Finding Paydirt in Bratsvegas

To preface my Bratislava adventures, I'd like to share a little quotation from my journal:

"Leaving Brno should be simple enough. Getting to my hostel in Bratislava, however, may be another story. I think I may already hear circus calliope music in the background."

Compared to the nightmarish affair at the Prague bus station, getting my train business in order was remarkably simple. What followed, however, was not. I arrived in Bratislava Main Station with my remaining Czech Crowns, and looked around at the exchange rates. Though they promised "no commission!," but it seemed the exchange rates themselves were arbitrary. The prices in the station had no grounding in reality, and were more centered on fleecing than business. It was an ill omen, I think, because the stories have only been piling up since then. I decided to withdraw some money from the ATM and be done with it, then I realized I'd need coins to get on public transit. I wasn't about to pay the equivalent of US$4 for a bottle of water just to make change, so I decided to get walking. In retrospect, this may have been a poor choice. It was 95 degrees and I hadn't eaten since breakfast. Did I mention that the hostel was over a mile away? I've started taking pictures of my luggage whenever I depart or arrive somewhere. I'm expecting to see a progression--you know, wheels falling off, nylon ripping. My sincere hope is that the Slavic peoples believe in duct tape. I also took a half-mile detour around a cluster of gypsies who seemed a little more interested in me than I found appropriate. Needless to say I felt like death (and had a mood to match) when I finally arrived at the hostel.
Now let me tell you about my present accommodations. The hostel is tolerable. With the exception of the unventilated bathroom (which smells like a bizarre combination of a beauty salon, a wet dog, and an Eastern European toilet), the hostel is clean, the beds are sleepable, the location is central, and the little garden courtyard is really nice. In other news, the staff is surly, the rooms are extremely hot and all face east, and it takes eight flights of stairs to get to my room. Since this is an exercise in being positive, the heat and exposure issues just guarantee that I get up at a reasonable hour (though I may not be especially happy about it), and the stairs insure I get plenty of off-ice exercise. The staff, however, can all die in a fire. I'm also less than pleased that this place is a full $10 over my daily housing budget. So long, beer fund.

My first day in Bratislava bore great resemblance to my first day in both Prague and Brno. I actually had a map with a scale this time, though, and I calculated it: I walked 13km and saw the northern half of the city. Walking this far wasn't altogether necessary, except that Bratislava has a general flaw in its city planning. When you get out of the center (which is tiny, compared to the outlying commie sprawl), Bratislava is composed of four-to-six-lane boulevards which go in kilometer-long straight blocks with no turns or outlets. Thus changing direction, especially when you're as stubborn as I am, becomes very difficult. "Never get out of the boat" has become one of my guiding principles, and, in following, I never backtrack unless I know EXACTLY how and why. If I need to change direction, I alter my course and take the opportunity to see a little more of the city. But generally speaking, turning on my heel and going back simply isn't done. My body frequently regrets this policy, but so far, my mind hasn't.

In my serpentine course around northern Bratislava, I saw lots of things that should have been sports arenas. Some were, most weren't. Many were originally sports arenas, but they've since been converted into betting offices for the gambling-crazed Slovak population. Seems odd to me. I even saw a damned street sign for the winter stadium, but it led me to a tennis complex. I knew the rink was somewhere in the area, so I kept looking. I bypassed it by one block (argh) and walked seven or eight more kilometers before deciding I'd go back to the same neighborhood and try again. I found it.

I also found something else: pick-up hockey. Paydirt. I'll finally be able to put on the pads this Wednesday and give the Slavs something to think about. Most of them were better than me, but not by as much as I would have expected. Needless to say that this discovery has extended my planned stay in Bratislava. To be honest, I'll be out of cultural things to do by the end of this week. They have public skates every day, however, and and this will be the first city where I can spend most of my time pursuing my project.

My adventures as a drinking mom continue, even when the drinking hasn't even started yet. My first night here, some Irishmen told me about a club they went to on the night previous, Charlie Club. The sign on the door read 50SK entry for guys, 30SK entry for girls. The irishmen came up and asked for tickets in english, and the bouncer said "three hundred." The difference between 50SK and 300SK is the difference between $2 and $12.75...just because you have a passport of the wrong color. I heard the story once, and since the storyteller was kind of an ass, I thought he might have asked for the "additional fee" through his conduct. When I heard the same thing from someone of more substantial character, however, I started telling people to avoid the place. Since I'm in cities for a couple of weeks at a time, people usually come to me for advice on good clubs. Generally I have some recommendations, but since I've been in Bratislava, I've just said: "don't waste your money; go to Tesco and get a pile of dirt cheap beer. Then when you go out, you won't have to buy drinks, and if you're drunk when you get there, you won't really notice if the place sucks." They just blink.

But a more specific drinking mom story is as follows: I went to a staff-recommended bar on the river with a different group of Irishmen, and on the way, a couple of them started playing football (that's soccer to us American dolts) in the street with a water bottle. The time comes for Josh to walk a little ahead of the group and not answer when called. Surely enough, in swoop the police, like angry bats with guns. I watched from a distance, and when things were looking less favorable (because of the language barrier, and because the Irishmen had left their passports at the hostel), I stepped in and asked the officer in Slovak if he understood Russian. He said he did, and I told him that I'd been watching them, and they hadn't broken anything or caused any trouble. He asked to see my passport. When he saw I was American, he gave me a look of surprise and utter confusion. He showed my passport to his colleague, and they had a whispered conversation. He turns to me and says to the Irishmen "ok, there is no problem. Go home." Home we went, but we stopped at the river bar first. I didn't buy anything, because beer was $4/bottle. That's even ridiculous by American standards. But, like the tourists they were, even though they complained the whole time, my party shelled out for drink after drink (including a couple for me, out of gratitude). Instead, I just basked in the accomplishment of saving five drunken Irishmen from the brawny arms of the Bratislava police. There's always a way to get your drinks for free...even if you're a guy. It usually just involves a little cleverness and goodwill.

Going back to beer prices, modern Bratislava was designed by former commie party bosses to wring tourists of their money as quickly and efficiently as possible. It's an objective scientific/historical fact. Prague was about 15% tourist trap. Bratislava (the part of it worth seeing, anyway) is about 60% tourist trap. In restaurants, though there are menus and price lists, the amount you're charged here can often vary from waiter to waiter, bartender to bartender. The reliable thing, however, is the price quoted you is inevitably higher than the one on the menu.

In conclusion, I think the Czech Republic spoiled me a little bit. Bratislava's castle was a little disappointing, but from the castle overlook, I noticed that Slovakia uses wind power. Pretty exciting, I think. I'll put it this way. If I hadn't started in Prague, Bratislava would be super cool. But now it seems...it seems more like...mini-Prague. But there's hockey here, so I'm happy, and mostly free of distractions.

Speaking of distractions, I like comments. Give me comments. Loads of them.

I love and miss you all...especially those of you who are back at Sewanee, you lucky bastards.

Josh Harris, friend of police and hooligans alike