PART 1

There is this rumour saying that - when one is heading for the Balkans, he should have a first aid kit containing guns, tear gas sprays, ninja swords, and hopefully bodyguards. Why? Because there has always been this warning, that the civilized Europe ends up in Budapest. Actually this kind of statements rely on the fact that, once you cross the Romanian, Bulgarian or Ukrainean border, the roads, the houses, the people walking in the street, everything looks different, however that isn't a must to be bad for tourists. Poor people are more likely to welcome a stranger than rich ones, as a poor guy will always know to appreciate and therefore offer help when needed. Poor roads might just damage your car, yet there is nothing in the world like a hitch-hiking trip in a truck over 100 km. of such roads, with everything jumping around when the truck runs over the 10 cm. deep holes in the asphalt. Besides, there is nothing like a warm - even though primitive - stove in a poor cottage during a december freezing night, when the wanderer is welcome by a smiling never-seen-before local over a cup of hot soup. And it feels even worse when such rumours come from a country that is also provided with a very strong bad image in the west, like Romania.

"A trip outside Romania can go only westwards" seemed to be everyone's opinion when talking about going to visit another country. Ukraine, Bulgaria, the Republic of Moldavia, those are very badly seen, they are associated with huge corruption (look who's talking about corruption, the Romanians... hmmm), robbery, outlaws, mafia, organized crime, lack of police intervention and so on. If we were to think so, then why are there so many tourists in Italy or South America? Just because the difference lies in infrastructure and the first impression at the border? I don't think so. People are the same everywhere and if bad things are to happen, they will surely do, no matter what we do.

Anyway, everything had started long ago, in 1998 or so, when a friend told me that it would be nice to go and hike Mussala Peak (2925 m.alt., the highest in Bulgaria). Everything stopped before starting, and the idea froze in this stage until I met some people from Varna online. When they came to Romania in summer, and I was waiting for them in Bucharest North station, accordingly to the wide-spread rumour, I was expecting to see some people with wooden sticks in their hands, dressed in 15th century cloths and wearing their daggers on the rope they used instead of the "modern" belt. Yet some people looking just like me (and I wasn't wearing any cloth or dagger, believe me!) appeared and we had a great time in Făgăraș Mountains. They didn't kill or rob anyone, as expected. This, as well as my previous experience while traveling to countries like Serbia, made me think and decide that one should never state anything on a certain topic before seeing with his own eyes the way things are.

So I went to the station to buy an international ticket to Ruse. The fact that I didn't look (due to the backpack with mountaineering gear) like a cross-border smuggler, made the ticket office clerk act like I was trying to illegally emigrate to Greece via Ruse - Sofia - Kulata. However I tried to pretend that I hadn't noticed that and I went to the train. Well, if the Romanian wagons heading, via Budapest or Szolnok, to the "civilized" west, are new, pretty and comfy, all going to destinations like Belgrade, Istanbul, Tessalonica, Chișinău or Minsk look as if they survived WW3, they are ancient and - even if clean and quite well-maintained - ugly. This can only be the result of a bad marketing policy or, to put it straightly, the result of the stupidity that lies amongst the CFR (Romanian railways) chiefs. So, after admiring the beautiful sleeping wagons I had never (and would never) used, I got into such a wagon and threw the 30 kg. heavy backpack on the luggage shelf, making the two Bulgarians with which I was to share the compartment look in horror at me: "this is the end, we are to die, may God forgive our sins and save our souls before this cave man takes off the ice pick from the backpack and makes doner kebap of our flesh".

Then everything cooled down, like the well-known silence before the storm. On the border checking everyone warned me (including the train conductor, the Romanian customs officer): "What the hell are ya doin' in Bulgaria, son? Are you aware of the fact that all thieves in the world have gathered there, like for a congress or something?!". That was far from being a piece of good news, yet the bridge over Danube between the two countries, the beautiful landscape - although it lasted only for 1 minute or so, before the train stopped to Ruse, made my thoughts fly away towards some other destinations than the raging world we live in. The Bulgarian customs police officers came to check our passports and they didn't look at all like the teutonic knights, besides, if they had a sword somewhere, it was very well hidden, as I didn't see it. When they asked me where I was going and I said "To Varna" (I was to meet my Bulgarian friends there, although I totally hate the seaside, and Varna is a resort on the Bulgarian beach, opposite to the major, high mountains, which lie some 400 km. westwards), they stared at the backpack with the climbing rope, ice pick and crampons hanging on it, then they looked at me and smiled like a shrink does when he sees a guy wearing his trousers on his head, as a hat and two different shoes in his feet.

After the passport checking, I went off the train in Ruse and faced the same crowd of bastards trying to sell a lot of junk, to change money, to rip someone off as soon as he/she gets off the train, like everywhere in customs.

Nothing new under the shining sun, that happens in all places and the only cure to that is "Ne, ne, neeeeeeee!". Unfortunately Ruse Station was under re-construction and it took me 10 minutes or so of running, followed by a guy that desperately wanted to "help" me change my money (he first asked me in Bulgarian, then in English, and, when I thought that I was saved, damn, damn, damn, I discovered that he also knew Romanian), to find the exchange office. But, once I put my hand on 20 Leva, I felt so very good. Then I discovered the first extremely nice thing about Bulgaria: the trains were...cheaper than in Romania (and, after traveling all over Eastern Europe I was thinking that there are no cheaper train tickets than in Romania...he he). The 226 km. trip to Varna in a fast train cost me about 5 Leva (5 DM), and that was full price; students would have paid half this price. So there is a train rider's God after all! The train departed Ruse on due time and I faced a very nice and decent wagon (as I always prefer to travel by trains, my opinion is that the trains are the best image for a country, if they are bad-looking, then this goes for the country as well and vice-versa). As soon as I departed Ruse I met really nice people in the train. The train was full of very happy youngsters that were coming back from school or something and, after taking a nap, I didn't even realize when I arrived to the Black Sea coast, where my friends were waiting for me. I was to go in the mountains with a 100% Bulgarian, Svilen, and a Bulgarian of a Turkish nationality, Taliat.

I have to admit that I couldn't have imagined that Bulgaria was so alike Romania, that the houses, the people, the cities and villages, the stations, everything looked almost the same like here. In the good sense of the sentence I mean.

"So, Svilka, what is the plan?"

"We got a train in a few minutes"

"A night train you mean?! Yippeeeeeeee!" For, Brahma, I love night trains, they are far better than any other means of accommodation or transportation... A merely 7 hours trip began, heading to a God Knows Where station, called Septimvri, where I was thinking "then we start hikin', cool!". Yet it was not to be so. We got off the train at 5 or so in the morning and when I saw that the train Svikla was pointing at was to depart Septimvri at 9.08 in the morning I thought I needed glasses. Yet yes, we had to wait there for 4 long hours. And, as always, when I have nothing to do, I start to annoy everyone (that is why I travel alone most times). For almost 3 hours I kept on annoying both Svilen and the ticket office clerk, with tons of questions about the trains back to Bucharest. And I realized that the trip back would be much longer - and dull - than the one to the mountains, as all connections were meant for someone that wanted to travel and change as many trains as possible when going to Bucharest. It was a good thing that I had always liked to travel by trains, yet I was to regret saying so in a few days... A 5 hours trip by a narrow-gauge train followed, but that was worth all the time and money invested (5 hours, 122 km., crossing Rila / Rodopi Mountains, through one of the poorest areas in Bulgaria).

I met there such poor, yet nice people. I saw people wearing sandals in december, or old rubber boots, I saw people looking at us like we were boyars or something, and I saw people for which this train was the only way out of those small communities (that they used once in a long while, as even this price was too much for them), because they couldn't afford a bus ride. Yet I saw these people calmly talking and going on with their poor lives. I don't think they ever cared about the people in charge of the country, I don't think they were anyhow interested about the last PC processor or about all the fuss that usually fills our life. I couldn't really understand what they were saying, yet I could see a sad smile on their face, a honest look in their eyes and being self - sufficient, enough to make anyone trust them. I met the same (if there are even two people "the same" on this planet...) people in Northern Romania, in Maramureș, where we also have a train that travels for 5 hours over 115 km., to Sighetu Marmației. And the scenery was so nice, as the train travelled alongside the foothills of Rila Mountains (the highest peak that I mentioned above, Mussala, lies in Rila Mountains, yet we were heading to Pirin Mountains).

By 3.00 PM we got off the train in a town perfectly fitting the above-mentioned description, Razlog. It looked to be one of the so many small towns that the communists took over and tried to turn into "civilized", "industrial", "developed" communities. Yet they only succeeded to build polluting inefficient factories that could not survive the post-1990 events, making the employees despair and the areas they had been built in - very very poor. This situation felt so close to me, as it is the same in Northern or Eastern Romania... The bad roads and the big and washed signs showing that this had used to be a major tourist attraction - mainly for westerners - were nothing but a very sad image for me, after accomplishing university studies in tourism and facing the same decaying tourism industry in Romania as well. It feels sad to know that - while some people pay a lot of money to be allowed to hike in the Alps or Sierra Nevada, such a great potential is wasted and not taken advantage of...

From there (800 m.alt. ave.) and up to Iavorov Hut (1800 m.alt.) there was a 2,5 hours trip, very nice in the pine forest. And then, for 5 days or so, I felt no difference from the Romanian mountains, maybe only the fact that the two people that I hiked with spoke Bulgarian between themselves (when they did so, I was just praying to God that I didn't make them angry at me or so, for who knows what sadistic plot they could have set up for me if I had made them angry at me). While Taliat was tired and preferred to pay 4 Leva for accommodation in the hut, we preferred the sleeping bags. While looking for a good and flat place outside, we found a small building, a warehouse or so, that looked like the royal bedrooms, after a sleepless night. I don't think that the hut master ever understood that I was not Bulgarian and that - obviously - I did not speak his language, as he kept on asking me things all morning, and telling me God knows what. After a brief meal, consisting of some oats porridge mixed up with all kinds of peanuts, dried grapes, wheat flakes, and with a delicious topping (that was actually home made wild rose jam), we started to hike towards the main ridge. The glacial valley looked very strange, as, after the pine forest was over, it was filled with juniper bushes, and not only that they were juniper bushes, they were extremely tall junipers, that kept on bugging us until we got above 2400 m.alt.or so. At noon we stopped for "lunch", and I discovered that the old (and never tasted at home) salami that had been lying in the freezer for more than 4 months while in Bucharest, was extremely good (or rather I was extremely hungry). Anyway, we reached the main ridge in a sunny weather, with absolutely no cloud in the sky.

The snow was shining, the wind was almost missing, and that was no good news for me, as I get sunburns so damn easy. The next peak was Kamenititza (2710 m.alt.).

After another hour or so, at around 04.30 PM, we reached a very narrow shelter at about 2760 m.alt. (Konceto Shelter, built in wood in the early 50s, very small and very cute). As soon as we settled inside, the whole mountain started to smell like food, announcing that the cooks' band had arrived in town, and the meals' contest had successfully started. Soups, potato flakes, as well as the famous Svilka tea (this guy knows all weeds in the world and makes an extremely interesting and tasty blend of them - yet it seems not to be poisonous, nobody has died so far after drinking his tea... Then we discovered that both I and Taliat shared a common interest: food, and not only food, but food that includes meat (contrary to poor Svilen, that was and still is a veggy), so we started to discuss all Turkish and Romanian dishes (many of them are similar, due to the Turkish influence over Romania). Oh, God, where are you, sarma, burek, doner kebap, baclava? You are somewhere down, some 200-300 km. from here, in the sunny and hot Turkey, where people know what a good meal is and appreciate it... This way we went to sleep, and I have to say that I had never had such weird dreams, depicting food and only food. We woke up in a cold shelter, and started to melt snow to provide water, then the already usual porridge spread its thrilling smell all over the place and we started hiking again in the same beautiful weather.

That day was the nicest, as it included the two basic spots of the whole trip: Konceto Ridge (a very sharp ridge, involving a bit of rope using and scrambling, nothing too much, yet with a 600-700 m. high wall underneath) and Vihren Peak (2914 m.alt., the highest in Pirin Mts.). The path to Vihren goes in wide curves, avoiding some of the peaks on the way, and then, from the last saddle, it goes straight up to the massive peak. The scenery that one can see from Vihren Peak, if there is a clear sky, is magnificent. Rila and Rodopi Mountains, all the way to the mountains in Macedonia and Greece, then the large valley where Razlog and Bansko towns lie (from here one can notice the pollution)... and then we are so close from asking ourselves: if such small towns provide this smog cloud, then how would the sky over Bucharest look from almost 3000 m.alt.? And when I think that I have been living there most of my life... Why do people feel this urge to mess up the nature that has provided them with everything they have ever needed?! It only took me a few minutes to make some pictures on the summit and I got completely frozen, as the wind was blowing quite strongly, and the sun was fading, going beyond the mountains to the west, throwing a bunch of pinky-cyan shimmering rays all over the place. Two hours of walking down in the headlamp light followed. And we arrived at the 2000 m.alt. Vihren Hut (sadly we had no tent with us and there was no shelter or hut on the way, so that we could have stayed above that altitude) and realized that our prayers had been listened somewhere. It was a Sunday night and maybe the hut master had thought to go down to the town. There was nobody in the hut and we didn't have to pay for accommodation. We had no money to pay for it anyway. I don't remember anything about eating or something, as the good-looking soft bed was all that I was thinking of. We were to cover the longest distance during the following day, so we went to sleep briefly.

The next morning involved a 4 hours trip going up through the very nice (and later rocky) Banderitza glacial valley. Sadly Taliat abandoned in the morning, due to some boots problems. And then - what I hate most in the mountains (if I can say that I hate anything in the mountains) - we got onto a ridge covered in pine bushes, with rocks and very steep walls. So, bush climbing that was, if there is such a word... And, when we reached the ridge top, getting back to the summer route (which we avoided due to the snow and the wide mass of rocks and stones down the valley), we saw the arrow: "Tavni Ezero Shelter: 3 hours" (summer time, meaning for lightweight leather boots and so on, not for heavy rigid plastic boots, a 25 kg. backpack, ice and snow conditions etc.). And it was... 3.30 PM, in the conditions where night falls at 5.30-6.00 PM in that period of time. So, "go for it", as they say, and run, run, run, and jump from peak to peak, and surf through the snow, so that you get to the shelter just half an hour after the sunset, in the beautiful moonlight, where the moon threw magnificent rays over the whole Mozgovitzka glacial valley. We met there people (oh my God, people in the mountains! wow), three very nice peasants from Melnik town, and we shared with them the shelter for a night. We cooked polenta and they gave us Melnik wine, very very good, it seems to be the best in Bulgaria, as this town is close to the Greek border. Unfortunately for the poor people that were trying to get some sleep, we stubbornly tried to keep the fire burning, although all wood was wet and therefore the whole place was filled with a thick smoke.

Then the only thing that I remember was the morning light entering the window and those people saying "bye bye" and heading down to Melnik. We spent half day enjoying the beautiful weather, cooking, and the other half - trying to get to Kamenitza Peak (2822 m. alt., the highest in that area, very sharp); unsuccessful attempt, as the snow was very tricky, pulver-like, for the summer route, and the direct way - on the ridge - would have involved a longer rope, and maybe one or two climbing spits. So we just hiked over other peaks in the area and shot beautiful pictures, as good weather seemed to be some kind of gift for us, though I don't know what good thing I had done to deserve that. The evening caught us entering the same shelter and starting to cook beans flakes with ketchup and soup, this time on the camping stove and abandoning the suicidal attempt of starting the fire. It feels so strange sometimes, as I almost never eat at home cooked food, yet in the mountains I seem to eat more and better food than in the so-called "civilization". While going upstairs to the sleeping bag, the sad thought that the following day we were to go down from the beautiful surroundings could be defeated only with the wish that soon I would be back. Back on the mountains, back in the dirty or clean trains, back to face the nasty customs officers and - eventually - back to meet friends and strangers and to talk to them no matter what.

The next day began with the same thinking, there we were to start the long way down to Sandanski Spa, a place at 20 km. north of Kulata (the Greek border). First thing in the morning: cook the most delicious meal of the trip ("plat a la Kamenitza", meaning potato flakes mixed up with everything there was left in the backpacks, from dried vegetables, to mushrooms dried soup, hard-as-a-rock bread, ketchup, powder milk, pate de foie... Then - of course - the delicious Svilka tea, and then - rush to the other side of Kamenitza and climb it from that side, even if that meant a 4 hours detour. The feeling on the peak was great, it was better than on Vihren, as the peak is far sharper and more interesting, with steep rocky walls and very deep valleys underneath; besides one feels better on a peak that he hasn't succeeded to hike from the first attempt. On the very top there were three wooden sticks with beer cans stuck in them.

"Kamenitza beer". It felt quite weirdly, to meet on such an unspoiled spot, beer cans... There also was this metal box with notes and thoughts from the people that had been there.

It is amazing, I couldn't have thought then, in that specific moment, with such a strong and bright sunshine and a clear sky, that there could have ever been a worse weather, that there could have been rains, thunderstorms, extremely strong winds, blizzards and so on. Yet that small metal box kept them all, kept all memories of that mountain, kept inside a bunch of life experiences, like a history book... But there was no time for writing poetry on top, so we went down towards Kamenitza Hut (1800 m.alt.), however, as night was falling and the path was tricky, due to the fact that it was mainly made by cattle and not by people, we missed it and had to do some other 2 hours of night (this time) bush-walking, rolling and jumping, falling down and rising again, walking only with the compass showing the way, just to reach the marked path at 8.00 PM.

We missed it again though, and met on this small and poor cabin (a few wood stumps stuck into the ground and covered by branches, in the shape of a bigger tent), where two shepherds (father and son) lived through 8 months of the year. I never understood a word of what they were saying, but I read the happiness on their face to meet people, to have guests in their poor building, to share their so-called beds with us, to show us the way the next morning, and to talk for hours about everything with Svilen. When we complain about the hard times we have, about the tough things that have happened to us, we should give it a second thought and remember that there are people in this world facing real problems, in places where they have no warm bed, no central heating, electricity, food supply or people to ask directions to. And still these people survive, and they go on with their lives, they wake up every morning and hike from 1500 m.alt. to 2500 m.alt. just to watch the cattle, and they do so 2-3 times a day, without complaining (like they would have someone to complain to...) and without going to shrinks to cry out loud their sorrows. And when they meet someone, they act like they have met God Himself, they're ready to make no matter what to make him feel good, to fulfill his needs and to welcome him. It is awesome how small things like this and poor situations make a trip worth... There is no need for a cold-hearted 5* hotel or for some ugly-looking chalet to make a voyage great.

Anyway, we woke up and "hit the road" again, reaching the ugly-looking civilization. Starting from 1400 m.alt. down, there was an asphalted road. And asphalted roads always bring bad things with them, as they are easy ways for rich bastards to go into the mountains and to destroy everything there. There they built like 100 holiday houses, ugly like hell and surrounded by all kinds of garbage, messing up the otherwise beautiful valley. We got a lift in a car belonging to Pirin National Park and we reached Sandanski Spa quite fastly. This car was the perfect expression of the Balkans: it was a very old and poor-looking one. Yet inside there was a Pioneer CD player, one of the latest models I saw. This is the nature of the Balkans: contradictions, things that make a trip here never-to-be forgotten.

As soon as we reached Sandanski, we rushed to the local park to change the smoke-smelling clothes. It is a very clean and cute spa, very quiet and welcoming to tourists, yet we saw few tourists there. People were minding their own business, going on with their routine lives, there were only two aliens with huge backpacks and ski sticks wandering around and looking - first of all - for fresh bread, then - for banitza (the local name for the Turkish borek, a pie), then for free postcards in the Tourist Office, and then for God knows what else. And we started to hitch-hike. We got lucky only with a ride for 20 km., but there were still 180 km. to Sofia.

The other chance was the Transbalkan Train, the one coming from Tessalonica and going via Sandanski, Sofia, Ruse, to Bucharest and eventually to Budapest. Yet it was noon and the train was to arrive in Sandanski at 4.00 the next morning. So we spent the day trying to hitch, first in one place, then someone told us that none stopped there (I still think he was just mocking at us), then we moved, again and again, going so very far from the train station that we had to walk almost an hour to come back and take the evening train... We got to Sofia, and all the contact that I had with this capital (that I otherwise wanted to visit) meant the 30 seconds that took us to jump from BV 510 into BV 227 that was going to Varna. The train was quite crowded and it took us sometime to find spare places - unluckily in a smoking area - where there were these two people smoking as if they were trying to beat the steam locomotives used some 100 years ago. They eventually went away - as, I think, we chose the only wagon in the 15 wagons train that had NO heating, and it was bloody freezing. So we remained there, and we even thought of opening the window, as I honestly think that it was warmer outside. Just a few minutes to 4 AM, I went off the train in Gorna Orjahovica (major railway crossing), laughing at Svilen and at the fact that he was to stay in the cold for another few hours, yet I didn't know what it was to happen to me... I thought I had in 50 minutes time a connection from Istanbul to Bucharest. Bad thinking, as this train worked only in summer time. And the first cross-border train: "bulgoro ezghero mogoro"... Meaning I never understood what the lady told me, as Svilen was in the train home and none seemed to speak English there. So I bought the best thing there is to buy: the BDZ timetable and cursed several times - and I would have liked someone to understand the curses, just to feel good about it! Why? Just because the first cross-border train was at...12.08 the next day, meaning 8 hours later. That meant my ticket to Ruse was no longer valid, so I had to buy e new one. Thank you, God, for the fact that the train was not more than 8 hours late, so that I didn't have to buy a new one and therefore to start a collection of train tickets from Gorna Orjahovica to Ruse! Eight hours of waiting in a cold station, 8 hours of walking on the platform of the station, 8 hours of thinking of what to buy with my small fortune (1,8 Leva), and I spent all of it on two cookies and a bottle of ketchup - the Bulgarians are well-known for both things. The only good thing was that in 8 hours I got to know the Bulgarian people a bit and to see that they are so alike Romanians. And eventually there was this big and red statement on the railway electronic board: B40 Istanbul - Bucharest: 100 minutes delay. "God damn the Bulgarian-Turkish customs, they are keeping the train there!" was the first thought. And when the thing got worse "B40 Istanbul-Bucharest: 240 minutes delay", I cannot reproduce what I was thinking, as I don't know the English version for that. Luckily there was the ol' n cute Transbalkan train, that I had refused to wait for in the warm station of Sandanski. It arrived at 13.30, sharp on time. And I thought I was saved. Yet no way, as the Bulgarian conductor did not accept the fact that I had no seat reservation (however the seat reservation is a must in Romania, not in Bulgaria, yet whom was I to tell that, and in what language!?). So, take 20.000 Romanian Lei (almost 2 DM) and go to hell, man, that's all my money! And he went off.

I could have saved the money, but... (click here for the sequel)

IMATE LI BOZA? 1 (you are here)

IMATE LI BOZA? 2