A few years ago, my mother discovered that she hugely enjoyed caves. I don’t recall exactly which cave cemented this opinion in her mind, but it now sits quite firmly, and it’s something she seems to think of whenever she thinks of going anywhere. I believe I feel the same way about hills. I may have mentioned the hills of bath, of which I climbed as many as I could. I’ve never been sorry to climb a hill, even if, sticky and lugging my jacket I reach the top only to find the view mostly obscured by buildings, or really not that good anyway, or that it’s not so much a hill as a rise, or that there was a free tram that I could have taken, or any number of other potentially disappointing things, it’s always worthwhile.And this trip has shown me that the nations of Europe and it’s surrounds have a significant edge over Canada in this regard. At home, hills within cities are very often mostly colonized by wealthy people, who build upon them flashy modern homes composed mostly of glass. There are many exceptions of course, but these are almost universally parks, which often have good views, but are basically just grass and some trees. Pleasant, but not inspiring.

But here.

Here the hills were colonized long before even very wealthy folks had access to glass at all, and compensated by building towering fortresses of stone, or, if they were more worried about salvation after the hordes overran their little fiefdom than the actual overrunning of it, a church. Or a monastery. Or a mosqe. So it is with great anticipation that I trekked up one of Plovdiv’s seven hills (Rome Rome Rome). This was a good decision, that led to a questionable one, that was entirely worth it. The hill was indeed well populated with churches of varying style, including some showing Ottoman influence, especially in the outbuildings, which actually works really well. There was also a rather magnificent Roman (probably) theatre on one of the hillsides, with the stage partially restored. Sadly fenced in by epic bars which I was too cheap to pay to pass, but still lovely. And then the coup de grâce.

Behind a small chapel, I found an old stone staircase, which led up to a walled building, and then more up, to nearly the crest of the hill. and perched on this small plateau was the roofless, partially collapsed remains of a three-storey redbrick building. It had two large balconies on the back, facing the path, and not a door or window left. It was covered with graffiti, of which my photos attempt to do justice, adn the ground was littered with empty bottles of all kinds, and covered in a mix of demolition grit and shattered glass from window panes and beer bottles. It appeared to be empty.

At this point I hesitated, silly I know, but still. I didn’t really know much about Bulgaria or Plovdiv, spoke none of the language, and no one knew where I was. At home, abandoned buildings covered with graffiti are usually found near the docks, surrounded by chain link, and are generally not the kind of place you wander into alone carrying nothing but your fancy camera. On the other hand, it was very quiet, and I really wanted to go inside. So onward. I made some attempt to move quietly, but was so often distracted that I spent half the time crunching large shards of glass into the concrete floor. The place was fascinating. Missing large pieces of wall, it nonetheless had a somewhat makeshift staircase to the second floor, which, after thoroughly exploring the first, I obviously ascended. The third floor seemed unreachable, probably for the best, but I spent many minutes pacing about, clicking away, and taking in the 270 degree views of the city from the front porch and rear balconies. I considered sitting a while in the weak sunlight, peering through the thinning fog at the city below, but it was possible that this was trespassing, and I figured dangling my feet over the well-to-do passers-by in the central square below was perhaps unwise.

Obviously the city must condone this place, for some reason. Maybe a spot for the kids to tag and party, maybe for tourists. It was pretty filthy, with a few-half burned logs and many, many bottles attesting to its use as a party spot, but it’s position directly above the most touristy section of town seemed to mean that it was supposed to be as it was. Or maybe not. Things are different here, but any place that leaves unfenced such a remarkable structure where an ignorant tourist could easily get tetanus or fall to their death is well worth exploring.

Also, I dunno why the images are so low quality in gallery… maybe it’s just for me, but there’s a view full size button if not.