Suchá Belá

Hindsight doesn't always have its cliched eagle eye vision. Only twenty-four hours after completing our hike up Suchá Belá gorge, I began to think of an angle for this blog post. Well, it sorta felt like an obstacle course more than the natural wonder I was expecting. But then I looked at our pictures. Sometimes, I think my memory downplays cool experiences in order to make sure I keep searching out new ones. Sure, we scrambled across horizontal ladders set above rushing water and climbed up cliff faces on a veritable adult jungle gym, but it all gave us an opportunity to explore an otherwise inaccessible terrain that was truly beautiful.
We were almost scared off from the hike by a tourism brochure that lauded its 30meter high ladder and final walkway, which becomes completely submerged when the water is high. You see, between the two of us, we've got one fear of slipping on wet surfaces and one fear of heights. Neither are crippling, nor do they stop us from many activities. We just, you know, don't prefer them. Our decision was made, though, when the campsite receptionist waved at us and said "You going to Suchá Belá? Have fun!" Okay, he thinks we can do it. An out of shape father and his two small children joined us on the walkway to the trailhead. If they can do it. Off we went!
Fallen limestone and pines, the casualties of century old weathering, lay all around the trail. Some areas were bone dry, others necessitated skipping across stones in shallow ponds. In those situations, I find it best to just get your feet wet off the bat. That way, falling off a stone into the water loses its scariness. My hiking shoes were sopping wet only minutes into the trail on purpose. I promise.
The network of ladders and steps were first put into place in 1908, then available only to researchers. They were opened to the public in 1957 and are now traversed by more tourists than any other trail in Slovenský Raj Národný Park (Slovak Paradise National Park). Apparently, some elements were added for "playfulness," like these logs, set up to prevent the canyon from closing up. Whenever we reached a particularly dicey walkway with steps just a little too far apart, we would blame the playfulness.
Here's the fearsome 30 meter high ladder. The previous series of steps definitely reached up higher, but were not as straight and steep. I enjoyed having something more solid to hold on to than a chain. This was just one of the many waterfalls we walked up alongside. Passing by some people and letting others go ahead, we found ourselves with a rare moment of aloneness. It was perfect timing to really take in the simplicity of the path ahead and the amazing situations we find ourselves in.
Up, up, up, we went around a series of plunge pools that are said to resemble a set of plates. "Misore," this fall's name, actually translates to "Dishes." Even in the cool shade of surrounding pines, we wished we could take a dip. We've made it our habit to carry bathing suits everywhere we go. Wishful thinking, really, but they're very light. This section of the trail was the prettiest and made me feel very fortunate to be there in mid-June. Any later in the tourist season and I doubt I would have had time to stop and look down.
There's never a sign at the end that says, "You did it!" which often makes completing something like this anticlimactic. As the trail widened and led into a flat wooded area, we realized we were about to begin our journey back down. Suchá Belá is one-way only, obviously, and the hike back home was just a simple dirt walkway. We sat on a newly cut log to have our lunch of smoked sprats and bread. Then, we continued on past a logger and his draft horse, toward our campsite.

Slovakia's Second City

Košice is the second city of Slovakia, a big sprawl of cement blocks rising in the rust-colored, iron-mining east of the country - on Ukaine’s doorstep and about five hours drive from the Czech border. In our time traveling in Slovakia, we’ve skirted the capital and headed further inward, deciding to leave Bratislava’s charm for another time. Approaching Košice, feeling that industry and communism had perhaps created a cubist wasteland in utter isolation, it seemed that it might have been nice to spend some time in a more cosmopolitan place. Later that night, after eating well and drinking very well, the old town was magical and we felt that the city was an oasis.
There is plenty to see in Košice, and the architecture that has survived at the heart of town is stunning. (By the way, Košice is pronounced “koh-sheets-eh”) Renaissance facades have been mixed with medieval stone buildings along the square, and the Hungarian empire’s stability – along with the town’s provincial location – allowed the buildings to be exceptionally well preserved. The cathedral of Saint Elizabeth is one of the easternmost gothic cathedrals in Europe and one of the grandest for hundreds of miles. Nearby, the older St. Michael’s chapel (dating from the 14th century), is less imposing but perhaps better attended at Sunday mass.
There is a liveliness in Košice that was refreshing. Even on a Sunday afternoon, when most European cities feel desolate, there were locals out and about, sitting at cafes and drinking in side-street bars. There aren’t many tourists, and those that are around seem content to sit at sunny tables and revel in the unhurried energy of the place. It signaled something to us about the changing of the seasons.
Finding restaurants with a more au-courant approach to food is always a joy. Appearing in the wilderness, where they’re least expected, they seem a miracle. The lushness of the dining scene might be sparse compared with more western cities, but there is nowhere nearby, that I know of, where one can find a simple plate of smoked salmon, or pans of paella served with decent Spanish wine. We even had expertly made cocktails – the bartender didn’t blink when I ordered a gin martini (not on the menu). She mixed it deftly and carefully, straining out the last remnants of ice and serving it in a chilled glass. What a pleasure! It’s difficult, actually, to find a better made drink in New York, and I have never seen anyone as adept as she in Europe.
There are certainly a good number of “herna” bars (read: “slot machine joints”) and strip clubs, but there is a thriving bar scene with a more relaxed feel – places where people go for conversation and camaraderie. Walking on the square it was suddenly apparent that summer had showed up. The pace and the light of the later hours had none of the inward looking, shelter seeking aspects of colder times. The common desire was for the outdoors and for calm, neutrally cool air.
As we headed towards home one such evening, we were struck by how exotic a city can feel on a warm night in Europe. A throng of revelers had just been let out of the cathedral after a musical event, and the square was busy with people saying goodbyes and greeting each other in the darkness. The bell towers loomed overhead and the scene seemed very ancient. It isn’t always immediately present in our mind, how old and very European everything is around us, and sometimes we are struck by a wave of awe – almost an emotional response.
As we drove eastward towards Košice - and into territory that was familiar to us from earlier, less sunny times - we expected a return to backwaters and barrenness. The city was a compromise, a destination that seemed both inevitable and necessary for our experience of Slovakia without Bratislava. It turned out that it was, indeed, representative. Instead of bleakness and hardscrabble blocks, though, it was a joy, a place that felt unique and itself.

Why Don't They Have This in America?

At the Košice Technicke Muzeum we spotted this sink. Okay, normal sink, but look above it! The soap was hung up in a plastic net, so that you could rub your hands on it, but it wouldn't have to sit in a wet pool of residue. Brilliant.

All the World's a Summerstage

Summer brings out the exhibitionist in everyone. Whether its shirtless Joe, hot pants Jan or the impromptu girl group screaming NKOTBSB's collective greatest hits after too many PBRs, the whole world is just ready to perform, following the flowers lead. The heat expands the air like a curtain opening on one big stage.
In Košice, a musical fountain spurts climactically along with Celine Dion's high notes and lights the water in neon as Frank Sinatra croons about another city half a world away. It's odd and corny and the waterworks and soundtrack aren't always expertly linked, but the locals love it. Kids dare each other to run in, wedding portraits are taken in front of it, teens use it as a meeting point to just start their night.
When we arrived, the Summer Music Fest was going on. A mix gendered dance group called "Pastels Fashion Show" took the stage to a roar of screaming girls, which we soon realized was just part of their backing track. The outdoor cafe's were full and tweens rushed toward the stage, brimming with excitement for the next act, a ska-ish band called "Billy Barman" with a bouffant haired lead singer and tight-panted bespectacled guitarist.
After the stage was packed up and the official schedule of events had been completed, the town - amazingly - didn't change all that much. The following afternoon welcomed just as many outdoor coffee and beer drinkers, just as much general bustle. The sound of a Spanish guitar lured us to a tapas restaurant where couples twirled each other around, salsa dancing. We watched from inside, where we dined on paella alone. No one sat inside in Košice, and barely anyone ordered food. It was all about being out and about, fitting as many people around a table as possible and nursing a beverage until the sun went down. When summer daylight is your spotlight, the show can go on for at least three acts.
Even the aforementioned shirtless Joe contributed to the city's musicality, ruining at least a dozen wedding portraits on his way. His two friends trailed on bicycles, shaking their heads and laughing at his audacity - following him just the same.

Simple Pleasures of the Provincial Museum

Outside of the capitols and major western cities, in sleepy towns with strange names, some of the most interesting things lie tucked away in abandoned, dusty rooms. Visiting museums in places like Košice, in the iron-mining east of Slovakia, the experience is as much about the feeling of being alone amongst a forgotten trove as it is about the things displayed there. We visited two interesting museums here - the East Slovakia Museum and the Košice Technicke Muzeum - and were practically the only people in either place.
The buildings themselves are disused enough to have become museums - old mansions and institutional buildings that have outlived their owners and function and survive because of volunteers and a pittance from the city. Locals never bother to visit and there aren't enough tourists to fill them up, but the collections need a home and can't be thrown out. In these places there is always a pervasive sense of basic maintenance and emptiness - the smells of mildew, floorwax and decay, the glare of fluorescent lights, the creak of ancient parquet, white walls hung with poorly-printed placards. Often, we have to fumble around for a lightswitch or guess at the direction to take. I love the old hallways, padded with drab carpeting and strung with poorly done electrical wiring. Also, the old ladies who sit quietly in corners, dozing or scratching at crosswords, keeping an eye on things as we move through the hushed rooms.
There is sense, in places like this, that the items are being displayed less than they are being held on to. In an awkwardly located corner of the East Slovakia Museum, the interior of an old apothecary had been preserved, with rows of narrow drawers and a marble countertop. Another room was bright with folk arts and Slovak weavings draped between dressed up, faceless mannequins. Neither exhibit was especially impressive, despite feeling the most cohesive and planned - there are similar collections in scads of museums in many countries.
The bulk of the collection was more impressive, but was also more haphazardly set up. A woman unlocked a door at the top of a staircase (we were accompanied by an old man and a younger fellow who spoke Slovak, but had nearly accentless English when he talked to us) and let us into the first of many rooms. Košice has a long and rich history, and the regional woodcarving artisans were renowned throughout central Europe during the middle ages. Carvings and paintings from the 13th through the 17th century were set up in long, crowded halls. The pieces were lit harshly and looked pretty bad against smudged white paint - but were still impressive and intricate. The fragility of wood as organic matter seems to convey the gravity of the centuries more heavily than works in stone.
The technical museum was actually one of the more interesting places I've been to on this trip - despite infrequent English translation and the somewhat ramshackle displays. A huge collection of radios - some antique and some simply dusty - was set out on pieces of plywood. Here, there were rooms devoted to seemingly every obsolete appliance and gadget, all of them jumbled up and set out en mass.
Three rooms dedicated to typewriters took up a big chunk of the creaky third floor. I would guess that they had close to one hundred and fifty examples in the exhibit. It's hard to imagine any museum in any city having more typewriters than Košice does, and it's hard to fathom exactly what the impetus behind the collection would have been.
A few rooms were given over to phonographs and gramophones, a large hall was filled with surveying equipment, there was a gallery of telephones, one of microscopes and scattered display cases chock full of lightbulbs, video cameras, remote controls and calculators. The most space was given to the various equipments and tools of the area's steel industry; smelting pots and cast-iron molds abounded, set in large rooms with great wood and leather bellows. It was interesting, but overwhelming.
We were alone here, even more than in the East Slovakia Museum, and passed through some curious spaces - a sitting room, a long hall with chairs and a battered piano, stairways that curved around and let out in unexpected places. It feels like real exploring, being in places like this. We leave museums like these sensing not that we've been taught something, or that we've been presented with a well-trodden idea, but that a discovery has been made, a strange place experienced. It's one of the real joys of traveling - sensing that something important and impressive has been glimpsed, and that you alone have seen it.

I'm Not Rolling My Eyes, I'm Looking Up

I've been an accomplice to many castle hunts, providing camera lenses like scalpels and eclipsing unwanted light with my massive hair silhouette. Sometimes, Merlin worries that I'm bored by the project. Merlin worries too much. I prefer lonely ruins to fresh paint and falconry, but recent castle tours in the Czech and Slovak Republics have created a new focal point in my castle appreciation: ceilings. Bojnice Castle had me walking around with my neck craned like a Nebraskan in Times Square.

We trailed an ill-mannered youth group and their mind-bogglingly unresponsive chaperones on a tour of the palace. It was conducted in Slovak, but we were given xeroxed translations. Since we weren't able to keep the hand-outs, I can't tell you exactly how many angel heads grace this gilded ceiling. Each one of the diamonds has a cherub inside making a unique facial expression. When I went to research this on the castle's website, the only numbers I could find were the price of renting out the space for a wedding. In the mirror, you can see the group of hooligans.

The ceilings on which they cooled it a little with the gold foil were much prettier. Logically, stars and suns are a popular decorative choice. I like to think of it as the precursor to glow in the dark solar system ceiling decals. In a room full of adornments, this ceiling still stood out. Simple with just enough pizazz, I think.

But, really, the simpler the better. Some canopies featured family crests, one went a step further to paint portraits of ancestors in clouds. It made me wonder if a room like this, with just this elegant woodwork, came from a lack of funds, a disinterest in the room's function or one tasteful person's preference. Looking at the chandelier reminded me of red carpet commentaries that applaud the pairing of big, flashy earrings with subdued hair and makeup. Bad metaphor aside, it was probably my favorite ceiling in the castle.

We talk about home design a lot, probably because we're homeless. I now know that when I have a home, I want my ceilings high, wooden and waffled. Sometimes a castle hunt can be one, long interactive browse through an issue of The World of Interiors.

Castle Hunting: Bojnice

Bojnice Castle is impressive, of course, because its huge and many-turreted bulk is so captivating from afar. After visiting and doing a little research, I wasn't as impressed. This building is essentially a large, late 19th century mansion built to look like a Loire valley chateau. The second to last owner (before the Czechoslovak communist party appropriated the property in 1945), John Palffy, oversaw a twenty-two year renovation that converted Bojnice from a 16th century, semi-fortified residence into a piece of golden age romanticism. In the process, the castle lost much of what might have been interesting about it.
Originally a defensive structure dating from the early 11th century, Bojnice (pronounced "boy-neets-eh") was originally remodeled in 1528, losing much of the defenses that had previously been in place. The town benefited from a relatively safe location in the northern Hungarian empire, and was controlled by a string of very wealthy families who were based in Vienna and Budapest. Because it was rarely threatened by attacking forces, the castle became much more a country seat than a military outpost. Even before the current structure was completed, the outer walls were adorned with a slew of indefensible windows and balconies.
The result of Palffy's redesign (he was actually the principle architect) is an excessive, castle-themed framework surrounding a brooding collection of bland, Victorian rooms. There are a few highlights inside, but most of the family's extensive collection of art was sold by Palffy's children - the rooms are generally barely furnished, with the remaining knick-knacks fleshed out by reproductions. Passages and rooms open up into more rooms and bigger spaces in a confusing jumble of caverns and dark-wood opulence. It comes down to this: the architecture is generally unimpressive, unless size in itself is impressive.
Still, it's fun to look at Bojnice and imagine that it's real. When we first caught sight of it, driving up the valley from the south, it was magnificent. It was disappointing to find that the history of the place was more mirage than fact, and offputting to see people so impressed by such a grand monument to ego and wealth.
Perhaps I've become jaded, though, and should accept buildings like this for what they are, instead of what they've covered up. It's probably true that Bojnice's previous form was less livable and more uncomfortable than the present one, and it's hard to fault someone for wanting to update their home. The scope of history must become a frustrating part of owning a castle, and Palffy can be excused for looking more to the future than the past. After all, most surviving castles have been changed many times over the years, and the crime in this case seems to be not that it was renovated, but that it happened so recently.

Gypsy Kitchens: Slovak Lentil Salad

This recipe is not authentic. In fact, we're not even sure if there is such a thing as Slovak lentil salad - lentils are popular here, but are usually cooked in the ubiquitous soup, "sosovicova polievka." It's a hearty, meaty dish that would be more appealing if there were snow on the ground. We wanted something simpler and lighter for a summer evening at our campsite, and we wanted to forgo the soaking and lengthy cooking time that lentils can require. Also, after finding some great, local cheese at the market, it seemed like a good idea to incorporate it into the mixture along with a lot of fresh herbs and a good dose of paprika. We're not in Hungary yet, but paprika's appeal has definitely crossed the border into the northern forests.

This salad would work terrifically as an accompaniment to shrimp or chicken, but it served us well as a main course. When cooking with one burner on a tiny camp table, meals tend to be more satisfying the less complex they are.
Start with the lentils, which are much easier than anybody ever gives them credit for. Red lentils don't need to be soaked, and they have a great, delicate flavor that's a great base for a dish like this. The problem with them, often, is that they turn to mush when they're cooked - especially when they're split, like these were. The solution is simple: instead of cooking the lentils with a small, measured amount of water until they'd soaked it all up, we just dumped them into a large pot of boiling water and cooked them until the flesh was soft, but the individual beans were still whole. It takes about twelve minutes, which is not much time compared with traditional methods. It's kind of like making pasta. When they were tender and were really starting to float in the water, we strained out the liquid and ran the lentils under cold water to stop the cooking.
There's a strange store in this part of Slovakia. It's called "Sheep Cheese" (the name is in English), and they sell all kinds of sheep dairy products as well as a surprising variety of frozen fish. We're pretty sure it's some kind of cooperative, but the woman who helped us at the Bojnice location didn't dispense information or smiles very freely. We bought a big chunk of "bryndza," which we were curious about because of a similar cheese that we'd eaten a lot of in Ukraine (called "brynza"). The Slovak cheese was softer and less crumbly than its eastern cousin, and it didn't really suit the plan for the salad - still, the sharp, milky tang was great and it was nice to have on the table.
This is a more specifically local cheese, called "niva," which is made in these mountains around the town of Nitra. It's only mildly blue, but with strong cheesy flavors, and it's advanced age (six months in this case) makes it easy to break up and mix into a salad. Obviously, this would be pretty difficult to find in most supermarkets, but any crumbly blue cheese would work just as well - though a dryer sheep's cheese, like Roquefort, is probably more evocative of Slovakia.
In a large bowl, combine about a cup of chopped parsley and another half cup of basil, plus two large cloves of pasted garlic, half a red onion and the cheese. At another market we found wonderful, unsalted, raw pistachios - we broke them up a little and added them for a soft crunch and some nuttiness. Pine nuts could serve the same role, or one could use walnuts for even more texture. Add a good dose of olive oil and mix it all up until everything is evenly spaced - this is important because the lentils are dense and it might be hard to distribute some of the lighter elements in them without a lot of mixing, which would brake up the individual beans.
Not much salt needs to be added if you have a salty enough cheese, but it helps bring out flavor in the lentils. Real, Slovakian paprika is great if you can find the stuff, but don't expend a lot of energy looking for it. We added the spice to the lentils before mixing, and then dusted a little on top to make the dish look prettier.

Here's the recipe, though you could do this just about any old way:

Ingredients:

1 1/2 cups red lentils (uncooked)

1/2 cup crumbled blue sheep's cheese

1 cup chopped parsley

1/2 cup chopped basil

1/3 cup chopped, raw pistachios

2 large garlic cloves, smushed

Half a red onion, minced

1 tablespoon paprika

Olive oil

Salt

- Rinse the lentils in cold water. Bring a large pot of water to a boil with olive oil and generous salt. Add the lentils and cook until tender, about ten to twelve (to fifteen?) minutes. Strain out the liquid and run lentils under cold water until cool. Let drain.

- Combine the rest of the ingredients in a large mixing bowl with a generous pour of olive oil. Mix well so that all ingredients (namely garlic and paprika) are well distributed.

- Gently fold lentils into the herbs until everything looks well-mixed and pretty.

- Serve dusted with a little Paprika.

Things Czech People Like

City strolls on waterways. There seemed to be a river running through every town or city on which people in rented kayaks, rowboats and paddleboats milled around. It was something I always enjoyed seeing and which felt so unique and quaint after the more commercially used Danube of Austria and more literally inhabited Amstel of the Netherlands.
It was like the liquid equivalent of bikers and Frisbee golfers in Central Park. Urban blue space. Utterly charming. The men most often coupled this activity with another thing (male) Czech people like: going shirtless
Guided tours in vintage cars. This was Prague-specific, but still worth mentioning. At first, we thought some sort of automobile convention was going on, but then we noticed all were packed like clown cars. When we saw a sign advertising this sort of experience, it made sense. Sort of. I guess it's a two-in-one experience, but in such a walkable city it felt like just another contrivance for tourist dough. Still, it was fun seeing them put around.
Business names with unfortunate English translations. It happens all the time, but in the Czech Republic, signs just kept popping up that made us go, "Oh... that's unfortunate." Aside from Eurotramp, the chain minimarket Flop was a personal favorite. There was also a clothing store with a terrible slur (or British word for "cigarette") as its name. Very unfortunate indeed.
Rollerblades. It was like I was back in in 1994, wishing I could roll around on those sleek, futuristic things everyone else had strapped to their feet, but all I could do was shuffle my outdated (but stylin') red suede roller skates. People here rollerbladed like the whole world was a Floridian boardwalk. Most nature trails had more bladers than bikers or walkers. At the Štramberk fair, it was nice to see shoed friends pitch in to help when the cobblestone going got tough.
Hyperbolic Advertisements. Yes, it's true, folks. At Portefena Husa you can have the "best beer selection and cuisine you have ever tasted." Especially in Prague, businesses really brought out the linguistic big guns in praise of what they had to offer. I can't know for sure if this was false advertising or not. I never actually dined or drank at Portefena Husa, but I think it's safe to say that there may have been a little bit of exaggeration involved.
Maybe this one was actually true, but I tend to doubt it. The small print reads "5 Clubs for price of the 1," which further confuses things. Can you really be up for the title of "Biggest Music Club in Central Europe" if you are, in fact, 5 clubs? Jury's still out.
Microbreweries. There seemed to be one in every sizable town, bustling with locals and serving beer that far outshone any bottled or canned Czech variety. Most microbreweries were proudly outfitted with glassware and coasters touting their pivo. For some reason, I enjoyed it more when the glasses weren't branded. I think when you travel this much, you become attached to some details that you consider marks of authenticity, little things that make you feel like your experience is unique, of the moment and not culturally mass-produced.
Themed Class Portraits. This was both the strangest and most recurring thing Czech people liked. From Prague to Rožnov pod Radhoštěm, store windows displayed photo collages of a graduating class. These weren't your average hold-a-rose-and-look-to-the-right portraits. There were some really elaborate set-ups and a number of risque ones that we just didn't feel right photographing. (A lot of girls appearing nude except for a chair or a tuba or something covering their sensitive parts). Students recreated famous works of art, took expensive on location shots with jets and motorcycles, presented themselves as Simpsons characters.
My personal favorite was this gangster motif, featuring $100 US bills. I'm not sure if my parents would have been less happy footing the bill for a professional portrait of me straddling a backwards chair or holding a handgun. A lot of these made you wonder what the teacher (always displayed in the corner, keeping with the theme) was thinking.