I have seen many programmes on television, and read many travel articles but have often been struck by their falseness. In the case of some articles I doubt whether the writers have even visited the places they describe. Although ex-comedians may be very good presenters and journalists, are they really travellers? I think not. We never see what’s behind the scenes. When they ride off into the sunset alone on a camel, we aren’t shown hundreds of cameramen, sound technicians and caravans as well as the huge 4x4’s needed to support their efforts. These programmes are more about making suitable entertainment than real travel.

Now with oil driving at high speed towards $150 a barrel, fuel, gas and electricity prices rising in unison, global warming, carbon emissions, food shortages and ecological disasters, we are bombarded with disturbing information. Even if we’re being somewhat brainwashed,  it was surely time to peep from behind my cosy lifestyle, find out what I could do if forced to limit my usage of petrol for economic reasons, and, as the latest buzz word tells me, improve my carbon footprint. With this in mind I decided to become a real traveller.

We drive most weekends to our village in the foothills of the Rila Mountains. Yet as we speed over the tarmac and skim the surface of the earth we’re hardly in touch with the people, the smell of the land and the sounds of the countryside. But we do stop in a small market town, where we have some experience of what another life is about. We mix with country people and buy our fruit from the market stall, but we’re always in a hurry to get back into the car and arrive at our destination. What could I do to share the same experiences as country people? I decided to go there by public transport, not so comfortable in Bulgaria, hardly an epic voyage but a real one.

The great journey commenced from our home in Sofia. As Hannibal probably said “every great journey requires some planning”. How much food and drink should I take? Should I take a tent? – well these buses and trains are not known for their reliability. Should I take a weapon? These are dangerous times. Should I travel alone at all because my Bulgarian is pretty basic? But surely that would add to the adventure? 

After making enquiries in the village about bus times I decided not to take the coach direct, but to make the round trip by different forms of transport, so that I could have the most interesting trip. The journey would be by city bus, train to Kostenets, and then by local bus to the village. Calling the train information service I ascertained that as Kostenets is on the main Plovdiv–Bourgas line there were many trains stopping there. I chose the 10.30am train, arriving at noon. Before hopping on the 214 bus at the end of my road, which would deliver me direct to Sofia central station, I purchased a bilet (ticket) at 70 stotinki. I clipped my ticket and sat on the worn seat. As we stop-started, along the boulevard, the sun was burning my shoulders, and it was extremely hot and stuffy. Doubts started to assail me. How we’ve been spoilt and protected from reality by our comfortable air-conditioned cars! The bus struggled through the slow-moving traffic, with me sweating not only from the heat, but from fear that I might miss the train. In the event we arrived 15 minutes before departure. I went straight to the kasa (ticket office). At 4.70 leva it seemed a bargain. “Which platform does it leave from?” I asked. The unhelpful clerk put on her most unhelpful face, waved her hand in a general direction and grunted  “look on the board”. Platform one, said the board. I hurried there to find the platform deserted. Spying a railway worker lounging about, I asked if this was the correct platform, and with a positive ‘no’ nod, he advised me to go to platform eight. A scruffy-looking train stood waiting on the platform, and an announcement over the loudspeakers, read out by someone who sounded as though they had a bad cold, said something like “The train standing at platform eight is the 10.30 train to Bourgas, calling at  Plovdiv, Pazarjdik, and Stara Zagora”. But no mention of Kostenets. Well, no one seemed to know whether it stopped or not, so I decided to chance it.

I found a seat in a compartment where three bored-looking women were reading the latest yellow newspapers, and as the rules decreed none of them were smoking, but all were looking a bit on edge, only to be relieved by the occasional nip into the corridor to have a puff out of the open window. Surprise surprise, the train was passably clean, the seats moderately comfortable and it left on time! When the rotund and sweating inspector appeared in the doorway to inspect the tickets, he assured me that it did indeed stop at Kostenets, in about one-and-a-half hours. It also stopped at quite a few unnamed stations, but it was nearly impossible to tell where we were because the names were either missing, or indistinct underneath the ancient faded and peeling paintwork. After about 90 minutes I began to recognise various landmarks and we clanked into Kostenets station. 

The local bus to the village did not leave for an hour, and smelling the smoke of a local kebabcha stall drifting across the street, I realised I was hungry. For the princely sum of 1.95 leva, I had two kufteta, ketchup, and a hunk of fresh bread, washed down by a bottle of beer. Feeling well satisfied I went to sit on a wall, in the shade, and wait.  At 12.50pm the battered bus slowly rattled in, and there was a rush of bodies from every direction. I could see why; it was small, probably a 30-seater, and half the village seemed to want to go home. It was full of people who recognised me, looking at me in amazement. What was I doing on the bus? Squashed on an inside seat by an extra large baba, I perspired profusely. I was saved from meltdown only when the bus set off, jerking its way on to the road, causing a cooling breeze to waft through the open ventilator. We bounced and rattled through the countryside, accompanied by loud chalga music, drifting diesel fumes and constant chatter from passengers, arriving in the village after about 25 minutes. The fare was 1.40 leva, bringing my total travel costs to 8.75 leva, including lunch. The journey had taken about four hours, compared to my usual one hour in the car, but the total cost was about a third, and I was smugly self-satisfied that my journey had been environmentally friendly (apart from the diesel fumes!)

On my return, the only difference was that I caught the slow train, (or even slower train) one of the new sprinter types. It was immaculately clean, modern and pretty busy. A disembodied voice announced the arrival at some of the stations, so we had a rough idea where we were, and although it was slow, it departed and arrived on time.

What were my impressions of this journey? Well, apart from my surprise at the reasonable state of the trains and their punctuality, it’s not such a cost-saving journey if you have to transport a family instead of one person. The fact that a normal one hour journey takes four hours is not very appealing, and then you can’t come and go as you please. But, worst of all, you have to drag your luggage on and off buses and trains, up and down user-unfriendly stairs and lifts.

I think it’s going to take a lot to turn us into friends of the earth, and prise us out of our convenient, comfortable cars. Let’s hope that technology rescues us before it’s too late. I suppose travelling on public transport in Bulgaria is a bit like having boza for breakfast – it won’t actually harm you, but you wouldn’t really have it from choice!