theatre of the absurd: bar

Thursday, 26 July 2018

Bratislava, part II - SPIN cocktail bar, Slovak Bar and more of the Old Town

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.

Pre-dinner coffee as always!

This soup was good stuff, o yes

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.

SPIN

You know how the rest of the evening panned out, so here are photos galore.

Tuesday, 19 June 2018

Croatia, part IV - Zadar, part (i)

Some sort of perfect

The bus ride from Zagreb to Zadar was and still is one of the most scenic and enjoyable bus rides I've done to date. I was struck by how breathtakingly gorgeous the harsh grey mountains were, the snow-bound valleys, and the clear, unmoving turquoise of the coasts, with their karst formations.

The photo doesn't do this justice but when you turn a curve and see this incredibly beautiful, sprawling body of water dappled by the afternoon sun just around the next road..

According to google maps the walk from the bus station to the old city centre was about 25 minutes, with a distance of roughly 2km. Now usually 2km is a nice breezy walk for me, but not when my ankle is severely twisted/pulled and swollen to boot. What could have been a twenty minute enjoyable walk turned into about an hour of walking - although, admittedly, I stopped to gawp at the stunning views of the Adriatic and took loads of pictures, then wandered off the path to take some more pictures, despite the debilitating pain of my foot. It was a good thing that Zadar was so intensely beautiful, otherwise my foot would have been absolutely unbearable.

By the time I got to the hostel, however, I was almost grey in the face from the pain and had to request the hostel manager to change me to a room on the ground floor. The room she had originally booked me for was nice and spacey and there were no other guests, which I would have rejoiced in under normal circumstances, but it was also on the second floor and it was beyond me to have to climb the hostel's rickety, steep and narrow stairs just to reach my room.

This was the initial room I was assigned to

Once I'd settled down more or less into my new (fully occupied) room on the ground floor, I texted my friends despairingly and said that I was seriously considering going home. I'd made the mistake of googling my symptoms and was convinced that it was far worse than it actually was. I was upset at the thought of having to forego Yugoslavia but 'ugh maybe the rest of Croatia, as well as Bosnia and Montenegro, are going to be boring.' (HAH! Understatement of the century. Going there changed my life, well, certain aspects of it..) Fortunately, I have some very good friends who have their heads screwed on tight, and they managed to talk me out of that asinine notion, and firmly advised me to get some rest, then go out and treat myself to a nice dinner, which I did with gusto. I love you guys.