The Quiet Relics of Bulgaria's Past

The Church of the Forty Martyrs

Like many places, Bulgaria has quiet reminders of its noble past in the form of old churches. Walking down a rocky hillside, I arrived at the Church of the Forty Martyrs. It has a low roof, a dim, vault-like interior, but it is very strong. This church was built by King John Osen in 1330. In 1389, the Turks turned it into a mosque, and Christians couldn’t worship there again until 1877. Only part of the original building remains. Some of the granite pillars are from different periods: one came from a Roman temple, and another is clearly Greek. The Christians used pieces from earlier buildings. I looked through books of prayers written in ancient Slavic, with pages that were thin, brown, and crumbling in my hands.

The Metropolitan Church

I continued to a nearby church, the Metropolitan Church, which is now mostly forgotten, holding only one service a year. The old woman who took care of the church lost the key, but she suggested breaking the lock. After waiting for nearly an hour and smoking in the shade, the key was found. Inside, the church was dark, and the frescoes of saints had strange, exaggerated faces. The pillars were made of black marble, probably taken from a Greek temple. In a small room, I found old manuscripts hidden behind a crack in the wall—these could be treasures for someone who studies history. The monks’ seats were covered in dust and cobwebs. There were many ikons hanging in the dim light, and large candelabras hung from the ceiling Ancient Bulgaria Tour.

The church felt eerie, silent, and forgotten by most. But I couldn’t help wondering if the spirits of those who once worshipped here, like children and old men, might still visit. For an hour, I had the church to myself. I sat in one of the monk’s seats, and sunlight shone down from a crack in the roof, lighting up the Virgin’s face. It was a peaceful, thoughtful hour.

The Monastery of the Transfiguration

A Bright and Colorful Place

The sun was high in the sky, and the road was dusty as we raced towards the Monastery of the Transfiguration. The path twisted and turned, climbing higher and higher. We left the main road and walked through a cool area filled with tall trees. The quiet was broken by the sound of water dripping. After a while, we arrived at the monastery. It wasn’t like the old, crumbling buildings I had seen before. This monastery was bright and colorful. The grass was a rich green, and the sky was a deep blue. The white walls were covered in bright, colorful pictures, and the roof tiles had a warm, reddish color. Vines grew everywhere, adding to the lively, beautiful atmosphere.