Week Eight

Up early, pack and out in plenty of time for the 08.45 bus to Mystras: the Hotel Cecil owner/manager (presumably not "Cecil") lets me leave my rucksack there, so I'm travelling light.
Quick summary of Mystras for those who don't know: it was an important Byzantine fortified town, which became something of an artistic and intellectual centre as Eastern and Western Europe became cross-cultural agian, so the buildings and fashions had western elements and there was a huge amount of post-Classical philosophising and analysis as the West/Latin states finally started showing an interest in progress again (cf. Pisa). All that was cut short when the Turks took over, finally defeating the fading remnant of the Empire which had halted their surge west from Central Asia. Although it became the Turks' regional capital, Mystras was gradually abandoned, particularly after the founding of (modern) Sparti and now lies empty (except for one convent and a few cats).

Physically? Physically it's built on a the slopes of a fucking steep hill: there's a castle at the very top, then an inner walled city, and then an outer walled city. At its height it probably held up to 8,000 people within the walls and presumably communities outside as well. The main buildings are a couple of monasteries, the Metropolitan church, the Palace complex and the castle. The bus drops me at a little café below the old town and my first thought is Oh my God, it's very vertical. I mean, it's pretty vertical up to the entrance, and that's just where the site starts.

After the main gate, turning right takes you up past the Metropolitan church and attached museum (which I leave for later). After that, the Evangelistria, the church of St. Theodore and the Hodegetria monastery complex, tucked against the city walls. All these (effectively) churches are roofed and pretty much have glass in all the windows: whether that's always been the case for the last 500 years (people are less likely to nick bits form churchs), or whether they've been added as part of the restoration/preservation effort is impossible to tell but I strongly suspect the latter. They are all distinctly Byzantine, the predominant shape being the semicircle: at least 50% of the external walls are rows of hemispheres, and the internal and external arches are all rounded. Each has frescoed walls, in various states of repair - lines of saints, founders and biblical scenes, all in bright colours. All the figures are pretty much wearing Greek/Byzantine style robes (when did that fashion finally die out in this part of the world?).

Further up the hill, through the Monemvasia Gate, is the upper/inner city. There's far more remaining stonework here, which presumably means a lot of the buildings in the lower city were made of wood and haven't survived. Also, all along the route are excellent information plaques: their focus is on how and why the city worked, rather that on what particular buildings were used for: by the end of the visit you have a pretty good idea of what life was like here.

The biggest building in the inner city is the Palace complex, at the south-eastern corner: there's a little exhibit in the ground floor (two, actually), and they're doing an awful lot of restoration work on it. I still don't approve of this sort of mass rebuilding (Pompei shows how good a site can be without it), but at least it's more justified in Mystras than in many of the Spanish sites. We have buildings from that period still in use, and there are drawings and so on: also the buildings here are pretty much intact to start with, so it doesn't need too much imagination to piece together what they once looked like. On the subject of Pompei vs. Mystras, by the way, they are completely different in terms of the founding philosophy. Although walled an able to withstand light attack, Pompei is essentially not defensive: it's open and flat, with straight roads and wide open spaces - also, the roads are designed to facilitate the large-scale movement of people and vehicles. Mystras has one strepped, narrow and winding street (which is a dead end), and secondary streets leading off it (which are mostly dead ends as well): it's a town built by paranoid people (possibly justifiably), whereas Pompei is a town built by supremely confident (arrogant?) people: they didn't need to hold out for long, because massive help would be there shortly if required. Mind you, when Pompei was founded it was hundreds and hundreds of miles from the frontier of the Empire. Come 1200 or 1300, Mystras was only a couple of hundred (50, if you count the Mediterranean as the frontier - no longer Mare Nostrum, but more Mare Some-one-elsum).

Further up the hill are the St. Sophia and much more recent St. Nikolaos (built after the Turks took over), and the Upper Gate. I pass a tour group, the first other people I've seen today other than workmen and attendants (every building in Mystras seems to have its own attendant): their bus dropped them at the Upper Gate and will collect them from the bottom - what a good idea, I muse. The uphill climb really is quite strenuous,but I am undeterred and have my sights on the castle at the very summit. There's pretty much nothing of interest on the way up, but the views from the top - of the valley below, the rest of Mystras, and the surrounding mountains are worth the effort. The castle itself is not really Byzantine, and turns out to have been fouinded during the brief period of the Latin states (the confused period of Greek history - or, rather, the second confused period: I still haven't got my head around the whole Pelopennesian Wars). It's pretty solid, easily defensible, and it's therefore no wonder than the Byzantines built a town areound it. I have the castle to myself and, through the rest of my visit, never see anyone else near it. On the way down, intermittent rain starts: up until now it's been dry, if cloudy.

I went up the east side of Mystras, so I come down the west: the first and biggest stop is the Pantanassa Monastery, now a Convent and the only building still inhabited (everyone else was kicked out when the state took the site over in 1953). Mary Pantanassa is apparently Mary, Ruler of All Creation which seems a.) very non-Christian and b.) curiously reminiscent of (eg.) Pallas Athene, or Olympian Zeus to me - and the sizzling candles, icons and smell of incense are very odd to find in a church. The convent is also inhabited by suitably black kittens, though I don't know if that's a Greek Orthodox thing as well (there are tons of stray cats in and around Greece so far).
Further down the hill is a villa/house, another church (built into the side of the hill) and a little chapel (St. George) which has a strange and eerily lit modern art work of two life-sized figures, contemplating the altar. I finish my visit at the museum, which I'd been leaving in case it rained: it has some neat stuff, but not a lot. At the car park/restaurant, I just miss the 13.00 bus so have a cake and coffee while waiting for the 14.00. The television is flicking (or being flicked) between particularly over-acted soaps and endless news reports about the storm-damage, flooding and snow across Greece. Mystras gets 3/10, and Sparta 2/10 (despite still being populated).

Back in Sparta I collect my rucksack, hit the bus station, book a seat (it's all seat reservations and advance tickets on the express service to Athens) and am on the road a little after 15.00. Here, in the centre of the Pelopennese, the mountains are more in ranges, with particularly straight divisions to the flatter land (presumably fault lines), but not much evidence of glaciation (if there is, then it's pretty old and is obscured by more recent forms of erosion). Other interesting features on the road are the occasional tiny roadside shrines, in Byzantine style, which presuambly mark the locations of fatal road accidents: many contain bizarre objects presumably designed to ensure the departed has a good afterlife. As with the rest of Greece so far, there's an endless number of unfinished and partially finished buildings - some little more than shells. Sometimes part of a building is finished/inhabited. It's as if the Greeks start building when they have some cash and just stop when it runs out, presumably starting again later in better times. In which case, my guess is that the better times don't come sicne many of these shells have been lying for years. Finally the road signs make the whole journey feel like something out of the Iliad - I start in the district of Lakonias, and the roadsigns along the way are to Argos, and Athens, and Corinth, and so on.
Finally, after tunnels and express toll roads and some startlingly impressive vertical scenery and one toilet stop at a roadside services, we're crossing the Corinth Canal (Christ, it's deep) and hurtling our way along the coast to Athens. All along the shore are moored large ships: the whole stretch is like the waters off Singapore - a seriously major maritime centre. And then into the bus station (the Greek bus company, amusingly, is KTEL - except that it isn't written like that). The bus station is a dirtier, more threatening place than any station I've been in - there's something intrinsically grubby about buses.
We get in about 18.30 (much faster than the train, and it would ahve been even faster but for the Athens suburban traffic), and by 19.00 I'm on a bus into the centre. By 19.15 I'm at the railway station, and I finally find the Youth Hostel (the only accredited Youth Hostel in Greece) at about 20.00 after much meandering around. It turns out I've been pottering within a couple of hundred metres of it for some time (again, their map isn't very helpful - it doesn't include any landmarks: metro stops, stations, etc.). The two Australians from the Patras ferry are there and greet me heartily: they've been in Athens for the last few days, but haven't done anything because of the weather.
I check in (there's a strange old guy already asleep in one bunk), go out for something to eat, spend some time in an internet bar (definitely not a café), and then crash out about midnight.

Apart from a strange shouting girl at 03.00, it's a good night's sleep and I'm up at 07.00 (the strange old guy is already up and out). I hit breakfast (it starts at 06.30) and then the station in plenty time for the 08.49 to Corinth. The bus station in Corinth is just over the road from the train station, but buses from Ancient Corinth leave from somewhere else: it gives me a chance to walk along the shore. On both ends of the Corinth Canal, the land widens very gradually to steep mountains flanking a narrow channel: if there were more trains, or I had more time, I would keep getting off - few things make better photos than water in front of mountains.
Buses to Ancient Corinth leave hourly - there have been three Corinths: the original Greek city, which was demolished by the Romans (that'll teach them); the Roman city (founded by Julius Caesar); and the modern city, slightly distant from the Classical original(s). The bus journey costs about 50p and takes no time at all - I end up talking with an American (latin) from LA, whose English is worse than most of the Europeans I've met so far. He's basically touring Greek temples for a couple of weeks, and informs me that the ruins at Corinth are Roman.

Well, when we arrive and get off (entrance is 1,200 drachmas), the site is dominated by the remains of the Temple of Apollo and it seems pretty damned Greek to me (as it were): the columns are massive, and Doric. Also, I suppose you could easily argue that any ruin in Greece is a Greek ruin, from a purely semantic point of view. Only seven columns are standing, but it's still probably the best preserved building on the site: it stands on a hill - to the north is the old market and to the south is the forum/agora (the distinction is kinda blurred in these Greco-Roman sites), also lined with shops - this is apparently where St. Paul spoke when he was in Corinth (obviously these were the chaps he wrote his Corinthian letters to). Compared with Mystras and Pompei, the site's a bit of a wreck - there are piles of stones and chunks of columns lying all over the place.

Apart from the Temple of Apollo, the principle buildings include the Peirene fountain, the remains of a couple of basilicas, and at the west side of the site the Temple of Octavia (they reckon). Within the site there's also a museum, which has some really excellent statues as well as representative pieces from all the major periods of Greek pottery. Also of note, but outwith the site (partially fenced off, but you can clamber down) are the odeon (small theatre) and theatre.
One of the best things about Ancient and modern Corinth is the backdrop: to the north is the clear blue Gulf of Corinth with the mountains behind; to the south is Acrocorinth, the old castle/citadel, perched high on a sharp rock looking down on the site.
I eventually emerge and settle into a café to wait for the bus, having a coffee and plate of Chachikis (?spelling?) while I wait - the bus back to Corinth, of course, passes just after my food arrives (the cheerful blocky woman at the café gives me a free orange to compensate (?)), so I just wait for the next one. I contemplate catching a taxi up to Acrocorinth (there are no buses), but decide I've had enough of vertical castles for this month (after Mystras). Ancient Corinth gets 1/10, since I've seen it now.

Back in modern Corinth, I catch the 10-minute bus to Isthmos to see the Canal before it gets dark. It doesn't run for very far (you can see how it was possible to drag ships across the Isthmus before they cut the channel: you can also see both ends at once), but the land rises quite sharply, so it's very deep (but only wide enough for one ship at a time). Somewhat disconcertingly if you're standing on the metal road bridge it shakes every time a bus or truck drives over. Visiting the canal doesn't take long - once you've crossed the bridge a couple of times, taken photos looking east and west (ideally west while there's a train going over the rail bridge), there's nothing left to do. I catch a train back to Athens.

At the Youth Hostel, the Strange Old Guy is asleep again (already - possibly he has a medical condition): I meet Matthew from Australia in the room, and we talk about the Strange Old Guy (we reckon he's probably a beggar) and the mad woman from last night. Apparently she really is mad, or at least schizoid: the hostel manager escorted her to the airport, where there was something of a scene - reminiscent of Rain Man, possibly.
I collect my laundry (it's not self-service here), put in some time on the net checking the weather - rain tomorrow, sunny on Thursday, and then bad - and under the influence of the staunchly unconscious Strange Old Guy, retire at about midnight.

Up at 06.30, shower and breakfast (slightly more substantial than Cordoba): a day to spend in Athens, since if it's goign to rain then there are a lot of indoors things to do (museums and the like), and I've got city stuff to do anyway. I spend until 10.00 trawling around opticians, but fail to find the local equivalent of SpecSavers (cheap glasses while you wait): glasses here seem to be primarily a fashion accessory, and priced accordingly. There's a cheaper and shabbier district to the south of the Acropolis, called Syngou-Fix. centred around a street called Veivou. Not only do I finally find a half-decent pair for under £100 (good here - also of note, they still price just the frames and don't include the price of lenses), but I get them to drop their price by a fiver and agree to have them ready for tomorrow evening (their initial collection time is next week!).
Next up I get some photos developed and find a post office to mail some negatives home. The post offices here don't sell envelopes (the whole concept of everything-you-need-in-one-place is alien to Greece - eg. their multiple bus termini concept), so I have to find a stationer as well. Finally I get to do some sight-seeing.

The first stop is kinda obvious, being the Acropolis - a big, white reinforced rock in the middle of Athens (with two old theatres nestled against the south side). It costs 2000 drachmas to get in (third most expensive so far, after Pompei and the Alhambra) and includes a small number of monumental classical Athenian buildings and the museum. Every building (except the museum) is covered in scaffolding: they're doing staged restoration work (which will take decades) everywhere, and also un-doing and re-doing earlier restoration. Even so, with the cranes and huts and rails and builders, all three are still damned impressive, particularly the Parthenon (and that's after 2,500 years and the Turks blowing it up). I take the required photos, and clamber around the rest of the hill - it's fairly mobbed, mostly by Americans with a supporting cast of Japanese. Thankfully it starts to rain and most of the other visitors either leave or shelter in the museum. Non-thankfully, you can't actually get up close to/on any of the buildings, since they're roped off.

Apart from the Parthenon, the other significant buildings are the entrance gate (Propylaea) and the Erectheum (another temple). Not a lot I can say about them, since everyone kinda knows about them already. They're mostly white, but you can still see traces of the blue and red pastel colouring which they used to be covered with. Funny then, that white is so much associated with Greek ruins, whereas they painted over all the marble: I'll bet whoever invented the neoclassical movement didn't know that. A lot of the detail is copies, with the originals either being in the British Museum (the best stuff - they're not too vitriolic about that) or in the Acropolis Museum - some good stuff in that museum, including one wing called "Archaic Horsemen of the Acropolis" (Plague, Famine and War were presumably three of them).

To be honest, even though it's the Parthenon and the Acropolis, it doesn't take that long to see (especially since you can't get up to the temples). Just down the hill is the old agora and associated buildings and rubble, principally the Theseion (Temple of Hephaestus), but otherwise just a flattish bit of ground with stones in. Round the corner is the later Forum, but there's a lot less of that on display since most of thattt area is still covered in buildings - shops, actually - in the Monastiriki district. The main east-west Ermou street passes through here and is much grubbier and cheaper than when it starts by the Parliament building. This is also where the flea-market is based, which makes you wonder if this area has continually been a shopping centre since the Romans. There's a whole spread of little archaeological sites around here, tucked away among the squint grid of shops - for example Hadrian's Library (actually Hadrian's Wall - previously part of Library) - and Melina Mercouri seems to have been instrumental in preserving them: certainly her name and occasionally photograph are all over the place.

I do the unforgiveable and have a quick McDonalds before continuing around the base of the Acropolis. On the east and north-east side is the district known as Plaka: short, confusing streets filled with tourist goodies (reproduction art is big here, and there are some nice Cycladic pieces), cafés, restaurants and bars.
To the east of Plaka is mostly parks, and also to the south-east are Hadrian's Arch (not much left and not worth detouring for), and the remains of the massive Temple of Olympian Zeus, which must have rivalled the Parthenon when it was intact. Even now, with very few columns upright, the sheer size and mass of them is staggering.
Walking away from the city centre and up the Arditos hill gives the best views of the Acropolis and Parthenon that I'm liable to get (there are two or three other serious hills in Athens which should afford good views, but I don't have the time to explore them).

Just down from there is the Athens Stadium which is apparently a rebuild of the old Roman stadium and, I think, might be where the first modern Olympic games were staged (there are marble slabs listing all the Greek medal winners since then). On that subject, I was going to go up to where they're building the new complex, just to see how they're coming on, but the light was beginning to fade.

Instead, with my Cycladic Art phase stung by the little replicas, I made my way up to the Museum of Cycladic Art only to discover that it had closed at 16.00. En route I pass the Presidential Palace, guarded by two Greek soldiers in full regalia. I couldn't stop at the first one because I was too close to laughter, but I get a photo of the second. It's the pompons on their shoes which crack me up most, rather than the little skirts and the white tights.

Then back to the Youth Hostel, where the Strange Old Guy is actually awake (Matthew has informed me that he also returns mid-afternoon for a nap, as well as his 12-hour night-time sessions). Conversation reveals him not to be mad, or a beggar, or a gypsy, or any of the other theories, but rather English who's been on the road for 12-15 years. We don't ask where he gets the money for it (in case he does turn out to be a beggar): interestingly he has an odd stammer, and has to work himself up to speaking before every sentence - the sign of someone who's spent very little time with (presumably fellow) humans. Matthew and I go out for a Greek meal somewhere in Plaka: good Greek Dolmades for me, and a full menu for him. All in all a good day, covering a lot of Athens, but realising that it probably deserves another day to see properly: Athens gets 4/10.
Tomorrow Delphi and then north out of Greece: outstanding omissions behind me include any of the islands, the theatre at Epidauros, the resort of Nafpoli, Mycenae (Mikines) and Olympia.

Spent most of today travelling, on account of Delphi not being on the rail network. Up at 07.00, washed my hair, checked out the hostel (they let me keep my rucksack there) and caught the 08.something to Levadia. Oddly, Levadia staions isn't in Levadia (or anywhere else for that matter). A free bus runs me and my fellow passengers into the outskirts of town (unfortunately it has a different pick-up pointt, which I'll have to find if I end up catching the train back). I follow the signs to the well-signposted bus station on the other side of town: the man there informs me that Delphi buses leave from somewhere else (Greek bus stations are really beginning to piss me off). I trek back to the centre of town and wait two hours for an appropriate bus (I just missed one, which I could have caught if I'd known).

Levadia to Delphi is only an hour - the bus passes the archaeological site, just to the east of the modern town, but the driver and conductor (normally two separate people in Greece, but not always) don't want to let me out until Delphi bus stop: presumably that's so I know where to catch the bus back from. It's a 1 or 2 kilometre walk back through the narrow cliff-hugging strip that is the modern town, to the climbing lozenge-shape that is Ancient Delphi.

Now, there's not a huge amount to see in Ancient Delphi (the museum is quite extensive). Even when it was new, most of the buildings were kept small and low so as not to obstruct the view. The main building is, obviously, the Temple of Apollo of which half a dozen columns remain standing - very impressive against the backdrop. The centre of the temple is just flat stones - nothing to see of where Pythia dispensed those confusing, stoned or pithy prophecies, which cost so much. On the subject of cost, most of the buildings (or remains) in the immediate vicinity of the temple are treasuries of various Greek cities/provinces: just square fancy storage rooms really. Other than those, the only other buildings of any note are the theatre and the stadium (quite a bit further up the hill).

Down the road and down the hill from the main site are a couple of outlying buildings, principal of which is the Temple of Athene (there are a couple of treasuries here as well, so presumably Athena didn't come overly cheap either). And after that, frankly, there's nothing else to do or see at Delphi - a couple of hours is enough. I wander back through modern Delphi (the hotels are all called Apollo, Oracle, Prophecy and so on), looking at the tourist shops - for those who know Skene, I resist the urge to buy a pack of cards (life imitating art, or life irritating art?), but just wait for the bus instead. To be sure of catching the opticians (they close at 21.00), and considering the potential problems of Levadia station, I catch a bus all the way back to Athens.

Final thoughts about Delphi - don't go expecting hordes of impressive ruins, because there aren't (even less than Corinth, on balance), but what there is is the setting (and the scenic journey there and back). The views up and down the valley and (from modern Delphi) of a distant inlet of the sea are magnificent. And there's the silence, which makes you want to just stop and sit and listen to it. And finally there are the largish black birds (dunno what - could have been ravens, but their wing-shape looked more like birds of prey) which wheeled above the site all the time I was there. Against the cliffs and ruins and clear blue skies, they seemed very prophetic. Even so, mainly because it's tiny, Delphi only gets 2/10.

The bus back goes through Thiva (4 letters in Greek), classical Thebes (as in the play Seven Against Thebes): several people have told me that there's nothing worth seeing in Thiva (just a city), and that seems to be borne out by what I see from the bus.
Off the bus early (ie. before the bus station), catching the metro across to Syngou-Fix where I collect my glasses (they're okay), back to the hostel (via a bite to eat) to collect my rucksack, and then back to Larissa Station. The station has temporarily become an army barracks - the platform is full of uniformed soldiers with bags and carryalls, all of whom are going to Thessaloniki. I end up in a compartment of five people (none of them soldiers - possibly they're all in couchettes), and have an uneventful journey.

Into Thessaloniki at some impossibly early hour - my first (and possibly the only) modern Greek station - automatic departure boards, clean toilets (even!). As usual, nothing overly useful for tourists - a little kiosk offering city maps for 1,500 drachmas (a little OTT for a one-day visit), and a couple of public plans on the wall by the station door. Left Luggage is open, so I drop my rucksack there and then get a reservation for the overnight train to Sofia in Bulgaria - the guy at the ticket office is reluctant to take my 900 drachma: he reckons there will be plenty places, even through it's a Friday night - I still figure better safe than sorry. Thessaloniki is a port town, wrapped in a semicircle around a wide bay. I head down to the shore first, encountering the huge docks and later the old part of town (the station's pretty much on one side of Thessaloniki, together with a cluster of bus stations).

The Roman/Byzantine town was mostly on the western part of modern Thessaloniki, and if you follow the shore you come to the White Tower, formerly at the South-East corner of the walls. Known as the bloody tower when it served as a prison, it has five or six storeys, with good views from the top. Unfortunately, they're good views of almost nothing: Thessaloniki is a lot like Naples - mostly modern tower blocks, flat at the shore but then climbing steeply away, on a bay that's too wide to take good photos of. When I was there, they had an exhibition on, covering Byzantine life, which was pretty interesting and had a lot of good pieces (from London, St. Petersburg, and lots of other museums).

On the shore, just at the tower, there's a big statue of Alexander (this was his stomping ground, before he left): it's labelled Alexandros Omegas, so "omega" may also mean "great", which puts a whole different slant on Christ's words in the New Testament.

I strike inland, through the modern city: by now, not only is there no sign of the rain that Yahoo's forecast promised, but it's over 20 degrees and I'm wearing my shades. Following the old eastern wall leads me to a batch of c. 300AD buildings. For those with a passing knowledge of Roman history, this was where Galerius decided to stay - he was one of the original Tetrachs (the Empire at its largest extent was considered too unwieldy to have only one ruler). So that naturally meant he had a palace built here - a full-scale Roman fuck-off kind of palace - of which little now remains. There are some exposed sections dotted around the current shopping areas, so you can get an idea of the scale. Above the ground, the only remnants still standing are a couple of arches from a 4-sided gate, and the Rotunda which was converted into a church (St. George). The church/rotunda was pretty derelict when I visited, but very impressive (that early phase of Roman circular building, which later developed into the Byzantine style): some good frescoes, but lots of bare walls and scaffolding. In the same area, nestled between the rotunda and the arch is the wonderfully crumbling Byzantine church of St. Panteleimon.

A strenuous uphill climb leads along more impressive stretches of Byzantine walls (Thessaloniki was sufficiently steep and defensible that it managed the transition from Roman town to Byzantine fortress), up to the North-East corner of the ancient town and the Trigonion tower, which is impressively solid even though the name is strongly reminiscent of the old comic-strip. From the Trigonion tower I follow the north wall, which is interesting because it's not at all protected and is in the process of disappearing/being reused in people's houses/workshops/etc. It's a great working example of why only the foundations are left of so many ancient structures. Striking back downhill I pass dozens of still-operational Byzantine churches: the total continuity is fascinating - they're pretty much the same bulidings, with the same frescoes and so on that you can see ruined in Mystras as archeological monuments. It's interesting that in the west we kind of view the Greeks as successors to the Classical Greeks, whereas in Greece itself they see themselves as the inheritors of Byzantium and the Empire. All their most-signposted monuments and museums (and school trips!) are the Byzantine ones: the Classical stuff is just like junk left lying around. Incidentally, on the same subject, I've heard that the Russian Orthodox Church thinks of itself in much the same way. Another aspect is that, if they see themselves as inheritors of a 1,500-year-old empire which was interrupted for 300 years by the Turks, then it throws more light on their famous hatred of the Turks. Their xenophobia is not confined to the Turks by the way (though that's probably the most accurate use of the word possible today), but also applies to the Albanians. Everything bad, and all social ills, seem to be their fault: Greek beggars always open with the line "Albanians stole all my money."

Trekking around shows the usual number of half-finished buildings ands also (as in the rest of Greece) a fair scattering of little solar power generators among the houses. Visiting all the various churches/monasteries (and all that uphill/downhill nonsense) has used up most of my day (I also spent an hour chatting to an old guy out walking his dog in one of the parks - he recommended Pella as a day-trip from Thessaloniki). I make my way back to the station where, strangely, they're playing American TV themes over the tannoy (Bonanza, Dynasty, etc.). Thessaloniki gets 2/10, and not just because of that.

In the cafeteria which serves both the train and bus stations, I chat with another wierdo - a 50-year-old guy in a wheelchair, who reminisces about his first 35 years of life, which he spent hitching and backpacking around the world. Now he's paralysed from the waist down and considers himself all alone in the world except for his cat.
I have no idea why these people pick on me.

Eventually onto the train, where it turns out that the guy in the ticket office was right - it isn't busy. The exception to this is a compartment two along, which has a couple of Orthodox priests/monks inside. They had a ton of luggage and loaded it off a cart through the compartment window - young guys, all in black, with black hats and sneakers. Me? I share the compartment with a Bulgarian woman and a girl from Barcelona, who's in the middle of a 15-day holiday (she also reserved a seat, just in case).
The radiator's on full, and they've disabled the temperature control - the compartment is stifling as we head northwards . . .

We stop twice for customs/passport control, and these two stops mysteriously account for 3 hours of the journey - at least they give us a chance to open the window and let a through-draught . . . well, through. Our Bulgarian woman turns out to be travelling on an expired passport, and there is much to-ing and fro-ing and discussion about this - the Greeks don't seem to care, but merely point it out (after all, I suppose she's leaving). The Bulgarians are a bit more tetchy about it (both Greeks and Bulgarians collect all the passports, leave the train, and return them en masse). Our fellow traveller packs her bags and sits ready to be ordered off the train, clearly in genuine fear, rather than simple anxiety. When the official lets her off with a stern talking-to, the relief is palpable. Even when customs search (pretty violently) through her stuff, it's not enough to wide the grin from her face. And then another country (16, possibly), but after not too much sleep. Both the Rough Guide and Lonely Planet recommend the Sofia Hostel as a good accommodation option in the centre of town. Straight out the station and turn left gets you onto the main road to the centre: but that's getting a little ahead of myself, because I haven't said anything about the station yet . . . You get out of the train, down the exit stairs (the escalators all across the station are not working; whether because they're broken, or simply because they're saving electriciyty isn't clear), and suddenly you're in a vast underground world of shops and ticket offices and so on. The entire run from Platform 1 to Platform 11 (or quai I to VI) is all lined with shops, and then there's an underpass out of the station which is all stalls and people. Before I get up to ground-level again, I've passed through a vast UnterCity (possibly to keep the UnterMenschen from cluttering up the view, or possibly for warmth during the winter, or possibly it just fitted the architect's vision). The UnterCity is all stalls and stores selling pretty much everything, with a predominance of fruit, hot/cold pastry, covers for mobile phones, and various sanitary products. I change my Greek drachma into leva (one leva is about 30p, but on average buys the same as £1, which means that I'm rich!).
Greece, as an aside, was surprisingly expensive, certainly more so for basic provisions than Southern Italy or Spain, which is a sharp contrast with (say) 20 years ago: or, indeed, the reputation Greece still has.
As another aside, the city I'm in is SAWf'ya: sohFEEa or s'FEEa are girls' names. Oddly, the town is named after a church which is named after a Saint of that name, so I would have thought the pronunciation was the same. Ah well: I head south into town, crossing the massive Lion Bridge (4 lions guard the corners), which surreally crosses a two-foot-wide "river". I end up at the Sofia Hostel (named after the city, it's pronounced the same). It's run by four women of varying ages, seems really friendly (if a little expensive at $10): the entrance to the hostel is along a short alley, through an unlit door, and up two flights of stairs. I arrive as a number of their guests are waking up and having breakfast, and stay for a couple of hours talking about what to see in Sofia (and they give me breakfast). Then out on foot to explore what is apparently a small and compact city.

The first stop is the main Post Office (I've got stuff to post), and then north to the ornate Russian Church where there's a wedding going on. I emerge at the Alexander Nevski Church (erected in memory of Russian soldiers who helped fight for an independent Bulgaria . Ironically, the year the church was built, the western powers carved up Bulgaria - originally the country included Greek and Yugoslav Macedonia, still a source of tension). It is full of icons (and there's a little attached museum of them), has a huge Imperial dome, and a large eagle-design to the pulpit - presumably a nodding reference to the old Empire from which the Turks were gradually being pushed. All the walls are covered in paintings. It's a hugely powerful building, filled with soberly-dressed and silent worshippers, queueing up to kiss icons or sit and pray, all with great passion and many close to tears. All of society is represented, but the largest population segment present is the old women.

Outside the church is a small market area of temporary stalls: about a third of them are selling icons and religious artwork. The others are selling a huge range of stuff including (for the first time) a lot of Russian and Nazi memorabilia (and at least one Olympic medal). Russian Army hats (flat and furry), Russian/German/Bulgarian medals, Russian and Nazi hipflasks of various designs, Russian Army knives and bayonets. Most tempting were a number of Nazi ornate boxes and cigarette case. After twenty minutes of indecision (they were very cool), I eventually decide not to get one - it would just raise too many questions if I'm ever stopped and searched at Customs.

I check out the Opera and Ballet house to see what's on - La Boheme today, Giselle yesterday and Swan Lake on Friday: pretty damned good, especially with ticket prices ranging from £3 to £7-50. Unfortunately evening dress seems to be a prerequisite of attending, so I decide to pass (I'm not carrying evening dress in my rucksack): only later (and too late) do I consider that it might have been worthwhile hiring something. Ah well.
Observations so far in Bulgaria - if you order a coffee in a café, you don't get a free glass of water (as you do in Greece): cold Nescafé, which I haven't worked out the appeal of, is available here as well, though. The toilet paper philosophy is the same as Greece - used toilet paper is put in provided bins, rather than flushed away. Presumably the sewage system occasionally has problems. Also, there are hundreds (or so it seems) of people out with wooden brooms constantly sweeping the streets of leaves and litter: Sofia is a very clean and tidy city. The people here are a mix of mostly east Mediterranean (eg. Greek/Albanian/etc.) with some gypsy and some Slav elements and occasional natural blondes (an awful lot of artificial blondes). Also, as in Greece, the automatic traffic system is over-ridden at busy times: instead of using traffic police (who render things like red/green men dangerously misleading), they have elevated control booths at the major junctions from which someone can change the lights. It's quite brilliant, since it means all the lights still control the traffic and pedestrians, but they can be tuned to the traffic flow. In theory, all those little cameras on traffic lights should do the same back home, but this way is far more efficient.

Cutting back and heading north along Sofia's bizarre yellow-brick roads (seriously - a lot of the wide boulevards are paved with yellow brick rather than either a.) gold or b.) cobblestones/tarmac/concrete) brings me to the old Communist Party building. It's large and white and at the focal point of a cluster of other monolithic white buildings: there are still scorch marks on the outside. One of the flanking buildings is an old Communist department store, now a modern western-style facility called "TsUM". Its got all the major Western fashion and sports-label stores inside, mostly at prices which I doubt the locals can afford. Opposite TsUM in a little courtyard, is an old Roman rotunda, converted to a church (St. George, as in Thessaloniki): there are some old frescoes inside of various ages, one of which is startlingly realistic (for its time). Just along from there, embedded in another section of the underpass UnterCity is the small and ancient Sveta Petka Byzantine church, which charged a rip-off price to get in. On a similar theme, the underpass at the old Communist HQ has some of the old Roman walls embedded within it.

North along the main street (Mariya Luiza, which turns into Vitosha) is the Banya Bashi mosque and (over the road) the old indoors market which is packed with shops at reasonable local prices. Moving further north, at the back of the outdoor market, is a huge sprawling mass of open stalls, packed with locals shopping for (mostly) food up one side and clothes down the other. I spent ages there and bought (as well as chocolate) a lightweight jumper (it's pretty cold here, though not the snow which Yahoo was forecasting): I choose the locally-popular colour grey.
One of the dangers in Bulgaria, particularly in the market, is that Bulgarians nod for "no" and shake their heads for "yes". Since my standard method of rebutting over-eager salesmen is to shake my head, on a number of occasions I found them wrapping things for me on the assumption they'd made a sale. I actually found it impossible to switch to their style and ended up trying to keep my head immobile (also difficult).
Another discovery is that Mr. Muscle (or Don Limpio in Spain) is Mr. Proper here. And in the alcohol stores, I've managed to find An Cnoc and Old Pulteney (excellent, though at prices not much cheaper than at home).

At the opposite end of the main street (ie. way south, along Vitosha) is the massive Palace of Culture - a dull but impressively large and octagonal building of conference and concert and meeting halls (again, it has its own little UnterCity). At the front is an excellent (though defaced and beginning to crumble) monument to (as far as I could tell) Bulgaria. Then back to the hostel: there are only two of us staying tonight - me and a guy from Finland. We go out and spend some time at the telecoms building beside the post office (they have internet access) and then go and sit in one of the ubiquitous pizza places. A couple of large slices of pizza, a bottle of water and a bottle of Fanta come to a total of £1.30.
Checking Lonely Planet that evening doesn't reveal much that I've missed, so onto Plovdiv tomorrow, giving Sofia 4/10.

Up, breakfast and then the train station: I have a look upstairs (above the UnterCity) and am surprised to discover a vast open hall (more like an airport), with more shops and cafés and offices, and a waiting area with benches. There's a superb wall-sculpture/decoration of lines & wheels & speed & so on: the epitome of communist monumental art at its best - minimalist, massive, looks simple but really quite imaginative/clever.
And so to Plovdiv - why Plovdiv, you ask? Because Bulgaria's major attraction - the Rila Monastery - is too far for a daytrip from Sofia, on public transport. And the Black Sea coast is far too far, and apparently is cold and uninteresting at this time of year. And Plovdiv's apparently got some a.) ruins and b.) good examples of Bulgarian Revival buildings. And, of course, its got a bloody silly name.

After a trip through fertile and generally flat farmland, we pull into the provincial and considerably less vast station of Plovdiv (each station on the line here has been a desperate race to find the sign and decode the Cyrillic letters to see if I should be getting out, before the train starts moving again). It's a short walk up to the central square, where little kids are playing on rented electrical cars and where the few remains of the Roman forum are tucked is a semi-derelict corner by the main Post Office. With disappointingly little to see there, I go up Nezavisimost, filled with stalls and flanked by faceless concrete blocks: already it's obvious that Plovdiv is a lot smaller than Sofia, despite being the second-largest city in Bulgaria. Actually, on balance, Plovdiv is just a large industrial town - it doesn't have that buzz (or here, I suppose, major civic works) that make a city.

I cut west, passing more tower blocks (and yet more posters of presidential candidates - they have an election here soon, and there are tons of posters: just pictures of the candidates, trying to look like US soap stars, rather than any slogans or policies). Up a gradual hill and through the old Roman gate, embedded in more recent buildings, many in the Bulgarian Revival style - painted houses with external timberwork and overhanging upper storeys: 19th century, but designed to look older and rustic. The old town is all cobbled, and mostly houses in this style.

There's a small hill at the top, covered in the unmarked and unexplained ruins of "Eumolpias", the old Thracian settlement that was here long before the Romans arrived. Pretty thick, solid and defensive. From the top you can see msot of the city - seemingly endless bland concrete stretches away to the north, across the river (Maritsa). THe old town stretches away to the south, where the view is looking towards the three hills which presuambly led the Romans to call this place Trimontium. They did the same at Melrose in the Borders (if memory serves), at the old capital of the Selgovae (the Eildon Hills). Down the hill a bit is the ancient church of Constantin and Elena, most of which is actually modern (well, nineteenth century). Back up, and off to one side, is the impressive Roman theatre - still largely intact and still apparently used for performances.

At the bottom of the hill, at the Djoumaja mosque (this place was Turkish for several hundred years), the old town meets the modern shopping street (Knyaz Aleksandre): also there are underground but exposed sections of the old Roman amphitheatre.
The shopping street is dull and much as you'd expect, including McDonalds, except for a strange metal statue of a mad old man sitting on one wall: there are two adjacent speakers, and sometimes he talks and laughs. Back at the central square before dark, there's not a lot going on (an okay park is simply somewhere to pass time), so I hit the station and give Plovdiv 2/10 ('cos the Roman and Revival stuff is pretty okay, but the town's a bit of a dump).

The platform is packed with the full spectrum of Bulgarian society - there are old and round gypsy women, stern older men in fur hats and square-shouldered overcoats, the younger fashion victims in their designer-label grey clothes, and so on. There's a wild long-haired gypsy girl, perhaps 7 or 8, barefoot in a smock (it's about 10 degrees today): she has a knife, about 8 inches long, and hurtles around the platform at speed occasionally stopping to threaten people with it and laugh. Everyone ignores her.
Back in Sofia, I collect my rucksack and return to the station with my Finnish friend (he has a train this evening as well, heading south). I spend my last loose leva and keep only the notes (this is a mistake: once out of Bulgaria I discover that no-one else wants anything to do with leva - I should have ditched them all).
The train is virtually empty - most compartments are empty - so I anticipate a good night's sleep.