The city of Burgas is considered to be one of the pearls of the Black Sea,
crossroad for all kinds of thrills and yet so relaxing. Harbour for unique stories,
city so chill, one can relax in just a few hours and every little thing feels like a vintage story.
Birthplace to half my family and most of my wildest memories,
the old time capitals of fun and endless summer. Long story short -
there was a contest for new city branding and COVID2020
wiped clean my schedule, a chance to reflect
...
The city gave ме ... where I took so much, deserved
the better part of me, after all I was a foreigner there
for many years and know what it's like, so an identity system was born:
a city that has a lot going on, but feels the same,
A city one loves to take back home and stays deep in the heart.
The system:
City not made only by landmarks and scenery, but by every little turn, corner and twist.
Just made you love / heart a city ...
I've heard countless stories about the city
and was the prime suspect in few of them.
One thing was always there, the city was different every time.
Yet again the feeling about it
was pretty much always the same
...
A city that can finish the sentence you'll start,
what if an identity can do that too?
After all we like or dislike a city, but there's always
a little part, street, joint or even a pub
that surprises us and makes us love it ...
A delicate presence of the city identity all around.
Just a tiny part or just the feel of it, gently and easy.
Like an old time vintage travel ads,
cause that's really the scent of Burgas.
Weather a billboard vacant, waiting to be taken by a new ad,
but cool and calm. Or a beach umbrella,
each different like the couple under it,
but together they're a part of the city.
Or just simple souvenirs, no two are alike, but both
a warm reminder of a summer vacation.
Every part of the identity just whispers
the name and never shouts.
One of the city's unwritten rules,
which I learn the hard way :)
A city full of surprises, challenging me yet again.
But one just loves a city.
