A marriage proposal was not what I had expected from a spring weekend in Dobrinishte.

Some friends and I had decided to benefit from the Easter holiday and escape Sofia. Being narrow-gauge railroad (теснолинейката) aficionados, our destination was somewhat guided by where the train would go. We decided to take it the whole five-plus hours that its line lasts, from Septemvri to Dobrinishte, near Bansko.

Leaving Sofia on Friday morning, we opted for the 10.30am train to Septemvri (a standard-gauge) as opposed to what my friend labelled the “hard-core” departure: 6.30am (check times of trains at www.bdz.bg). Once the first leg was done, we had about 45 minutes before our green-waggoned adventure really started. (As a side note, Septemvri itself has old-fashioned small-town appeal, for me at least, though I could not state any true tourist attraction.)

Waiting in front of the station for those few minutes, we encountered a gypsy family waiting. I noticed that the little boy was holding something squirming: a puppy (not a rat, as I first thought). And though not one for animals, I just had to hold it, and he let me, and then tried to sell it to me for 10 leva. Right. So I left and wandered the town and bought some local honey sold in an old babyfood jar (complete with rusted lid, but it was good honey - the lady encouraged my sampling) and took photos of the spring blooms. And then it was time to board. (So you know, contrary to signage, the water at the station is perfectly fine to drink.)

We broke out the rakiya and hard-boiled eggs (to the horror of our Bulgarian friend, as tradition dictates saving them for Easter day) early. The one other person in our waggon besides us (we were five guys (four Americans and the token Bulgarian) and me) either descended or just moved away at the first stop; we were a bit too unconventional for him. Nothing bad, just cracking jokes, discussing religion, noting the number of shining mosques in otherwise humble villages, and hanging out the side of the train for some ripping photo shoots. (The train goes slow enough that there is no danger.)

Five hours later, we arrived in Dobrinishte (whose name comes from the word “dobro”, or “good”). Though we knew that there should be guest houses or rooms for rent or small family hotels, the only thing we could find online for a reasonable price was the communist-era Hotel Dobrinishte (Tel: 07447 2120), located at the centre of the town square. It was serviceable, if lacking charm, and for the price, it was super (68 leva/person for three nights, breakfast daily and Easter dinner).

Hearing that there was a public mineral bath in town, I set out to find a bathing suit, ending up with a sparkly maroon tanktop from a second-hand store and a pair of boy’s briefs. Then we found out that men and women go in separate chambers, and nude. (According to the sign, the spa is open daily from 6am to 9pm, or from 7am to 6pm on Sundays, and cost one to three leva for entrance.) Though I never did go, my friends gave their approval of the facilities.

It was on the swimsuit hunt that the winding streets led me to other parts of the town. A lover of old buildings, I was taking photos, when a group of men around a table (complete with folk music blasting out of a window above) spotted and hailed me. Accepting their invitation to sit down, I was poured a glass of rakiya (traditional Bulgarian brandy) by the grinning dyado (grandpa) to my left. The man on my right handed me a fork, indicating the plate of loukanka sausage and chopped cucumber and tomatoes. The first question came: “Are you buying a house? I have one to sell, right there, across the street. It has four bedrooms, a kitchen, an indoor bathroom, running water and a cellar. Do you want to buy it? Are you a real estate agent?”

Across the table, this was followed by: “Why are you here?” Me: “Holiday, and I like old buildings, historic preservation and culture.” Man: “Do you want to get married?” Me: “No” (followed by a death-bequeathing look). He, and they, did not get the hint, or could not understand that, no, I was not going to marry the nasty man staring at me, no matter how much tongue he showed me, and that, no, I was not going to buy a house, and no, we already had a hotel.

I left.

On the recommendation of our Bulgarian friend, we went to Makedonska Kruchma for dinner, where satisfying portions of traditional food and atmosphere greet people of all ages.

I decided to retire at midnight, while the guys played table football and arcade amusements in the hotel’s games room.

Through the hotel, for 50 leva we were able to hire a van and driver the next day to drive us up (and back) to the lift at Bezbog Peak, 12km from Dobrinishte. Right as we arrived, the lift had an electricity failure; we decided to hike up on foot. But there was still snow, and navigating a ski piste was dull, so three of us decided to walk the distance back, which made for a pleasant-turn-hot afternoon walk. But the crocus were blooming and there was shade at parts and the air was fresh and the talk was engaging.

After dinner at Babouch Mehana (much better in atmosphere and food than the previous night), we headed up to the church for the traditional midnight Easter service and procession. It is events like this, in which people are brought together for a blessed celebration, that make you appreciate, though all its problems, life.

The new life that Easter gave we chose to fete in the nearby Eleshnitsa, driven the 20 minutes there and back by the same man as the day before (35 leva).

The spirit of Bulgaria lives through its song: on this day, Bulgaria was alive and hopping. The drum, clarinet and horn of the gypsy band had started before we arrived at 9.30am. The koukeri (traditional mummers) were still dressing, so a friend and I took a stroll through the sleepy lanes. A baba (granny) greeted us on the street; I was barely able to form a response, for the mysteriousness of her patois.

The crowds built up, the koukeri danced, jumped, shook their goat-hairy, belled costumes, often without the head-covering, because it was hot outside. Around them girls, boys, women and men danced the horo, the chain, the circle, in a connection with ages here, past and future.

Mid-morning, another group came from across the river: I had never seen Bulgarians dressed in drag, and can say that it was amusing to behold. We would later learn that the three districts of the village each participate with their own koukeri/music/dancers/spectacle, presented and judged in the town square.

Following a lazy afternoon at a triangle-corner cafe back in Dobrinishte and quiet time in our rooms, some of us wandered the streets, noting the occurrences of traditional architecture and tools. We passed one house advertising eidelweiss, and ringing the doorbell, were greeted by an enthusiastic older man who sold it pressed and dried, complete with extensive retelling of an accompanying legend.

Roast lamb, plenty of wine and rakiya, and horo-dancing provided the blissful cap to our trip. The next morning, unclear of how exactly to return to Sofia (the bus did not always stop in Dobrinishte, as the station was under reconstruction; we did not want to take the train), we decided to make the best of it and play it by ear. Luckily, it worked and we were home by mid-afternoon.

Note that in many cases, if we had not been able to speak Bulgarian, the weekend might not have gone as smoothly.

Trips like this teach you, if not remind you again, that travelling really is all about the people. And you never know; that next marriage proposal might just be from mister right.