The ‘real’ Midnight Express was a train that ran from Istanbul to the Turkish city of Edirne, close to the Bulgarian border. Its uniqueness came from the fact that, en route, it would cut through a corner of Greece for a few miles before cutting back into Turkey. As this was a regular occurrence, and for a short distance in an otherwise sparsely populated area, no border formalities were required. As a result the train, which left Istanbul’s Sirkeci station at midnight, was popular with those who needed to get out of Turkey for whatever reason. Western backpackers whose visas had expired, criminals on the run, and probably a few smugglers too, would board this train in Istanbul, and jump off as the train passed through Greek territory.

Today this Midnight Express still runs, but it doesn’t leave at midnight, no longer passes through Greece, and is partially operated by a rail replacement bus. As a consequence it might seem that it would be of limited use for those wishing to stay on the wrong side of the law, but as I discovered one August night in 2015, this was not the case.

The train is in actual fact the ‘other half’ of the fabled Balkan Express, a ride on which was described in a previous post. Until recently this train ran from Istanbul to Vienna, although no single vehicle would ever make the entire trip; the carriages and locomotives being shunted on on off no less than seven times in the course of the forty hour journey. At the time of  travelling, the Balkan Express was operating in two halves either side of Sofia, with both sections arriving/departing there just in time to miss one another.

On the night of my departure, the Balkan Express was operating as a replacement bus from Sirkeci station, the historic terminus of the Orient Express, to the final station in Turkey, the border post at Kapikule. After buying a ticket in the booking hall of the forlornly train-less terminus, we were ushered onto a modern white coach, where we found ourselves seated in front of a group of young Spanish women on their first Interrail adventure around Europe. At around 10.30 pm, after much shouting and waving of bits of paper, and accompanied by at least five railway staff, we were off. We joined the motorway towards Edirne and then promptly pulled into the services for 45 minutes.

After a wholly unnecessary meal break (who would dare eat too much if they knew what toilet facilities lay in wait) we continued to the border, arriving at the deserted Kapikule station around 1.30 am. On staggering, bleary-eyed onto the platform, we discovered that the passport office was closed and the train was not due until 3 am. The small group of us variously sat in the waiting room (that, at least, was open), or paced the platform until, until some border police arrived and opened up – just as the largest, noisiest, and scariest-looking diesel locomotive pulled in with two of the oldest, dirtiest, and most decrepit-looking passenger coaches. After getting our passports stamped, we rushed to secure seats in the ‘more comfortable’ of the two, only to find the train would be splitting further on and we needed the other half. Luckily there was an empty compartment in the other coach, and along with the Spanish girls, we took it over. We closed the door and then watched the train fill up with other passengers, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere (they weren’t on the bus) and had the most ridiculous quantities of luggage. They also seemed to be redecorating the entire carriage, judging by the bangs and crashes we could hear from the adjacent compartments.

At 3 am, a whistle blew, the engine roared like an incredibly hungry dinosaur, and we were off – but not for long, as after dashing across the border, the lights of the adjoining motorway checkpoint in the distance, we squealed to a halt at the Bulgarian border station of Svilengrad. Here, things got more interesting as what appeared to be an entire regiment of border guards were on the platform ready to welcome us. As they filed aboard the carriage and marched up and down the corridor, we wondered what rigours they might subject us to. Already, I was trying to look up the Bulgarian phrase for ‘Officer, it’s just powdered milk for my tea’. However I needn’t have worried, as after a cursory glance at our passports, they obviously had better things to do with their time.

Our neighbours were not so lucky, as shouted questions, loud arguments, and the sound of an electric screwdriver could be heard through the thin partition. Suddenly there was a scream – but this time from our own compartment as one of the Spanish girls, looking up at the mirror above the seat backs, suddenly saw it move as a police officer (standing in the other compartment) appeared in the hole where it had been, shining a torch at us.

Eventually we presumed that some sort of agreement had been reached as the passengers started to leave the train, with significantly less luggage than they had started with, but still looking perfectly happy. Talking to a few other ‘bona fide’ passengers, it appeared that it was all a bit of a game. The smugglers would ‘let’ the border guards find a few cigarettes, have a good old shouting match, pay a bribe, and get away with the rest of what they were carrying. So after two hours at Svilengrad (I had always wondered why cross-border trains are consistently late) it was smiles all round.

The rest of the journey was uneventful. With most of the passengers gone, and the train now down to one coach behind a (much quieter) electric locomotive, we bounced through the beautiful Bulgarian countryside as the first light of day appeared. A long day in Istanbul, and a night of some excitement meant that the slippery green benches of our compartment felt like a comfortable sofa, and so we slept soundly until our arrival at around midday in the station at Gorna Orjahovitsa.