The result of this night train leads me to think if ever I take a night train again I will take a bed over winging it on a seat. The train reservation gave as a carriage number and seat number each, although on boarding none of this meant anything as there was no such carriage and therefore no such seats. We were moved into first class, but had no time to get excited about this when we saw first class. Perhaps the only difference between first and second class was coat hooks. If foot room was a consideration, then it was unnoticable. We tried our best to get comfy spread over 2 seats. I reconcile this to myself by thinking how lucky you feel on a flight when you have 2 seats to spread out and the journey time is the same. Still a flight has a major difference; ticket and passport inspections. I managed to get reasonably comfy by breaking open my sleeping bag and spreading over the floor. With the hood up it lessened but didn't sound proof me from sleeping directly above the wheel. I would be comfy for about an hour then the hard floor would make my leg numb, so I'd turn and it was a system that worked. The manner I was wakened for tickets and passports (my feet being kicked) seemed worthy of prison life. Added to that the issue concerning Sarah's passport caused a panic. The police just took it and walked off. You know in the back of your mind that it will all be ok, but the time he took to return caused concern. Even more concern when we heard the train engine start up. Being seperated from your passport is something I avoid like the plague. The train started moving and we started yelling and like a practical joke the policeman came back with the passport stamp. We had now left Romania. Another easier stop at the Bulgarian border and we both got what sleep we could until I woke in Bulgaria.
The new train guard was a pervert to be frank. A row down a couple were also sleeping on the floor. When she handed the ticket on demand he checked it. However, maybe in the wrestling to get back into her sleeping bag she exposed some flesh accidentally, the tall thin guard with pressing eyes glared unashameably while literally wringing his hands. It was too obvious to be mistaken. On top of that he did the same to Sarah as she bent forward to tie her boots. The guard would then walk back and forward giving our small unused carriage a disproportionate amount of his attention, and fixing a scary glare on the females. I feared I may have had to prevent a raping if duty called.
My first look at Bulgaria and Bulgarians came at a station stop. Since Czech the countries had goy steadily poorer and Bulgaria looked the poorest. I believe it is the second poorest in Europe after Moldova. I want to hide from describing the people as men wearing shell suits and ladies with bad perms and pink jeans, but that is the best description. The journey into Sofia through a mountain pass was again truly amazing. Little houses dotted on the hills etc. The train scraped by a sheer cliff face with a river in between which we largely followed until we reached Sofia the capital'.
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| Sofia, Bulgaria |
Sofia train station was again a bit soviet inspired monstrosity. I've used Soviet a lot (maybe as that best describes East Europe) so let me elaborate. Big faux marble walls, logos made from galvanised metal, wood panelling when decoration is needed. I'll first problem in Bulgaria is the lettering is cyrilic like Russian, which is more complicated than just the 'K's and 'R's being the wrong way round. As with all ex communist work delegation each person to each task. Information from one booth, local ticket from another, international from another, international information another, and any attempt at customer service in one person providing a service for all would be at the expense of another persons job. Now lefty Chris is all for job creation, but lefty Chris still needed a reservation for the 19:15 to Istanbul, which after some back-and-forthing we secured for LEVA 40 (or about £16). And this time it was a sleeping cabin.
I don't have much to say on Sofia of interest. Its a city that could be better with a bit of dusting and polishing. I didn't read up on it much, and we were only killing time there. One thing that maybe jumps out a bit, is the Mosques seem to have more prominence than previously, maybe underlining that we are now well within the old Ottoman Empire.
We brought some food and drinks for the 12 hour train ride to Istanbul and made our way to find our train. The lettering almost claimed us as a victim when I misunderstood 1H for 1 hour delay when it was actually platform 1H with the train waiting there for us. Several trips to booths and a travel agent and we were on board and settled into our sleeper cabin. We sat back opened our drinks and snacks and had a hug. We made the last train to Istanbul, we did it. It seemed a bit emotional. From the beauty of Paris to the functionional campsites of Southern France. From the grubby passion and tradition of Italy to the alps of Bavaria. From progressive Berlin where capitalism won hands down to the Eastern Countries where capitalism is still a work in progress. Hills, fields, coasts, snow capped mountains. Lanuguages we understood sentences to languages we couldn't even read. Poverty of cripples begging in streets to the unsubtle unashamed wealth of Monte Carlo and Cannes. Europe ended when Chris will at last get a stamp in his new passport. I'm not sure if the journey was the emotive thing either. Suddenly all those silly rows as we worked how to get from station to bed, working out a transport system and strange roads with 10 minutes of arriving, seemed to raise a quiet chuckle. If the journey is part of it, then so are the tough parts that make the journey memorable. With this contented little achievement under our belt, I curled up on the bed in the train, finished my cheap Bulgarian beer and vanilla biscuits and dozed off to sleep.
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