Sofia, Bulgaria

Sofia, Bulgaria

Southeastern Europe is home to three of the continent’s giant sprawls, namely Istanbul, Athens and Bucharest. Aside from the ugly industrial districts that linger like a nosy but unfriendly neighbour beside many Romanian cities, most of the region’s other cities feel like small towns by Western European standards. Perhaps they have one or two tall towers and a burgeoning nub of industry, but in general, these are charming places with cobbled streets and markets full of jabbering friends, and locals who give funny looks to people they suspect of being a bit foreign. I am thinking of places like Mostar and Podgorica. Meanwhile, the scenic towns of the Adriatic coast, such as Zadar and Dubrovnik, would have gone dead years ago were it not for the seasonal influx of liberally-spending tourists keeping them afloat. Sofia strikes a charming and happy medium between the region’s giants and its minnows. There is evidence of flourishing economic development in much of the city, and its sights clearly draw in visitors from far afield, and yet it is compact enough to be largely walkable.

In no special hurry, I had a leisurely start to the day and it was mid-morning before I got going in earnest. I have sometimes taken free walking tours when visiting cities, but they can be somewhat hit and miss. (The ones in Poland are highly recommended, but any that are run by American companies tend to be overly sensationalised). Today I chose not to bother, and instead used the luxury of my contract giving me free roaming within the EU to navigate around the most significant sights of Sofia. I began in the north of the centre on Pirotska Street (Улица Пиротска), a cobbled pedestrian road, before being distracted by Sofia’s pretty, Moorish-style synagogue. It is Europe’s third largest, after the Great Synagogue in the Czech city of Plzeň and Dohány Street Synagogue in Budapest, but like the other two is little used today owing to the devastating legacy of the Holocaust, which saw the vast majority of Bulgarian Jews emigrate to Israel. The number remaining is a little over 1,000, roughly the capacity of the synagogue. Bulgaria has only one other one, in its second city Plovdiv.

Pirotska Street (Улица Пиротска)

Sofia's synagogue

The Central Market Hall (Централни Хали)

The market's interior

Further on, I came to the Central Market Hall (Централни Хали), a neo-Renaissance covered market. I am not typically the type of person to spend hours patrolling up and down the aisles in markets, but this reminded me of Budapest’s wonderful Nagyvásárcsarnok (also translated as the Central Market Hall) with its cornucopia of meats, cheeses, confectionary and local handicrafts, plus its selection of Hungarian fast food. Sofia’s version was worthy of a short visit and I enjoyed perusing what was on offer but it was rather more modernised than I would have liked, and quieter and less characterful than Budapest’s.

My regrettably unfavourable comparisons to Budapest underway, I might as well mention Hungary a little more. (I do genuinely like Sofia a lot, even if that hasn’t yet come across!) Both Hungary and Bulgaria were occupied by the Ottoman Empire, Hungary for around 150 years up to 1699 and Bulgaria for 500 years until 1878, and in both their capitals, there is an Ottoman legacy. Natural springs beneath the limestone hills of Buda (the west side of the Danube in Budapest) and beneath Sofia led the Ottomans to construct thermal baths in both cities. The modern facilities such as Gellért and Széchenyi were constructed more recently, during the early years of the 20^th century, but they are a reminder of the Ottoman history of Hungary. Opposite the market is Sofia’s equivalent, built on the site of the former Ottoman baths around the same time as many of Budapest’s, and situated within a beautiful striped building whose architecture recalls Sofia’s Byzantine and Ottoman heritage. Sadly, I didn’t have swimming kit with me and regardless of my attire, the baths closed thirty years ago. The building is now home to a museum.

In the same complex is another tangible connection with Bulgaria’s Ottoman past, something that had become a common sight all over the southern part of the Balkans, a mosque. Like the synagogue, this is the only religious building of its kind in Sofia, all the others being churches. It is still active, used by the city’s 7,000 Muslims. It is called Banya Bashi, and this name pertains to its location above the thermal springs that fed the former baths; Banya Bashi means ‘many baths’. Nearby is a third religion, in the shape of the Holy Nedelya Church (Църква 'Света Неделя') and the Church of St George (Ротонда 'Свети Георги'). The latter sits slightly sunken into the ground within an enclosed courtyard, atop some of the foundations of the Roman settlement of Serdica. It is believed to be the city’s oldest building, dating back to the 4^th century. More traces of Serdica are visible between this church and the mosque.

The Central Mineral Baths (Централна минерална баня)

Banya Bashi Mosque (Баня Баши Джамия)

The Church of St George (Ротонда 'Свети Георги'), Sofia's oldest building

Traces of the ancient settlement of Serdica by the Banya Bashi Mosque

Leaping from the ancient to the modern, the outside of the building is the office of the Presidency of Bulgaria, and its doors were guarded by two soldiers in white uniforms with red trimmings. Each was wearing an ushanka (the stereotypical ‘Russian hat’) with the ear flaps fastened up rather than hanging down. For want of a better comparison, they reminded me somewhat of Imperial Russian hussars. It might be slightly insensitive to liken these uniforms to those of Russia, but I found them overall smarter and more regal than some others I have seen, such as Hungary’s Italian-style olive attire or the American action film look of the Czech soldiers’ summer uniform, complete with aviator sunglasses that make the whole appearance look more like fancy dress than anything else. The most striking building in the complex, however, was the administrative offices across the road, which had formerly been the headquarters of the Bulgarian Communist Party during the decades of socialist rule. Looking at the unmistakeable Stalinist style building, I could almost have been in Moscow, and was certainly hundreds of miles from the mosque just around the corner.

I can’t claim to know a huge amount about the communist regime in Bulgaria, having studied the failings and abuses of Nicolae Ceaușescu in the country’s northern neighbour Romania to a much greater extent. Most of what I do know stems from the favourable reports of leader Todor Zhivkov compared to his tyrannical counterpart in Romania. Zhivkov led the Communist Party from 1954 until his removal from power the day after the Berlin Wall fell in November 1989, making him the longest serving of any European communist leader. He once requested that the USSR incorporate Bulgaria as its sixteenth republic, but this idea never took shape, probably for the best. Compared to Ceaușescu (more on him to come when I visit Romania), his governance was reasonably successful, and in particular, he oversaw reforms that turned Bulgaria into an advanced state in the computing industry. However, his regime, like all those of the Soviet bloc, was a repressive one and the most well-known example of this was the implication of the Bulgarian secret service in the infamous assassination of the dissident Bulgarian writer Georgi Markov by means of a modified umbrella that injected him with a ricin capsule as he stood on London’s Waterloo Bridge in 1978.

The Bulgarian Presidency building

The National Assembly building (right), from where the country was governed during the communist era 

The current National Assembly building

The National Assembly has since moved from its communist era location to another building further down the same street, close to my next stop, the grandiose St Alexander Nevsky cathedral (Храм-паметник 'Свети Александър Невски'). The second largest church in the Balkans, after Belgrade’s Church of St Sava, the cathedral dates back a century and its construction began to commemorate Russian soldiers who were killed during the war against the Ottoman Empire that resulted in Bulgarian independence in 1878. Its name thus honours the canonised grand prince of the Kievan Rus’, who is regarded as one of the greatest ever Russians. It is far more beautiful than St Sava’s with its pale green and gold domes, and unlike the one in Belgrade, is at least fully completed. Its resplendent interior is even more awe-inspiring than its outside, painted with gilded icons on every surface, including up into its 45 metre high dome. In the same square is the far smaller St Sofia Church (Църква 'Света Софиа'), the city's second oldest church. Built by the Byzantines in the 6^th century, this building is plainer than the cathedral but is full of attractive round-topped red brick arches. It became the namesake of the city, replacing Sredets, the Slavic version of its older Roman name, Serdica. Unfortunately (though understandably as these are primarily functioning religious buildings, not just tourist eye candy) the Bulgarians were stricter than in the former Yugoslav states when it came to photographing the insides of these Orthodox churches, so I have no evidence of their interiors.

The St Alexander Nevsky Cathedral (Храм-паметник 'Свети Александър Невски')

The St Sofia Church (Църква 'Света Софиа')

The Church of St Sedmochislenitsi (Църква 'Свети Седмочисленици')

I followed Tsar Ivan Shishman Street (Улица Цар Иван Шишман) towards Graf Ignatiev Street (Улица Граф Игнатиев), one of Sofia’s nicer roads, where I was distracted by another place of worship. The Church of St Sedmochislenitsi (Църква 'Свети Седмочисленици') was created when the 16^th century Ottoman-built Black Mosque was converted into a Christian building in 1902. Its brick exterior and grey roof is drab and even austere, but the wooden-floored nave is surrounded by walls of brilliant blue, once again coated with images of saints, in a far more colourful display than that of the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral.

Graf Ignatiev Street is pedestrianised, aside from the trams that rattle down its middle (why can’t Sofia invest in some newer, quieter trams?) and a joy to walk along. At a small bakery kiosk, I bought a banitsa, a cheese-filled pastry similar to the Turkish-inspired burek that is commonplace throughout the Balkans, although this particular delicacy is a Bulgarian speciality. Heading southeast, I soon found one of Sofia’s rivers.

To call the puny Perlovska a river is a huge compliment; it is scarcely more than a sewage channel. Sofia is unusual among Europe’s major cities in being situated neither on the coast nor on a large river. Instead, two small streams of stagnant-looking water pass its centre; the other is the Vladaya in the city’s north. Thus, the Eagles’ Bridge (Орлов мост) is very short, despite being topped with grand eagle sculptures in the manner of Ljubljana’s Dragon Bridge or the lions of Budapest’s Chain Bridge. Sofia has its own lions on the Lion’s Bridge (Лъвов мост) over the Vladaya, but this bridge is similarly stunted. Across the road is Knyazheska Garden (Княжеска градина), whose centrepiece harks back to the communist era, a huge 37 metre high socialist realist statue featuring Bulgarians being liberated by a Soviet soldier, which I suspect may be controversial as most similar monuments across the old Soviet bloc have been torn down.

The mighty Perlovska river

The Eagle's Bridge (Лъвов мост)

The Monument to the Soviet Army

I retraced my steps and followed the Perlovska along to another bridge. Essentially a concrete pedestrian walkway connecting two parks in the south of the city centre, the Lovers’ Bridge (Мост на влюбените) is not at all romantic looking, as the name would suggest. It actually takes its name from its role as a popular meeting place for young couples, and despite being underwhelming compared to the name, is a nice diversion, particularly because of the many pieces of artwork that line its sides. At the northern end of the bridge is the National Palace of Culture (known locally as НДК – NDK). In the northeast corner of the adjacent park is another socialist realist statue, built in 1981 as a commemoration of the 1,300^th anniversary of the founding of the Bulgarian Empire in 681. Fenced off, it is a neglected and unloved piece of concrete and metal, no longer as glorious as the country it was intended to celebrate.

From the Lover’s Bridge, there was a good view south to Vitosha, the symbolic mountain of Sofia. At 2,290, it is lower than the two highest lakes I visited at Rila the previous day, but still a significant landmark and the closest ski slopes to the Bulgarian capital, which ensures it is the most visited peak in the country. It is also gives its name to Vitosha Boulevard, known affectionately as Vitoshka (Витошка), Sofia's central pedestrian street and Bulgaria’s most upmarket commercial area. It’s a very pleasant tree-lined avenue, affording views south to Vitosha and north to the flattened green dome of the Holy Nedelya Church. The last place I visited was the Ivan Vazov National Theatre (Народен театър 'Иван Вазов') an elegant building of brick red trimmed with white, and topped with statues of chariots. The façade is a glamorous set of neoclassical marble columns supporting a triangular porch decorated with figures of Apollo and the muses. It surely competes with the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral for the most beautiful building in the city.

Vitosha seen from the Lovers' Bridge

The Lovers' Bridge (Мост на влюбените)

The National Palace of Culture - НДК

The dilapidated communist era monument to 1,300 years of Bulgaria

Vitoshka, Sofia's main shopping street

The Ivan Vazov National Theatre (Народен театър 'Иван Вазов')

By the end of the afternoon, I felt I had completed a fairly comprehensive tour of the principle sights of Sofia, and arranged to meet a couple of local friends for coffee. After a bit of catching up and reminiscing, followed by a short discussion of their city and what I thought of it, the conversation turned to more serious matters. It is notable that despite the wealth of historical and cultural variation across our continent, we Europeans are united more by social demographics than we are divided by our different national experiences. The Bulgarians’ parents and mine grew up in radically different circumstances on opposite sides of an ideological divide. Thanks to globalisation (which isn’t always for the best) and an openness with regard to language and cultural exchange, those alive today have an unprecedented ability to share our outlooks. Here, under six hours by car from Istanbul and the gateway to Asia, we shared the same frustrations with our respective governments, concerns about the rise of populist groups, and worries about the perpetual turmoil in the Middle East and how its fallout is affecting Europe through the chronic, deviously complicated refugee crisis. Sadly, there are no easy solutions. Our generation will have to pick up the pieces in the future, and despite the outcome of the UK’s momentous EU referendum in the summer, it makes me optimistic that all over Europe I know so many talented, intelligent, brilliant people, who are equally angry and disillusioned with the rise of the radical right and left and are determined not to let our values of tolerance and cordial cross-national relations go down the drain. Call me an idealist.

An enjoyable two hours of candid discourse interspersed with small talk flashed by, and then my friends had to disappear, so we bade farewell and I returned to my hostel. There, I joined the eclectic bunch who were in the same room as me – a middle aged Scottish tutor and sometime long distance cyclist, a young Bulgarian moving to the capital from his hometown, and an Australian traveller – and the four of us headed out to find food. The same fanciful notions as earlier regarding the delights of international company returned to me, and a fun evening was had by all, the Bulgarian being gently teased about how he felt to be eating in a restaurant run by Turks (Bulgaria’s rivals and historical occupiers), the Aussie struggling to find vegetarian dishes, the Scot regaling us with tales of exploring far-flung Siberia and reflecting through rose-tinted glasses of his experiences when he first visited Bulgaria during the Cold War. This was followed by a jaunt to a nearby convenience store to get some alcohol, the Bulgarian correcting our butchered pronunciation of his language and testing our ability to read his alphabet, before a brisk walk through the still warm night back to the hostel.

Sofia is not the most dazzling city, nor does it have the most incredible sights. It sits on no great river and is too flat to offer any scenic vantage points. It isn’t as timeless as Rome, nor as emotive as Sarajevo, and neither does it suck one in like Prague. There is something of Central Europe about it; it seems to blend the cultured stateliness of Vienna with the cuisine and good-natured conviviality of the wider Balkans. It is a charming place with a special, intangible kind of beauty. I couldn’t quite put my finger on the qualities that so enamoured it to me, but I really did love Sofia and, like so much of the region, I would like to return for longer. I still had another day left in Bulgaria, and for that, I had earmarked a bus trip to Plovdiv, Bulgaria’s second city and one of the oldest surviving settlements in Europe.

St Sofia, representative of the Christian Holy Wisdom (from Greek 'Σοφια'), and by way of the eponymous church, namesake and symbol of the city of Sofia