YELLOW, GRAY, BLUE, RED, GREEN, BROWN
The yellow tram glides over the wet platforms by an annoying drizzle. And we without umbrellas. The sky is gray and shows no signs of turning blue while we look for our red accommodation. We arrived and our room is no longer ours. We wait and in the end they give us another and we have to make the bed. Red. There is a large window, full of reflections of green trees and a brown wooden desk. White walls. And the gray sky.
Here before lived a sculptor and now his spirit. Or this tell us. I shit. I think Rober too. But I like the window full of reflections of green trees and the desk too.
DOBRO UTRO SOFIA
добро утро = dobro utro. The Cyrillic alphabet is easier than it seems ... that if you study it a little earlier why if not, male, there is nowhere to take it.
The first impression with Sofia was good, as almost always happens when we read bad things about a city ... it will be that we look at it with the desire to take advantage of it, I don't know, but in the end we usually like it. If we are weirdos.
The capital of Bulgaria rises at the foot of the nearby Vitosha mountain and has that air of a former communist city that can take back the first glance: titanic concrete blocks are stacked with each other teaching the 'art' of the old school (ugliest statues in the world inclusive) but luckily Sofia is not only Soviet gray and you will discover it if you dare to leave the typical tourist circuit and wander through its lesser known arteries.
So you can run into houses entirely painted, with colorful graffiti, gardens full of surprises and a lot of vitality. It doesn't matter if the sky remains Soviet gray: Sofia has a rainbow soul.
BOHEMIA. UNDERGROUND. BUT ABOVE ALL THIS.
In Sofia it is impossible not to feel in the east. It is much more than Prague or Budapest. It has been since you set foot on its streets, the Cyrillic letters tell you, the domes of the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral, the talk of its inhabitants, the smell of its stews, the sweet taste of the baklava (the best we tried, by the way), names, streets, looks. Everything is this, so is the constant murmur of its streets, fruit markets, vegetables and improvised markets where grandmothers sell panties at the same time as religious icons, chess games in front of the Opera, Turkish mosques, Russian Orthodox churches, Jewish synagogues Sofia is this: it is this.
Meanwhile it rains but the sky almost does not seem gray anymore.
