My mother's roots were firmly planted in Balkantourist, but she had the foresight to venture out and establish her own company in 1991. A few years later, her nephew Cveti (now of Atlas) joined her. Together, they organized tours to European capitals, and provided visa services. She understood that the allure of Bohemia-style bus groups wouldn't entice me, so she devised a more compelling plan.
Right after my sophomore year at university in 1998, she asked me to establish a commercial flight tickets retail division—not alone, but with Cveti, who was two years my senior and already well-versed in travel arrangements. He was the cousin who had introduced to me Depeche Mode, Dead Can Dance, and U2 back in the '80s. Together, we embarked on this venture, a strong family unit bound by trust and ambition.
The most vivid memory from that tumultuous first year (1999) involves two imposing men barging into our office. They warned us sternly, implying that we should have known better than to interfere with Tourist Service clients. They claimed to be sent by none other than Kiril Atsev of Tourist Service himself. I stood at the forefront, listening as fear gripped me. This was still the Wild West era of post-communist Bulgaria.
Then, my mother, Galya, appeared. She listened to their threats with an air of calm authority. With remarkable coolness and confidence, she asked them to leave and never return. She was a small woman, yet her demeanor was so formidable that it seemed she could easily overpower them in a fight. They left, and she returned to her room, resuming her coffee as if nothing had happened. That was the last we ever saw of them.