We make very good time thanks to my fellow Brit and his right hand drive car. It feels really odd to get into the left hand side passenger seat, although this is what I’ve been doing at home for 30 odd years. I slip down to have a snooze at some point, and catch the shocked look of another motorist who thinks nobody is driving. Win.
We’re cutting across the backbone of the country, and with the exception of a regular line of crumbling, cliff-top fortresses, Slovakia clearly has been shat on by the Communist daub. It’s not known for its towns and cities, with the tourist pull being more its countryside and great outdoors. It appears someone (ask the Russians) has chucked a load of grey concrete down in ‘efficient’ housing blocks. It looks worse than a ghetto. There’s plenty of industry too, smokey chimneys finger the sky in a concrete holocaust, and the drab morning does nothing to improve the image. It’s a shame I wasn’t here in better weather to explore the Slovak countryside, but it’s just too damn cold and miserable. We stop briefly in Trencin for some human fuel.
Spine of fortresses
One thing of note I’ve…errr…noticed, and not just in Slovakia, is the churchyards. They are immaculate, and every headstone and tomb is covered with striking flowers and bouquets. It’s the only colour against the sullen sky and breeze block housing. It seems a strange contrast that living seems dull and the dead have the life. Nonetheless, even the eldest tombs in the cemetery are decked in fresh blooms. Not one cut is drooping, and on-site skips or waste bins contain the remnants of decayed foliage. Headstones have fresh, gilded lettering and are polished to within mirror shine. It must cost an immense amount of money, but it certainly looks beautiful.
Churchyard flora
Into capital city sometime later then, and in spite of having been up with the lark this morning I find myself nursing a pint with Dave. Dave and me get on. Then it turns messy and we’re out in the town until stupid o’clock in the morning. Some guy is shouting in my face trying to teach me something worthless. I’m staring at a juke box attempting to convince a random girl I know all about music. It’s all a little hazy. Just snippets come back here and there. Oh…here’s a good one. Dave meets a girl who has exactly the same tattoo on her neck as he does. A very unique letter ‘K’, it must be one in a billion chance that someone would have exactly the same design, and even less of a chance that you’d meet them. Anyway, that was the highlight of the evening. I think.
Across the country
We make very good time thanks to my fellow Brit and his right hand drive car. It feels really odd to get into the left hand side passenger seat, although this is what I’ve been doing at home for 30 odd years. I slip down to have a snooze at some point, and catch the shocked look of another motorist who thinks nobody is driving. Win.
We’re cutting across the backbone of the country, and with the exception of a regular line of crumbling, cliff-top fortresses, Slovakia clearly has been shat on by the Communist daub. It’s not known for its towns and cities, with the tourist pull being more its countryside and great outdoors. It appears someone (ask the Russians) has chucked a load of grey concrete down in ‘efficient’ housing blocks. It looks worse than a ghetto. There’s plenty of industry too, smokey chimneys finger the sky in a concrete holocaust, and the drab morning does nothing to improve the image. It’s a shame I wasn’t here in better weather to explore the Slovak countryside, but it’s just too damn cold and miserable. We stop briefly in Trencin for some human fuel.
Spine of fortresses
One thing of note I’ve…errr…noticed, and not just in Slovakia, is the churchyards. They are immaculate, and every headstone and tomb is covered with striking flowers and bouquets. It’s the only colour against the sullen sky and breeze block housing. It seems a strange contrast that living seems dull and the dead have the life. Nonetheless, even the eldest tombs in the cemetery are decked in fresh blooms. Not one cut is drooping, and on-site skips or waste bins contain the remnants of decayed foliage. Headstones have fresh, gilded lettering and are polished to within mirror shine. It must cost an immense amount of money, but it certainly looks beautiful.
Churchyard flora
Into capital city sometime later then, and in spite of having been up with the lark this morning I find myself nursing a pint with Dave. Dave and me get on. Then it turns messy and we’re out in the town until stupid o’clock in the morning. Some guy is shouting in my face trying to teach me something worthless. I’m staring at a juke box attempting to convince a random girl I know all about music. It’s all a little hazy. Just snippets come back here and there. Oh…here’s a good one. Dave meets a girl who has exactly the same tattoo on her neck as he does. A very unique letter ‘K’, it must be one in a billion chance that someone would have exactly the same design, and even less of a chance that you’d meet them. Anyway, that was the highlight of the evening. I think.