Yesterday our navigation system failed to fire up after more than two years of faithful service. We rely on it so much and without it I have to give Jack turn by turn directions from my phone, making every journey a shouting match and exhausting for both of us.
We found a nearby car audio repair shop today and they’ve determined it’s the wire to the ignition, and not easy to replace. We started with one guy working, then two, and eventually three guys poking around our dashboard and engine bay.
I have very little cash on me so I hope they will take a credit card. That’s if they can fix it.
Back in business and no, they didn’t take credit cards and no, I didn’t have enough cash. There was no ATM in the vicinity so I gave them all the local cash I had plus some Euros.
After being on the road for a while we noticed our house battery wasn’t charging. A little troubleshooting and that was fixed. But then the third shoe dropped.
We missed the highway exit to our parkup, a tree-lined lot promising shelter from the brutal sun with a pizza shop around the corner. Google maps delivered the bad news that the next opportunity to turn around and go back was 26 km ahead, almost at the Turkish border. It’s been a frustrating day. We were so looking forward to a cold beer and a pizza. I scrambled to look for an alternative parkup with an alternate pizza shop but in the end Jack drove the double cloverleaf to go back the 26 km. Thank goodness.
I should have realized that something was up. Marce in the morning…well, let’s just say she lacks her usual effervescent twinkle in her eyes, at least until properly caffeinated. However this morning I find an unusually chipper navigator who has pre-programmed our destination into the GPS. Trusting but prudent, after the Google map blinks to life, I ask what’s a Novo Selo? “Not saying,” she says, “it’s a surprise.”
Well I’m game, at least we’re still in Bulgaria but as we pass through a small town called Novo Selo Google has us turnoff the gravel macadam onto a rough gravel “road”. Soon there is absolutely nothing within 360 degrees. Another turn and now we are raising up a cloud of dust on a rough rutted dirt road that hasn’t seen rain in years. What could possibly be out here? As we struggle up a steep rise, what little is here has been burned and dried out in the hot sun. Another turn to the left and it’s clear that there hasn’t been anyone here in a very long time.
We waited for the cloud of dust, we had stirred up, to settle. We were met with an otherworldly scene.
Things are largely made of chicken wire and concrete, and yes those are eggs.
Could it be that this represents a fever dream of the history of man?
Looks like the dinosaurs have been used for target practice, but I still think it’s going to be an eerie hot night.
We’ve been dealing with unfamiliar languages, strange currencies, and Schengen, but as we approach the Bulgarian border crossing we were hit with this sign. This is going to get a bit tricky.
In an hour we’ll be dealing with the Bulgarian Lev currency which is at 1.86 BGN for 1.00 USD as opposed to what we’re are now dealing with the Serbian dinar, which is 111.57 RSD for 1.00 USD. The alphabet is going to pose a bit of agro.
I suppose now is as good a time as any to come clean, dear Escapee’s, and admit that just like in Serbia, we don’t have any real plan or a clue as to what to expect in Bulgaria. You could say Bulgaria’s kind of just “in the way” of our destination, and it’s in Schengen so it’s bound to be a hit and run.
We find that our parkup is a subway ride away from Sofia. What’s in Sofia you ask? Don’t know, let’s go and find out.
Nice clean and modern Soviet style subway, but we still haven’t a clue where to get off so we just wait until most everyone else does. Don’t laugh it usually works.
Gulp, that’s a big one!
We emerge from the underground into a bustling city, staring up at a comely lass perched high on a pedestal holding a laurel wreath and an owl on her left hand. Turns out she is St. Sofia patron saint of the city.
Casting our eyes downward we noticed an old lady smoking a roll-up, sitting on some stairs that lead down to an entrance to an ancient stone chapel. She slowly stood up without a word, pulled out a large old key and, puffing away, motioned us to follow.
We didn’t know it but we had just run into St Petka Samardzhyiska church. Oddly enough this church was built in the 4th century on the foundations of Constantine the Great’s castle. Those of you Escapees paying attention will remember Mr C. The G. from our last installment.
Frescoes on the dome.
While walking down a city street we noticed a large gathering of well dressed people. We stopped and Yours Truly said. “It must be a wedding.” Oops.
After the crowd dispersed and the dear departed had…departed…we decided it was a great time to checkout the cathedral.
The Necropolis of Saint Sofia Cathedral is really something. The earliest church on this site dates back to the 4th century. Over the centuries a series of churches were constructed and subsequently destroyed by invading forces. The magnificent church you’re looking at was built in the 6th century and even did time as a mosque in the 16th century. I don’t know, maybe it was my mood, but in a possible violation of rule #2 (Don’t get jaded), I wandered around this magnificent Cathedral humming Peggy Lee’s old anthem to ennui “Is That All There Is?”
After wandering quite a while, as we reached the exit, the guy at the ticket kiosk, leaned over his counter and in a most conspiratorial tone said, “You’ll want to go down into the crypt. There are over 50 tombs down there from 5 different eras.” How much? Free for seniors! At that point, I’m all in.
The descent down into the crypt went well due to the clever and handsome stairs and glass walkways they’ve constructed throughout the catacombs.
There are four or five stories of catacombs, tombs, and ruins of previous churches under St Sophia.
Ancient mosaics from a long forgotten church floor.
We are overwhelmed. And alone.
Painted fresco from inside a tomb.
Up from the catacombs among the living, St Sofia still surprises.
We heard that a famous heroic Soviet era memorial was not to be missed, mainly due to the decidedly non-heroic, non-patriotic graffiti that the Bulgarians relentlessly cover the monument in. I admit I was reluctant, the damn thing was all the way across town and after all, it’s a funky Soviet era heroic memorial and I can laugh at it from here. Need I remind you, dear Escapees of rule #3 which clearly states that the juice must be worth the squeeze!
So we take a flyer and it’s really a hike. It seems the Bulgarians are deeply into a major spring cleaning and have a protective corrugated metal wall around what looks like a massive city block of memorials.
The obelisk is a nice touch.
And here you can voice your concerns or love of Soviet propaganda.
The squeeze part of the juice was even more painful than I feared as we trudged back towards the underground.
But wait there’s more! We ran right into St George’s church thought to be the oldest building in modern Sofia. Originally built as Roman Baths in the late 3rd century, three layers of frescoes have been discovered, most notably the 22 prophets decorating the dome.
I think it would be safe to say that we have a thing for mosaics. Especially ancient Roman mosaics. In another Serbian suprise I give you Constantine the Great’s Roman villa in Medijana, Nis, Serbia.
Built in 306, it’s hard to imagine how large and sophisticated this villa is, featuring heated floors, saunas, gymnasium, a water tower, a colonnaded courtyard, and more tile mosaics than I’ve ever seen in any one place.
The first thing you notice is the fantastic expanse of this beautiful and clever building erected to protect the villa. Although Roman artifacts can be found all over the flat plains of Mediana, we found it hard to keep in mind that this is just one man’s home, but then if you think about it, Constantine does carry the moniker, “The Great.”
One of the many brick fireplaces used to heat floors and water.
Endless permutations on geometric tile motifs.
Marce inspects the peristyle colonnade courtyard.
Six sided fountain room.
You could spend days in this place but time waits for no one and we have a date with a Bulgarian border crossing.
Many of the countries we’re traveling through have recently signed on to the travelers’ curse known as the Schengen Agreement. Those countries allow citizens of non-member countries to travel freely within the Zone for 90 days out of 180 days. Then you have to leave the Zone until you’ve saved up enough days Out before you can re-enter. If you overstay your allotted 90-days-out-of-180 you could get fined or banned from re-entry for a period of up to five years. So it’s good to keep track of your Days In. To find out where we stand on the Schengen countdown Marce consults several apps that purport to be the official accounting of our days left in Schengen land. It’s a rolling calendar, so you don’t have to do exactly 90 In/90 Out. And that’s why tomorrow when we cross into Serbia we will be leaving the Schengen Zone for awhile, and need to keep track of our Days Out.
We’ve got a beautiful day for it and it’s not a big crossing so we’re expecting a smooth time of it.
Looks like mountain passes and rough tunnels are going to be the order of the day. We crossed the Danube River at the Iron Gates, a UNESCO Heritage site which forms the boundary between Romania and Serbia. This last gorge on the Danube also separates the Carpathian from the Balkan mountains.
This rock sculpture of King Decebalus is said to be the tallest rock sculpture in Europe, carved somewhere between 13,000 to 5,000 years ago, which I think pins it down pretty well.
Soon we find ourselves in the mountains again and when rounding a curve on a steep downhill slope we saw a view so magnificent that I quickly pulled over into a gravel roadside overview, covered in a cloud of dust.
The Danube River my ancestors floated past
It was a brakes don’t fail me now moment.
We decided that there was no other view we’d rather wake up to, so we stayed the night.
In the morning we selfied and paused a few moments to let this magnificent view soak in one last time.
Down the mountain we cautiously went.
Marce had found a small garden like parkup where there were signs extolling the virtues of the heroes of the battle of Cegar in 1809. We enjoy a good memorial so in true Escapee tradition we were off.
Turns out ya pays your money and you waits your turn.
It seems the Serbs badly lost the battle against the Turks, so they shot at their own powder magazine preferring an honorable death, being blown to smithereens, than slavery under the Turks. The Turks built this memorial in an attempt to frighten the Serbs but didn’t understand the mentality of who they were dealing with. The freedom-loving Heroes of Cegar.
Yes the Turks built a Tower using those dead Serbian hero’s skulls
But, funseekers, this is not even what we came for. Stay tuned for the next installment of fun in Serbia.
It’s a rainy day in Transylvania, not the kind of weather recommended for the type of activity we’d had in mind for today. Actually we find ourselves, after a change of plans, hours of backtracking away from where we need to be, just to begin. That’s why we are vanbound, watching the rain bead up on our windows, while playing a cutthroat game of Nine Man Morris. Our old sailor mate Alan made our board by hand and our playing pieces are stones and shells we collected in our travels.
I guess it all started years ago when I saw a Top Gear television show where the admittedly insane hosts pronounced the Transfagarasan Pass the best sports car road in the world. I thought, “In Transylvania? Best in the world? Someday I’d like to give that a go.”
The change of plans bit of this story is that we’ve found as we travel the world the phenomenally profound power of movies and television is astounding. Turns out the Top Gear pronouncement turned the Transfagarasan into a slow motion funereal bumper-to-bumper creep over the pass. However, the nearly identical Transalpina Pass is as close to the original experience that Top Gear loved but not nearly as crowded. At least that’s what our friends claim.
That brings us to the “sportscar” bit of the story, and a six meter, 3.5 metric ton, six-speed Fiat Ducato RV hardly qualifies. Escape Velocity does have new Michelin tires but sometimes you just have to “run what ya brung.” But not in the rain, and that leaves us playing Nine Man Morris waiting out the weather in the van.
In the morning we find ourselves completely enveloped in a pea soup fog. Well, this is disappointing. It’s not actually raining but it might as well be. We expect more of Transylvania but decide to stage EV two hours closer at what we’ll call the starting line for the Transalpina. Visibility is far from ideal so we pull into a parking lot and make lunch. And wait.
It was like Christmas morning while trying to convince your parents that it’s really light enough outside to start opening presents, and besides I think the fog is lifting slightly. Now we can see people off in the distance hiking past our parkup.
Long story short, it was deemed safe enough to start. Gemini and Moonbeam, our mischievous resident little people, once again bequeathed special dispensation for spunky fools.
As I found the rhythm of the Transalpine curves and switchbacks, the skies were definitely lightening a bit.
The serpentine, well engineered Transalpina road, it turns out, is fun at any speed.
I confess that there were times that Marce didn’t seem to enjoy the experience as much as I did.
She did mention something about palmsweat.
As a rule I do not ride EV’s brakes when descending a hill because I may need them more at the bottom. I suppose, in those who are susceptible, this practice might cause palmsweat. However a 3.5 ton vehicle can pick up speed at an alarming rate which forces one to use the binders and lower gears, judiciously but periodically, allowing cooling in between applications. While in a “cooling period” we rounded a blind curve and suddenly the sinuous curves and back to back switchbacks, not to mention spectacular mountainous scenery, after 150km suddenly came to an end. It was time to test the theory. The brakes were more than up to the demand and in a flash we pulled into Marce’s tiny park-like lot, and EV’s engine was switched off.
We found that we were surrounded by cherry and Mirabella plum trees. What a celebration.
