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| Bratislava old town. |
The hostel was nearly perfect (unbelievably hot reception guy my age, check; nice airy spacey rooms, check), but for one incident, which happened after I'd gotten back from a fairly pleasant night out. Turns out that the guy (not the hot guy) checked me in to the wrong room when I arrived, and after I came back to the hostel he (still not the hot guy) told me about the mistake he had made, and informed me that he'd taken the liberty of 'moving' my luggage for me. I don't appreciate my luggage and belongings being touched without my express permission, and I think they should have at least waited for me to get back before moving my things, as I noticed that the locker they took my things out of wasn't being used by any other people, neither was the room they moved me from fully booked. It looks inconsequential when I type it all out like this, but it's the sort of thing that does leave a sour taste in your mouth, and subtlely spoils the rest of your trip.
Backtrack to my night out. I'd picked my hostel largely because it was located very close to Slovak Pub, which Lital had recommended that I visit; it was a local restaurant that served traditional Slovak dishes. I've since looked at tripadvisor and it doesn't have a particularly high rating, with some of the reviews claiming that the dishes are not authentically Slovak. I didn't eat at any other establishments so I couldn't say, but I did find the food that they served (particularly halushky; I kept calling them 'Slovakian pierogi', sorry Slovakia) to be very similar to Polish and even Slovenian cuisine. Now I am not fond of Polish or Slovenian food, so this is not really a compliment. I found Russian, Latvian, Lithuanian, Croatian, Montenegrin and Bosnian food to be far more to my taste, particularly Russian food. I would eat beef stroganoff every day if I could get my hands on it. I did enjoy the Kofola - the Slovak version of Coca-Cola since they couldn't access the real drink during the communist period - as well as the soup, but the halushky was revolting. The Latvians and the Russians do a much better job with dumplings than the Slovaks or the Poles, sorry. The halushky was far too heavy and one-dimensional for me, and I was only able to finish about a third of it, which left me feeling uncomfortably full. I was tempted to just leave it, but it was food after all, so I asked them to pack it up for me, and took it back to the hostel. I had it for breakfast the next day, and it actually tasted a bit better once it had been microwaved and was piping hot, so that might have been the problem, but this certainly isn't a dish that'll have me bussing back to Bratislava in a hurry.
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| Pre-dinner coffee as always! |
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| This soup was good stuff, o yes |
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| Halushky |
After I'd popped my leftover halusky into the hostel fridge, I went out again, this time to SPIN, a bar which Lital had highly recommended, and not because of the hot bartenders at all. The bartenders - well, mostly just the one bartender there - were very nice, just as advertised, and also hilariously into astrology. I think I have met enough Aries men to last me - I wouldn't go so far as to say a lifetime, but I think I'm good to go for the next few years. These men are simply everywhere and somehow they all manage to find me.
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| SPIN |
You know how the rest of the evening panned out, so here are photos galore.
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