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It was our last day in Turkey. Edirne had turned out to be an interesting town but we weren’t going to have time to explore it all. We rose early so that we could sort out the visa issue and then go to the prize winning Health Museum, housed in a place where disturbed people were historically treated with music and the sound of running water.
Our guide book said that Australians could buy a visa at the border but to check on the ground because that could change. When we arrived at the Bulgarian Consulate at nine fifteen a.m. there was already a line up of people on the footpath and apparently no way to get through the gate. The wait seemed like it would be long so we went to an internet cafe and checked on the Bulgarian Embassy site - yes, Australians have to get a visa in person from the consulate. Back we went, more people waiting and one of them said that we would have to show our travel insurance certificate. We saw a person press a button and speak, open the gate and go in. So Keith tried that but after a few questions there was no more communication and the gate stayed shut. Back we went to the hotel for every document we own and back again. Also to the tourist office so that we could have our business and request written out in Turkish. This time a person leaving left the gate open long enough for us to sneak through. We got to another gate where the official looked at out note, but not speaking Turkish!, disregarded it. He had about four words of English and told us that we could not get a visa at the border, that we needed an appointment date to get a visa and that we would have to ring up between 3 and 4 pm to make a date. That was after closing time for visas, at 12, so it was impossible to get a visa that day. We went back to the tourist office. The tourist man rang the consulate to check if we had got it right and was told that if we rang at the right time we might get an appointment sometime in the next five days, and no, they couldn't look at appointment availability now because it was not 3 pm. As frustrated as we were, and not surprised that they didn't speak Turkish but amazed that they didn't speak English, he rang someone higher up and was told that Australians don't need a visa. We could have kissed him. In a way I had almost been pleased to not be able to leave Turkey, but now things were solved, and we were on the move again.
Our guide book said that Australians could buy a visa at the border but to check on the ground because that could change. When we arrived at the Bulgarian Consulate at nine fifteen a.m. there was already a line up of people on the footpath and apparently no way to get through the gate. The wait seemed like it would be long so we went to an internet cafe and checked on the Bulgarian Embassy site - yes, Australians have to get a visa in person from the consulate. Back we went, more people waiting and one of them said that we would have to show our travel insurance certificate. We saw a person press a button and speak, open the gate and go in. So Keith tried that but after a few questions there was no more communication and the gate stayed shut. Back we went to the hotel for every document we own and back again. Also to the tourist office so that we could have our business and request written out in Turkish. This time a person leaving left the gate open long enough for us to sneak through. We got to another gate where the official looked at out note, but not speaking Turkish!, disregarded it. He had about four words of English and told us that we could not get a visa at the border, that we needed an appointment date to get a visa and that we would have to ring up between 3 and 4 pm to make a date. That was after closing time for visas, at 12, so it was impossible to get a visa that day. We went back to the tourist office. The tourist man rang the consulate to check if we had got it right and was told that if we rang at the right time we might get an appointment sometime in the next five days, and no, they couldn't look at appointment availability now because it was not 3 pm. As frustrated as we were, and not surprised that they didn't speak Turkish but amazed that they didn't speak English, he rang someone higher up and was told that Australians don't need a visa. We could have kissed him. In a way I had almost been pleased to not be able to leave Turkey, but now things were solved, and we were on the move again.
We just had time to visit the Selimiye Mosque Museum, which is housed beside the mosque in the rooms originally used as the madrassa, or school. Here students would have learnt literacy and numeracy, basic science and religion. Study of the Koran was a high priority. 
Now the rooms showed examples of craftsmanship, used in the items used in mosques and madrassas throughout Turkey. They ranged from exquisite metal and wood work to calligraphy and holy texts. 
The story of the mosque’s architect Sinan’s life was told and how he had gained in architectural knowledge by visiting many buildings while in the army. In his eighties, he had designed and supervised the building of the Selimiye Mosque. When a suitable person to be the first to open the door was sought, none better that Sinan could be found due to his piety. All his quotes show him to have been a humble and appreciative person who rose to fame in a way that surprised him.
Having collected our bags, we looked along the roadside for our bus stop. A simit seller looked after us and made sure that we caught the right bus, sharing our cherries with us while we waited. These small encounters with kind and friendly people have come to mean so much to us and so it was a fitting way to say farewell to Turkey. We took a small bus to the Aslarn Hotel, the rendezvous site for the bus from Istanbul that we would catch to go to Plovdiv. It was running terribly late and stopped for such a short time that we would have missed it if Keith had not run after it and others had not shouted and whistled. We struggled down the road with our luggage, loaded it on and then we were off again.
We eventually arrived at the border on a bus but we were still not 100% confident about not needing visas. We had kept our bus fare back to Edirne in Turkish lira in case we were rejected and dragged off the bus. As we passed out of Turkey, the sky darkened, thunder grumbled and the rain fell. After an hour and at least four passport checks, a random luggage check for another shifty looking passenger with large plastic bags and twenty minutes in the duty free shops, we were through and on our way to Plovdiv.
During one of the checks we had met a friendly Armenian doctor travelling on our bus who works in Sofia, Moscow and Istanbul. He offered us any help at any time so we asked him if we could use his phone. Ours, with a Turkish sim card, would not work in Bulgaria. Over the last few weeks we had been corresponding with a couch surfer called Natasha and we were looking forward to meeting her in the flesh at last. We needed to let her know that the bus would be late, arriving at eight.
It was like meeting a sister – Natasha was there and stepping forward to greet us. Our emails had given us a sense of each other so there was no ice to break. We had originally been going to go to the house in the nearby village, but the rain had changed things and we jammed into a taxi to travel to Natasha’s Plovdiv flat.
When we had entered Bulgaria, we had immediately noticed how green everything was and how rivers gushed and trees grew thickly. The land was hilly, with farms and villages between forested areas. Nearly every village house had a yard full of neatly planted crops and shady vines. From the bus, larger towns were monotonously drab, with large rectangular blocks of flats that seemed run down, very close together. We were conscious of the change in the early nineties from a communist regime to an elected government, and we looked for clues everywhere. The same clues could mean anything, so we were keen to hear about the history and experiences of the last years.
At Natasha’s flat, we met her son, Chavdar, who recently graduated from secondary school. He is a very friendly young man who speaks excellent English, having attended a high school that specialised in it. We chatted as we cooked macaroni cheese and Natasha made a salad.
The flat is on the second floor, in a rectangular block beside look alikes. It was built in the early days of the socialist regime to strict guidelines about size, with the other flats on the same landing being another two bedroom flat and a one bedroom flat. The views from the windows are of the trees which surround all the blocks. Elsewhere there are larger blocks with less land around them, the original open spaces now being built on and the character of the areas changing. Natasha’s mother, who lives in the next block, popped in to collect a large pot to cook strawberry jam in.
After a check of our emails, we went to sleep, listening to the rain’s gentle whispering.
Now the rooms showed examples of craftsmanship, used in the items used in mosques and madrassas throughout Turkey. They ranged from exquisite metal and wood work to calligraphy and holy texts. The story of the mosque’s architect Sinan’s life was told and how he had gained in architectural knowledge by visiting many buildings while in the army. In his eighties, he had designed and supervised the building of the Selimiye Mosque. When a suitable person to be the first to open the door was sought, none better that Sinan could be found due to his piety. All his quotes show him to have been a humble and appreciative person who rose to fame in a way that surprised him.Having collected our bags, we looked along the roadside for our bus stop. A simit seller looked after us and made sure that we caught the right bus, sharing our cherries with us while we waited. These small encounters with kind and friendly people have come to mean so much to us and so it was a fitting way to say farewell to Turkey. We took a small bus to the Aslarn Hotel, the rendezvous site for the bus from Istanbul that we would catch to go to Plovdiv. It was running terribly late and stopped for such a short time that we would have missed it if Keith had not run after it and others had not shouted and whistled. We struggled down the road with our luggage, loaded it on and then we were off again.
We eventually arrived at the border on a bus but we were still not 100% confident about not needing visas. We had kept our bus fare back to Edirne in Turkish lira in case we were rejected and dragged off the bus. As we passed out of Turkey, the sky darkened, thunder grumbled and the rain fell. After an hour and at least four passport checks, a random luggage check for another shifty looking passenger with large plastic bags and twenty minutes in the duty free shops, we were through and on our way to Plovdiv.
During one of the checks we had met a friendly Armenian doctor travelling on our bus who works in Sofia, Moscow and Istanbul. He offered us any help at any time so we asked him if we could use his phone. Ours, with a Turkish sim card, would not work in Bulgaria. Over the last few weeks we had been corresponding with a couch surfer called Natasha and we were looking forward to meeting her in the flesh at last. We needed to let her know that the bus would be late, arriving at eight.
It was like meeting a sister – Natasha was there and stepping forward to greet us. Our emails had given us a sense of each other so there was no ice to break. We had originally been going to go to the house in the nearby village, but the rain had changed things and we jammed into a taxi to travel to Natasha’s Plovdiv flat.
When we had entered Bulgaria, we had immediately noticed how green everything was and how rivers gushed and trees grew thickly. The land was hilly, with farms and villages between forested areas. Nearly every village house had a yard full of neatly planted crops and shady vines. From the bus, larger towns were monotonously drab, with large rectangular blocks of flats that seemed run down, very close together. We were conscious of the change in the early nineties from a communist regime to an elected government, and we looked for clues everywhere. The same clues could mean anything, so we were keen to hear about the history and experiences of the last years.
At Natasha’s flat, we met her son, Chavdar, who recently graduated from secondary school. He is a very friendly young man who speaks excellent English, having attended a high school that specialised in it. We chatted as we cooked macaroni cheese and Natasha made a salad.
The flat is on the second floor, in a rectangular block beside look alikes. It was built in the early days of the socialist regime to strict guidelines about size, with the other flats on the same landing being another two bedroom flat and a one bedroom flat. The views from the windows are of the trees which surround all the blocks. Elsewhere there are larger blocks with less land around them, the original open spaces now being built on and the character of the areas changing. Natasha’s mother, who lives in the next block, popped in to collect a large pot to cook strawberry jam in.
After a check of our emails, we went to sleep, listening to the rain’s gentle whispering.
Views of Plovdiv, Bulgaria's second largest city.
A typical Turkish mini bus. These can be hailed from the side of the road anywhere and they will let you out anywhere. The fares are cheap and they pass by many places frequently. Sometimes they are in poor condition. The last one we rode in had the roof lining sagging down not far above the passengers' heads. 
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