The Australian guy I met in the dorm told me he’d just begun his tour of the world. He was only at his second country after Greece, but had a worryingly clear idea of his proposed zigzagging across a couple of continents. This crazy rambling would leave him very little time for each country, for example his greed to “see” as many places as possible made him devote only four days to Italy. However, this much authorised him to tick it off as a visited country.
I’ve never understood people who want to do the tour of the world, especially in this way. For me the philosophy of travel does not reside in visiting the highest possible number of countries with the aim of impressing people. It is discovering civilisations and their history, cultures and their ways of living, places and their nature – and this requires time and concentration.
Read more
Minutes before the start, the people who were in their various capacities involved in the celebration of Sunday service were all aflutter. The choir members were taking their seat on the raised platform. The girls adjusted the embroidered veil over their hair; in the back row stood the men. The clerics sat down on their chairs on the other side of the balustrade, the faithful gradually filled the space under the high dome. Upon entering the sacred building, most paid their respect by kneeling down and kissing the gospel placed on a lectern on scarlet velvet.
The most striking feature of Veliko Târnovo is probably its setting. The old town is formed by successive rows of small houses that look piled on top of each other to cover a swathe of the hillside. This extraordinary array of buildings overhangs the gorge dug by a meandering river. If you cross it you can reach an amazing viewpoint separated by the deep valley on three sides. From here the whole of the ancient town is spread out in front of your eyes.
The wind has swept the sky to a state of absolute clearness and from the hilltop I can admire an enchanting view of the town of Plovdiv that stretches deep as far as the horizon. Snow-capped mountains provide a distant backdrop to the plains that surround the inhabited centre. By contrast, the sunrays not only warm my body chilled by the fresh breeze, but also tinge the scene in warm shades. A distraction to my blissful contemplation, the high-speed highway swallowed by the hill below me sends up a noise of passing traffic, amplified by the shape of the natural basin. Seagulls float in the sky.
Today I hiked with Carlos from Chile to a monastery out of town set amid thick woods. The trail starts from the hostel and is very easy to follow until you get to the probably illegal building sitting on top of the hill. It is a huge villa whose grounds bar the walking path and you do not know how to get around the obstacle. I hailed the warden of this still unfinished building who took to us to where we could resume our walk, while he was humming opera melodies after he knew I was Italian.