What seems different to other parts of Central Europe is experiencing the presence of that history in the form of architectural ruins from all of these periods, right up to, and including, the present, as well as finding evidence of it in the construction and reconstruction of Bulgarian identity through its major warps in continuity: independence, communism and capitalism, all of which took place within little more than a single century. Decaying houses from the National Revival period, crumbling social facilities, disused factories and abandoned, half-finished projects from the communist era together with speculative, market-economy white elephants. This is the first time I have had the opportunity to experience, albeit superficially, a country in the process of constructing a modern identity at the same time as it is trying to deal with an immediate past in which, with other purposes in mind, a diametrically customised version of history was propagated.

And on top of this there are the business borders introduced by a new economic structure — the extent of ‘EVN country’. It is also strange how quickly both L and I have got used to looking at it like that — power cables, pylons, electric meters (frequently on the outside of the houses), enterprising if adventurous solutions to household electrics and the calligraphic loops and sweeps of overhead wires engaged in a festival of improvised wiring.

In the middle of mulling this over we reach the medieval fortress of Asenova krepost high up on a rocky outcrop. I climb up to the top in baking heat, feeling a bit ‘mad doggish’, look at the church which is literally perched on a spur overhanging the road below on the way up, and get a very good view back down the valley to Asenovgrad, no longer envious of the others resting in the shade below.

We continue to the village of Bachkovo and visit the monastery there. The way up is lined with souvenir stalls. The interior courtyard has murals on the walls and a sign that forbids image-making of any kind. I hold to the letter of the law and photograph a painting under the arches of the entrance to a small church and away from the ‘main attraction’.

The road is now winding steadily upwards through a wooded valley, shadowing the River Chepelarska. In places where the valley widens and the river has more freedom of movement there is a great deal of stranded debris — broken, tree-sized branches as well as man-made objects, signs of serious flooding in the recent past. Timber trucks and saw mills are the frequent, and apparently almost only, industry here.

After a while we come to a junction — it is not only the intersection of the road with a side road, it also means that we are following the valley of the Erkyupryia River, a tributary of the Chepelarska. This leads us to the so-called ‘wonderful bridges’ — natural spans over the rock-eating river. It is a little cooler up here. L and I go for a walk over a small, flower-fringed meadow enclosed in a precipitous forest.