The Magic Bus

Autumn Interrail 2024 — Story #1

Taken directly from my travel journal

Theme song while reading this entry: 🎵 Taksidiara Psihi by Tripes

The sun shines brightly, a bit too bright for an October morning. Leaning my head against the window, I travel on the Magic Bus, traversing ancient lands and memories across centuries. The clock next to the driver is stuck at 10:37 AM, and I am stuck in my thoughts of what has been and what will be, ignoring what is. I didn’t take a train this time, simply because trains between Bulgaria and Greece were nonexistent.

The Greek border check came and went effortlessly. We got a fifteen-minute break before rolling on again, and by 11:20 AM I was already stepping out into Serres, once more too early for anything to feel real. My friend Nikos was waiting for me, windows down on his car, which was quite fitting for his character anyway. We drove to his family’s home in the center before immediately heading back out for bougatsa, because of course the first thing you do in Greece is eat something delicious. Walking around town with him was like following a local celebrity; he greeted at least six people in the span of five minutes. Half of these people were also named Nikos. Soon after, I met his family: a physics-teaching mum, a brother who dreams of becoming a chemist, and a dad who casually plays the bouzouki. Somehow it all made perfect sense.

Later, we met yet another Nikos – this one from a nonprofit we sometimes work with – and took a walk around The Valley, a park-like stretch with a waterfall, a lake, and a forest path. It’s also the area his NGO helps clean, which made the whole place feel even more alive and cared for. After that, we visited his grandparents’ old, abandoned house, still guarded by a cat and a couple of chickens who looked like they owned the place.

The evening came gently, with the typical Greek summer vibe. Dinner with Nikos’s family, a nighttime stroll through the vibrant streets of Serres, and a cup of rakomelo – warm, sweet, slightly dangerous. We took a night drive, got stopped by the police for a moment (nothing dramatic, but my heart did skip a beat!), visited an old Greek fortress that may or may not have been built specifically to keep those nasty Bulgarians out, and finally ended the day in a calm, comfortable silence.

Morning came early, and with it a trip to the Snow Village, where Nikos’s father grew up. We arrived at sunrise, overlooking the entire Serres region painted in soft light. We picked cherry tomatoes straight from the garden, watered the plants, and even pet a few puppies near the village church. It felt like stepping into a small, self-contained world that existed only for that morning.

But that still, tender morning was only the prologue. Standing there above Serres, I felt the familiar flutter of the journey waking up inside me – the sense that something is starting to roll, like a train gathering speed even before it reaches the tracks. Quite ironic for an interrailer, isn’t it?

Serres had been a warm landing, a gentle welcome, a doorway.

And then, as the sun climbed higher and the air warmed, it hit me:
this was only day one.

With my backpack slung over my shoulder and the road calling from somewhere beyond the mountains, it was finally time to move, to follow that rising excitement into whatever stories waited ahead.

Next stop: Ioannina – and the real beginning of the adventure.

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