Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Hockeyless, Cultural, Transit, and Hostel Hijinx

When you last left me, I was a terminal optimist. "At best I'll have three games this weekend, at worst, one." Some mathematicians argue that zero isn't really a number; it's a placeholder, an absence of quantity, a void. I agree in part. The zero turns out to be the outcome of my hope to play in Bratislava again In retrospect, I guess three weeks, two games is better than three weeks, no games, but still. I extended my stay twice in hopes of hitting the ice again. In my frustration, I alternated between going out to do cultural things (which are all dirt cheap, especially if you're a student), and staying in and spending no money so I would have more to throw around when I needed it later. On the bright side, though, I did a fair number of rewarding cultural things.
The Slovak National Gallery housed an interesting but small collection of Northern and Italian Renaissance and Baroque pieces, but its real highlight was its collection of Slovak baroque and gothic art. The gothic altarpieces were largely dismantled in country churches and put into archives under communism, and many are only coming to the fore now. The exhibition was huge and beautiful, although it still bothers me to no end that some gothic artists couldn't figure out how to make the Virgin Mary's eyes look in the same direction. Something about a googly-eyed Holy Mother of God that's just...hard to take seriously. But the layout of the galleries (all of them) was the real kicker. The gallery didn't make sense sometimes, but it certainly kept its viewer on his/her toes. At the far end of the Gothic room, right next to the most intricate altarpiece of all, was...a climbing wall? It was contemporary art, of course, but the juxtaposition just made its viewer turn the corner, blink twice, turn around, and make sure it wasn't all just a mirage or an elaborate ruse. In all cases, the gallery interspersed contemporary art and sculpture with its older pieces. Sometimes the contemporary art choices made sense; sometimes they didn't. On the whole, though, I give the gallery a thumbs up for not allowing its patrons to sink into historical complacency, e.g. "oh, yes, darling...I know this period. He follows Caravaggio. Look at the elegant contrast between the sourceless light on the Corpus Christi and the dark background...Wait...what the hell is that big black square doing there? Darling, help! Malevich has broken in and wants to rape my art! Call the police!"
The Central European Photo Gallery provided very little about which to write home. One of their side exhibits, however, was a fascinating collection of pictures from the Czech Republic taken in 1967 and early 1968. Soviet hippies, just months before the tanks came in. The exhibition was all the more powerful since I remember all the horrible photos from the Museum of Communism in Prague--the tanks running through buildings, the soldiers on the streets, the removal of the statue from Vaclavske Namesti. It put the pieces in place. I saw the despair in Prague, but the despair only deepens when you consider the immense hope which preceded it. The photographer lives and works in Bratislava now; I got my poster autographed and had a conversation alternately in broken Slovak and broken English with him, and told him how much I enjoyed his work. He was touched, I think.
In conclusion, it took a little effort on my part to keep my last few days in Bratislava from being a total wash. My final nights were spent hauling foreigners to overpriced bars and not drinking. Some Canadians, Brits, Swedes, and Frenchmen wanted a guide, and I told them I didn't know any really cheap places. They didn't seem to care--they just wanted to go somewhere in the middle of town. I took them to the Irish bar, where they proceeded to harp on all the American stereotypes.
Americans are arrogant.

When the Canadian mentioned this, I told him someone had to feel perhaps a little too good about himself and his country to be putting down his own continental neighbor.

Americans are uncultured.

I asked the Frenchman what his favorite classical music period was; did he prefer melodic harmony or did he go for the more atonal stuff? He had no answer. A Swedish guy at the table tried the "Americans are uncultured" angle again, and I reminded him that Sweden exported more terrible pop music than anywhere else on the planet. I cited ABBA, Gunther, and Ace of Base.

Americans don't know what money is worth.

When the British guy mentioned this, I reminded him that I wasn't the one who had already shelled out the equivalent of twenty-five pounds sterling on shitty beer. I would normally just shrug this off, but the table was a Pan-European Anti-America Festival. I delivered all of the above with a nice big grin on my face. *Sigh.*

Combined with my hockey frustrations, this put me over the edge. I was fed up to the gills with Bratislava. The time has come, the walrus said...to get the hell out of Dodge.
Just as with my passage from Brno to Bratislava, my escape from Bratislava was suspiciously easy. As I boarded the train, however, I could already hear the three-ring nightmare circus calliope music from some distant corner of Kosice...the corner with Hostel Kosmalt in it.
The trainride was breathtaking, enough to make me wish I'd brought hiking gear. The Tatras are majestic, and I got to see a good deal of the Slovakian landscape. It's a really varied country, with lots of lakes, mountains, vineyards. And factories. Big, hulking factories belching out tons and tons of chemicals into the pure Slovakian sky. I looked into the distance and through the haze thought I saw a magnificent castle. On closer inspection, however, it turned out to be a long row of 13-story Brezhnev blocks with roof accesses that made the whole contiguous row of buildings look rather like a mammoth parapet. I wrote it in my journal this way: "This country is like a pastoral painting inbred with an industrial nightmare and the decaying vestiges of a failed social experiment." To its credit, though, the pastoral element dominates.
I found my hostel easily enough, and hauling was remarkably minimal. Send in the lion tamers, the midgets and the three-nippled psychics, though, because someone played a MAGICK TRICK on me! I reserved seven nights at 300SK (about $12.00) per night. I arrived, and the reception decided to play the room shell game on me. They put me in the (sic) "delux turis acomodations," which came in at a whopping 950SK/night. Since Kosmalt is on the edge of town, I was too tired to put up much of a fight. I wasn't keen on hauling my luggage through the rain at 11:30 pm 5KM toward the center of town. Though I stayed, needless to say I cancelled the other six nights of my stay. They wouldn't let me at first, but my Slovak is mercifully good enough that I could be firm.
I got what I paid for, I guess. I got a king-size bedroll which was free of bugs, a private shower and my own balcony. In the future, however, I'd really like to have some control over the nights I spend in relative luxury. I was so angry that I dropped my luggage off and walked to town center. I was too pissed off to be tired anymore. I found another couple of places to check out, and the good Lord shone down upon me to pointeth the way to Mackers, as the Aussies call the ubiquitous franchise. Those chicken nuggets were nothing short of consecrated.
I walked 10.5 KM that night, and I arrived back at Kosmalt at 3am. I slept right through my alarm. On purpose. They hadn't told me of a checkout time, so I was going to play ignorant. Besides, there wasn't exactly a line of people clamoring for rooms--I was the only occupied room on a hall of sixteen. So when the maid shouted things at me in Slovak at noon, I hauled my things downtown to K2 Hostel, which has an ideal location and a much more manageable 350SK/night pricetag. In the process, though, a hole developed in the outside pocket of my hockey bag, and my jock fell out in the street and got covered in mud. As though there weren't enough people staring at me already. I scouted out the two town hockey rinks; unfortunately, figure skating *cringe and grimace* is much more popular than hockey here. out of 15 hours/day that the rink is open, nine are devoted to figure skating, the rest to practices. Gross. Kosice could be a wash for hockey, but I'm going to watch a couple of hours today and see what happens.
Today I explored the center, including the musical fountain, the Soviet memorial (which is remarkably unvandalized), and St. Elizabeth's, a titanic cathedral originally from 1207. It's had many incarnations and additions, so it's a real mish-mash of styles at this point, with its baroque Great North Tower and its traditional Gothic facade and apse. I climbed the Great North Tower--it only boasted a modest 172 steps, in comparison with St. Vita's 287, but yielded a gorgeous view of Kosice and its surrounding hilly countryside. If my hockey explorations aren't fruitful, I may take a daytrip to a cave complex or a castle tomorrow. Now I ought to go to the Museum of Eastern Slovakia.

All the news that's fit to print (and some that isn't),

J. Brandon Harris

comment!

3 comments:

julie said...

Hi Josh,

I love your blog and hearing about your adventures. Is it never safe to drink beer on tap? Good beer there.
Have you had budvar? I remember the yogurt was really good. Had any goose or duck?

Ah the Irish. They told me that God made whiskey so the Irish wouldn't rule the world.

I'm happy about the Hamlet.
My little boy is now 9 months old and more fun than I've ever had.
So far he only knows dada, mama, googee, and pops clicks smacks sniffs sneezes and coughs as ways of communicating, oh and waving, clapping and high fiving. I'm working on "juice" and "vkusno."

Jude is having a great time in London at the Royal College of Music. I could send you his blog address.

Yours, Mark P.

JEEEEEEEEED said...

Is it true blondes have more fun? Looks like you are! Find anyplace for ice hockey yet? Love the photos. Do they have phones anywhere in Kosice? How about computers with printers. Oh no! Too many questions...sorry. Miss you.

MSOW

Whitney said...

Probably the ONE place in the world with more figure skating than hockey, and you managed to find it. Nice!

I really enjoy keeping up with your blog. Glad to see that all is still going (relatively) well!