Hello Sofia

First impressions matter, of course. However, when it comes to cities, one should actually forget this rule. Train stations, especially bus stations, are usually quite ugly. No matter where, it’s always the same gray concrete. This is how Sofia receives me, enveloped in Eastern Bloc charm. But as I emerge from the NDK metro station, I find myself in a park with fountain installations in front of the Palace of Culture, and in the background rises the Vitosha Mountain. Hallelujah, what a contrast to Bucharest. Anticipating my stay after three cities, I wisely booked a single room in the nearby mountains south of the city. I’m patting myself on the back for this good decision. Rarely has a city pushed me into nature as much as Bucharest.
To ease my task of reaching 'Hotel in the Mountains', I mentally gamify my quest series: buy metro ticket - find a café that opens at 6 - withdraw cash - take the first bus - after the bus breaks down (the driver goes back and forth to the engine 7 times, unsuccessfully trying to start it, until after 10 minutes everyone gets out in annoyance) look for a new alternative connection - walk up the 300 meters to the hotel - check in. Level up Stage 4 - Bulgaria: increased difficulty due to Cyrillic, but maybe I’ll also find some vegetables on my plate? I remain hopeful.
In the hotel nestled among the fir trees, I meet Sophie from Belgium and Ewan from Australia, who are having breakfast and tell me they met in a hostel in Sofia and spontaneously fled to the mountains for a night. We exchange our next travel destinations, and I give Ewan some tips for Albania and he gives me some for Istanbul. The hotel is family-run, and a caring grandmother offers me breakfast. Looking at Ewan’s and Sophie’s plates, I order 'what they have', which turns out to be thick pancakes with a piece of jam and goat cheese. Bulgaria, you make it easy for me to like you. The two backpackers are checking out, and I’m checking in, but they kindly invite me for a short hike before they take the bus back to the city. Naturally, I don’t turn that down. The long-awaited sleep after the overnight bus ride can wait; after all, the room won’t be ready for a few hours yet, and I’m ready to go again after breakfast and tea. On the hike, Ewan turns out to be a true outback Australian. As we pass a clear stream, he says, 'I wonder how cold it is...'. 'I can tell you at a glance,' I think, 'freezing cold!'. He test it anyway, and two minutes later, he’s squatting in his underwear in the water, enjoying the chill. Later, Sophie shows me photos of Ewan climbing a conifer up to 5 or 6 meters high. Crocodile Dundee tells us about his homeland in northern Australia, where the beaches are plagued by water snakes, crocodiles, and toxic giant jellyfish. Choose your boss enemy. I can choose depending on the season which animal I’d rather face. After a beer at a cabin above the bus stop, I bid farewell to the two and thank them for the invitation to hike with them. It clearly eased my entry into Bulgaria, even if I don’t feel ready for ice bathing and tree climbing yet.
For Eastern European standards, Bulgarians are relatively friendly. Every three oncoming hikers greet me back as I hike up to Cherni Vrach, and this is how I finally learn to pronounce the greeting 'Strawej' correctly through practice.
At the top of the summit, it’s high life. Party music from a Bluetooth speaker, guys smoking by the grill have set up a barbecue stand selling kebabs, salads, and plastic bottles filled with fig juice. I join the long line and am delighted by the unexpected summit meal. Back in Sofia, my first impression is confirmed. Bulgarians are dressed somewhat more individually than Romanians. It’s not only a friendlier-looking city but also a younger one. The fashion for some is stuck in the 2000s. It reminds me of chilling on Kiwi in the city center in 2008. Emo culture never died in Sofia. On my walking tour, I learn another reason why Bulgaria is so much more likable to me than Romania. During World War II, there were no deportations of Jews across the Bulgarian border. It was primarily the civil resistance that saved the Jewish population from extermination. The tour ends in front of the namesake Hagia Sophia and an open-air stage where Les Miserables is rehearsing. Another free concert awaits me on the way back near the market halls. From a corner house, an electric guitar can be heard. I lean against a street pole, listen, and feed stray cats. After the unknown musician finishes with 'Wish You Were Here' by Pink Floyd, I want to call out 'one more song,' but I hesitate to disturb the evening ambiance.
In the hostel, I sit on the couch in the kitchen while an older Brit next to me comments angrily on his online game. I strike up a conversation with Christian from Friedrichshain, and it turns out that he’s also on a six-month sabbatical and is also traveling from Istanbul, Turkey, to Georgia. However, he has been on the road since April and has traveled the entire Balkan before Bulgaria. I nod in acknowledgment while he mentions train routes and city names, most of which I don’t recognize. In a way, Christian is the pioneer of my journey, an explorer of new worlds. He knows what it feels like to be on the road for more than two weeks. He has crossed the zenith at which one no longer wakes up at the usual time of a working person at half past seven. He has relearned how to sleep in. He knows about rest phases, doesn’t plan, and stays flexible. All behaviors that I still need to learn.
Before my departure, I have a drink with Christian and Till, another German from near Frankfurt, at a bar far from the tourist trail. The second beer is on the house from the host when he hears that we are all three from Germany. We’re a bit wary of the reason, though. 'Germany,' he shouts, flexing his bicep. 'We want to be like you!' After further insinuations in broken and drunken English, it quickly becomes clear that he doesn’t mean the current Germany that he finds so desirable as a Bulgarian. Nothing new for Christian. In the Balkans, you often have to throw your political correctness overboard to keep local encounters friendly.
When booking my Flixbus ride, I actually had to indicate my gender. Men and women are evidently not seated next to each other on trips to Turkey. I wonder if couples are also separated..At the station, I find out that my bus has been canceled. A quickly solved problem. I quickly go to a bus company that advertises trips to Istanbul. A night bus actually departs at the same price and at the same time, and Flixbus provides me with a refund.
Not only geographically am I approaching a new demarcation line, but also temporally. Until now, I can still indulge in the illusion that I am still on vacation, but once I cross the imaginary border of the usual 2 1/2 weeks of recovery vacation, it becomes serious. 'Mr. Frodo, if I take one more step, I’ll be as far from home as I’ve ever been.'