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Published: September 21st 2015
The Man in the Middle surveyed the departure board at Luton Airport. A board of outbound flights showed all on time with the exception of the 1420 hours to Sofia. Disappointing – we had an appointment to keep on arrival. Disappointment turned to despair on the discovery that the bar had one option of alcohol on offer – lukewarm bottles of Heineken at a ridiculous price. There should be a law against it. As the fantasy of a quiet couple of pints before take-off evaporated, we were pleased to see that the delay was only half an hour. It was football derby weekend across Europe. Inter v Milan, Red Star v Partizan – not for us this time – we were headed for the original Sofia derby, Slavia v Levski.
After a further delay on the tarmac, we touched down about an hour late. The surroundings at Sofia Terminal 1 were somewhat more spartan than the EU funded luxury cousin at Terminal 2. After a quick cash stop, we ordered a taxi from the OK Supertrans office – the official taxi provider. I was alert to the fake taxi scams from my last visit, so was a little concerned that
our assigned driver led us to a car with different marking. Don’t worry, Mister …… was the response, as I scanned the price the list to make sure it was 0.77 Lev a kilometre and not 7.70 Lev. I watched the meter like a hawk. The driver spoke English. He had been to England in 1973 and to the Olympics in Montreal in 1976. A judo champion of all Bulgaria many times and now look at me................. driving a taxi 12 hours a day for 300 Euros a month. He still managed to extract a fare of 23 Lev for a journey that cost a mere 13 Lev even in heavy traffic on the return.
We had a meeting with an old acquaintance and friend of Football Travels with Ross at our hotel …… to chew the football fat and talk over the old days. We were on time, so the even with the delay the taxi had been a good idea. Programme Man walked in as we did. A quick bag drop and we were out again. Vitosha Boulevard was busy with people, despite it being a miserable evening with rain in air. After a cash stop, we
settled in a bar for the most expensive pints of the trip. The bars (and the shops) on Vitosha are an aspirational environment for the locals, where one can indulge in western European brands at twice and three times the price of the Bulgarian equivalent. We didn’t make that mistake again. The rain poured down around us. Austerity has arrived in Bulgaria too and the once great 26 times Champions of Bulgaria had brought the Programme Man to his economic knees. They stopped producing programmes, monthly magazines - no more printing. Stay on, by all mean - but only on 30% of your salary. It could be a useful ploy with players in future. We drank our beer and talked football. There was plenty of furrowed brow, when we mentioned watching lower league or non top flight football. Why would you? The rain lashed down. Fortunately, the hotel was quite close.
Friday morning dawned and it had stopped raining. The humid air was still oppressive, but was dry for the time being and we set off to walk towards the National Palace of culture. After our evening of Levski dominated discussion, the first port of call was to be
CSKA – known in some circles as the Red Enemy. The other half would empathise with that view, after her night out there for a goalless draw with Chernomorets Burgas in 2009. We skirted the National Stadium. The park behind the Stadium was full of tennis players limbering up for the day’s play in the Allianz Bulgarian Women’s tournament. There was no need to follow the usual practice of trying all closed doors and gates to gain access to the Bulgarian Army Stadium - we just poked our head through an open door and were led on to the pitch by the CSKA fitness trainer. Tomas Dansko spoke good English. A Serbian, who was once the fitness trainer of the European Cup winning brothers, led us out on to the pitch. He was soon joined by Aleksander Branekov, one of the few professionals on the club books after their demotion to the amateur 3rd Division regional ranks. The CSKA museum was recommended to us and by the time our impromptu pitch session was complete, the old museum man and his translator were ready for the guided tour to commence. The room was wall to wall with trophies and pennants from
the European exploits. A Hristo Stoichov Golden Boot nestled in the cabinet. The club that ended Forest's excursions and winning run in the early 1980s European Cups had retained that pennant in a "special place". The Man in the Middle nodded in agreement at the reverence to the souvenir - it was retained in the VIP section.
We pressed on over the park that surrounds the National Stadium and the Bulgarian Army Stadium. The Sofia pensioners were in the middle of their morning exercise. Their routine was completely thrown, as they spotted the camera aimed at them. We arrived at the Military Museum. The front grounds are full of ex-Soviet military hardware, so it was difficult to miss. It is free to walk round the initial exhibits and 8 Lev to head inside. The inner grounds have a wider array of MIGs, missile launchers and other cold war armour. If you like an old MIG fighter jet or ten, you have come to the right place. The inner galleries comprised of a special exhibition of war paintings - the most popular subject by far was Serbian prisoners of war. The remainder of the floors was a potted history of
the Bulgarian military, which highlighted just how many times they had changed sides during the course of history. It isn't a bad tactic mind - back the wrong horse and quit before it really gets difficult! The museum staff out numbered the visitors and lurked at every turn, should you be tempted to wander with a souvenir. As most of was behind glass, that would have been difficult. The staff probably do it to keep awake. The days must drag.
We retreated back on to the main street nearby and settled down for a refreshment. It came in at 2 Levs a pint. Free wifi. We were back on track. It was a short walk back to the National Stadium. The lady on Gate 26 suggested in no uncertain terms that we wouldn't be nipping in for a photograph. We asked the doorman at the main entrance for the museum entrance. The CSKA man assured us it was open every day, but there were no signs. We entered the main entrance and up the stairs, from where a lady appeared from a side office. 2 Levs later, she opened the museum. We were the only visitors. She hurried back
with a receipt and seemed unconcerned that we were unsupervised. She obviously had a lot to learn to qualify for a job in the Military Museum. We completed our circuit and enquired once more of a photo opportunity. Gate 26, she beckoned. Alas, the lady on Gate 26 continued to stand her ground.
After a heavy shower at the Military Museum, the air was still dull and humid. It made the Soviet War Memorial look even more miserable. We did a circuit of the statues and headed towards town. The Alexander Nevsky Cathedral remains the most memorable landmark, but more of that another day. Programme Man had invited us to the Levski training at 1630 and we meandered our way there on foot - only stopping for a pizza snack. After a miss-communication on the meeting point, we wandered into the tunnel area and out on to the pitch at Georgi Asparuhov Stadium. The majority of the players were doing some light exercises on the pitch led by Georgi Ivanov. Jeremy De Nooijer pedaled away on an exercise bike in the tunnel. He was a fresh import from Sparta Rotterdam and a Curacao international. Programme Man chatted away to
a TV minx - she was a friend - on the sidelines. Her cameraman took a few sweeps of the action. The players looked bored senseless - even at this later afternoon time, it remained humid. The new main stand was in a state of semi-completion. It looked like it might be ready sometime in the next couple of years, but nobody seemed to be rushing. The club shop was not doing brisk business, but I secured a badge from a Europa League game in 2009 that I attended at the ground. Programme Man also presented me with the match programme - well he produced it after all. We retreated across the road for a couple of beers, before searching out our usual Eastern European food stuff - the plate of sausages.
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Frankardenas
Frank Cardenas
Curious
Only by the facade of the dome, I am sure I will enter to visit the church, lovely, thanks for sharing.