Time for your cultural and historical lesson: The people are Slovaks, but used to be Czechoslovakian. They've got two different languages with minor differences (dekuji in Czech and dakujem though they're pronounced very similarly) and they're separated
by the Carpathian Mountains and Moravia (which is a beautiful place, lots of wine).
After the fall of the Austrian Empire in 1906 Czechoslovakia was created, and Prague made the capitol. During the cold war, Prague was invaded and became isolated, but instead of demolishing one of the major Slavic capitols (outside of Kiev and Moscow) they added the concrete style construction to the suburbs. Bratislava wasn't necessarily maintained in the same way. While the city is just as old and nearly as significant on a historical stage, Bratislava lives on in what I like to call concrete bloc chic. The Old Town Center is well restored and beautiful, but outside what is considered "tourist" central, the city is much like what you would expect. Sad buildings with little character.
But there is something fascinating about the city. One of my travel mates, Andy, liked to talk about how exciting it could potentially be to be Slovak in this day and age. Bratislava's a city and Slovakia is a country that has been dominated by other stronger cultures and powers in recent history. And now, it is just a baby country in some senses (15 years old) yet such an ancient culture in others.
But I'm done pontificating.
Here's the thing about Bratislava, it's cold. Really, really cold. Like a damp cold that I wasn't expecting (nor was I really used to, MN doesn't have that kind of cold, really). But the change in country was noticeable from the moment we stepped off the train. I've never been that "far east" if you will. There was what felt like, less access to English, and less comfort with tourism, which made being there feel like stepping into uncharted territory.
But me without my long-johns or thermals or whatever wandering around the city made for some amusement. I'd make such a Someone lost their hat at one point, so it was up to me to channel my Polish/(and minute)Russian roots.fantastic Russian grandmother . . . right? But beyond that, the city was filled with gorgeous architecture and crumbling corners
and these fantastic squares that would be teeming with people and festivals had the weather permitted.
We found a nice touristy pub with inexpensive beer (that I've been drinking, but more on that later). And I got to see the infamous Danube River, which isn't so much blue, but gray-ish and crazy foggy.
And our hotel, I forgot to mention! Called the Hotel Kyjev, built in the 70s, rocks communist era construction like it's nobody's business. It's the kind of place that you knew was just exquisite in it's heyday. But now, per my fascinating conversation with the semi-English speaking bellhop, the elevator hasn't been updated since 1982, the hotel has absolutely no money, and trashy English boys like to vandalize the place. Oh and each room comes equipped with a 70s era radio, that I'm sure we could jerry-rig to cb-radio Siberia, and make contact with some KGB agents that don't know the cold war is over.
And of course, don't forget my favorite way to travel in Europe . . . train rides. No seriously, I love to ride trains. And on the ride home, we spent 4 hours playing whist, which made me feel very English.
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