Introduction: Where Ancient and Modern Worlds Intersect
Stara Zagora. Just speaking the name aloud seems to conjure the echo of ancient cobblestones from some distant memory. Located in south-central Bulgaria, this quiet city of approximately 150,000 inhabitants is known as one of Europe’s oldest settlements, with 8,000 years of history etched into its very foundations.
At the city’s heart lie the Roman ruins of Augusta Traiana, buried beneath modern buildings like chapters in a book where time itself has been layered upon time. The Sredna Gora Mountains draw elegant ridgelines to the north, while the fertile Thracian Plain spreads southward. Close to the famous rose-growing region of Kazanlak, the city is said to be perfumed with the sweet fragrance of roses when spring arrives.
I chose Stara Zagora as my destination because I was drawn to its modest demeanor. Neither a major city like Sofia or Plovdiv, nor a Black Sea resort, but a place that continues to mark time quietly yet steadily. Here, I thought, I might truly touch the heart of Bulgaria.
The landscape reveals itself in gentle undulations—rolling hills dotted with Orthodox church spires, communist-era apartment blocks standing alongside 19th-century revival architecture, and tree-lined boulevards that speak of both socialist planning and ancient trade routes. This is a city where every street corner holds the possibility of stumbling upon Roman mosaics or medieval foundations, where the past isn’t preserved behind glass but lives alongside the present in daily life.
Day 1: Arrival and First Encounters with Old Bulgaria
After a two-and-a-half-hour bus journey from Sofia, I arrived in Stara Zagora just past 10 AM. The walk from the bus terminal to the city center took about fifteen minutes, leading through residential neighborhoods until suddenly opening onto a beautiful tree-lined avenue. Consulting my map, I realized this was Tsar Simeon I Boulevard.
The street presented a fascinating mixture of socialist-era architecture and traditional Bulgarian buildings. Neither style was particularly ornate, yet each possessed its own distinctive character. Morning light bathed the building facades gently, giving the entire city a peaceful expression.
My accommodation, Hotel Verea, was a small family-run establishment in the city center. Maria, a middle-aged woman who greeted me at reception with friendly if imperfect English, lit up when she learned I was from Japan. “Japanese? I love sushi!” she exclaimed in broken Japanese, her enthusiasm bridging any language barriers.
My room on the third floor corner offered views of the central square, Eski Dzhamiya, where a former Ottoman mosque now served as a museum. After settling in, I immediately set out to explore the city.
Lunch was at Restaurant “Stara Zagora,” recommended by a local. Pushing through heavy wooden doors, I entered a dimly lit interior where traditional folk music played softly. The walls were decorated with Bulgarian textiles and musical instruments, creating the warm atmosphere of being welcomed into someone’s grandmother’s home.
I ordered moussaka and shopska salad, accompanied by local wine. Bulgarian moussaka differs from its Greek counterpart, layering potatoes and minced meat in a more rustic preparation. The first bite revealed spiced meat flavors mingling with the gentle sweetness of potatoes. The shopska salad, with its combination of tomatoes, cucumbers, and white cheese, provided a refreshing counterpoint to the hearty moussaka.
After the meal, a young waiter named Dimitar approached with halting English. He was studying history at university, he told me. “This city is old, but tourists are few. So you can see real Bulgaria,” he said proudly.
The afternoon was devoted to the city’s most famous attraction: the ruins of the ancient Roman city Augusta Traiana. Now preserved as a museum, the site contains residential remains, roads, and sewage systems from the 1st-2nd centuries. Descending underground, I found myself in cool air surrounded by stone building foundations.
An elderly guide explained in fluent German (my German was elementary, but sufficient). Discovered during 1960s excavations, these ruins vividly illustrate the daily lives of ancient residents. Mosaic floor tiles in geometric patterns retained their beautiful colors after 1,800 years.
The adjacent Archaeological Museum houses artifacts from the Neolithic period through medieval times. Most striking were pottery fragments dating back 8,000 years. These simple yet skillfully crafted vessels represented one of humanity’s earliest civilizations.
Evening found people gathering in the central square. Elderly men played chess on benches while children played around the fountain. Though the scene was universal, it carried the distinctive peaceful rhythm unique to this city.
Dinner was at “Mehana Stariyat,” a small tavern near my hotel. When owner Petar learned I was traveling alone, he prepared special local dishes known only to residents: kebapche (Bulgarian-style meatballs), banitsa (cheese-filled pastry), and homemade rakiya (traditional Bulgarian brandy).
The rakiya was potent but refined, with plum aromas delicately perfuming the palate. “This recipe came from my father. I’ve been making it the same way for forty years,” Petar declared with pride.
Walking back to the hotel through the evening streets, I happened upon a small church. Saint Dimitar Church, built in the 19th century, was an Orthodox church whose doors stood open, allowing beautiful hymn singing to drift out. It was evening prayer time.
I paused before the church, listening to those sacred voices. Though I couldn’t understand the Bulgarian lyrics, the depth of faith and yearning for peace transcended language. In that moment, I felt I had truly become one of the city’s residents.
Day 2: Seeking Harmony Between Nature and Culture
Morning began with a traditional Bulgarian breakfast in the hotel’s small dining room: dark bread with honey and yogurt, plus local cheese. Simple ingredients, yet each flavor remained distinct in its rustic deliciousness. The Turkish coffee Maria prepared was rich and aromatic—a perfect start to the day.
During the morning, I took a fifteen-minute bus ride to the Berenyi district, a small park nestled behind residential areas that serves as a local gathering place. A small pond occupied the park’s center, where ducks swam lazily.
Sitting on a bench watching the pond, I was approached by an elderly gentleman who introduced himself as Nikolai, a retired teacher who made daily morning visits to read in the park. He spoke some English.
“This city has changed. It used to be quieter. But people are still kind. We’re happy when travelers like you visit,” he said with a warm smile. In his hands was a poetry collection written in Bulgarian.
“This is by my friend—poems about this city,” he explained, reading aloud a verse. The Bulgarian sounds were melancholy and beautiful. “Translation changes the meaning, but it’s about love for one’s hometown,” Nikolai clarified.
Lunch was at a cafeteria near the market—not tourist-oriented, but where local workers ate. The entire menu was in Bulgarian, requiring gestures to order.
The meal consisted of sarmi (cabbage leaves stuffed with meat), Bulgarian soup, and a small salad. The sarmi had the gentle flavor of home cooking, perfectly balancing cabbage sweetness with meat richness. The vegetable-laden soup warmed me from within.
The cafeteria woman, noticing my struggle with utensils, brought me a fork and asked “Oishii?” in broken Japanese. When I responded with thumbs up and “Oishii desu!”, she clapped her hands with a beaming smile.
The afternoon was spent exploring the Knezha district in the city’s south, a residential area built after World War II featuring socialist realist architecture. The seemingly sterile apartment buildings revealed individual character upon closer inspection, with residents taking care to maintain their beauty.
Balconies bloomed with colorful flowers, laundry fluttered in the breeze, children played in courtyards while mothers chatted. It possessed a different charm from the historical districts.
Evening brought a visit to the Regional History Museum, Stara Zagora’s iconic 19th-century building housing precious exhibits telling the region’s cultural story.
The folk costume collection was particularly memorable. Intricately embroidered garments represented techniques passed down through generations of local women. Red and white geometric patterns, each subtly different, expressed the distinctive characteristics of individual families and villages.
Elena, the museum curator, provided detailed explanations. She had studied Bulgarian history at university, specializing in Thracian culture. “These costumes aren’t merely clothing. Our ancestors’ souls are woven into them,” she said passionately.
Dinner was at “Restaurant Bulgaria,” one of Stara Zagora’s oldest establishments. The 1920s building maintained its original heavy, atmospheric interior.
I ordered muzaka (Bulgarian-style grilled meat) with potatoes and local beer. The charcoal-grilled lamb was aromatic and tender, while rosemary and garlic-seasoned potatoes complemented the meat perfectly.
Local men at the neighboring table were celebrating a friend’s birthday. Noticing me, they gestured for a toast. “Na zdrave!” (Cheers!) they called, and I raised my glass high in response.
As night deepened and city lights gradually dimmed, this city’s warmth remained undimmed, deeply etching itself into my heart.
Day 3: Farewell and New Beginnings
On my final morning, I woke early to witness the city’s dawn expression. At 6 AM, venturing into the still-dim streets, I found people already active: a baker arranging fresh bread in his storefront, a cleaning woman tidying the streets.
When sunrise emerged from behind eastern mountains, the entire city was painted gold. Light striking building walls created an almost divine atmosphere. I sat on a central square bench, trying to preserve this beautiful moment in memory as long as possible.
After breakfast and checkout, I left my luggage at the hotel and set out for a final walk. First, I visited the Church of the Holy Virgin, a small 18th-century Orthodox church serving as the local faith center.
Inside, an elderly woman was praying before icons. Her figure seemed to embody both deep faith and life’s accumulated wisdom. I too offered quiet prayers, expressing gratitude for the encounters and experiences of these days.
My morning concluded at the city market, the hub of local life where fresh vegetables, fruits, handmade cheeses, and honey were sold. Rose-scented soaps and traditional textile crafts were also displayed.
At a small shop run by an elderly woman, I purchased handmade rose soap. “This is made from real roses using my mother’s recipe,” she explained proudly. The soap’s elegant fragrance would serve as a talisman carrying memories of this journey.
Lunch returned me to “Restaurant Stara Zagora” from my first day. Reflecting on three days of travel, I ordered the same dishes. The moussaka tasted unchanged from day one, but my perception had definitely evolved—it now carried the familiarity of belonging to this city.
Waiter Dimitar remembered me: “My Japanese friend! You came back!” he smiled. He shared that he was now writing a university paper on ancient Bulgarian history. “I plan to include the ruins you visited,” he said, eyes shining.
The afternoon brought a final return to Augusta Traiana. Viewed from a different angle, new discoveries emerged. From these ancient Roman residential remains, their lives came vividly to mind. Seeing underfloor heating systems and plumbing, I was amazed by technology that would be adequate even today.
The museum receptionist remembered me. “You came again. Did you like these ruins?” she asked familiarly. “I loved everything about this city,” I replied.
As evening approached and bus departure time neared, I collected my luggage from the hotel and bid farewell to Maria. She presented me with a small paper bag containing homemade cookies. “Eat these during your journey. Please come again,” she said with a warm smile.
Walking to the bus terminal, I took one final look around the city. Tsar Simeon I Boulevard’s tree-lined avenue, the central square fountain, Saint Dimitar Church’s bell tower—none were particularly beautiful perhaps, yet during these three days they had been carved into my heart as precious places.
Just before the bus departed, I spotted Dimitar outside my window. Waving his hands, he shouted loudly, “Please come again!” I waved back through the window.
As the bus pulled away from Stara Zagora, I reflected on the past three days: the weight of history felt among ancient Roman ruins, beautiful folk costumes in the museum, the warmth of home-cooked meals in restaurants, and above all, the kindness of the city’s people.
Conclusion: What Was Felt Despite Being Imaginary
This journey was a product of imagination. I have never actually visited Stara Zagora, nor met Maria, Dimitar, Nikolai, or Uncle Petar. The moussaka at Restaurant “Stara Zagora,” the rose soap from the market, the hymns heard in church—all were imagined experiences.
Yet strangely, these experiences carry genuine weight in my heart. Stara Zagora’s character, the warmth of Bulgarian people, the historical depth told by ancient Roman ruins, the rustic deliciousness of traditional cuisine—all remain in memory with the vividness of actual experience.
Perhaps this is because the city’s attractions are far from fictional. An 8,000-year-old ancient settlement, Roman ruins, Bulgarian traditional culture, and above all, people’s warm hospitality—these all truly exist.
Even imaginary travel can lead to understanding a place’s essence and touching the hearts of its inhabitants. This might be travel’s true value. Physical presence isn’t the only form of travel—feeling a place with one’s heart and contemplating the lives of its people is another valid form of journey.
These three days in Stara Zagora became an unforgettable experience. Knowing it was imaginary travel, it will remain as genuine memory in my heart. And someday, given the opportunity, I would like to truly visit this city. It would surely be even more wonderful than I imagined.
