The early 1920s in Bulgaria were marked by a grim historical backdrop. The country was emerging from a series of wars, two of which had ended in national catastrophe. The economy was shattered, and society was in an uncertain quest for stability and a new direction. At this critical juncture, cities like Varna faced an existential question: “What comes next?”
The answer came from the sea—not as a romantic dream, but as a pragmatic strategy. Until then, Varna was primarily a commercial port, a naval center, and a regional economic hub. The city’s entire life was centered around ships, warehouses, and the grain trade. Tourism, while existent, was little more than a “side character.”
The turning point, however, was imposed from the outside. The Treaty of Neuilly stripped Bulgaria of Dobruja, cutting off the flow of grain exports through the port, while simultaneously banning the country from maintaining a naval fleet. Faced with an economic blockade, the city administration made a key observation: “We possess something that cannot be built artificially—it is already here.”
Thus, the sea began to be reimagined as a healing environment (in line with modern European thalassotherapy), a place for leisure, and a magnet for foreigners. This was the moment when Varna stopped “selling” mere goods and began offering experiences.
The declaration of Varna as a resort in 1921 was not merely a formal act, but a strategic signal that both the state and the municipality were committed to the idea of tourism development. This decision unleashed a wave of investment in infrastructure, the beautification of the coastline, and the planning of facilities that were modern for their time.
Even before the construction of the public baths, Varna possessed an invaluable asset: the Sea Garden. It already formed a natural connection between the city and the sea, becoming a hub for social life and the framework within which the new resort would evolve. The baths did not appear in a void, but as a logical extension of this urban environment.
The success of the endeavor was also due to the city’s excellent connectivity. Through railway lines, maritime connections, and an internal transport network, Varna became accessible to a new type of visitor—the urban middle class, the intelligentsia, and affluent families. They sought not just health, but social prestige, turning the beach into a stage where everyone was a participant.
Imagine Varna at that transitional moment: the scent of tar and sea salt, the noise of heavy ships, and simultaneously, the bright laughter from the beach. The old and the new coexisted in a dynamic clash between two identities, from which the modern face of our seaside capital was born.
