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