Veliko Turnovo to Sofia, Bulgaria, Thursday June 12th

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We had found out the bus leaving time for Sofia and arrived at the bus station with a comfortable wait. I could have typed but instead spent the half hour listening to an ex-pat Englishman telling us all the bad things about England. He was a bit of a know it all but he was talking about things that do exist and that I had read about - honour killings, murders and accidents that cause death and the inability of the legal system to deal with groups of people, all of whom didn’t do it and won’t say who did, of ethnic gangs and police not being willing or able to tackle crimes, of a small girl whose mother arranged for one of the fathers of her seven children to hide her so that they could make money out of the search, and of whole generations of families on welfare with no intentions ever to get jobs. It was a bit like half an hour of having your head dragged through the gutter, or the fascination and repulsion simultaneously experienced when watching an episode of the TV program, ‘Shameless’.

It was disappointing to recall that food and drinks are not served on Bulgarian buses, but we had a pleasant enough trip, with a little nodding off for both of us. Sofia loomed through a maze of suburbs and finally we had arrived. Not out of town for once and within walking distance of the Tourist Information Bureau. It was a pity that it was tucked away in a side street and not easy to find, but after nearly an hour of asking people who didn’t know where it was and being led astray by the directions of those who claimed that they did, we were perched on their stools being well advised.

Finding the hostel was a similar challenge, even though we had the address and were in the right street. Kind people stopped to assist, asking shop keepers for help. It was in an arcade, behind a nondescript white door, on the second floor, above the unsigned podiatrist and the door to the vegetarian restaurant that we had failed to notice completely. Maria settled us in to a Fort Knox type security arrangement, gave us our complimentary passes for a vodka each at the bar we had not noticed behind an ordinary door near the restaurant, and we set off to use what little was left of the day to explore.

All the niggles of the afternoon vanished as we set out with our excellent map to visit the sites. Actually everything is a ‘site’ to us – from the rain drenched streets lined with shops at street level and goodness knows what businesses and residences above, to the trams rattling by – when you are in a new city. The grandeur and size of the official buildings was amazing and they were in very good condition. Whole blocks were hollow, surrounded by joined buildings and filled with historic buildings, parks, fountains and sculptures. There were sculptures everywhere, mostly we did not know who or what they were commemorating but many were solely for public art. For some reason I had a feeling of being in a Russian city, St Petersburg in my mind, but of course that was ridiculous since I never have been to Russia. Would I have felt that if I had not known of the Russian connection to Bulgaria?

St George Rotunda, the oldest building in Sofia, has an extensive excavation site. Behind it were two teenagers, in identical tracksuits, making steady progress leaping from partial wall top to partial wall top. Every landing was felt by the ancient stones and by us, who have read the guidance for visitors to archaeological sites so many times, about one hand stroke by thousands over years threatening the cultural heritage for future generations. It is the remains of the ancient town of Serdica, whose name changed to Sofia because of the St Sofia Church and the constant reference to that being synonymous with the city.

Although it was late, a priest was manning the icon stall inside the rotunda, chatting on his mobile phone and taking no notice of us whatever. Signs said that the liturgy was held daily, that ten people only are allowed in for fifteen minutes at a time, and that the fine for taking photos was ten lev (A$9). How would you enforce that? There are six layers of frescoes, with the oldest dating from the sixth century, but only as tiny remnants that we couldn’t see. During Ottoman rule the rotunda was converted to a mosque and the frescoes painted over. After independence in the nineteenth century it was abandoned and only restored in the 20^th century. It is amazing how layers of paintings can be uncovered without destruction. The frescoes were fairly pale, but depicted saints two metres tall and many angels.

Next on our list we headed to Saint Sofia, past the old Communist Party headquarters, the art gallery, the museums, a gorgeous Russian Orthodox Church – all places to explore tomorrow. As we were waiting at the lights to cross the road, a young man asked us if we were Australian. He was on his way to hear Paul McCartney play in Kiev but had noticed the boomerang key ring attached to my bag. It was there so that people would not mistake us for Americans; advice we had read before leaving Australia and which our Canadian friends had reiterated as important when travelling in the Middle East. Nicholai is planning a trip to Australia in the near future and has a collection of Australian items and currency. We gave him the key ring for good luck and to speed him on his way to Australia, and he told us of the nearby Russian Festival activities that we then hurried off to see.

The street was lined with stalls selling Russian crafts, with many of the vendors dressed in Russian National costume. We had bought a Mamushka doll in Turkey for our grandsons but here was a whole village population of Mamushkas and Babushkas, lined up in ascending sizes, and all wearing family costumes. The music and the crowd drew us to the stage where there was a wonderful concert of Russian dancing; very athletic on the part of the men and graceful and whirling by the women. The quick costume changes and continuous acts kept the crowd’s interest, which was maintained by a succession of singers, metal tube cube jugglers, and other performers. The makeshift stage was in front of the St Alexander Neski Temple Church, which is enormous and was unfortunately closed.

Finally we reached Saint Sofia, also closed, and we decided to abandon sites and go to the bus station to investigate bus times to Sarajevo for the next day. This time we were not burdened with our packs and could appreciate the streetscape, which is magnificent. Sofia was founded 7000 years ago and is the second oldest city in Europe. It was a vibrant centre up until Ottoman times, when it declined, but after Bulgaria’s liberation in 1879, it became the capital, and after that there was a great period of construction. Modern shops line the main streets and the crowds could have been in any major city in Europe. The river marked the end of the glorious centre, its bridge guarded by ferocious looking lions, but its water flowing haphazardly through a rubbish-strewn concrete canal.

At the bus station we found out that the ‘man who knew everything’ had gone home – it was a fruitless trip, but prepared us for where to go the next day. At the train station we learnt that likely trains only went twice a week and not the next day. Flagging by now, we dragged back and at least were able to visit the Banya Bashi Mosque, the only one still operating in Sofia. It was too gloomy inside to really see the detail of the decorations, but it was fairly plain as city mosques go.

Mastering the multiple key and door system to get into our room, and pleased at having missed being drenched by minutes, we cleaned up and went downstairs to the vegetarian restaurant. It was a lovely green and beige room with many tables and patrons eating – a real restaurant and a contrast to what the entry had implied to me. We looked at the menu - at least ten choices - and found decision making difficult; everything looked so tempting. We had a delicious meal. It was also remarkably cheap. Back upstairs, with no need to venture out into the murky weather to get there, we went to bed.

Leaving Velico Turnovo