|
Going to church in Bulgaria's capital
By Dori Saltzman -Contributing writer
I tug gently on the woman's blue down jacket and hold my map out to her as we leave the church.
"Sveta Sofia," I say raising the inflection of the last syllable while tapping the map with my finger.
The woman says something in Bulgarian and, taking the map, begins to search, tracing street markings with her fingers. She finds a picture of a church and points to it. Then she waves her hand in the direction I should walk.
"Blagduryah," I respond, mangling the word for "thank you."
At the nearest intersection I find the place on the map and seek the best way to get there from where I am standing. It takes me about a minute to realize the woman has pointed to the picture of the church in which we were standing-the St. Nicholas Russian Church, not Sveta Sofia.
The lady in the blue jacket was the third local to steer me wrong in my search for Sveta Sofia. It's surprising, as the name of the city was taken from the church in the 14th century and not the other way around. Perhaps it's because Sofia is a city of churches with at least 14 major churches, a mosque and Europe's largest Sephardic synagogue. I can understand how even the locals might get confused as to which church is which.
The church the lady mistook for Sveta Sofia was the St. Nicholas Russian Church. A pretty little church, St. Nicholas is truly a worshipper's church; tourists are only allowed in the entry hall where three religious paintings are on display.
The cramped antechamber, thick with the odour of incense and melting wax, is a revolving door of congregants coming to pay their respects to the saints depicted in the paintings. For the tourist, a quick look around is all that's needed.
More time is certainly required at the Alexander Nevski Memorial Cathedral. Built in 1912 in honour of the soldiers killed during the 1877-1878 War of Liberation from the Ottoman Empire, the mammoth five-aisle church is definitely impressive.
The cavernous interior echoes with visitors' footsteps, and the light from the golden chandeliers doesn't penetrate the furthest corners. Like all Eastern Orthodox churches the walls, ceiling and domes are covered in iconic art, including frescoes and murals of both religious and culinary scenes. The wealth of Italian marble, Egyptian alabaster, Brazilian onyx and gold-plated icons on display is overwhelming.
Not as resplendent as the Nevski Church, the Rotunda of St. George is impressive for its antiquity. Originally built in the second century AD, the church has been rebuilt several times and was even used as a mosque during the 15th century.
From outside the circular church looks much larger than it actually is and the circular interior is disorienting. Once inside I found myself off-balance. Without four square walls my head spun as I felt like the church was rotating around me. I was grateful for the wooden folding chairs.
Not much is left of the art and frescoes that once adorned the walls and dome, but the church maintains its peaceful, spiritual essence. The desire to sit and linger, and lose myself in thought, was great.
This was not the case at the Sveta Nedalya church located five minutes away. Despite the strong smell of burning wax from the plentiful taper thin memorial candles, Sveta Nedalya did not warm me. Dimly lit, what sunlight there was glinted frostily off the gold and silver icons.
Perhaps my unease was due to a lingering aura of death, for many people died there. In April 1925 a group of communists blew up the church in at attempt to kill King Boris III who was attending services. Boris survived, but 123 others were killed.
I finally stumbled upon the Sveta Sofia church the day after I began my search for it. A half-remembered conversation with a friend who'd been to Sofia led me to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Sveta Sofia is right next to it.
Though it is not quite as old as the St. George Rotunda it does date back to the first millennium AD. But in the sixteenth century, under Turkish rule, Sveta Sofia was converted into a mosque and served as such until 1858.
In that year an earthquake destroyed much of the building, killing several members of the royal family. Considered an omen of doom, the city's rulers abandoned the building as a house of worship.
Bits and pieces of the original structure and art are still on display. The floor mosaic tiles are mostly gone, but a few are preserved in front of the altar and in the middle of the south nave. Several areas in the south nave also have glass flooring, giving visitors a glimpse at the original stone flooring.
Back at my hotel I stop at the concierge's desk. She was one of the locals who couldn't find Sveta Sofia on the map. I feel a bit like a Sofia insider as I give her a nudge in the right direction.
posted on 05/18/2005
|
