We leave Prague slowly, winding our way past
overgrown tracks and large, concrete, bunker-shaped buildings; sidings
graffiti-covered and desolate. Even the myth of central Prague only
extends a little way, it seems. If you head the right way, towards the
bus station, Prague is just another city and as the train crawls out of
the station you see its ugly face.
Gradually the city disappears and trees line the tracks. The sun
begins to break through the high, thin cloud and catches the windows of
houses through the trees, glinting amid the brick building behind the
trees. The train doesn't speed up as we head out into the countryside,
but as the landscape opens out, the slow pace ceases to matter.
Undulating countryside stretches out on both sides, lush, green and
inviting in the hot sun. There are little villages and towns, strange
mixes of alpine cottages with steep roofs, white-washed walls and dark
wooden balconies and blocks of 1960s flats, concrete and grey. The
fields are at times flat and then gently rolling, leading the eye to
low hills in the distance. Lines of poplars and thick, untamed
hedgerows mark out the fields, mostly hay pastures with the occasional
oil seed rape adding bright, sunflower-yellow splashes of colour.
We
rattle by seemingly deserted train stations, nothing more than single
platforms, overgrown and alone with their rusting rolling stock in
lonely sidings. There are the signs of heavy industry too, factories
and, once, the huge chimney stacks of a power station. Like the
villages, these become more sporadic as we travel until eventually
there are only little collections of houses nestling in the folds of
the landscape.
Somewhere the border slips by
unnoticed and we are in Slovakia, less than an hour from Bratislava.
The final stretch towards the capital is surprisingly beautiful: a low
pass through the southern-most Little Carpathians. The tracks hug the
side of a steep, thickly wooded V-shaped valley. Tiny hay pastures
snuggle between the tracks and the river meandering beside it.
I like Bratislava, it
feels real somehow, more real than Prague. I'd expected Prague to be
beautiful, cultural, a magnificent European city. And it was, I
suppose. It was certainly pretty. And, after a day or two, I could
begin to see the romance. But it wasn't the romance of the old town or
the castle (which, by the way is a funny sort of castle with no
castellations, battlements or proper towers at all; it looks like a
Chateau, not a good honest-to-God, cold, stone construction). No, it
was liminal, in the parks on the banks of the Vltava, or on the edge of
the New Town. Places Czech couples gather, away from the tourists. I
grew to appreciate Prague, but it took a day or two of wandering by
myself, heading off in random directions to see what was round the
corner.
Certainly
Prague has history and romance, but it's all too packaged, too
convenient and just too damn full of tourists. You simply can't escape
the crowds. You can't discover Prague, it's all just there, signposted
in English; turn right at the Cambio/Wechsel/Exchange sign and left
after that tour group of Americans.
No, I much
prefer Bratislava. It's small - about 450,000 inhabitants - and
charming. Not beautiful, but turn the corner and you find an
unexpectedly grand building, every bit as lovely as Prague, sandwhiched
between the concrete stores, a higgledypiggedly collection of
architectural styles. There's an historic square, marking the centre of
town, but remains relatively tourist free, all the signs in Slovak, no
concessions to the Stag parties that are beginning to discover the
cheap beer. Almost no one I've met speaks English, a pleasant culture
shock after the gratuitous fluency of Prague. The main street feels
quintessentially Central European, a modern mix of communist buildings
and turn of the century houses, pedestrianised, trams running between
the high street shops and local bars. And it's hot - 33°C today (that's 91°F for the wrinklies) - almost too hot to do anything at midday.
Slovakia,
according to the tourism posters 'Part of Europe worth seeing', is
relatively small, about 5 million people in a country about one and a
half times the area of Scotland (or, using the international agreed
unit of country-area, 6 Wales). 500,000 of them live in Bratislava, a
city similar in size to Edinburgh, with much of the country sparsely
populated, mountainous and spectacularly beautiful (it also has a
closely-related, larger and more dominant neighbour - are you beginning
to get the parallels here?). It's relatively undiscovered and the stag
parties haven't yet arrived in full strength. It's all about to change
though. At the moment it's generally cheaper than the Czech Republic
and the currency is slightly weaker, but in 2009 Slovakia is joining
the Euro and currently it's GDP growth rate is among the highest in the
OECD. Foreign investment is growing and the signs of Westernisation are
already here, MacDonalds on the high street and Tescos down the road.
See it while you can is what I've been told.
And so I thought I'd go
in search of a reality that's changing, a record of something other
than the average tourist trip. I walked across the Nový Most (New
Bridge), with its distinctive flying saucer tower, towards the enormous
rectangular blocks of flats visible from the castle on the other side
of the Danube. It was my first experience ofpaneláks, classic
communist residential buildings: functional, collectivist and ugly,
built from pre-fabricated and pre-stressed concrete panels and poorly
constructed. Huge, hulking monoliths dominating the skyline, they
sprawl across the West bank of the Danube and form a massive
residentialarea called Petržalka (which, I later found out, is the most
densely populated region of cental Europe), with no real centre and
certainly no charisma. Paths run between them through unkempt grass and
across half-empty carparks. A few shops are open, but there's not much
to do. Graffiti and broken glass abound and there's a rundown, soulless
feel to this place, fading remnants once hailed as the ideal in
collectivist community living for the proletariat.
It's
sunny and people are strolling around, in couples and singly or with
children, but I don't feel entirely comfortable. I am most definitely
the only foreigner here - no Prague old town centre this - and there
are a few groups of teenagers drinking lazily, groups I hesitate to
pass too closely (it's not until I'm back at the hostel - I couldn't
find anywhere to couchsurf - that I discover in a guidebook that this
district was known as the Bronx of Bratislava for its crime rate and
drug problems). I take pictures, but shoot from the hip and quickly,
until I grow tired of walking the paths between the buildings, all of
which look the same and none of which offer much excitement.
Walking
back through a large, shady park I stumble across an open air concert,
held next to an adventure playground. Kids run riot amongst the stalls
of balloons and candyfloss, the parents glad to sit down on the benches
and watch them play. Teenagers strut backwards and forwards in giggling
pairs and segregated groups, the same self-conscious behaviour the
world over. All the while Slovak bands play on the stage next to what
turns out to be a very modern shopping centre. Good music that has the
crowd singing along and my foot tapping, though I haven't the faintest
idea what is going on or why. Still, it's good. And I've finally found
my authentic experience - this is real Bratislava - not another tourist
in sight, no foreign language in the air. It's pretty clear that
visitors just don't bother crossing the bridge, and what a shame,
because the best of Bratislava is here, rejoicing in the Saturday
sunshine.
I have decided: Slovakia, I shall be back.
