As the train screeched slowly to a halt, I threw my hands up at the border guard in frustration; really? I need to go back for a ticket? I just dragged this luggage over all those tracks! It's okay, leave it. Hurry! I ran back toward the station, head heavy and knees wobbly from exhaustion. In this half awake state, everything felt muted: my thudding footsteps, the stressful call of the border guard to hurry, the beating of the train wheels over the rail links, like it was all echoing in a distant tunnel somewhere.
In a panic I began to slam the ticket window with an open hand, very loudly. A disheveled ticket agent crawled out of a back room somewhere and began to hand write me a ticket. To where? Edirne, I answered. Istanbul? No, Edirne, before Istanbul. Ok, she affirmed, Istanbul. No! (I made sure not to shake my head in Bulgarian acknowledgement.) Edirne. Edirne. Edirne! I tried to pronounce it in Bulgarian: add-rrree-an. She looked me in the eye and asked: Edirne? Yes, yes, Edirne... Please. Please hurry! She rolled her eyes and showed the cost on her hand. It was remarkably low, maybe $3. I dropped the exact change, snatched the ticket and ran back out, hoping the train and my luggage were both still there.
They were. It seemed like I didn't really need to hurry after all. After some minutes standing around outside, someone directed me and the Turkish couple into a door which put us in a cramped space between two rail cars. I could see the guards I met earlier unscrewing ceiling compartments and inspecting any spaces with flashlights. Then one stuck his head in and took our passports. We stood there for about 20 minutes, leaning as much as possible for some fatigue relief. I couldn't help but keep thinking that I could have stayed a few more hours in Sofia, strolling around and seeing the sights, and would now be comfortably snoozing in one of these sleeper cars. I still had no plans for my 3 am arrival in Edirne, Turkey. I sent a message from Sofia to Nurullah, my couch-surfing host, to tell him I'd only stay one night with him after all, since I wouldn't make it tonight.
When the border guard finally returned with our passports, he said wait here. The conductor came by shortly after and said: you stand here. Stand here?!
You know that spot between two train cars, the one that people like me peek into to hear the roar of the train, to see the ground blurring by through the gaps? That forbidden zone you might cross, desperate to find a toilet in the other car? That spot with a small arm underneath, holding the two cars together, covered in corrugated metal sheets sliding over each other? That's the spot where the Turkish couple and I had to stand, for some reason. Like an insolent child, I went into the train proper, to have a look around. Sleeper cars, perhaps all of them, but some of them empty and others half full. Why can't I crash in one of these? The conductor passed again and pointed back to that awful space between the cars; you stand! Why? He ignored the question and insisted. I muttered, in vain, that they should consider being nicer to their tourists, but I obeyed, sighing dramatically. Anyway it wasn't very far to Edirne, I guessed.
All attempts at small talk with the Turkish couple were fruitless. This cramped space was way too loud anyway. They asked me a couple times if I was going to Istanbul. No, Edirne. It seemed no one believed that I'd stop anywhere before Istanbul. The train stopped in under half an hour, at a station, perhaps a village, on the Turkish side which I still don't know the name of. Now everyone had to get out of the train. When i stepped down into the quiet, cool night, my ears were ringing. With great disorganization, we crossed some tracks and bunched into a big plain room, painfully lit too brightly by fluorescent lights. My ridiculous place on the train afforded one small advantage, I was almost at the front of a long line. We waited about 20 minutes before someone appeared behind the barred glass, looking sleepy like all of us. We were a remarkably multicultural group. At my turn I presented my passport proudly, but the official frowned and told me to go outside and buy a visa first. I'm from Canada! A blank look. Where do I buy it? You'll find it, he says. I saw an American on his way back who pointed out the window I needed. $60 U.S. for a visa?? And they don't take credit cards. A moment of panic as I dug out my well hidden money pack. I used up all my Euros for small emergencies already, and had $80 U.S. in my emergency reserves. There goes most of it! He stuck three $20 visa stickers in my passport. I pleaded that I'm only staying for 6 days, but it didn't matter. He returned my passport and I saw that the stickers began to peal off already. For $60 I expect quality glue! Then I had to get to the back of the line I was recently smug about being at the front of. I heard some Americans in line and told them about the visa requirement to save them some time. They returned, grateful, and I discovered it was only $20 for them. We joked about discrimination against Canadians and they were appalled that I had to stand between train cars.
One by one we piled back onto the train. I wandered into a sleeping car, hoping to at least find a seat on the inside. I didn't want to sleep since Edirne would be easy to miss, and I estimated that it was less than an hour away. The conductor came and told me that I must exit the train. Why?! It's not your train. But it goes to Edirne! Get off. Catch the next one. The next one?! It was now 3 am. He said my ticket is no good. I showed that it was for Edirne, but he said it's the wrong kind of train. I put up a fuss. Americans popped there heads out of their comfy sleeper cars, wide eyed. They looked sympathetic as they watched me get escorted off the train. Perhaps they really did have something against Canadians! But the Turkish couple were kicked out too. They seemed annoyed but were not verbal about it. "I can't believe this place! (But I wasn't really clear about which place I was referring to.) You need to be nicer to your tourists!" I doubt the conductor understood me anyway. Then, grumbling under my breath, the three of us stood on the platform, as a light rain began to fall, and just stared sadly at the train as it crept away in front of us. If I didn't have a huge bag, I would have been tempted to climb onto one of the metal ladders on the outside of the train. But the three of us just slowly crossed some tracks, despondent, and sat again in another abandoned station. At least I'm in Turkey, I thought. At least I'm inside and it's warmish. The Turkish man half smiled in sympathy and held up six fingers and pointed at the clock. The next train is in almost 3 hours, at 6 am. Oh well, what was I going to do in Edirne at 3 am anyway, I thought, with a slight deja-vous.
I climbed into a damp corner, with my feet against my huge bag, clutching my small pack, and fell asleep listening to the soothing sounds of the Cocteau Twins on my iPod. I was shaken awake by the Turkish guy, and he was pointing at the blurry ticket window. I squinted at a blue shape that I guessed was a ticket agent. I patted my pockets and found my glasses. 5 am, ugh. What new bureaucracy is this? I have my ticket already. I went to the agent. Where are you going, he asked? To Edirne. He nodded. I passed him my ticket. He passed it back and began to write on some small carbon copy papers. What's that, I asked? Your ticket. I crouched and contorted and got my head into the tiny ticket window. I saw him writing "Istanbul"! I showed you my ticket already, I gasped. That ticket is only to Edirne, he replied. I'm only going to Edirne! Why can't anyone believe me, I exclaimed, dramatically, as I turned in a circle as if to address the entire (empty) station. His jaw dropped and I think he began to curse. He waved his hand at the ruined ticket, in triplicate, as if it was my fault. You asked me where I'm going and I said Edirne! He waved one hand at the ticket and complained over his shoulder to someone else in the back of the office, while he did a sweeping gesture with his other hand to dismiss me. I rolled my eyes and dragged my feet, back to my damp corner.
The fluorescent lights felt particularly bright and offensive now. One gulp of water remained in my bottle, and although thirsty, I didn't feel like drinking since the "toilet" was far away and pretty terrifying. I was so tired and submissive by this point, I actually don't remember catching the train which must have arrived about an hour later. It was still dark. I don't know if I had a seat or had to stand. I remember stressing out, like on most of my train rides over the past week, about when to get off. I remember waiting by the door with some very well covered Muslim women who said "next stop". Then as we arrived they said "maybe not... next one." So I stepped off the train with reluctance. Another abandoned station, at about 6:30 am. This was not downtown. It was raining, and still dark. I waited 15 minutes, then decided I should try to find my couch-surfing host. He said he had to work today but I was now hoping to catch him before work. I put on my Aussie leather hat and began to walk in a random direction in the rain.
In a few minutes I found a petrol station. It was a soggy 7 or 8 degrees out, and I wasn't worried about getting wet, but I was a bit worried about my packed clothes and gadgets. Although he didn't speak English, it was easy to understand that the clerk inside was asking me immediately if I wanted some tea. That hit the spot. He seemed shocked when I tried to ask how much I should pay for the tea. Did I insult his hospitality? I tried to ask directions to my couch-surfing host's address. One clerk began to consult with a taxi driver waiting there. On my scrap of paper they saw my host's mobile number and motioned that they could call. It was just after 7:00 am. I tried to say that it may be too early, but it was too late, they were dialing. From the conversation, all I could make out was "Canada" a couple times. They motioned for me to sit. One clerk gave me a complimentary package of hand wipes. Another who spoke a few words of English said "10 minutes, he comes. More chai?"
Nurullah, my host, arrived a few minutes later. The petrol station clerks helped me load my luggage into his car and waved me off with big smiles. The taxi driver shrugged and crawled back into his cab. In Nurullah's clean, spacious apartment, we had breakfast, he showed me around, and left me on his comfy couch to catch up on some way overdue sleep as he went to work. With a renewed deep appreciation for a soft place to lie, a pillow, and a blanket, I slipped off into unconsciousness while marveling at the remarkable, pervasive Turkish hospitality.
In a panic I began to slam the ticket window with an open hand, very loudly. A disheveled ticket agent crawled out of a back room somewhere and began to hand write me a ticket. To where? Edirne, I answered. Istanbul? No, Edirne, before Istanbul. Ok, she affirmed, Istanbul. No! (I made sure not to shake my head in Bulgarian acknowledgement.) Edirne. Edirne. Edirne! I tried to pronounce it in Bulgarian: add-rrree-an. She looked me in the eye and asked: Edirne? Yes, yes, Edirne... Please. Please hurry! She rolled her eyes and showed the cost on her hand. It was remarkably low, maybe $3. I dropped the exact change, snatched the ticket and ran back out, hoping the train and my luggage were both still there.
They were. It seemed like I didn't really need to hurry after all. After some minutes standing around outside, someone directed me and the Turkish couple into a door which put us in a cramped space between two rail cars. I could see the guards I met earlier unscrewing ceiling compartments and inspecting any spaces with flashlights. Then one stuck his head in and took our passports. We stood there for about 20 minutes, leaning as much as possible for some fatigue relief. I couldn't help but keep thinking that I could have stayed a few more hours in Sofia, strolling around and seeing the sights, and would now be comfortably snoozing in one of these sleeper cars. I still had no plans for my 3 am arrival in Edirne, Turkey. I sent a message from Sofia to Nurullah, my couch-surfing host, to tell him I'd only stay one night with him after all, since I wouldn't make it tonight.
When the border guard finally returned with our passports, he said wait here. The conductor came by shortly after and said: you stand here. Stand here?!
You know that spot between two train cars, the one that people like me peek into to hear the roar of the train, to see the ground blurring by through the gaps? That forbidden zone you might cross, desperate to find a toilet in the other car? That spot with a small arm underneath, holding the two cars together, covered in corrugated metal sheets sliding over each other? That's the spot where the Turkish couple and I had to stand, for some reason. Like an insolent child, I went into the train proper, to have a look around. Sleeper cars, perhaps all of them, but some of them empty and others half full. Why can't I crash in one of these? The conductor passed again and pointed back to that awful space between the cars; you stand! Why? He ignored the question and insisted. I muttered, in vain, that they should consider being nicer to their tourists, but I obeyed, sighing dramatically. Anyway it wasn't very far to Edirne, I guessed.
All attempts at small talk with the Turkish couple were fruitless. This cramped space was way too loud anyway. They asked me a couple times if I was going to Istanbul. No, Edirne. It seemed no one believed that I'd stop anywhere before Istanbul. The train stopped in under half an hour, at a station, perhaps a village, on the Turkish side which I still don't know the name of. Now everyone had to get out of the train. When i stepped down into the quiet, cool night, my ears were ringing. With great disorganization, we crossed some tracks and bunched into a big plain room, painfully lit too brightly by fluorescent lights. My ridiculous place on the train afforded one small advantage, I was almost at the front of a long line. We waited about 20 minutes before someone appeared behind the barred glass, looking sleepy like all of us. We were a remarkably multicultural group. At my turn I presented my passport proudly, but the official frowned and told me to go outside and buy a visa first. I'm from Canada! A blank look. Where do I buy it? You'll find it, he says. I saw an American on his way back who pointed out the window I needed. $60 U.S. for a visa?? And they don't take credit cards. A moment of panic as I dug out my well hidden money pack. I used up all my Euros for small emergencies already, and had $80 U.S. in my emergency reserves. There goes most of it! He stuck three $20 visa stickers in my passport. I pleaded that I'm only staying for 6 days, but it didn't matter. He returned my passport and I saw that the stickers began to peal off already. For $60 I expect quality glue! Then I had to get to the back of the line I was recently smug about being at the front of. I heard some Americans in line and told them about the visa requirement to save them some time. They returned, grateful, and I discovered it was only $20 for them. We joked about discrimination against Canadians and they were appalled that I had to stand between train cars.
One by one we piled back onto the train. I wandered into a sleeping car, hoping to at least find a seat on the inside. I didn't want to sleep since Edirne would be easy to miss, and I estimated that it was less than an hour away. The conductor came and told me that I must exit the train. Why?! It's not your train. But it goes to Edirne! Get off. Catch the next one. The next one?! It was now 3 am. He said my ticket is no good. I showed that it was for Edirne, but he said it's the wrong kind of train. I put up a fuss. Americans popped there heads out of their comfy sleeper cars, wide eyed. They looked sympathetic as they watched me get escorted off the train. Perhaps they really did have something against Canadians! But the Turkish couple were kicked out too. They seemed annoyed but were not verbal about it. "I can't believe this place! (But I wasn't really clear about which place I was referring to.) You need to be nicer to your tourists!" I doubt the conductor understood me anyway. Then, grumbling under my breath, the three of us stood on the platform, as a light rain began to fall, and just stared sadly at the train as it crept away in front of us. If I didn't have a huge bag, I would have been tempted to climb onto one of the metal ladders on the outside of the train. But the three of us just slowly crossed some tracks, despondent, and sat again in another abandoned station. At least I'm in Turkey, I thought. At least I'm inside and it's warmish. The Turkish man half smiled in sympathy and held up six fingers and pointed at the clock. The next train is in almost 3 hours, at 6 am. Oh well, what was I going to do in Edirne at 3 am anyway, I thought, with a slight deja-vous.
I climbed into a damp corner, with my feet against my huge bag, clutching my small pack, and fell asleep listening to the soothing sounds of the Cocteau Twins on my iPod. I was shaken awake by the Turkish guy, and he was pointing at the blurry ticket window. I squinted at a blue shape that I guessed was a ticket agent. I patted my pockets and found my glasses. 5 am, ugh. What new bureaucracy is this? I have my ticket already. I went to the agent. Where are you going, he asked? To Edirne. He nodded. I passed him my ticket. He passed it back and began to write on some small carbon copy papers. What's that, I asked? Your ticket. I crouched and contorted and got my head into the tiny ticket window. I saw him writing "Istanbul"! I showed you my ticket already, I gasped. That ticket is only to Edirne, he replied. I'm only going to Edirne! Why can't anyone believe me, I exclaimed, dramatically, as I turned in a circle as if to address the entire (empty) station. His jaw dropped and I think he began to curse. He waved his hand at the ruined ticket, in triplicate, as if it was my fault. You asked me where I'm going and I said Edirne! He waved one hand at the ticket and complained over his shoulder to someone else in the back of the office, while he did a sweeping gesture with his other hand to dismiss me. I rolled my eyes and dragged my feet, back to my damp corner.
The fluorescent lights felt particularly bright and offensive now. One gulp of water remained in my bottle, and although thirsty, I didn't feel like drinking since the "toilet" was far away and pretty terrifying. I was so tired and submissive by this point, I actually don't remember catching the train which must have arrived about an hour later. It was still dark. I don't know if I had a seat or had to stand. I remember stressing out, like on most of my train rides over the past week, about when to get off. I remember waiting by the door with some very well covered Muslim women who said "next stop". Then as we arrived they said "maybe not... next one." So I stepped off the train with reluctance. Another abandoned station, at about 6:30 am. This was not downtown. It was raining, and still dark. I waited 15 minutes, then decided I should try to find my couch-surfing host. He said he had to work today but I was now hoping to catch him before work. I put on my Aussie leather hat and began to walk in a random direction in the rain.
In a few minutes I found a petrol station. It was a soggy 7 or 8 degrees out, and I wasn't worried about getting wet, but I was a bit worried about my packed clothes and gadgets. Although he didn't speak English, it was easy to understand that the clerk inside was asking me immediately if I wanted some tea. That hit the spot. He seemed shocked when I tried to ask how much I should pay for the tea. Did I insult his hospitality? I tried to ask directions to my couch-surfing host's address. One clerk began to consult with a taxi driver waiting there. On my scrap of paper they saw my host's mobile number and motioned that they could call. It was just after 7:00 am. I tried to say that it may be too early, but it was too late, they were dialing. From the conversation, all I could make out was "Canada" a couple times. They motioned for me to sit. One clerk gave me a complimentary package of hand wipes. Another who spoke a few words of English said "10 minutes, he comes. More chai?"
Nurullah, my host, arrived a few minutes later. The petrol station clerks helped me load my luggage into his car and waved me off with big smiles. The taxi driver shrugged and crawled back into his cab. In Nurullah's clean, spacious apartment, we had breakfast, he showed me around, and left me on his comfy couch to catch up on some way overdue sleep as he went to work. With a renewed deep appreciation for a soft place to lie, a pillow, and a blanket, I slipped off into unconsciousness while marveling at the remarkable, pervasive Turkish hospitality.
