Bucharest, Romania: Dracula's Haircut in My Mind

As soon as I arrived at the Umbrella Hostel (curiously their motto was not "you can stand under my umbrella") I met an American, the only other American, who demanded to know my credentials. I provided them and summarily learned she was Allison from DC. In typical American greeting fashion, she demanded that we go out for a drink to celebrate the meeting. I agreed under the provision that I was allowed to cook something to eat first. I have been planning to cook the final bag of pasta given to me by Mike and Deana for days now and with only two nights to spare, I wasn't about to let such an opportunity slip from my grasp. She acquiesced and joined me for dinner after which we took to the streets of Bucharest.

She had been to Bucharest on numerous previous occasions and as such had a strong lay of the land; which was important because I hadn't even bothered to acquire a map. We met up with two of her Bucharesti friends and headed to the hip district, Lipscani. Lipscani is pretty much one bar/restaurant after another in an endless array of styles and themes. We stopped into a few places and it was at our last stop I noticed an interesting phenomena that Allison confirmed. Romanians, at least the vast majority, are inherently lazy. Or at least, when they don't want to do something, they simply don't do it.

The last bar we were in was slated to close around 2am. It was probably 12:30 or 1am and there were a good 20 or so people in there. It wasn't a very large bar. Everyone had a drink in hand and nearly all looked like they intended to keep the party going. However, at one point, one bartender looks to the other and says "should we go?" The other one agreed and within 10 minutes they had ushered us all out onto the street and closed the door. Just like that. Generally in the US, if a place says it's open until X time, it's open until X time- even if there hasn't been a soul walk through the door in hours. Just a different mentality.

Turned out onto the street Allison was determined to show me another Bucharest specialty- the shwarma. Or kebab or doner or gyro or however else you like to describe a stick stacked with meat that is cooked, carved, tossed in a bread item and topped with various vegis and sauce. The place we went to, recommended by her friends, was doing a heck of a business. I'm not sure what I ended up with on mine but I'm almost certain I had chicken.

On the way back to the hostel we were accosted by some gypsies. Gypsies are what you might call a "large social problem" in Romania. Not all, but there are a great number out there that prove disruptive to society. They'll steal, cheat, try and start fights, etc. In old language- hell raisers. In this case, a gypsy guy came up to me while I was eating my shwarma and tried to incite me into a fight so he could then rob me. Had he caught me a few days before in Sophia he might have gotten me, but this night I was cool as a fan.

I laughingly joked with him diffusing the situation. At one point he accused me of saying I was better than him to which I replied, "of course not. I'm poor- a man of the people eating the food of the people" and pointed to the shwarma. He actually cracked a bit of a smile at that and then turned to his friend and uttered me a quiet "eh, blah f*ck off grumble..." as they walked away in search of their next target.

The next day was my first and only to explore Bucharest. But before I could get underway I had an administrative task to take care of. Namely, I needed a haircut for the Mark's wedding. I had shaved the night before so this was the last step required to transform me from vagrant into the respectable citizen requisite for a high class NYC wedding. Allison agreed to accompany me and led me to what turned out to be a very respectable salon by anyone's standards. A Romanian barber (or maybe stylist?) was free and ushered me in and we got straight down to business.

I'm not sure he really understood what I wanted done with my hair but it didn't matter- he attacked my head with fury and gusto. Every so often he would get too rambunctious with the spray bottle and would pause, collect some tissue, and gently dab away the moisture from my face.

After 15 or 20 minutes of some very intense clipping, the maestro was finished; the cranial opus complete. I looked into the mirror not sure whether to expect Dracula or the Jersey Shore, but I'll be damned if it didn't come out looking good. Bravo sir, you have earned the $2 tip.

When we originally set out from the Umbrella, the owner stopped us and asked if we wanted to tour the inside of the Palace of the Parliament. In order to do so you needed to make a reservation and show up at an exact place at an exact time and then pay your fee. Seemed like an appropriately Communist-era hassle but we figured, why not? We can squeeze that in before the city tour.

Since we still had probably 2 hours until our appointment at the Parliament, we decided to kill some time in one of my favorite western-asian ways to kill time: hookah (shisha). And the best place for that is on this funny little roofed-in V shaped, yes V shaped, street called Villacrosse Passage where every single cafe and restaurant is also a shisha bar.

Morocco had been the last time I had done a shisha. For those unfamiliar, it's essentially a big water pipe out of which you smoke flavored tobacco. And yes, tobacco is all you smoke out of it. The smoke is cool and mild and gives you a kind of low-blood-sugar light-headedness so it's best get something sweet to eat or drink as well. I don't like to do shisha that often and I especially don't like to do it when I've been drinking. I may have an iron liver but I've got lungs of tissue paper. That said,  for a random Thursday afternoon with two hours to kill in Bucharest, I couldn't think of anything better. And with the practice in Morocco, I've clearly ironed out my technique.

At the shisha cafe a curious thing happened that I described thusly: "In a hookah bar in cool open air covered street. Guy comes in wearing shades and snapping his fingers. I say, "this guys loving it" and he goes "che?" and I say "cool man, you feel cool." He goes into the cafe and a second later comes back and goes "you need Xanax?" I laugh and say no and he gives me the rock on sign and heads back inside."

After we finished up we grabbed a snack on the way to the Parliament. Normally I wouldn't post every food or snack but this was awesome. Essentially it was a pretzel type roll stuffed with ham and cheese. Very basic, not greasy, not salty, just... so good. I could subside off this item alone.

I had heard that the Palace of the Parliament was the second biggest building in the world behind the Pentagon in DC but, having never been to the Pentagon (damnit when am I getting that invite??), I didn't really know what to expect. Expect this: it's freaking huge. As in, we had 20 minutes to walk to and around it to get to our meeting site and we ended up 5 minutes late.

The Palace was started in 1984 under the Ceausescu Communist regime and was designed to house nearly all elements of national government. Essentially Ceausescu wanted to keep them under the same roof and under his watchful eye. It was officially named the House of the Republic and was nearly completed before the fall of the Communist regime. At the end of the regime, the new government wanted to tear it down, however, they discovered it would be more expensive to tear it down than to finish it so the decision was made to spend the additional outlay.

These days it holds a number of government functions including the Parliament, however, some 1000 of the rooms are vacant, numerous unfurnished. Despite arriving a bit late, and being thoroughly chastised, we were able to talk our way into the tour. The inside is just as grandiose as the outside. The first thing we were shown was one of the auditoriums which boasts the largest chandelier in the palace. I forgot what she said but I feel like it was around 10-15 million euros. All crystal.

The hallways are equally immense, connected by highways of red carpets stretching into the horizon.

My favorite room was one of the main ball/reception rooms. Apparently for a cool 150,000 euros you can rent it out for your wedding. If you want to see some additional shots, check out flickr.

From the main conference room you can step out onto the balcony for a view down the Unirii Boulevard, the longest and widest boulevard in the world so they claim. Personally I don't see how it's bigger than the Champs-Élysées. Especially since it took me 4 days to walk down the latter. Ok, maybe a bit of an exaggeration.

After the tour we grabbed a snack and waited by the fountain for the walking tour to begin. Allison, having seen pretty much all of the city by this point, elected to pass on the free tour so I went the rest of the way solo. While I was waiting I got a nice shot of Unirii square and the Palace of the Parliament in the dusk.

The tour took us past a number of interesting spots. We learned that they subverted the river under the main square during the communist days because they didn't want it impeding the unity of the square as well as moved dozens of churches behind new-era communist buildings. We stopped by the oldest church in Budapest and saw a bust of Vlad the Impaler who was a particularly important figure in the history of Bucharest (but, as we discussed, not Bran). My favorite of our first stops was a place called Manuc's Inn. Manuc was a wealthy trader and built this inn for traveling caravans. Really cool architecture and one of the most unique wooden roofs I've ever seen (in the process of a facelift).

One of the things that jumps out at you when you walk the streets of old Bucharest (what has survived the communist era and wars) is the striking resemblance of the architecture to Paris. Indeed in years past it was once referred to as "Little Paris."

We came next to Stavropoleos Monastery which has been in operation since 1724. Even though we were in an area of the city filled with hustle and bustle, the monastery gardens were strikingly quiet. And ask the sun set, the nuns paraded past us off to their evening chores and prayers.

The latter half of the tour took us by the oldest brewery and restaurant in Budapest, with the great slogan "probably the best food in town." My kind of place. And then we were on to another great example of French architecture, the CEC Bank Building. It was at this point when our tour guide was heckled by a Romanian man bent on singing opera to him. The best part was, our guide was too timid to just shoo the man away so for his entire spiel, the man was in the background yelling "figaro! figaro!"

We then passed through the old communist square where the building that was once the communist party headquarters was located. There you will find a number of monuments to important figures and events during that era as well as the Communist Era Memorial which looks like a potato or a birds next on a stick. The last stop was the Athaeneum, Bucharest's premier (and exceptionally gorgeous) concert hall.

While the natural choice for the symbol of the city may seem like the Palace of the Parliament, most Budapest citizens prefer the Athaeneum. The simple reason being, the Parliament was built by the Communists as a symbol of their power, whereas the Athaeneum was built with public money (money raised from the people) for the people. Makes sense to me. Plus, while the Parliament is a daunting structure, the Athaeneum has much more history and aesthetic beauty. But that's merely my 2 cents.

After the tour it was time to head back to the hostel, sort out the last minute details for my flight home, eat the leftover pasta and call it a night. No final blowout night in Bucharest. I needed to be clear headed, rested, and ready to rock for what would undoubtedly be an out-of-control wedding of my good buddy Mark and a few nights reunion with some of my closest friends in my favorite bars in NYC.

Romania was great. The Balkans, incredible. With the exception of a very few minor incidents, I've loved every minute in this region of Europe. It's been a whirlwind of a past month blasting through these 10 countries but it's also been some of the best experiences of my lifetime. Cheers my friends.

Brasov, Romania: Monster Mashing the Transylvania Turnpike

To get from Sofia to Brasov by train I needed to leave on a 8:50am train connecting in Bucharest around 6pm to a 7pm-ish train up to Brasov. Theoretically should get me in around 9pm. So even at best case scenario I was in for a long day on the silver snake. But truthfully, if I could avoid the mishaps of the trains in Bosnia and Serbia and just have a nice quiet train ride- it was exactly what I needed. Just a chill relaxing day where I could listen to some tunes, catch up on reading, and watch the countryside roll by. And by-Jupiter's-member that's exactly what I got!

I ended up with a forward facing window seat in a 6 seater cabin with only one other man- a Bulgarian employee of the train company. He was on the train for the first two or three hours and then for the remainder of my ride to Bucharest I had the place to myself. Even got to lay out for a nap at one point. Lovely. One thing I should note about this guy... well, see if you can pick it up from the picture and the hint that he's Bulgarian.

If you guessed "he's starting his day with a half-liter beer" you are correct! Three actually! And a newspaper, of course. He is a respectable gentleman after all. Still doubting my hard place for hard people moniker? He looked fifty but I bet he was in his late 30's. Not a whole lot to note about the train ride. The landscape does change fairly dramatically. As we started out there were wave after wave of rock formations.

Which then gave way to the flatest plains I've seen in ages. Felt like we were cruising through Ohio or something. At one point we came across a power junction with the most power line poles I've ever seen. It was literally a forest of power.

As we pressed toward Bucharest, there was also this one stretch where off in the distance there appeared to be a slight ridge with a perfectly single-file line of trees straddled just atop. I never did figure out what it was but it went on for several miles.

We blasted into Bucharest, late, just as the sun was setting. I knew it was likely that I had missed my desired connection but I wasn't prepared for what I found. ALL trains to Brasov were severely delayed. But my immediate headache was that for some reason my bank card wouldn't work with any Romanian ATMs so I couldn't buy a ticket to any of them. The other ATM card I carry had no money in the checking account and the ATMs wouldn't recognize savings accounts. So I employed the classic "steal McDonald's internet" play to transfer some funds via my iphone and was then able to make the withdrawl. Sometimes I really do love technology.

I did eventually get a ticket and board my train which departed two hours late. Much to my surprise, the car I was slated to be in was filled with old ladies. Old Romanian grandmas. I just didn't have the heart to boot an old woman out of my seat so I sat in the next compartment, a decision that would spark a series of controversies in Romanian all the way to Brasov. I wish I could tell you what everyone was saying but I don't speak Romanian and was busy pretending they weren't talking about me so that I wouldn't have to move. One good deed doesn't go unpunished, ha. I finally made it to the hostel in Brasov around midnight but there was really no point in trying to walk around the city at that hour so I just called it a night.

The next morning the bus picked me and 6 other intrepid travelers up from the hostel for the reason I had come to Brasov- the Transylvania 3-1 tour put on by the Kimset Dao hostel. Basically, a guide picks you up at the hostel in the morning and drives you around to the sights nearby in Transylvania and deposits you back at the hostel or the train station in the evening. 

Since I wanted to see Peles Castle and Pelisor Castle in Sinaia and Bran Castle in Bran, this was a no-brainer. Plus they take you to Rasnov Citadel near Bran. It would be foolish to try and see these things independently unless you have unlimited time as it would take 2-3 days with public transportation. Definitely one of my better decisions, and a relatively cheap one considering what I would have paid for public transit anyway. Our first stop was Peles Castle in Sinaia and the ride in provided an amazing view of the clouds sweeping over the mountains.

Shortly we were at Peles where to buy your ticket you are ushered into the coolest castle courtyard I've seen since Neuschwanstein Castle. In fact, Peles Castle as a whole really reminded me of Neuschwanstein and is by far the most impressive castle I've seen since then. 

Getting into the castle itself is a bit tricky. Romanians really need some lessons in crowd logistics planning. As it stands, everyone jams into a big group around one door and waits for them to call the appropriate tour. You have to go with a tour group. The English tour, our tour, wasn't going for another 40 minutes but we were jammed in the middle of the crowd until the end. Also, the exit is the same as the entrance so every 10-15 minutes a tour group has to barrel through the masses trying to get in. It's chaos.

Finally we did get in and the curiosities continued. First, you're required to wear these special little booties on top of your shoes that reminded me of the disposable swiffer mop rags. I was immediately suspicious that we were being utilized to clean the castle. Then, we are informed that no pictures are allowed inside unless you want to pay the equivalent of another 15 euros. Ridiculous! I secretly vowed to snap rogue photos whenever the opportunity arose. Eventually we were off and the result was worth the red tape. The inside is exquisite and is in such a great state it looks like the Royal family abandoned it just that morning. The weapons room is impressive- the king had a collection of over 4,000 weapons of nearly every imaginable age.

The bedroom, dining room, and study (with secret bookcase door leading to a stairwell) were also very impressive but perhaps my favorite room was the Alhambra reception room, made out with an Arabic theme designed to resemble the Alhambra in Granda. My first thought- hey! I've been there!

Eventually they lead you back through the main entryway which was the singularly most impressive room in the castle. It's also the most highly guarded and therefore nearly impossible to get a photo of. I did manage one slightly-off center one from the adjacent hall. You can see some of the woodwork in the entry room but this photo doesn't do it justice. It's frankly exquisite- especially the wood carved statues of the king.

The exterior of the castle is as impressive as the front. Here are two shots- one showing most of the front and one showing most of the right. The left side is hard to get because of the trees and sharply sloping hill that leads up to Pelisor Castle.

As mentioned, Pelisor Castle is just up the hill and was built by King Carol I as a chateau and later residence for his nephew and heir to the throne Ferdinand. Since we were pressed for time we passed on going in (plus only part of it was open that day). Also by that castle you will locate the obligatory photo of yours truly. 

The cool thing about the area around Peles Castle is that all of the other buildings, including ancillary support buildings, are designed in that same style. We made a quick break for our bus as it was time to make our way to Bran and the infamous Bran (Dracula's) Castle. Ironically, Transylvania is known for its sweeping pine forests and general grim suffocating aurora, however, the road to Bran leads across a wide open plain that on a sunny day might just as well be located in Kansas.

The town of Bran itself is small and I think largely supported by tourism to the castle. The castle itself is relatively normal as castles go. Certainly not as impressive as Peles or Pelisor, but it has an even more ironically homey cozy charm. For example, here is the living room.

I could see myself unwinding here with a nice book. Hardly seems like the home of a monster doesn't it? And the best irony of Bran Castle is that, it's not nor ever was. Here is the brief summary of the fact versus fiction of the castle. 

Fiction: The castle was lived in by a vampire named Count Dracula.

Fact: It's current form was largely built in the 15th century by the Saxons under the rule of the Hungarian Empire for use as a defensive structure in protecting Bran Gorge. It was of great strategic importance in the war against the Ottoman Empire but lost strategic value in the mid-1700's. In the 1800's it became a residence of the royal family of Romania. It was then taken from the royal family during the Communist regime and later refurbished, returned and reopened to the public. The character of Dracula was created by Bram Stoker largely based on a historical Romanian king of Wallachia (not Transylvania) Vlad III, known as Vlad the Impaler because he was fond of impalement as a form of torture and execution. While an important historic figure in Wallachia (the province with Bucharest as its capital), there is no historical evidence he spent any time in Bran Castle let alone lived there. 

So there you have it. I actually thought the castle was rather charming in an alpine-skiing-lodge sort of way. Here's a nice shot of the courtyard as a reward for making it through all that history.

After touring the castle I wanted to get a shot of the outside of it but this proved much more difficult that I had anticipated. Walking straight down and away from the castle the town and surrounding trees block the view. Walking around it, the trees on the hill block the view. Finally, I followed the highway down around a bend, then across a field, and finally climbed a rock to achieve this:

All for you dear reader. Don't say I never do anything for you. Our Bran mission complete, we grabbed a quick lunch and rendezvoused back at the van for the last portion of our Transylvania Mega Tour: the Rasnov Citadel. It's actually quite hysterical- as you approach Rasnov you'll notice they've put up in giant white letters next to the citadel "RASNOV" emulating the HOLLYWOOD sign. 

While most of the citadel itself is in ruin, part is still lived in and occupied to some degree. There are some restaurants, gift shops, and museums. From the top of the citadel you can see out over the plain toward Bran. Looking this way you think to yourself: "there is no way I am in Transylvania right now."

Then you turn around and see this and think, "ok, yep. Transylvania."

After walking around the citadel for a while we took the "Transylvania Train" (a tractor with a cart behind it) back down the hill to the van and were on our way. The driver was gracious enough to drop me at the train station in Brasov as I had a pressing need to get to my destination (Bucharest) prior to midnight for the second night in a row. Everything went off without a hitch and I was at my hostel in Bucharest by 8pm. The next day would be my only day in Bucharest and my last day of one month in the Balkans. Thanks for sticking with Wanderlust during this weird, wild, and wonderful excursion. We'll close it out in style!

Bonus Photo: Entrance to the "RASNOV" Citadel from the rebuilt guard tower. I think the stone outline on the ground was once a chapel.

Sofia, Bulgaria: A Hard Place for Hard People

As I eluded to in the last post, I was dearly hoping for a relaxing night-train ride down to Sophia, Bulgaria. What I got was an insane, chaotic, and thoroughly terrifying night that left me well worse for the wear when I arrived unslept, unkempt, and unprepared at the ungodly hour of 8am. But let's back up. I left the hostel in Nis relatively refreshed and relaxed after watching some good old fashioned American Football. It was around 2:15 in the morning. I collected my pack and started walking down the street. I had gone no more than 15 feet and it started to rain.

That's fine, I'm don't usually melt. As I progressed toward the station the intensity of the rain gradually rose so that by the time I had arrived at the station it was an outright downpour. Still not the end of the world, I'd have plenty of time to dry off on the train. There was only one train at the station and upon inquiry I discovered it was the one I needed. Now, just need to find that sleeper car. This simple task proved one too difficult for me to overcome. First, about 2/3 of the train was exposed in the pouring rain. Each person I asked told me the sleeper car was on an opposite end of the train. I started at one end and decided to work my way through until I found it, however, as I started down the train I discovered this:

These were the standard cars. Doesn't seem so bad right? The left wall is the outer wall of the train and the doors on the left open into cabins of 3 seats facing another three seats. The problem was, the hallway was so narrow that only one person could walk down it at a time, especially if that one person was me with a huge backpack on. As the rain kept pouring down, so too did the people onto the train. I was causing a massive traffic jam- and catching all kinds of hell in Serbian for it. 

Finally, I exited and walked through the rain toward the other end. I re-entered at what looked like the last car before the engine. But I still couldn't see any sleeper cars and I was running into the same issue with people boarding the train. I asked one of the conductors I found on board and he merely shrugged and pointed me toward the regular cabins. Exhausted and frustrated I thought it best to just find a seat before the whole thing filled up in the event there wasn't even a sleeper car at all. I saw a cabin with only three people in it and went in. 

What I didn't see was that the three people in there were large guys in their mid-twenties who had already drank 3 tallboys of Serbian beer since boarding the train and were almost done with their fourth. Before the train even pulled out of the station they had informed me that they were in the "middleman" business and were making a run to Bulgaria. I asked them what goods they were "middlemanning" and the guy that appeared to be the ringleader laughed, pulled out a liter of warm vodka, took a long pull, and, somewhat menacingly, offered it across the car to me. It was going to be a long evening.

I'm usually not intimidated by people but these guys immediately reminded me of a movie I had recently watched about low-level British gangsters with hair trigger tempers likely to smash a passerby's face with even the slightest provocation. So if they wanted me drinking warm vodka, warm vodka I would be drinking. I should also note that it was a non-smoking car and they were chain smoking the entire way. At one point the conductor came by and told them it was no smoking to which, as far as I could discern, they replied that he could kindly "f*ck off" in Serbian. 

It was an intense 6 hour ride. In addition to the vodka and cigarettes they were also involved in some other items which I'll refrain from discussing here except to say that they were so out of their minds they were continuing this insane behaviour even as the border control inspection guards were combing the train. Not to mention the fact that the were smuggling cigarettes (which is generally what the border guards look for) and as soon as we were past, they each pulled out about 10 packs somehow hidden on their persons. That part, I must admit was impressive. I've never quite seen guys operate with this level of in-your-face-bravado with regard to the authorities or regulations.

So, hence my lack of desire to do anything to turn their favor against me. Some cleverly placed lies kept me out of any activities outside of the vodka, (e.x. "I just quit smoking so I'll politely decline the pack of cigs") As you might imagine, in addition to my personal safety, I was also concerned that if I fell asleep one of them may decide to "middleman" some of the valuables in my pack. So the little sleep I did get was with one eye open. 

When I stepped off the train at 9am (yes it was late) I felt like I had just barely survived a gang initiation. I was in no mood to do anything other than take a shower, drink a huge bottle of water, and go to sleep. Unfortunately it was 9am and I couldn't check into the hostel until 1pm, and said hostel was a 25 minute walk from the station. When I did finally arrive, however, I was greeted by some of the nicest people I have met on the road. The hostel itself is awesome- set in a historic Bulgarian Inn that was saved from demolition during the Communist era. You can see it there behind the trees.

It really made the difference that the place and people were great. It was the closest I've been on my 5+ months on the road to actually snapping. It was one of those situations where your patience and nerves are tested to the breaking point and one little match and the whole powder keg is going up. But they diffused me nicely- well done Hostel Mostel. They even let me use the wash rooms, gave me a map with an outlined walking tour, and pointed me in the direction of a bakery where I could get some sustenance and sort out my poor state of being. And I did precisely that. The item on the left is a fresh bread roll with cheese and on the left is a Bulgarian pizza. I don't normally drink soda but this morning I absolutely had to have a Coke. 

In less than 30 minutes the day had gone from a cataclysmic failure to a battle already won. Coming back to life I set out on the self-guided walking tour. Despite feeling better, and it may have still been partially the circumstances or partially the dark grey skies and cool wind, or a combination of other factors, but I found Sophia immeasurably drab and depressing that morning. It was like the entire city encompassed every mental stereotype I had of a Communist era city. Complete with old trolleys, bizarre traffic boxes, old cars, grey concrete buildings, dour looking personages, graffiti, and 1984-sounding edifices such as the "National Palace of Culture."

I also couldn't believe how many stray dogs there were. And if you approached them or even circumnavigated their location they would growl threateningly at you. 

I passed by a number of interesting historic looking buildings but without any context to them, there's no point in posting them. One building worth noting and a picture is the national theater. It's located in one of the main city squares (and probably the most picturesque) where you'll find lovely people selling art or performing music. There is also a great fountain and somehow the tint got all screwed up on my camera giving the whole thing a rose-aurora. There was nothing rosy about that day but the photo is cool enough.

The most staggering monument that I came across was the Soviet Army Monument. It's a sprawling canvas of concrete with a centrepiece of Soviet soldiers raising arms into the air. But it wasn't the monument I found so alarming. It was the number of kids- couldn't have been older than 16 or 17- hanging out all over the plaza drinking beer out of the Balkans trademark 2-liter bottles. Moreover, it was maybe 11am at this point... on a Monday. Even in the craziest of our University days, I can't ever remember drinking beer, certainly that much beer, at that hour of the day on a Monday. These kids are setting themselves up for a life of hard living... a theory that would come to prove itself out during the rest of my stay in Sophia.

The remainder of my walk took me by two of the most beautiful churches in the city, the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral and the Russian Church. Both were pretty great so, since you've been such a good sport and suffered through my bitching about Sofia, you get pictures of both.

At this point I officially ran out of gas. I was informed there was a free walking tour setting off a the curious hour of 6pm, and since it was only approaching 1pm, the obvious choice was to repair to the hostel for a much needed (and deserved) nap. The nap was awesome. 

At 6pm I joined up with the tour group and one of our first stops was in the very city center where excavations had been long underway to build an undergound metro line. I say excavations because apparently anywhere you dig for construction in Sofia you are likely to uncover ancient ruins which thereby, inexorably, leads to a long series of excavation and preservation before you may proceed. In this case, remains of the old Byzantine city of Sredets were uncovered right along one of the main roads and adjacent to where the metro was designed to go. In the background of this picture you see "the mosque" which is according to our guide is the only remaining mosque in Sofia proper. 

Sofia itself has been inhabited in some format or another since the ancient Thracian settlements, and remains of Thracian walls have been found dating back to the 7th century B.C. Likely the main reason the area has been continually inhabited for millennia is due to the natural mineral springs that run under the city. To this day there are numerous fountains throughout the city that spout natural mineral spring water (at a temperature you could bathe in). You'll regularly see people filling up water jugs from these fountains.

The other principal use of these waters I just eluded to: mineral baths. And the largest and most historic of Sophia is mere meters away from the fountains pictured above. Unfortunately it is in the process of wholesale renovations, however, when it's complete it will add an excellent dynamic to a city that, in my opinion, is lacking such dynamics- among other things. 

Some other interesting sites we stopped by are the Largo (Stalinist style building that was the former Communist party HQ), the ruins of the old city walls (located under the Sveta Nedelia Square), and Presidential Palace (where you can watch the marching of the guards every 15 minutes). Feel free to check them out on flickr. Worth posting here is a shot of the St. George Rotunda, a chapel that dates back to 4th century and is still standing. Although, humorously, it's now surrounded by government offices, shops, and a Sheraton hotel.

The remainder of the walk took us by the Royal Palace, back to the National Theater, the Church of St. Sophia (for which the modern city name was taken), the Cathedral, and finally Sophia University. An interesting note- the city is paved largely in gold colored bricks. This was apparently done as a gift from one of the Hapsburgs when Bulgarian royalty married into the Austro-Hungarian royal family. It's supposed to make the city look "paved in gold." Along the route we stopped in the park by the National Theater and our guide told us about a Bulgarian tradition.

On March 1, people will exchange martenitsas which are red and white bracelets. You tie it around your wrist and wear it until you see a stork or the first blossoming fruit tree of the spring. You then tie it to a blossoming fruit tree for good luck or happiness or fertility or whatever you wish to improve your life in the coming year. He then gave out martenitsas for us to exchange with each other. Very cool. Here are some tied to a berry tree in the park.

That night, as they do every night, the folks at the hostel hostel a pub crawl. I was really in no mood for a full on pub crawl especially since I had an early train to Brasov, Romania the following morning. But, after such a long day I was certainly up for a beer or two. And for one of the only times in Wanderlust history, it actually turned into just a couple beers and an early night home. I'm growing up... or maybe just getting older.

We did end up at a cool pub where they were playing live music (piano, violin, and guitar) and the guys there knew about the Bulgarian bar Menahata in NYC! Apparently it's famous in Bulgaria. Small world! After a couple beers one of the other guys from the hostel and I headed back- but not before acquiring a kebab at this crazy guy's place. When we rocked up he was across the street drinking, and upon seeing us, came shuffling over quite drunk. Not great when the guy making your kebab has had more drinks than you- ha. As soon as he knew we were foreigners he cranked up the music and put on a whole production in making them. Because he was so smashed we basically ended up with everything he offered in our kebab. Great stuff.

As badly as the day began, it ended well enough. Not sure if it was enough to convince me to ever go back to Bulgaria or specifically Sophia, but at least it was a start. Three days in the Balkans remain. I should note that the next morning on my way back to the train station I passed a woman starting her day with a half-liter of beer and a pack of cigarettes at a cafe. By herself. 7:30am. A hard place for hard people.

Bonus Photo: National Theater and fountains at night