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Andrew Feinberg

White House Correspondent

At the southern end of the beach, the swathe of sand abruptly gives way to large rocks and jagged stones. The sea, a shifting canvas of emerald and cobalt, is untroubled by the change in terrain, continuing to push and pull with abandon.

Not wishing to tap dance across the sharper edges of the weathered coastline ahead of me, I retreated 10 paces away to a no-frills beach bar. I ordered a Kamenitza beer, droplets of condensation quickly forming as it encountered the summer heat; at only £2.17 a half-litre, I ordered two more. As the setting sun lingered on the back of my neck, I drank quickly, sinking my feet into the speckled shore and ignoring the familiar ping from my phone, of messages from those at home. It was starting to feel, here in Varna, that I was on holiday.

I’d come to this Bulgarian beachside amid a renewed wave of protests against mass tourism in Europe, with concerns about overtourism spilling into the streets most notably in Barcelona, Mallorca and Tenerife. I craved somewhere new, and, like many, wanted a summer break without a break to my bank. With the launch of new flight routes from London to the Black Sea city – Wizz Air now fly three times a week from Gatwick, from £26.99 – and the promise of a warm escape in a country that is frequently listed among the cheapest places to visit in Europe, I’d gone to Varna to see if it could be a new holiday hotspot for Brits.

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It would be wrong to call Varna an undiscovered gem (even if, on a straw poll, in a south London pub, 90 per cent of people failed to recognise it, let alone have it in their travel plans). Those seeking the health-giving qualities of the water made their way to the city’s ‘sea baths’ at the end of the 19th century; in 1921, Varna was officially labelled a seaside resort.

Now, it attracts around 2 million tourists a year, popular with Romanian, Polish and German holidaymakers. When I stopped for lunch one day, I found myself chatting with a Romanian chap in his mid-twenties, who told me he visits every year from his home in Craiova.

“There is fun on the sea breeze,” he said, between mouthfuls of grilled local fish. “Relaxation, yes, but it’s an easy place for good times.”

Long before it was co-opted as a regular haunt by my new Romanian friend, Varna has had a sense of flux imprinted on its bones. Under the ancient Romans, it was a vital port. Over a millennium and more, it has fallen under Byzantine, Russian, Ottoman and Soviet rule; it was even briefly renamed Stalin for seven years from 1949.

These chapters have woven their way into the fabric of Varna, creating an intriguing medley, apparent from the moment I arrived. After a 15-minute taxi ride from the airport to downtown (costing 14 lev, or about £6), I wandered through a glorious juxtaposition between brutalist blocks of flats built post-Second World War – the communist commitment to utilitarian size and scale is on show – and Neo-Baroque and Neo-Renaissance beauty, all sculpted facades and bold decorations. The lavish Varna opera house, with its imposing dome over the main hall, and the Dormition of the Mother of God Cathedral, where Renaissance-style symmetry is paired with Russian Revival features, are among the highlights.

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It’s such an easily walkable city that you quickly discover Varna’s various nuances. Expect wall-to-wall prettiness, and you’ll be disappointed. The city has an inescapable grittiness that sets it apart from other, more polished tourist destinations: crumbling buildings, cracked pavements, and graffiti scrawled hastily on weather-beaten walls. Turn 90 degrees from the Instagram-curated shot and you can easily find an overwhelmingly industrial view, Varna’s vast port still playing an important role in maritime trade. I chuckled at the bus driver who, unable to close his vehicle’s door as it should function, grabbed a rope to hold it (just about) shut. The rough-edged charm is what makes for a real destination – it lets you, in that horrible cliche, ‘live like a local’.

Peeling paint and corners of neglect make the highlights even more welcome. Roman ruins, particularly the thermal baths, the largest ancient building discovered in Bulgaria, offer a captivating glimpse into antiquity. On-trend coffee shops, brunch spots and craft beer bars are found on otherwise modest streets; places like Surch Coffee Specialty and Art wouldn’t be out of place in hipster neighbourhoods in cities around the world. For a jolt of quirk, visit the Retro Museum and Wax Museum. One is packed with 20th-century nostalgia, from vintage cars to household items, while the other brings to life well-known figures with unexpected accuracy.

I stayed at City Boutique Inn, opting for something low-key over the imposing resort-style hotels. It’s close to the main strip and the coast but, thankfully, hidden peacefully away on a narrow street. It promises the ambiguous “American hospitality”; what I found was a quaint, home-style welcome (shoes off when you enter, thanks), simple and comfortable rooms with a pop of colour, and spot-on service. There’s also an infrared sauna and gym – both unexpected facilities in this unassuming property.

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The delightful owner, Magdalena, enthused over the city. When I asked why people should visit now, she was clear: “It is not yet overly crowded. It feels lively, there’s lots of entertainment – but it can offer quiet and secluded corners.”

She suggested that I have dinner at Staria Chinar, less than a three-minute walk away. It’s not hard to find casual dining in the city, but there’s some monotony in the offerings, especially along the seafront. But here, under the shade of an ancient sycamore tree, rustic regional cuisine is served with unpretentious aplomb.

I decided against what the menu described as “special traditional treats”, which included roasted lamb head and slices of beef tongue sauteed in butter and paprika; though I was the only non-local in the restaurant that evening, I saw nobody else order from it. Instead, the minced beef and cheese of gurmanska pljeskavica – traditionally a Serbian dish – was a smoky, gently spiced winner, cooked over a charcoal grill. I stuck to that bargainous Bulgarian lager, still not reaching £2.50 a pint, but should have probed the wine list: a bottle of domestic red would have set me back £13. Magdalena later told me of all the vineyards you can reach from Varna without trouble – enough to make me think about returning next year.

It is the beach, though, where Varna excels – and the key element that could lure UK holidaymakers looking for a warm, fly-and-flop break. I strolled up and down numerous times, and it marvellously hums with life: families finding their spots for the day, couples basking in rays from the sun and swimmers venturing into the sapphire water. The golden arc is backed by cafes and bars, which light up at dusk and music is turned up, and behind them it is hugged by the Sea Garden, a behemoth of landscape architecture. If you wish, a holiday can be little more than days horizontal on the shore.

My last hours in Varna are spent with my toes once more in the sand. I’ve developed an affinity for the place; is it because I too am unlovable until you look below the surface? I don’t pull at that thread – a final £2 beer, antidote to the heat on my skin, pushes that thought away. But I do realise that there’s not a word of English being uttered around me; that I’ve got satisfying tan lines from wearing flip-flops; that I have had a brilliant time and spent far less than expected. Varna should be in your travel plans – the trick is to go now before the rest of the UK figures that out.

Travel essentials

Wizz Air flies direct to Varna from various London airports: Gatwick, Luton and London City.

Stay at the peaceful City Inn Boutique, which is within easy reach of Varna’s beaches, shopping streets and main cultural attractions. Breakfast is included, and there’s an infrared sauna and gym for use. Rooms have vintage accents and modern amenities.

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