All Hallow's Eve, Slovak Edition
Location: Bratislava, Slovakia
Local Moors: Windswept
October 31
Laze around the morning, then strap up and hit the train station at noon. There's a bit of an issue with entering the train station at the wrong place, but I get that settled well in time to get to my train. This part of Vienna seems to have been stricken by a blatant disregard for signs, which presents a problem since the train station is as big as some airports I've been in. After scrambling over three floors and six lakes of fire, I finally manage to locate the ticket counter, on the lowest basement level of the station, hidden off the side, with no signs pointing to it. I wonder if actually having people ride on their trains is that much of a friggin' chore. I manage to grab a ticket and head out to my platform, noticing with some disquiet a large, suspended conveyor bridge spanning the length of the ticket area, people shuffling along on it through open air in a very Viennese version of "Logan's Run."
The train is quite nice and virtually empty. The trip to Bratislava is only about an hour and goes off without a hitch. Except... the Slovakians seem to have adopted and expanded on the previous train station's hatred for signs. When we pull into the station, there is no indication that we are in Bratislava now. No intercom announcements, no signs on the platform, nothing. After a few minutes of furtive peering out the window, I notice that the train is not starting up again, and we must be at the end of the line. Upon climbing out of the train I manage to locate a sign, with great difficulty, that grudgingly admits we are in Bratislava, but refuses to tell me which of the several train stations in town we are at. Hoping it is the one I want to go to, I open the door to head inside. Or rather, I try to. Locked. This is puzzling. These are the main doors from the platform into the train station, big and glass and inviting. I can see people beyond them, in the ticket area, moving about. Hmmm... I try the next door. Also locked. Five sets of double doors are locked and I begin to panic that I will be stuck on this platform all night, banging on the doors to get someone's attention inside. Finally, I come upon one door, at the very end of the platform, that is unlocked. However, this does not lead to the main area, oh no. Rather, it leads to a tiny, barely lit hallway in what appears to be an office complex. WTF? Daunted but desperate, I make my way down the hall and out the door at the opposite side, which takes me to the street outside the station.
Now, this can't be right... I just traveled from Austria to Slovakia and heard not a whisper of passport control. I need passport control to avoid being counted in the Schengen Area forever, and to avoid unfortunate imprisonment upon trying to leave Slovakia. I head back into the train station and approach a young woman at the ticket counter who, despite speaking barely any English, assures me that I don't need passport control. Ok, that's a lie, and we both know it, you're being no help. Ah! Off to the side of the station is a big walled area marked "Passport Control." Bonus. I walk down until I find the door marked "Arriving from Vienna." It's locked. peering through the glass, it looks deserted, dark and not so much as a rolling chair to be seen. I just got here from Vienna 20 minutes ago and there's no one here!? Ok, need to ask someone else. By this time I'm seriously considering just going on my merry way, but somehow I get the feeling that would cause more trouble than it was worth. There is one section of passport control that actually has someone there: the section marked "Going to Vienna." I step through and present my problem to the man working there who, as it turns out doesn't speak a word of English. Of course not, why would he be bilingual? He only works at fucking passport control counter on a continent where English is pretty much the international language. Greatly discouraged, I exit the way I came.
Now I figure I took a wrong turn somewhere and need to get out to the platform to fix it from the beginning, for only by traveling back to 1955 can I stop Biff before the future is changed. However, the doors are locked specifically to keep people from getting on and off the platform without going through passport control, which I can't do since I don't want to go back to Vienna. So I backtrack the way I came, though the small, dim hallway. This time on my way through, I see a plaque on the wall indicating that this is the Bratislava police station. That's right, I committed an illegal immigration by stumbling through the police station, which deliciously, was the only unlocked door I could find. I manage to get back onto the platform and, after a great deal of searching (since I now knew the physical location of passport control in relation to the platform) found one door on the complete other end of the platform leading to a passport control room, which is entirely deserted except for one officer I can see through his cracked booth door reading a magazine. I approach him cautiously, so as not to startle him too much, for passport agents only attack when provoked. He was very surprised to see me, but fortunately this one spoke English a little. I assured him that I was completely innocent in the whole ordeal and only wanted someone to stamp my passport so I could leave legally. He consulted his passport control homie, the same monolingual man I encountered earlier, with no small bit of confusion as to how I had ping-ponged from one side of control to the other (I kept my mouth shut about the police station). Finally he broke out two stamps and gave me one for leaving Austria and one for leaving Slovakia.
And thus, Will's adventures in Slovakian passport control came to an end.
Now I can actually get into town. I hop a bus from the train station to get to the city center. I'm getting pretty hungry now so I consult my handy-dandy Lonely Planet guide about a good place to eat nearby. Mexican? Ok, sure, Lonely Planet guide. As it turns out, Bratislava is peppered with tons of Mexican restaurants, and the food (if The Diablo Bar's chorizo nachos are anything to go by) is actually quite good. Do lots of Mexicans emigrate to Bratislava? What man can say? Maybe some mysteries were not meant to be understood.
My hostel is fully decent, mainly nice for it's cool people and free internet. I drop off my stuff and use the one remaining hour of daylight (it's 3:30 PM now) to check out Bratislava Castle. The castle is bare and utilitarian, almost deserted, but very badass and the view over the city is amazing. I can see the entirety of Bratislava, and off in the distance the endless windmill farms that swarm across the Austrian and Slovakian countryside, gleaming in the sunset. At one part of the grounds, three Slovakian youths (maybe 14 years old) are fighting with fake swords, and fighting quite poorly. It takes me back a few years and I watch with interest before moving on.
Back to the hostel, where I meet a few people who invite me to party with them for Halloween. I gratefully accept and go to grab myself some food and booze supplies, which take the form of a sub sandwich and two bottles of cheapass wine from the nearby Tesco supermarket. There end up being about ten of us hanging out, representing The United States, England, Germany, Belgium, Sweden, Australia, Spain, and Portugal. We drink heavily in the hostel for a while, breaking out drinking games with shots of vodka (which, for the first time in my life, I lose), then head out on the town. After some directional confusion, we find our way to a club called Charlie's that, contrary to extolled Slovakian custom, is having a Halloween party, complete with decorations, costumes, and a drag show. The DJ is quite good and I have a great time with my new friends dancing the night away, particularly when Michael Jackson's "Thriller" came on. That's the good stuff. My pirate bandana is the only costume I have, but it's more than my companions have, so I don't feel bad, especially since they continually want to borrow the thing for their own costumey purposes. Eventually, though, I come down off my Irish coffee buzz and crash. Night: successful.
November 1
Bratislava is a very post-Communist city, as evidenced by the halo of pinkish despair enveloping the landscape. The line between the rather quaint old town and the ranks of Stalinist apartment flats is almost tearjerking. I actually met a woman on the street asking for directions who, though a total stranger and with no provocation, proceeded to tell me what a deep pile of poo Slovakia is in and detail the breadth of their struggles. There are some neat things, but they've got a long way to go.
I had intended to leave town today and head to small-town Slovakia out east, but some problems arise. First, I can't get there because the trains are crap. Second, if I did get there I would have no place to stay since the hostels are crap. Third, I am advised that hiking in the mountains of Slovakia is best left until summer. So I decide to stay an extra day and head to Budapest tomorrow.
For lunch I about shit a brick as I am told that nearby there is a Little Caesar's Pizza. ...What? Little Caesar's is barely around any more in the States... how is there one in Bratislava!? After some searching I find it, tucked behind a tiny, demure awning that reveals a full-out Pizza Station. I am overwhelmed. Normally eating in an American chain abroad would set me off, but for this crazy-craziness, I can make an exception. I devour a pepperoni pizza, and it is good. The locals do look at me kinda funny when I film the interior a bit in giddiness.
I was hoping to see the Hall of Mirrors, where Napoleon signed his peace treaty with Franz Josef, but it is closed for All Saints Day. The building where it is housed - The Primate's Palace - is quite pretty, though, and after almost forgetting, I give it the finger.
I then catch a bus and head out to Devin Castle, an old Moravian ruin a few kilometers outside of town. This castle is everything I've ever wanted from a castle. There is nothing palace-like about it... it is old and stone and military and broken down and beautiful. This was one of the major fortifications in the region for the last 2000 years, and it shows. Situated on top of a hill overlooking the Danube and Morav coverging, it is windswept and amazing. I chill around there for a bit being a tourist and a military history buff, soaking the whole thing up. Gotta love it. And flip it off.
By the time I get back to town, daylight is failing and I chill for a bit before heading off to dinner with some people from the hostel. We go to The Slovak Pub, a local beer hall that serves excellent Slovak food. I partake in some pirogis that are dense and delicious. Conversation is a bit stagnant and the smoke in the place about kills my lungs, but it's a good time nonetheless.
Good times, and now I'm off to bed. Budapest awaits.
Progress Thus Far:
Countries Visited: 6
Stupid Tourist Moments: 40
Monuments Flipped Off: 30
Free Booze Ganked: 10
Free Food Ganked: 18
you're fighting for your life inside a killer thriller tonight.
-Michael Jackson
Local Moors: Windswept
October 31
Laze around the morning, then strap up and hit the train station at noon. There's a bit of an issue with entering the train station at the wrong place, but I get that settled well in time to get to my train. This part of Vienna seems to have been stricken by a blatant disregard for signs, which presents a problem since the train station is as big as some airports I've been in. After scrambling over three floors and six lakes of fire, I finally manage to locate the ticket counter, on the lowest basement level of the station, hidden off the side, with no signs pointing to it. I wonder if actually having people ride on their trains is that much of a friggin' chore. I manage to grab a ticket and head out to my platform, noticing with some disquiet a large, suspended conveyor bridge spanning the length of the ticket area, people shuffling along on it through open air in a very Viennese version of "Logan's Run."
The train is quite nice and virtually empty. The trip to Bratislava is only about an hour and goes off without a hitch. Except... the Slovakians seem to have adopted and expanded on the previous train station's hatred for signs. When we pull into the station, there is no indication that we are in Bratislava now. No intercom announcements, no signs on the platform, nothing. After a few minutes of furtive peering out the window, I notice that the train is not starting up again, and we must be at the end of the line. Upon climbing out of the train I manage to locate a sign, with great difficulty, that grudgingly admits we are in Bratislava, but refuses to tell me which of the several train stations in town we are at. Hoping it is the one I want to go to, I open the door to head inside. Or rather, I try to. Locked. This is puzzling. These are the main doors from the platform into the train station, big and glass and inviting. I can see people beyond them, in the ticket area, moving about. Hmmm... I try the next door. Also locked. Five sets of double doors are locked and I begin to panic that I will be stuck on this platform all night, banging on the doors to get someone's attention inside. Finally, I come upon one door, at the very end of the platform, that is unlocked. However, this does not lead to the main area, oh no. Rather, it leads to a tiny, barely lit hallway in what appears to be an office complex. WTF? Daunted but desperate, I make my way down the hall and out the door at the opposite side, which takes me to the street outside the station.
Now, this can't be right... I just traveled from Austria to Slovakia and heard not a whisper of passport control. I need passport control to avoid being counted in the Schengen Area forever, and to avoid unfortunate imprisonment upon trying to leave Slovakia. I head back into the train station and approach a young woman at the ticket counter who, despite speaking barely any English, assures me that I don't need passport control. Ok, that's a lie, and we both know it, you're being no help. Ah! Off to the side of the station is a big walled area marked "Passport Control." Bonus. I walk down until I find the door marked "Arriving from Vienna." It's locked. peering through the glass, it looks deserted, dark and not so much as a rolling chair to be seen. I just got here from Vienna 20 minutes ago and there's no one here!? Ok, need to ask someone else. By this time I'm seriously considering just going on my merry way, but somehow I get the feeling that would cause more trouble than it was worth. There is one section of passport control that actually has someone there: the section marked "Going to Vienna." I step through and present my problem to the man working there who, as it turns out doesn't speak a word of English. Of course not, why would he be bilingual? He only works at fucking passport control counter on a continent where English is pretty much the international language. Greatly discouraged, I exit the way I came.
Now I figure I took a wrong turn somewhere and need to get out to the platform to fix it from the beginning, for only by traveling back to 1955 can I stop Biff before the future is changed. However, the doors are locked specifically to keep people from getting on and off the platform without going through passport control, which I can't do since I don't want to go back to Vienna. So I backtrack the way I came, though the small, dim hallway. This time on my way through, I see a plaque on the wall indicating that this is the Bratislava police station. That's right, I committed an illegal immigration by stumbling through the police station, which deliciously, was the only unlocked door I could find. I manage to get back onto the platform and, after a great deal of searching (since I now knew the physical location of passport control in relation to the platform) found one door on the complete other end of the platform leading to a passport control room, which is entirely deserted except for one officer I can see through his cracked booth door reading a magazine. I approach him cautiously, so as not to startle him too much, for passport agents only attack when provoked. He was very surprised to see me, but fortunately this one spoke English a little. I assured him that I was completely innocent in the whole ordeal and only wanted someone to stamp my passport so I could leave legally. He consulted his passport control homie, the same monolingual man I encountered earlier, with no small bit of confusion as to how I had ping-ponged from one side of control to the other (I kept my mouth shut about the police station). Finally he broke out two stamps and gave me one for leaving Austria and one for leaving Slovakia.
And thus, Will's adventures in Slovakian passport control came to an end.
Now I can actually get into town. I hop a bus from the train station to get to the city center. I'm getting pretty hungry now so I consult my handy-dandy Lonely Planet guide about a good place to eat nearby. Mexican? Ok, sure, Lonely Planet guide. As it turns out, Bratislava is peppered with tons of Mexican restaurants, and the food (if The Diablo Bar's chorizo nachos are anything to go by) is actually quite good. Do lots of Mexicans emigrate to Bratislava? What man can say? Maybe some mysteries were not meant to be understood.
My hostel is fully decent, mainly nice for it's cool people and free internet. I drop off my stuff and use the one remaining hour of daylight (it's 3:30 PM now) to check out Bratislava Castle. The castle is bare and utilitarian, almost deserted, but very badass and the view over the city is amazing. I can see the entirety of Bratislava, and off in the distance the endless windmill farms that swarm across the Austrian and Slovakian countryside, gleaming in the sunset. At one part of the grounds, three Slovakian youths (maybe 14 years old) are fighting with fake swords, and fighting quite poorly. It takes me back a few years and I watch with interest before moving on.
Back to the hostel, where I meet a few people who invite me to party with them for Halloween. I gratefully accept and go to grab myself some food and booze supplies, which take the form of a sub sandwich and two bottles of cheapass wine from the nearby Tesco supermarket. There end up being about ten of us hanging out, representing The United States, England, Germany, Belgium, Sweden, Australia, Spain, and Portugal. We drink heavily in the hostel for a while, breaking out drinking games with shots of vodka (which, for the first time in my life, I lose), then head out on the town. After some directional confusion, we find our way to a club called Charlie's that, contrary to extolled Slovakian custom, is having a Halloween party, complete with decorations, costumes, and a drag show. The DJ is quite good and I have a great time with my new friends dancing the night away, particularly when Michael Jackson's "Thriller" came on. That's the good stuff. My pirate bandana is the only costume I have, but it's more than my companions have, so I don't feel bad, especially since they continually want to borrow the thing for their own costumey purposes. Eventually, though, I come down off my Irish coffee buzz and crash. Night: successful.
November 1Bratislava is a very post-Communist city, as evidenced by the halo of pinkish despair enveloping the landscape. The line between the rather quaint old town and the ranks of Stalinist apartment flats is almost tearjerking. I actually met a woman on the street asking for directions who, though a total stranger and with no provocation, proceeded to tell me what a deep pile of poo Slovakia is in and detail the breadth of their struggles. There are some neat things, but they've got a long way to go.
I had intended to leave town today and head to small-town Slovakia out east, but some problems arise. First, I can't get there because the trains are crap. Second, if I did get there I would have no place to stay since the hostels are crap. Third, I am advised that hiking in the mountains of Slovakia is best left until summer. So I decide to stay an extra day and head to Budapest tomorrow.
For lunch I about shit a brick as I am told that nearby there is a Little Caesar's Pizza. ...What? Little Caesar's is barely around any more in the States... how is there one in Bratislava!? After some searching I find it, tucked behind a tiny, demure awning that reveals a full-out Pizza Station. I am overwhelmed. Normally eating in an American chain abroad would set me off, but for this crazy-craziness, I can make an exception. I devour a pepperoni pizza, and it is good. The locals do look at me kinda funny when I film the interior a bit in giddiness.I was hoping to see the Hall of Mirrors, where Napoleon signed his peace treaty with Franz Josef, but it is closed for All Saints Day. The building where it is housed - The Primate's Palace - is quite pretty, though, and after almost forgetting, I give it the finger.
I then catch a bus and head out to Devin Castle, an old Moravian ruin a few kilometers outside of town. This castle is everything I've ever wanted from a castle. There is nothing palace-like about it... it is old and stone and military and broken down and beautiful. This was one of the major fortifications in the region for the last 2000 years, and it shows. Situated on top of a hill overlooking the Danube and Morav coverging, it is windswept and amazing. I chill around there for a bit being a tourist and a military history buff, soaking the whole thing up. Gotta love it. And flip it off.By the time I get back to town, daylight is failing and I chill for a bit before heading off to dinner with some people from the hostel. We go to The Slovak Pub, a local beer hall that serves excellent Slovak food. I partake in some pirogis that are dense and delicious. Conversation is a bit stagnant and the smoke in the place about kills my lungs, but it's a good time nonetheless.
Good times, and now I'm off to bed. Budapest awaits.
Progress Thus Far:
Countries Visited: 6
Stupid Tourist Moments: 40
Monuments Flipped Off: 30
Free Booze Ganked: 10
Free Food Ganked: 18
you're fighting for your life inside a killer thriller tonight.
-Michael Jackson
posted by Will Jones at 12:50 AM
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