On the bus ride through, as mentioned before, I decided to cut down the time I was to spend in Sofia by a day. As per usual, first impressions can be deceptive (particularly when they are made at the public transport hub) and I ended up enjoying my time in Sofia, even if it didn’t quite make me feel as though I should have kept the extra day there.
DAY ONE
I had a train from Plovdiv at midday, so I didn’t worry too much about rushing to get up out of bed. I bummed around the hostel, not feeling any desperate motivation to leave, until about 11:20am, at which point I decided I’d better start moving.
The first place I checked, as one might expect, was the departure board. It was about fifteen minutes before the train left, so it was right up the top (there isn’t much traffic in Plovdiv Central Train Station). Unfortunately, the platform was listed as 14, which meant less than nothing to me. I walked onto the platform area, fearing that I would once more be faced with a crazy rush around in order to reach my destination, when I noticed, to the side, a small set of platforms tucked away. There was a very small train (two carriages only!) sitting at the fourth of these. It looked a bit too nice to be one of the shitty, slow, regional Bulgarian trains I had read about, so I looked around a bit more, though as the front of the train read “Sophia” (in Cyrillic alphabet) I ended up just hopping on.
It was a wonderful, comfortable, cosy train. I sat down directly opposite an old Bulgarian lady who immediately shuffled over in her seat so as to be diagonal to me. What a sweetheart.
The ticket collector was a very sweet lady (to me at least – she seemed pretty vicious with the locals to be honest). She smiled at me a lot after seeing that I was travelling on a Eurail pass.
Once we left Plovdiv, the train stopped at every single chunk of rock that we went past. We would stop in the middle of a random field where people were waiting and they would get on and off. Turned out these were actually train stations – if you searched carefully, you could even see the actual platform!
So, around three-and-a-half hours later we pulled into Sofia. The first thing I went to do was buy my ticket for the sleeper to Bucharest the next evening. Unfortunately I was stumped by the very first ticket seller I had come across who couldn’t speak English at all.
I attempted some miming, but unfortunately things were complicated by the fact that she couldn’t sell me the ticket, but also couldn’t explain to me the reason why.
A woman behind me eventually came over to tell me that the reason I couldn’t have the ticket was because it had to be booked on the day of departure (she was wrong, by the way, but I’ll leave you in suspense as to why).
Walking out of the train station I was welcomed by an apocalyptic sight. It was as though the city was melting. It had clearly snowed not long before my arrival, but as it was now around five degrees, the snow was melting into a very drippy slush. As I walked, big blobs of sludgy snow would plonk down beside me from trees, roofs and anything else I happened to walk beneath.
My immediate plan was: find hostel, do free tour at 6pm, eat, sleep. Finding the hostel, though it was quite a way from the train station, was actually very easy. The only slight difficulty was that the Sofia council seems to not be terribly clever about precisely where they place street signs, meaning that I could be halfway down a street before realizing which street I was actually on. This didn’t turn out to be much of a problem, since I needed one of the main streets, and when I picked the wrong one, I just waddled across to a parallel main street and waited until I found out which one it was.
After a bit of walking and a bit of worrying I had passed my turn-off, I turned down a side street and found the hostel. It was in a little house behind a bakery (not as quaint and traditional as it sounds) and I was greeted by a sweet young Bulgarian guy who looked a little flustered and awkward about pretty much everything.
I was sharing a room with an Australian woman who was on a very long trip of a year and a half and who had been eaten alive the previous night by… something (possibly bedbugs, though she had been staying there a while and hadn’t had problems with bedbugs before… plus no-one else did). She was heading to Istanbul the next day, as was the OTHER Australian staying in the hostel. She had been in Sofia three weeks, having originally planned to stay for three days. The reason? Her bus to Istanbul left at 9am each day, and she was only waking up as I arrived (4pm). She confessed to having been over Sofia for the last two weeks and that she wished she would stop going out and getting smashed every night so that she could actually get out of the place.
I left with enough time to get to the Palace of Justice, which was only about ten minutes down the road on the main shopping street. Sofia was feeling like a very modern, spacious city by the time I got to the tour’s starting place, and I was a bit dubious as to why anyone would feel the need to visit it.
I met Martin, the tour guide, at the corner of the Palace of Justice. We were soon joined by a Bulgarian girl from the same organization, FreeSofiaTour. She was there to judge Martin’s quality as a tour guide, mainly picking on his English skills (being a history major, his knowledge of the area was superb). It was funny watching her picking on him and the back-and-forth between them as he would say something, realize it was incorrect, then bribe her with sweets in order to keep her from writing down his mistake.
I was the only person on the tour, so it was basically a private tour with two very fun guides. We were actually joined, about three quarters of the way through, by the founder of the organization, who also hung around, meaning I was outnumbered three-to-one by guides.
So what did I learn? Well, apart from the fact that Bulgarians are really fun and funny people (at least the youth I met were – it should be mentioned that I really only met people with an interest in people from other countries) I also got a bit of information about the cultural, historical and political situation in Bulgaria.
Firstly, Sofia is a very religious city. I don’t mean to suggest that everyone there is a devout churchgoer (in fact the ones I met were fairly cynical) but there is a rich religious heritage in the city, seen in the number of mosques, churches (orthodox, Catholic, Protestant) and the single synagogue. Four structures – an orthodox and catholic church, a mosque and the synagogue create the square of tolerance, a space that speaks of the mix of faiths present in the city.
The Jewish population of Sofia has dramatically fallen from what it once was, now only numbering in the hundreds. When I was told this, I kind of nodded knowingly, “Ah yes, Bulgaria was on the side of the Axis in the Second World War.”
But then Martin told me an interesting story. The Bulgarians were very upset by the idea of prosecuting Jewish people, and people of all faiths put pressure on the Bulgarian king to protect them. When Hitler ordered that the Jewish populations of his allies be sent to the camps as part of his final solution, the king did a very Bulgarian (apparently) thing: he stalled. He told Hitler that he needed the Jews since they were building him a railroad. By the time the stalling couldn’t work anymore, Hitler had other things to worry about. And thus the Bulgarian Jews were saved from the Holocaust.
Another amusing story from the Second World War, along the same lines, was that Hitler was getting pissed off with Bulgaria for not declaring war on anyone. He delivered an ultimatum: declare war on one of the Allies, or feel the wrath of the Axis. The King pulled out a map and decided that the USA was way too far away to really care if some obscure Eastern European country declared war on it, so they chose the USA.
Then D-Day happened. Yeeeeeaaaaah…
I also got a bit more of an understanding of Bulgarian history, mainly thanks to the extremely solid knowledge of my guide. Basically it’s a series of occupations and brief periods of Bulgarian rule, before another occupation.
I was advised that the two tag-along guides would be running the organisation’s pub crawl that night, which was going to start pretty much straight after the walking tour. I glanced at my watch, had a think, and decided to take part in the tour.
We were accompanied by two Berliners, two Bavarians, an Australian and his UK girlfriend, an Argentinean and an American and his young Romanian girlfriend. The pub crawl was kind of different to what I expected – in a good way. It almost felt like an extension of the walking tour, except instead of exploring the history it explored Sofia’s nightlife.
There were four bars and a club on the crawl. The first was a little plain, and we just had a quick beer there before moving on. The second was a place called The Apartment, and I thought it was amazing. Basically it’s in an apartment (duh) and each room has a different thing about it.
In one room you were allowed to graffiti all over the walls, and it was full of colour. In another they had a screen and projector, and you were allowed to bring in films (as long as they are cult or underground) and just screen it. To order you went to the kitchen, where there were fridges filled with homemade bits and pieces. The Apartment was filled with people lazing on bean bags, sofas and the like. I had one of their homemade raspberry wines. It was… like wine and raspberry.
Some history of the place: it used to be owned by this guy but was taken during the Communist regime. The guy died before he could get it back, and it ended up going to his two wives (yes, that’s right). In fact, they got half each. One gave her half to an alternative lifestyle group who turned it into The Apartment.
The third place we went was some kind of beer hall. Each table had its own beer tap, and you could pour your own. I liked that too, and apparently it’s a home brew.
The fourth place (and last bar) was amazing. You walk down a tiny, unassuming alley to a small wooden door with no markings or anything. Once upon a time you had to knock and know the password to be let in, but now that the Communist regime is over the door is left unlocked. It’s called The Barn because it’s housed in an old bar. There are no electric lights – the entire place, including the toilet, is lit by candles. It’s the dingiest, seediest place you could imagine, and it was packed. We all did a shot of Bulgarian Rakia (a slightly smoother version of the Greek Raki), hung around a little longer, and then went to a club to finish off with dancing. That was a little more typical, so I left soon after we got there.
DAY TWO
Well… ok, this is going to be pretty short because basically all I did on my second day was walk around waiting to leave that night. I still needed to pick up my ticket for that night, so that was where I went first.
Well, first I went to the ticket desks I had been to the day before. She told me I needed to go to the international desk, which was near the green structure. Well, I went to the green structure (it was basically right there) and saw nothing. I went to the information booth, and the lady there pointed me to a dark, sad corridor where nothing was open.
I followed the corridor and found a small, glass booth that seemed a bit like a tourist centre. It was the international desk. It was literally the only thing open in the entire dark corridor.
Well, I got my ticket for the train that night and went to walk around.
I was busting for the toilet most of the day, but for some reason Sofia doesn’t understand the concept of a public toilet. So I went to a McDonalds for lunch, but they seemed to lock their toilet as well – luckily someone was leaving just as I went (hehehe).
Anyway, so I went walking, found some random buildings, found a boring industrial area, got bored and went to wait in the hostel where there was a toilet nearby. My train was to leave at 7pm, so off I went to catch it.
At the train station there was only one train on the departures board listed as leaving at 19:00. It didn’t say Bucharest, but I knew that the train I was catching would be ending somewhere in Russia, so that didn’t worry me. What did worry me was the fact that it was listed as a local train and terminated within Bulgarian borders.
There were two trains, which were both the same train, that were scheduled to leave at 19:05, so off I went to see if that train was likely to be mine. It was the only train in the station, was a sleeper train with a Russian flag on it (I couldn’t read where it was going…) and had a carriage and bed number that matched my ticket, so I went in and set up.
The train was old, but also really, really nice. It was like some kind of Russian sleeper from the 30s, wooden paneling and leather beds with an actual coal fire powering the internal heating. Even better, I had a cabin all to myself.
I settled in for a comfortable, peaceful night. Unfortunately it was not entirely to be. See, you may remember that Bulgaria is not a part of the Schengen area – neither is Romania. What does this mean? Border crossings. At 2am. I was woken up by a loud crash as my door flew open, revealing a man in an official uniform flanked by a conductor.
I struggled to pull out my passport and handed it to the guy. He looked at it.
“Ah, Britain.”
He flicked through it, paying much closer attention than I thought was necessary at 2 in the morning.
“Where are you going?”
“Uh…” Brain did a quick reboot. “Bucharest.” I felt like this answer might not be enough, so added: “In Romania.”
“Yes, yes. How long you stay?”
“Only one night in Bucharest. Then I go to Brasov. For three nights.”
“OK.”
He kept looking at my passport. I have to say, he looked kind of sweet and pleasant, but the fact was he was border patrol, which always puts me on guard.
“When is your birthday?”
I told him. He nodded and smiled, turning to the conductor.
“British.”
“Australia,” replied the conductor.
“No, Britain.”
“Australia,” repeated the conductor. The border control officer turned back to me.
I lay there, mouth a little agape, brain barely working through the words they were saying. Oh yeah!
“My train ticket is from Australia because I live in Australia. But I’m a British citizen.”
“Ah!” said the officer, gave me my passport back, thanked me and closed the door.
I tried to go back to sleep, but now I needed to go to the toilet. I really didn’t fancy walking through the train corridors with all the officers walking around, and anyway the toilet was just a flap that opened up onto the track to deposit your business, which you’re not supposed to use when the train is stationary.
I waited for thirty minutes before someone threw open my door again and barked: “PASSPORT!”
I pulled it out and showed it to him. He had a quick glance, gave it back and closed the door again.
Thirty minutes after that the train started moving again. I went to the toilet (happy days!) and went back to sleep.
At 5:30am the conductor came and woke me up to let me know that we had arrived at Bucharest. Hooray.
Except, normally, the conductor will give you a bit of time beforehand so you can prepare. This time he work me up five seconds before we arrived. In a bit of a panic I stumbled up, grabbing my bag from beneath the bed (which I had to lift up to get the bag), grabbed my coat, grabbed my other bag, threw on my shoes and bumbled out of the train. I stopped to sort my stuff out and walked down to the main station.
It wasn’t long before I realized I had forgotten my scarf.
Whoopee. Welcome to Romania.
TO BE CONTINUED
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