Built in the late 1920s, this house was originally the residence of banker Dimitar Ivanov and his wife Nadezhda Stankovic. The interior features a striking red marble fireplace in the reception room, as well as a stage for musical performances and crystal-adorned interior doors.
The house has several bedrooms, elegant terraces, a spacious study and various utility rooms. Although the original furnishings have been lost, historical records indicate that the elite Sofia residents of the time preferred Central and Western European furniture.
The exterior of the property features a large front garden bordered by an ornate wrought iron fence. A large triple staircase leads to the main entrance, and the property is also characterized by carriage portals that flank the courtyard.
These portals are reminiscent of a bygone era where one can imagine a horse-drawn carriage driving into the courtyard, while the horses and carriage wait in a specially designated area behind the house until the end of the reception.
The Ivanov family enjoyed their residence until 1944, after which the estate was nationalized. At first it served as the Romanian embassy, later as the USSR’s trade mission in Bulgaria and as the headquarters of various communist organizations with unclear functions.
In the 1990s the house was returned to Ivanov’s heirs. In 2004 it was taken over by Valentin Zlatev, director of Lukoil. Despite this change of ownership, the property, which had fallen into disrepair for decades, remains neglected and abandoned, with no apparent connection to its cultural heritage.
Man Offered to Help Me with My Baby on a Plane — I Was Relieved Until I Saw…
The journey from Atlanta to San Francisco started with the usual chaos of traveling with a 14-month-old. My baby was fussy and crying, clearly uncomfortable in the confined airplane cabin. I felt the judgmental stares of other passengers, silently criticizing my inability to soothe her. Anxiety churned in my stomach as I tried everything to calm her, but nothing seemed to work.
About an hour into the flight, a kind-looking man sitting across the aisle caught my attention. With a warm smile, he offered to help, saying, “Would you like me to hold your baby for a while? I have a daughter around the same age, and I know how tough it can be. Let me take her for a bit; I think I can calm her down.”
Exhausted and desperate for a moment of peace, I hesitated only briefly before accepting his offer. He seemed genuine, and I was at my wit’s end. As he took my baby in his arms, she stopped crying and even started to smile, much to my relief.
Feeling relieved, I turned to retrieve my laptop and some snacks from my backpack, taking advantage of the calm. But when I turned back, my heart sank. My blood froze as I saw the man whispering something into my baby’s ear, his expression changing from kind to something far more sinister.
Panic surged through me. Was he trying to harm her? Was he planning to kidnap her?
My protective instincts kicked in, and I forced myself to stay calm. I couldn’t let fear paralyze me. I stood up and walked quickly but steadily towards him. “Excuse me,” I said, my voice shaking, “I think I need to take her back now.”
The man looked up, startled, but then smiled warmly again. “Of course,” he said, handing my baby back to me without any resistance. I held her close, feeling her little heart beating rapidly against mine.
As I sat back down, I watched the man out of the corner of my eye. He seemed to sense my suspicion and kept his distance for the remainder of the flight. I tried to focus on my baby, but my mind kept replaying the moment.
When we finally landed, I quickly reported the incident to airport security. They took my statement seriously and assured me they would investigate.
A few days later, airport security contacted me. They had reviewed the footage and spoken to the man. It turned out he was a well-known child psychologist who often calmed children on flights. His intentions had been entirely benign.
Feeling relieved and slightly embarrassed, I thanked them. The experience was a stark reminder of the importance of vigilance and a parent’s protective instincts.
This flight became a story I shared with friends and family, not just as a cautionary tale, but as a testament to the powerful bond between a parent and child. Despite the initial fear, it had a happy ending. I learned to trust my instincts and to be open to the kindness of strangers. In the days that followed, I became more appreciative of the small moments of peace and joy with my baby, grateful for the kindness that still exists in the world.
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