Vienna to Sofia

 

16th October 2024 – From Bites to Flights

Sofia

Up at 7am, still nursing the aftermath of Monday night’s mosquito war — bites everywhere, even on my thumbprint! But there was no time to wallow; I had to make my way across sprawling Vienna to catch my flight.

With no data roaming on my phone, I was flying blind — no Google Maps, no easy route-finding. Vienna is a huge city to navigate without digital help, and disoriented as I was, the metro system seemed like a puzzle I wasn’t equipped to solve at that hour. So, I hailed a taxi to the main station and then caught the CAT train to the airport — €20 for the privilege.

I arrived 2.5 hours early but couldn’t settle. Still buzzing from last night’s gig, still itching from the bites. Then, out of nowhere, a kind soul at the Aegean desk handed me a free coffee voucher. That man is a saint.

Boarded and landed in Sofia smoothly. Before the day slipped away entirely, I wandered through central Sofia for a few hours, soaking up the architecture, energy, and clear blue skies. One of the highlights was standing in front of the Ivan Vazov National Theatre (pic above) - a spectacular neoclassical building with towering white columns, golden sculptures, and a postcard-perfect façade. It was hard not to be impressed by its elegance and grandeur — a total contrast to the DIY punk vibes of Vienna the night before.

Exhausted but content, I watched the light fade across the square, before I found a bed, regrouped and headed for some well-earned rest.

Rested (kind of), I set off on foot for the 3-mile walk back into central Sofia. On the way, I stumbled into good fortune — a bar, and inside, a Scottish drinking buddy named Archie, an ex-army vet with a thick, impenetrable accent that I had to work hard to interpret.

Over a few beers (and a whiskey for good measure), we found common ground quickly — Brexit, racist cunts, and twats in general. Archie was particularly bitter about the post-Brexit travel restrictions. “Used to be able to live here year-round,” he grumbled, “Now I’m limited to 90 days at a time.” (Or whatever the damn rules are.)

It was one of those random encounters that makes travelling so unexpectedly rewarding — politics, pints, and pure honesty from a stranger turned instant mate.

The long walk back to my hotel — which I think was one of those EasyJet-affiliated ones — helped clear my head a bit. I was tucked up in bed by 10:30pm, ready to hit reset on another wild day.