Ozone Sky Bar | The Traveling Overeducated Housewife

When yesterday’s post left off, Bill and I were headed to a restaurant/bar that advertised craft beers. I was getting really crabby, because I was hot, sweaty, and a bit parched. I didn’t know that I was already infected with a cold virus, and that might have been affecting my mood at that point. But we headed toward the place with the deceptive “Free Beer” sign, and when I noticed all the smokers sitting outside, asked if we could sit inside. That was okay, so I clambered up on a bench that overlooked the bar and checked out the menu. Looking it up now, I see that we visited the Vitosha Street Bar & Dinner.

A waitress came by and said we might be more comfortable outside, since the restaurant didn’t have air conditioning. I said that was okay, since sitting outside would mean being surrounded by smokers. Actually, once I’d been sitting for a few minutes and had some beer and San Pellegrino, I cooled off. We had a couple of rounds. Bill was intrigued by a guy he’d already noticed earlier in the day. He was then on the other side of the street, seemingly having an animated conversation with himself. The guy was pacing and gesticulating wildly. But he stopped when the police came near him. Bill chuckled when the guy picked up his stuff and hastily beat it. This was the first of several “interesting” people we saw, haunting Vitosha Boulevard.

One of the waiters at the Vitosha Street Bar needed a reminder of what we ordered. He was very obviously gay, and I cringed when he called me “sweetheart” or something like that. My cringing had nothing to do with his rather flamboyant style, and everything to do with the fact that I don’t like it when people call me pet names, especially if they’re total strangers. Well… I don’t mind it when Bill does that, but he’s my husband and has seen me in all stages. If that guy actually knew me, he’d never call me “sweetheart”. I’m more bitter. 😉

After we finished our second round, we decided to go back to the hotel. I was dying to take a shower. I think it was about at that time that I started feeling like maybe I was about to be under the weather. My throat was a little scratchy. I wanted to stay in the room when it came time for dinner, but Bill wanted to try the Ozone Sky Bar, a venue on the 29th floor of the Grand Hotel Millennium Sofia. So I reluctantly got dressed, and we got on the elevator, which only took us to the 28th floor.

I heard music, and realized it was coming from another one of the hotel’s restaurants. A woman in a cocktail dress came out and asked if we’d like to go in and have dinner in The Gallery. She said the restaurant served Asian Fusion cuisine, and pointed to a menu. Bill smiled bashfully and said, “But are we dressed appropriately?” We had noticed the management at the venue had requested “elegant” attire. Bill was wearing jeans, and I had on my usual knits and no makeup.

The woman gave us a sweeping glance and said, “We’ll accept it.”

I was immediately put off by that, since it wasn’t like we were asking her for a table. She was trying to generate business, but did so in a rather unwelcoming way. “Don’t do us any favors…” I thought to myself as I looked at the complicated menu. Plus, I just wasn’t in the mood for fancy food, as I was feeling tired and icky and just wanted to eat and go to bed.

So, we got in another elevator that took us to the 29th floor, where we got some pretty amazing views of Sofia. A hostess asked us if we wanted to sit in the smoking or non-smoking section. We said non-smoking, so she led us to the other side of the bar. It was a pretty cool looking venue, although they cranked up some loud dance music. We were probably older than the targeted group.

A very nice server came over to take our order. Bill got us a bottle of Bulgarian Sauvignon Blanc, and we ordered three appetizers to share. Of all of the food experiences we had at our hotel, I think the Ozone Bar was the best. Not only was the service friendly and competent, but the food was the best of what we had there. I was a little surprised when a bunch of small children showed up with their parents, even as the mood became distinctly nightclub-like.

As the sun was setting, a guy who worked at the bar started raising the shades to show off the lights of Sofia. The sun immediately hit me in the face and I said, “Oh man!” The guy immediately lowered the shade a bit so I wouldn’t be blinded. I appreciated that.

But after listening to loud dance music, we decided we’d had enough nightlife for one evening. We went back to the elevator and requested the ninth floor, where our room was. It took us to the lobby, instead. I noticed there was a large bouncer by the elevator, complete with velvet ropes. Was he there to keep out the “riff-raff”? Perhaps… but he was guarding the elevator. I was kind of surprised to see it, given that there had been kids in the bar.

Anyway, the speedy regular elevators got us back to our room in a jiffy. We went to bed, and a few hours later, I woke up officially sick with a cold. Things kicked off with an especially auspicious vomiting session. Why do I always seem to get colds in June?

I very quickly realized that trying to repeat Saturday’s marathon walking was going to be out of the question on Sunday. The cold was coming on fast! After breakfast, we went back to the room. The very nice housekeeper was providing service, so we sat in the foyer and waited for her to finish. Then, after she’d completed her task, I said, “Bill, I’m going to put on my nightgown and go back to bed.”

Bill, who was also dealing with a cold, nodded his approval. It sucked to be in bed while we were on a “short break” in Sofia, but honestly, I think doing that saved Monday for us. If I hadn’t spent most of Sunday resting, I probably would have been sicker. At one point, Bill went out to find us some sparkling water while I took a nap. I took a few naps, interspersed with reading about Michael McDonald’s life, as written by Paul Reiser. At least it was a good book!

We did manage to leave the room for a very late lunch– say 4:00 PM. Franco’s Pizza— which turns out to be another Bulgarian chain– was located somewhat close to the hotel. So we walked there and sat outside in uncomfortable chairs, as we enjoyed more Bulgarian beer and sparkling water. I usually order pasta at European pizza places, but I was in the mood for pizza. I ordered a Bufalina, which was supposed to be made with buffalo mozzarella. I think I got a Margarita pizza, instead. Oh well. Bill got ravioli with pork cheeks and pecorino cheese. I probably would have liked his dish, except I don’t like pecorino cheese. It’s too strong for me. Anyway, the service was kind, and the food was decent. It hit the spot. I also liked the treelined location, even if the chair was kind of painful to sit on for long.