Road trip to Armenia continues. Zagreb, Slavonski Brod, Vukovar and Belgrade. Finally in Sofia to discover my mother's roots. Welcomed by my grandfather’s church and Aunt Olga’s convent. Visited my mother's family home. Goodbye Sofia, hello Turkey. First stop Edirne and then Istanbul.

Day 17,  Sunday, 7th May, 2023

With the current priests of my grandfather's church in Sofia, The Russian Orthodox Church of St. Nicholas the Miracle Worker where he was ordained in 1924.  What a wonderful welcome we were given. 

Good morning from Turkey!

Well here we are in Istanbul on day 17 of our road trip from Madrid to Armenia. We are taking it slowly not doing too many kilometres in a day so as to rest and to see more places. So far we have done just over 3.600 km. I can hardly believe it. 

Nearly every night we have woken up in a different city or country but now we shall be in Turkey for quite a while but will be waking up in different cities as we journey to Armenia. It is so exciting. Last Sunday we woke up in Zagreb. Our accommodation was on the famous Ilica street, one of the longest and we woke up to a huge street market which looked very enticing. Here is Eladio posing for me. 

Eladio on our last morning in Zagreb on the famous Ilica street with a market going on

But that posed a problem as we had to go and get our car from a garage outside the centre (not allowed to drive in the centre). We walked there and then drove as near as we  could to our accommodation with the permission of some local traffic people, bless them. 

Just before we left we stopped to get some sandwiches, milk and other provisions and in the shop we met a young Spaniard from Seville who lives in Split. We got talking and will meet in Split on our way back. He told us he had appeared in a programme on TV about Andalusians in Croatia. That's when I remembered that Olivia had done a programme about Madrileños in Croatia in 2020 when she had visited most of the country. I found the video on Youtube and watched it later that night. This is it. 

Our next stop was at a town in Croatia called Slavonski Brod, often shortened to "Brod". It is not particularly interesting but is the halfway mark between Zagreb and Belgrade our next destination. Later I realised we should have gone straight to Belgrade but that would have meant a 6h journey and we try not to do too many kilometres in on day.  Brod turned out to be a resting place more than anything. I had booked what was supposed to be an apartment with a kitchen at somewhere called Villa Lucia, except that we were given different accommodation without a kitchen. The Airbnb host was not at all professional. But in the end we managed and we rather liked the place. This is it

Our Airbnb accommodation in Slavonski Brod

Above is video I took of moving in which you can see here if the video  does not work. 

We actually liked it and chilled out there for quite a few hours before exploring this rather uninteresting town. It is set on the Riva Sava, the longest Danube tributary, which starts in Slovenia and ends in Belgrade. On the other side of the river is Bosnia - amazing right?

We took some pictures and then sat in the main square having an ice cream and a coca cola. Croatians and Slovenians love their coffees and their ice creams, both nearly as good as in Italy. 

By the River Sava in Slavonski Brod last Sunday

We strolled home to make our dinner. Didn't have a kitchen? No problem. We have brought a camping gas stove and were able to make scrambled eggs which we ate on the lovely terrace outside our rather small but comfortable and clean room. We are sort of roughing it and enjoying the experience. 

Cooking on our camping gas stove in Slavonski Brod

We both slept well in Slavonski Brod as the beds were really comfortable.  

On Monday morning  we woke up in a new city and were off to another new city, to Belgrade, the capital of former Yugoslavia. 

I got talking to a fellow Airbnb guest who advised us to visit the city of Vukovar on our way. He and his family had come all the way from Rijeka to visit it. We had never heard of Vukovar but for Croatians it is a place of pilgrimage to honour those who died or were massacred in the Battle of Vukovar - they call it the Battle of the Homeland. It was the site of the worst massacre since WW2 and the biggest battle in the Balkan Wars. How could we resist? It is impossible to visit the Balkans and not be reminded of the Balkan Wars but we did not know that Vukovar is perhaps the biggest symbol. Carlo from Rijeka told us to first visit the Water Tower and then the Memorial Cemetery. So off we went. It meant leaving the motorway but that way we saw some of the Croatian countryside and villages. It seems a prosperous country; clean and pretty. On our way, I read out to Eladio information about what happened in Vukovar. In May 1991 the Serbs invaded the town  to cleanse it of non Serbs and there began a 90 day siege. The Croatian forces were completely outnumbered but fought to the end. The Water Tower was important. Every night Croatian fighters climbed to the top to place their country's flag as if to say Vukovar was theirs. Eventually they had to give in after the city was destroyed by bombing. According to what I read, the Battle of Vukovar was the fiercest and longest seen in Europe since WW2 and the first large European city to be entirely destroyed since then. In the battle more than 3000 of the population died. The worst thing that happened was the massacre of over 200 people which occurred shortly after Serbia took over the town. It was only discovered because one person thrown into the mass grave survived and was able to show where it had happened. 20000 Croatians were expelled after the takeover and Vukovar never recovered its status as a thriving Croatian town. It was not ceded to Croatia until 1998. 

We reached the impressive Water Tower, now a symbol of Croatian unity and were awed by the bullet holes and its history. It has been partially restored by private donations. This is it as seen from where we parked below.

The Vukovar Water Tower 

We bought tickets to take the lift up to the top from where you can see both Croatia and Serbia on the other side of the river - the famous Danube. I took a photo of Eladio at the top next to the enormous flag. 

At the top of the Vukovar Water Tower

I also took a video explaining the place which you can watch here. We got talking to some Australian Croatians visiting the tower. We spoke at length to them about what happened in the war and especially in Vukovar. One of them told us that still today the people of Vukovar live in the midst of their slayers and rapists. That is terrible. We were told relations are better, of course, but the massacre and expulsion of the people can never be forgotten. No they can't.

From the Water Tower we drove to the Memorial Centre where those found in the mass grave are buried as are many who died during the battle and siege. Many people were never found so it may well be that there is another mass grave no one knows about. For those not found there are two huge fields filled with white crosses. It is a somber place. 

We walked into the cemetery on a beautiful sunny day and there are rows and rows of graves of those who died in 1991. Just seeing the hundreds of graves of so many people who should be alive today is a witness to the futility of war. Here is a video I took explaining the cemetery and what it means to Croatians. Eladio took a photo of me by just one of the rows of the identified graves. I kept looking at the dates and saw graves of so many young people who should be alive today. My heart grieved for them. Below that is the memorial statue with a flame which never goes out so that no one ever forgets what happened in Vukovar. 

At Vukovar cemetery

There were some nuns from Zagreb visiting and I took photos for them. As I did I spied the fields of white crosses and nearly cried. I told them I was sorry for their people and for their nation. I really was. I went and sat on a step contemplating the fields of white crosses and could not imagine the  horror of the battle and siege and what it meant to Croatians. I shall never forget our visit to Vukovar, the symbol of the worst battle and massacre in the Balkan wars. Still today Serbs and Croats do not enjoy an easy relationship.

The fields of crosses for those who were never found after the Battle and Massacre in Vukovar 

We both left feeling very affected by our harrowing visit but were glad we went there. We had stepped into very recent history, history we hoped would not be repeated but it is happening now in Ukraine, all because of nationalism. I just don't get it. Wars are futile. 

We resumed our journey through fields and villages until we reached the motorway. Very shortly we arrived at the Serbian border. For the first time we were leaving the EU and would not be able to enjoy free roaming. I switched it off on both our phones. Going through a border, showing your passports, the green card for the car, etc, felt like a throw back to times before the EU. The lady was very strict and inspected our car. I suspect that not many Spanish cars go through that border. I was worried she would confiscate our packets of ham but she didn't and soon we were on our way. It was late and we were hungry so stopped at some God forsaken looking restaurant in Serbia. It was Turkish, very dirty but they served a wonderful goulash.

An hour or so later we arrived in Belgrade, a city of 1.2 million people. Our sat nav found the Airbnb place quite easily. This was it. We had arrived! It wasn't half as nice as it appeared on the listing and after seeing so many Airbnbs, I now understand why people love ours - much much cleaner, larger, etc. This place was acceptable, central and ok. The worst thing was that the bedroom with a very low ceiling was upstairs and the bathroom downstairs. I would have to sleep on the sofa bed on the ground floor but it was fine. As soon as we had settled in, off we went to explore the city. But we couldn't use Google Maps with no coverage. I tried to download the directions to the centre - Republic Square but in the end, we got there the old fashioned way by asking people. Here is our Mini outside the Airbnb and Eladio in the doorway. The Mini has been our wonderful ally so far. 

The Mini outside our Airbnb in Belgrade.

It's just 800m to Republic Square and we found it easily. I realised very quickly that Serbia is not as prosperous as Slovenia or Croatia. There are fewer tourists, it is rather dirty and quite run down. Some magnificent buildings from the past are in great need of renovation. It was May day - my father's birthday - and there were plenty of locals in the main streets in the city centre. We had our photo taken in the square by the statue of Prince Mihalo whoever he was. 

In Republic Square in Belgrade

Just nearby is the most famous street in the city, Knez  Mihailova Street. According to Wikipedia it is 

"the main pedestrian and shopping zone in Belgrade, and is protected by law as one of the oldest and most valuable landmarks of the city. Named after Mihailo Obrenović III, Prince of Serbia, it features a number of buildings and mansions built during the late 1870s." 

It was teeming with people. Everything in Serbia is written in Cyrillic script which I can more or less read as many years ago I learned the Russian alphabet. But you can see how much Roman script has invaded Serbian. 

We walked up and down it and tired of walking and driving, sat down to have a drink by the Republic Square, which, luckily, had wifi. I had to deal with a guest issue and problem at home which rather spoiled the moment. Instead of ordering some mint tea, I went for the popular Aperol Spritz which I would have enjoyed more if it hadn't been for having to sort out problems at home, damn it. Eladio, meanwhile, sat enjoying the moment and writing to his siblings. I am very impressed that he is writing a diary of our journey, a bit like my blog but handwritten. 

Eladio enjoying the moment having a drink at Republic Square in Belgrade on May Day

Once I had semi sorted the problem, I was able to catch up on stuff on my phone. I was most excited to read another email from my mother's ex boss at Leeds University, Michael Holman. He was later head of the Russian department. I have known him and his Bulgarian wife, Dorothea, since I was a child. He wrote the book "Teach yourself Bulgarian". So, who better, to share our travels to Sofia where we would be exploring my mother's roots? He offered to get in contact with people from Bulgaria who had spent time at Leeds University and knew my mother. Oh wow, bless the man. He also offered to find us a guide in Batumi, Georgia. His roots are very exotic. His mother was born in Batumi where her father was the Head of the Police during the British occupation. Her father was half Georgian, quarter Russian and quarter French. His family were refugees from the Russian revolution and went to Paris in 1920 a bit like my family, many of whom went to Paris too.  His mother grew up in Paris and, like my mother, married an Englishman in 1927 and they went to live in Tunbridge Wells. This was all new to me. Wow, it even beats my mother's story. I felt very accompanied in spirit by both Michael and Dorothea. She remembers her father telling stories of seeing my grandfather, in his priestly robes, walking through the streets of Sofia. He was over 2m tall so must have been quite a sight. As I slept that night in Belgrade, all I could think about was our visit, my pilgrimage, to Sofia and what it meant to me; so much  it's difficult to explain. 

And finally the day we would drive there dawned; Tuesday 2nd May. I was up at the crack of dawn feeling excited. I am sure you understand. We left our Airbnb, not a great place but acceptable and headed for a supermarket to get more provisions. It was called Maxi and was not bad. We must have left Belgrade at around 10.30 and had a 4 hour drive to Sofia to our next Airbnb which looked a lot better but you never know as my experience tells me photos don't always tell you the truth. After a while Eladio got tired so I took the wheel and am quite proud to say I have driven now in both Serbia and Bulgaria after France, Italy, Slovenia and Croatia and also now in Turkey.  The motorway between Belgrade and Sofia is extremely good until you get to the border of Bulgaria. There was hardly any traffic and I was actually looking forward to being in the driving seat as we crossed the border into Bulgaria, the country where my mother's family fled to after the Russian Revolution. Later communism would catch up with them. 

They went to live there in 1920 shortly after she was born (in Italy btw).  In Russia they were extraordinarily wealthy and were an aristocratic family with the title of "serene highness", which in Russia is the title just below royalty. Thus my grandfather was Prince Andre Lieven. I was asked in Bulgaria whether I would mind being addressed as Princess. It felt strange. We have never made use of our title; besides when my grandfather was ordained he had to give it up. My mother escaped Bulgaria in  1944 for Vienna, just before the Russians invaded as did two other siblings, Sasha and Nicholas. Another, Dara, had already left to become a nurse in England. The other siblings, my mother's oldest sister, Olga had become a nun and never left the country. As to my mother's youngest sister, Masha,  she was too young to leave - she went and fought as a partisan for Tito in Yugoslavia against the Nazis. Eventually she escaped Bulgaria in 1959 or so but my grandparents stayed behind. My grandfather, Prince Andre - "Dedushka" to me, died early in 1949  - the nuns confirmed Aunty Masha's theory that he had been poisoned by the Soviets while undergoing a gall bladder operation. I later quizzed Vladimir about this and he said it was very likely and that my grandmother would not have complained as otherwise she would have been next! She, "Babushka" for me, was allowed out eventually as an old woman in the early 60's. She went to Paris and lived there and in Montreal with her eldest son Sasha and eventually came to live with us in Ruskington when I was about 4. She died at our house  and is buried in the village cemetery which I visited last year.  I met all of my mother's family apart from Dedushka and Aunt Olga so I came to Sofia to see their graves and to mourn for them all; torn apart by the Russian Revolution, WW2 and bloody Communism. I kept wondering why I never came with my mother. I came too late but I came. I am the end of their story. PD the  6 siblings never met as a group ever again but the 4 sisters did in 1990 after the Iron Curtain fell. As my mother said, they parted as young girls and met again as old women. I only wish I had been with them at that memorable event at my Aunt's convent in Kniazhevo. It is called the Convent of the Protection of the Blessed Virgin Mother. Under my Aunt's guidance, it was built by the nuns with help from parishioners in 1950 but also under great aggression from the communists under Stalin. What they built is a paradise in life; what a haven of peace and beauty. Vladimir later told me me he had heard rumours that my Aunt Olga (Matushka Seraphima) may be canonised too but the nuns never mentioned this. Imagine, my Aunt, a saint in the Orthodox church!

Anyway, that was just for you to understand the background and why visiting Sofia meant so much to me. The border was a bit chaotic but we got though. I think the customs people were astonished to see a car from Spain, nearly 3000 km away. This was the queue - not many cars but very slow. We actually had to go through 2 borders and get the "vignette" for motorways in Bulgaria if you can call them that. A vignetee is a sort of prepaid toll. It is used also in Slovenia

Our Mini at the border between Serbia and Bulgaria

It was another 50 odd km to Sofia from the border but we hadn't factored in that it is an hour ahead in Bulgaria. Thus we stopped to have our sandwich at the God forsaken place you can see below at around 4 pm Bulgarian time, 3pm our time. Oh, we were so hungry but felt triumphant to have made it so far. We stopped just once for petrol which works out at about 1.3 euros per liter, the cheapest, so far after Turkey where it is about 1.1 euros. 

Our picnic lunch just after crossing the border into Bulgaria

The motorway hardly existed in Bulgaria which looked just as poor as Serbia but in fact has a higher GDP.  We were soon in the capital and there wasn't much traffic. Thankfully we could use our phones again but not the Euro as we would find out and no one seems to pay by card there; it's all cash;  Bulgarian Lev. 

We found our Airbnb and were able to park inside the courtyard. We are now quite savvy at using lock boxes to get the keys. Eladio got the luggage out while I rushed in to see what was in store for us this time. But I loved this Airbnb, the best so far. I could have moved in. It looked lived in and I suspect the owner, Yayonna, rents it out and when she has guests, goes and stays with her parents or friends. The place was spacious and beautiful. This is the lounge / kitchen. 

Our lovely Airbnb in Sofia

Waiting for me too was an email from the Russian Orthodox Church where my grandfather was the priest. This was the message: 

"Masha, good evening!

We invite you in Russian church tomorrow on morning liturgy at 9.00/ If it too early for you, at 10.15 you can attend a prayer service to St. Serafim who was the spiritual father of your grandfather. And after a short worship we'll go to the cemetery at the grave of Father Andrey.

Your car you can parking in front of the our templeб we have the place here.

Let me know if it suits you.

All the best, Tanya".

Wasn't that lovely; so welcoming?

I was tired but Eladio wasn't so we wandered out towards the centre and ended up at the most famous landmark in the city, The Alexander Nevsky Square and Cathedral. To get there we had to get some "lev" from a hole in the wall as taxis don't accept credit cards. We had been warned not to use our car as "Bulgarians think they are Italians when it comes to driving" and that taxis were dirt cheap. 1 lev or is it leva is about 50 Euro cents. 

Alexander Nevsky Square and Cathedral, the landmark of Sofia

I remembered from an email from Michael that my grandfather's church was very near the Alexander Nevsky Square so we walked there or rather I walked as fast I could to get there as I couldn't wait to see it.  I couldn't believe my eyes when I first saw it. It is beautiful of course - and was the church that revolved around the lives of my mother and her family. It must have meant so much. I looked and cried and finally sat down on the grass looking up at it and thinking of them all. I have 3 cousins, Zuka, Andre and Sasha and I rang Sasha as Zuka is in New Zealand at the moment and it was the wrong time in Auckland and I don't have Andre's number - besides he lives in Canada - you see what the wars did? Sasha is Aunty Masha's son and was born here. When he was very young she was able to get him out of the country and send him to France where she eventually joined him; having to escape the country in secret. There are so many stories here, I could write another book. I had to ring him as he was the only one to understand what I was feeling and  I needed to share this incredible moment. As a friend put it, I was not just in Sofia to walk in my mother and her family's footsteps, I was remembering all they went through in order to walk there themselves. Well put. Below are photos of  the church, the church I came all the way from Madrid to see. 

Outside my grandfather's church

The other story you have to know is why my grandfather became a priest. It has been suggested he already had the urge while in Russia but when he was separated from his family that is when he made the decision. You see the family left Russia and he stayed behind to fight in the White Army against the communists. When he eventually left he had to find his family and swore to God that if he did, he would become a priest. The rest, as they say, is history. He was ordained in 1924 by the Bishop Seraphim, now a Saint and who became his spiritual father as Tatiana wrote above. This was at the Russian Orthodox  Church of St. Nicholas the Miracle Maker where he remained a priest until his death in 1949. That's why I call it my grandfather's church. 

All this was in my mind as we made our way to our new home, the lovely flat in Sofia on Ulitsa (street) Krastets, 9. 

Once back we got out the washing - so necessary after 12 days away from home - and sat about making a simple dinner. The next day was Wednesday and    we would be up early to be at the church, my mother's church. I knew that that would be even more emotional.  With Tatiana's instructions we were at the church at 9 am when the service had already started. Russian services are very long and it is the tradition to stand up throughout. If you are to have communion you have to fast. My mother used to tell me she nearly fainted most mornings at church. I thought of her and all her family and stood crying with a headscarf lent to me by Tanya. I took photos to show to my family and to never forget that day. This is just one. The Orthodox ritual is very unique, very somber, very archaic but oh so beautiful. The choir was magnificent. This is a video of a snippet of the service I took to share with my cousins and with you. 

During the morning service on Wednesday

When the service eventually finished after about 1.5 h, I mentioned to Tatiana that I wondered why communion had not been served. There began some confusion. She understood I wanted to make confession. I didn't but then I realised that I did. The problem was I had had breakfast which is not allowed but the priests made a concession. So, I took confession for the first time ever in an Orthodox Church. My sin? Not having visited my Aunt while she was alive. I felt so close to my mother in that moment. Then I took communion also for the first time in an Orthodox Church. It was very different to how it is done in the Catholic or Anglican church. I felt blessed.

We were then taken down to the crypt for a short service at the tomb of my grandfather's spiritual father, Archbishop Vladika Seraphim. He was cannonised in 2002 thanks to the efforts of my Aunt Olga who was his spiritual daughter. Her name as a nun was his name; she was thus Matushka (mother) Seraphima. This is a moment during that ceremony. 

During prayers at the tomb of Saint Seraphim. He was a great friend of my mother's family. 

Although it was not allowed, I took a short video of this service too, so that I shall never forget it and to share with you. The music, again, was sublime. Later we all knelt and kissed the tomb of the Saint and the Rector crossed my forehead with blessed oil. 

The church or Tatiana, then arranged for a photo session at the front door of this magnificent church which means so much to me. Here we are with the two main priests and with dear Tatiana. I have chosen it as this week's feature photo. I am sure you understand why. 

With the church priests and Tanya outside my grandfather's church

For reference sake, let me tell you who the priests are. The one on my right and next to Tatiana is Archimandrite Vassian Zmeez the rector of the church.  He is non less that the new representative in Bulgaria of the head of the Russian church in Moscow, the famous Kirill - who has blessed Putin's invasion of the Ukraine. The one on Eladio's left is Archpriest (protopriest) Yevgeny Pavelchuk the secretary of the church.  When I first contacted the church I was told they had no relations with my Aunt's convent because of a "calendar" issue. You may know the Orthodox church uses the Julian calendar and not the Gregorian calendar like the Catholic or Protestant church. My Aunt's convent continues with the Julian calendar and St. Nicholas Church has moved to the Gregorian calendar. But the bad relations, as we learned, have more to do with the Church of St. Nicholas reporting directly to the Moscow Patriarch and my Aunt's convent which refuses to do so as they do not want politics to intervene in their lives. Or that is what I understood. But back to our "churchy" day. 

Tatiana had then organised to take us to my grandfather's grave in the city cemetery in the part where Russians are buried.  Ivan, our translator and member of the choir, came too as did one of the priests (Dimitri) who would perform a short ceremony. Before going, Ivan helped me  buy flowers and a candle. And there I was suddenly by my grandfather's grave which I had only seen in photos. Buried with him is his mother in law, Olga Stachovich, née Olga Ivanova Ribeaupierre - she was the cousin of Zinaida Yusupov, mother of Felix Yusupov who killed Rasputin. My mother always told me how her maternal grandmother traveled from Paris to Sofia in 1936 for cancer treatment and how she died at their house. It was Olga who found her dead with a book in her hands sitting in an armchair! Here we are at the tomb of my grandfather and my great grandmother. Who would have thought I would ever make it there but I did. It was a moment of closure. I had come full circle. 

At my grandfather's tomb in Sofia with Archpriest Dimitri, Ivan and Tatiana

On the cross of the tomb is a photo of my grandfahter which I have to share as he was quite magnificent. This is it.

My grandfather - this is the photo of him on his grave

The little service was beautiful. Eladio filmed part of it while I prayed at the grave. Here is the video. 

And soon it was over it and time, finally, to visit my Aunt's convent. I was following in the footsteps of both my parents and my Aunty Masha. In 1990 after the Iron Curtain fell, they were finally able to visit Sofia. And I was to see the convent for the first time just as they did. If only I had gone with them when my mother's older sister, Olga (1913-2004) was alive. I had been in touch with one of the nuns, also called Seraphima, for some months now and she was eagerly awaiting our visit as I was eagerly waiting to see her and the convent. 

Ivan drove us there  - thank you Ivan - and soon we were together. What a lovely woman the young nun is. Amazingly she speaks both English and Spanish which she had learned at school so many years ago. This was a lovely surprise for my husband. Here we are together. 

Finally with Seraphima with whom I had been in contact for many months now

Waiting too for us was my Aunt's successor, the new Mother Superior and also called Seraphima. They took me to my Aunt's grave where I also placed flowers and a candle. It was built after my Aunt's death in 2004 when she was 91. She had been born in Russia in 1913 and was 7 years older than my mother. Under her influence, my mother took her vows to become a nun. When the war happened and my mother ended up in England and met my father, she had to ask her sister for permission to renounce her vows. Olga said to Elena "As you could only be a nun in my convent and that is not possible because of the political situation, I give you my permission to marry". Thank God she did or else I wouldn't be here today. I never met Aunt Olga (Matushka Seraphima) but was told by my mother and everyone that she was like a saint. Here I am with the two nuns, wearing the same habits and headgear my Aunt wore - very old fashioned. 

By my Aunt's grave beautifully tended by the nuns

We were then taken to their church on the convent's premises which is more like a park with lots of beautiful trees, a stream and different wooden buildings. I knew from my father's diaries and was later told by the nuns how my Aunt and her nuns built the whole complex themselves with the help of parishioners but the opposition of the government in Stalin's times. They even wanted to take away the land and property from the nuns but it never happened, thanks to God's intervention I was told. Inside the church I lit another candle for my Aunt. The new Mother Superior said my Aunt would be very happy to know I was at her convent. I hope so. 

In the small church of my Aunt's convent

Most of the icons in the church have been handmade by the nuns. I have one at home my mother brought home for me and I treasure it. 

I had a present for the nuns; my father's book. They had met him of course and the new Matushka Seraphima had been most impressed by him. There are lots of photos in it and mentions of my mother's life and family which I knew they would be interested in. Here I am showing them my book. 

With the nuns showing them my book. 

Both of them remembered my mother and Aunty Masha's visit in 1990 and 1992 and the visit of my other Aunt (Dara, a nun in New York). In 1990 the famous reunion of the 4 sisters took place to which the new Matushka was witness. She told us it was such a joyous occasion. If only I had been there.

We were then taken into a small meeting room where we exchanged memories and stories of the family. They gave me books they had published and photos of my Aunt. They even gave us lunch - we were starving. On Wednesdays and Fridays they fast - eating no meat or fish. And we fasted too but the food was wonderful - a bit strange eating it in front of the nuns who didn't eat. I got many nuggets of information of my mother and her family's life. One thing I learned explained something I never understood. My mother was sent from Bulgaria to France to school aged 6 and did not return to Sofia until she was 10. There she joined her older sisters Olga and Dara. They went to a school in Clancy Paris run by Irina Romanov - thus their education was free. Only once did my grandfather visit them and it was on the occasion of the death of his own mother. The new Mother superior said the girls were sent as the family had no money for their education. She also told me that for the trip to Paris my grandfather pawned both his and his wife's wedding rings! They had lost all their riches in Russia when they fled the Revolution. 

Soon it was time to leave but we shall be in touch and I shall write to the lovely nuns who received us with such open arms and with such love. I left feeling at peace. As we left, the Mother superior gave me a scrap of paper with a name and a phone number - Vladimir F. She said he knew my mother but didn't tell me anything else. Once in the taxi I rang him and it turns out he was at Leeds University in the early 90's when my mother taught there and Michael Holman. He told me he was close to my mother, had often been to our house in Heaton Grove and had taken medicines from England to the Convent for one of the nuns who was ill. I was blown away. Wow! He now teaches English at the University of Sofia. We agreed to meet. I had already agreed to meet Christo, through Michael Holman - another teacher at Leeds and it turns out Vladimir's teacher of English. Today they are colleagues. So we agreed we would meet up with both of them. 

We were both drained physically and emotionally after such a wrenching day so rested at our lovely apartment in the centre of town, had  a small dinner  and went to bed earlier than usual. What a memorable day it had been, one I shall never ever forget. It felt as if I had come full circle. It was such an important day for me and there by my side was my adoring husband, with me every step of the way.

On Thursday morning and our last day in Sofia, we met both Christo and Vladimir at the main entrance to the magnificent University of Sofia. We had to have a picture immediately. 

With my mother's former colleagues/students who coincided with her at Leeds University. 

Michael had asked Christo to show us the sites of Sofia but then Vladimir offered to show me the street where my mother's family last lived - Dante Street, next to the German Embassy which was later the Gestapo HQ during the war. But I had been told by the nun Seraphima that the house had been destroyed. Vladimir told me it was still standing and took us there. I couldn't believe I was to see their very humble abode so often described to me by my mother. Of course they lived humbly as they had lost all their riches and I suppose as a priest, my grandfather would not have earned much money. On the way we passed the Drama school where my youngest Aunt, Aunty Masha, had studied to become an actress. And then suddenly we were on Dante Street looking at the old apartment block. Vladimir pointed out the balcony which belonged to my mother's bedroom which she shared with her sister Masha until she left Bulgaria, aged 24 in 1944. What an amazing moment. You can see me in the next photo standing below the balcony.

In Dante Street under the balcony of what was my mother's bedroom

Vladimir said he knew there was a family still living there who knew my mother's family. Amazing! He rang the bell several times until a woman about my age opened the door. It was "Ralitsa" (name of a flower in Bulgarian). She immediately knew that I was Elena Lieven's daughter. The moment was unforgettable. She invited us in in true Bulgarian style and we walked into the flat which is one floor below the flat where my family lived. She is a pediatrician but lives humbly. The flat looked like it probably looked when my mother was last there. I had to have a photo with Ralitsa and here I am with her. 

With Ralitsa, my mother's family's neighbour on Dante Street!

How incredible to find someone, apart from the nuns, who still remembered my mother. Ralitsa told me that Aunty Masha and my mother had stayed with her parents - her mother was Antoinette -  on their last visit together in 1992. She dug out photos and this is one - my mother not wanting a photo taken. She could never have known that I would follow in her footsteps and visit her neighbours. Ralitsa told me that my mother and my aunt had helped her a lot when communism fell. They must have as in 1992 my mother organised a humanitarian truck to be sent from England to Sofia to help as many poor Bulgarians as they could, including Ralitsa. 

Photo of my mother at Ralitsa's flat in Dante Street in 1992

She even dug out a photo of my cousin Zuka who accompanied them on that trip. Here she is horse playing with Aunty Masha

Zuka and my Aunt at Ralitsa's house in 1992

There was so much to say and little time as we had agreed to meet Tatiana for lunch at 1 pm. But we had some time together. Ralitsa, in true Bulgarian style, made coffee for us and plied us with cake, biscuits and chocolate. I wanted to share the moment with Olivia, my youngest daughter,  so video called her. I think it was a special moment for her too. 

Ralitsa and I  exchanged email addresses and phone numbers so as to keep in touch, bless her. I left wondering if I would ever be back and feeling very grateful to Vladimir for taking us to my mother's humble house. We then walked to the Russian church, one more time, as the restaurant, Arbat - Russian btw - is just across the way. As we said goodbye to our wonderful Bulgarian hosts, we had one last picture together. 

One last picture with our Bulgarian hosts - left to right: Eladio, Vladimir (Volodya), me and Christo

Tatiana was waiting for us at the restaurant and it was a pleasure to see her again. She gave me an icon of Saint Seraphim and I gave her some Spanish wine and ham. Here she is at our table. You can spy  two young deacons at the table behind her and the church across the road. 

Tatiana at the Russian restaurant on Thursday in Sofia

I was delighted to be in a Russian restaurant where I could taste dishes of my childhood. I had to order pelmeni - a sort of dumpling/ravioli - which my mother used to make. Eladio had borshch which my mother used to make too and as the portions were not too big, we later shared a plate of boeuf stroganoff, my favourite Russian dish. My mother taught me to make them all as well as bitki and perushki. What wonderful food. Here are some photos. 

Pelmeni with smetana and Boeuf Stroganoff - delicious

We were at the restaurant for hours getting to know Tatiana, a historian and teacher of geopolitics,  who was born in Moscow but lived later in Moldova. She is married to a Ukrainian Bulgarian - what a complicated region - and we quizzed her on her feelings about the invasion of the Ukraine. In a nutshell, she does not approve of Putin but does think that Ukraine and Russia are the same country! It's not all black and white to Russians as I have learned here or even Bulgarians who are a bit divided on the issue. 

From the Russian restaurant we decided to take one more look at the main site in Sofia - the magnificent Alexander Nevsky cathedral which we had seen only on the outside on our first day in the city. I knew my father had been several times on his two visits here so I was following in his footsteps too. 

The Alexander Nevsky cathedral .- the main monument in Sofia

He would have known its history but I didn't and had to look it up before entering with my Italian headscarf firmly in place. I later lit a candle for him and my mother in this magnificent church. Eladio had read it was a former mosque during the Ottoman rule and later a hospital. I read that it was built to honour Russian soldiers who died during the 1877 Russo Turkish war after which Bulgaria was liberated from the Turkish yoke. I also read it was named after St .Alexander Nevsky, a Russian priest from the 13th century. Whatever the story, it is a magnificent Cathedral built in the Byzantine style as many churches are in Bulgaria

Just as we stepped outside, we heard a lot of noise and saw lots of young people dressed to the nines. I thought it was a hen party but they explained very raucously that it was a "prom". They explained they were celebrating the end of their final year at school. I had to have a  photo with some of them as you can see below. 

With three young  Bulgarian girls having a "prom". 

When we told them we are from Madrid their reaction was pretty similar to most people - talk of Real Madrid. A young boy even shouted "Hala Madrid" . It was so funny. Football is such an international language I have found in my years of traveling the globe.

It was time to get a taxi "home" and it took a while to hail one down that wasn't already full of people. Soon we were back in our lovely apartment which we already miss. I was again exhausted but so happy about how events had turned out on both days in Sofia. It was beyond belief that I was able not just to see my family's humble abode but also go inside and be greeted by someone who still remembers them. I told my friend Amanda that I could not explain why or how but that there must be something or someone guiding us on this journey in all the right directions. I have felt guided since I left Madrid.

Again we went to bed early and I got up at 5.30 on Friday morning, the day we left Sofia for Turkey. Of course I was looking forward to the next step of our adventure but Bulgaria had captured my heart. It had been such an emotional time, leaving was a bit of an anti climax. I had begun to feel at home in my mother's city. I know, in my heart, that I have to come back. I had made friends; Tatiana, Christo, Vladimir and of course Ralitsa - the daughter of Antoinette who knew my grandparents and, of course,  the nuns,  I shall never forget them but thanks to new technology, unlike in my mother's day, I now have the means to keep in touch and I definitely will. I cannot forget their kindness and the wonderful welcome we were given by everyone. 

I left with a heavy heart, full of emotions. An even bigger anti climax was getting provisions from Lidl for our onward journey. I am no fan of Lidl - everywhere in Europe - but it had everything we needed. I did look for my favourite local sweet, baklava, which they didn't have but I knew we wold get it in Turkey. Importantly I got a bottle of Syrah Bulgarian wine which we loved. 

We left at around 10.30 taking the road to Istanbul - the only decent motorway (I think) and it was only 2 hours to our first stop in Turkey, the historically strategic city of Edirne in north west Turkey. On the way is Plovdiv, Bulgaria's cultural capital but we couldn't stop as otherwise we would never get to Armenia and we have to be back by 16th June for Olivia's wedding. As we drove I read out my father's diary of their second journey to Bulgaria in 1992. I had read it many times but didn't remember much, having read the diary of their first journey in 1990 more often because I found it more interesting. Thus I had missed the story of their staying with Antoinette on Dante Street. I had also missed his description of the day they went to Plovdiv. Once again, I was walking in their footsteps. In his final paragraph my father says " I really hope you can go to Bulgaria one day". That chilled my spine. My father wanted me to go and I have been. I felt so happy.

He described the fertile land on that road between Sofia and Plovdiv which I saw with my own eyes. He said in the diary that after finishing school, my mother had once worked as an au pair for a Jewish family in Plovdiv!!!!!

Suddenly the border was in front of us. We were leaving Bulgaria and entering Turkey where I knew the real adventure would begin. We have been before but just to Istanbul and Ankara. Here we are leaving Bulgaria with the country flag and of course the EU flag. We were leaving the EU again but would be still in Europe, for a while only, of course.

Leaving Bulgaria

That took some time, even though we are EU citizens - I now have a Spanish passport as well as  a British one - thanks to Brexit (!). And then we had to go through passport control and customs to enter Turkey. On the way I panicked a bit not having looked up whether we needed a visa or not - thankfully we do not as Spanish citizens. I am also carrying my UK passport just in case. They inspected the car but not very thoroughly. My husband was worried again they would confiscate all the Spanish Ibérico ham we are carrying as it is probably not allowed. We were very relieved they didn't as we often have ham for our picnic meals, hahahaha. And there was Turkey with its distinctive flag in front of us. 

Entering Turkey on Friday

Edirne was 20km away on not a very good road. It took a while though as everyone and their brother seemed to be going there. I had no idea how popular it is with tourists. It later transpired a festival was going on - something to do with welcoming the spring. 

Also on our journey I did a bit of research on where we were going. Edirne is an important city which I had hardly heard of. Formerly called Adrianopolis it is in the northwestern part of the country, just 7km from Greece and 20 km from Bulgaria. It was once the second capital of the Ottoman Empire from 1369 to 1453 before Constantinople became its capital. It was occupied by Russia in the 19th century and taken by Bulgaria in the First Balkan War in 1913 but retaken by Turkey in the same year. It was even captured by Greece during the Turkish War of Independence but finally given back to Turkey in 1922. It is a commercial centre for textiles, silk, carpets and agriculture. It also has a growing tourism industry as we would see.  I knew none of this when I chose to stay there. It was the half way mark for us between Sofia and Istanbul but I am very glad we stopped there as it was well worth visiting. It has 3 amazing mosques, one of them with the tallest minarets in Turkey. 

I couldn't find an Airbnb or apartment anywhere in the centre so chose a hotel on Booking, The Edirne Palace Hotel. I couldn't have made a better choice. I chose it because it was in the centre of the city but also because there was a private parking lot. We cannot leave our car in the street, we have to look after it hahahaha. This is it from the outside.

Our hotel in Edirne. We loved it

Eladio parked the Mini and I rushed in to reception. We got a really warm welcome - the Turks are so hospitable. I was shown our room on the ground floor with its own terrace and it was huge, comfortable and very clean. We had help bringing in all our luggage and bags of food hahaha and were happy to see a fridge. Once we settled in, off we went to explore the city after being shown the main sites on a tourist map. Everything was near.

We walked out into a typical Turkish city so different to what we know in the west. The place is a culture hot spot for people of all nationalities. It is also full of Bulgarians who come to do their shopping which is cheaper here. No doubt they come to fill their tanks as petrol is only 20 Turkish lira a liter, just over one euro. So we would have to divide all amounts by 20 haha and of course get some liras as you can't pay by card everywhere. 

As we walked towards the mosques, we took pictures and videos everywhere. I reminded my husband we would be seeing many. The hotel receptionist said I would not need a headscarf to go in one as I am a tourist. He was wrong. Anyway, here I am starting to explore Edirne, with a map in my hand and one of the minarets of the Old Mosque behind me. 

Map in hand exploring Edirne

I immediately warmed to the city as did Eladio. Here is a picture of him in the same place. 

In front of the Old Mosque

We entered the Mosque and left our shoes in this rack. I also put on a rather dirty head scarf left there for women to wear to enter. Below is one of the women's praying areas. Here are two photos showing what I have just described. 

Rack for shoes entering the old mosque and one of the women's praying areas

Turkey, of course, is a Muslim country - that is very evident - but is probably the least strict when it comes to women's rights - not that they are great. The headscarf or hijab is not obligatory and I have seen women completely dressed in black with a burka and women dressed as we do in the west. I like to think it is just a personal choice here. I took some videos too, including this one - an introduction to Edirne and another one about the Mosques which you can see on my YouTube channel here and here. 

And here are more photos of the other mosques we saw at a distance and visited. Our favourite was The Old Mosque

Eladio in front of the most famous mosque, The Selimiye with its tall minarets

Visiting the other mosques

I approached some people asking them the names of the Mosques and realised quickly that not many speak English. So I had to learn some Turkish quickly. The first thing I learned was how to say thank you which for a British born person like me, is the right way to go. Its damned difficult to say but I learned it. It's two words actually; Tesekkur ederim. 

How to say thank you in Turkish

People loved it when I said it albeit falteringly. I think you can actually also say Merci but they don't seem to use it much. I also learned that goodbye is "gule gule" which I loved  because it is easy. I looked up more important words and was amazed to find out that "no" is "hayir" and "yes" is "evet".  I hope to learn more as this is all so exciting for me. I remember learning years ago that the great Ataturk - the moderniser of Turkey - was the one who changed the script of the language from Arabic to Roman. He is still revered today and every Turkish city has an Ataturk street or boulevard.

From the Mosques we walked to the main cobbled streets which were full of people and shops. I made a beeline for the baklava and halva and Eladio made a beeline for local figs which he loves. Before that we got money from a hole in a wall but were only successful after a few attempts at different banks. 

Typical Turkish sweet shop

Everything was different from cities in western Europe. It was like being in Morocco or India with some differences of course. The city was colourful and very vibrant and we soon fell in love with it. 

A typical street in Edirne

We were approached by a young Turk offering us "durum"  but we weren't hungry. He spoke Spanish as he had lived in Barcelona. He was so welcoming and persuaded us to sit down and we did and we ordered some lovely Turkish tea as you can see below. 

Turkish tea - I love it

On the next table there were 2 Bulgarian women, mother and daughter and we got talking. I love talking to people on our travels as it is so enriching. 

As the city continued to enjoy its festival with fires in the street a bit like Midsummer for the Nordics, we walked back to our haven of a hotel. We had a picnic dinner on the terrace which included a glass of the wonderful Bulgarian wine from the Syrah region which Tatiana had introduced us to. 

As always, we went to bed early, once again in a different city and a different country. 

I woke up early yesterday  at around 5.30 - one hour later than in Spain - to the sound of the call to prayer for Muslims - it happens 5 times a day and always startles me but I love it. You probably know that it is the muezzin (mu'addin), the official who proclaims the call to prayer (adhan) on Fridays for public worship and the call to daily prayer (salat) no less than 5 times a day, at dawn, noon, mid afternoon, sunset and dusk. Amazing. We had heard it in Turkey on our trips here years ago but it never ceases to impress me. These days though, I think that many times it's not the muezzin but a taped recording hahaha. Not the same at all. 

It was Saturday and we were leaving for Istanbul. It was not far, about 238 km and it was all motorway. Again I booked a hotel room on Booking and chose the Sultanhamet area near the two most famous mosques in Istanbul. There was a lot of traffic entering the capital but the worst part was driving into the busiest part of the old city. But we made it to our hotel, the Ottoman Elegance Hotel where the receptionist was from the Ukraine. She didn't speak a word of English so I had to use my pathetic Russian. Thankfully a young boy appeared who spoke all the languages of the world. He was from Turkmenistan (!) and was the epitome of efficiency. The hotel is an old wooden house of which there are many in the district. It is actually quite charming. Below you can see Eladio with the Mini outside the hotel. Thankfully there was somewhere to park it and right now it is standing outside the hotel. 

Outside our hotel yesterday after we arrived here.

It was around our lunch time - just after 2 pm and we were starving and a bit fed up of our picnic meals. Across the road from the hotel there was a kebab house which we made a beeline for. 

The kebab house where we had lunch yesterday

I got talking to the owner, a young Kurd who taught me how to say thank you in Kurdish - "spas" , a bit like "spasiba" I thought. He was friendly so I quizzed him on the best route from here to Georgia. I had made my own route but had no idea if the towns I had included on the way were worth visiting or not. Thanks to him I have changed the route. Driving all along the Black Sea our next destination will be Safranbolu, then Samsun and Trabzon. From Trabzon we shall drive across the border into Georgia and our first destination there will be the famous town of Batumi. That will take a few days. 

Our meal took a long time to come. I remembered it was Coronation Day which if I had been at home would have watched from beginning to end but that wasn't possible in Istanbul. So I quickly went to the BBC website and we were lucky to catch the very moment the King was crowned, hearing the words "God save the King". We also watched the Queen being crowned. That's all I saw of the Coronation which no one here seemed to be at all interested in, hahahaha. 

Our meal came and it was ok but not the wonderful Turkish food I had hoped for. No doubt we shall eat better as we travel onward.

We had the whole afternoon to explore the main sites in the Sultanhamet district. We walked to them without Google Maps so often had to ask our way - that would have to be remedied. We needed a local sim card badly. Anyway, we soon got to the big square where the Mosques are. There also are 2 obelisks which seemed to interest many people but I am not into obelisks. One of them had Egyptian hieroglyphics  and I wondered if my dear friend Amanda who read Egyptology at Oxford would understand them. I later read it is the Obelisk of Theodosius who my husband, being so much more cultured than me, was familiar with. It's like having a history teacher with me on this trip. 

Obelisk of Theodosius

It was cloudy and rainy just as it had been when we were last here in 2005 with our dear friends Julio and Fátima (RIP). We had stayed nearby at a wonderful hotel which I would later find. 

The Blue Mosque was just there. Its real name is the Sultan Ahmed Mosque. It's from the Ottoman era, is enormous and was built in the 17th century by Ahmed I. Eladio told me it was built to rival the older Hagia Sophia mosque close by. We queued up to go inside. On the two occasions I had been here in the 80's and 2005 there were far fewer tourists. This seemed like Venice except that nearly all the tourists were Muslims. We certainly didn't have to queue to go into either of the mosques last time. But the queue went fast. Here is Eladio with the Blue Mosque behind him and then the entrance to it below. 

The Blue Mosque

As is now quite normal for us, we took off our shoes and I wore a headscarf, the lovely blue and white one I had bought in Burano, Venice. As we walked out we went past a curious looking group. I approached them and they were from Uzbekistan! They only spoke Russian apart from their own language so I was able to exchange a few words haha. They were quite an unusual sight. 

Eladio with the group of Uzbeks visiting Istanbul on a sort of package tour - all wearing the same clothes. 

We then queued up to see the Hagia Sophia Mosque which is far older and which the Turks call Ayasofya. Eladio told me it had been Christianised at some point, a bit like the Mezquita in Córdoba. This is it, a picture I took from a very long queue. Below is the place to wash your feet, hands and face before going in. 

The Hagia Sophia Mosque and the washing area mostly used by men. 

We were finally inside. The part that most interests me in a mosque is where the people pray with such ritual. There was a rather strict Imam watching out to see if everyone was respectfully dressed and making sure no entered the men's prayer area if they were there just  visiting. This is him. 

A strict imam inside the Hagia Sophia Mosque in Istanbul

From the Hagia Sophia Mosque we decided to walk the streets of the Sultanahmet area in search of the lovely hotel we had stayed at  with our friends in 2005. I had tried to find it for this stay but couldn't remember the exact name. We found it just behind the Blue Mosque. It is the Sultanahmet Palace hotel. I had to have a photo to send to my dear friend Julio. He was amazed and so was I.

The Sultanahmet Palace hotel where we stayed in 2005. 

We had had our fill of mosques by then and decided to stop at a cafe for some Turkish tea (and a slice of baklava) to rest but also to get some wifi. It was in a street with lots of shops - a sort of bazar -I remember being there 18 years ago and a Turk saying to me "What can I do to get your money today?" I have never forgotten. Turks are great at selling anything but their persuasive techniques don't work with us as we can't be buying carpets, rugs, etc as there is no room in the car. That's why we won't be going to the wonderful Grand Bazar today. But I did get something we really needed and that was  a local sim card from a kiosk where a wonderful young man made sure we now have mobile internet for the duration of our stay. Thus we were able to use Google Maps to find our hotel. On our way we passed numerous shops selling spices and amazing Turkish sweets like this one.

One of the enticing sweet shops we saw yesterday

I read this morning that Istanbul has a population of around 15 million. For the record the population of the country is 84 million. But I wondered what the population of cats is in Istanbul. They are literally everywhere, including the mosques and just look at this one sitting on the dusty seat of an old motorbike outside a shabby and tattered looking shop. I read that there are about 125.000 strays and a population of 200.000. This has an explanation and comes from Ottoman times when the houses, like the hotel we are staying in, were made from wood. Thus cats were needed to chase away the mice which makes sense. I read too that cats enjoy a comfortable life here. We had three around us while we were eating at the kebab house here and of course fed them as everyone does, hahaha. 

There are lots of cats in Istanbul 

Thanks to Google Maps and our memory, we made it back to our hotel and large room with a huge balcony but with not much of a view. It was cold so we asked the owner to put the heating on which he did. We then had a picnic dinner using the chairs from the terrace but ate inside. I then caught up with emails, etc and looked for accommodation for our onward journey.

I slept very well last night here in Istanbul where we have a whole day to look forward to before we move on again.

We have come over 3.500 km and have at least another 2.500 to go. Wish us luck and I hope that our guardian angel keeps us safe on our journey.

Cheers friends and readers. Hope you have enjoyed the read and thanks for following us on our journey, the trip of our life.

Masha