, blue fruit.

Of the reserve’s more conspicuous fauna (bear, chamois, red deer, roe deer, grey wolf, wood creeper), the only ones we spotted were two rabbits scurrying up a 75 degree incline, some soaring eagles and herds of cows and sheep fattening themselves for the upcoming winter. We could, however, view the panorama of the sprawling Vidima Valley below, and the Stara Planina Range the whole time.

The final ascent called for a straight walk up a relatively smooth but steep incline, carpeted with stunted grass. The tenacity displayed by these 99 per cent-of-the-time sedentary office workers was baffling. What was more, the summit turned out to be the antithesis of the desolation you would expect in such a remote place: huge radio towers and buildings housing communication facilities and a weather station complex. It was 2pm, and near freezing.

Our climb had provided a vivid illustration of altitudinal variations of climes and biomes that correspond to latitudinal ones along the earth’s surface as one moves towards the Arctic, a phenomenon observed by the German scholar Alexander von Humboldt when he explored Central and South America from 1799 to 1804.

To escape the icy winds, we entered a large building and went into a room where tea and coffee were being served. I took a photo of an antique phone. “Do you want to land us in jail?” said Nedka Dimitrova, a teacher, tersely. “The sign outside says you’re not allowed to do that in here!” An ursine man then appeared and passed out hot drinks, but made no mentioning of my camera flash. Maybe he though it came from a lightning bolt. This was not too far-fetched, as heavy fogs (or clouds?) had by now engulfed the entire mountain.

And wet and cold
And about halfway through the descent, it began raining. As huge droplets and panic permeated us, Elizaveta calmly opened her light blue umbrella and walked on casually. A quarter of the way back, with everyone completely drenched, cold and miserable, she complained of how her sneakers had got soaked (someone – jokingly – suggested that she be “accidentally slipped off” a precipice).

After what seemed like an eternity we made it back to the lodge at 5.30pm, to the specious sympathy and latent hilarity of the other expedition. Hristo Kamenov, a member of that, described how the route to the Water Holes Cave parallelled the one to Mt Botev, but at the same elevation as the chalet, about 1400 metres. They too traversed thick forests and negotiated their way over tricky mountain streams.

Their final destination had been a deep cavern with a stream gushing forth from its mouth. According to a diagram at the entrance, it wound its way in the mountainside for a total of 813 metres, and was home to beetles, false scorpions and 12 species of bats. Curious as they were, no one proceed any further because the sign said not to. “We did not want to disturb the animals, nor the cave ceilings above,” Hristo said. He added that 15 minutes after they returned to the lodge, the rain began.

It continued all night. The next morning, the guests awoke to find the upper part of the mountains largely blanketed in white, with slushy snowflakes falling in our vicinity.

This soon turned into raindrops. “This is the earliest it has ever snowed here,” said the 59-year old George.

September snow
Under such adverse conditions, Todor called off all planned hikes and excursions. “We may be confined here for the rest of our stay,” he informed us. So we spend the better part of the day lounging around in the communal hall, watching the travel show Globust – this time taking place in sunny Antalya, Turkey – listening to Desislava CDs, munching on peanuts and chocolate, sipping coffee and soda, lighting up cigarettes, playing poker and talking nonsense. They would not let us drive the snow plough though. The kids, meanwhile, preoccupied themselves by drawing pictures and doing colourings and paintings of the world around them.

The ennui was lifted that evening with an alpine banquet. As the college was footing the bill, everyone ordered the deluxe tomato, cucumber, pepper and onion salad, topped with white sirene cheese. Kebabche, chicken fillet and kyufte barbequed in the fireplace soon followed.

And most crucially of all, bottles and bottles of plum and apricot rakiya and grape wine. If the past few days had been a great learning experience in geography and ecology, this night proved so in human nature. Sufficed to say, by 10pm, it became abundantly clear why our students had not been invited to join along with us on this trip.

The following Sunday morning, under nice, clear skies, we departed using the longer, circuitous route. The cold held up, however, and everyone had on their winter coats. The highlight of this march occurred when someone spotted a glossy black and yellow salamander, about eight cm long.

Towards the bottom, our progress was blocked a gully whose wooden bridge had collapsed. Antranik Manukyan, a student co-ordinator, offered a solution. “Ivailo, as the tallest person here, you lay down on both ends of the gulch, so we can continue our way.” A shallow pass was soon located.

Back at our starting point we found our luggage, but no bus. As it were, the driver, in the aftermath of Friday’s torrential rains, and in light of what had happened to a busload of school children in Montenegro in 2004, decided against driving up the final three km leg of winding road and narrow bridges.

Thus we all hauled our gear down to the safe zone, this time no one poking fun at Elena Yurchenko and her husband’s wheeled suitcases, the type normally seen the lobbies of five-star hotels. Along the way we munched on roadside raspberries, and upon arriving at the bus park raided some apple orchids. Stopping at a roadside restaurant near Veliko Turnovo, everyone emerged in T-shirts.

Pleven Chalet: +359 48 954 091
Kailashka Dolina Tourism Society: +359 64 801 400
Apriltsi Municipal Tourism Office: +359 69 583 249, www.apriltsi.net