A Taste of Russia

It was another overnight train for us. It would be two in a row—Bucharest to Sofia, then Sofia to Istanbul, with only a few hours inbetween. I knew that this would be rough, this last push to Istanbul.  We had no time to spare as our Interrail tickets were soon to expire.

We left Bucharest late at night. We were hoping for the best seen as how we hadn't secured a sleeper. We had been told that the train was in transit from Moscow to Sofia. This had made me groan as I envisioned carriages chock-full of Russians swilling vodka and singing loudly (and badly). But when the train pulled into the Gara de Nord, it seemed that everyone disembarked. The carriages were empty so we had our pick of the lot. This may sound exciting, as we had the choice to sit in the 1st class carriage; but then we saw the 1st class carriage. Hurtful to the eyes, it was painted in a garrish pink, and instead of cabins, there were glass dividers. Seats were three across, but laid out in a peculiar way so you couldn't lay across them (as we were hoping to do). There were a few others that had joined us in this carriage; a young Bulgarian guy, and a couple that spoke something unfamiliar. We talked briefly with the Bulgarian, who was very friendly. We asked him if Sofia was a nice place and he just laughed. He said it was nothing like Bucharest. Well we had really liked Bucharest. We had no idea what to expect in Bulgaria, but if this 1st class was anything to go by...

I knew nothing about Bulgaria. I still don't to be quite honest. It's the poorest country in the EU. Maybe the elusive packs of dogs and wild kids were to be found on this leg of the journey?

Our ticket man was not the nicest guy in the world. He stared at our Interrail tickets for a good minute or two with an almost comical look on his face. I wondered if he was drunk. Thank goodness he was followed up with a tiny little lady who spoke a bit of English. She turned out to be our motherly figure in the carriage as I felt she was keeping watch over us. The ticket man handed our tickets back with a snort and moved on down the carriage.

Chris and I settled in the best we could. It was already nearing midnight so we sought out some sleeping arrangements. I curled up the best I could in the space I had, using my travel pillow and my fleece to prop me up. The others in the carriage laid out sleeping bags and stretched out on the floor. Chris followed suit. He was more horizontal than me, but I couldn't bear the thought of laying on that dirty floor. No, I'd be sticking to the dirty seats, thank you very much.

We asked for the lights to be turned off, and mercifully the tiny train lady flicked them off. What followed was a brief period of rest. And then we came to the border. The lights were blaring overhead again as we waited for passport control to come through. Now nothing is good in the middle of the night when you're awoken from sleep. Nothing is good when you're in the middle of nowhere and you don't speak the language and you don't know what's going on. It's much worse when you have your passport taken from you. The officer came through, looked at Chris' passport and handed it back to him, then he looked at mine, and took off with it. I was a bit concerned but figured he'd be right back. Seen as how I'm not an EU resident I need my passport stamped at some borders. Normally the officials would carry their stamp thingies, but this guy didn't. I sat patiently, slumped against a divider, waiting for my passport to be returned. The minutes ticked by. Chris and I stuck our heads out the train windows trying to catch a glimpse of the official. No sign from the building. Nothing stirred, and we were getting worried. I went to the section of the carriage where the ticket man sat, but he was curled up asleep. At least the little lady was there and she told me I'd get my passport back, no worries. Well, almost an hour had gone by. There was another guy who had gotten his passport taken away too and he was pacing back and forth just like we were. And then something dreadful happened—the train started to roll forward. Chris and I sprang towards the door. “My passport! My passport!” I shouted. I couldn't believe the train was leaving without my passport. I flew into the compartment where the ticket man was. He was now sitting up (maybe thanks to my shouting). His shirt was undone and he was rubbing his fat belly. He was so gross. But he said something to the effect that the officer was on the train. Sure enough, a minute later the officer passed through, handing my passport back without a word. I glared at him and said, “You really scared me.” He just shrugged and continued on.

There was no sleeping after that episode. My heart was still racing, and I felt as unsafe as ever in that dirty carriage. They had left all the doors open as the train had sat on the tracks for more than an hour. Who knows what kind of criminals could have boarded. Anyway, the lights were left on they were blaringly bright. It was a long night.

At the next stop the pig got off and a new ticket man got on. This one was a perv, according to Chris. He was just creepy, the way he would stand in the carriage and stare at me or the other girl as we did mundane things like bend over and tie our shoes. Ick. The overnight train to Bulgaria, first class or any class—I do not recommend it.

Little Russia

Bulgaria is gorgeous. The countryside I mean. Our train snaked through some outstanding landscape. Mountains, lakes, rivers, gorges—why couldn't we stop and camp here? It was the kind of train journey (despite the train) that someone would pay to take just for the scenery. We had several hours of this before the train came to the end of its journey in Sofia.

The station in Sofia is straight out of the Soviet-era. It is dark, dingy, and marked with strange emblems on the wall. We couldn't read any signs as everything was in Cyrillic. I told Chris, “We're in Russia.” Having been to Russia, I could say that if it wasn't Russia, it was at least its little sister.

Drop-dead hungry, we were astonished to find a McDonalds in the station (no mistaking that emblem). True, this McDonalds only served hot dogs and toasties, but it was enough for us. We sat down on wooden bench and wondered what we were going to do for the remainder of the day.

Having no map we decided to wing it and explore Sofia on our own, letting the streets take us wherever. Thankfully the streets led us into the centre where we happened upon an outdoor market. We aquired some bottles of beer and Bacardi breezers and went to sit in a park. We drank and read our books under the shadow of a Turkish-style minaret. We could now feel how East we were. Holding our bags close to us, we laid back and took a nap. It was an odd nap, as booze naps sometimes are. We woke up disorientated. We staggered out of the park and back onto the streets of Sofia.

We walked some more, but didn't come across anything spectacular. Sofia is a non-descript city, other than it feels very Russian with its cement Soviet-style buildings and tram lines. It wasn't at all dirty, but it did feel old. It felt stagnant, as if it hadn't changed in decades.

We encountered a very nice guy who was collecting donations for a children's charity. We had already given to his collegue down the street so we weren't prepared to hear his spiel, but he was willing to talk to us about the state of his country. He said it had gotten so bad, not necessarily the poverty, but the indifference in people to help others. In his line of work, he experienced it a lot. He was very well-spoken and genuine about his concern. He wasn't after us for a donation, he just wanted to talk with Westerners. His charity was geared towards helping young boys to stay off the streets, whether through activities or through education. We wished him well, and he told us to remember Bulgaria. I feel slightly guilty, as I haven't remembered Bulgaria as much as I should have. Bulgaria was something near what I was expecting Romania to be like. Romania had picked itself off the ground in the time since the fall of Communism. Bulgaria was still struggling. Perhaps when we get settled, I can look up charities there and see where I can help, as this guy has continued to live inside of my head.

The End of the Line

We had purchased overnight train tickets to Istanbul, securing sleepers. We had done it, the tickets were in our hands. Amazingly, we had kept to our grueling schedule. Now let me explain that the European itinerary was my doing (Chris was responsible for other things). I spent many an hour pouring over maps and checking hostels and campsites. I had to look up train schedules and see the best connections and try to find the most feasible routes. I love doing these kinds of things so it was no hardship. I did wonder how realistic it was to cross Europe by train in a month. The itinerary allowed virtually no rest days and had us slogging our bags across different cities either every day or every other day, sometimes in the dawn's early light. It wasn't meant to be easy. But remarkably, it was. Looking back it was a piece of cake. Sure there was that time Chris had to push me through some wire mesh fence and I lost my glasses, or that time we had to share a train cabin with a drunk crazy bag lady, or when we had to camp out in the rain—but none of those things mattered now that we were on our way to Istanbul, our final destination.

We sat in our sleeper and watched as the last of Bulgaria flew by outside our window. The window was cracked so we could listen to the steady clickity clack of the track. We were experiencing that deep contentment you feel when you've completed something. Whatever happens on the rest of our journey, we accomplished our push across Europe. Unless something happened at the border, we were homefree.

One little note on Interrail: it was well worth the money. Chris and I had purchased tickets to be used every day for a month. Considering the price of individual train journeys in Europe, we got more than our money's worth. The trains we traveled differed in quality, but that was part of the experience. It was never boring.  It was a great way to travel with locals too, as many times we were the only tourists on board. We heard a slew of different languages spoken and witnessed locals going about their everyday lives. I feel we learned a lot from this whole experience and would reccommend it to everyone. Europe—so many fascinating countries and cultures living in close proximity to one another. Chris and I are already thinking about when we can do it all over again.