Posts by Exbaleine

Hi everyone, just a quick message to thank all of you who commented on this travel journal and to let you know that the links have been updated... More to come on my sites, plus some train recordings to help you drift off to sleep.

Final stretches of track to Varna by the Black Sea in Bulgaria.



The train to Varna is pretty old-school but nice. Compartments and all. At first, mine’s almost empty, then a beautiful woman comes in and sits across from me. A newspaper vendor walks by in the corridor for the third time. The gorgeous Romanian woman is wearing a short green dress, long chestnut hair, off-white heels (pretty outdated by our standards, just like her necklace), a black bag, and a large off-white overcoat. She’s on the phone using a Bluetooth earpiece. To the right, an elderly lady with a floral-patterned bag tucked behind her calves is reading a thriller.



The train leaves 5 minutes late, then stops after 500 meters. A fairly old guy comes in with a big bag, and I help him lift it. He speaks to me in Bulgarian. I reply in English. He insists in Bulgarian. I get annoyed and switch to Spanish: "no comprendo." He goes quiet. Half an hour later, the train stops again, and the green-clad beauty gets off, taking her beauty and sadness with her. The scenery is lovely—semi-mountainous and heavily wooded. We’re moving slowly, passing through lots of small tunnels. The landscapes get even prettier, with granite rocks. The toilets are old but clean and spacious.





The guy with the big bag stands up, and I help him take it down. He says "merciza." A young Bulgarian guy gets on. We start chatting in English. The scenery changes again—green hills and some granite rocks. The journey isn’t boring at all; there’s so much to see. The compartment is comfortable since there are only three of us. We’ll arrive once again at night.





Varna train station.











I’ll stay a few days in Varna. It’s both very touristy and human-scale. You also run into Bulgarians just getting by. I saw poverty, but not misery. In the park above the beach, I catch a traditional concert. A group of about eight women—beautiful singing. Then a Macedonian trio. Lots of people, some dancing. For budget accommodation in Varna, there’s the Yo-ho hostel (10 € for a bed), or you can find decent hotels for around 35 €. In the park by the sea, an accordionist plays "The Duck Song." A young girl sells raspberries in plastic cups. The beach is nice, with a relaxed, family-friendly vibe. The Black Sea’s waves sound just like the Atlantic’s! The sand feels pretty similar to what my feet have walked on before. I wonder if it’s a prank—if I’ve just gone in a circle! Next to me, a single Bulgarian guy bites into an ear of corn he just bought from an older street vendor (at least 60) and takes swigs of cheap beer. The weather’s beautiful and hot, around 30°C.

For the return trip, I went through Romania—photos and stories to see and read, plus train sounds on my sites crilef.free.fr and crilef.fr

Continuation and almost the end of this travel journal about my train trip from the Atlantic to the Black Sea. Thanks to those who left a little message—it’s really nice and encourages me to keep going, even though it’s a huge pleasure but also takes a bit of effort .

Belgrade Station. I try to exchange euros for Bulgarian leva to arrive in Bulgaria with some cash already, but at the exchange office, they tell me it’s not possible. Why? I never got an answer.



Several foreigners in the same carriage as me: in particular, a German who’ll get off at Vis (Serbia’s third-largest city) to go climbing, and an Australian with Asian features (Japanese father, Turkish mother) who’s traveling across Europe by Interrail.





The train moves very slowly. During a stop at a small station, the conductor refuses to let me take his photo. The landscapes are more interesting and hilly than west of Belgrade. I chat with a young Serbian woman with dark hair. She describes Montenegro as Europe’s Canada for landscapes and recommends we go there.



We cross mountains, everyone’s taking photos or videos... I think they’re exaggerating—it’s just rocks. Though I admit I’ve been getting up nonstop to take photos since we left, so maybe I’ve passed the bug on to them. The trip’s been great thanks to these three encounters. The train’s never full.



Arrival in Sofia with a 2-hour delay—it’s nighttime. I find myself on a dimly lit, nearly empty street leading from the station. The hostel I’d spotted is a bit farther than expected. It’s a little hard to find because there’s just a small label on the gate, and it’s a poorly lit side street. A Bulgarian man around 60, quite cold, shows me what’s actually an apartment above his place with a room of 5 beds. There’s only a Russian guy there, watching a movie on his phone at full volume, sitting at the kitchen table. It seems clean, and it’s 10 €, so even though I’m not thrilled, I agree to stay since I don’t feel like running around looking for another place in the dark streets.







Woken up at 7 a.m. by a mosquito, I’m in the city by the time people are heading to work. I take the city’s temperature and snap a few photos before heading to the station.



The end of this travel journal is coming soon. There’ll be sand, swimmers, the sun burning your skin, and above all... the iron snake that nothing stops (except, of course, the sea)...

Continuing this travel journal, rolling toward the Black Sea...







I take the train toward Belgrade. At first, we cross a narrow valley flanked by heavily wooded hillsides. At the Croatian border, passport control—my ID card is enough. A pang of regret at Zagreb station for not stopping to visit the city. That’s the logic of the Interrail pass pushing you to go as far as possible on the day you use it to make it worth it. A little anxiety at every ticket check that the conductor, seeing my scrap of cardboard with today’s date scribbled by hand, will suddenly burst out laughing and ask for a real ticket! In Serbia, the train crawls along at about 50 km/h. It’s raining. My eyes are drooping with sleep. A guy in an old-fashioned suit, with a Western-style face, enters the carriage. He fiddles with his phone for hours while raindrops keep trickling down the windows.



For some reason, the trip to Belgrade is draining—probably the fatigue from nights in dorms piling up. Yet I’m comfortable, alone on a double seat. Desperately craving a big bowl of coffee and a fat cigarette.







Belgrade after 9 hours on the train. Arriving at this station, I immediately think my journey is really starting now. Not that nothing happened in the previous 6 days, but the fact is, here I feel disoriented for the first time. Belgrade already feels like a change of scenery, even though I’m not in some far-off or exotic country. My first contacts are with station staff—they’re a bit cold. But I easily ask for directions on the street. Already, a guy at the station spontaneously offers to help while I’m looking for the city center. I get there pretty easily, in less than 2 km, after climbing through the alleys. Arriving in the hyper-center, the sense of disorientation fades: bars, pedestrian streets, better-maintained buildings. I find my bearings again, except for the omnipresent Cyrillic alphabet. Prices seem even lower than in Slovenia: 1 € for a slice of pizza, 1.70 € for 33cl of beer, 13 € for a bed in a very modern hostel, 84 cents for a soda can bought at the hostel, 1.50 € for an Americano coffee.





The next day, I have two coffees on a terrace near the hostel. Really good coffee. Friendly and efficient service. I head to the station to buy my ticket for Bulgaria the next day. The ticket agent is pleasant, which surprises me compared to yesterday’s staff. I ask if I can take her photo. I don’t know why—and I wouldn’t keep the shot anyway (bad framing and dull lighting)—but she agrees. Five minutes later, I go back to the counter to ask why the trip is so long (all day) when Sofia isn’t that far. She smiles and says that’s just how it is in Serbia. It’s Sunday, and I stroll around this city, which isn’t overrun with cars and whose aesthetic isn’t contrived or overdone for tourists—it’s just "as it is."

Next episode: departure from Belgrade station to Sofia, meeting other travelers, slow crossing through Serbia... In the meantime, come sway to the sounds of Europe’s trains at crilef.free.fr...

September 2017. I’m setting off on a journey from the Atlantic to the Black Sea—entirely by TRAIN—crossing Switzerland, Austria, Slovenia, Serbia, and Bulgaria all the way to Varna. I leave the house, walk briskly for half an hour to the station. Haven’t carried a backpack in years. I arrive at the station drenched in sweat. It’s a scorching late summer. My T-shirt is soaked. First minor challenge, first thought: travel is discomfort. You have to put yourself in a state of discomfort, accept it, and move beyond it. My T-shirt will dry on me—portable, self-contained heating at a steady 37°C.



Departure on the Ouigo from Rennes station, arriving in Massy 1.5 hours later. And then the rush toward the exit. In a frantic rhythm, hundreds of passengers trample in the same direction like a single organism, as if driven by some urgency. The human snake with things to do. Meanwhile, the metal snake that teleported us here continues on its infinite path, perched on its two rails. At the station exit, ticket machines for the RER are under siege, lines stretching outside the building. I watch for a moment, then... veer off toward a café 200 meters away. A guy at the entrance greets me at the top of the stairs with humor. I stir my espresso and think how hot it is to be setting off on a trip—especially since I’m heading toward Southern Europe. Then comes a thought, maybe cliché but fitting: if you wait for ideal conditions to act, to leave, to do, you might wait forever.



PARIS, youth hostel at 8 Jules Ferry Street, 21 € for a bed in a dorm. Unbeatable price for sleeping in the capital. Friendly welcome and a nice neighborhood near République. They don’t ask for a hostel federation card. Paris is as beautiful as ever—and as polluted. My eyes and throat sting a little. I buy a ukulele (the reason for this stop in Paris), using my backpack as a case. First notes strummed in the empty hostel room. We’ll end up being four people sleeping here, mostly in their thirties or older. In the evening, I have a Grimp on the terrace of a nearby café. After a day of carrying my backpack in the heat, the first sips of cold beer are pure bliss. The window stays wide open all night because of the heat, to let in a little air. Feels like sleeping right on the boulevard, with motorcycles and cars passing all night long.



TGV from Paris to Strasbourg. The sound of the train is smooth and soft, almost nonexistent. I think to myself that the TGV is already a thing of the past—a time when we believed abolishing time would mean abolishing finitude, when in reality it only erased life. A time when we believed in the rise of a single, affluent upper-middle class with access to immediacy in a world of efficiency, profit, cleanliness, straight lines, no sweat, no dust. I think speed is part of the past. When you go fast, you rush, you’re never where you are—always just ahead, never here and now. Speed is a rejection of life, a sick movement, an illusion of power and joy. No yawning, no breathing, no dozing, no thinking. Speed abolishes time and space. People get sucked in. Quick, into the vacuum—never inspired, no time. Aspiration versus inspiration. A battle between unreal times (past and future) and the only real time: the present.





Second night. Youth hostel in Lucerne, Switzerland. Tough end to the day—tired, starting to get blisters. Lucerne, with its charms and hordes of tourists, wears me out. With my blisters, I drag myself to the station, buy some Asian takeaway, and wait for the bus to escape to the hostel. There, three massive Russian-speaking guys chat and down beers around a table on the terrace by the entrance. I sit a little apart. The Swiss hostel is twice as expensive as the one in Paris. The common areas are spacious, but the rooms are cramped and lack a sink. The opposite of the Parisian hostel, where the common spaces were minimal but the room was spacious and had a sink. I share the small room with two students from Singapore. Lights go out around 10 PM, but in the hallway, a group of overexcited girls from the next room scream, laugh, slam doors, and keep coming and going for over an hour. The next day, I’d find the girls’ bathroom floor covered in chips.



Day three. Departure from Lucerne station in the morning, change in Zurich, heading to Villach in Austria near the Slovenian border. The train is slow, skirting a large lake with mountains where rocks jut out by the water. The view through the window is soothing. The sounds of the train are pleasant. In front of me, two women speak softly while eating Swiss crackers. Then the train speeds up as we leave the lakeside. I decide to get off at Wörgl, a small station surrounded by mountains, instead of continuing to Salzburg. The train I take in Wörgl looks like our TER. Not many people, just three small carriages, well-balanced air conditioning. Good call: this little train winds through the Austrian mountains. It stops often, but the scenery is beautiful, and I’m in no hurry. Typical little villages, chalets on the mountainside, coniferous forests. To be honest, after a while, I get a bit tired of these endless valleys. Lack of perspective and distant views.





Villach. A pleasant town with a well-maintained old pedestrian center and its old bridge spanning the Drava. I arrive in the early evening. After a good walk, I pass through a mixed zone (industrial and sports) and find the youth hostel 2–3 km from the station. 25 € a night, but the hostel is "full," and of course, I haven’t booked. I never book in advance or use a phone to navigate. I prefer to improvise and ask for directions. I head back to the city center and find a room for 76 € in a three-star hotel. The guy at reception, very kind, looks like he stepped out of a comic book—a short, chubby guy with a serene face and voice. He’s not rushed at all, takes his time, which is really nice. The room isn’t great in terms of essentials, but a lot of effort (finishes, furniture) has gone into matching the hotel’s standards. No free space, window overlooking a narrow courtyard (smell of cooking in the morning), and a small, not-very-firm bed. Bathroom’s fine, and there’s a big screen (one channel in French). In the morning, a free breakfast with an incredibly varied spread—salty and sweet, meats, cooked dishes, pastries, dried fruits, cereals... Sitting with me in the room are mostly couples in their sixties.



Departure from Villach station. Train at 12:53 PM to Ljubljana. 17 €. Quite an old train, compartments with six seats, some patched up. I share a compartment with a very nice Croatian woman around 35. We start chatting, and I explain the nature of my trip. I also tell her about my first big train trip in Asia, which piques her interest, and she asks me quite a few questions. She’s seen documentaries about trains in Russia or India, and I give her a firsthand account from "reality." Her English is a bit better than mine, but we’re more or less on the same level, which I think helps the conversation flow and last. You could almost say we meet while traveling not because of shared interests but because our language levels match!





Ljubljana. No idea what this city looks like. I quickly checked a few forums and was expecting a somewhat dreary big city, pollution... Not at all. After a few minutes’ walk from the station, I enter a pedestrian and tourist area with beautiful, well-maintained, colorful buildings. The city seems immediately very pleasant, everything within reach. At the tourist office, I grab a map and see there’s no shortage of hostels. I find one in the city center in a large old building, with big rooms that haven’t been renovated in decades. 15 € a night. Ljubljana is actually a charming little city, touristy, with a completely pedestrianized center. Prices are already a bit lower than in big French cities. Example prices: 6 € for a large, very filling plate of excellent falafel, hummus, fries, and raw veggies; 2.5 € for a half-pint on a terrace in the city center; 1.50 € for a lungo coffee; 60 cents for a kind of jam-filled bread. In the narrow streets, you come across lots of bikes that seem to rule here. Pedestrians have to move aside. I reach a pedestrian crossing—maybe the only street in the city center open to cars. I’m about to cross (against the light for pedestrians), but a young Slovenian woman warns me in English; she says I could get fined for that.



The next day, it’s raining. During a break in the clouds, I manage to have breakfast on a terrace. I find a slightly more expensive hostel (21 €) but with nice common areas. A smaller room but better designed, with a locker for securing your bag. It’s going to rain all morning. I head up to the castle—a walk that, besides getting the legs moving, offers a great view of Ljubljana rather than the castle itself. Midday. It’s raining, so I eat a plate of fish with potatoes cooked by a street vendor at a market, sheltered by a flimsy umbrella. Not many people at the market brave the rain. But I’m loving it. The vendor, very Slavic-looking, corrects my attempt to say "thank you" in Slovenian ("hvala"). A few minutes’ walk away, I reach Ljubljana’s big park. You quickly arrive after a small climb into wild forest—seemingly not maintained at all. And we’re only 1 or 2 km from the tourist office! My feet are soaked—damn shoes that were supposed to be waterproof!

More travels and train sounds on my site crilef.free.fr and also crilef.fr

Bonjour Bestryss, Normal que le lien ne fonctionne plus, j'ai laissé le site en ligne quelques temps et (n'ayant pas ou très peu de retour) je l'ai supprimé... Mais n'hésite pas à poser des questions, j'y répondrais avec plaisir ; tu prépares un voyages ?

En 2011, impossible de faire Bombay-Iran par bateau, j'avais essayé diverses pistes pendant une dizaine de jours sans succès. Cause : des attentats survenu à Bombay perpétré apparemment par des pakistanais venu par bateaux. J'ai peur que la traversée en bateau ne soit plus trop possible quel que soit le sens de la traversée. J'ai fini par renoncer et prendre un avion Bombay-Dubaï puis un bateau de Dubaï à Badar Abbas en Iran. A Bombay, les ports sont murés et très bien gardés par des hommes en armes...

Salut Nicoske

Je vais passer par Nantes aussi début juillet ; mais ensuite je file vers Brest par le canal. En partant de Lyon via le plus possible de voies vertes.

Pour les sacoches ma philosophie c'est de limiter les bagages en poids et volume : donc petite tente (1,5 kg), petit duvet, etc... Pas de réchaud : petits-déj dans les cafés, et pique-niques (c'est l'été). Prendre le minimum de vêtements et laver au fur et mesure. Ne rien prendre "au cas où on ne sait jamais" ; car on trouvera toujours sur place si besoin... Résultat je m'en sort avec une bonne sacoche Ortlieb et un petit sac à dos que je peux fixer sur le porte bagage de l'autre côté. Pour le train, j'ai le petit sac à dos sur le dos, la sacoche en bandoulière et ça roule... Mon vélo est un Bernds pliant que je peux plier si besoin.

Quasiment tous les trains en France acceptent les vélos. Pour les TGV, soit le vélo est pliant + housse et c'est un bagage comme un autre, soit il faut réserver une place (10€) dans le compartiment réservé (pas tous les TGV, se renseigner). Dans tous les autres types de train, j'ai jamais eu de souci même la plupart des cars... Les anciens trains corail sont un peu galère à grimper : plusieurs marches métalliques très étroites.

Le vélo est un bonheur si on évite les voies à bagnoles ; je te souhaite une bonne balade, de bonnes rencontres ; allège bien ton sac c'est plus sympa de rouler léger...

Christophe

Salut,

Esfahen est la ville que j'ai préférée, j'espère que tu apprécies ! En fait je suis pas passé par Shiraz mais Yazd (erratum dans mon post précédent). Dommage pour le stop mais vu le prix très modéré du train ou bus en Iran... Bonne idée d'éviter Téhéran, je n'avais pas franchement apprécié cette ville, en outre je n'avais pas trouvé d'hôtel bon marché, tout était complet. J'ai fait des rencontres vraiment sympas à Tabriz. Les paysages en Turquie sont très beau côté est. Par contre, difficile de prendre le train en Turquie, y'en a très peu. Les bus sont quotidiens et confortables. Régale-toi bien !

Salut Loiccc,

De Bandar Abbas, j'ai pris un train jusqu'à Shiraz ; et après un bus jusqu'à Esfahen et puis train jusqu'à Téhéran, re-train jusqu'à Tabriz et bus de Tabriz à Van (Turquie).

Je ne sais pas si le stop marche en Iran mais pourquoi pas vu qu'ils sont particulièrement gentils et désireux d'aider...

OUi à la nage !

Non, plus sérieusement je suis resté 10 jours à Bombay pour trouver une solution mais tous les ports sont fermés au public et gardé militairement. La seule solution aurait été de choper une croisière mais y'en a pas souvent. J'ai donc prix un avion jusqu'à Dubaï ; ensuite j'ai pu rejoindre le sud de l'Iran par bateau.

Salut

Hello Redapple

Dommage que tu n'aies pas apprécié l'Iran, j'y ai passé 8 jours y'a un mois et fait des rencontres géniales, étonnantes. Mais le pouvoir politique en place c'est autre chose bien sûr.

Sinon, ça serait un scoop si tu parvenais à rallier l'Inde par bateau en partant d'Oman. A ma connaissance aucun bateau (ferry ou cargo) n'est autorisé à prendre des passagers sur le trajet Inde - péninsule arabique et inversement. Exceptées des CROISIERES, mais c'est pas donné, faut avoir le temps, y'en a très peu donc pas de choix de dates et ça m'étonnerait qu'on puisse mettre un véhicule...

Mais si y'a du nouveau je serais ravi de l'apprendre...

Hello Fichtre,

Yes, j'ai trouve ! C'etait pas si facile parce que la multitude d'agences ici ne vende que de l'avion, les taxis ne connaissent que les ports et ne savent pas duquel partent les ferries voire meme me disent n'importe quoi... Bref si ca peut servir a d'autres je donne l'info : Il faut donc aller a Sharjah (20km de Dubai), sauter dans un taxi et lui indiquer "the Department of Seaports and custums". Une fois en face du batiment, contourner sur la droite jusqu'a une sorte d'entrepot affichant "Passenger Terminal Departure". Cela semble pas tres officiel mais c'est la. Pousser le portail coulissant, traverser le hangar jusqu'a ce qui ressemble a un bureau (celui de droite). J'ai paye 310 Dhirams soit 62 euros. Y'a pas des departs tous les jours mais apparemment plusieurs par semaine, la traversee prend une douzaine d'heure normalement. A plus tout le monde Baleine

Hello Lordfichtre,

Moi je suis cote DUBAI. Connais-tu une adresse precise d'agence qui propose la traversee en ferry jusqu'en Iran, et dont le bureau est a Dubai ou Sharjah ?

Merci d'avance

Hello Elan, Ton idee de passer par une agence me parait la seule solution ; verifie bien sur les forums qu'elle est honnete et reconnue... Evidement, envoyer son passeport par la poste comporte toujours un risque ; pense bien a faire un scan de ton passeport et visas...

Sinon il y a bien une route par la Chine, mais si tu ne supportes pas l'altitude c'est rape...

Concernant le Bangladech, cela semble impossible d'y avoir un visa pakistanais d'apres les reponses que j'ai eu sur le forum anglais de Lonely Planet.

Evidemment, c'est une situation qui peut changer, mais quand et en pire ou en mieux, va savoir ?

Faut peut etre s'adapter a la situation...

EXB

Salut Elan, Peux-tu preciser ton itineraire prevu, ainsi que le timing envisage. Cela plus facile de voir s'il y a une solution possible... EXB