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Published: September 24th 2011
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In both Bosnia and Romania I had been told by people that I needed to do the "UFO tour." In Bulgaria, just outside of Veliko Tarnova, rests the middling remains of a communist conference center, once the biggest and most unique building in all of Bulgaria, now the relic of a repressive time. And, you guessed it, it is shaped like a flying saucer.
I arrived in my hostel in Veliko, the one that was meant to provide said UFO tour. They provided it, yes, but I found almost instantly that interest in it was rather low from the other guests. They all preferred to do rock climbing and horse back riding; you know, normal stuff. I like weird stuff. A shame, because I had come to Veliko solely so that I could see communism in alien form. I thought that it was a famous tour or something, that people would be swarming given that it had been plugged to me so much prior to my visit. It turns out, however, that it's more of one of those 'go in weary, but glad you did it afterwards tours.' It by no means had preemptive hype.
As the only one signed up for the tour on my only full day in town, I feared that my trip would be for naught (you need a minimum of four for it to run). But I proceeded to spend the day working on various new arrivals, hyping this bizarre tour about which I had no clue whether it was even any good. I figured I could still squeeze it in before jumping the night bus for Istanbul the next day.
And I succeeded. I suckered (or hounded) a nice set of Canadian girls into it, as well as a Romanian guy. The next day the Romanian guy backed out, so the three of us sat in dreadful waiting while it was decided if they would still run it. But given that we had gotten up early just to do our stupid UFO tour, they said they would still take us.
So, I got to see my UFO. It was a six hour day in total, including a stop into a monetary, a tour through a spelunking cave, and finally, our arrival at Buzludza Peak, where communism has be left to rot. The Bulgarians want nothing to do with the building anymore, for it merely echos an ugly past, so a tour of the place is of your own making. I love creeping around dark, abandoned . . . flying saucers. Inside were various murals of Marx and Engels, mostly smashed in by angry Bulgarians. A symbolic place, if nothing else.
That night I hopped a bus to Istanbul with Ana, an aussie girl who had been traveling with a friend but was now leaving her to go meet up with her boyfriend in Turkey. She was afraid to travel alone so I agreed to escort her all the way to her hotel, which I must be commended for since I otherwise would have probably just caught a morning bus and saved myself one the longest nights of my life. The problem with border crossings, especially outside the EU, is you are never left the hell alone. I must have flashed my passport ten times to cynical customs agents along the way. Thus, not a wink of sleep, and not the most stimulating conversation either. At one point I had to explain to Ana who Karl Marx was. Now, I hate to be one of those elitist academic types who drops their jaw at anyone who doesn't know who Marx was, but let me just reinforce my pretension this time by also adding that Ana had lived in Russia until she was 8 and was fluent in the language. Sure, Marx was a German, but c'mon.
I dumped Ana with her boyfriend at about 7 in the morning and then made my way to my hostel - Bahaus hostel, a lovely place with a rooftop terrace and beautiful view of the city. Naturally they wouldn't give me a bed until 1:30, but they did graciously allow me to nap on the couch for a few hours in the meantime. The Turks, by the way, are ridiculously nice people. They actually seem to like tourists. People would just stop me in the streets and ask me where I was from, not for any ulterior motive, but because they were genuinely interested. Sure, there are some sleazy undertones to their cultural aggression, but I was all for it.
On my third day I hopped a ferry over to the Asian port, just to say that I had been to Asia. That is literally the only reason why I did it, as there ain't much to do over there aside from getting honked at.
After three months of enduring the ABC's of Europe (another bloody church), it was great to be immersed in a new religion. Prayers four times daily, over a loud speaker for the whole city to hear. All in all, I loved Istanbul, but my pocket hated it. It was $100 Canadian just for my entrance visa, and I was sooo done with buses that I decided to catch a flight to Athens. A relatively cheap flight, but not Rhine Air cheap.
Landed in Athens in the morning and then had to wait till 8pm before I could get a bus to Corfu. Yes, another 8 hours on the bus, but slightly better than the 22 I would have spent coming from Istanbul. The bus drove onto the ferry at about 4am and I was picked up by the Pink Palace at about 6. I checked in and was only allotted about an hour of nap time before one of their ATV safaris was heading out. They said I might not get another opportunity, so I tiredly hopped on a quad and drove around Corfu with about 15 other guests for the next 5 hours. Don't worry, you typically get woken up by mountainous off-roading. Ended up being a blast. While I've certainly been on a quad plenty of times, it dawned on me that I'd actually only driven one once or twice. Way more fun.
Yesterday we did the booze cruise. 6 hours of drinking, dancing, and...more drinking. Went cliff jumping, swam into a bat cave, and stopped by a private beach, as well. As the booze continued to flow, so did the liberalism. I chose not to partake. You know the old saying, 'A gentleman doesn't lick whipped cream off a girl's nipples in the middle of the ocean.'
But here's the bumber - the cliff jumping didn't go so well for me. A 6 meter cliff and I landed partially on my back, bruising my butt and whip-lashing the hell out of my neck. I've been walking like a statue ever since. One of my fellows guests is a nurse, and she has me taking some strong anti-inflammatory pills at the moment. Also, one of the staff is a registered physiotherapist, so he might do some work on me later too. But the drugs have been helping, so I feel the worst of it may be over by tomorrow.
Why did I go cliff-jumping, really? I've never found it to be an overly fun activity, and it was inevitable that I'd do something like this to myself less than a week before the end of my trip. Seriously, it's been one thing after another ever since I set foot in the Balkans. First a head cold that lasted a week, then two weeks getting over nasty bug bites, and now this. Three lemons. Time to go home.
On that note, I fly home in five days. See you all soon 😊
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