Bulgarian Days

Well, of course I was a jackass. If you recall from my last entry I was worried about the “shonky-ass bus station”, and while it wasn’t amazing it also wasn’t all that bad. I was a little concerned on the way to the bus station, as I’d been re-reading Dracula and the quote “ ‘Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!” kept haunting me when I heard dogs howling at me.

Still, I made it safely there without vampire encounter and the people there were friendly and amazingly helpful considering it was 5 in the morning and I hadn’t had any coffee and had no clue what people were saying or where I was meant to be. I’d booked my ticket online and I think I did something wrong in not having a paper version but rather than yell at me like some might do they let me sit on the bus and discreetly gave me a printout of my ticket, which I thought was a really nice thing for them to do.

It was too foggy to see much of the first half of the journey, but it soon cleared after that and I was glad because it meant I could see some of the amazing Bulgarian countryside. Goodness me, it’s pretty! Woodland and hills and rivers often shrouded in mist. Absolutely gorgeous. Why did I not know about this? Everyone raves about the Italian countryside, and it is nice too, but the Bulgarian landscape is easily on a par.

I’m finding the Eastern European countries so different to Western. En route to Sofia I saw people travelling by horse and cart — I don’t mean fancy ones like you see in the tourist areas either, I mean a ramshackle, might-fall-apart-at-any-moment cart and an unhappy looking horse. It’s a real eye-opener to see so comparatively close to home, literally about 3 hours flying away from a world of BMWs and expensive suits and snotty faux-classy cocktail bars. It makes you think.

My hostel was nice, set in a little building off one of the main streets. It’s quite an old style building with a terrace of rooms above the reception and main communal area, giving it a medieval feel. There was a free breakfast too, which was very much appreciated.

It also ran a day trip to Rila Monastery, which I joined. We all piled in to a Peugeot Expert (it’s a real name of a people carrier over here) and trundled the 100km or so out through more breathtaking mountainous scenery.

We made it to the outskirts of a small forest where we followed a path that was quite tricky due to ice and snow. I made it without falling over by going at a pace that would embarrass a baby sloth, but far away in the trees you could hear the Spanish girls falling over and laughing. I did think about going back to help but I was frankly worried about losing sight of the guide and they seemed to have things mostly in hand anyway. I was at least a little ashamed and asked one of the other guys if we should help out.

Eventually we made it to a cave where a saint lived for seven years without a bed or anything. It was tiny and dark and I couldn’t see very much. Out at the back of the cave was a really small exit which was said to purify you if you used (obvious symbolism). With some trepidation I gave it a go and found it was surprisingly easy, though I can’t say I felt any purer for the experience.

The monastery itself was really good too. There weren’t too many people around, but I bet it’s a different story in summer. We may have had a bit too much time there though — once you’ve wandered around the grounds, seen the museum and gone into the church there you are a bit monastery’d out. It did leave me some time to get some good thinking done and the location, set among the mountains, was so picturesque. I also made a cat friend who patiently listened to my thoughts and I think he understood, which was great. I think he was pleased to see the back of me.

The walking tour was really enjoyable. We had the most friendly, lovely guide with big chocolate eyes and a brilliantly dry, self-deprecating sense of humour. She kept playing down her English but it was really good and delivered with a really great accent. She was so pretty. I was really quite smitten and could happily have wandered around with her for days. I’ve never seen as big a smile as when I was chatting to her about the Bulgarian countryside.

Still, she was fairly no-nonsense and I’m mostly nonsense so I don’t think our love was meant to be. Besides, my inner Humphrey Bogart was telling me she would be a real heartbreaker, so I complimented her on her English, lit an imaginary cigarette, imagined drawling a “here’s looking at you, kid” and wandered off in a daze into the streets of Sofia.

I went to the strangest shopping centre I’ve ever been in. Called the TZUM (basically “Central Department Store”), it was almost empty of people. There weren’t many shops, and apparently everything there is very expensive so no-one goes there. If you read Bill Bryson’s books you’ll no doubt remember the times he’s been there have alternated between massive queues for things and the place being empty of things to buy; now it had things you could buy but no-one wanted to. I tried to go up the escalator to the third level to have a look around — I’d seen other people do it so thought it was OK — but a guard gave me a telling-off in Bulgarian so I left.

As I had a discount and I’d done a similar tour in Bucharest I decided to do the Communist walking tour. It wasn’t as good as the Bucharest one, in that the Communist buildings in Sofia aren’t nearly so grand as those in Bucharest. I did learn a lot though.

Our tour took place while there was a big EU ceremony going on, with leaders gathered from different nations. I felt like volunteering myself for the UK — “I’m not David Davis but I’m certainly a David” — and making sweeping changes. It was a little alarming though, there was a huge police and gendarmerie presence and lots of streets were blocked off. Apparently everyone was taking the opportunity to protest against everything while the media (and I) were present which was certainly exciting.

I really liked Bulgaria. I struggled with the language as usual but my excuse this time is that it’s a completely different alphabet. For example, the word “Sofia” in Bulgarian is “София”. I don’t even know how to begin with that one, I’m afraid. Fortunately most people here seem to speak some English, although some people seemed cross that our walking tour guide was speaking in English.

Sofia in particular is a great little place. It’s charmingly run-down but not alarmingly so and encourages you to wander around, poking down side streets and into courtyards and squares and rewards you when you do. I’d really love to see it in summer and hopefully will do so.

You do have to pay attention to where you’re walking though. You can’t, for example, wander around indulging in fantasies of gorgeous tour guides flinging their arms around you and asking you to take them with you to the West without stumbling over uneven surfaces. In one memorable occasion I managed the unfortunate feat of walking into a thigh-high concrete post and nearly went flying, much to the merriment of the locals. It must have been karma for not going back to help the Spanish on the icy path.

I am definitely back in the traveler groove now, I’m happy to report. I feel more willing to do things and socialise and generally wander around, which is great. I was worried my keenness for traveling was beginning to wane and there’s still so much of the world I want to see.

And on that positive note I’m heading off to another country — so, as the Bulgarians might say and I would if I could, сбогом! Written on January 11th, 2018 by David Seddon