The short answer is … I don’t know. In the same way that I don’t understand Bulgarian musical taste.
While the resort of Sunny Beach is resoundingly German, most of the music here is reassuringly British, just stuck in the past. And it’s miserable, just like the British.
What sort of music might you expect to hear in holiday bars? School’s Out For Summer? Walking on Sunshine? Summer Holiday? Anything by The Beach Boys?
So why do I hear Zombie by Delores O’Riordan and the Cranberries? Or Hazard by Richard Marx? Or Without You by Harry Nilsson? Or Missing by Rodney Trotter in a frock?
Perhaps it’s because the season is coming to an end and Sunny Beaches’ combined bars and restaurants are mourning their losses. Or perhaps it’s because they don’t understand what the lyrics mean …
This may be the case with Zombie …
Another head hangs lowly,
Child is slowly taken.
And the violence caused such silence,
Who are we mistaken?
But you see, it’s not me, it’s not my family.
In your head, in your head they are fighting,
With their tanks and their bombs,
And their bombs and their guns.
In your head, in your head, they are crying…
In your head, in your head,
Zombie, zombie, zombie,
Hey, hey, hey.
What’s in your head,
In your head,
Zombie, zombie, zombie?
Hey, hey, hey, hey, oh, dou, dou, dou, dou, dou…
Another mother’s breakin’,
Heart is taking over.
When the vi’lence causes silence,
We must be mistaken.
It’s the same old theme since nineteen-sixteen.
In your head, in your head they’re still fighting,
With their tanks and their bombs,
And their bombs and their guns.
In your head, in your head, they are dying…
In your head, in your head,
Zombie, zombie, zombie,
Hey, hey, hey.
What’s in your head,
In your head,
Zombie, zombie, zombie?
Hey, hey, hey, hey, oh, oh, oh,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, hey, oh, ya, ya-a…
Not really the holiday spirit is it?
I hate this song, not least because it’s played almost constantly by Absolute Radio in the UK (they seem to be the only radio station in the world which does). So why is it played by the hotel’s Pizza Restaurant every morning, almost like clockwork?
Later they follow up with the Greatest Hits of Tina Turner and play “Let’s Stay in Love” at full volume. What comes next I don’t know. Strange Fruit? We’ve usually headed off to the beach by that time.
Despite all this, the Bulgarians seem very chirpy, even the street vendors/beggars. We’ve discovered the best way to deflect their attentions is to say firmly: “Nein Danke!” and move on. They seem to have greater respect for the Germans. Or is it because Germans are by nature very direct and Brits equivocate and eventually give in for a quiet life?
On the bus to go sight-seeing in Nessebar yesterday, I definitely didn’t want to be thought of as British. A fellow “countryman” was explaining to a party of Germans which bus to catch. They didn’t speak English and he certainly didn’t speak German, but he was convinced that by omitting a few words here and there and speaking very S-l-o-w-l-y he could make them understand perfectly.
I was torn between cringing and laughing out loud at this stereotype brought to grisly life, and when we got off the bus I wanted to walk up to the German guy and apologise. But I didn’t. Of course I didn’t, I’m British. I’d be far too embarrassed.
Then of course there are the Russians. They approach the resort with a bit of swagger. After all, they did used to own this place, did they not? Or is it a new-found confidence now that they can switch Europe’s gas off any time they feel like it?
There certainly seems to be some “history” between the locals and the Russians akin to the British in India.
Apparently the next village up the coast is now run for the Russian Mafia. And we saw a bloke in a rather pretty restaurant in Nessebar yesterday who wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Bond movie.
Last night, we finally got the meal times sorted, switching to the earlier sitting so we wouldn’t feel so bloated and could get back to the serious business of drinking: wine, beer and four Orgasms (that’s a rather good cocktail by the way).
Today, it’s back to the beach smothered in blue factor 30 sun cream which squirts from the bottle looking for all the world like Smurf cum (pictures NSFW on request).
Next time: The economics of peeing in the sea, and where do London bendy-bus drivers go when they retire?
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