I’ve never been married. No kids. Never lived with anyone. And my working life has been spent alone living in one room.

This is the way I’ve always wanted it — and it’s been enjoyable. But finding myself struggling with the cost of living, waking up every morning worrying about my council tax and utilities bills, that age-old question of “Isn’t there more to life?” reared its head once more.

I Googled the cheapest places to live in the world and Bulgaria was right up there not only in terms of being inexpensive but also as a community for nomads — people who eschew what most of us know as “normality” in favour of a less materialistic way of life.

Despite Bulgaria not having a Digital Nomad Visa (unlike Spain, Croatia and several other countries), the ski resort of Bansko started to gain popularity as a nomad hub in 2015, when the German-born Matthias Zeitler saw its potential as a haven, mostly because of the mountains, affordable housing, food prices and low taxes.

His idea was to create a 200-unit co-living destination in the Bulgarian mountains, although many nomads have come to prefer the less claustrophobic and very reasonably priced studios and apartments Bansko now offers.

Established in 2019, the annual Bansko Nomad Festival brings together hundreds of nomads, remote workers and freelancers to network and share their stories. Was this alternative lifestyle all it’s been cracked up to be?

DAY ONE

Packing for my nomadic lifestyle goes badly. I have two cases, stuffed to the gills, and I’ve optimistically brought my make-up and best Issey Miyake outfits, even though nothing I have read about nomadism mentions designer fashion.

I check out my lodgings: Co-Working Co-Living, which is one of several co-living spaces for which the nomad community is renowned. It’s already been a tortuous process dealing with the manager, but as a journalist I’ve been offered a concession, so I think it’s probably my cheapest option.

I meet the manager, whose name begins with T, but for purposes of describing her cold manner, I’m going to call her Iced Tea.

The first question she asks me upon arrival is: “How old are you?” Rude! I’ve already seen photos from previous festivals and figured out that at 65 I’m old enough to be everyone’s grandmother, but this response makes me feel unwanted and filled with trepidation.

Photos from previous festivals suggest that, at 65, I’m old enough to be everyone’s grandmother.

The shared fridges are in the basement and look like the kind of monstrosities that Inspector Morse would open to find several corpses. The “gym” is laughable. One machine. Imagine walking into Wembley Stadium and seeing a tin-opener in the corner. There’s no air-con, although I’m told that I can rent a fan. In the main room men are sitting in front of their computers, sweating profusely, trying to outdo each other in industriousness. It’s the Silicon Valley of willy-waving.

In addition to a fan you can also rent a hairdryer, tongs or a coffee machine, and you have to pay for washing facilities on top. At £35 plus extras per day, it’s already way more expensive than everything else I’ve seen, but I take up Iced Tea’s offer of a nomad dinner — one of their weekly events. There I chat to a woman who describes herself as a nomadic therapist specialising in anxiety and depression. From what I’ve seen I’m going to need her.

I feel one breath away from rigor mortis, so I email to suggest that I stay for only two nights.

Then I get an unwelcome letter, and it’s hilariously pompous. As a “final decision”, they tell me, they will not be hosting me. Blimey! A nomad without a home already, and it’s only day one.

I find Carlos’s wonderful Alpine Lodge studio on Airbnb and it comes complete with every appliance and a balcony with mountain views for £21 a night. Iced Tea can go melt herself.

DAY TWO

There are 700 of us in Bansko’s main square, where we’re welcomed by the organisers. I meet two people who are giving talks about AI, an architect, a festival organiser from Thailand and many others.

After the opening party I head with two fellow nomads to Pirin 75, a bar up a track that looks like a bombsite.

I walk back to Alpine Lodge at 2.30am and am chased by a bear. Is this how my life ends, I think? Mauled to death by a bear in Bulgaria? I run like hell.

DAY THREE

I tell everyone about my terror at the paws of the bear and show them a picture I took when it had stopped running and I was suitably far away. “It’s a dog,” is the overwhelming consensus.

In the park where the main events take place there are tents with guest speakers covering subjects I never knew existed. There’s a female pleasure coach and an ENM session — ethical non-monogamy. I opt for Elliott, who has left Las Vegas to go on the road as a nomad. He’s a massage therapist and yoga teacher and, having given up his business, says that being a nomad is “not a vacation — this is your new life”.

The evening activity is a visit to Hot Springs, where I’m looking forward to a relaxing soak. Fat chance. Fighting with inflated toys, I am surrounded by young bodies delighting in the Benidorm experience. I am in the water clinging to the precarious rocky side and feel like a hippo among supermodels. On the way back on the bus I cry because I suddenly feel very lonely and not part of “the gang”. I think back to when I was four and the mean girls wouldn’t let me in the Wendy house.

DAY FOUR

Bansko Dogs, which rescues puppies and ensures they get medical treatment, brings some puppies to the park and I play with them. I get mildly hysterical when I see a tiny brown puppy lying dead with another dog laying into it, but it turns out to be a toy. I think maybe I need to go to Specsavers.

Four-legged creatures aren’t always this friendly, though. One festivalgoer is chased by three wild dogs. A warning also goes out to hikers about bears. The list telling you what not to do if you meet one is frightening. Put your backpack down to distract it, for example, because it wants to break your neck. I’ll stay in the bar, thanks. I decide I am definitely an après-hike person.

DAY FIVE

There are social activities to cater for every taste, especially the outdoors — horse riding, rafting, hiking — but I make it a rule never to do anything that requires me to wear a hat or boots. I sign up for the Bulgarian wine tasting.

The festival is a fascinating gathering of nomads, some of whom go from country to country and have no base, and others who are exploring their options (one of them being tax evasion). The atmosphere is one of positivity and support. The age range is wide and I have as good a time with people under 30 as I do with those my age. It’s like a 24/7 Eurovision Song Contest.

DAY SIX

I sign up to sing in the talent show on Sunday night, but although I’m a trained singer, my voice is a bit rough after so many late nights.

I decide against the pool party, which I am assured is “Hot Springs on steroids”.

DAY SEVEN

The organisers send out a warning message about women being harassed/stalked. I hope that next year they make safety a priority — perhaps an area where people can go to voice their complaints from day one.

Oh yes, and a tent for women who are pursued by bears.

DAY EIGHT

It’s the last day and there are awards to be handed out. I feel especially sorry for one guy who is rewarded with a week at the Co-Working Co-Living prison he’s been living in and loathing. What’s the second prize? Two weeks there?

I’m opening the talent show because the festival is international and the organisers think that the anthem of my country, Wales, will be in keeping with that. I take to the stage with the microphone and talk about music, rugby and sheep. Everyone laughs.

I get the crowd going with “Oggie oggie oggie, oi oi oi”, then I start to sing. Three lines in, I realise that what is coming out of my mouth is not the anthem, but the Welsh hymn Calon Lân. I stop and explain. Everyone thinks it’s hilarious.

Anthem sung, I say a few more words about having had a blast (which I have), despite seemingly being the oldest person. And I add that I’ve also learned to say blow job in 14 languages. Which everyone thinks is really, really, funny. Especially the Germans. Afterwards, people thank me for my comedy routine. That hadn’t been my intention, but hey ho.

DAY NINE

It’s over. I feel sad. It’s been an incredible week that, as a contrast to “real life” toxicity, has been genuinely enlightening and uplifting.

I’ve agreed to speak at a festival in Thailand (invited by the event’s organiser whom I met earlier in the week). Does this make me a nomaddict?

I haven’t packed my rucksack just yet because I’ve heard about the five-star Emporium Hotel back in Plovdiv, where I’m heading. Not only is it Bulgaria’s first SMART hotel, it houses the country’s first Champagne bar.

Time to give my Issey Miyake an airing, methinks.

Bansko Nomad Fest, Bulgaria, took place from June 23 to June 30, 2024; banskonomadfest.com