Aug 12th, Skopje to Sofia

8/12     Monday

We start out walking to the bus station, since it’s nice cool morning, but about halfway there, we pick up a cab to make sure we make it in time. We have a comfortable bus and a scenic ride through the Macedonia countryside. Small villages, farms, hills. Nice looking territory.

After a couple of hours, we pass out of Macedonia and arrive at the border station to enter Bulgaria. We hand our passports to the agent and wait while he processes them. We wait and wait and wait. Two and a half hours later, we’re still waiting. There’s really no other traffic, just a car here and there. We can’t imagine what is taking so long. The bus driver calls someone’s name and takes a guy into the office. He returns, then calls for another guy to come in.

Bob’s getting fed up with this. The driver lets a group get off the bus to stand in the driveway smoking, So we get out to walk around too. Bob goes up to the office window..“Toilette!!?? Toilette!!” He exclaims. A guard comes out and gestures for him to follow. I tag right along, and he takes us over to the guards’ restroom. Ah, peace. The other passengers think we’ve been taken for questioning. Before anyone realizes what’s going on, the bus is released and we are finally free to enter Bulgaria!

We take a short break at a roadside restaurant where everyone gets some coffee and sandwiches, then we’re back on the road, where a policeman waves us over to stop for some kind of inspection. This takes about a half hour, with our driver getting cranky and arguing with the inspector, not usually a good idea.

As we drive closer to Sofia, the difficulties of the Post-Communist era are evident. Every time we pass any kind of industrial site, we see it’s all rusted over. There was once cities full of industry, power plants, factories. Most are creepily dead, empty buildings, conveyor belts leading nowhere, crumbling cement walls, too far gone to even muster up the energy to tear the whole mess down.

We arrive at last at the bus station in Sofia, only three hours late. As Bob goes off to exchange our cash, a woman who looks just like Rhea Perlman comes up to me, saying she’s waiting for Orange Flower. I tell her I’m not Orange Flower, so she leaves. We go to the in-country bus station and buy our tickets for next week’s trip. Bob has been sending messages to our host all along, telling about the delay, then our arrival, but we have no messages responding. He makes a call, and our host is on the way to pick us up. It turns out to be the Orange Flower lady after all! She’s been waiting all afternoon. For some reason, our messages haven’t been connecting.

At the apartment, the Orange Flower name becomes clear. It’s a very nice place, very roomy and quiet, and everything in it is orange. The curtains, bedding, towels, throw pillows and scatter rugs are orange, of course. But also the dishes, trash bags, cutting board, coffee maker, flower pots, ice cube tray and clothespins. Even the bathroom cleaning soap is a brand that comes in an orange plastic squeeze bottle.

1 Video Included

Bus Skopje to Sofia