The Greening of the East

Golf has arrived in Bulgaria (and Russia and Latvia) and along with it Western-style luxury, development and rules of fair play.

By Curtis Gillespie
Photos by Mark Zibert

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On the dramatic cliff shore of the Black Sea, we stood mesmerized by the chanting of two Greek Orthodox priests. At the precise moment they enacted the sign of the cross, a seam opened in the gloomy pewter cloud cover above the Bulgarian earth. Later Georgy Tchucklev, the developer of the property the priests were spritzing with holy water (the future Lighthouse Golf Resort and Spa in Balchik), said, “Yes, of course, the sun came out. This is because God has blessed this project.”

The long-bearded priests continued with their beautiful if unintelligible ululations, though every few minutes the word “golf” could be made out – a word uttered with increasing frequency these days in former communist countries from Bulgaria to Russia and beyond. Ten minutes into the chanting, the priests caught their breath and continued on for another 10 minutes. A crease of worry crossed Tchucklev’s forehead: Didn’t the priests get the memo about the swanky wine and cheese to follow, complete with guest of honour, the course designer Ian Woosnam – this year’s European Ryder Cup captain?

The younger priest took hold of a gem-encrusted crucifix, kissed it, then put it in front of Woosnam’s mouth. He glanced at it nervously but didn’t kiss it. The priests mumbled a few more prayers and closed their bibles. At the wine and cheese, I asked Woosnam what he thought of the groundbreaking. “Bloody hell,” he said, laughing. “These Bulgarians don’t piss about! All I know is that I’d better build a good golf course or I’m damned forever.”

The London offices of the International Management Group (IMG), a massive global sports management and development business, are located in Chiswick in somewhat cheerless buildings that call to mind The Office. In a workspace fantastically overcrowded with binders, I met with Michael Pask, who has been heavily involved in golf’s development in Russia, Latvia, Romania and the Ukraine; and Boyana Scanlan, the woman now helping to bring the sport to Bulgaria.

“The beauty of what’s happening,” said Pask, “is that we see ourselves as almost providing the whole package. You’re creating a sport infrastructure virtually out of nothing. It’s completely unique.”

This is not an exaggeration. There are currently about 150 golfers in Bulgaria, a fact not lost on Scanlan, a Bulgarian émigré who first suggested to Pask that her homeland might be ready for the sport. The landscape was stunning, the climate conducive. But most importantly, she knew of Georgy Tchucklev of Barage Complect and Nikolay Kaloyanov of Balkanstroy, forward-thinking developers (okay, first-generation bald-faced capitalists) who were part of a private sector with the new-found critical mass to support recreational development.

“The Bulgarian government has targeted tourism as the number two segment of the future economy, right behind agriculture,” Scanlan told me. “The former Yugoslavia, Croatia, Albania, Romania, Bulgaria – they can all be excellent golf destinations. We’ll make it happen, I think.”

The “highway” between Sofia, in west central Bulgaria, and Bansko, in the south, is not just a bad stretch of road, it is a terrifying driving experience that makes you think of arrival in terms of starting one’s life afresh: If we make it, I promise that beginning tomorrow... “Georgy,” I said, turning to Tchucklev as we dodged yet another semi-trailer on a narrow mountain pass, “this drive doesn’t seem very safe.”

“Yes,” he said, shaking his head “no,” a habit peculiar to Bulgarians. (Moving the head up and down means “no,” from side to side, “yes.”) “Very dangerous. Very bad.” He pursed his lips, searching for the words in English. “We have, what you say… frustrations with life. Look.” Tchucklev gestured out the window to the crumbling buildings. “So much trouble to make a good living.” He shrugged to evoke the existential anarchy of the Bulgarian roadways. Facing backward in our minivan, staring at Woosnam, I knew we were cheating death when his eyes widened and he clutched the handle of his seat.

Infrastructure is a serious problem confronting Bulgaria and most of the countries once under Soviet influence. It’s not just in disrepair; it could hinder the growth of tourism. Another potential problem, which tourism might help rectify, is the communist hangover. The economies are weak, the environmental situation is bad, the governments are still learning how to govern democratically, crime is a daily consideration. The short-term prospects for the average citizen do not include the phrase “life-altering.” But this is changing: The total economic impact of the Bansko and Balchik projects – both set to open in the spring of 2007 – is $170-million.

After surviving the journey from Sofia, we pulled into the Spa Complex Katarino, which had been open for just a few weeks. It’s the doing of Nikolay Kaloyanov, a soft-spoken man with a shy smile, though he’s never without a swarthy entourage seemingly straight off the set of The Sopranos. The Katarino seemed to symbolize the ambition of the new Bulgarian private sector: Decorated in a rustic style, full of stone and wood and Bulgarian folk art, the hotel is delightful and warm, though some aspects are insanely opulent. There is the Moonstone Room, where you can meditate in front of rocks taken from the surface of the moon. In the Cleopatra Room, you sink into a huge tub filled with warm milk and honey, the Egyptian queen’s favourite form of pampering.

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