Still singing Graceland in my head

I don't understand how I misunderstood so completely. I thought I was signing up for a little boat with a few other people, like the one I was on yesterday. (Why do I never listen when people talk to me?) It turned out to be a huge boat full of old Bulgarians in a tour group, plus a make-out couple. And me. Pretty much the opposite of finding a fisherman to give me a ride in his boat. The old Bulgarians were kind of hilarious, actually, once I got over the fact that I was on a boat with a tour group. They kept speaking loudly and slowly in Bulgarian to the Romanian boat crew. One of them brought an accordion (she was pretty good, too) and they were singing and, by the end, dancing. This one almost-attractive Bulgarian man kept giving me "How you doin'?"-type looks and offering me cigarettes, but otherwise they ignored me and I listened to the music and watched the birds in something like peace. Today's trip was basically a longer version of yesterday's, only this time with beer and pelicans (the Bulgarian word for pelican is pelican, it seems) and without the thunderstorm. And, with Bulgarian dancing.

On another note, the food here in Bulgaria and two days of Romania is good. (Another great sentence from the aspiring travel writer.) It's not life-changing or anything, but tomatoes and cucumbers with feta have grown on me, and the grilled meat and sausage are consistently hearty and flavorful and good. I like the food except for the bread, of all things, which has been consistently terrible. (Some Bulgarian menus have a whole bread section, but that means flatbread which is a whole other thing--it's more like pizza and is actually good.) Bread at a restaurant almost always means a slice or two of stale white bread. Stale. Like, probably only a day or two away from moldy. Sometimes you get rolls, which look better and so get your hopes up, but really are the same stale white bread, only rounder and with more crust. A few towns ago the hostel got fresh bakery bread for breakfast every morning, but even that was not much better than fresh Wonderbread. I don't get it.

Speaking of menus, the one I just ordered from had a cheese section whose English translations included moldy cheese and she-goat cheese. I'm going to be giggling about she-goats for a while.