Sofia (continued)

So, somewhat against expectations, I had a pleasant time in Costa, Sofia. I had the chance to enjoy a faithful facsimilie of a coffee I would usually avoid like the plague in Luton’s Arndale. I had the chance to mull and wonder if Cold War spies were sent to Sofia. There didn’t seem much point. Belgrade’s history, strategic geography, militaristic narrative and “bomb-me” buildings seemed the epitome of the sort of place lesser Blunts, Burgesses, Philbies and Macleans might choose to “carry on,” though the cuddlier, more flitting and fleeting Sofia seems far less likely to hold the sort of secrets the CIA or British Intelligence would be interested in.

Lonely in Sofia

I felt lonely in Sofia. The rain restricted my movement, one too many of my shop experiences were dramatically, absolutely silent affairs and I had another ‘jumpy’ feeling while enjoying the dramatic view of the city and its weather from my eighth floor balcony. There didn’t seem to be much to do past wandering around and wishing I was in either Prague or Krakow.

Other things contributed to this feeling of isolation; the Cyrillic street signs, the occasional stark signs of poverty, the contrasting appearance of glitter and alienation from fancy shops and the gloomy, gloomy weather. Sofia seemed more town than city, so that while Belgrade had a Bohemian edge, Sofia felt more pleased with itself and settled in its ways. One could imagine a sleepy inertia in Bulgaria’s capital that seemed inconceivable in Serbia’s.