Queuing

It’s not instinctive for Bulgarians. Traffic brings out the absolute worst in Sofian drivers and you can’t queue at the Migration Directorate without someone asking to cut in because they’ll be ‘really quick’. (Bulgarian bureaucracy is never ‘really quick’). Apparently, there is a system to Bulgarian queuing though: you ask who’s last and then use that person as a marker to see when it’s your turn. After that, you’re free to stand whenever you want. This is agonising for British people who, even when they’re alone, naturally stand at the head of where they’d logically expect a queue to form.

Migration Directorate

There are two booths assigned for foreigners’ visa applications and it’s obligatory that at least one of them is staffed by someone who doesn’t speak a word of English. These booths are right by the door, the entranceway intersecting the queue which is sandwiched between the information desk and the kiosk where you pay so you need to stand firm to hold your place. In this swirling maelstrom of people, you can hear the same stilted and vapid small talk between new foreign arrivals and the Bulgarian handlers that their employers have assigned to them to help navigate the paperwork.

Air Flow

Whenever someone asks if you can open a window, you might manage about ten glorious minutes before someone else asks you to close it again. Or, if you’re fortunate enough to have a classroom with air conditioning, expect to spend a good five minutes at the start of each lesson farting around with the controls until the majority are satisfied. Open a window on public transport and you’re taking your life in your hands. You might think that a nation that’s so hyper-sensitive about catching colds would be extra vigilant about mask-wearing during the pandemic, but you’d be utterly wrong.