Day #8 - The Malá Fatra - Returning to reality

Sobota (Saturday), 26. augusta 2017-- (excerpts from my journal The Pressburg Diaries, vol V and a separate travel diary)

 

All good things must come to an end, and so today our week-long adventure in the Malá Fatra concludes. We finished our breakfast by eight and settled the bill for the whole week with the strict but kind, elderly mother with wiry hair who ran the establishment. She runs a tight ship here, but her employees—virtually all young women—seem to love working here, and the spotless rooms and dining hall and tasty home-cooked meals reflect her management skills. The damage report for the whole week, including dinners, came to 252 euro. Not at all bad for a week for two in paradise.

 

We relaxed awhile back in the room, then packed our things. We still had time to kill, so we took it easy some more as if we were at home. In fact, we kind of were. Our quaint little inn, comfortable, warm and cozy (nights in the mountains in mid-August can be downright cold), had been our home away from home for a week. We had grown attached to this place, and we were both sad to leave. “Do we really have to go back to reality?” we asked each other. Ah, but we have cats and I suppose they’d appreciate it if we came home, even if Uncle Niko (Zuza’s son) was looking after them.

Our home away from home

 

At 9:30, we looked at each other, sighed, took up our packs and slowly, forlornly, and made our way to the bus stop down the street. At 9:40 the bus for Žilina arrived and we boarded it. I brought both the walking stick I picked up at the “symbolic cemetery” on Tuesday as well as one I picked up last night at Koliba pod Rozsutcom. I’d seen it there Sunday or Monday, resting against a table. But I left it in case someone had lost it and came looking for it. But last night, I found it behind the koliba. Someone had moved it, and this time I decided to take it.

 

Our bus stopped in Terchová for a huge group of mostly Czech tourists, including—guess who??—“Grizzly Adams”! Now this was like the fifth time we’d seen him during the past few days. It was amazing we got all those people and their luggage on that bus. It was tight, but miracles do happen. Fifty minutes of country roads later, we arrived in Žilina. We took our luggage and walked next door to the train station, only to find out the train to Bratislava was going to be 40 minutes late. We called Niko because he knows a lot about trains. He did some research online and messaged us that the train was delayed. Well, that much was already clear. But at least we had plenty of time to get water and buy some snacks. I also found some more stickers for my Turistický Denník (Tourist Diary sticker book), as well. As the delay stretched into 45 and then 50 minutes, Niko filled us in whenever he learned new information about the fate of our train. Finally an hour had passed. According to him, the reason our train was delayed was because of a “jumper”, that is, someone who had jumped onto the track with the purpose of ending their life. He explained it’s psychologically traumatic for the engine driver, so they have to change the driver before they can proceed. Of course, they also have to call the police, fire and rescue, and then clean the engine, which is usually changed anyway, and then investigate the death. So finally after a little more than an hour, or train arrived.

 

Sobered by our week of simplistic living in the mountains and the end of someone who threw their life away rather than get away from it all and see the mountains, for instance, we were mildly numb as our train rolled gradually south towards Bratislava. At one point, we passed through the city of Trenčín, home to one of the finest castles in all of Slovakia. We pulled into the station, but the castle was no longer visible. We were sitting on the opposite side of the train, so I flocked like a hungry sheep to the other side to catch a fleeting glimpse of Trenčín Castle as we pulled away from the station.

A fleeting glimpse of Trenčín Castle from the train

 

The really hard part about returning to reality, aside from getting my teaching schedule ready for the upcoming week, was that it was a muggy 36 degrees (Celsius) in Bratislava! Yay! We were accustomed to daytime temperatures of 20-23 degrees of sunshine and dry air in the mountains, with as low as 8 degrees at night. Reality, as it stood now, was a sauna, and it was like a heavy hand trying to hold us down or push us back. Fine, so be it, then. I’d rather get back on the train and go back to the mountains. We sweated and stumbled our way through the station with the hundreds of other holidaymakers and the drunken homeless bums who call the station home, found our way to the bus stop, and grabbed whatever seats we could. The bus was air-conditioned, sort of. Mostly it was crowded. We were glad to be close to home, even if it was reality. Once home, we unpacked, did some light shopping and tried to reacclimatise to overheated city life. Truth be told, we weren't all that thrilled to be back. I know one thing for sure, though: our cats were delighted that we were home.

Someone was glad we were home

 

Day #7 – The Malá Fatra – The last hike in paradise--with the same hikers

Piatok (Friday), 25. augusta 2017-- (excerpts from my journal The Pressburg Diaries, vol V and a separate travel diary)

 

The sun is out again. It should be warm, too. I think the general plan is to take the lift up to some ridge (Chata pod chlebom) and do some hiking there. We’re both tired so we’ll see how the day goes.

 

At 9:50 we caught the bus to Vrátna and caught the closed-cabin lift up to a loaf-shaped lump of a mountain called Chleb, located 1,453 meters above sea level. But we actually started well above it, at Snilovské sedlo. The air up at this height is really fresh. That is, unless you have to share the chair lift with a large and friendly, but very smelly dog! Some Irish fellow and his Czech girlfriend got into the same cabin, and there was just enough room for the four us and their enormous Saint Bernard. There was a little hatch in the plastic bubble window I could open for fresh air. I kept my nose and mouth as close to this vent as possible as if it were my own personal oxygen mask. We were relieved when we reached the top and got out into the fresh air. I don’t think these people realised how much their dog smelled—not only his breath, but it was like he hadn’t been bathed in ages! Obviously they’re immune to the odor.

The closed-cabin chair lifts at Vrátna

What a view from above! 

Zuza’s head bothers her today—another migraine. The night before last it was her stomach, and to top it off, she has a blister on her heel from her walking shoe rubbing there. Tomorrow we go back to reality in Bratislava, so we need to make the most of our last day of hiking. I have invoices to do, plus I lose income over another public holiday on the 29th, but it’s better not to think of reality now. We’ve been in the Malá Fatra long enough now that we’re starting to run into the same hikers we’ve seen on various other hikes this week. Here we saw the same nicely-bearded “Grizzly Adams” fellow we saw at Podžiar and later Koliba pod Rozsutcom yesterday.  Between his beard and scraggly hair, he looked very outdoorsy. Most likely he was Czech. But as soon as we got off the chair lift, we walked to the sedlo and sat to rest until Zuza felt well enough to go on. At least the view from here, at 1,524 meters, was nothing short of spectacular.

Vrátna-Chleb, near Snilovské sedlo

After half an hour, we decided to take the trail down to Chata pod Chlebom. We reached it by just after 12 noon and got in line at the lodge for beer, tea, apple strudel, and cabbage soup from a rather grumpy woman working there. According to Zuza, the strudel was inedible. At least the soup was tasty, loaded with paprika, as I like it. I downed my beer and went back for a second one and to put an ink stamp in my journal. Someone must have given Grumpy Lady a flower because this time around she was much kinder. The couple with the smelly Saint Bernard was there, too, as was “Grizzly Adams”. This is now the fourth time we’ve seen him in the past two days with his group of hiker friends. It was if he was following us. Or were we following him? He was quite a loud, chatty fellow; you could hear his conversation above anyone else’s, and Zuza said his accent sounded as if he was from northern Morava or even Silesia, perhaps close to Ostrava.

 Lunchtime at Chata pod Chlebom, 1,423 meters above sea level

The trail between Chata pod Chlebom and Snilovské sedlo

At one o’clock or so, we decided to walk slowly back up to Snilovské sedlo. We had return tickets on the chairlift, so we didn’t need to get in line to purchase them. This time we shared the ride with two (Czech?) hikers in their 60s. Zuza delighted in sharing with them our experience on Sokolie Monday afternoon. And they talked about beer. We recommended Vŕšky—the beer, that is. The brewery was not that impressive. Zuza really enjoyed the dark beer they make. At the bottom, we waited for the bus back to Štefanová. I spotted an old woman from the hills selling what looked like string cheese. She looked truly a part of the scenery.

 The local string cheese lady

We went back to our lodgings and rested there. I have no idea how many kilometers we hiked today, but it wasn’t much. Finally, we got dressed and walked the five minutes to Koliba pod Rozsutcom for dinner. I was anxious to try their guláš, and it was definitely good! As we ate our dinner, sitting on the newly-built covered wood porch, I recounted my impressions of the past week. We saw lots of dogs on the hikes, some owners carried their pets in special doggy backpacks. The most impressive feeling I’m coming away with from the mountains is how vast nature is, and despite technology, industry, and the damage we’ve done to the planet, how much virgin nature there still is. It’s not all gone. It’s refreshing to realise humans have not destroyed everything and how tiny and insignificant humanity is against the power of Mother Nature. I felt small, humbled, and utterly powerless. I realized, too, how glad I am in retrospect when I cancelled a hiking trip here in 2015. I could have gone with a group of people in June that year, but due to a hangover from a party the night before, I cancelled the morning we were due to leave. I waited two years and got to experience it all with Zuza instead, so this trip to paradise was definitely worth the wait.

Ah, guláš at long last! 

Day #6 – The Malá Fatra – Saddled between the Rozsuteces

Štrvtok (Thursday), 24. augusta 2017-- (excerpts from my journal The Pressburg Diaries, vol V and a separate travel diary)

 

Well, I think today we’ll try what we didn’t do yesterday—to ascend Malý Rozsutec. The Fog Fairy finally decided to leave and let the sun take over. We left our pension about 9:30-ish and started hiking up the yellow trail to Sedlo Vrchpodžiar. I bought two stickers—the very first—for the brand new Turistický Denník (Tourist Diary sticker book) I bought yesterday in Terchová. This is a clever way of keeping track of all the places you visit. Better than postcards, you not only have a small picture of the location, but some information about it as well. Plus, there’s space to write your own notes and comments.

 

Now, fast forward to 14:43 (2:43 pm). We’re at Medziholie, at the bottom of the trail to Veľký Rozsutec, and we changed our original hiking plan. Looking back and up to this point, the hike so far was a total of 11.5 kilometers, 800 meters of which was up and then 800 meters back down. Then came the really hard part. We climbed up the famed Jánošikove Diery, or Janošik’s Gorge, which is essentially a unique system of waterfalls and deep crevices in the rocky mountainside, formed by the Dier Stream. It was a strenuous hike up, some of it on metal ladders and more chains over rushing water and sharp drops into crevices and mountain streams. It was extremely slippery, and I had to concentrate on my footing. It was also wet and muddy in a number of places. I stopped to fold up and put away my metal walking stick, since I would need both hands to navigate the ladder.

Preparing to ascend Jánošikove Diery

 

Ladders and chains. Again.

 

It didn’t help that it was crowded. After all, we were in the high tourist season. There were numerous Czech and—you guessed it—Polish hikers. Many of them were confident and felt the need to sprint up the ladders. I was trying to take it easy and so I felt rushed in a number of places with the numbers of “speed hikers”. At one point, the ladder lead to a large, flat rock that served as a sort of landing, like at the top of a flight of stairs. Here, I was able to “pull over” and let the Poles and Czechs pass me. To my frustration, I discovered that I hadn’t secured the telescopic walking stick shut, and the inner part of the metal tube had slipped out and fallen down into the rushing stream someplace. There was no chance of recovering it. I couldn’t even see it from the height of the ladder above the gorge below, which was as much as perhaps ten meters (32.8 feet) in some places. I wasn’t even aware I’d lost it until I stopped to check it. The rungs of the ladder were also narrow, and although I have size 43 (9 ½ US) feet, I had a hard time securing my footing on the steep and slippery ladder. I tried not to look down and just kept focusing on reaching the top.

 

When the last of the Polish entourage had passed me and the next group of hikers were still several meters below me on the lower half of the ladder, I left the security of the landing and cautiously started up the last half of the ladder. There was no turning back. Hiking traffic goes in one direction and the only choice was to keep moving forward. I was breathing hard and fast, not even aware I was doing so. My hands were muddy from placing them on the rungs above me to brace myself. I must have looked like a beetle, slightly hunched over and trying to hold on anywhere I could. I was relieved when we reached the top and the trail went off into woods. I stopped to gather what was left of myself and make a few notes.

 

We have covered as such the following:

 

Štefanová  ---> Sedlo Vrchpodžiar

S. Vrchpodžiar  ---> Podžiar (beginning of the blue trail)

Podžiar  ---> Pod Palenicou (green trail)

P. Palenicou  ---> Pod Taněčnicou

P. Taněčnicou  ---> Sedlo Medzirozsutce

 

(Pod means ‘below’ and sedlo means ‘saddle’, or that gap between two mountain peaks.)

 

We met a Slovak couple at Podžiar and together we opted for the green trail up because it was a bit easier. Like me, the guy was sick and tired of ladders and chains. I was glad I wasn’t the only one. By the time we got to Pod Palenicou—where a number of people were camped on the grass in an open meadow, I was already fatigued. I was in no shape at this point to tackle the final 10-minute (or so the guidebook said—never trust the book, right?) hike up the red trail to the summit of Malý Rozsutec. We decided to rest in the meadow and enjoyed the warmth of the sun there. I started to recalculate the trail we’d take from here. After about 45 minutes, Zuza decided that she would like to hike that last, really steep part. OK, and I’d stay here in the “saddle” between the two peaks and bask in the sun and wait for her to come back down. But by the time we walked the short distance to Pod Tanečnicou, where the red trail started, we realized that it was 20 minutes up, not ten (Ha! The guidebook was wrong!), or so the sign said. And then at least that many minutes back down, plus a few more to mull around at the top. So figure an hour, round trip. What was I going to do in the sedlo for an hour all by myself? I got out my camera and zeroed in on the summit of Malý Rozsutec. Through the zoom lens setting, I could see a steady stream of people inching their way up the steep red trail, like an army of ants on a mission. And there were ladders and chains. It looked it my estimation to be at least a 60° angle going up. Wow, it was steep! Yikes! So at that point, even Zuza decided to bag it and move on. Clearly this is a hike requiring at least some skill and experience. I realized, too, that I’m much better in biking than in hiking. I need to build up the endurance to tackle some of these mountain slopes that Slovaks find incredibly easy. 

Resting between the two peaks

Hikers crawling up Malý Rozsutec

We sat saddled between the two mountains until we came up with a different plan. So now our newly amended hiking path would include:

 

Sedlo Medzirozsutce  ---> Sedlo Medziholie

S. Medziholie  ---> Štefanová, via the koliba at Pod Rozsutcom

 

We’ll have to calculate the total distance, but it should be somewhere between 12 and 15 kilometers round trip.

 

So it was now 14:30 in the afternoon. From here, the junction of the red trail to the summit, we decided to take the long trail around the back (north) side of Veľký Rozsutec via Medziholie and take us up to 2 hours to get back. There was a shorter trail down, but much steeper. I didn’t want anymore steep anything in my regiment today. An 80 year-old woman was at the same junction, looking fit as a fiddle for her age. She was wiry, too. She only needed advice on which trail to take down. Zuza chatted with her a few minutes, and the woman went one way and we went the other.

 

Zuza and I glided down the long trail around the back of the larger of the two Rozsutec peaks. We encountered very few other hikers. We traipsed through woods and open meadows of fluffy, tall grass. Only in a few places were there some steep drops, but there were trees, thankfully, which would stop me from rolling too far. I didn’t fancy whacking my head against the trees, but I knew it might be a safer option than rolling down into some abyss. We talked about our college days and reminisced about the classes and lectures we remember.

 

The trail went on and on. We stopped occasionally to relieve ourselves, take a picture, or nibble on snacks. Eventually, we came to Sedlo Medziholie, right smack underneath Veľký Rozsutec. Right in front of us was the trail that we would have come down, had we done the summit at Malý Rozsutec and then come the way we had originally planned. There were a couple of other trails there which all seemed to meet. Again, there was a large, open meadow, and people here and there sprawled out on their jackets or blankets, soaking up the sun and the peace nature was offering.

 

View of Veľký Rozsutec from Sedlo Medziholie

Neither of us had quite anticipated the rigors of the first leg of the climb. Zuza has memories of her dad (then about 70—he passed away in January 2017 at 81) doing this hike. I regret I was tired and not in the best shape to tackle the challenge of this one. Perhaps in the future I’ll be better prepared. I also think a pair of gloves would be in order, to protect my hands when grappling rocks and trees. My hands are still sore after Monday’s challenge on Sokolie. The main casualty of today’s hike, however, was my telescopic walking stick. To start with, I’d left it behind in the shop at Sedlo Vrchpodžiar where I bought the stickers for my diary. The shop assistant came running out with it. Even on Sokolie I had visions of losing it. It was bound to happen sooner or later, I guess, and today was the day.

At 16:30, we ended up at Koliba pod Rozsutcom and ordered a Kofola and an 11° Vŕšky. From there, it was just five minutes to our pension, a hot shower and finally dinner.

"Back at the lodge". We had been on the opposite side of those two Rozsutec peaks

Day hike to Holíč and Kopčany

Sv. Margita Antiochijska Chapel, Kopčany

Sunday, 15. September, 2019  (excerpts from my journal The Eurotraveller, vol 4 plus a hiking log)

 

We left bright and early from home to catch the 8:16 train to Kúty. It’s another public holiday (Our Lady of Sorrows Day—something tied to the Catholic church), and like any public holiday, people tend to leave the city in droves. The train was completely full (we were lucky to get seats!), and I was annoyed by the behavior of some of the passengers. The guy sitting opposite Zuza and me was loud and obnoxious. Zuza said it’s a good thing I don’t understand Slovak very well. He was telling his girlfriend, who was seated across the aisle, how he wanted her to come and clean all the windows in his house and how he would dictate exactly how to do it. I was relieved when they got off at Zavod.

 

An hour after leaving Bratislava, we arrived in Kúty. A local two-car, putt-putt diesel train that would take us to Holíč was waiting on the platform when we arrived. Thankfully, not many people from the larger train from Bratislava were taking it with us. They were boarding another train for a religious pilgrimage, which is what today’s holiday was all about, apparently. Despite that late-summer-to-early-autumn chill in the morning air, it was already starting to warm up. Ten minutes later, we arrived at Holíč, and here we were virtually on the border with the Czech Republic. Immediately upon leaving Holíč Station, we began the trek towards the center of town and an old windmill (Veterný mlyn) on the edge of town Zuza said was worth a visit. We passed a couple of old churches. The first was St. Martin’s, dating to about 1750-something and painted a bright creamy yellow.

Sv. Martin, Holíč

 

Holíč is like virtually any other small Czechoslovak town: old houses lining the main street, pubs or hostinec here and there usually on a street corner, and the usual panelak (prefabricated) block of flats from the communist era. We turned left and went up a hill towards Kaplnka sv. Floriána (Chapel of St. Florian) and walked along Hurbanova Street. Now we were sort of getting out of town. We passed a gleaming orthodox church, Chrám Matky Božej Počajevskej, which Google Translate calls The Temple of the Mother of God. It didn’t look very old at all. On the other side of the road, peering over a crumbling brick wall, we noticed the sad remains of a Jewish cemetery. Nobody seems to keep these relics up. There was hardly anything worth seeing. Passing that, we were aware of popping sounds in the distance. Fireworks at this time of the year? No, those aren’t fireworks, Zuza said. We were passing a shooting range, and a bunch of people were out doing target practice. I just hoped we wouldn’t have to duck a bunch of stray bullets.

 

Uphill from the shooting range was a small cropping of woods, and here was the old windmill, hidden at the top of the hill in a thicket of birch trees. It’s not that old, perhaps dating from the late 19th century. When you’re from the United States and you live in Europe, you start thinking of the late 19th century as “yesterday”. In Oregon, we have some houses and buildings, particularly in Portland, dating to the 1870s and 1880s, and those are “ancient” by our standards. We camped out here, at a picnic table for perhaps 45 minutes. Zuza brought a magazine to read and I worked on a few sketches of the windmill. It was also getting hot, and I changed into a pair of shorts I brought with me. By this time, the shooting was getting really annoying.

 

We moved on, walking back into town, but taking a different way.  In the center, we passed the Holíčské menhiry, or what could be called the Slovak Stonehenge. These long stones are some thousands of years old and boast some carvings on them. They were excavated years ago when the area housing developments were being built. As was typical of the communists, they just tossed them aside rather than try to preserve them in a museum. I guess we should be thankful they didn’t destroy them. Nevertheless, they were already somewhat damaged, according to a French archaeologist who visited the site and deemed the stones a very significant find. Like Stonehenge, the stones had been arranged in some kind of circular fashion and were used for rituals and perhaps even sacrifices. At least the stones are resting here in a park in Holíč, and perhaps most surprisingly, no one has (yet!) vandalized them with graffiti.

 Slovak Stonehenge

From here, we were essentially in the center of town and quite close to the next stop on our walk, Holíčský zámok, or Holíč Castle. Well, it’s really more of a chateau than a castle in the true sense of the word, and not much different from the more famous Schloßhof in Austria. Maria Theresa spent time here in the summers, as she did at Schloßhof. Her husband, the Duke of Lorraine, or Francis Stephen, owned this estate, as well as a ceramic factory nearby. Holíč was the only second imperial seat in Slovakia after Bratislava. We decided to spend the two euros admission and take a tour of the castle, but we had to wait an hour. In the meantime we strolled around the castle, looking at the fishpond and the herbal garden nearby. This part had only recently been fixed up by the city, and the landscaping was well done. It was a really nice place to walk through.

 

Back to the chateau. It was built on the site of a 12th-century fortification, and apparently it occupied a strategic position along an old trade route. The interesting thing about this site is that it is not restored. At first glance, it’s pretty and impressive. However, when you walk up close to it, you can clearly see the plaster falling off the walls, the louvered window shades are in disrepair, and in general, the place is shabby. At 1 pm, we met the young lady from the information office who took us on a guided tour. We were the only tourists, so it was a tour just for us. Indeed, not much has been restored. There are only about five rooms which are open to the public, and you really do have to watch your step inside. Much of the castle is dark and dilapidated. The floors are dusty and very uneven. The stairs are worn and crumbling.

It was fascinating.

Totally abandoned. Dirty. Dusty. Dark. Lonely. Creepy. Broken tiles and plaster missing; wood scaffolding exposed underneath. It was as if the 18th century had just given up and walked out, leaving the mansion behind. I wonder what secrets are hidden here. Only the walls know. According to the guide, the chateau became the property of Czechoslovakia in 1918 at which time it was used as a basic school, then after many years it became some kind of agricultural school. At one point, some crazy American businessman bought it but did nothing with it and it sat empty. Finally, in 2007 the city of Holíč acquired it and restoration began. One or two rooms had period-correct furniture and artwork on display. A few of the other renovated rooms were used as storage for clearly much later furniture and farm machinery and tools. It was sort of an odd museum, showcasing the town’s history of the last 200 years.

 

Proper, historically accurate restoration of a chateau on this scale costs a phenomenal amount of money—money which the city does not have. There are, of course, private donors with that kind of cash, but more often than not they’re more interested in turning such a place into a fancy hotel or a winery—something with which they can make money. The trick is to find someone with the money and the passion to restore the residence to its former glory. The museum can raise some money from the tours they provide and from a modest gift shop inside the castle’s office. However, it will probably take years until Holíčské zámok can be properly restored to the condition that Schloßhof is—and even that is a work in progress.

 Watch your step!

At this point, we’d walked a total of 7.9 kilometers since arriving at the Holíč train station. We were awed and hungry and we decided lunch was in order, and the tour guide recommended two places we might try. One was a pizzeria and the other a nicer proper restaurant. We opted for the latter, even though it was a longer walk. But the walk to the Jozef II Restaurant was worth it. We arrived and immediately sat on the outdoor terrace and ordered drinks. We both tried the Wywar beer on tap—a 11° lager for me while Zuza had the polotmavé, or “semi-dark”. For lunch, Zuza ordered camembert cheese with baked eggplant and roasted potatoes, and I went for the chili-laced pork tenderloin with creamy mushroom risotto. Everything was excellent and not at all expensive for two people for the quality of food and level of service. We were impressed. The experience was only marred by a family with screaming children, and when that family had thankfully left, they were replaced by a young couple with a baby. Only this time, the parents were the annoying ones. The mother seemed to pretend to be sweet to the kid, using silly baby talk that made Zuza roll her eyes. When the baby wouldn’t eat, the mother got angry and frustrated. I don’t understand much Slovak—I struggle with it. But I understood enough to be annoyed.

 

We paid the bill and were glad to leave the young family behind. We decided to hit the highway and start the 4-5 kilometer walk to the neighboring village of Kopčany. We would have enough time to see the 1,000 year old church there before catching the train back to Kúty. It was a long walk: 5.41 kilometers, to be exact. We walked along the main road connecting the two communities, straight into the sun. There was little to protect us from it, although we got to see some nice onion patches, cabbage and potato fields, as well as pumpkins and watermelon. I actually enjoyed the walk and the smell of onions. Eventually we turned off the highway and found a trail for bikes and pedestrians which meandered through sun-drenched fields of Kopčany. It’s quite a long walk, and not accessible by car. There were quite a few people, but all had come on foot or by bike.

 Onion fields forever!

The Sv. Margita Antiochijska (St. Margaret of Antioch) Church, said to be the oldest building in Slovakia, is one of the oldest churches in central Europe. It’s pre-Romanesque and not very big. The signboard nearby said it was built between the 9th and 10th centuries, so it’s closer to 1,100 years old. I know of only one other such church, near Nitra at Dražovce (the subject of a future blog), and it’s not quite as old. Try to think of what else was happening in the world at that time. The Vikings were making their conquests in western Europe. The Tale of Genji, written in Japan by Murasaki Shikibu and considered to be the world’s first novel, hadn’t yet been written. Africa had its Ghana Empire. This is the "it-blows-your-mind" kind of old. And we could go inside it to see the simple altar and the remnants of paintings on the walls. The glass in one of the windows was restored, and later we found out it had been made by an artist friend of ours in Bratislava.

 

A group of locals sat on a bench beside the church. One of the men was the “keeper of the keys”, and at precisely 5 pm, he got up and closed and locked up the church. A lipa (linden) tree stood nearby, planted last year to commemorate 100 years since the founding of Czechoslovakia. Now we were at 14.28 kilometers and we still had a couple of more to go to reach the Kopčany train station. The walk took us away from the church, in the direction opposite from which we’d arrived. We took a very long, very straight road, outside the village, fields to either side of us. 

People-friendly goats

We stopped to pet a group of friendly goats, which saw us walking by and came running to the fence. Soon, three local teenage gypsy girls stopped us to ask which train we were taking. Perhaps they were waiting for someone to arrive. The station, such as it was, was nothing more than an oversized bus stop, only one bench and a trash can. This is really local! Luckily we had return tickets, although in this case, you can also buy tickets directly from the conductor on board. Now we were at the end, 17.7 kilometers, and did our feet hurt! Before long, the putt-putt diesel showed us and dragged us to Kúty. Thankfully, our train to Bratislava was there, so we didn’t have to wait at all. We got seats and sat the whole way back. As is usually the case after such invigorating hikes, my mind was left spinning.

 

 

 

Day #5 – The Malá Fatra – A foggy day in Terchová

Terchová

Streda (Wednesday), 23. augusta 2017-- (excerpts from my journal The Pressburg Diaries, vol. V and a separate travel diary)

It’s foggy. Again. But at least if it doesn’t rain, we should be OK. I think we’re going to tackle Malý Rozsutec. We’ll see how it goes…

 

I’m taking with me a solid metal walking stick. At least it’s telescopic and it has a strap for my wrist. The phone reception up here in the mountains isn’t great, but who really cares? I came here to get disconnected from civilization. I’m staying off Facebook except to post a few pictures. Other than that, I’m disconnected. It baffles me how many hikers I’ve seen who are connected to their phones and the outside world. You spend all week in the city in an office with people and then you bitch and moan about it. Finally you get a week off to go to some of the finest nature you could ask for and … you need a cell phone to stay connected with people?? Never mind…

 

The fog fairy foiled our plans for hiking Malý Rozsutec, so instead we took the bus to Terchová to see what that town and the surrounding area had to offer. We started at the rather German-looking, late 19th-century church near the center. From the side of it, we picked up the green hiking trail and headed up into the fog-coated hills. Mist shrouded everything like the Virgin Mary. When we looked across the valley, all we could see was the top of the church’s steeple poking through the fog.

Oh, dear! A deer!

 

We began the walk up across dewy meadows and orchards, past a timid deer, to Vyšní Berešovci and finally to Kýčera, then to Poľany until bending to the right, until, high up above Terchová, we started the descent back down. This, for me, was pure nature. In the almost three hours that we traipsed through soggy meadows and orchards, we encountered just one human being. One. Even the settlement of Kýčera seemed eerily abandoned. One house, #829, had caught fire and burned. Its charred remains stood lonely, vulnerable, and open to the power of nature. Other old traditional cottages just seemed deserted, as if the inhabitants had suddenly dropped whatever they were doing and fled a Martian invasion. The settlement was mysteriously empty. It was creepy. It was so unbelievably still that I was afraid to breathe or let the gravel crunch under my hiking boots. There were, however, signs of life emanating from inside one house; voices or a TV, and the aroma of something oniony cooking. A car with Bratislava number plates sat in the driveway. There had to be people coming to these parts regularly because all the gardens and yards surrounding these cottages were neatly trimmed and well-kept. We even saw a deer at one point, shy and timid. We froze and quietly, cautiously snapped a few pictures of it. Zuza and I had been chatting back and forth the whole way up, but now I just wanted for us to shut the hell up and enjoy the silence and otherwise the gentle tinkling of sheeps’ bells way down in the fog shrouded valley.

House #829 in Kýčera, burned

A house in Vyšní Berešovci. Is anybody home?

 

Passing through Vyšní Berešovci, we continued through the loneliness of Kýčera and its few houses (some with outdoor toilets) until we came to Poľany. Here, five lipa (linden) trees were planted in a circle around a simple wooden cross—a monument or spiritual protector, apparently, for the settlements nearby. And it was here that we passed the last of three information boards, which gave some of the local history of the area. It was here that we passed the one lone human, another fellow hiker, we encountered on the entire walk.

The linden (lipa) trees

 

The trail from now on was mostly grass or muddy road. Our hiking shoes quickly gathered chunks of rich, chocolaty, sticky mud. From time to time I would try to wipe my soles clean on wet grass but to little avail. We passed a few more houses where, to our delight, a playful tortoiseshell kitten came out of the shrubs to greet us. She let Zuza pick her up and pet her, and later, when Zuza put her back down, she decided to follow us half a kilometer or so down the road. Honestly, it was sorely tempting to just scoop her up and take her home with us. She wouldn't leave us and kept on following us! Eventually, a car rumbled by and startled the kitten into the bushes.

The village kitten who wouldn't leave us 

Before long, we reached the bottom of the hike and the main road back to Terchová. We were now 3.5 kilometers from the center. It was chilly, and every 20 to 30 minutes we had to stop to relieve ourselves somewhere. We’d both left our mark over quite a bit of territory! I guess the chill has an effect on the kidneys. We also realized we were getting hungry, and we decided that lunch at the Vŕšky Pivovar (brewery) was in order. The unfiltered beer at Koliba pod Rozsuctom was so good that we decided to track down the brewery and try it from the source. Both of us quickly we needed to relieve ourselves again, and being along the main road, there were no places to do so. Being about 3 kilometers from Terchová proper, we decided to take a bus, as that would obviously be faster than walking.

 

Except that we waited and waited for the bus.

 

At last a bus arrived and Zuza asked the driver which stop was the closest to the brewery. Now we were starting to feel desperate. The driver was very kind and jovial. Mountain folk are like that, unlike the assholes who sometimes pilot the buses in Bratislava. He seemed pleased that we wanted to go to the brewery and recommended the dark beer there. I think we both would have loved to have chatted more with this fellow, but our bladders were threatening us to get a move on. However, he was nice enough to drop us off right across the street from the brewery, even though it wasn’t a designated bus stop. Unfortunately, we also had quite a steep (and thankfully short!) hike up to the pub because it was located on a hill next to a rather posh hotel. The whole area looked a bit out of place in the otherwise rustic “common folk” appearance of Terchová. There was a kind of obstacle course-amusement park in front, and when we finally arrived, a huge group of Slovak hikers—some kind of corporate team building event—was mulling about. The disappointing thing was that the restaurant side of the establishment was closed, thanks to the team building event, and only the pub was open to the public. So we both ordered beers, which was, of course, fabulous. (Zuza likes dark beer and so tried the dark beer per the bus driver’s recommendation.) But the lack of the restaurant and the somewhat posh atmosphere put us both off. We needed to eat and cursed ourselves for not bringing the sandwiches the pension staff had kindly made for us. We’d left them behind at the pension because we weren’t going to Malý Rozsutec after all, and we didn’t anticipate hiking as long as we did today.

 

We stayed for just one beer each and then decided to head down into town to find a restaurant where we could have some bona fide lunch. We ended up at a place called Haluškáreň, a local joint specializing in pretty much anything made with halušky, the national food which are sort of potato flour, gnocchi-like dumplings. Zuza ended up ordering lamb with halušky, while I went with chili con carne with halušky. I suppose it was more Tex-Mex than Slovak, but it was super delicious nonetheless. The restaurant staff gave all the patrons a shot of borovička (a strong, fiery liquor made from juniper berries) as a treat.

Lunch, at last!

 

After lunch, Zuza went to the local Co-op for snacks while I went souvenir hunting. The same jolly bus driver who’d taken us to the pub picked us up in the center and drove us back to our pension in Štefanová. A few hours later after resting and showering, we went down for a simple dinner and then came back up to the room to watch some gruesome episodes of an old 1980s Czechoslovak hospital serial called “Sanitka”. I was tired, a little sore, but I felt transformed by the day of peaceful walking.

Day#4 - The Malá Fatra - A symbolic cemetery

Vrátna dolina, where the hike began

Utorok (Tuesday), 22. augusta 2017-- (excerpts from my journal The Pressburg Diaries, vol V and a separate travel diary)

 

Sometimes I think the guidebooks lie. Or at least they’re written by “hiking gurus” who have “been there, done that” and have their own idea of what’s what and what they think should be the "norm". The hiking guide we have said yesterday’s hike was not so difficult, but I think it assumes you have reasonable hiking experience. I believe Slovaks spring forth from the womb knowing how to tackle even the steepest mountains, so that’s the basis on which to base everything else. I quickly learned the Slovak word for tough: naročný. That’s because I experienced it yesterday. There are also much more challenging climbs than that. And then there are the High Tatras. It makes me wonder whether each mountain chain gets progressively higher and more challenging. Hiking’s a Slovak mindset; kind of like guns and football are to Americans. Maybe that’s not the best comparison, but you get the idea.

 

So, it’s Tuesday. I almost lost track of the day—which is a good sign that I’m on holiday and disconnecting from the world. It’s overcast and even a bit foggy. That’s good because we’d agreed to do some lighter hiking today, anyway. Zuza suggested taking the bus in the direction of Starý Dvor again, but this time we’d take a different trail from a bit further and go to Chata na Grúni. It’s a bit of a diversion from our original plan, which was to take the chairlift to Chleb and walk along the ridge of that mountain. But because of the fog, the nice view (otherwise the reward for the hike) will likely be obscured. Of course the very original plan would have been to climb at least one of the Rozsutecs (Veľký or Malý) today, but after yesterday on Sokolie, we put that idea on hold. I think Zuza wanted to tackle the smaller (Malý) one for personal reasons. It was a favorite of her late father.

 

We got the bus from Štefanová to Vrátna dolina (not too far from Starý Dvor) and walked up to a “cemetery” honoring those who have died in the mountains. This includes hikers as well as mountain rescuers who lost their lives trying to save others. I put “cemetery” in quotations because Slovaks call this a symbolický cintorín, or a “symbolic cemetery”. There was quite a plaque commemorating the victims of a flash flood in the area on June 11, 1848. Virtually all the victims had the same surname, so they must have been related somehow. 

 

 At the "Symbolic cemetery", the names and ages of those who perished in the flood of 1848

Hiking back down to the bus stop, we picked up the yellow trail and took this a gentle hike up to Chata na Grúni. Here was a lodge in the middle of a meadow atop the 970-meter mountain. It had a large porch stretching around two sides of it. We sat out on the porch and enjoyed lentil soup, strapačky (gnocchi-like dumplings with sauerkraut), strudel, a radler (non-alcoholic beer with fruit flavoring) and 10° Urpiner beer. We stayed quite a while, despite a chilly breeze, and romped with a bunch of local kittens who were playing on the property.

 

As is to be expected in these parts, there were Poles galore hiking about. Every second couple or group seemed to be speaking Polish. They were loud but friendly. When the chill got to be too much, we decided to start moving again. We took the blue trail back down to Štefanová, which was basically a logging trail. It was steep and muddy, but nothing like yesterday. In fact, it reminded me of a page out a Ken Kesey book or from a scene in the Coast Range in Oregon. By this time, the fog and cloud cover had lifted, and the sun came out, bringing warmth and light to the valley. The trail came out at Stohový Potok, where we walked briefly the day before yesterday. And before we made it back to our lodge, we went up to Koliba pod Rozsutcom. Zuza had tea with rum, and I treated myself to another Vŕšky beer.

Chata na Grúni.

 

I’d picked up a walking stick along the way in Vrátna, at the “symbolic cemetery”. This stick, about a meter long, is smooth. The gnarled head at the end forms a kind of handle. I started carrying it, and after awhile I realized it felt right. I used my pocket knife to smooth out a few rough spots on it, and I think I’ll take it back to Bratislava with me. I can finish it, sand it a bit, or at least drill a hole in the handle and slip a leather thong through it.

The walking stick I adopted

 

Dinner back at the lodge is, like breakfast, included. But if you want to order something off the regular menu, you pay extra for that. Yeah, they have pizza, and I was ready for that. And it was really good. It was a better day. I consumed less energy and paced myself better.

Day#3 - The Malá Fatra - Sokolie the Bitch

Pondelok (Monday), 21. augusta 2017-- (excerpts from my journal The Pressburg Diaries, vol V and a separate travel diary)

The sun’s out this morning, but it’s chilly. It should warm up later and be OK for hiking. We had a simple breakfast at the pension. I wasn’t terribly hungry, but due to my good forethought, I took the extra bread, ham, and sliced peppers, wrapped them in some napkins, and put them in my backpack for later. We caught the local bus for Starý Dvor—in the middle of almost nowhere—and picked up the trail there. The hike up was gentle, and we traipsed across several meadows which afforded nice views of the surrounding mountain peaks. We rested at Sedla Prislop, the nicest of these meadows between peaks. So far so good. This was the easy part.

The climb was somewhat steep, but going up is easy. Many parts of the trail were studded with roots. At 12:30 (more or less), we made it to the top of Sokolie, 1171 meters above sea level. 

There were several sharp drop-offs, and my legs buckled just peering over the cliffs. I was careful not to venture too close to any edges. By now, we were pretty hungry, and thanks to the breakfast leftovers I’d brought, we fashioned sandwiches. I also had a bag of peanuts and some dried sausages—the central European equivalent of jerky. It was a good thing I’d brought this much because this was to be the only food we had until we got back down some two or three hours later. 

I won’t mince words. The hike down was a royal bitch. To me, it was more rock climbing than hiking. We took the yellow trail to Malé Nocláhy (at 1000 meters) and from there, we picked up the blue trail back down.

Checking the map at Malé Nocláhy 

What. A. Bitch.

Besides the steep and rocky trail, which was hard on the knees, ankles, and feet (thank God I’d chosen the ankle-high hiking boots and not the low-cut shoes!), it was also muddy and slippery in places, thanks to all the rain yesterday and the day before. I had difficulty securing my footing. There were a few really sharp drops and ravines of a few meters, which had to be scaled using chains and ladders. 

Ladders were easier than the bloody chains, which rattled loosely, making it tough in some areas to get a good grip. At least the ladders were secured into the rock. I was already hungry again, and I had only a few peanuts left. It was getting harder to stay focused. “It’s an easy trail”, the guidebook said. "Sokolie's a simple one to start with," they said. Easy, simple trail, my ass! Slovaks are born hikers, so almost anything’s “easy” for them. Never trust a hiking guidebook written by a Slovak when it says “easy”. Put that on a different scale and it equates roughly to “moderately challenging with rock climbing involved”. Granted, you don’t need crampons and ropes to do this, but it’s still climbing in my book. I was getting weary and I slipped a few times. Once, I slipped but I managed to grab onto a tree branch overhead, saving myself from butt-sliding down a steep (like an 80-degree angle!) slope. However, in the process, I pulled a muscle in my arm. In a few places, I decided to just slide, butt-side down. Again there were chains and ladders. It was like some stupid game. Chains and Ladders. My awkward backpack, not designed for hiking, hindered me, so I had to remove it and toss it down to Zuza, already several paces ahead of me. I was weak from hunger. Somehow I was under the impression there would be a place to stop for food along the way. Overhead, a rescue helicopter buzzed and soon lowered itself down into the woods. Then it rose back up a few minutes later. We could see someone in a stretcher, dangling below the chopper. No way to tell if the person was living or dead. If I didn’t get the hell off this mountain soon, I was gonna be dead, too—either from hunger or from falling over a cliff. I peered over the edge at one point: a sharp drop to a parking lot about 500 meters below. That’s half a kilometer. Yikes! 

Don't worry! It's just about half a kilometer--straight down!

I was feeling dizzy watching the helicopter, and all I wanted to do was muster all the last bits of energy I had left inside me and jump up and down and wave my arms like a wildman for that helicopter to see me and come and pluck me off this damn mountain.

Initially, the hike we had planned for tomorrow would be a tougher one, to Veľky Rozsutec. When Zuza pointed out that mountain in the distance, I gave it the middle finger. The hell with that! I’m not doing another grueling climb after this one! I’m not hiking for any gold medal nor for any adrenalin rush. People were passing us coming up, some our age, and in tennis shoes! There are jokes about Czechs hiking in their sandals. I didn’t see any of "those" hikers. We saw a family with about three small kids. Small kids are doing this hike??! I realized I needed more training for this sort of thing.

 I was glad to see the road below. At least if I fell now, there’s a chance I’d just land on my head and knock myself out. The parking lot and road to Terchova got closer and closer, and at last, after stopping to give directions to a Polish family, we were back on level 'terra firma'.

 Looking back up to Sokolie Mountain

All in all, it was a pretty amazing hike. I think we ought to have brought more food, although I think I was not prepared for this. Needless to say, Sokolie was a game-changer. We decided, while we were walking along the road the half kilometer to Terchova, that tomorrow we’d do something easier. Then Wednesday would be another “tough” day, then we’d have another “easy” day, and so on.

There were more Poles at the bus stop in Terchova. We waited 25 minutes for the bus back to Stefanova. I enjoyed listening to the Poles chattering back and forth, pleased I was able to understand more of it than Slovak. Ten minutes after we got on the bus, we got off just a short walk below the pension. We showered, relaxed, although, despite the murderous descent, I had a good feeling of relaxation and positive energy. 

Day#2 - The Malá Fatra - Rain

Nedeľa (Sunday), 20. augusta 2017-- (excerpts from my journal The Pressburg Diaries, vol V.)

 

Rain. Rain. Rain. And more rain. There’s no possibility to do any big hiking today. This nasty weather is socked in at Štefanová. We don’t have adequate enough clothing to withstand a long hike without getting soaked. But our pension is really nice and cosy; a bit fancier, even, than I’d expected for such a remote location in the mountains. So, with our plans on this Day #2 to hike Sokolie dashed, what to do? We decided to spend the day lounging around in our room with the TV on. Zuza knitted while I sketched what I could from our window and planned our hiking routes for when the rain broke. I brought plenty of activities to do: coloured pencils for map making, graphite pencils for sketching, guide books, maps, and my Slovak language book for study. We periodically checked our phones for an update in the weather forecast.

 

Rainy day sketch of a country house

For lunch, we went down to the bar-restaurant in the pension. Zuza ordered blueberry pancakes and I braved it and went for the garlic soup. Normally I never order this sort of thing. I enjoy the taste of garlic, but not three days later. The soup arrived, steaming hot, and as it was a rather chilly day, it was soothing. Whoa! It was too garlicky for me, but it was still really good. Homemade, too. As we were eating, our little inn was suddenly invaded by a busload of Spanish hikers, about fifteen strong, and loud as hell. Slovaks are quite modest about the volume of their voices when in public. Spaniards are easy to pick out of the crowd. They were full of life, and they came in to warm up and sip some tea or some strong herbal liquor. We talked briefly with a couple of them. It was a surprise to see so many “foreigners” this far in the mountains. Virtually all of the non-Slovaks we encountered were either Czechs or Poles.

 

Abandoning the flock of Spanish hikers (nobody expects the Spanish inquisition—especially in Štefanová!), we returned to our room upstairs and I headed straight for the bathroom to kill the garlic taste in my mouth. I must have brushed my teeth at least three times with the strong toothpaste we brought with us. The rain was still coming down, but it was a bit more tolerable drizzle than it had been earlier. We aren’t made of sugar and we won’t melt, so we decided to put on our hiking boots and do at least a short walk from the pension. We headed in the opposite direction from where we walked yesterday. We walked up a gravel road into the woods, along a rushing stream and trees whose branches and needles whispered with the rain. The rain made everything stand out fresh. The aromas of earth and pine were incredible! I took several pictures as we wended up the gravel as far as we could until it ended in a muddy embankment. Zuza pointed out wild mint and mountain oregano, which I happily chewed to ward off the evil garlic taste still haunting my mouth. 

Mountain mint

Along Stohovy Potok

Along the way back down, we paid attention to what was on the side of the gravel road opposite the rushing stream: the lonely, decayed remains of old wood cabins, once filled with the voices and laughter of children who camped here, according to Zuza, in the 1980s when the communist Young Pioneers had their summer youth camps in the mountains. We toured some of the cabins. They were creepy: broken glass littered the floors, bunk beds with mattresses still remained, as did the broken porcelain remnants of toilets and washbasins. It was almost like a scene out of a horror film. According to Zuza, the kids at this camp were lucky: they had toilets in the cabins. She remembers summer camps where cabins had no loos at all. Poor kids.

 The remnants of youth camps

After inspecting the remains of the camp, we walked back along the stream (Stohovy Potok), and deciding we could use some refreshment, we tried to find a chata (mountain house) or pub. The first we came across was filled with people having a family reunion, so we moved on until eventually we came to a freshly-built wooden (well, they’re all wood buildings around here!) chata called Koliba pod Rozsutcom. In fact, it’s really a koliba and not a chata. In the English language sense, there’s not really a big difference. Chata translates as ‘cottage’ and koliba translates as 'chalet'. ‘Chalet’ sounds a bit alpine, like what you’d expect to find in Switzerland, but in Slovak, apparently, the difference is more distinct. At any rate, this newly-fangled place was quaint and very rustic, built with care and adherence to the traditional styles of mountain cottages or chalets. The floor was a series of unfinished hardwood planks, the tables were just blocks of wood, and there was and clay and ceramic fireplace with a fire blazing away. Hard to believe it’s still summer, but we are in the mountains. I had a locally-produced beer called Vŕšky (say ‘VRRRsh-key’), which was an 11º svetlé (light) beer, unfiltered and unpasteurized. It was really good! Zuza ordered tea laced with rum. A couple at the table next to us were indulging in strapačky, that is, halušky (gnocchi-like dumplings made of potato flour) served mixed with sour cabbage, and it smelled really good! This was served in a wooden bowl with a wooden spoon. Traditional highland music played over the stereo system, and it completed the rustic feel of this mountain chalet.

 Even a rainy day with limited hiking is suitable for good beer

After our relaxing afternoon at the chalet, we hiked back down and we were “home”.

 

 

 

 

Day #1 - Trekking the Malá Fatra - August 2017

Veľký Rozsutec, Malá Fatra 

Sobota (Saturday), 19. augusta 2017-- (excerpts from my journal The Pressburg Diaries)

It's overcast today and somewhat cooler as we start Zuza's birthday and set off for the Malá Fatra in the north of Slovakia. She frantically packed her things. I'd already packed and only had to transfer some of my things into a larger backpack. Planning ahead pays off. We were a bit rushed, and as a result, we took a taxi to the train station. We made it to the station with five minutes to spare, so there was no time to buy any water or snacks to take with us. We had reservations, which was good because the train was filled to capacity. But we were unlucky with our carriage; the air-conditioning was broken. All the other cars had it, which I confirmed as I walked through about six of them in my socks. I found the dining car and was able to buy some water there. Some passengers were lucky to be seated next to windows that opened and so they could seek relief from our mobile sauna. This helped quite a lot until the train passed a field in the countryside and suddenly we were invaded by the foul odor of manure. I made another trip to the dining car for another sandwich because Zuza had eaten mine. Once we were on the other side of Trenčín, I was in untravelled territory. Eventually, we passed through Púchov and our car got stuffy again. Slowly the train wended its way into the mountains until we came to Žilina. 

I'd been to Žilina before, in 2001, but I approached it from the other side. Here we got off the train and immediately bought our return tickets and reservations for the next weekend. The bus station was right next door, so we hauled our packs like mules and waited there forty minutes or so for the local bus that would take us to Terchová where we would change to another bus. The skies showed signs of darkening clouds here and there as the fifty-minute bus trip took us through villages and pastures, to Terchová. There we hopped off the one bus and clamored on board another local bus to take us to Štefanová, where we had reservations at a mountain inn.

On the road to Terchová

It was raining lightly, just mountain drizzle, when we arrived in Štefanová at about two in the afternoon. Immediately after disembarking from the bus, we were greeted by a nice view of mist-covered granite mountains, trees, and the wonderful fragrance of woods and mountain air.

We checked in, unpacked, and had a bite to eat in the inn's restaurant.  We both had risotto and I gulped down two beers with it. I'd earned them, sweating it out on the train and lugging a heavy backpack. We decided to brave the drizzle and do a short hike (which in Slovak terms really means just a walk), up to the end of the road, past graceful wooden houses painted black, each with their own quaint garden, to a meadow below mist-coated mountains. Sheep bleated here, and the tinkle of bells around their necks was the only sound to compete with the rustle of the breeze.

Now in the meadow stood an old caravan which looked as though it'd been abandoned by the circus long ago after it left town. A man with a hat and galoshes stood on what passed for the porch. Now the drizzle had graduated to rain, and you could hear it falling into the tall, whispering trees above. Some dogs barked a welcome. Zuza understood this man produced a kind of sheep cheese and he was selling it. She started up a conversation with him.

"Started raining yesterday," he muttered, exhaling cigarette smoke and casting his eyes skyward.

They chatted a bit more and then invited us inside his caravan. He hoisted a basketball-sized chunk of freshly produced cheese for Zuza to inspect. She sniffed it and approved, and the man sawed off a portion and sold it to her.

The sheep cheese seller, Štefanová

The rain thickened. We decided to turn back towards the pension. Inside our room, a breeze came through our balcony door and an open bedroom window. It was getting cold, too. Zuza knitted and I sketched the view of the woods and mountains from the open window.

I took a short nap, then we were back in the restaurant downstairs for dinner. I wasn't particularly hungry, but the food was good anyway, local specialties and homecooked. We brought back upstairs a bottle of red wine and a slice of blueberry cake.

Breaking in the new hiking boots - Veľká Javorina - July 2017

Saturday, 29. July 2017 --

Departing this morning by train for Nové Mesto nad Váhom, eventually to the village of Lubina in the Biele Karpaty (White Carpathian Mountains), for a weekend of hiking and felting. I'm not sure about the felting bit, what exactly it entails, but that's Zuza's thing. However, I could do with some hiking in the hills, and give my new hiking boots a good breaking in.

Our train passes through Vinohrady, Pezinok... Trnava... Leopoldov... Piešťany. Someone on the train is snacking on peppers and the aroma is wonderful! I should've brought some from Zuza's garden. ...And finally we arrive in Nové Mesto nad Váhom. And then we switch to a local bus which takes us to Lubina, about 25 minutes away. We're staying in a very primitive house, like those in the old Slovak films which take place in the village. It sort of feels like a hippie commune here with everyone just popping in, whoever they are, Zuza and her felting friends.

There's a small kitten here, not more than 10 weeks old, and she seems quite sociable. I try to track her down and play with her, since I'm not ready to plunge into social hour with a bunch of people I don't know. I'm not like Zuza. Instead, I try to focus on getting settled in upstairs where the floorboards creak. I waddled carefully down the wood ladder which serves as the stairs.

Out in the courtyard, Zuza and her companions begin their felting projects. I spend the time sitting and staring at the landscape, thinking and sketching. There are a lot of people here I don't know. Some are shy in speaking English as I am in Slovak. I realize I'm not as sociable as Zuza is. I prefer to connect with people a few at a time and not in large groups, especially when there's a language barrier. Being a teacher, I have to be people-oriented, and I don't have a problem with this. But in my social life and during my off-hours, things are different. I can't wait to get out and hike. For now, I bide time and sit and sketch.

It is definitely peaceful here, and it's a great inspiration to sit and relax. This old house with a courtyard lends a lot to my creativity.

Around 3 pm, we finally headed out on a hike that took us to the end of the road and out to an open meadow on a hillside. From there, we were treated to a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains and villages. We hiked across the meadow to the woods, where we picked up a trail that lead down to an asphalt road, to a pub. This was the end of the world.

Pub Na Konci Sveta (Pub at the End of the World)

A water fight had broken out between two factions of teenagers in front of the pub. There's water flying everywhere, but Zuza and I, the guests, are spared. The teenagers might be family of the pub owners. The pub owner and his family live in a house directly across the road from the pub. 

Sketch of the pub owner's house

A goat and a cow are grazing in front. I asked the pub owner the goat's name. He had to ask his wife: "Hey, honey, what's the goat's name?" "Kiki," came the reply. We spent at least two and a half hours at Na Konci Sveta sitting on the porch, enjoying the late afternoon sun, and watching the end of the world go by. I nursed three beers while Zuza knitted. 

Around seven, we paid the tab, said our goodbyes to the kindly pub owner and his wife, and slowly hiked back over the hill to the house. We stopped for a few photos, and at one point we came across a dead sheep lying in the meadow. Poor thing.  Back at "the lodge", I went into the bathroom and rinsed, using Zuza's travel shower soap. It wasn't really a shower in the true sense; more like a trickle. The water pressure was weak, but at least the water was pretty hot.

Outside in the courtyard, I sat in long sleeves and jeans as the only other guys on this venture (Vlado and Ivan) prepare the barbecue for dinner. I'm not that hungry. So we sat, talking, eating, drinking, about cats and culture, and the universe at large at this end of the world.

Sunday, 30. July 2017--

We slept surprisingly well. We'd left the window open, but there were no mosquitoes. At one pint during the night, I got chilly and closed the window. The air was incredibly fresh. We awoke refreshed and ready to tackle Veľká Javorina.

Holubyho Chata at Veľká Javorina

If you like an "oompah-loompah" brass band farting out a good polka two-beat (playing what's known as dechovka in these parts), then the Holubyho Chata at Veľká Javorina is for you. This mountain of 970 meters above sea level straddles the Czech and Slovak border, and this is where Zuza and I hiked to today. It was a tough hike up, wending up gravel trails into the woods, cautiously sidestepping roots, rocks, and slippery slopes. But at the top things were different. There were lots of people at Holubyho Chata, celebrating the local cultures of small regional communities on both sides of the border. There was a group of folk dancers from Skalica (in Slovakia) competing against a Czech dance troupe. Below the chata (inn or mountain hut), the dechovka band continued to fart away. From this point--where hundreds of people were lying on a grassy slope enjoying the show of traditional music and dance--Zuza and I hiked up to the radio transmitter at the summit of Veľká Javorina. From there, we had a nice walk along the open border on a ridge, for quite some distance.

The view on either side--one looking in Morava in the Czech Republic, the other looking into Slovakia--was spectacular. We walked slowly along the ridge for quite some time before starting the hike back down. We'd already had our beer and raspberry-mint "lemonade"--the rest of the latter we poured into a water bottle to take with us. People had vyed for our table, given how crowded it was. I'd left the rear lens cap for my binoculars at the inn, so I ran back inside to find it. And find it I did. We passed the dechovka bands, which Zuza decided she didn't like, and then walked down to the yellow trail, and then to the asphalt road below. 

The climb down was punishing. Our legs, knees, ankles, and feet were aching... Every joint seemed to take a beating. My new hiking boots held up very nicely, and I had plenty of ankle and arch support. Still, it was a brutal climb back down. The reward was to be spat out of the mountain like watermelon seeds at Zahrádská and walk right down to the front door of Na Konci Sveta. This time, it was open but no one was there. Inside it was cool, quiet. The owner came and served us beer and grilled sausage. I spoke German with the pub owner's wife. She was Austrian, apparently. We'd overheard snippets of conversation in Slovak and German about Kiki, the goat. Kiki had given birth not thirty minutes before, and that's why the owner, Gejza, was late and why there were no patrons when Zuza and I arrived. Finally, we gathered up our packs, thanks Gejza and his wife for their hospitality, and hiked back up to the house at Ličkovi. 

Ivan, the 50-something guy who'd done most of the cooking, was running at 30% his normal heart rate, due to a heart attack. He's currently waiting for a heart transplant and carries around a heart monitor in a bag slung over one shoulder. His cooking, especially the stuffed peppers we had for lunch yesterday, rocked. "Babina", Sylvia's mother-in-law, and Vlado's mother) sat quietly reading. I think she's deaf. The others were still felting away. Zuza and I stayed only a short while, long enough to share our adventures with the others, then packed up our things and said our goodbyes. Sylvia's husband Vlado drove us back the "crossroads" at Lubia (i.e where the bus stops in front of the pub) so that we could catch the hot and sticky bus back to Nové Mesto nad Váhom. There, after sweltering in the bus for 25 minutes, we arrived at the train station and secured our reservations. Zuza wanted an ice cream, so we shared a cone. The train ride home to Bratislava was uneventful, but at least it was air-conditioned. The temperature in Bratislava was already over 30 degrees Celsius. We then had to wait in line with the throngs of travelers to catch the #201 bus home--back to our cats and an untidy kitchen.

Update: As of July 2019, Ivan got his long-awaited heart transplant and is well on the road to recovery.

The second trip to Slovakia - July 2001

Jarek and I returned to Slovakia on Friday, July 13, 2001. This time we brought Agata, his 14 year-old daughter, and Jola (now my ex-wife), with us. Because I wasn't keeping a journal at that time, the only way I remember the date, other than the dates stamped on the photos I took that day, was because of a cookbook I purchased in Žilina that day in which I wrote the date, inside the front cover.

We drove to Žilina, the "big" city closest to the border from where we lived. It took about 45 minutes from Ustroń, Poland to reach Žilina. There, we walked around the old town square and had lunch somewhere, and then drove to Budatínsky Zmok (Castle). Here stands a 13th-century castle near the confluence of the Kysuca and Váh Rivers. 

This is the only view I have of it; I don't recall that we went inside. There was a lot of tall, wavy grass in front, which got cut from the picture when I cropped it. It was like we were on a "let's-hurry-up-drive-past-this-place-see-it-and-move-on" kind of mood. If we were going to slice off the top portion of Slovakia in a single day trip, we had to get a move on! There were a lot of other castles, perched on hilltops overlooking the river.

Oh, we drove through Martin, we saw picturesque valleys with quaint little churches set against stunning mountainous backdrops. This was like Switzerland!

Somewhere near Martin

Eventually, we came to Orava, the northern-most region of Slovakia, with its stunning Oravský Hrad (castle) high on a rock overlooking the town of Orvaský Podzámok below. This castle is one of the most famous in all Slovakia. It was built in about 1241 (following the Mongol invasion) in the Romanesque and Gothic styles, then later reconstructed in the Renaissance and Neo-Gothic styles, if you're into architectural styles. The castle gained fame early on, as it was used in several scenes in the 1922 film Nosferatu, to represent Count Orlok's castle in Transylvania. Again, we didn't go inside the castle. As I recall, the visitors' gallery had already closed by the time we arrived, so we just looked at it from below, oohed and aahed, then went for a beer. 

Jarek and I were the beer connoisseurs, and our favorite Slovak brews then were Kelt, Martiner, and Smädný Mních, or the "Thristy Monk". This was in the days before they were bought up by the big commercial brewing companies from the West and transformed into Beer That Tastes Like Every Other Beer. One of those beers was on tap at the pub below the castle.

Orava Castle

After our refreshments, we piled back in the car and returned across the border to the "mountain house" in Sopotnia, Poland.

Monuments and Attractions in Bratislava #1 - Miletičova Street and Market

I live very near the famed Miletičova Market. This is the largest and I believe the oldest public market in Bratislava. The market takes its name from the long residential street on which it's located: Miletičova, however, locals seem to call it simply trhovisko, or 'the market'. The street, and subsequently the market, take their name from Svetozar Miletić (Miletič in Slovak) (1826-1901) was a journalist, author, politician, etc., from Serbia. He was the mayor of Novi Sad, currently the second largest city in Serbia.

So what does a Serbian have to do with Bratislava? Miletič (I'll default now to the Slovak spelling) was a political advocate for the rights of Serbs and other ethnic groups (including Slovaks) who were then living under the yoke of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. He studied in Bratislava, and during his tenure here, he edited a small newspaper entitled Serbski Soko. In 1844, while still in Bratislava, he met his Slovak counterpart, Ľudovít Štúr, who apparently influenced him. Miletič regarded the Serbian people as a nation and he believed his people had to liberate themselves from foreign rule, something Štúr believed about the Slovaks. 

Long story short, there's a plaque on Miletičova Street, located on the right side of the street about a block from where Miletičova intersects with Prievozská Street. The plaque is inscribed in Slovak as well as in Serbian. It reads thus:

SVETOZAR MILETIĆ

1826 - 1901

Veľku priateľ Slovakov, bratislavský študent a významný srbský publicista a politik. Poslanec Uhorského snemu a bojovnik za rovnoprávnosť náradov v Uhorsku.

(Translation: Great friend of the Slovaks, Bratislava student and prominent Serbian publicist and politician. Member of the Hungarian Parliament and Warrior for Equality of Nations in Hungary.)

 

The market itself got its start around 1884 as a place to buy meat. A newer location and slaughterhouse were established on the same grounds as the current market, in 1924. Today vendors from all over the region come to sell their produce, dairy products, fresh flowers, and even wine. Zuza and I like one reputable husband-wife team from the Hungarian-speaking southern region of Slovakia. They always have the freshest seasonal produce. It's not the cheapest, but their products are always the very best short of growing them ourselves.

You can also find various "knick-knack" sellers, used booksellers (one whose stall I frequent), houseware items, tools and hardware, toys, and of course, inexpensive clothing and shoes. Most of the clothing vendors are Vietnamese. There are also several Vietnamese fast food stalls to choose from, as well as places selling sausages, goulash, or lángos, a deep-fried dough-like snack of Hungarian origin. Lots of Roma (gypsies) come to sell their flowers or mushrooms (in the autumn), and sometimes there are street entertainers. The market is a popular meeting place, especially on Saturdays.

Paprika for sale 

People Observations #4 - Wednesday, 30. January 2019

 At one stop along the route of bus #201, a middle-aged man with long, scraggily bleach-blonde hair, got on. I decided to call him Flake, because that was the first name that came into my mind. He wore a faux leather jacket with a fur-lined hood, and had lots of neck chains and rings on. He looked like a 1980s glam rocker whose flame went out long, long ago; glory days a thing of the past. I think I've seen the guy before. He usually wears cowboy boots. Yep, he was wearing them today. I had a hunch he might be gay. Or a drag queen. He did have a nice handbag I supposed he was on his way to 1988, or something, but I think that ship has sailed.

I wish Flake all the best of luck, wherever he's going. He looked like he was down on his. I can relate to this because some days we all feel a bit lost, yearning for a part of yesterday.

People Observations #3 - Friday, 25. January 2019

I came into the coffee shop I frequent and found a seat at the only available table. A young woman (a teenage girl-?) was sitting at the table in front of me, studying. She looked very eager, digging into her books. She pulled her light blonde hair back into a ponytail, and like a fierce academic warrior, she plowed on. She appeared a bit nervous, as if she had a major exam coming up.

At one point, she got up. She walked around a bit, poking about here and there. Realizing the toilet might be in the back, she pointed to it and, looking at me, gestured as if to ask where the toilets were. Was she mute? Did she think I wouldn't understand Slovak? Was she even Slovak? I have answers to none of those questions. I nodded 'Yes' and indicated that the toilets were indeed in the back. That was our conversation.

People Observations #2 - Tuesday, 22. January 2019

People are bundled up like the Michelin Man today against the stinging sub-zero cold. One man, standing at BBC1-Miletičova, however, stood out wearing a trench coat only--not a hat nor glove nor a muffler to be seen anywhere. He was a loner in the cold, looking as if he was trying to defy Mother Nature. "Just try me, bitch! I'm not afraid of your cold!" his face seemed to say. I'm just waiting to see how long he can stand up in cold like this. Perhaps he'll fall over, frozen stiff, and he'll need to be revived later on. 

People seem calmed by the cold, as if they're too damned frozen to do anything about it. Although I do not care for the cold myself, personally I do enjoy the softness of frost clinging to the trees, cars, and streets. And I like the cooling effect it has on people, such as aggressive drivers, who would ordinarily act like flaming assholes.

People Observations #1 - Monday, 21. January 2019

We all like to watch people, right? I have a jotter notebook I carry with me everywhere to write just whatever comes to mind, or to make quick reminders to myself, etc. I also do people observations, so here I will share a few of them here. I've renumbered them for the purpose of the blog because... well, some of them aren't very interesting.

There was a guy strolling through my neighborhood. He was a nut job, and I inadvertently followed him from behind my flat to the tram stop. He was just mulling around the neighborhood, mumbling things--I couldn't understand him at all. He was carrying an assortment of rods and sticks made of wood and metal, sort of swinging them about. No idea what he was on about. I think he fell off the funny bus somewhere.

On the tip of my Slovak tongue-it's not like the neighbours' languages

Fast forward from 2001. Now I'm residing permanently in Slovakia. Yeah, I like it here a lot. But I'm going to complain about one of just a handful of things I don't like about this country: the Slovak language. 

I've lived in Slovakia just over four years. I speak pretty decent Polish, and although Polish and Slovak are (closely-?) related, I cannot speak Slovak to save my life. It's not for lack of effort; it's just a damn difficult language. I sometimes think L'udovít Štúr (he was the leader of the Slovak national revival in the 19th century and creator of the Slovak language standard) designed the language that way on purpose.  As a nationalist wishing for Slovak independence, it would make sense to develop a language your imperialist masters couldn't understand. It doesn't help matters that Slovak people, kind though they are, are not the easiest people to befriend. It can take years to foster a close friendship, and without friends, it's tougher to learn a language. I had lots of friends--still have, in fact, a lot of friends--in Poland, and that helped me learn Polish. Okay, I don't want to get into a pissing contest between Poland and Slovakia. But the language in Slovakia is definitely a challenge. 

My theories for this are as follows:-

1. The grammar is very irregular and there are many exceptions. Just when you think a rule applies, suddenly it doesn't. I can't give you any specific examples off the top of my head, but take my word. Even Slovaks gripe about their grammar and the correct use of 'i' or 'y', and they complain about their fellow countrymen and women not using the language correctly. 

2. Pronunciation can be tricky. Granted they don't have the daunting consonant clusters that Polish has ('cz', 'rs', 'sz', etc.), nor the 'ř' that Czech has (think Dvořák--ever wonder how they pronounce it as 'DVOR-zhak' ?), Slovak words are hard to pronounce accurately. Even when you think you've said it right, someone comes along and pisses on your parade and promptly corrects you, sounding for all the world exactly as you had pronounced it! It's maddening.

3. Words are difficult to remember. I can never seem to remember any of them. I learn a word, then I promptly forget it. It's the In-and-Out Syndrome: in one ear and out the other. Now I have a good ear for languages. I learned Japanese and German, and even Korean, and I've been told I can pass for near-native in a few of those languages. But I cannot say even simple things correctly in Slovak, which may be tied to not being able to remember the words. Inevitably, I end up using a Polish word because... well, it's more natural for me. Sometimes it works and the listener understands me. Most times it doesn't. For example, I can never remember how to ask for sparkling water in Slovak. It always comes out as "voda gazovana" ("woda gazowana"), which is actually Polish. Some words have a totally opposite meaning in Polish and Slovak. "Čerstvý" means "fresh" in Slovak, but the Polish "czerstwy" (pronounced almost identically to the Slovak) means "stale". It was hard for me to remember the Slovak word because if I asked for fresh bread, I always felt as though I was asking for stale bread instead. (Now I'd have a problem if I returned to Poland!) Or worse, take the Slovak word "čipka". It means crocheted lace, like those doilies grandma always used to make. However, in Polish, "ćipka" is a vulgar slang expression for a certain part of the female anatomy. In Polish you can "szukam pana Browna" ("I'm looking for Mr. Brown"), but in Slovak that sentence might get you looks of shock or dismay (or giggles--?) because you've just said that you're f---ing poor Mr. Brown!

4. Finally, I think the problem of learning Slovak is Bratislava. Bratislava is not an ideal place to be for those wishing to immerse themselves in Slovak because: a. Many people residing in Bratislava are from other parts of the country, therefore they tend to speak in their regional dialect. Some dialects make the language sound like Mongolian. And b. Bratislava is the capital city and it's very international. There are a lot of people also from all over Europe and the rest of the world. There are also a lot of young people, and so many people speak English. Sometimes there's no need at all to use Slovak. You open your mouth in Slovak and you get the response in English. English is the international lingua franca, while Slovak is spoken by some 5.5 million people. Often times I think: why bother learning it at all? And my Czech abilities aren't any better. In fact, my Czech and Slovak levels are competing neck and neck. Still, there are foreigners who do speak Slovak. I heard three of them just last week! They must be fucking geniuses because I've always prided myself in being good at languages. Also, these foreigners have likely been living here for more than five years. Slovak is one of those languages that's gonna take a long time to learn.

Okay, so I'm going to go study some Swedish now, thankfully a much easier language.

Introduction to Slovakia - February 2001

It was one of those trips you would not expect to turn into anything more than just a memory of a moment of fun.

It was a chilly, grey day, February 17, 2001. Back then, I called Ustroń, a small town of 17,000 inhabitants in southern Poland, home. (Ustroń will be the subject of a future blog about Poland.) It is located in close proximity to both the Czech and Slovak borders, so it's easy to travel to both countries. From this little mountain town, I set out with my Polish friend and "Slovakophile", Jarek. Jarek loved mountains and hiking, and Slovakia was one of his favorite destinations.  

We set out by car. Jarek lived in Gliwice, further north in the coal mining Silesia region of Poland, and came through Ustroń to pick me up. He worked in mechanical engineering at Silesian Polytechnical Institute and was the head of the department’s mountain home retreat, located near Sopotnia, a few kilometers from the Slovak border. On this occasion, Jarek invited me to the mountain house, but first things first. We needed some beer, and beer was cheaper on the Slovak side of the border. The drive took 90 minutes from Ustroń, and finally we crossed into Slovakia, into the village of Oravská Polhora. I had entered a new realm. For me, visiting a new country meant another feather in my cap. In his region, the landscape didn't look all that different from Poland--forests, rolling hills, occasional cottages, and farmhouses. Soon we came to a village and the road turned into a long, dusty street. Suddenly I became aware of the quaint village-like feel, with the similar stone houses lined up in a row along the narrow street, electric and telephone wires running amock overhead. It took on an ethereal "other world" feel as I could hope to find in the pages of National Geographic. It did not look like a very wealthy area. Life looked basic, perhaps even hard. I wondered how people scratch a living here.

So... what did Jarek and I do in Slovakia? We found the nearest pub in a small hotel called Biela Farma. It had a nice view of the mountains and nearby pastures. There, we saddled up a game of pool, despite the jeers from a group of drunken Poles who were threatened by our speaking English. You can never run far from assholes. But we had fun. I took a few pictures, and Jarek got one of me standing behind the bar with the ladies who worked there. After the game of pool, we headed back to Sopotnia for the night.

So this was Slovakia, the "other half" of Czechoslovakia.