About me
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My name is Nikolina Konstantinova and I work as a train driver in London. I have two grown up children and two cats which like to lounge on my laptop (but only when I type on it). I like to travel and of course I fancy lush spa holidays, but I have also noticed they disappear without trace from my memory. The only experience that has stayed with me is from this little spot on the river Danube, which is now home to Boldy’s family of Golden Jackals and my father’s research camp.  
This blog is a hobby and an information outlet for the insights and findings of my father and his research work. It is also a time and space machine that keeps me close to the camp as there’s a distance of 1513 miles between us. 
Further down I have written a little bit more about my summer days at the camp but there is so much more to be said, especially about the surrounding wildlife and wild camping as a hobby.  I will aim to add, in the fulness of time, what photos, drawings and diary entries I have produced about life in this remote corner of my country of origin – Bulgaria.

 

The Camp ​

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I first set foot at the 727 Camp before I was able to walk. Or I should rather say I first sat bum on the camp grounds 47 summers ago. There’s nothing lush about this tiny stretch of rocky beach. It did its best to defer campers by covering the floor with sharp, oddly-shaped stones, razor-like broken shells and spiky thorns. The beach itself (I must note ‘beach’ sounds a little flattering) is on a gradient that grants a lot of digging and evening before a tent can be pitched with the base looking horizontal. I say ‘looking’ intentionally as it is never more than just looking horizontal. I would wake up in the morning in one corner of the tent or the other, after having slid downhill inch by inch during the night.   

Either way sound sleep is impossible. Mosquito bites madly itching and little critters investigating bags and knocking off various tins and containers can keep me awake for the better part of the night. With day temperatures being as high as 42C (107.6 F) during summer months, nights may not offer the much needed cool down.  

I would often wake up groggy and dip myself in the big river. Luckily, I don’t have to walk for too long on the river’s muddy floor before it is deep enough for a swim. I don’t mind the mud. It is very pleasant, and it feels to the feet like bread flour to my hands. My feet sink in, and thick, muddy clouds erupt from underneath so I can't see the floor anymore. For the better, I tell myself, as I know there’s water snakes and fish that look upset. In a couple of leg kicks I am in deeper clearer waters where I must vigorously swim in one spot to overcome the strong current. The rest of the day continues in the same fashion. What energy can be mustered under the hot sun is invested in keeping the camp in an orderly state. Still, these are the holidays that live in my mind and heart with never-fading sounds and images of my family, the river and all the wild animals hidden in the thicket.  

Then, some years ago, the Jackals arrived.  

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