From my window

Tsareva Livada, Bulgaria

A small, nondescript town, somewhere in Bulgaria, which seems to consist of a railway station, a few houses, and not a whole lot else. I am travelling on the Bosphorus Express, which runs from Bucharest to Istanbul, and which I joined at Gorna Oryahovitza, in northern Bulgaria. Whether Livada is a typical small Bulgarian town, I could not say, though from the train it looks to have an air of bucolic inactivity which seems not uncharacteristic of this country.

What is undeniable is that Bulgaria is a very pretty country. Though perhaps not quite spectacular enough to be classed as truly beautiful, it is certainly picturesque, and as it slides past the train window in the evening sun, the abundance of nature is most agreeable. Ireland may be the land of 40 shades of green, but Bulgaria can only be one or two behind.

Valley, south of Veliko Tournovo.

The Bosphorus Express is entirely misnamed. It doesn’t cross the Bosphorus, although you can see it from the train right at the end of your journey, and express is completely inaccurate. From Gorna Oryahovitza it winds south, through the old Bulgarian capital of Veliko Tournovo, a city of rare beauty, and follows the river valley for an hour or more to the south. This part of the route is reminiscent of the Vale of Avoca, as the train stakes out a winding wooded path following the river. It stops frequently, at small, sleepy-looking towns such as Tsareva Livada, or at Plachkavitsa, where the train ambles into the station at a speed relaxed enough that one has time to admire the girly posters on the wall of the station master’s office as we roll past.

From Plachkavitsa we climb up to the summit of the line, and just after that, Krastets. This part of the line is right up in the mountains, affording glorious vistas of the forested valleys below, unfortunately obstructed only by the dense green lineside foliage. Truly a case of not being able to see the wood for the trees. From Krastets we descend, and unsurprisingly pick up pace. Suddenly, we leave the mountain behind, and find ourselves on a plain. The difference is stark. One could easily draw a line between where the mountains stop and the plain starts. The only constant is green: green trees, green fields, green grass, green green green as we go through Tulovo and on towards Asia. In a few hours we shall meet the main Sofia – Istanbul line, the route of the original Orient Express, and enter Turkey under cover of darkness. for now, though, there is nothing to do but enjoy Bulgaria’s quiet, understated beauty.