Tierra de Tortugas

Summer 2013 Sojourn: Istanbul

TO ISTANBUL (and THE SHIP)

We left Plovdiv, Bulgaria, on the night train to Istanbul and scored two sleeping berths in a cabin with an intrepid young German couple on their way to climb an unmapped mountainous region in northeastern Turkey near the Georgian border. You meet some interesting people on the train.

We pulled out of the station at 9:15 p.m. and settled in with nice durable sheets and pillows. I often have trouble sleeping on trains because an entire world is passing by just outside the window; so I sat and watched. A large luminous moon flooded the landscape as homes and towns went by and late night people sat with friends under back porch lights.

 

Soon we were in the large switching yards of Dimitrovgrad as crews unhooked several cars and reconnected the engine. The process took close to two hours, with an occasional jarring clang. Then we were off again, heading eastward in the night. My head finally hit the pillow, but it was a very rough stretch of track that may help to keep Bulgaria insulated from large numbers of tourists, and sleep was difficult. Around midnight there was a rap on the door by Passport Control to stamp our passports out of Bulgaria. With that out of the way, it was time to relax. Until around 2:00 a.m. when we stopped at the border and Turkish officials said we all must leave the train for passport clearance in the station. US citizens also needed to purchase visas at 15 Euros each.

Slowly we all filed back aboard and bedded down for what was left of the night. Soon there was a rap on the door and someone called, "Tickets." Our tickets were inspected and signed, and we climbed back into bed. It was around three or four in the morning. Then about 5:30 am it was time to turn in the sheets and pillows, and get our things ready to transfer to a bus, due to track repairs ahead. The red sun rose through a foggy morning as we sped onward and eastward on a bus toward Istanbul.

 

They dropped us at the Sirkeci Train Station; we got a bracing coffee and a sweet treat at the adjacent Hafiz Mustafa 1864 Cafe as we searched the map for our hotel. 

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 Soon we began dragging our bags up steep rocky streets and were about halfway to the top when we realized the hotel was in the other direction.

We headed downhill to a tiny street named Nobethane Cad and our hotel – it was right behind the train station (!) – and dropped our bags on the floor. From a top floor window we could see the trains just below us, with Istanbul, the Galata Bridge, and the Bosporus just beyond. Just past the Haliç, or Golden Horn, we could see our next 'hotel,' the MS Noordam.

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Short explanation: In a hotel room in Zagreb, Croatia, I checked the VacationsToGo website and found there was a cruise ship, the Holland America Noordam, taking essentially the route we had originally intended but had changed because of high prices and lack of available rooms. The ship would actually visit more places than we'd planned – including two stops in Israel – and cost about the same for food, lodging, and transportation. After a short conversation, Carolyn agreed — "Book it." 

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We had three days to see as much of Istanbul as possible and didn't want to waste it sleeping; after one night in the hotel, we'd drag our bags to the tram and head for the ship. We'd have plenty of time to rest aboard then. So after a quick lunch we set off through narrow streets and alleys, and past several wedding parties, for the Sultanahmet district and the Hagia Sofia. 

The Hagia Sofia is the crown jewel of the city and one of the more famous sites in the world. There was a long ticket line, but it moved quickly. Inside, the space opened to reveal one of the world's most impressive engineering and architectural triumphs. It's easy to dismiss musty old buildings, but this broad dome is 56 meters (183 ft, or 18 stories) high and has been standing for 1500 years. If I recall my architectural history, this feat was not duplicated for about 900 years – until the Duomo was completed in Florence. There was repair work underway and scaffolding obstructed part of the view but the overall effect was inspiring, especially when viewed from the upstairs gallery. In the park outside there are "Ask me"s – friendly young ladies in blue T-shirts anxious to answer your questions, and to practice their English.

The famous Blue Mosque lies just across Sultanahmet Park, and it's open to visitors. There's no admission charge (donations are welcome upon exiting); but it was a hot day and I was wearing shorts, and clothing restrictions are in effect. I was handed a wrap upon entry to cover my boney legs. It's a very picturesque building, nicely proportioned and more pleasing than Hagia Sofia from the outside, yet not as impressive inside. But its volumes are still worth experiencing and not just 'seen' at a glance. Hagia Sofia and the Blue Mosque combine with the setting sun  to make one of the more famous skylines in the world. 

In the morning it was time to move again, so we dragged our bags to the MS Noordam docked just across the harbor, and left again to see more of this great city. We had not really allowed enough time to fully experience Istanbul, but we hoped on the nearby tramway and headed for one of the other famous sites in the city.

 

Topkapi Palace is a sprawling affair enclosing gardens, halls, views over the Bosporus, the Circumcision Room (ouch), and the famous Harem. This is how the rich and famous lived, loved, and intrigued in Ottoman times. There are so many jeweled treasures on display (including the famous Topkapi Dagger), plus priceless timepieces, ornate fountains, lavish tile work, luxurious costumes, and private terraces, that half a day goes quickly by.

 

Carolyn pointed out that the richly-tiled private apartments of the male royals presented an interesting contrast to the painted walls and stone pathways of the female Harem. Even the Queen Mother's quarters were extremely modest compared to those of the Sultan.

Overall, I was inspired to search out that old classic jewelry-caper movie, "Topkapi," starring the gorgeous Melina Mercouri. I never managed to see it 'back in the day,' an omission I now intend to rectify. 

 

A downhill walk takes us through the large Gülhane Park with its throngs of people enjoying a luscious afternoon in an excellent urban space. It's difficult to take a picture and not have it look like a certain famous painting by Georges Seurat. And even so, there's space for a bit of quiet time for young couples.

A nice wander downhill through ancient streets brings us back to the Sirkeci district and a good place for dinner. Large trams rumble by just outside the door as they thread the narrow streets, crowding pedestrians as they pass. 

Istanbul lies at one of the more important and ancient crossroads of the world – where Europe meets Asia, where the Med connects to the Black Sea. Those indelible opening scenes from the classic movie, "Murder on the Orient Express," come to life here. An afternoon walk over the Galata Bridge evokes the cultural streams of both worlds. And perhaps nowhere is this more apparent than on a visit to the sprawling Grand Bazaar. This may not be a good choice for people with agoraphobia, as once inside, there's little choice but to 'lose yourself' among throngs of people in an endless chaotic warren of colorful stalls spilling with exotic goods and hope you eventually find an exit.

After an aimless wander through the array of goods bulging into the corridors, we finally find a way out. We emerge into a maze of small, nearly tourist-free streets leading downhill to, we hope, somewhere, past more colors and sights and crowds, with smells of delicious kebaps in the air. The streets are too crowded and narrow for vehicles so deliveries are human-powered. This is Istanbul's garment district, and there's even a statue honoring the city's "Drapers." We stop for a cheap and delicious street-side lunch before continuing down through the Spice Bazaar district and emerge into a sea of humanity near the Galata Bridge. We make our way to the nearest tram station and back to the ship for a very different lifestyle indeed. More about that in the next Blog.

 

In this mixture of east and west, there are still mundane issues to vent about. A columnist in the English-language Daily News states: "Torture Should be a Crime." What he's railing about is, "Every day, early in the morning, first from one of the many loudspeakers tuned up to the maximum, an imam starts calling for prayer." Soon, packs of stray dogs and car sirens join in, "making it impossible to sleep. Is this not a torture repeated every day?" I guess we all have our issues.

 

As the MS Noordam pulled away from the dock leaving this exotic city at the gateway to Asia, we looked back to experience one of the world's great skylines. We had only gotten a taste of Istanbul and should return for at least another week to gain a real appreciation of its rich culture and diversity. But now we were on a ship bound for a quick tour of the eastern Med. — PRW 

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Summer 2013 Sojourn: Through Belgrade to Bulgaria

SOFIA

 "What's so interesting about Bulgaria?"

A friend of ours (we'll just call her 'G. Brandt') asked that question. We were heading there at the time, so we'd research the subject as in-depth as we research everything else – which is to say, sorta.

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This next leg of our trip through the rest of former Yugoslavia and into Bulgaria began on the platform at the Zagreb station. We were waiting for the afternoon train that would get us into Belgrade around midnight, about an hour before the next train left for Sofia. 

But the train was late pulling in to Zagreb and the loudspeaker instructions (in Croatian) were unintelligible to us. Then a nice young lady helped with translation. Her name was Cristina; she's Serbian and she had come to Zagreb for the Robbie Williams concert (we'd seen the posters around town, but had no idea who he was: it's a 'generational thing,' I believe). She's an agricultural engineer working for her family's business which exports food crops to Russia and other countries. 

We asked her about the difference in languages between Slovenia, Croatia, and Serbia – each of which she apparently understood quite well. She said, wistfully, "We used to be the same country, once."

 

 

We scrambled for seats when the train arrived and we pulled out an hour late. We hoped we'd catch that next train, otherwise we'd be sleeping in the Belgrade station. Carolyn checked the map as we pulled out of Zagreb to make sure we were on the right track.

The tracks go through a long stretch of rural Croatia before entering Serbia, so we settled in to see the Croatian countryside. The landscape looked almost exactly like Slovenian lands we'd seen before, and it gave us no insight to the nasty Yugoslav separation wars of the 1990s. There were similar homes with red tile roofs, and small villages with churches, and large vegetable gardens. Between villages were vast fields of corn and sunflowers. Colorfully dressed Station Masters signaled "All Clear" for departure. Rail cars filled with new concrete ties seemed to signal a large railroad rebuilding effort, perhaps to attain EU transport standards. 

 

But the line runs just north of the Bosnian border, and in most villages a kind of concrete fortress bunker – perhaps a leftover from the recent war – was a prominent feature. Soon we crossed the border at Šid (pronounced Shid), and large rows of grain silos made Serbia appear more industrial. Yet Serbian homes looked little different from Croatian and Slovenian homes.

 

As night fell, we got as comfortable as possible and rode onward to Belgrade. I sat awake most of the time, not wanting to miss what I could see of the countryside.

 

 

At Belgrade we got good seats on the next train from a very nice man at the International Window, but there were no sleeping cars. He said not to worry, we'd catch the night train to Sofia; and at least we would have reserved seats in a comfortable cabin. There was a small charge for the upgrade (in Serbian Dinars only, so I made a quick visit to the Change window), and he told me to spend all the Serb money I had left as it was worthless outside the country. I kept a few bills as a memento.

It was a shared cabin with three Serbian men, and a German woman who worked for the EU. Two of the Serbs were firemen, and we did not connect with the third. Soon we were all speaking in English, as it has become the "lingua franca" — the 'trading language' — of the world. Although Alexander, one of the fireman, explained: "We learned English in school so we can talk to other Europeans. But we have our own 'English' because we rarely talk to native speakers." I wish I spoke any of their languages as well as they spoke English.

 

As we left Belgrade, the train passed a spectacular bridge that lit the night. I got a blurry shot through the train window and it looked like yet another creation by Calatrava, the brilliant Spanish Architect/Engineer from Valencia, and I wished we'd had time to visit this city.

 

We rumbled onward in the night toward Sofia, and I sat watching Serbia go by outside our window. This was the heart of Yugoslavia, land of Tito and Milosevič, land of Slavic unity and Balkan tragedy.  The dawn broke over modest tile-roofed homes and small villages, mountains and sunflowers. It was largely indistinguishable from Croatia or Slovenia. Or northern Italy.

 

At the border the guard asked why we were visiting Bulgaria. We replied that we heard it was a charming country with a rich history worthy of appreciation. She broke a slight smile, took our passports for review and returned them stamped. I did not ask to take her picture.

By mid-morning we had reached Sofia's Central Station and found an ATM to get some Bulgarska to spend. We took a cab to a fine business hotel called the City Avenue Hotel, put together an early lunch, and settled in for a short nap.

Later we walked out to see the city. Again we had no prior impressions, and everything was new. Other than the obvious challenges of dealing with the Cyrillic alphabet, Sofia became yet another interesting Eastern European capital to explore.There is, of course, a fine dinner in a street-side restaurant, plus lions with attitude fronting a classical building, and signs we try to understand. And we soon find ourselves on the street they call Sofia's 'Champs Elysees.'

As in any decent city near the Mediterranean, the street is filled with people enjoying a summer evening with friends and family. Musicians are playing unique bagpipes and classical music as we search for a bowl of delicious slagoled (ice cream). It's a good night to be out and about in Sofia, Bulgaria.

 In the morning we pass McWhoozit (we didn't stop) and take the subway back to the train station to buy tickets for the next leg of the trip. We're very surprised at how sparkling clean and efficient their Metro system is. In the US people had a tax tantrum and let everything go to hell, but that's not the case in other parts of the world.

 

 

Sofia is home to the oldest Sephardic synagogue in Europe, and it's just a block from the nearest Mosque. In between is the beautiful old market building, and it's worth a visit.

A good long day's walk takes us past an old Soviet monument to parks and flowers and a delicious lunch of baked potatoes bubbling with cheese. Then by an old Lada, some graffiti, the huge Alexander Nevski church, sculpture, fountains, and art in a park filled with men playing chess. And then a cheap dinner from a street stand before retiring for the night.

We had read that Bulgaria was an inexpensive place to visit and found we were able to fully enjoy life while balancing out the budget – which was somewhat overdrawn in France and Italy. In fact, we added two more stops in Bulgaria because of the reasonable prices and the interesting culture.

Much of our last day in Sofia will be spent on a madcap bicycle ride with a fellow named George, past monuments and through huge wooded parks. We were unsure we'd be able to keep pace with lean and wiry George; in addition, the young Lithuanian couple who were already there looked at us dubiously. We managed to, not exactly prevail, but at least survive; and it was well worth the effort.

We arrived at one point deep in the woods with no sight of the others, but reasoned that George would take the least obvious route; and we managed to catch up. After viewing an ancient church (with its bell hanging in a tree), a forest 'ropes course' for kids, an abandoned house project, and an unfinished monument, we ended up at a large street demonstration. What more could you ask?

The evening settled over Sofia; and after another fine dinner it was time for a good night's sleep before moving on...to a Bulgarian mountain town named Bansko.

BANSKO

 We leave Sofia's Central Train Station with a cabin of interesting young Bulgarians and enjoy conversing with them along the way. Out the window we see a huge solar electric array on a hillside, as we've seen many others on this trip. It's really too bad the US is still so heavily addicted to dirty energy while many other countries are working toward true fiscal independence. At Septemvri station, we wait for the narrow gauge train that will take us to a ski town in the mountains and enjoy a cheap bowl of delicious tripe stew.

What is a ski resort in the summer? Cheap, that's what, and a great place to go hiking and relax for several days. And the old narrow gauge train was a treat as we chugged along with two Catalan train buffs from Majorca.  Local people use the old train for daily transport; they boarded and left at remote stops, as we made our way through the mountains and into Muslim lands. The chugging of the engine and the clickety-clack of the rails reminded me of numerous train songs; it's an old American tradition, but our new Catalan friends couldn't recall any in Spanish. I spend the first part of the trip seated by an older Bulgarian man (whom I fondly named Krushchev) as he pointed out various things and described them in detail in Bulgarian. Neither of us understood the other but we both enjoyed the experience.

Bansko is an old town at the base of high mountains, and a popular winter destination in the Balkans. It's not actually deserted in August, as many families go to enjoy the mountains; but there are lots of rooms available at reasonable prices. Bulgaria has yet to be 'discovered' by hordes of well-heeled Western tourists, and the prices reflect that. We had our choice of two very nice condo units with kitchenettes at a resort with a friendly staff and a good small restaurant on sight.

And a brisk short walk put us right into the center of town. Paper memorials, looking somewhat like "Wanted Posters," are common as a remembrance of the recently departed and are allowed to weather away. Carolyn was reminded of a Serbian family in the Andes during her Peace Corps days. It was their tradition to don black mourning wear for two years after a death in the family, and she never saw them out of black clothing.

A stop at a charming Mexana (no, that's not a Mexican restaurant) brings an excellent dinner before retiring for the night.

 

Our big adventure in Bansko was hiring an insane taxi driver to take us to the top of the mountain. He spoke no English, only Bulgarska, and there was much hand gesturing. After a wild ride to the tree line we stepped from the cab, said we wanted to walk a bit up the road for a few pictures, and returned a few minutes later. The cab was gone! Need I say that this was a very large mountain?

 

 

Amid serious grumbling and cursing we started down the road. Other folks had driven up the mountain for day hikes, and those who spoke English told us it was about 5 km. back to the upper gondola station. It was a gorgeous day for a hike in the high mountains, with sweeping views and wildflowers by the road; and soon we realized we both felt better being out of the cab and on our own. It would be an easy downhill trek, and we could probably hitch a ride back to town if we needed to. At the gondola station we bought two tickets and enjoyed the view on the long ride down. Thanks to that @!?*@! taxi driver, we had a very nice day.

 

 

PLOVDIV (!?!)

 After a few days in Bansko, we caught the bus to Plovdiv. (Ever hear of Plovdiv? Neither had we.) We had no idea what to expect in the town with the oddest name we've encountered so far this summer. Yet our few days in Plovdiv turned into one of the sweetest experiences of the whole trip. And the bus ride seemed to take us back into another century, where horses and mules still do much of the work.

Our plan was only to spend a night or two someplace after several days in the mountains at Bansko, in order to break up the next very long leg to Istanbul. Surely we'd find something interesting to do. The fact that we had doubts only showed our ignorance, since Plovdiv is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in Europe (!). It was already a very old city way back when it was renamed Philippopolis in honor of Philip II of Macedonia, father of Alexander the Great. Most of Plovdiv is now a modern city, but our hotel was in the winding streets of Old Plovdiv. And that generally suited our fascination with 'old stuff,' including the distinctive overhanging houses, a Roman arena, street sculpture, an Orthodox priest, Western Union, lunch in a fine garden with a view, and a tour of the adjacent art gallery, generously given by the well-informed gentleman in charge who was delighted we happened to stop by. 

 

Afterward, we passed a man repairing his old Lada (http://www.telegraph.co.uk/motoring/picturegalleries/9211301/Top-10-Lada-jokes.html?frame=2196460), and arrived back at the hotel just in time for a wedding reception to come spilling and dancing into the street.

 

 

But the best was yet to come. On the bus from Bansko a lady named Vesca was curious about us and asked her daughter Petya (who lives in London and speaks very good English) to introduce herself. Petya didn't exactly know how to go about that, but managed to say hello – and we were soon invited to their house in Plovdiv for dinner! Petya would be our translator for the evening as we spoke no Bulgarian. Vesca spoke some Spanish since she had worked in Spain, but Petya spoke no Spanish. The evening arrived, we bought a good bottle of wine and arrived by cab to a tour of Vesca's abundant vegetable gardens, chickens, doves, and grape arbors, as well as the outside oven and covered area she and her husband built before he passed away. The language barriers soon slipped away.

 

Then we sat to a beautifully spread table with more delicious food than we could have imagined – almost all of it from Vesca's own garden. This was followed by a rich dessert and piano playing in the living room as night fell. I regret not getting a picture of the house before dark, but the glow of light spilling from the front door probably better expresses the warmth inside.

 

 

Our trip to Plovdiv, which had begun with uncertainty, ended with one of the most enjoyable evenings we could have imagined. Happenstance has a funny way of providing warm surprises. We sincerely hope to see Vesca and Petya again some day to repay their warm hospitality. 

 

But we only had one more day to spend in this surprising country before our next departure. We'd explore a few more streets and then board the night train to Istanbul. But there was much to remember fondly about our fortuitous choice to visit Bulgaria. — PRW