Free-range families: Worldschoolers reimagining remote life in Bulgaria

A quiet revolution in the Pirin mountains

On a sunny hillside above Bansko, Bulgaria a small group of children are painting on natural cotton tote bags, their hands streaked with colour. Ducks and dogs hang out close by, and some parents sit in the shade chatting. Older kids help the younger ones with tasks, from building their den together to making their favourite sandwiches for lunch. There are no school bells, no screens, no uniforms - just laughter, mess, and the sound of ideas being shared freely across ages and languages.

This is not a summer camp, nor a private school. It’s a gathering at Ubuntu Hub in the village of Obidim - one of several informal, self-directed learning spaces created by remote-working families who have made Bansko and its environs their seasonal or long-term base. They are part of a quiet shift: parents who not only working differently, but raising and teaching their children differently too.

Remote work demands a high degree of self-direction. Without the structure of an office or a manager down the hall, workers must learn to create their own systems, maintain boundaries, and build relationships across distance. Many of the families drawn to Bansko have embraced this flexibility beyond their career - they want it for the next generation too. They are part of a growing worldschooling and unschooling movement, blending location independence with hands-on, child-led learning.

What connects them isn’t simply the internet or the mountains. It’s a shared sense of responsibility, for their work, their families, and their values.

I travelled to Bansko and Obidim to explore what it looks like when remote workers take that responsibility to the next level, not just for themselves, but for the future. Through the voices of families living in and around Bansko, including facilitators like Michelle in Obidim and long-term parents from Israel, Malta, the UK, and Bulgaria, we follow a story of experimentation, connection, and reimagined childhoods. A story of how work and life blend not just for adults, but for the children growing up alongside them.

Ubuntu Hub – a classroom without walls

"The children come here, and they remember how to play. And the adults remember how to be human together."

The Ubuntu Hub in Obidim wasn’t part of a grand plan. It started quietly, with art, firewood, and conversation. It remains a place of peacefulness and retreat, which comes alive every Wednesday, with the buzz of children's’ voices and activities.

Michelle (With Obi and Aztec along for the ride)

Michelle Redgrave-Moore has a background in art therapy and counselling, and has worked with special needs, mental health, creative kids and dementia care projects, across the UK, alongside many travels since leaving her native South Africa in her 20s. She came to Bulgaria seeking something simpler. "I wasn't planning to come here, but there was something about the way it made me feel as soon as I stepped inside…”

Today Ubuntu is not only home to Michelle and her family, she hosts therapeutic art events and conscious retreats from all over the world, nurturing groups including special needs guests and carers, and supporting other facilitators. Her stepson Oli, a young man with Downs Syndrome and a diagnosis of ASDS, also thrives on his regular visits. 

Michelle feeds them all fresh pesticide-free vegetables, and anticipates every need, born of a combination of her generous and giving nature, and the realities of living high up in a mountain village where you have to think collectively and collaborate with your community, a community where Michelle and her family are known and respected by all.

The Ubuntu garden provides a place where kids learn to grow and harvest local produce, and provides the home and guest house with fresh vegetables. The circularity of life is evident everywhere, in what began as a personal project. “I needed a space where I could work with my hands again,” Michelle says. What emerged is a co-learning, screen-free gathering space that serves both local and international families staying in the Bansko area. It operates two or three days a week, with a small group of children aged between about four and 11 with ad hoc activities, and in August becomes the Ubuntu Hub Family Camp.

“It’s not a school. It’s not a kindergarten. It’s not childcare. It’s not a programme,” she says. “It’s just a space where we come together, and we create, learn, share and collaborate - from planting potatoes to creating catapults and targets. All activities have a STEAM approach presented in a subtle way.” Things get messy, in a good way - including paint throwing, melting ice… Not every home, or every parent, can facilitate unconstrained artistic exploration, but at Ubuntu Hub it’s encouraged, and the kids enjoy the freedom.

Ubuntu sessions are hands-on and tactile. “We create, we paint, we cook, we plant, we harvest. We do some woodwork, building the den to give the children a space they really own,” Michelle explains. 

There’s no formal teaching, and older children often support younger ones. Sometimes siblings attend together, but then they might connect independently with other kids in that big/little role. Again this is a departure from formal educational paradigms, that decides on a curriculum based purely on age group. 

“The kids who have been here for longer are leading it a little bit. The children inspire each other with their skills, which makes other children want to learn," she explained. With homeschooling frequently child-driven, this motivation matters a lot, and Michelle told me about how one 6-year-old boy’s reading stories to the group drove others, both younger and older, to want to improve their own literary skills - not because a plan created by an adult said it was the right age for them to do so, but because they could then see the value in accessing stories they enjoyed directly for themselves. 

At the same time, the parents also learn from each other, about what they’re doing in their own families and learning plans, sharing ideas and building community, while their kids learn and play together close by.

The space remains low-tech by design. Michelle knows that a lot of the worldschooled and homeschooled children who come into her space inevitably spend a lot of time with online learning, and she is committed to taking them back to embodied learning through nature and tactile creativity.

“We are really trying to be screen-free and device-free,” she says. “Further down the road we might experiment with things like digital photography, but I want to encourage the kids to observe with their eyes, not through a lens.” Sessions take place outside whenever possible, with a focus on open-ended materials and collaborative play. Some parents are keen to contribute to the session and offer practical support,but the focus is on kids only learning and play time.  

The whole village is part of this, including the older women who are the core of the local community, like Baba Luba who turned up with food for the ducks. Michelle had helped her with a remedy for her feet recently, but had only learned about that need because she took the time to learn to communicate - though a combination of acting out, gestures, and learning the local Obidimski’ dialect - enabling her to connect deeply with her chosen community.

It reminded her of the South African concept of Ubuntu: “I am, because you are. This sense of community and reciprocal way of living. Here it’s real  It’s the way of life. Where there is abundance it is passed on, where help is needed it is offered…” The sharing is unconditional, it just adds to the collective good.

This interconnectedness is modelled for the children, and to me, it stood as a clear counterpoint to some of the more transactional or even extractive behaviour I have witnessed around different nomadic communities elsewhere.

“Children are social learners,” Michelle reflected. “But you can nurture empathy in them. They take in learning from various streams in their lives, their parents and teachers and community.”

Sometimes there are conflicts and even fights, but they learn from those, to calm down and shake hands and apologise, “without the shaming and blaming that comes in from adulthood. Learning to self-regulate is part of growing up” 

They also get to learn about natural consequences and results, such as using tools - which amplify personal force, but also increase risk. Children in the modern western world are so insulated from this, that end up learning the hard way once they’re out on their own.

When building their den and bird boxes, they learn to use the drill to line up the screw, to press the button gently for control and accuracy. “Projects that engage the development of fine motor skills are important,” she explained, “and this learning ripples out to all areas of their lives.”

Michelle lets children learn from consequences and their own mistakes in a safe way. She ran a dog walking business for years, and uses a lot of the positive reinforcement training techniques on the children too. “I’ll praise them and tell them when they’re doing something great, and ignore the behaviour I don’t want to recognise.” 

Unless of course that behaviour becomes a teachable moment in its own right. “If someone is being unkind, swearing, or making inappropriate gestures, they have picked it up somewhere, and they’re testing it out in the group.” She encourages them to consider their choices, and may need to advise a little break from the group to reflect.

She has never actively advertised the project. “It just happened. People came, and I think they found it meaningful.” The group fluctuates depending on the season. Some families come for a few weeks; others return year after year. 

And right now every Wednesday, lift-shares from Bansko wind their way up the mountain to the tiny village, and meet in the pretty square that is the heart of traditional life in Obidim. Some drop and go, fitting their children’s Ubuntu sessions into their own working life knowing their kids will be safe and happy for the morning, while others may stay and hang out in the coffee shop, or follow the crowd of children back to Ubuntu in a joyful wave.

Although it remains informal, Ubuntu Hub and its guest house is grounded in intention. “I'm holding a space,” Michelle says. "A space where people can land and feel safe, where there's a lot of joy."

For Michelle, the value lies in being together, in real life, without pressure. "People are just trying to find each other. That's all it is. We're just trying to find each other, to connect more positively and more simply, without the societal static."

That really resonated for me, as I watched the children finding each other, and finding themselves. 

That simplicity - and the effort it takes to create it - is what gives Ubuntu its depth. On a quiet hillside in Obidim, surrounded by trees and tools and messy paint, families and a chosen community are building something different.

For many of the children growing up in this environment, this way of learning mirrors the lives their remote-working parents are already leading. They’re acquiring the same skills: autonomy, adaptability, collaboration without hierarchy. 

Ubuntu is more than a classroom alternative. It’s more like hands-on preparation for a future where self-direction and flexibility will matter more than ever. As I watched the energy and conversation flowing in this bubbly creative group, I wondered what their future of work and daily life would look like, being shaped by tech industry and geopolitical decisions thousands of miles away from this sunny mountainside. But I feel like these kids will be ready for anything.

They’re the next generation of remote workers, shaped by open-ended learning and rooted in community from the very beginning.

Worldschooling, homeschooling, and everything in between

There is no single model among the families worldschooling in Bansko, and other similar hubs around the world. Some lean towards structure, others towards total freedom. Others dip in and out, of organised programmes for a while combined with more fluid and experiential learning while travelling at other times.

What they share is the decision to take learning into their own hands.

Tony and Elona

Tony, originally from the UK, describes their family approach as "ownschooling". He explains, "we pick and choose what we like from the unschooling, the homeschooling, the worldschooling. We own it. We own the responsibility of our child’s education."

That sense of ownership runs deep. Tony is clear that this isn’t just about rejecting school, in fact his daughter Elona, now 10, attended international school in Montenegro for a year to see how she found it. For his family, it’s about actively deciding what kind of childhood to create. “We ask, what does this child need? What would light them up? And how do we build a life around that?”

Itay, a father of two from Israel, takes a more hybrid approach. His children attend a progressive school back home, but the family also spends long periods abroad, including in Bulgaria. “We have a base,” he says. “The school we use is very flexible and allows us to travel.”

That flexibility allows them to explore worldschooling without losing a sense of continuity. “We think of it as expanding their education, not replacing it,” Itay says. While travelling, the children learn through place, play, and participation in community spaces like Ubuntu Hub.

Tony puts it plainly: “There’s a big difference between school and learning.” His daughter, taught herself to read when she was ready, and is pursuing learning in Japanese language, marine biology, and art because she wants to. “We follow her lead,” he says. 

He still manages his landscape gardening business in Yorkshire remotely, whether they’re living on a farm in Montenegro, or building dens in the Bulgarian mountains. The family have travelled extensively since leaving the UK after the Brexit referendum. They discovered the Democratic School in Hebden Bridge through a conversation with their homeopath, and this provides some structure to the curriculum, while reinforcing Tony’s belief in the power of randomness and being open to new encounters.

In these families, education is not delivered, it’s discovered. And just as their parents manage remote work by designing systems that suit their strengths, these children are growing up in environments where learning follows interest, not instruction.

That’s not always easy. Tony acknowledges that ownschooling is a commitment. “You can’t outsource it. You have to be in it with them."

But that’s also the point. In these homes, as in their work, responsibility isn’t something to avoid. It’s something to claim. ‘Ownschooling’ is an aspect of the way people can choose to own where they live, and what work they do.

Learning to live differently

While no two families follow the same model, a common thread unites many of the parents drawn to Bansko: a belief in self-direction, autonomy, and trust in the learning process. This doesn’t mean they all follow the same curriculum, if they follow a curriculum at all.

Tony and his partner built their daughter’s learning path by picking and choosing from ideas they encountered, including Waldorf and Montessori. But above all, he believes the key is being child-led. “Whatever my child wants to do, when she wants to do it... it's the same with reading, writing, drawing, painting,” he explained. “I'm not saying, ‘today you're doing that.’ She's saying, ‘today I want to do this.’”

Liraz, originally from Israel and now running the Craft Café in Bansko, began as a part-time unschooler before transitioning to full-time. For her, the shift wasn't just practical, it was emotional. “At home, I always felt like I needed to push or structure things. Here, I feel like I can just let go.” 

Liraz outside the Craft Cafe

The cafe is a flexible learning space bringing children and parents together, for creativity and fun, from art projects to movie nights. It enables them to enrich their own children’s lives, through the different families it attracts throughout the year, in the heart of the town that is their current home. It emerged from a conference for Israeli families 3 years go about nomadic life, when they realised the importance of providing for the whole family’s needs.

Her children spend time both in group activities and pursuing their own interests freely. “We’re always learning,” she said. “It's not only books. It's life.” 

Liraz’ educational philosophy centres on individual pacing, life skills, and holistic learning, supported by her background in behavioural analysis, particularly for autism. So she is very aware of the range of skills being acquired through playful experiential learning, especially when you respond to them as individuals rather than classes or groups.

“Millie and Liam are different, every child is different. They have their own rhythm, and they learn holistically - developing gross motor skills and hygiene awareness alongside sharing and playing for example, as they find their own way.

“And you learn too, in this world we live in. You learn how to teach your kids, in a way that supports what is important to them.” 

It’s a lot of responsibility, and Liraz has seen some people go back to traditional educational systems, if it’s not working for their child or they can’t handle the lack of structure. But as she points out there are more options nowadays, including online schools, democratic schools, and pedagogic approaches like Steiner and Montessori. 

This is an important shift, because not long ago there was a binary choice to be made, between ‘official’ schooling, and parent-directed homeschooling - with few options, other than through a small private sector. However today there truly is a spectrum, with kids digitally enabled to learn online, and even here in highly regulated Spain it is nowadays acceptable to have your kids registered with a full-time online school, such as Kings Interhigh from the UK. 

Daniela - in nature’s classroom

Certainly the shift to online learning during lockdown showed many people what could be done - just as it did in the world of work. As with work, it’s not as though remote schooling didn’t exist before, but for a lot of people they’d never considered diverging from the norm until they had to, and for so many it opened up new possibilities to create their own ‘new normality,’ simply by showcasing what was possible.

Daniela Slavova, who moved to Bansko from Sofia, began homeschooling during COVID and never looked back. “We love the freedom,” she said.

 Her children learn through nature, home projects, and time spent with other local families, and participate in extensive local sports training and contests. “They ask questions all the time,” she added. “And I love that I can be part of how they find the answers.”

Raising the future in Bankso

Raising children in Bansko means raising them in an environment blending history and change. Once known mainly for its ski slopes and seasonal tourism, Bansko is evolving into a year-round destination for remote workers, entrepreneurs, and increasingly, families seeking something different.

“You feel the mix,” said Daniela, who sees the evolving community through the lens of her professional background in architecture. “It used to be just hotels and tourists. Now people are staying. They're renovating old houses. They're planting gardens.”

Daniela is one of several parents who see Bansko as a backdrop for family life, and an active part of the learning environment. “The mountain is here. Nature is here. You can learn everything from it. But there’s also coworking, cafés, events, so many people doing different things.”

Mimi Reeder grew up in Bankso, but today is a regular visitor from the US with her husband. “I think overall the changes have opened so many locals hearts and minds”, she reflects.

“Bansko is so unique, because it gives us a blend of feel from the past and feel of traditions heavily kept and treasured. You feel it deeply in the old town the stone streets there and the church too and these old museums.

“I’m super proud of the Gotse Delchev street where they made it really beautiful, keeping the traditional look of Bansko - the stones, the creek, even leaving the “Valevitsa” that thing you see that’s like a big washing machine.. this is now is one of the best places to walk, with small coffee shops popping up, and playgrounds.”

As Bansko developed into a ski resort, this unlocked new opportunities, along with reasons for the younger locals to learn English, which went on to unlock future changes.

But as Mimi goes on to point out, most local families still use traditional daycare when they return after 2 years maternity leave, and most people don’t know about homeschooling or even online options.

Her life changed when she met Andreas Wil Gerdes, pioneer of child-centred living and working, and who opened her eyes to the choices she truly had as a parent. 

Andreas’ natural way of connecting and communicating helped bring the emerging pioneers of remote life in the community together, and he now spends regular summers there with his wife Majbritt and their young family, embracing all that child-centred life has to offer. Regulars at Ubuntu hub, the children love their Bulgarian summers, from the crafts in the forest to the regular water fights in the street outside their home.

Andreas and Mira - turning traditional education upside down in Obidim

Mimi found Andreas at just the right time, not knowing about alternatives to traditional systems in the US and Bulgaria. (Even though the movement is newer in the Balkans, it is growing, and now has an official organisation in Bulgaria.)

“I had hated school,” she said, “and as Rayleigh was 2, I was already stressing about how I’d be re-living this horror of going to school through my kids - it was making me cringe.” So she embraced the alternative concept fast, even though it meant a commitment to personal learning and lifestyle change.

“Now I’m challenged in many ways because it can be a lot of work for me. But I love it and love that I can do it, and love that I don’t have this weight on my shoulders that they will be going to public school.”

Daniela’s decision to relocate to Bansko  was driven by cultural appreciation despite initial resistance from her children, highlighting the area's historical significance. Today her children enjoy independence in their environment, as demonstrated by her youngest navigating the town centre alone at age four, in a way which would have been unthinkable in the capital - building confidence and resilience, a world away from the overwhelm they had experienced in kindergarten in the city.

“She was breaking my heart,” her mother remembers, “I knew she was not okay growing up like this, in a small apartment, even before her sister was born.”

She was drawn to Bankso, where her parents had a home from the past. “I'm attracted to the roots here. Bansko is a place that gave at least three, maybe four or five very, very historic figures. People that literally moulded the history of this country.” This sense of history is embodied in the town and its many museums, and the way the current governance works, with a local mayor deeply involved in the community and leading local events and celebrations. 

Her girls are still registered with an umbrella school in Sofia, while they use the town of Bansko as their classroom, connecting to a diverse range of mentors and teachers and learning sources.

While they were younger, Daniela was more directive about their choices, but as they grow up and take more responsibility for other aspects of their lives, she encourages her girls to co-create their syllabuses. 

“Maria asked the AI, I am in 9th grade, but I’m homeschooled, what schedule and subjects should I follow if I want to be a film director? And it gave a pretty interesting schedule.” So in addition to making her own movies, Maria is studying a diverse curriculum including languages and history, and more importantly she is learning to critically evaluate and assess her own progress towards her goals.

It’s a world away from traditional education, in Bulgaria or anywhere else.

Mimi and Rayleigh on a return visit to their Bansko roots

It also echoes what Mimi told me, reflecting on her own memories of formal education:

“I didn’t like reading till I was in high school because my literature teachers weren’t so empowering” She only unlocked a personal love of stories through the help of a private tutor’s intervention. “My daughter has “read” so many book, as I read to her more than I had my entire life and she’s just 5,” she explained. 

As more remote-working parents arrive, they’re not just looking for Wi-Fi. They’re looking for belonging. For peers who understand the juggle of work calls and playdates, async schedules and shared meals. “It’s not just the kids who are learning,” Daniela added. “We are too. About how to live differently. Together.”

Learning together, always

In Bansko, learning doesn’t stop with childhood. The adults are learning too, how to work, parent, and live in ways that reflect their values. For many, this means stepping away from top-down models of both education and employment, and instead leaning into community, mentorship, and shared experience.

“Sometimes I learn more from the kids than from any adult,” said Michelle. “There’s so much wisdom in the way they move through the world, if we’re open to seeing it.” The regular visits from Oli, now 24, teach her new things all the time, as she sees the world through his eyes, while supervising retreats and hub events.

Daniela echoed this, pointing to how her parenting style has changed since moving to Bansko. “I used to think I needed to teach my children everything,” she said. “But now I learn with them. From them. From other parents. It’s like we are all growing together.”

This intergenerational exchange is part of what makes the Bansko worldschooling scene feel so alive. Whether it’s sharing skills in Ubuntu Hub, swapping freelance tips at coworking events, or simply talking through challenges over coffee at the Craft Cafe, the families here are building a culture of ongoing learning.

The model echoes what’s needed in the world of remote work: self-motivation, openness, and the ability to collaborate across boundaries. Just as worldschooling parents step outside the school system, many of them have also stepped outside the corporate ladder, carving out careers that require continual adaptation and peer support.

“Living this way isn’t always easy,” Michelle admitted. “But when we do it together, it works. We’re not just raising children. We’re creating a different kind of adulthood, too.”

It’s a powerful and unique synergy. Mentors like Andreas bring a global perspective, that draws Bulgarian diaspora families like Mimi’s home to Bankso on a regular basis. While as a Bulgarian who prefers not to travel, Daniela loves that the world comes to her in Bankso through the worldschooling community,

In this environment, the line between learning and living blurs. Community spaces become classrooms, nature trails become science labs, and coworking meetups spark friendships across generations. For children raised here, the future won’t be a place to arrive at. It will be something they’ve been part of building all along.

Questioning choices, learning differently, and the next generation of remote workers

Writing this story has made me reflect on the choices I made as a parent. Like many of us, I did what felt necessary at the time, opting for structure, routine, and traditional schooling, even while we chose a small Spanish local town, over the default London suburb. And while I have no regrets about the love and intention behind those decisions, I can also see more clearly now how poorly that system served my daughters, and how few true alternatives were visible then.

What struck me most in Bansko wasn’t just the freedom these families have claimed for their children, but the thoughtfulness with which they’ve claimed it. This isn’t a rejection of education. It’s a deep, ongoing inquiry into what learning looks like when it’s rooted in trust, community, and curiosity. 

It’s not a fringe lifestyle anymore. Worldschooling, in its many forms, has come of age.

Today, families can choose differently, without waiting for permission. The tools, the technology, the communities exist. And for those raising children in a world of remote work, shifting norms, and global uncertainty, that choice may be more than a privilege. It may be a responsibility.

We can’t change the paths we’ve already walked. But we can tell these stories in the hope that they open doors for others - parents, educators, and children alike - who are ready to imagine something better.