Veliko Tarnovo to Vratsa

We continued along the E772 passing Sevlievo and on to the small town of Ablanitsa where we diverted north on the road designated No. 35 to Pleven. The leg from Veliko Tarnovo to Ablanitsa offered magnficant views of the snow clad mountains to the south of us.
We had arranged to meet the estate agent, through whom we had purchased our yet unseen house, in a hotel in Pleven. Good to his word he arrived on time and after taking light refreshments in the Orbital Palace Hotel, we set forth to the small village of Popitsa, some sixty kilometres away along the No.13 road.
Incidentally the hotel Orbital Palace is situated in a most beautiful setting; an elevated position in a nature park amongst forests and lakes. I wished that I could have stayed longer but the agent who appeared to be in a hurry instructed us to follow his car and off we went. Now my son, who had up to this point been driving, is not a slow driver but the agent whose Bulgarian name probably translated to Michael Schumacher, left us standing. Within seconds, his vehicle was a rapidly diminishing spot in the far horizon.
Somehow we managed to stay with him and by more luck than judgement, finally pulled up behind him in front of our new house. Immediately, a friendly neighbour, grazing nearby, came over to welcome us into the neighborhood. After unlocking the property and showing us around, the agent sped off to his next 'Grand Prix', leaving us to lock up. The front gate was secured by a chain and lock and whilst the lock, which was heavily rusted, had opened with little difficulty, there was no way that it could be re-locked.
After wrestling with it for a while I had to admit defeat. Minutes later, the next door neighbour arrived on the scene. He had probably witnessed my efforts and heard some choice expletives; fortunately he was unable to understand a word of english. Taking the offending lock from me, he indicated that I should accompany him into his house. The fellow must have been, or certainly looked to be, at least seventy years old and was propped up by a pair of crutches. Shouting some words in Bulgarian, his wife and who I took to be his father, emerged from the house. The very old man, got to work on the lock with some lub oil whilst the wife produced some glasses and two bottles of drink. One contained home made raki and the other home made wine. My son politely refused as he was driving. They therefore insisted that I should drink his ration as well and before long I was as well oiled as the lock. What hospitality. These villagers have little wealth but their hearts are generous and I felt humbled at their sincere kindliness. After several farewells and several 'one for the roads' we finally got underway. We needed to reach Vratsa before dark.