Highway to Hell

It's amazing the thoughts that stream through your head when you find yourself running across a deserted border crossing at two in the morning, your coach disappearing through the checkpoint  in the distance leaving you and your wife stranded with only some shit pizza and a few quid in Bulgarian coins for comfort. Strangely, my first thought was "God, I wish I was back in Sofia right now". Which is not, as I think even the most ardent Bulgarian patriot would agree, something which one hopes for very often.

We'd arrived in the Bulgarian capital about ten hours earlier, after our relaxing stay in Rila. As that evening's overnight train to Istanbul was full, we'd thrown caution to he wind and booked an overnight coach instead (you can read Lou's thoughts on Eastern European coach travel a bit later). That left us with best part of the day to explore Bulgaria's oft-maligned capital.

It is, in almost every sense, a city of two parts. The vast majority is bustling, ramshackle and alive with the intoxicatingly friendly buzz generated by the commerce of poverty and the extraordinary kindness of the local people. It is also, by any measure, pretty damned ugly. Pavements and roads are in poor repair, buildings dilapidated and bins overflowing. Though the sounds from the dusty playgrounds that populate the side streets are of happy children, the parks themselves are in sad repair, as are the fume-belching buses that wind their way through the city. In fact, the whole place seemed crying out for a hefty whack of European cash to help sort out the infrastructure and help the Sofians help themselves.

Twenty minutes later, after we'd walked past the Paul Smith boutique and Rotary Watch store into the "Old Town" that houses Bulgaria's Presidential residency and the Shearton Hotel, we found ourselves in the - much smaller - other part of town. Pavements are smoother here, the parks bustling with outdoor cafes and music, and the buildings beautifully preserved and gleaming in the afternoon sun. Government types and the Germans, Americans, Japanese and Brits working here can choose from an array of shops and restaurants that are undeniably priced way out of reach of most locals. European flags fly here too, along with the signs proclaiming the investment that EU membership has brought. There's no denyng that they've done a good job in this part of town. You just hope that the cash, and the planning, starts flowing round the city - and the country - soon.

In short Sofia was a city you couldn't help but like, but could in all likelihood never see yourself returning to.

Unless, that is, you find yourself shaking with panic at a Turkish border crossing, trying to buy a Visa in the wrong currency as your coach - and all your belongings - crosses the border without you. Then Sofia seems like the most attractive place in the world, which was exactly the thought running through my mind as I ran, in best Challenge Anneka style, looking for an ATM that the irate border guard had told me existed at the rear of an empty building. In the end, the guard came to help, I got some cash, and we made it into Turkey just fine. And so Sofia was filed once again in the box marked "nice enough, but never again", and we trundled onwards towards Istanbul.

TTFN,

Luke and Louise

(Posted by Luke)