Veliko Tarnovo

From Sofia, we took the train to two other smaller cities in Bulgaria - first Plovdiv, then Veliko Tarnovo. Plovdiv has a lovely old town with Ottoman style architecture and windy cobbled streets, and we spent a relaxing two nights there before jumping on a train to Veliko Tarnovo. Hostel Mostel, the excellent hostel we stayed at in Sofia, also have a hostel in Veliko Tarnovo and I have to admit that was one of the things enticing us there. We were not let down, the hostel was excellent and we met some great characters there too including a man named Girard who we spent much of our time there talking to. Girard is from Newfoundland, Canada (his friends call him "Newfie") but has been travelling since the late 70s - he pauses now and then to work for six months, then he is off on the road for a few more years. As you can imagine, he is filled to the brim with thoughts and experiences. Even though he is getting older, Girard was so full of vitality and energy that he had the presence of a young man. He has a strict diet now due to a particularly grisly bout of intestinal worms that he was lucky to survive but it sounded like his past was quite reckless in terms of drinking and drugs. We both thought he kind of resembled Iggy Pop in looks and demeanor. He had recently travelled through Central Asia and his stories and impressions were fascinating. Girard travels without a bank card (he only recently acquired a bank account, but still doesn't have a card - so travels with mountains of cash on him), he has no email account, no cell phone, and carries only a small well-worn leather over-the-shoulder bag (he has been through three of these over his 30+ years on the road). We so enjoyed our time with Girard and part of me was sad I couldn't just add him to Facebook and keep track of what he is up to - but a bigger part of me was excited to have met someone travelling in this nomadic and free style, a dying breed!

Veliko Tarnovo was under Ottoman rule from the 14th century until a successful uprising in the late 19th century. In 1913, there was a big earthquake which caused much of the city to be rebuilt, thus most of the Ottoman style architecture was lost. One of the workers at our hostel told us that the story of the "huge earthquake flattening the town" was somewhat suspicious and quite possibly the people used an earthquake as an excuse to rid themselves of the Ottoman history surrounding them and rebuild anew.

After a relaxing three nights in Veliko Tarnovo, we boarded the night train to Istanbul, and spent the night pretending to be on the Orient Express.

Bulgarian Drawings

Rila Monastery

Rila Monastery was founded in honour of Saint Ivan of Rila, the patron saint of Bulgaria. In English he is usually called Saint John because apparently Ivan is the Bulgarian version of the name John (!!), these names don't sound very similar to me so I will stick with "Saint Ivan". Saint Ivan is a legendary Bulgarian hermit who lived over 1000 years ago. He was a herder who became a monk when he was 25. Eventually he became a recluse, living in complete solitude (apart from wild animals) and without material possessions in a tiny, cold, uncomfortable cave, where he devoted himself to prayer. According to legend, wild animals came right up to him without fear, and birds would land in his hand.

We took a day trip from Sofia out to Rila Monastery, heading first to the nearby cave where Saint Ivan lived. The cave was small and dark, and required exiting out of a tiny hole in the top in order for us to "cleanse ourselves" of our sins. A bunch of young male hooligan tourists were yelling and chest-beating at the exit to the cave as we arrived, obviously relishing their clean slate.

         Kari climbing out of Saint Ivan's cave (sin free!)
Rila Monastery is over 1000 years old (re-built at various times), believed to have been founded by students of Saint Ivan of Rila. The size and grandeur of the complex is certainly in sharp contrast to Saint Ivan's miserable wee cave! Outer walls of the cathedral are covered in fascinating murals, and the inside of the cathedral is decadent and impressive, it felt like every square millimetre was filled with ornate and intricate detail (and lots of gold). The entire place and setting felt old, with evidence of an old way of life happening around the complex - a donkey was led in carrying a load of fresh produce, work of artisans was on display and the Monastery felt like a haven for traditional Bulgarian culture as well as religion. The practice of Christianity felt strong throughout Bulgaria, and when we visited churches in Sofia they were filled with people in prayer, purchasing icons, talking to priests, etc - quite different to a church filled with tourists taking snaps (Notre Dame was the worst for this!)

Above = tiny doorway at a little convent church we visited on the way (with a lovely window and rather frightening fire & brimstone murals)

Spot the monk on a mobile!!

naughty but gorgeous resident puppy

Sofia

We warmed to Sofia immediately from our first taxi ride to our hostel. Our driver was wearing thick thermals, smelt like Dencorub and doubled back to direct us when he noticed us wandering in the wrong direction after we got out of the cab. Like a lot of people we met in Sofia he had a small town warmth and friendliness.

Our hostel (Hostel Mostel) was one of the best we have stayed at on the trip. Housed in a heritage building with friendly staff and a great breakfast plus basic evening meal, they even organised day trips and walks. It makes a big difference having a local to get tips from.We were so comfortable there we ended up staying for five days.

 Sofia is a pretty city with amazing ornate churches and lovely parks. Most former Soviet places have removed their Soviet-era statues to out of the way corners of the city so it was interesting for us to see some of them still dotted around Sofia, often quite prominent. We had a friend asked by a local tv reporter what he thought of the Soviet statues when he was out wandering and they were even more interested in his response when they realised he was from the States. It seems there is an ongoing debate about their place in the city (Soviet-era statues, not Americans!).  You can see why other places would want to cleanse a city for a fresh start after bad times but as more time passes I think the value of  keeping parts of a place's history can become a worthwhile reminder and give a city depth. It often seems to happen by lucky accident in places that are cut off or where real estate is not at a premium, while cities that go through booms and remake their streets in the latest style can lose what gives a place its flavour.

The city has a calm, quiet atmosphere while still bustling. The calmness is similar to other Balkan cities and makes being in a city less of headache without all that yelling. You notice people leaning over close to each other to talk quietly instead of raising their voice. I noticed it in particular when a mix of Aussies and Brits (on a sporting trip perhaps?) swarmed off a bus in loud rowdy conversation. Being accustomed to the quiet, their loudness gave me a feeling of having my space invaded.

giant leeks and (above) tiny onions

Because we were restricted with what we could carry on the bikes we have had to suppress our souvenir shopping instincts for most of the trip. Ironically for a former communist state we found Sofia the perfect place to shed our Spartan cycling lifestyle and go on a bit of shopping spree. They have wonderful produce markets with great nut and sweet stalls as well as local crafts. Hand made clothes and textiles are quite cheap compared to home with lovely hand-knitted woolen clothes everywhere. We visited a few specialty stores that had lovely felted rugs, wood carvings and other traditional crafts also mixed with creative modern slants on the folk art traditions. Sofia has some really creative young designers. You could also get amazing grandma made long thick-knitted vests, socks and jumpers at market stalls for little more than you would pay for the raw wool back home.
There are also fascinating antique markets and shops. Lots of Soviet-era paraphernalia is on display with stall owners happy to explain the history and meaning of different objects. Space Race era commemorative coins, Lenin youth badges and Party-issued Station Master pocket watches are the sorts of gems on offer.

I browsed a volume of excerpts taken from Jack London's novels that appeared to be made to teach people English. The foreword made it explicit the political conclusions you were expected to glean from each heavily cut section. I was surprised how heavy handed the censorship and comment was here back then. Not that I'm under any illusions about the impartiality of Western media but the slant is a lot more hidden and insidious and thus more robust. It made for strange reading as I tried to imagine how I would have felt only having access to this type of information. This system of control seems so clumsy as it makes you so curious to know what you can not get access to. Human nature will always be curious about what we are told we cannot have or is bad.

We got a tip from our hostel about a hole in wall jazz club. Back home it would be a health and safety nightmare with only candlelight and an unrailed attic area with missing floorboards and everyone smoking like chimneys. It was great. Very casual with a young guy on piano playing with an older man on violin. Our friend Egil from Sweden joined us and was also excited about the non-Germanic unsensibleness of it all.

jazz club entry and the St. Alexander Nevsky Cathedral

Prizren, Kosovo

We hadn't originally planned on visiting Kosovo, but we met a lovely guy from Kosovo at our hostel in Tirana and he recommended we visit Prizren, a historical city in Kosovo's south. It was more or less on our way so we got on a bus and headed to Prizren. This was followed by an eventful border crossing (it turns out we hadn't been entered into the Albanian police system by border control when we entered from Greece - this caused great suspicion and resulted in our whole bus waiting for about 15 minutes while we were interrogated and Interpol were phoned etc etc. Later we giggled at the idea of us being Kiwi / Australian Spies.)

Arriving in Prizren after dark, we found ourselves in a pretty and bustling town, surrounded by hills and with cobbled pedestrian streets and lovely bridges crossing the small river through the town. Immediately we were reminded of Bosnian cities Sarajevo and Mostar, probably because of the similar Turkish influence - we later learned that Turkish is widely spoken in Prizren, as well as Albanian and Serbian (all three are official languages there).

Like other places we have been to in this part of the world, the word "Kosovo" echoes of terrible news broadcasts and conjures an image of oppression, violence and ongoing tension - in the back of our minds was a lurking idea that we might arrive in a place filled with nothing but pock-marked buildings and traumatised citizens. As usual, this was completely wrong and we found a city where people were out and about, just getting on with their lives.

We were excited by the return to Turkish-influenced food and became instant regulars at this great local restaurant

Cat in a collapsed building (left) and building with "thank you" written on the side to countries who have recognised Kosovo's independence (right)