"Istanbul is an amazing city and so beautiful, but I will very glad when we arrive in England", said Olga.
"Of course, there is no place like home. Too bad the bloody train goes through such dull places, and we have to stay at a hotel in Sofia because they have to change the cars. The trains use a different grade in Bulgaria and Yugoslavia, and then in Vienna we have to change back to a regular grade", said Pierre.
"What is Sofia like?", asked Maria.
"Big and ugly, typical Communist city. We'll just stay at the hotel, there's nothing to see and the local authorities don't like travelers wandering about. Belgrade is the same, at least when we stop in Vienna there will be places to see", he replied.
The group boarded the train for the first part of their trip to Britain. The train was one of the locomotives which made the journey known as the Orient Express and the interior certainly lived up to its name. The seats were upholstered in deep purple velvet and the cars were illuminated by electric lights suspended from the ceiling, all the brass and dark wood fixtures recently polished as they gleamed in the light. "We arrive in Sofia tonight, tomorrow we head out to Yugoslavia", said Ian.
They found their seats as the porters loaded their bags and the other passengers scrambled aboard to find their seats. Olga took out her Balkan language guide and a little notebook along with a slim black ballpoint pen. "This is amazing, it's not as sloppy", she said as she drew a little swirl on the paper.
"I know, when I was a lad we still had to use fountain pens. These are so much more convenient and they are cheap now", said Ian.
Olga nodded in agreement and opened her little black leather purse to reveal her passport, small brown leather wallet and three black ink pens. "We won't be spending much time in Bulgaria and just stay quiet, you may have British passports but they might think you're actually Russian. Just use your best British English", said Ian.
"Do people mistake you for French?", Maria asked Pierre.
"At first, but when they saw my passport and heard my accent, they realized I was British. But just speak with your best British accent", replied Pierre.
The train's whistle blew several times before the last few passengers scrambled aboard. The floor of the car vibrated under their feet as the train slowly pulled out of the station. Soon they were in the northern suburbs of the city as the buildings became fewer and farther in between, the suburbs given over to small towns and villages. In between the little towns were vineyards and farms whose produce ripened in the late July sun, the vines heavy with green and purple grapes which heralded an early crop.
Barely two hours later, the train stopped at the Bulgarian border as the customs officials entered the carriage, vaguely menacing in their olive-green uniforms with the Republic's coat of arms in their caps and shirts with the lion surrounded by sheaves of wheat and topped with a red star. Their heavy boots echoed on the floor of the carriage as they checked everyone's passports, several of the passengers being escorted off the train for having fake documents. Pierre was calm an he showed the officer his passport and Maria followed his lead. The officer checked their passports with a bored look on his face and handed them back.
The officials left the carriage and soon the train was on the move again. "That wasn't so bad", said Alexei.
"Don't jinx it, it could be more difficult in Yugoslavia. They broke off relations with the Soviet Union and any Russians entering the country are under suspicion. Just use your best proper British accent, they might not understand a Yorkshire accent", teased Juan.
The train ride through the length of Bulgaria took them from the fertile lowlands of Thrace near the Black Sea to the mountainous terrain in the center of the country. It passed by numerous little farming villages surrounded by fields of wheat and vegetables, pastures where cows and goats grazed and vineyards where grapes grew fat under blue skies. Olga looked through her Balkan phrasebook and tried to read the Serbian and Bulgarian words as she wrote them down in her notebook. "This is very similar to Russian", she said.
"I know, but you ought to tell Pierre that. He speaks both in addition to Russian", said Ian.
"Indeed I do, Ian. There's a lot of Byzantine ruins in Macedonia and southern Serbia, along with Albania and in Bulgaria. If we had time, we could have visited the Archaeological Museum in Sofia, they have a large collection of Thracian and Byzantine artifacts, as well as from the ancient Bulgarian kingdom conquered by the Macedonians. And in Macedonia, there are several archaeological sites which are cities by Justinian and his family, he was originally from Macedonia", said Pierre.
"But wasn't Alexander the Great from Macedonia?", asked Alexei.
"Yes, the region has spawned some interesting people. Macedonia is quite a pleasant place to visit, only problem is the language. It's a separate language but has many similarities to Bulgarian and a vague similarity to northern Greek dialects, plus many of the people speak Serbo-Croatian and there's a large Albanian minority. Luckily I speak Serbo-Croatian, Bulgarian, and Greek", he laughed.
Tatiana looked down at the book and then Olga's translation. "I see it, they are similar. I wonder why our tutors never showed us that", she mused aloud.
"Perhaps they thought either country wasn't important, Tanya. It might have been easier for you to learn Serbo-Croatian or Bulgarian, your French is very good and your English as well, you might be able to pick up either", said Pierre.
"Perhaps, How long do we stay in Sofia?", asked Tatiana.
"Just overnight, tomorrow morning we get back on the train. We do stop in Belgrade for a few hours and Budapest as well, but I recommend staying at the station. In Vienna, we have to change trains against because of the grade but it's nonstop until we reach Paris. Just stay low-key until we reach Vienna", said Ian.
