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Riding in from the airport past scores of decaying, grey, communist-era tower blocks wasn't the best way to lift my spirits after a sleepless overnight flight, so Sofia seemed a bit miserable at first. But then what doesn't at 6:30 in the morning. My mood wasn't helped when the hungover ticket inspector declined to show any leniancy towards my unvalidated bus ticket. I was clearly a new arrival in the country who was unaware if the idyosyncrascies of the Bulgarian bus system and I didn't speak any Bulgarian. The Inspector pocketed the fine.
I wish they all could be Bulgaria, (girls, girls, girls yeah I dig the)...
James Taylor2006-08-23 11:28:56
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Rating: 5.00 out of 5.00. 1 members have rated this article
Riding in from the airport past scores of decaying, grey, communist-era tower blocks wasn't the best way to lift my spirits after a sleepless overnight flight, so Sofia seemed a bit miserable at first. But then what doesn't at 6:30 in the morning. My mood wasn't helped when the hungover ticket inspector declined to show any leniancy towards my unvalidated bus ticket. I was clearly a new arrival in the country who was unaware if the idyosyncrascies of the Bulgarian bus system and I didn't speak any Bulgarian. The Inspector pocketed the fine.
I got off the bus by a city centre park containing an enourmous overblown communist monolith, depicting the workers struggle or something like that. The surrounding buildings were graffitied and peeling and the only signs of life were a few stray dogs and the type of shifty old men that one finds anywhere in the world if one arises early enough.
I spent about 20 minutes circling the park trying to figure out which way I was facing on the map, then I did the sensible thing and realised I had a compass in my pocket. This made things a whole lot easier. The walk to my hostel was mercifully short. More stray dogs, more shifty old men.
My place of residence, the bohemian art-hostel, wasn't too difficult to find, considering it's almost impossible to read the cyrillic alphabet road signs. After a brief tour, I was shown to my room, climbed into my middle bunk and slept. Or, at least, tried to. Which was difficult because the mattress was about as pleasant as osteoporosis.
I relinquished the dubiuos comfort of my bunk at roughly 4:00 after little sleeping and much lying very still on my back. A quick itinerary established that my guitar had been demolished during the flight. So much for that idea then. A guitar hunt was on the cards.
By the time I emerged into the light, Sofia seemed much more alive. A bustling european capital rather than a post apocalyptic
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See photographs from:
Bulgaria Gallery
