I am Kalina, founder of This is Bulgaria.
My story begins far from the country whose name I now carry in my work, my heart, and my future. For many years, I lived in Sweden—a land of calm order, pale winters, and quiet beauty. It was a place where life followed a steady rhythm, where each season had its gentle shift, and where summer felt like a brief, precious miracle after months of darkness.
Yet, no matter how settled my life seemed, every year there came a moment when my inner compass turned south. With the first warm days of July, I would return to Bulgaria—the land of my birth, my earliest memories, and my deepest sense of belonging. Those visits were never just holidays. They were homecomings. Acts of reconnection. Moments of remembering exactly who I was and where I came from.
Bulgaria would greet me with a sensory embrace I could never find elsewhere. The sunlight here was unlike anywhere else—golden, fierce, almost touchable as it spilled across the slopes of the Balkan mountains. The air was heavy with the scent of ripe peaches, still warm from the orchard, and fresh bread from the village oven. The sounds carried stories of both past and present: the chatter in the market square, the rooster crowing at dawn, and the timeless call of folk melodies that seemed to rise from the earth itself.
Every trip reminded me of the Bulgaria I wanted the world to see: the openhearted people who would greet me with a smile and, before I had even taken a seat, a plate of homemade food. The layers of history—Thracian ruins, Ottoman stonework, Soviet mosaics—all coexisting in a single landscape.The vitality of traditions: the rose harvest in Kazanlak, the Kukeri dancers in winter, the quiet rituals that mark each season. The landscapes—mountains, forests, golden beaches, and endless fields of sunflowers, turning their faces to the sun.
But each time I left, I felt the absence more sharply. A week or two was never enough. The pull of this place, its people, and its way of life became stronger every year. At some point, the idea stopped being a passing dream. It became a decision. I no longer wanted to simply visit Bulgaria—I wanted to live here. To invest my days, my work, my energy into the land that had shaped me.
Leaving Sweden was not easy. It meant stepping away from stability and comfort, from routines that had held me for years. But I wasn’t walking away from something so much as walking toward something richer—something that couldn’t be measured in material terms. I was walking toward belonging.
This is Bulgaria was born from that leap. It is my tribute to a country that too often hides its brilliance behind modesty, a country that the world often misunderstands or overlooks. My goal is to change that—not with clichés or perfect postcard images, but with real stories. Stories that reveal Bulgaria from the inside out: its depth, its diversity, and its truth.
I want to show Bulgaria as I know it. The light breaking over the rooftops of Veliko Tarnovo at sunrise. The hum of the potter’s wheel in Troyan. The shepherd guiding his flock through the Pirin mountains. The clinking of glasses over a village table, where every dish has a story and every story carries history.
This is not a travel blog. It is not about checklists or itineraries. It is something far more personal: a reimagining of Bulgaria’s image from within. My audience is not only the curious traveler, but also the Bulgarian who may have stopped noticing the beauty all around them.
I believe in a Bulgaria of warmth and wisdom, where hospitality is not a gesture but a way of life. I believe in a Bulgaria of resilience, shaped by centuries of change but still holding fast to its language, music, and identity. I believe in a Bulgaria of beauty—not just in its landscapes, but in its people, its rhythms, and its traditions.
Through This is Bulgaria, I share photography, films, interviews, and written stories that celebrate the country’s richness. I seek the artisans who keep ancient crafts alive, the farmers who work the soil with love, and the young visionaries who are building a modern Bulgaria while honoring their roots.
My mission is simple yet profound: to make people look again. To look past the headlines, beyond the stereotypes, and into the living heart of this place. To see what I see—a country of contrasts, traditions, and a generosity of spirit rare in our modern world.
So I invite you to walk with me. Step into the villages. Wander the mountains. Dance in the squares. Taste the bread. Let the music settle into your bones. Whether you are discovering Bulgaria for the first time or rediscovering it after years away, I hope my work will help you fall in love—perhaps for the first time, perhaps all over again.
This is Bulgaria.
And it’s worth knowing.