The Train to Bulgaria

We decided that from Istanbul we would travel to Bulgaria by train, but when we arrived at the train station we were politely informed that the tracks were undergoing maintenance. This was not a problem, they assured us. All we had to do was catch the B1 bus to another train station an hour north.

The problem was that everyone in this picture was in line for the same bus as us.

One bus went by. The line shortened fractionally. Another came and went. Then another. Finally, the fourth bus pulled in and our time was running short. We were supposed to make the 10:20 PM train out of Istanbul for Bulgaria, and we were antsy because of our experience in Santiago, Chile. And then, without asking or anything, the ten people in front of us beckoned for us to go ahead of them... we insisted on not doing so, but they were persistent and even helped us with our bags. The bus pulled away and the people that had let us go ahead remained on the curb to wait for the fifth bus to come.

We arrived at the train station with ten minutes to spare.

One thing to note from the above picture is that there is no ticket office. We were expecting a ticket office. One that preferably accepted credit cards. We looked in our wallets and found $70 US and the equivalent of $10 in Turkish lira. Unfortunately for us, the train tickets, combined, were supposed to cost the equivalent of $110 US from what we had read on the web.

So we asked an official-looking man on the platform. He indicated that we should  get on the train. We told him we didn't have enough money and asked if their was an ATM nearby. He again indicated that we should get on the train. Figuring the worst that could happen was that we got off wherever our $10 in Turkish lira would take us, we got on the train.

The train started and the ticket officer came by our cabin--the same man as the one on the platform. He asked for a ticket, or at least that's what we think--he didn't speak English. We told him, again, that we didn't have a ticket. He then asked for money. We opened our wallets, again, and showed him the $10 in Turkish lira. He indicated that this was a problem. He sat down with us, we scribbled on the back of a scrap of paper, and finally he offered to exchange our dollars for lira. This was good in that we now had money to pay for a ticket to get to the Bulgarian border, but not enough to take us further. He shorted us about $5 because he didn't have the cash, but assured us that we'd get a coffee as compensation. That was nice.

It was around 3 AM when we were roused for customs. Groggy, we were shepherded out of the train and across the train tracks in the dark.

Now we were in Bulgaria. We got back onto the train, laid down to sleep again as the train started moving, and no more than 10 minutes went by when a new ticket officer, this one Bulgarian, came by. The ticket officers had switched and the Turkish officials were on their way back to Turkey. 

We tried to explain our situation. No, we did not have Bugarian lev to pay for our tickets... no, we didn't even have any cash left... and yes, we were supposed to have a coffee coming. It was a great game of charades and the man seemed very nice. He talked and talked through the early morning, apparently having no other cabins to visit, until the train stopped and he shooed us off.

Disheartened, tired, not having any idea of where we were, we picked up our bags and got off. The ticket officer got off with us and guided us along the tracks. The sun was just starting to show and there were a few houses nearby. He took us to the nearest building and showed us the ATM. Grateful, we took out money. He then took us into a small cafeteria where three ladies were stirring enormous pots of stew. It was the best breakfast I'd had in days.

Our train left while we were inside. The man waved his hand which I thought meant not to worry about it. He kept talking in Bulgarian, laughing, gesturing, without a care that neither Rachel nor I understood even a word. He eventually lead us onto another train. We wanted to sleep, but we couldn't. The man talked to us in Bulgarian until we finally arrived in Plovdiv at 10 o'clock in the morning.

We said goodbye, detached ourselves from him, and searched out the nearest hotel to sleep for the remainder of the day.

We never did get our coffee.

- Tom