Going Back to Sofia

I make my way through Passport Control, fetch my suitcase, and catch a taxi. Minutes later I am speeding down the traffic-filled streets, behind the trams and the trolleybuses. The taxi crosses Eagles’ Bridge and we are on the cobblestoned streets of the center of the city. Moments later I am dropped off at my hotel.

I am back in Sofia and in many ways, I have come back home. I lived in this city for two years. I walked its streets, ate in its restaurants, admired its older buildings, and worked in its high-tech offices. I strolled through the city’s parks and visited its museums. This is a city I know well and I don’t need to consult a map to make my way around.

So much has changed but so much more has remained the same. Just two blocks from my hotel is Sofia’s iconic Alexander Nevsky Cathedral, its golden domes brilliant in the late afternoon. I’ve entered its dark Orthodox interior many times and now I can’t help myself from staring at the stunning building and respecting the pilgrims who make their way inside.

To my surprise, there are new, green trams clanging their way up the narrow streets. Vitosha Boulevard is a long, restaurant-lined pedestrian mall. There were trams on the street when I lived in the city. The benches in the park near the NDK conference center are crowded with older residents watching boys display their energetic talents skateboarding up and down the stairs. There are Metro stations in the park. There were none ten years ago.

I pass by the Banya Bashi Mosque and the impressive Sofia Synagogue. For some reason I am always attracted to the outdoor Ladies Market. This is where my wife was pickpocketed long ago but I have no hard feelings for the place. I make my way around the crowded stalls and end up purchasing half a kilo of cherries. Mouthwatering, delicious, huge red cherries. When I think of Bulgaria, I can’t help but remember the wondrous taste of its cherries.

I have seen nearly all the tourist sites that Sofia has to offer. The Roman ruins of Serdica. Boyana Church. The National Museum of History. Even the Museum of Socialist Art. But there is one place I haven’t been.

I take an elevator to the ninth floor of the Sense Hotel and walk into its Rooftop Bar. As I drink a cup of cappuccino and eat a slice of tasty cheesecake, I stare out the large glass windows at the cathedral. From above, the late afternoon golden domes are even more brilliant. This is a view I have never seen before. It is a good way to remember the city.

There is something about Sofia that I can’t exactly put into words. This is a city in which I feel comfortable. This is a city where I feel safe. Although I am but a tourist, Sofia is a city I once called home. It is good to be back. It is difficult to leave. Farewell Sofia. Until we meet again.