Bulgaria

Waking up covered completely with a fluffy, white duvet in a cosy, warm flat I groaned and pulled the cover over my face and tried to flick the alarm off with as little effort as possible. It was 7am and the phone case prevented stopping the alarm that penetrated my sleep and shot me into the waking world with little remorse. I had no excuse, I was supposed to be up to catch the best snow and enjoy whatever powder lines were still intact from the previous night’s snow.

It was a bitterly cold morning in the southern Bulgarian ski town of Bansko and the instant coffee on the balcony had chilled at an alarming pace. In the distance the vague plumes of steam could be seen coming from the figure of a muscular brown horse pulling a cart. On top of the cart was a man with a dark complexion holding the reigns loosely and bobbing up and down as the cart moved forward. The snow was thick with a slight crust on the surface as it had rained a little the previous night.