The Elephant and the Umbrella
The Elephant Bookshop is going to be one of my favourite places in Sofia. Well, I have only been there once. It's welcoming, friendly, quirky and full of reasonably-priced and very readable English language books. Nothing by P.J. O'Rourke, alas, but I left my umbrella behind and so that means that I will have to go back there again. (That sounds a bit like throwing a coin into the Trevi fountain in Rome. There was also the curious story about the RAF pilot who left his brush and comb in a London hotel. Years later, when the war was over, he went back to the hotel and there was his brush and comb set.)
The poet John Betjeman, one of my heroes, passionately hated all airports because he thought that they were dictatorial and dehumanizing places, but maybe Moscow's airports will be my big chance to read past Harry Lime's funeral on page 4. Not quite the same as messing about in boats and Mr. Toad.