Arriving in Sofia, the capital of Bulgaria, Catz soon attracted the attention of the obligatory station weirdos. Unfortunately Danny didn't realise this, for these weirdos were in a league above the other weirdos Catz had encountered, having cunningly disguised themselves as station officials. This threw Danny off the scent, and the home made "station information" identity cards were enough to secure Danny's trust. Pedro and his friend marched us through the cavernous station. Having survived the Albanian sex trade scare, Catz once again feared the worst. To our surprise, we were led to a travel agency, where we successfully negotiated the purchase of three tickets to Belgrade. Before we knew it, Pedro and his companion had hoisted our backpacks onto their shoulders. Pedro got the rough deal, choosing to carry Danny's monstrosity. Trying to retrieve our backpacks proved futile, so we were left with little choice but to follow them through the bustling Sofia streets.
Within minutes of leaving the station, Pedro stopped in front of an iron gate, adamantly claiming we were at our hostel. In actual fact, the hostel we wanted (Hostel Mostel), was a good mile away. To Danny's annoyance, his desire to admire the excellent yeast scene was hampered by the necessity of keeping a close eye on Pedro. Before long, Catz decided it was time to take some action and confronted the self appointed "station information" duo. Grabbing back our backpacks, Pedro demanded we pay him an extortionate 40 euros for his trouble. Angered by his greed, Catz gave Pedro 10 euros before telling him, in no uncertain terms, to get lost.
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 Following Pedro (on the left) out of Sofia train station |
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Following the map in Lonely Planet, it was a long, hot walk through Sofia. Upon finding the appropriate street, there was no sign of Hostel Mostel. We dumped our backpacks on the pavement. A car park attendant approached us. Thinking we were going to be moved on for obstructing oncoming pedestrians, we were surprised when he asked us if we were looking for Hostel Mostel. He explained to us that the hostel had recently moved premises and gave us directions to the new location. The hostel was fully booked. The only accommodation they could offer us was back at the old premises. This was fine with us and we took up the offer without reservation, collecting some bed linen and making our way back to the old building. Dumping our backpacks, we each had a shower before exploring the streets of Sofia some more. After a cheap pizza lunch, we returned to the hostel to get some much needed rest, Ise making the most of a free Pasta dinner. |
 A chess match in the centre of Sofia |
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As evening approached, we bought some cheap cans of beer to drink at the hostel. As we sat playing cards and drinking our Bulgarian beer, Danny noticed we were getting some strange looks from three fellow guests. As Danny went to the toilet, he was approached by one of these lads. He asked Danny, of all things, if he knew of somebody called "James Lynch". This was a surreal experience for Danny. These lads had been staying at Friendly Fun Franks in Latvia and had met Lynchy. They had recognised us from our website and had been told by Lynchy to keep a look out for us. We all moved on to an Irish bar where we had a few more beers and played some drinking games. Catz couldn't get to grips with Ping-Pong, regularly ponging a pong and pinging out of turn. All nicely lubricated, we moved on to a club, where we bravely strutted our stuff on the dance floor. |
Danny on the streets of Sofia after a few beers |
Catz shows us some classic old school moves |
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We left the club in the early hours of the morning and headed back towards the hostel. Determined to find a late night pizza parlour, I got seperated from the group and was soon lost. I caught up with two Bulgarian girls who were walking ahead of me and asked them if they knew the way to Hostel Mostel. They found this most amusing, and spent the next hour (or two) walking round Sofia with me looking for Hostel Mostel. I initally led them the wrong side of town, only realising this after I had sobered up a little. They were determined to stay with me until we found the hostel, laughing whenever the words Hostel Mostel were mentioned. To my relief (and theirs) we eventually found Hostel Mostel, and thanking them for their trouble, I bid them farewell. Keen to dedicate every last remaining minute of the night to sleep I didn't even bother getting undressed. Come the morning I felt as if I hadn't got a wink of sleep. I really did feel as bad as I look in this photo. |
 Ise after a heavy night out in Sofia |
We got a taxi to the station. Unsure of which platform we needed, we decided not to ask Pedro and his mate, who were still lingering in the station foyer. A young Bulgarian man started talking to us in English and offered to carry Danny's backpack and take us to our platform. Danny kept a firm grip on his backpack. This man, in complete contrast to Pedro, was true to his word, and showed us to our platform. He even helped a lady carry her bag up a flight of stairs - without demanding 40 euros from her. Our opinion of Bulgarian people was in danger of being misconstrued thanks to Pedro and his friend. Thankfully, away from the station con artists, we found the people we encountered in Sofia to be kind and friendly, willing to put themselves out to help three hapless backpackers.
Next (Serbia)
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