Brasov to Sofia

---

I hate getting outsmarted.

Arrived and immediately got harassed for taxi rides, hotel stays, etc. However a tall black guy named... I think Derek... came up to me and, in English, started instructing me as to the lay of the land. Turns out that he went to school outside of Lubbock, and was now in Romania playing basketball professionally. He stuck me on a bus which ended up at my hostel, and we agreed to meet up that night for dinner. Made it to my place relatively easily, although I did have to scamper around what appeared to be a wolf pack of (probably not actually) skinny and disheveled stray dogs. It appears that there are loose dogs EVERYWHERE in Romania, something which I had read in my guide book but had not believed in the slightest bit. I then dropped my stuff off and walked through the Old Town, before hiking up to the top of Mt. Tampa.

Brasov used to be called Stalin or Stalin City back in the Soviet days, and at that time they erected a huge Hollywood sign on the top side of Mt. Tampa with his/their name on it. It was obviously torn down in the early 90's, but just recently they elected to continue the tradition with their historic name. So I made the two hour hike up the mountain to catch the views, which were incredible, before taking another route down to grab dinner with Derek's family.

The second route that I opted to take, on the way down, was only supposed to take about 45 minutes. However I had dallied a bit too much on top of the hill, so I was in a bit of a hurry to get to the bottom as I did not want to waste money having to call and reschedule. From the top of the trail you can more or less see six or more swivels of the trail below you, for the mountain was very steep and also slippery from the rain so one was supposed to take the journey down at a gentle grade. However, I decided instead to expedite the trip by sliding down the vertical portion from horizontal trail crossing to horizontal trail crossing -- thus travelling completely perpendicularly to each wind of the trail. The trip took fifteen minutes. My clothes were disgusting, and my jacket will bear signs of Romanian mountain mud forever. But it was a ton of fun.

In no shape to present myself to a welcoming American family, I ran back to my hostel and changed before rushing back across town to their place. Dinner was great and conversation was cordial, but I was hankering to get back to experiencing more of Romania. There was a British couple (or... just friends, as I later learned, but rather disbelieved), an Aussie, and an Irish guy sitting in the downstairs TV room at the hostel, so myself and, after a bit of convincing, the two latter non-Brits went out on the town for a few hours of fun. Came back and met an American family (mom and two sons) who were on month nineteen of a round the world trek. The two boys were sixteen and eighteen, and had been home schooled for their entire lives. However, their mother professed that she had done very little teaching, and that the majority of her time was spent yelling at them to read their books, from which they did all of their learning. Having spent time all through South America, the Pacific, SE Asia and Europe, our their side of the conversation was pretty remarkable. Everyone at the hostel seemed to have something to offer with regards to their own respective travels, and yet it seemed that the family had been to every place we mentioned. We probably ended up the majority of our time trying to figure out a location that they had not yet been to when it was all said and done.

Woke up early the next day to catch a bus to Sinaia to see the Peles Castle built by Carol II in the late 19th century. Most of the hostel opted to make the trek, so the ride over was surprisingly talkative. Castle was amazing, and I managed to snap a few more illegal pictures for your viewing pleasure, and then we went to Bran to see the other famous castle in the area. All the rumors surrounding the place say that Bram Stoker based his description off of this second one, and having just recently read the book I reckon that it would make sense. However, there is no actual proof that the real Dracula, Vlad Tepes, ever lived or even visited this fortress which stood on the border of Transylvania and Wallechia. They did manage to brief us on a great deal of his history on the tour though. Yada yada yada he was a big whig in the 13th century who used fear to control and was famous for impaling people on stakes from the rear through to the mouth without hitting any vital organs... thus providing a very agonizing death to the victim. Sounds medieval enough to me. Our tour guide was a girl in her early 20's who had just graduated from tourism school, and we actually hit it off quite nicely. Ended up going back to Brasov and grabbing dinner with her before going back to the hostel to quickly pack up and grab take the train to Bucharest, where I slept that night.

Woke up in the morning and wandered around the city. Saw the huuuuge parliament building (second in size amongst government buildings in the world to the Pentagon) and then later went to the History Museum with two people who had messaged me on CS asking if I wanted to hang out in the city the day before. Very cool museum, for they had a replica of Trajan's Column broken into pieces so you could read what was happening on each portal. Plus in the center of the room they had the enormous base of the tower. I took more illegal pictures.

Then we went up to the Village Museum and the Peasant's Museum. I know... lot's of museums, but there was not a whole heck of a lot else to do during the day. The Village Museum was an extremely cool outdoor museum that had over 100 accurately sized examples of village structures from all corners of Romania since the 17th century. I bought a liter of Tuica, a once distilled brandy famous in Romania, after an enjoyable tasting session, which hopefully will survive the trip and serve as a gift (surprise ruined) but could just as easily disappear somewhere over the next month. Peasant's Museum was awesome as well, and it had been rated the top museum in all of Europe the year or two before (they probably never duplicate winners, but the exhibit were well done nonetheless). Grabbed a bite and bid fair well to my two Romanian friends (I think Michael and Bertha... as they translated them into "American English") before boarding my train to Sofia. Quick, easy, nothing spectacular... Bucharest. Moving verrrry quickly now.

The train ride to Sofia absolutely flew by. In what was easily the nicest room situation I had yet to experience on a night train, I was stuck in a 3 bed room with two Bulgarian guys who spoke Spanish and Portuguese... but not English. It was quite the experience. About my age, Oucho (or maybe Lucho, but they laughed when I said it that way, and Arem, were either from Portugal or Bulgaria and one worked as a bouncer in one of the two countries while the other killed horses for meat... I think). At first I thought the latter translation had to be wrong, but they pulled out and offered to me a salami/sausage which, as they described, was made of "clop, clop" (the sound, like a horse on pavement). So I assume that this corroborated his earlier statement. We actually had a great time trying to figure out what each other were saying, and ended up bonding over our common interest in Russian women, of whom we met a carful down the train upon an expedition. It turns out that for some reason the Bucharest train to Moscow had to travel with us half of the way to Sofia before breaking off, so we spent some time on their side meeting Russian "muchachas". However, about 20 minutes from the Danube we were yelled at by the train attendant to get off unless... it was in Russian so I am not entirely sure... "We wanted to get sent to a Gulag." I swear she said Gulag so this was the most obvious choice, of course.

We then spent the next few hours raiding the dining cart for various objects, for although we could barely converse, (I spoke more Spanish than they did English, which is sad on both sides I imagine) we bonded over our common desire for free sustenance. Ended up crashing for about 2 hours before arriving in Sofia, where we parted ways, and I went to find a hostel to leave my bag at for the day long stay.

Succeeded in my quest, and then went to tour the city in the pouring rain. Saw all of the sights (similar to Bucharest, there were not a ton) including the main Nevsky Cathedral, where I captured some great shots of an Orthodox service/or maybe other thing involving people lining up to kiss the preacher/bishop/whatever they are called... on the hand. Then I walked to see the Soviet Memorial. My last stop. I had to see it. I wish Lonely Planet had described it less seductively. Would have saved me the five hours I spent dealing with the Bulgarian Police.

(Foreword: I am giving up this story with full acknowledgement of my stupidity, and expect to be chastised for it accordingly. Half of the next paragraph could be placed in questioning quotations, as I have no idea what really was true.) On my way over I walked past the Parliament building and man hollered at me to step away as I was much too close to the building. As he had spoken in English, I returned a thank you and we started talking. Turns out this guy's children were in the states somewhere in Florida working and raising their respective families. We started talking about America and then about soccer/his life story/Bulgaria yada yada. Then I said I had to leave but, and this is the point I should have known to high tail it out of there, he asked if I by chance could help him out. As he had spoken of before, he was heading over to the bazaar to buy some cheap materials for his crafts shop, and was wondering if I had any small bills so that he wouldn't annoy the folks at the market with a big fifty. I was a bit wary, but accepted his deal, since I had spent the past month being incredibly paranoid and wanted SO BADLY to take a step and relax/trust someone. So I changed him by two 20's and a 10 for his 50. Then parted after I realized that we had been talking for thirty minutes or so and I needed to go buy my ticket. UGGGH. I got to the bus station to buy my ticket, with the 50, and it was, of course, a fake. Wonderful. I had specifically asked the man if it was a counterfeit when we traded (which was of course in so such way a fullproof question, but I was hoping to inspire some sort of guilty expression more than anything) but he made me feel more guilty for asking... so I took that DAMN step and trusted him.

Anyway, long story short, the guys at the bus station recommended I report it to the police, kind of, but I opted to, and then spent five hours in the police station. I knew I had no chance of retrieving my money, but I figured they would appreciate me telling them that there were counterfeit bills on the street (he had previously offered a 100 BG note before the 50) and what the guy looked like. However, they seemed more peeved to have to do the paperwork than anything. Plus they had to call in a translator, as the COP/INVESTIGATOR in the IRON MAIDEN T-SHIRT could not speak English. It was a joke. Not the no English part, but rather the station. No one wore any sort of uniform, and the office I spent most of my time in was cluttered with papers and reeked of cigarette smoke. Got out of there about 20 minutes before my bus departed and managed to hop on after a quick snack. So the majority of my time in Bulgaria was spent on a train or in a police station. Needless to say I will not being going back to Sofia, but Plovdiv or Varna could get a shot in the distant future.

Originally planned to go west to Serbia buuuuutt, change of plans. At the last minute at the bus station I decided to do Istanbul instead because... I am not really sure why actually. I guess I figured that if I am going to be in a dangerous place I might as well be warm and amongst, for the first time this trip, somewhat happy non Europeans. (Kosovo/Serbia/Albania vs. SE Turkey). So we took off on the 12 hour trek which included a stop at the most ridiculous duty free shop (see pictures) I have ever seen on the border going into Turkey. Istanbul...

---