Bratislava Diaries, Part 3: Curious Statuary

Here's the final instalment from my recently unearthed diary entries about a visit some years ago to Bratislava, capital city of Slovakia...

I encounter some odd recently-placed statues on my way through the Old Town today.

This seems to be a Central Europe trademark, whimsical bits of statuary interacting with the cityscape.

First there’s a moustachioed guy dipping his top hat, then a delightful paparazzo statue leaning around a corner with a long lens, eternally snapping the outdoor sippers at a street cafe.

Then finally, and most famously, the guy who looks like he’s down a manhole, though he’s leaning on its rim and having a rest. There’s even a sort of ‘man at work’ sign next to him.

Like a lot of Central European decor, these statues fit within their context, rather than seeming as cute as they might elsewhere.

It’s sad to realise that communism would never have put up anything like these – that in even in this cheeky, lightweight, irreverent humour there would have been a threat to its existence. Tragic that even humour couldn’t be tolerated. Or, more precisely, the individuality behind the humour and individual reactions.

I duck down an arcade full of fashionable clothing boutiques, to emerge next to U Jakuba.

I’d been looking out for this – an old-fashioned cafeteria of the type that once fed the proletariat in the communist days. And in fact, feeds all kinds of workers now.

It’s about time for lunch, so I go in, grab a tray and cutlery and join the queue. Reaching the counter, I pull the “I’ll have what she’s having” trick, and end up with what must be the lunch special – a schnitzel, mashed potato and pickles.

It’s excellent, simple food – and only costs me about $6.

Just down the road I hit a square, Námestie SNP. In the centre is a set of statues: a man in a robe with a rifle, and two women standing behind him.

Erected (I guess) in the communist era, it commemorates the Slovaks’ national revolt against Nazi rule in 1944. For such an emotional event, the blocky statuary seems strangely lifeless, lacking dynamism.

Though communism lacked a sense of humour, it is itself an enormous font of material for comedic treatment. Anything that took itself so very seriously is naturally asking for it.

And so it is that mock communist nostalgia bars have blossomed across the former Eastern Bloc. Bratislava’s version is a bar named KGB.

Descending to a basement off a busy pedestrian strip, I admire a portrait of Stalin flanked by US and Soviet flags and an electronic darts machine, then enjoy a good Slovak beer just across from a bust of a lecturing Lenin.

And so to the Slovak Radio building, my final communist-era highlight of the day.

It’s amazing, a huge rust-coloured inverted pyramid containing multiple floors of radio workers, each level wider than the next.

Perhaps this was a communist comment about overturning hierarchies? Whatever, it’s so absurd that I'm grinning as I take a photo of it. The structure is absurdly typical of what I expect from that era's architecture.

The communists mostly did bland, but every so often they’d go crazy and do absolutely, absurdly, ridiculously, impractically, over-the-top stuff like this.

No-one’s going to miss them, but at least they’ve left behind some relics from which we can get a good laugh.

Bratislava Diaries, Part 2: Boarding the UFO

Here's the next instalment from my recently unearthed diary entries about a visit some years ago to Bratislava, capital city of Slovakia...

Across a bridge above a busy highway, a quick right... and suddenly I’m transported back centuries to the Old Town.

The narrow laneway leading to Michael’s Gate is an effective filter between the two worlds, funnelling me through an archway onto a gently sloping cobblestoned street.

Not far from here I find Čokoládovňa pod Michalom.

Up to now I’ve been noticing the similarities between Poland and Slovakia... but now I’m reminded again of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and Vienna just 60km away with its tradition of coffee houses and cakes.

It’s too hot to sit inside, so I sit under the canopy that’s been erected in the middle of the street, one of a series of mini ‘beer gardens’.

The first page of the menu has dozens of varieties of hot chocolate, more fanciful as you get down the page. They range from Grand Cru (70% cocoa with a touch of vanilla) to the fanciful Sudanese (coconut, orange, honey, whipped cream).

I request a slight alteration to the Grand Cru, adding orange. When it arrives, it’s a revelation. Not only is the chocolate so thick and rich you need to eat it with a spoon; but the orange is actually pieces of orange. Delicious. Some might say it’s too hot for hot chocolate, but not me.

I also notice a lot of whipped cream in the menu items, something I always think of as an Austro-Hungarian emblem. Then, because I’m curious about the non-chocolate items, I order a heated apple juice, with absinthe, cinnamon and lemon (see photo above). Wise?

Beyond the compact splendours of the Old Town, I’m dedicated to exploring the wonders of the communist era. The first stop is, naturally, the ‘UFO’ atop the New Bridge.

It’s extraordinary. I mean, it’s one thing to build an observation platform, but to decide to build it on top of a bridge, its saucer-shaped platform supported by two tall beams that lend it the name ‘UFO on a stick’?

As always with the communists’ more extreme flights of fancy, what were they thinking? It’s as if even anything frivolous, like a viewing platform, had to be attached to something functional, eg a bridge.

I approach from the Old Town, crossing the defiantly green Blue Danube along the pedestrian walkway slung beneath the traffic. Then it’s up up up via a lift inside the eastern support pillar.

From a rather swish modern foyer, one then climbs a few flights of stairs to the open area on the top. And it’s here that you get a good understanding of the different facets of Bratislava.

Stand facing north across the river, and the orange-brown tiles of the Old Town beckon, with hints of its winding alleys interrupted by the spires of churches. The castle, of course, is dramatically poised on the hill to the west.

Turn around and face south, however, and it’s a different story. Beyond modern offices and shopping malls stretches the Petržalka district, a vast collection of huge concrete boxes that look identical.

On the hazy horizon just beyond them are the unmistakeable pipes and vents of industry. It’s like heaven and hell, dramatically speaking; certainly I’ve never seen such immediate contrast in any city, even the Polish ones.

After I’ve had my fill of the view among the gaggle of German tourists, I descend to the bar off the foyer.

There’s nothing communist-era about this; it’s been renovated to cutting edge 21st century standards: stylish low chairs, a lot of white, a gleaming well-stocked bar. And as is inevitable with these places, a fairly steep drinks list.

The place also quivers slightly in the breeze, but not too alarmingly. I drink a $5 doppio, enjoy the view, watch the beautiful people drinking at the bar, then descend once more to the bridge.

It’s a hot day in Bratislava, well over 30 degrees with a dash of humidity, which means the covered beer gardens down here at human level are doing a good trade.

Next post:  The strange statues of Bratislava...

Bratislava Diaries, Part 1: Castle to Clocks

Browsing old files on my laptop, I came across notes I'd written about my visit a few years ago to Bratislava, the capital city of Slovakia. 

I'd intended them to be the backbone of an article, but sadly I never wrote about the city.

So here they are, with but a light edit to preserve their immediacy. Join me, just arrived by train from the Tatra Mountains on the Polish border...

So here I am in the Slovak capital. Hadn’t intended to come, but my schedule was a few days ahead in the end and it made sense.

Slid into the main station yesterday and immediately had a taste of the crumbling architecture of the communist years. The station is a bit shabby, as are the trains, but there’s a splendid mosaic in the main hall featuring folks in shirtsleeves watching Sputnik pass overhead – a sort of a modern Bayeux Tapestry.

Tram to apartment passed some fairly hideous concrete government buildings, then deposited me on crumbling pavement in residential district just outside city centre. Rented apartment has all the usual amenities: hard sofa bed to sleep on, dodgy hot water, not enough furniture. Handy for tram though.

It was a Sunday so I decided on an initial walk from heights of the castle down through the Old Town beneath it; a logical route followed by many in the old days, I’m sure.

But it was 30 degrees by mid-morning – no way was I walking up that hill if it could be avoided, so caught a bus.

This landed me on the quiet western side of the castle, and as I walked back toward it, my attention was caught by a modern white building on the right, its concourse promising lofty views.

I walked to the edge and was rewarded by a view down over the UFO, a strange circular observation deck built high above the structure of a 1970s bridge. But more of that later.

Turning back, I noticed a number of Slovak and EU flags fluttering above an artificial waterfall in front of the building, along with a statue of a woman handing out flowers as if she were Eliza Doolittle.

I realised this was the Slovak parliament, the seat of government for a Slovakia independent for the first time ever.

I felt warmly toward it, its fluttering flags and statue, as I’d felt warmly toward the compact presidential palace I’d spotted from the bus stop earlier, probably the haunt of some minor Austro-Hungarian noble in the old days.

I like these small Central European countries, they remind me of Tintin's Syldavia.

To the castle, less decorative than usual but still rather impressive – a big brown rigidly geometric number on the hilltop, with four towers holding together a square with absolutely straight walls.

Wandered around inside the attractive grounds before beginning my descent, met some Malaysian guys on the way, had a chat about the heat. Finally put on sunblock.

The way down was via impressive castle gates leading to narrow winding streets on the side of the hill.

I stopped at the Blue Star, a tavern on the way whose menu boasted centuries of intrigue: politicians and nobles of the imperial days, meeting here to chew things over. After a Zlatý Bažant beer I felt looser, relaxed, able to keep going.

Stopped at the Clocks Museum, within a tall, narrow house on an intersection, in what was the Jewish quarter in pre-WWII times.

Incredibly dangerous stairs, but led up to small rooms filled with intricate timepieces. There were some intriguing pieces from an age mixing gilt baroque angels with then-new technology

They included a clock with the four stages of life carved on its surf, ending with a skull indicating death. Something to cheer you up on those cold winter evenings.

Next post: I ascend to the UFO...

Europe Summer Series: Tatra Mountains, Slovakia (Part 2)

The last post ended with me entering a tiny single-cabin cable car for the ascent to Lomnický Štít, a high peak in the Tatra Mountains of Slovakia. Here's what happened next...

Then a miracle happens.

The dense cloud cover starts to dissipate under the sunlight's warmth, splitting apart to reveal a stark rocky peak way above us.

Set within it is the cable car station, an improbable construction wedged into the rock, like the lair of a James Bond villain.

As we reach it, I suddenly remember that there’s nothing beneath our feet for a very long way; and then we gently ease into place, 2634 metres above sea level.

Ascending stairs, we find ourselves in an unexpectedly classy cafe, though most of us continue through onto a viewing platform in front of the building, partly built into the rock and jutting out into thin air.

We can see far down into the valley; this time the towns are minute. Neighbouring rocky peaks are visible, and it’s stimulating to just stand and look, while breathing the crisp air.

Eventually I go inside, wondering what drink is most suitable to celebrate such an experience (Whisky? Beer?), and end up with a frosted glass of demanovka, a traditional Slovak liqueur.

Back outside, there’s an odd mood of exhilaration in the air.

I think, like me, everyone is thinking how improbable this all is, that human beings shouldn’t be this high up from the earth, and certainly not sipping alcoholic beverages while doing so.

We’re all delighted at somehow being part of this impossible thing, and braced by the strange mix of material comforts and an underlying sense of danger.

I want at the same time to shout out “Aren’t we clever?” and “Aren’t we crazy?”

But such atypical periods of one’s life - removed from the concerns of the mortals below us - have to come to an end.

After 50 minutes our return car arrives and we make our descent.

I have lunch at the restaurant at Skalnaté Pleso, enjoying a decent Hungarian goulash.

Then it’s out onto the rocks for a hike along the mountainside west to Hrebienok, from where a funicular railway leads back down to Starý Smokovec, terminating just above the hotel.

After all this physical effort, the sight of the Grand is a relief, and its wellness centre a godsend.

Wrapped in a sheet, I take a well-earned dose of relaxation, moving between the sauna, the steam room, the infrared sauna with its weird colour-changing globe, the ice-cold pool and the heated ceramic beds in the tepidarium.

There’s nothing like some physical effort to make you really feel you’ve earned this sort of pampering, and I appreciate every moment.

Then, on my way back to my room, I bump into Joan and Joan, the two women I’d noticed in the cafe earlier, and join them for tea.

It turns out they’re British widows who travel together once a year, usually to Western Europe, but a trip to Austria fell through so they ended up here.

They’ve been going off every day on tours around the countryside; tomorrow they’re rafting down the Dunajec River on the border with Poland.

Since we’re getting along like a house on fire, I mention the hotel’s resemblance to a Christie plot item, and they agree.

Daringly, I suggest they’d fit right in to the story, and they laugh. “Like Miss Marple?” says one.

Still on a high from my ascent of the mountain, I can only smile. The only mystery surrounding the attractions of the Tatra Mountains, is why they aren’t better known outside Slovakia.

Europe Summer Series: Tatra Mountains, Slovakia (Part 1)

Over December and January, I'll be running a series of my previously published print articles on Central and Eastern Europe. First up, Slovakia...

“Everywhere there is evil under the sun.”

I have Hercule Poirot’s words on my mind as I stroll through the foyer of the Grand Hotel.

It’s a building that appears to have sprung straight from the pages of an Agatha Christie novel; built in 1904, it’s a high-ceilinged structure decorated with sweeping, elegant art nouveau curves.

It doesn’t take much imagination to imagine the hotel being packed with foreign spies, American shipping magnates and exiled Russian countesses with secret sorrows.

But as I step into the cafe lounge, there is little evil to be seen - only two silver-haired ladies, sipping tea next to a bay window that offers a spectacular view over the slopes below.

The only thing that doesn't quite fit with my glamorous detective fantasy is the name of the lounge: the Castro Cafe.

And that’s because I’m in central Slovakia, and the hotel’s most famous guest ever was Fidel Castro, who visited in the 1970s when this was part of communist Czechoslovakia.

It’s a reminder that not all is as you expect when you venture east of the long-vanished Iron Curtain.

To be fair, other rooms in the hotel have had the same star guest treatment: the Sinatra Bar (Nancy), the Wilson Bar (after the British prime minister) and the Lefevre Restaurant (after the interwar French actor).

There’s even the Sailer Wellness Centre (after Austrian skier Toni Sailer), an impressive modern take on of Central Europe’s long obsession with spa treatments and health-related holidays.

When the Grand Hotel was built, Slovakia was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. A few wars and revolutions have passed by since then, and it’s now at the hub of a thriving tourist zone centred on the Tatra Mountains, the northernmost end of the mighty Carpathians.

The town it’s in, Starý Smokovec, is neatly placed in the foothills, with towering peaks above and a view down the slopes to the regional city of Poprad and the surrounding plain.

As glamorous as the hotel is, I have to get out among those amazing, lofty mountains. So I catch an electric train to the nearby town of Tatranská Lomnica, the starting point of a cable car that heads up to Skalnaté Pleso, 1751m above sea level. From there I can catch a second cable car right up to the peak of Lomnický Štít, one of the highest points of the range.

This first stage of the journey is undertaken in a small four-person cabin, which sways in the breeze as it’s hauled up the cable. Until this point I’ve conveniently forgotten my mild fear of heights, which is reawakened now as we lurch upward out of the base station.

It’s both a terrifying and exhilarating feeling to be dangling high in the air, held only by a moving cable. The scenery is brilliant: beneath us I can see rocky outcrops covered by a strange grey-green moss, interspersed with hardy trees and the odd surviving winter snowdrift sheltered from the sunshine by rocks.

When we reach Skalnaté Pleso I have to wait an hour for my assigned car up to Lomnický Štít, so I wander out of the station onto the rocky slope outside. It’s fairly level at this point, with a fenced-off viewing area that allows visitors to stand beneath the incoming cars.

Around me people are milling, and taking photos of each other and the town far below. Also smoking – which seems an odd affront to the beautifully clear cold mountain air, but each to their own.

As I'm taking in the view, someone points up, and I see a cable car ascending the second stage to Lomnický Štít, another 900m higher.

This car is different, basically a large red box which ascends solo. There are no supports to its cable; it arcs up until it disappears into the cloud cover just above our heads, seemingly on its way to heaven.

So at 10.10am a dozen of us cram into a small red metal box, the operator starts it up, and we swing out into nothingness.

Strangely, it’s less scary than the previous ride. Although the ground is soon far beneath us, and the landscape becoming progressively more craggy and forbidding, the ascent has a surprisingly smooth motion, like riding in a lift.

Then a miracle happens...

[Next: The miracle!]

Return of the Red Menace: More Communist-Era Relics

Last week I began counting down the the top ten communist relics I've visited in my travels through Central and Eastern Europe, complete with images (and bonus silly captions!).

We're up to the really big structures now. Who will come in at number one? Let the gender-bending drug-enhanced socialist games commence!

5. New Bridge, Bratislava, Slovakia. When Czechoslovakia's communist regime decided the Slovak capital needed a new bridge across the Danube in the 1970s, they didn't stop at mere functionality. "No," they said, "Let's build a bridge - and place a huge observation platform on an angled steel pylon above it, and make it look like a flying saucer!" And so it came to pass, an awkwardly located observation bubble immediately nicknamed 'UFO on a stick'. Nowadays it's been renovated and transformed into a restaurant and nightclub 85 metres above the Danube.

The Politburo had finally found the perfect place to hold their secret Coca-Cola tasting sessions.

4. Nowa Huta, Kraków, Poland. In the 1950s, Poland's new communist government came up with a bright idea to counter the traditional religious and intellectual elites of the former royal capital, Kraków. They would build a vast new steelworks next to the city, and a huge town to house the workers. But not just any workers' town, oh no, this would be a workers' paradise!

The finest socialist realist architects were called in, huge quanitites of concrete were ordered, and Nowa Huta (New Steelworks) was born. Today, it's missing the statue of Lenin that was the charming centrepiece of its main square, but Nowa Huta is well worth the tram ride from central Kraków for its razor-sharp streets, its enormous grey public buildings, and its sprawling residential blocks. Despite new monuments and steeet signs referencing John Paul II, Ronald Reagan and Solidarity, it's a corner of Poland that will be forever 1954.

Janek wondered when socialist realist concrete structures would score a sexy treatment in Wallpaper* magazine.

3. Warszawa Centralna, Warsaw, Poland. Opened in 1975, Warsaw's main train station (see video here) was emblematic of the dynamic future of socialist transport. It even - so I’ve read - had hostesses in slick modernist outfits assisting visitors through the new rail hub. From outside, the station seems to squat like a gigantic metallic insect, suggesting a spaceship of insectoid invaders who will soon swarm out to wreak havoc.

Curiously, it's not approachable directly from the street, but only via a completely disorientating labyrinth of claustrophobic pedestrian tunnels crammed with shops and ticket offices. Hardly anyone actually reaches the lofty main hall above, and the hostesses are, unfortunately, long gone.

The secret police had discovered how to dissuade people from fleeing Poland by train.

2. Slovak Radio Building, Bratislava, Slovakia. Let's face it, communist regimes only had two aesthetic settings - 'bland' or 'weird'. The Slovak Radio HQ, completed in 1983, is a gigantic, rust-coloured, inverted pyramid just outside the city's attractive Old Town, and falls firmly into the latter category.

For the thousandth time, Pavel wondered wherever the blueprints really had been drawn the right way up.

1. Palace of Culture and Science, Warsaw, Poland. Yes, we have a winner! For its sheer enormity and visual scariness, this immense socialist realist structure is the one to beat. When I first came to Warsaw I couldn’t keep my eyes off it, so totally did it dominate the skyline. Even now, with added clock faces, and capitalist-era tall buildings as company on the skyline, it’s enthralling.

The Palac Kultur i Nauki was a gift from Soviet dictator Josef Stalin in the 1950s - the kind of gift you can’t politely refuse. It was built across an entire block of the city centre, which had been devastated in WWII. It's an immense skyscraper 237 metres tall (still one of Europe’s ten tallest buildings), and completely inconsistent with the city’s low-rise character. Strangely, the giant Renaissance-inspired concrete decorative flourishes added by Soviet architect Led Rudnev help not a jot in diminishing its inherent alienating vastness. But you know what? I love it. It terrifies me, but I love it.

Critics of the Palace's architectural merit were invited to discuss the matter in Room 101.

And a special mention... Alexanderplatz, Berlin, Germany. This square was at the heart of East Berlin, and was redecorated in the 1960s in a thoroughly socialist manner. As I haven't been there for 15 years I have no idea how it looks now, but here's a snap we took of its World Time Clock in 1994.

Günther was impressed by the DDR's advanced sundial technology.

And that's it for our communist relic countdown! Try to visit some of these if you can, and let me know what more you'd add to the list. If you'd like to email me an image of a Cold War gem and a few sentences about when you encountered it and what you thought of it, I'll feature it in a future posting!

Until then... keep striving to achieve the five year plan!

[To see the five earlier relics, click here]

The Unicycle Diaries 3: Slovak Mountain High

From my travel diaries written in Slovakia last year, wherein I wander through the mountainous mist and learn about nudity etiquette in spas...

Wed 18 June 2008

- Got up to find the mountains completely vanished, covered in heavy mist that begins just above town. Clearly not a great day to go up major peak in cable car as planned, as no views.

- Plan B: Take train trip along the local mountain railway to Štrbské Pleso, at other end of Tatra mountains; lots of snowsports etc. Also more forest, as it was less damaged by the windstorms a few years ago.

- Starý Smokovec train station is a quaint part-timbered, pocket-sized place, with tourists milling about waiting for the next trains heading in all directions. There’s something both soothing and artificial about a purely holiday town. Staff at station even speak some German, and there’s English used extensively.

- Train is red and sparkling new, winds its way west , twisting along slopes, sometimes below roads and townsites, sometimes above. Very green and misty but you can still see a lot of damage from the storms. Occasionally rocky streams pass below us.

- Štrbské Pleso is bigger than expected, lots of accommodation under construction, and yes lots of trees. I have a hiking map so grab a coffee near station and work it out. These colour-coded paths are good, easy to follow. It’s misty still and a bit cold, threatening rain, so I decide a short walk along the red trail into the forest would be good. It is pleasant, though I’m walking into the clouds and vision is short... creates a magical kind of fairy tale forest look, all those dark greens and the rocky trail.

- After a while I turn back and take a turn around the lake. Starts raining but I encounter timber cafe overlooking water. Opens at 12 noon so an old lady and I sit just undercover on deck, me reading my book, her loudly answering mobile calls. But the lake is fascinating – mist shrouds other side, fading slowly across water, dark green trees fading out in distance. Cool but not freezing.

- In cafe, order grilled sheep’s cheese on a garlic baguette, comes with sour cream and is very good. Have beer with it.

- Eventually wend way through construction to station, then back to my hotel and its wellness centre. Despite the weather – maybe because of it – it’s been a pleasant day. It’s good to get out in nature after all my urban adventures, just take it slow, take a breather.

- At wellness centre, get talking to a Croatian guy staying at the hotel for a railway conference. I’d been wondering about spa etiquette, as men wander around naked or near-naked, even though it’s a unisex space. He says it’s like this all over Europe; chalk the puzzlement up to Anglo-Saxon prudery. I think the basic rule is: if you don’t flaunt it, it’s OK to be naked occasionally and briefly, ie heading into the spa, shower, cold pool. Seems a healthy attitude. There, I've learned something today.

Fly the Low-Cost Skies (While You Can)

Some interesting rumbles emanating from the UK this week, as budget airline Ryanair faces its first loss in quite a while, according to this report in The Guardian.

For those who aren't familiar with the dizzy world of el cheapo flights across Europe, Ryanair is in the vanguard of a slew of low-cost carriers who grab headlines by advertising flights for as little as one shiny British penny (yes, you read that correctly). The devil, of course, is in the detail: to get those fares, you have to book way ahead.

The carriers then load you up with as many extra charges as they can: a fee for priority boarding, a fee to check a bag into the hold, charges for all food and drink on board.

Sky Europe, a Slovak-owned carrier I travelled on from Poprad to London (Luton) this year, even charges you to select a specific seat, with the amount depending on how desirable it is. And of course, government taxes and charges have to go on top of all that.

I'm not complaining about any of this, mind you; it's easy enough to avoid most of these extras if you plan ahead and travel light. And I can confirm that the absurdly cheap fares do exist. Last year I flew from London (Stansted) to Szczecin, Poland for a 50 pence base fare; and I topped that this year by scoring a £0.01 fare from London (Stansted) to Kraków, Poland. To put things into perspective, by the time the various fees were added, the latter trip cost around $50 Australian. Still very cheap for a 2.5 hour flight.

But the unreality of all this makes you wonder if it isn't just a fevered dream that's finally coming to an end. In a 1960s Batman-esque series of blows, the likes of Ryanair are being hammered by high fuel prices (BAM!); inflation (POW!); falling consumer confidence (WHACK!); and environmental concerns (KAZOW!).

Add the fact that those exotic Eastern European countries aren't as cheap as they once were (I can testify to this re Poland), and the future might look bleak for airlines that rely on leisure travellers making casual, discretionary decisions to spend a weekend in somewhere like Bratislava.

And the "discretionary" part of that has me thinking. Many people might see, say, a late-model car as an essential item, and travel as a luxury. I think the opposite. I like my material comforts, sure, but I'd rather have less stuff and more travel any day.

So even if the days of the super-cheapie fare are numbered, I hope people keep travelling. If nothing else, it's good for our mental health to realise that it is possible to exist for a while without all the consumer goods we seem to "need" in the 21st century.

(And yes, I know there are environmental factors to consider; I'll talk more about these another day.)

Slovakia: Austro-Hungarian Echoes

When I studied history at high school, I was fascinated by the Austro-Hungarian Empire. This mighty empire, with its dual capitals of Vienna and Budapest, was a vast conglomeration of different cultures, stretching from southern Poland down to the Balkans, and from Austria in the west to Ukraine in the east. Though the Emperor spoke German, the empire itself was a polyglot construction that encompassed Slavic languages, Hungarian, and various local dialects.

And before you assume that this empire is a relic of the distant past, remember this: Austria-Hungary was one of the main combatants in the First World War, allied with the German Empire and Turkey. Unlike Germany, however, it broke apart after the war into a bundle of independent nations: Austria, Hungary, Poland, Czechoslovakia, and Yugoslavia, with some additional territories joining Italy and Romania.

Which brings me to Bratislava, the capital of Slovakia, where I'm writing this. I'd assumed it would be similar to the Polish cities, and it many ways it is. The language is quite similar for a start: I've often been resorting to Polish, and the locals always get the gist. However, a quick look at the map shows Bratislava's position in the former heart of the empire: Vienna is a stone's throw to the west, and Budapest not that much further to the southeast.

And fragments of those days are everywhere in the city. Grand facades of commercial buildings from the 19th century, when Bratislava was known in German as Pressburg, line the attractive lanes and squares of its Old Town. And the food, influenced by both capitals, includes schnitzels, excellent Viennese cakes and superb hot chocolate, and the spicy goulash of Hungary.

And there's something superbly charming about Bratislava's scale. With a population of just over 400,000, and capital of a compact Slovakia which is an independent state for the first time ever, it's a delightful place which fits its tourism slogan 'Big Little City'. Granted, outside the Old Town the city is something of a train wreck, as the communist authorities dabbled in their usual bland-to-hideous architectural experiments, but the centre is lovely.

As I walk past its compact palaces and convoluted facades decked inevitably with the Slovak and EU flags, I'm reminded of what started my obsession with Central Europe. It was none other than the Tintin book King Ottokar's Sceptre, read avidly in the school library at my primary school in rural Western Australia. Tintin's creator Hergé was a stickler for accuracy, using photographs to get regional details right, and his depictions of the traditional uniforms, decoration and architecture of Mitteleuropa had me hooked.

And the EU flags I see everywhere remind me of how good the European Union has been for Europe. Though it has its bureaucratic flaws, the EU has succeeded magnificently in its goal to break with centuries of war as the continent's standard operating procedure. And with smaller nations like Slovakia and Lithuania, more accustomed to be being conquered than conquerers, it's given them the breathing space to both be themselves, and be part of something greater. And by choice, unlike Slovakia's historic inclusion in Austria-Hungary.

Nevertheless, I will miss the old empire when I fly home next week. But I still have its former provinces in the Balkans to visit. A story for another day...