Day One: An Unfortunate Arrival
Despite loving travel and having organised and executed journeys countless times, there’s always a part of me that worries I’ve messed it up. It’s a shame that that part is 90% of my being.
Sat in a Leeds pub waiting for my bus to the airport, I check my passport and Euros for the umpteenth time, make sure my phone still has the boarding pass on it, and convince myself there is something else I need. Wait, I need to check my boarding pass again. All this time, I’m concerned about running down the battery on my phone, knowing that I have to contact my AirBnB host when I get to Bratislava. I know I won’t be relaxed until I’m in that flat and settled down. While solo travel has myriad benefits, the huge negative is that there’s no one else to check you’ve got everything you need. And no one to blame if you haven’t.
Everything goes well. I get the correct bus, get through security and don’t even have to check my rucksack into the hold like those before me with small cases do. I do lose my shoes for a short while, but everyone does that, right? We make it to Slovakia in good time, and I’m through security in a jiffy and even make the desired bus after a short sprint. My AirBnB host has given me clear instructions about how to get into the flat and I’m there about 30mins before my best estimate.
I can relax now, everything has gone to plan or better.
Flushed with confidence, I head into Bratislava. My flat is centrally located so I stroll around its environs, eventually sniffing out a Communist-themed pub called KGB. Bear Grylls knows how to find what he calls water, Ray Mears can build a fire out of nothing, and I can divine a Communist-themed bar almost immediately. I stumbled upon Marxim and Red Ruin in Budapest this time last year and managed to find the out-of-town Osseria in Berlin at the first attempt in February. Likewise, locating KGB on the busy Obchodná proved a simple task.
I’ve mentioned this before, I’m sure, but I get confused by table service on the continent, so I opted for a booth next to the bar, the booth bedecked in hammer-and-sickle flag – just how I like it! For €1.80, I got a beautiful half-litre of Staropramen (less than half the price of back home). Today had gone well.
Námestie SNP at night, with Bratislava castle in the background
And it continued to go well in Bukowski’s, named after cult realist/alcoholic US poet and author Charles. Talk about hiding in plain sight. Secreted in a corner of Namestie SNP, this late-night hole is the closest I’ve found to Budapest’s ruin bars outside nearby Hungary. I stayed away from their €2 shooters named in honour of various nefarious writers, but was tempted by a mix of tequila and Aperol called the Kerouac – well, I am on the road.
Another cheap outlay at the falafel stall and I was back at the flat, ready to tackle the four double locks separating me from the gorgeous apartment within. The first three were a breeze and I was overjoyed, confidence rising with each click of a lock.
Then came the final one. The lock was opened but the door wouldn’t shift. I tried and tried again – nothing. Twenty five minutes went by and still I couldn’t enter. The forlorn falafel wrap had gone cold, but I had more pressing matters of which to attend. Again, no luck. I was left with no alternative but to contact my AirBnB host. Turns out her and her husband were fast asleep after travelling across Slovakia that day. What’s more, my phone battery was running low – curse that internet browsing in Leeds. I contemplated going to a nearby hotel, as long as they had a phone charger. But what if my host had read my pleas and was coming over?
Kamenné Námestie, my local square, a modernist shopping centre complete with huge street art.
I made my way back up to the secure landing with the intention of kipping there for the night, but I decided to give the lock one more go. I thought I knew what I had done. I was convinced I had left the inside lock on, so there was little use in trying again.
However, with a desperate heave of the handle, and to my utter amazement and relief, the flat door finally opened and I was safely inside again. In a bed, in the warmth, in the place where my phone cable, camera etc were, in the place with the litre of Slovakian wine gifted by my host – and I hadn’t had to break down the door or call a locksmith.
Now I could finally relax and look forward to three full days of exploring the Slovakian capital.
Day Two: Borders, Beaches and Bunkers
The host’s husband had come into the flat in the middle of the night and was knocking a wall through, the portly next door neighbour was talking to me as she lent against the worktop that separated our apartments, and there was a huge pan of mushy peas going stale on the induction hob.
These dreams may explain why I woke up early and confused, and was keen to get out on my first walk. The rain was only light, so I strolled to a bus stop near the castle and then got a bus to where I didn’t want to go. Thankfully, I was only a 20min walk from my desired destination on the western edge of Petržalka, the largest borough of Bratislava. It’s an ancient town, but has undergone huge changes in the past 40 years, with the construction of many paneláks (Communist tower blocks) in the late 1970s. But I wasn’t here to see Petržalka. I wasn’t even here to see Slovakia.
Walking along highway 61, I was soon at the border with Austria. A casino and a few abandoned official cabins are all that remains here now and I strolled easily past a police car into Austria. It’s weird to think that, in my living memory, this feat would have been impossible for most people, and may have resulted in death for some. The border between these two countries was known as the Iron Curtain and separated the USSR-controlled Communist east from the west. In the same way as I felt in Berlin, I’m always wary of glorifying this period of time as, for many if not most, it was an age of turmoil and hardship. However, I am fascinated by the Cold War and believe it is important to remember what can happen to ordinary people like you and I when two power-crazed individuals enter into a dangerous rivalry over their nuclear weapons.
My time in Austria was spent largely waving at passing cyclists, one with a small Bulgarian flag on his panniers. This route is part of a large pan-European cycling network, connecting Nantes on France’s Atlantic coast with Constanta on the Black Sea in Romania. The world shrank as I thought about that. Do people really cycle the entire route? It would be amazing, no doubt, but is it worth the pain? I’ve long since given up two-wheels in favour of my own two feet and, later in the walk, I came across the E8, a transcontinental footpath from the west of Ireland to the Ukrainian border and, apparently, on to Turkey. It was then I realised that cycling from France to Romania probably wasn’t the most exhausting thing people could do. What is weird about the E8 is that it passes my hometown in its guise as the Transpennine Trail, so I’ve done a fair amount of it. The thought struck me that I could just walk home from Bratislava. That thought lasted the best part of a second.
The woods along the former Iron Curtain
On leaving the Austrian border, I revisited highway 61, before turning off for a walk in the woods along where the Iron Curtain previously stood. The woods were silent and quite eerie. I followed a couple of tracks off-piste in the hope of finding some Cold War bunkers, but all I saw were pink crocuses, hundreds of them.
Where the path meets the Danube is where the E8 heads west into Austria and, eventually, home. For the second time today, I was in Austria, but that’s as far as my westbound journey went. Following the bank of the Danube east, I came across a pebble beach. It was quite picturesque and I even had a paddle in the river – walking boots still on though, it was cold and raining heavily.
There was one final bunker to try to find and I was determined to be successful, so I walked off-piste through the dense woods, stinging my legs on the tall nettles.
‘Ooh, there’s a small block of concrete with a pipe sticking out of it!’
A bunker hidden in the forest
I must be getting close. Sure enough, a large concrete bunker honed into view – as did the path that I had left in order to find it. I swear there was someone inside the bunker, so I stuck to the outside and the top. It was an odd feeling being here in this silent forest, pondering what it must have been like just 30 years ago.
I had planned to lunch at a restaurant near the Most SNP, but I looked a mess so returned to the flat. Crossing the Most SNP (Bridge of the Slovak National Uprising, rather than the Scottish political party), I got a memorable view of Bratislava castle as a Riviera Travel boat sailed underneath. It was like I had been sucked into an advert for ITV3.
Riviera Travel’s Thomas Hardy sails in front of Bratislava Castle
This stretch of the Danube is a haven for cruise ships as getting between Vienna and Budapest is both easy and beautiful – as I have witnessed on a couple of occasions. The last time I was in Bratislava, myself and the Other Half got the train to Budapest. As the train entered Hungary, it followed the meandering Danube past Visegrád and its impressive castle on the facing bank.
Bratislava castle looked stunning, and I couldn’t wait to explore it. But that wasn’t something for today. I had seen the castle from the southern side of the city, but wanted to get a different perspective of it. After warming up at the flat, I got a trolleybus from outside the Presidential Palace up the hill to Búdková. The spacious houses lining Stará Vinárska were modernist, impressive and offered great views of the castle below. With a wide use of glass, I imagined Kevin McCloud being in heaven here. It was clear this was an affluent area of the Slovak capital and, if I needed further confirmation of this fact, the US, Chinese and British embassies were also located here.
A few yards from the British embassy is the Slavín memorial and military cemetery. This large plot features gardens, graves of Soviet soldiers killed during the liberation of Bratislava in 1945, and an imposing 40m obelisk. Constructed in typical Stalinist style, it’s an impressive structure, with the grounds offering great views of Bratislava below. I had actually seen Slavín on my previous visit from a footbridge near the station, such is its location on one of the highest hills in the city centre.
Horský Park
Walking through nearby Horský Park, I couldn’t believe just how close I was to the centre of the Slovak capital. Out here, in this vast forested area, are hundreds of different types of tree giving rise to a very rural feel. This is probably due, in part, to the way Horský Park was constructed – by modifying an existing forest on the city’s western outskirts. Near the park’s eastern edge is Funus, a beautifully shabby garden pub with a very local clientele. It was definitely friendly to outsiders and just what I needed after a day of walking.
Down Hlboká Cesta – a pedestrian-only thoroughfare through a ravine – there’s the Lourdes grotto, a quiet and reverential spot honouring the Virgin Mary, with thousands of commemorative plaques lining the wall. As I’m not particularly religious, I didn’t feel comfortable taking photos here, especially as a woman seemed to be in the midst of offering her thanks. However, it was a very peaceful and contemplative spot.
Hlboká Cesta
And that was it, I was soon back in the city on Štefánikova, a very busy road close to the railway station. That within minutes of such a road you can be hidden away from the world at the Lourdes grotto, or in the wilderness of Horský Park really gave me an understanding of why Bratislava is called the Little Big City. There are half a million inhabitants here, but everywhere I went had a small-town feel to it. That’s not to say it’s lacking in amenities – far from it.
A few minutes down Štefánikova is the Wilson Palace hotel, a fine-looking establishment that would grace any capital. Adjacent to it is Fabrika, a trendy and large craft beer bar that I would expect to see in the financial centres of London, Manchester or Leeds. As most of the tables were reserved, I sat at the bar near two other English-speakers. Again, the price of good quality beer was very reasonable – €2.10 in this swanky place. The English speakers near me were trying to contact their driver as they were expecting to be picked up soon. They phoned him but could not communicate with him. Instead, they got the barman to give the driver their location, but he returned with bad news.
“He’s in Serbia,” he said, with more than a hint of bemusement after the driver had ended the call. The lead Brit returned to his laptop, trying to sort out where they were and how they could get to where they wanted to be. I wonder if they’re still there, feral, surviving on nuts falling from tables?
It’s safe to say my first full day in Bratislava had been memorable. I’d been to Austria, enjoyed complete solitude in a forest filled with history, explored the city’s Communist past and seen many areas I could happily call home. I returned to the KGB bar to take stock of the day, before becoming hungry.
I wanted a schnitzel. A huge schnitzel, in fact, so I walked, almost unconsciously, into Bratislava Flagship Restaurant. The name itself would have usually been enough to put me off. It seemed undeniably touristy. With its claim of being one of the biggest restaurants in Europe, it definitely felt touristy. But this large (largest, I doubt) beer hall was lively. So lively that I found myself sat next to an English woman and a Spanish man who, having met just hours before, asked if I’d care to join them. It felt like too much of an imposition, plus I wasn’t sure what I would be getting myself into. All of a sudden, the scene where Alan Partridge arrives at his new-found friend Dan’s house popped into my head. I would keep a respectable distance from these people who had met each other that day and were on what looked like a date.
The schnitzel came, and it was huge. Bigger than my face. It had been a good day. As I left, I bade farewell to my arms-length chums, who were now taking solace in their mobile phones.
Day Three: Misty Mountain Hop
The tram turned north into the new-town of Karlova Ves and kept going. And going. And going. I started to wonder if I was on the right tram. The number of passengers thinned and the environs become less touristic by the stop.
After what seemed like ages, I alighted at Švantnerova and immediately felt like I had travelled back in time. The rusting metal barriers separating the tram tracks running through the centre of the carriageway, the overgrown grass verges and concrete barriers, the multi-coloured paneláks lining the street, and the rain. Ah, the rain. When I had set off from Námestie SNP an hour earlier, it had been cold but clear – perfect weather for walking. Now, here in 1970s Dúbravka, it was tipping down and the rain gave this Bratislavan suburb a stereotypical Soviet feel. I reckoned within five minutes a bent-double old woman would offer me a withered turnip for two kopecks otherwise her son, Grigori, would have to go without his gruel for a week. And with that, I set off walking in the wrong direction.
I realised my mistake quickly and, behind the single row of paneláks, left the Soviet façade behind. I could see the hills ahead, shrouded in cloud and, as I continued walking uphill, I started to regret my choice. The water was rolling down the gutters and the hill was steep and relentless.
Hideout: A primitive shack in the forest
All of a sudden, the houses ended and I was in a woodland only occasionally dotted by eerie backwoods dwellings hidden away from the road. It was at this point I remembered that Hostel was set in Bratislava. Having made sure I didn’t watch it before I came, I could only imagine that these places would make perfect torture houses. I had intended to find an abandoned missile base located on the hill but, with the weather and the borderline terrifying surroundings, I stuck closely to the red route.
With Devínska Kobyla being a popular hiking area, there are a couple of routes to explore. They’re all clearly defined too. At the start, there are easy-to-understand maps showing the options available. From there, trees every few hundred feet have a lick of red paint on them to show that you’re on the right path. If there’s a chance of confusion, there are wooden arrows on the floor. Every so often, there was even an estimated time to certain locations. So, with little chance of getting lost, this should have been a happy-go-lucky walk, right?
The Hills Have Eyes
Not so. I followed the red route into the dense and mist-shrouded forest and prayed for no distractions. At that moment, a blood-curdling throaty squawk came from the undergrowth five metres away. The “red route, red route” was starting to take on similarities to Stephen King’s The Shining. I cope quite well in solitude and am relatively happy in my own company at most points but there, in that forest, I nearly had an argument with myself. Outwardly, I was trying to remain calm and enjoy the remarkable scenery. Inside, however, I was convinced these kind of hills and forests were rife with bears, wolves and…eyes. Some of the trees definitely looked like bears had used them as scratching posts. I had to really try to convince myself that I wasn’t about to be attacked by wild animals. There was no doubt these woods were beautiful and I could easily believe they were ancient hunting grounds, but surely all bears, wolves etc had been killed? I’m not a fan of hunting animals to extinction but, had someone told me that had happened in this area, I would have been mightily relieved at that point.
As I approached the top of the mountain, I feared the worst. I had seen pictures of the beautiful view that would await me on a clear day. The mist was so dense in the forest though, that I had expected to be disappointed. And I was.
I could only just make out the Danube 1600 feet below, but I couldn’t see Devín or its beautiful castle, which was a huge shame. However, I was out of the woods and, apart from what looked like a black squirrel scurrying up a tree, I had avoided any wildlife of note. I relaxed for a while under the wooden shelter before carrying on. Just as I was about to, something rustled in the trees below me. Out came a creature that I hadn’t seen in ages: a human. He was clearly as surprised to see another person on this barren and cloud-covered mountain top and we both quietly acknowledged each other, before carrying on with our treks.
Atmospheric: The forests of Devínska Kobyla
I immediately understood why my brief companion was reluctant to speak too much. The route down to Devín was steep and perilous, the passing rain making the muddy paths slippery. Getting more and more confident that I wasn’t going to be ravaged by a bear, I started to enjoy my surroundings. The weather and dense woodland reminded me of my childhood holidays in the Scottish Highlands. I was almost bounding down the hill until I did see a large animal. About 10 metres in front of me, a deer wandered onto the path and we stared at each other for a few seconds. I’ve been lucky enough to see quite a few deer on recent walks, and I love those short moments where time seems to pause and myself and the deer look in bewilderment at each other, until the majestic creature turns and hoofs it out of view.
The deer must have been a good-luck charm as, now below cloud level, I snatched my first glimpses of the stunning Devín castle, looking imperiously over the confluence of the Danube and Morava rivers. From my mountainside location, I was looking at the former site of the Iron Curtain, and the borders of the Hungarian and Roman empires. It’s safe to say history abounds here.
Castle on the Hill: Devín underneath its beautiful castle
Devín castle itself was first constructed at the end of the 9th century and was one of the strongholds of the Great Moravian Empire, which is believed to have once covered most of the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary and parts of Germany, Poland, Romania, Austria and Serbia. For just €5 I got to wander round this large fortification in almost complete solitude. I imagine it’s not so empty in the height of summer when many of the Danube cruisers dock nearby. The predominantly ruins add romance to the history, but it is the setting that’s the real star here. The precariously positioned Maiden Tower clinging to the rocks above the river 600 feet below and, looking out of the thick stone ramparts, I was transported back into a medieval Europe that automatically captures the imagination.
The Maiden Tower perches perilously over the Danube, looking west
Looking away from the river, I stared back at Devínska Kobyla, the westernmost peak of the Carpathians, which I had climbed a few hours ago. Annoyingly, the cloud had shifted and the view from up there would no doubt rival anything I could see from down here. That’s not to say the views here weren’t stunning. Quite the opposite. I spent a few relaxing minutes in the Garay Palace, watching a couple of Danube cruisers sail past. There was almost complete free rein to explore the expansive castle and, with only a handful of other tourists, it was bliss.
The Garay Palace above the Danube, looking south east
However, because the summer season had just passed, the couple of restaurants outside the castle were closed. With just wine gums to sate my appetite, I decided to call an end to my Devín excursion, but not before a walk along the riverbank.
Below the castle rock, which gives you some idea of how intimidating it must have been as an occupied fortification, you’re reminded again of the area’s more recent past. Here, at the confluence of the Danube and Morava rivers, where Slovakia meets Austria, was where the Iron Curtain ran. It’s commemorated in heart-breaking style by the Gate of Freedom memorial, a large stone door complete with ‘bullet holes’ that pays tribute to the estimated 400 people who were shot trying to escape the USSR-controlled east. Further along the riverbank is another commemoration of the Cold War – a rusted metal heart. Having explored a bit of the Iron Curtain this year, and other ‘dark tourism’ locations in the past, I’m always impressed with the quiet dignity in which these monuments remember the troubles of the past while also signifying hope for the future.
The Gate of Freedom on the banks of the Morava
My mind and heart had been sufficiently fed today but, back in Bratislava, I was keen to get some sustenance into my belly. Close to my apartment was Bratislavský Meštiansky Pivovar, a microbrewery with a large restaurant. Bratislava seems to have taken this style of establishment to heart: the previous night’s schnitzel was consumed in a brewery pub, and I would go into another on my final day. I had read the Bratislavský Meštiansky Pivovar gets busy and it’s necessary to book in advance. However, this was 5pm on a Wednesday. Surely it wouldn’t be busy? Needless to say, it was. This must have been the only time being a solo eater has paid dividends, as I was accommodated by the friendly staff at a table near the bar. I ordered the pork knuckle and a litre of their own beer – well, it was my birthday – and marvelled at how busy this place already was. The pork knuckle was what I called ‘authentic’, in so far as it was incredibly hard to eat. There was no tourist-friendly fodder here, but it was delicious.
Buoyed by finally having food inside me, I decided to treat myself to a few drinks at different bars. I headed further out of town, past the Medická garden to another microbrewery/restaurant, Richtar Jakub. There was a prominence of craft beer here, but it also seemed like a proper neighbourhood pub, friendly and lively. After popping in to the Budweiser Budvar brewery restaurant, I returned yet again to KGB.
Tatransky čaj at KGB
Clearly, these brewery pubs had given me confidence to try Slovakian-brewed drinks and I ordered Tatransky čaj (pronounced chai, as in tea). As I’d recently come back from Hong Kong and Japan, I was keen to taste this drink that the Slovakians called tea. It transpires it’s a 72% proof liqueur originally drunk in the Tatra mountains as a warmer-upper in the cold winter months. Quite possibly the weirdest drink I’ve ever tried. It arrived and, due to its strength, I was stunned by how much I got. It was a double measure and had cost me little over €2. The smell was gorgeous, like Vimto or Ribena. I was looking forward to my first sip. Wow. How could something that smelled so delightful pack such a punch? It was like firewater, perhaps unsurprisingly.
A pub-crawl came in, led by a convivial guide. But what struck me was what a bind it all seemed to be. Trying to keep tags on a bunch of drunks must be tricky, but getting this party into the spirit seemed to be harder. None of them seemed to know each other and were quite stand-offish. My mind wandered.
‘If this is called tea, could I mix it with milk and call it a Tatransky čaj latte?’ Imagine selling that to the business folks of Manchester’s Spinningfields! I could picture it now: smartly suited people nipping out for their mid-morning cuppa and arriving back at the office completely drunk. It would certainly liven those stiffs up a bit, to paraphrase the cult boozers from Withnail & I.
Suddenly remembering the trouble I had getting back into the flat on the first night, I decided to call time on my drinking session. I had soaked up Slovakia’s wilderness, its history, its food and a good proportion of its alcohol. I was determined not to have to sleep rough and soak up the rainwater from its streets.
Day Four: The Old City
If you’ve been reading about this trip, you may have noticed I’ve so far missed out quite an important area of Bratislava. There is a reason for it.
I had been to the Old City before, albeit briefly on the Istanbul trip. I had also walked through small parts of it on the way back from the Most SNP on this break. Therefore, I knew it was quite small and easily manageable in one day. The final day seemed an appropriate time to explore – going out with a bang, and all that.
The beautiful, cobbled Beblavého
Without a plan, I strolled down Laurinská and under the metal portcullis, down past the British Embassy on Panská, under the Most SNP and up to the ‘Bermuda Triangle’ where Mikulášska merges with Židovská. The narrow rococo buildings are peered over by the 13th-century St Martin’s Cathedral, but the two historic areas are separated by a busy four-lane road. Turning left from the ‘Bermuda Triangle’ up Beblavého, I was struck by just how idyllic this quiet, steep and cobbled street was.
I had planned to visit the castle at some point that day, as I had seen it from various angles during the trip, but I hadn’t intended to head straight there. I also hadn’t anticipated entrance to the grounds to be so affordable. Free. You can’t get more affordable than that.
Panorama from the castle: The Old City to the left and the Most SNP on the right
I couldn’t be sure, but I suspected that there was a charge for entering the castle itself. However, I prefer views to exhibits and the vistas from this vantage point were stunning. It may be a modernist carbuncle to some, but the Most SNP (UFO Bridge) certainly acts as a focal point.
The castle grounds themselves were as beautiful as I had hoped, but I was surprised by the surrounding architecture. Even after climbing up the cobbled streets, I couldn’t resist traversing the stunning staircase to the castle courtyard. The impressive stone structure winds its way up to a grand gate which, oddly, has two completely useless entrances – unless the intention was for people to fall from great heights onto the staircase below.
Taking in the views of the Old City and Danube, I was asked by a girl if I could take a photo of her. This is one of the drawbacks of walking round with a camera – people mistake you for a capable photographer. Anyway, I agreed to take the photo and she sat along the broad wall, one leg stretched out, the other hitched up, and stared pensively into the distance. I feel uncomfortable taking posed pictures, and the awkwardness was increased as a group of teenage schoolchildren gathered nearby waiting for this brief photoshoot to finish.
The brilliant white of Bratislava castle
The brilliant white of the castle itself, coupled with the striking sienna of the roofs, gave the edifice an air of utter majesty. I spent a long time wandering around the courtyards and gardens, one minute taken in by the panoramic views, the next captivated by the glorious castle. I didn’t know where to look.
I was hoping my earlier suspicions about Bratislava’s Old City being easy to cover in a day were correct. I had spent a lot longer at the castle than I had intended but, after walking down to Kapucínska, I felt happy with my decision. Happy too, that I could have a full afternoon wandering through these beautiful central streets.
Bratislava’s Old City is utterly stunning. I wandered down picturesque narrow street after picturesque narrow street, not caring where I went next. I knew that, round the next corner, would be another view of baroque majesty or rustic central European history. Whether I saw an imposing church, an expansive and grand square, or an unkempt house with peeling coloured paint, I was spellbound.
Klariská, Na Vŕšku, Farská and Baštová. These small streets were so photogenic. Having lived near York for most of my life, I’m no stranger to gorgeous, narrow thoroughfares, but these were almost empty. I decided to walk and walk, trying to cover each and every street in the Old City, under the guise of looking for somewhere to have lunch. I had eaten or drunk almost all of Slovakia’s specialities, but one had evaded me so far: Bryndzové Halušky. This unexpectedly hearty national staple is potato dumplings (gnocchi) with ewe cheese and tasted quite like macaroni cheese. The trouble was not the food, but the service in this very central eatery on the corner of Panská and Ventúrska.
My mother had asked me one of my least favourite questions in a message the previous day: “How are the people?” What did she mean by that? What did she expect Slovaks to be like? I hadn’t really noticed what the people were like until I ate the bryndzové halušky. Here, there was an almost mocking surliness to the staff, as if I shouldn’t be there. I realised immediately how at odds that was with everyone else I had encountered. There had been no over-the-top American-style friendliness, but everyone had been great with me: friendly and accommodating, but without trying too hard. The Bratislavans had been naturally welcoming and didn’t feel as if they had to prove anything. It was exactly how I liked it.
Michalská Brána from the ‘crowded’ Michalská
Back outside, the drizzle couldn’t take the sheen off the Old City’s beauty. If there’s a ‘main’ street in the Old City, one that attracts most of the tourists, it’s Michalská. I had been here before in the summer of 2014 and Michalská was buzzing, but now in autumn, the crowds were thinner – even if it was one of the busier streets I encountered. Michalská is one of the major thoroughfares and also has the city’s only remaining gate – the quite remarkable St Michael’s Gate and tower. What I like about Bratislava is there are various landmarks to look out for in different parts of the city. Along the riverbank there’s the Most SNP, to the north there’s Slavín, in the east there’s the Slovenský Rozhlas or Hotel Kyjev, and pretty much everywhere is the castle. Here in the Old City, you can keep abreast of your location by catching glimpses of either St Michael’s Gate or St Martin’s Cathedral.
St Martin’s Cathedral from Kapitulská
As such, from under St Michael’s Gate (or Michalská Brana to give it its Slovak name), I turned left down the beautiful Baštová and eventually down Kapitulská to the other Old City marker, St Martin’s Cathedral (Dóm sv. Martina). Being someone who loves Hungary and is even (very) slowly trying to learn the language, I was delighted to discover that many Hungarian monarchs had been crowned here, from Maximilan in 1563 up to Ferdinand V in 1830. There was some sort of event going on inside the cathedral, so I didn’t stay too long before making my way back outside and onto the city walls. These thick stone structures were, again, free to walk around and also quite quiet, despite it being a handy cut-through from the castle area to the main town. I walked up to one of the turrets and opened the door. Inside was an empty white bookcase and nothing else. I closed the door and opened it again. It was still there, I hadn’t imagined it.
One of the interesting curiosities of Bratislava are the bizarre statues. Čumil the sewer worker popping up for a break, and Schöne Náci are the best two, and both can be seen from Rybárska Brána (the former southern or Fishermen’s Gate). The legend about Schöne Náci is both sad and heart-warming. It is based on a real-life person, Ignac Lamar, whose heart was broken by a woman’s unrequited love. Lamar, dressed in top hat and coat tails, then walked round Bratislava handing out flowers to random women and kissing their hands. As such, he’s been commemorated with an equally characterful silver statue in the city centre. Beautiful!
Maximiliánova fountain in Hlavné Námestie at night
I returned to Hlavné Námestie, where Schöne Náci resides, when it had gone dark. The illuminated Maximiliánova fountain with the Old Town Hall in the background was arguably more picturesque than anything else I had seen that day. I really struggled to comprehend just how gorgeous Bratislava’s Old Town was. It deserved to be heaving with tourists, but I’m glad it wasn’t.
The Blue Church: A church that’s blue
There were a couple of other sights I wanted to tick off before I left. The Blue Church on Bezručova, near my apartment, is very much a curiosity. The striking baby-blue hue of this 1900s church constructed in the art-nouveau style is considerably at odds with its new-town surroundings. I can imagine its location is not somewhere many people find by accident.
But that was enough traditional beauty for one day. I wanted to see a place that regularly features on ‘World’s Ugliest Building‘ lists; a daring piece of Soviet architecture designed to challenge standardised thinking and demonstrate futuristic possibilities. The Slovenský Rozhlas (Slovak Radio Building) has split opinion for decades, but the inverted metal pyramid is at least eye-catching. I’m sure it’s never been described as ‘nondescript’ or ‘dull’, like so many tower blocks around the world.
Beaut or brute? The Slovenský Rozhlas – Slovak Radio Building
Around the corner from the Slovenský Rozhlas is another bold piece of Soviet landscaping, the Freedom Square (Námestie Slobody) and its Fountain of Union (Fontána Družba).
This vast concrete space looks every bit the brutalist masterpiece, surrounded by 1940s and 1950s blocks. The fountain lies at the centre and, unsurprisingly, it is the biggest in Slovakia. Dating from 1980, its centrepiece is a 12-ton sculpture of a linden flower, but the fountain has fallen into disrepair as it would cost far too much money to restore and pay for the upkeep. A grand, space-age dream that’s come crashing back down to Earth.
As I sat there on a retro bench in Námestie Slobody, with the castle peeking through the trees, I started to wonder whether Bratislava had been a good destination. I had done various activities in a range of environments – walks in woods and up hills, strolls by the river, getting lost down picture-perfect side streets, and had witnessed wonderful nightlife. The people had been friendly in the most ideal way: happy to help but in no way pushy or in-your-face. Prices had been excellent, public transport was extensive, and there was also tonnes of history in this Little Big City.
Drained dreams: The linden flower sculpture stands at the centre of the empty Fontána Družba
Then it occurred to me. Not only had Bratislava been a great place to visit, but it would also be a great place to live. The city, its amenities and costs would be ideal, but it’s also so close to some other amazing places. Vienna is an hour away, Budapest two and Prague three, while Kraków and Munich are only five hours’ drive. Then there’s the whole of Slovakia – the Carpathians and Tatra mountains and all – on your doorstep.
Casting my mind back to my first experience of the Slovak capital, when we got horrendously lost due to a lack of signs, this trip had really altered my perception.
It’s unlikely I’ll ever be able to live in Bratislava, but I reckon I’d jump at the chance given the opportunity. Perhaps then, I’ll learn how to validate my seven-day travelcard properly and not realise, on the way back to the airport, that I could have faced a massive fine at any point of the trip.
Bratislava out
Black Tar Rivers 
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