As I watch the sun come up far across the plain and behind the hills, I realise it's still bloody cold as I've got all my clothes on still. Whilst packing up a few tractors come past and wave and then a bus full of people all happy to see something new on their way to work. I pop into the petrol station I visited the night before and fill up with water. It's the same woman, still on her own. Destination today Bulgaristan's capital: Sofia. With 15km to go I stop off at yet another petrol station and get myself the best map they have. I also garner a few words of Bulgarian off the cashier. My world phrasebook I downloaded does not see fit to have Bulgarian and I feel very rude/lost without at least a few words. Merci is thank you so at least I can remember that. As I reach the outskirts of Sofia I see a hill of rubbish and perched on top some shacks made out of waste material. This time the gypsy camp is much bigger than those I have seen in Serbia and a few of its occupants are sitting around chatting at the entrance. In a Stevens style I have notice that the Gypsy woman has a tendency to wear her cleavage to its maximum unveiling, sometimes I'm sure even more than maximum. Whilst this could be seen to be part of the uniform requirements for certain occupations, this level of chest exposure can be seen in the streets and around camp on a regular basis. As poor off as the poor Gypsy folk are I find it difficult to believe that the elastic has gone in ALL of their tops! I am most surprised when I arrive in Sofia central as in the space of less than 60km I have gone from gathering water out of a well from a hole in the ground with a plastic bottle to being sat in a modern city. The street I have chosen to rest on is a tram way and closed to cars, making it a favourite cafe hangout. Whilst I jump on some free wifi on a bench and eat some bread and cheese I suddenly feel very aware of how civilised and glamorous everybody is and I feel quite out of place. I have a mooch around the sights and nearly get roped into appearing on Bulgarian TV. Four or five large outside broadcast vans are parked in a square all adorned with the face of the presenter. He is sat at a chat show style bench being filmed. The crew see my cycle past with my headcam on and beckon me over. Any other time I would have jumped at the chance but other urgent matters need to be attended to a la urban trowel. Later on I stop at a small cafe for some food. I order what I think to be a sweet pastry of some sort but it turns out to be a savory goats cheese and spinach kind of affair, dripping in oil, delicious. In for a penny, in for a pound I see three different drink bottles of the same liquid on the counter and get a small one, having no idea what it is. How can I describe this drink called Basu. Ummm. Cold, Milky, Yoghurty a bit like cold tea yoghurt, with a hint of meat and plants??
I ask the lady if it's Yoghurt. She replies naturlich, meaning its natural rather than of course. It makes me feel a bit queezy. I cant finish it, try as I might. This Bulgarian delight will have to be passed on on this trip. I decide to take the motorway out of Sofia towards my next destination. Just as the road out of town turns into three lanes of motorway proper a string of bars appear on the side of the road, just so you can have a quick pint to get you in the mood for some serious driving. A police car is staioned at one of the bars with 2 cops sat leaning on the car. They wave as I pass, presumably bicycles are not a problem on the motorway here. The hard shoulder is nice and wide and free of too much debris so it actually makes for quite a nice ride. What happens next is probably one of the coolest things I have ever seen. Typically I don't have the camera on and my mouth is left planted on the floor for the longest time since open mouthed records of disbelief began. A full size truck goes past on the inside lane doing approx 60mph/100kmh less than 2 feet behind it is a road cyclist in its slipstream. Every few seconds he pedals like crazy to stay locked in behind the truck. My mouth is planted on the tarmac as he disappears into the distance. I have seen this done on the tour de france with the team cars, but this is behind a lorry so he can't see anything except the back of the damn thing.
Then to bring me down to earth I see a small puppy in the grass at the side of the motorway. As I get nearer he tries to bark at me, but he's so tiny and timid it makes for a very pitiful sight. I stop and have a look at the little fella and he's all skin and bones. I pull off the hard shoulder and get out some bread and give it to him. He devours it, clearly very hungry. I give him half a loaf and all my cooked sausage. I'm really tempted to pick him up and put him in my pannier and take him with me, he would at least keep me warm at night. I guess the little chap wont last long living on the side of the motorway, but hopefully he can at least have a good feed in the mean time.
Twenty km later I pull off the motorway feeling I'm missing out on real life going on in the villages and follow an unmarked road towards some houses off in the distance. Straight away I come to a tap with a woman of at least a hundred years old filling up some water bottles. She acknowledges me but that's it. She clearly has no time for fancy pants cyclists and their foreign ways. After filling up I ask three lads the way to my next place on the map and they point me back to the motorway. I say I want to keep off it and point to the road running parallel with it. They laugh and shrug their shoulders. The road takes me through a forest for quite a while and I decide to disappear up a track and make camp there. Another cold night looms and I decide that trees will keep me warmer?
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