Bratislava - Have You Ever Been In A Slovak Prison
Trip Start
Mar 03, 2005
1
49
235
Trip End
Ongoing
Bratislava,
Slovakia
Monday, July 11, 2005
Answer - $3.12
Actually it is Bratislava. I can't say I knew it up until a few weeks ago, and I doubt that many at home would have known the answer either. I have a few days up my sleeve before heading to Poland, so rather than head to another Czech country town, I thought I would cross another border, add another country to the ticked off list, and get another stamp in the passport.
Jenny and Simon waved off their ītravelling chefī, as I headed to the station for the trip south. A few hours in, near the border, on jumped the usual drab looking Eastern European Police uniforms to inspect our documents. The disappointment must have showed on my face when the Policeman didnīt stamp my passport, as he looked down at me rather strangely, shrugged his shoulders and walked off.
Organising very last minute accommodation here may have been a mistake. The Orange Hostel staff greeted me at the station with a smile and whisked me and a group of others across town in the pouring rain. That was where the smiling ended.
If anyone ever asks me "Have you been in a Turkish Prison" (quote Peter Graves as Captain Oveur, 'Flying High', 1980), I can honestly answer, "No, but I have stayed in a Slovak Hostel".
(for fans of the film, I did see a grown man naked in the first hostel in Prague, and although there was dog in the Marquis de Sade bar in Prague, its name wasn't Scraps and it didn't rub up and down against my leg. Moving on.)
I have never been in a Slovak Prison. But if it is worse than the Orange Hostel then I donīt want to go to a Slovak Prison. The website promises you "rooms that are bright, airy and exceptionally clean. Our friendly, helpful and well-trained staff is ready to help you with all your requests and also with any questions you have about travel in this beautiful city. Free TV room! Free internet! Free laundry!" It is a Soviet classic that is usually a student dorm, but in Summer it becomes the Orange Hostel. It is Grey, dingy, dirty, smelly, and has endless dark corridors. Hardly airy and bright. The showers are straight from a mental institution, as are some of the padded doors of the rooms on level one. (I'm serious). As to those showers, I was thankful that I had my bottle of Dettol liquid soap handy for two reasons - firstly from an anti-bacterial perspective as I wondered if by showering I was actually getting dirtier. And secondly, because it minimised the chance of a "drop the soap" incident, which I was fearing. The free internet was one computer, which the guy behind the desk was using and claimed it was broken. I suspect it was because he was surfing for porn. The free laundry was an old coin-operated machine that surely would have torn the clothes to shreds - the did offer me coins but I declined. And as for the TV room, "we started building it two days ago". And those super-friendly and informative staff didn't seem to give a damn that it was appalling nor able to supply a basic map of the town, but then again they were just temporary staff supplied by the University. Thus they were students doing their summer job, who's care factor was somewhere less than zero.
A treat. I almost longed for the "Cheesy Feet Guy" and the room we shared in the Ghetto back in Prague.
I now know why many Eastern Europeans have very abrupt personalities - it is because they spend their University years couped up in cell-block hell.
But it is not about the destination, it is about the journey, so I journeyed by foot through the streets of Bratislava. The hostel is a Soviet classic, as are the others in the immediate area. I swear it could still be '1984' around these parts. The constant rain and grey skies are reflective of the suburb.
I managed to find my way out of the George Orwell novel and into the 'Old Town'. It looked remarkably new for an old town. I suspect that the original old town was replaced by new old-looking stone streets. Somehow the Insurance Company signs and billboards took something away from the surroundings. Still the St Martins Church and Bratislava Castle provide a decent backdrop to my wanderings, under the umbrella.
I also managed to get terribly lost. My sense of direction, or lack thereof shined through, as I could not even work out which direction the Danube River was, even though it runs through the middle of the city. By sheer fluke I wandered back to the familiar surroundings of the grey apartment blocks around the Slovak Prison where I call home.
Later I ran into two decent Manchurian lads who I met in the taxi to the Prison from the train station, and we had a late evening beer in the Old Town. Al and Mark were teaching me about the virtues of 'You-nigh-ted' and 'Oh-way-sus'. And I can confirm that it is not only a 'chick' thing - most of the travellers I have met are much younger than me, and most, male and female, think I look much younger than I actually am. They are all either good liars, or think that the short hair cut is for fashion rather than due to a lack of coverage. I might start saying I'm 27 and see how long I can get away with it.
Although I have the opportunity, it is difficult to sleep in here at the Slovak Prison, even though I tried. Perhaps it is because the mattress on the bed is actually three couch cushions put together and covered by a sheet. Perhaps it is because I felt like the bell would go early and that I would need to be in the dining room on time or face a beating from the guards. Perhaps it was because one of the blinds on the window is broken and thus it was light in my room from 4.30am onwards. I am enjoying my time here, you can tell....
Two nights in Bratislava is certainly going to be enough. It is dreary weather again today, and it appears that the rain is currently following me across Europe. Still I am certainly getting a great deal of exercise here as my daily wanderings take me afar, with regular stops for food and espresso coffee while watching the crowds.
Once again this European city features beautiful older buildings, such as Primates Palace and the Slovak National Theatre. The Bratislavians seem to have a cow fetish going on, as the city is scattered with cow-art. That means identically-shaped cow statues, but individually painted or designed by different artists. I was used to live cattle roaming the streets in Delhi. Here in Bratislava they are fibreglass and painted in bright patterns.
Although I have only been in Europe for three weeks, something is missing. I have selected the cheaper of the European countries where possible, but for me it is almost as if this part of the trip is 'too easy'. Or perhaps not challenging enough. While they are sometimes a small problem or something to chat about over a large beer with other travellers, bad hostels aren't that much of a challenge. There are no battle scars to wear here, such as cows mating and shitting right next to you, nor 45 degree temperatures, nor starring and laughing Chinese, nor that edge of whether someone will again shoot a thief in the market area as in Phnom Penh. All the things that I whinged and whined about in Asia after 3 and a bit months, while providing fodder for some tales and laughs in this diary, are 'missing'.
It is certainly easier to meet people here in terms of sheer numbers, but it harder to sort through those that are "18 and wanting to spend the majority of my time completely smashed and not see anything" versus those more my speed. Thankfully I have met some people who are my speed - don't mind going out for a drink but are also keen to see and experience what is here, even though they are mostly ten years younger than me. To a certain extent I am outside of the time of all of those travellers here - most of the youngsters are permanently pissed, and the oldsters are staying at the Radisson and touring by double-decker bus or Mercedes. Or have cheesy feet.
Where are the other thirty-something travellers? At a guess, at home, working and having families like normal thirty-somethings.
Mental Note #18: Oh god, I suspect that at the moment I'm not normal.
One of the ideas behind making (to quote the overused quote by those brainless twats who host Australian Idol) this "incredible journey" was the brain-challenge involved. At the moment that challenge feels like it is missing.
I suspect that accounts for a little of my restlessness (and probably for the slide in the quality of writing). At the moment I almost crave a challenge rather than another 600 year old Palace. But on the other hand, I wouldn't want to be thrust back into the solo hustle, bustle and excrement of India. (that wasn't a spelling mistake - there was also excitement in the sub-continent, but predominantly there was excrement) I am hoping that Turkey gives that to me. But that is still ten days away, as I head north towards Poland and the Baltic Sea.
I also suspect that one day I will find what I am looking for, once I work out what the hell that it actually is that I am looking for. What I do know at present is that what I am not looking for, is a third night in a Slovak Prison.
