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About Burgas

Her eyes tho, mate, sharp as me axe. Cuts through ya, reckon she’s seen some shit. Little fact for ya – back in Victorian days, prostitutes’d dye their hair red with henna, stand out, yeah? Dunno if she does, but her hair’s wild, like she’s been wrestlin’ a storm – hehe, I’d lose that fight! Gets me all giddy thinkin’ bout her struttin’, smokin’ a fag, blowin’ rings like she owns the street. “I’m an oilman, ladies and gentlemen!” – nah, she’s the oil, slippin’ through fingers, can’t catch her.

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The town’s a weird blend of old-world charm and unexpected grit. You got streets like ul. „Ivan Vazov“ and ul. „Todor Alexandrov“. They're narrow, sometimes cobbled, kinda like a maze but less fun, more “everybody lies” kinda vibe. Seriously, half the locals will say it’s charming while secretly trashing it behind closed doors.

‘Torchlight, shedding light on the violent opacity of the European border regime’