The dirt on living in Costa Rica and backpacking Europe. If you want pretty descriptions of beaches, green tree frogs, and 'pura vida' reflections this is the wrong place.
Additional irreverent travel advice includes hitchhiking disasters, getting drunk with locals, four-hour border crossings and other fun topics.
I don't like to write for tourists. I wrote this for my friends.
The concert took place inside Espresso Planetka pub. But that's not where the party was.
My musician friend, Robo Patejdl, and I hosted a great hour-long concert with many old and new friends on that warm August night in Bratislava, Slovakia. After that we had to relocate. Anyone who has been out with me in that neighborhood will tell you that bars, restaurants and houses that we drink at are all just filler. The heart and soul of our Ružinov parties is Drinking Hill.
Where are the other pictures?
I don't remember most of the concert, since I'm always in a nervous, panicked blur before I perform. I do remember people taking pictures and filming, but for some reason only one picture has surfaced from that night. It's my skinny ass...probably singing Lady Gaga for the millionth time. If anyone has more pictures from that night, please send them. Deki moc!
Rather than try to recall the events of the particular concert, I'm just going to wax nostalgic about Ružinov Drinking Hill. *sigh* People accuse me of many faults: excessive drinking, womanizing, fear of commitment, inability to grow-up, being easily distracted...
Uhhh, where was I? My worst addiction would be nostalgia. Nostalgia for places, experiences and, most importantly, people. I constantly think of the good old days with friends and how I can relive them. Traveling feeds this addiction. Somewhere down the next road is something better and more exciting than what I have already experienced. Every time I return to Ružinov I hope that the next party will be better than the previous ones...
Here is nostalgia at its worst. In pictures, this the legend of Ružinov Drinking Hill:
First we gather lots of alcohol. Russians are famous for their drinking, but their Slavic brothers in general (of course Slovaks) have an amazing capacity for drink. In the United States I'm called an alcoholic. In Slovakia I'm a "weak bitch."
"Alcohol Poisoning!"
Czech-Slovak Beer served American House Party Style
Bring lots of food and start grilling in the park. This would seem logical to any American (ahem 'Murican). However big, American-style outdoor barbecues are not a part of Slovak culture...yet.
Parky a Paprika
The "front yard" of my Ruzinov flat
Take the party back inside your Communist-era panelka flat. Since barbecues aren't normal in Slovakia, the police often saw it as a danger and would break up the party. Or the weather would suddenly change. This only encouraged the bad behavior.
The Smoking Section
The Toast with Fancy 'Murican Imported SOLO Cups
Take the party back OUTSIDE the apartment. Slovakia has a law that prohibits loud noise in buildings after 10pm (22:00). Around 9:50pm we had to stage a massive exodus for our drunken troops. A little hill in an adjacent park became our refuge since it possesses a magical ability to hid people from the police...
10:00pm - Ready to Begin the Drinking Hill Voyage
Heading to The Secret Rendezvous Point with Buckets of Beer
Party at Ruzinov Drinking Hill. I can't tell you what happens at Drinking Hill...most likely because I'm too black-out drunk to remember. There was usually a Slovakian lady and a lot of alcohol involved. Everybody who has been there has their own debil story about the people they met or the stupid things they did. All I know is at some point the next morning I would return there after some wild voyage around Bratislava's bars to collect evidence of the party. There was never much left...
One Lonely SOLO Cup Is All That's Left
I miss these times and the people who were there. Bratislava, Slovakia is not a place that most people put on their Top Ten travel lists, but for me it's one of the best. And it's all thanks to the people who are there. This song is for you guys. I played it at the Ružinov Concert and I will play it the next time I see you, because I always gotta feelin'...
There are a lot of nice beaches around Bratislava.
That sounds pretty stupid, doesn't it? When my Couchsurfer told me she was taking me to the beach for the day, I though she had perhaps drank too many slivovica shots. Slovakia is a landlocked country known for its mountains and snow. The thought of a beach here sounds absurd.
Use your imagination. Go to Bratislava in the summer and there are several nice places where you can lay your towel in the sand, grab a cold drink, get a nice tan and then cool off later with a dip in the water. And don't worry, there will plenty of nice girls to look at. This is Slavic Europe.
1. T-com Beach T-Com Beach is on the opposite side of the Dunaj River from downtown Bratislava. If it's not June, July or August don't go looking for it because it doesn't exist in the winter. During the summer months construction crews dump several tons of sand on the riverside and contain it all in wooden partitions. After that they set up beach chairs, umbrellas and several fancy, stand-alone cafes on top of the sand. If you want to feel glamorous and have a good view of the Old Town, cross the New Bridge and pick out a spot.
2. Zlaty Piesky Zlaty Piesky is a small resort with a lake located on the city limits of Bratislava. Whenever I felt inspired to pull out my guitar and write a song, I would go out here to clear my head. Take the red tram line 4 all the way to the last stop where Tesco is. This lake is more relaxed and less glamorous than T-com, but is a great area for camping, picnics and the occasional music festival like the Uprising Reggae Festival. If you don't feel like jumping in the lake, the surrounding park has places for volleyball, street hockey, tennis and mini-golf.
3. Čunovo Lake Čunovo is an excellent choice for a short day-trip to get away from the "big" city. From the city center you can take any connecting route to Bus 91 and you will be at the lake within 50 minutes. If you want a more scenic trip, rent a bike and follow the Dunaj River south from Bratislava. I was fortunate enough to have a Couchsurfer with a car. During the trip south I was looking at a map and realized the road on the other side of the tree grove was where I had painfully crossed the Hungarian-Slovak border the previous day.
It was a hot August day and after parking the car, we immediately jumped into the cool lake. My host told me that the lake isn't natural and used to be an old rock mine that was later filled in with water. This may explain an island which is unnaturally located in the exact middle of the lake. We were both feeling fit and decided to swim to the island. It took some some effort but eventually we made it to the shore and laid down to dry off in the sun.
Since Couchsurfing is by nature a traveling network, people often meet at random, talk briefly and then leave so quickly that they hardly have time to get to know each other. You feel like a pinball bouncing from place to place without ever truly stopping. Barely 24 hours had passed since I had hitchhiked from Budapest, arrived at her place exhausted, made introductions and then promptly passed out on her guest bed. She had been kind enough to take me down here to this pleasant, scenic corner of Slovakia that only yesterday had looked like hell on earth. I took a moment to look at this lady and consider exactly who she was.
But not too many moments. She's in a swimsuit and that would be weird...*ahem*...
She was what I would call a classic Slovak lady: tall, thin, and quiet with a pretty face which made her look much younger than her years suggested. She had lived in the United States for a while and it had given her a different perspective on the rather traditional life of Slovakia. We chatted about our respective travels but spent much of the time in quiet reflection. Čunovo Lake will do that to a person.
I needed the peace and quiet. In another 24 hours I would be hosting my own, rowdy Bratislava Reunion Concert.
"But I only planned for one day in Bratislava! There's nothing to do there!"
Really? The Ružinov neighborhood of Bratislava was my home for a year and a half and I never got bored. So when I received a Couchsurfing offer in that neighborhood in the summer of 2011, I didn't hesitate to accept. The apartment I stayed at was no more that 5 blocks from my old apartment. Ružinov is a jumbled labyrinth of streets, parks and apartments that makes getting lost a pleasure rather than a task.
But really; why should you visit Ružinov? Ružinov is the neighborhood of flowers. The entire neighborhood is one giant, grassy park where many of the streets are named after flowers. Hidden among the parks and colorful Communist-era panelka flats are many small restaurants, cafes and "krcma" or family pubs, where you can feel like a local. For all of you backpackers who want to brag about a "local" story here's your chance. And even at this short distance from downtown, the prices drop noticeably. All it takes is a quick 10 minute ride from Old Town on the "Eletricky" Line 8 or 9, and little explorer's spirit to find yourself in a world totally different from downtown Bratislava. For those who need a little help, I have some recommendations.
1. Strkovecke Jazero Strkovecke Jazero is the perfect place for a picnic on a sunny day or a few hours of fishing. Bring a blanket, a couple of sandwiches and few liters of Corgon beer (or Kofola) and pick on spot on the shore. If you're too lazy to pack a lunch there are two good restaurants located right on the water. I've spent many evenings with lovely Slovak girls watching the sunset over this scenic urban lake.
2. Hostinec u Deda Restaurant
Like many neighboorhood pubs in Slovakia, Hostinec U Deda is well-hidden among all the flats and forests of Ruzinov. When you're close enough you'll easily recognize it by the commanding deda (grandpa) standing guard over the entrance. The inside is a kaleidoscope of Slovak books, posters, furniture and other random things hanging from every inch of the walls. Once you take in the decoration of course you have to eat the food. The menu features traditional Slovak cuisine, like brnzovy halusky, and a great selection of cheap Slovak beers on tap.
3. Kastiel' Prievoz
I frequently roll my eyes and joke that you can't walk more than a block in Europe without running into yet another castle. Prievoz Castle doesn't sit high on a noble mountain or isolated in a rolling field, but sits unassumingly in the southern part of Rusinov on the appropriately named Krasna Street (Krasna means beautiful.) It's a little, historical gem in the middle of the Communist-era suburban mess of Bratislava.
4. Espresso Planetka Pub
Hahaha! If you find this place, send me an email and I will personally buy you a beer wherever we happen to meet: rb2mcmullen@hotmail.com Planetka Pub looks traditional on the outside and wonderfully kitschy on the inside. It has some of the best pizza I've found in Bratislava and a giant patio that's perfect for sharing many drinks with friends on a nice day. This pub (and the nearby park) is the location of many of my most memorable parties during the year and a half I lived in Ruzinov. That summer of 2011 it also served as the concert venue for a special show I put on with a friend as part of a "Slovakia Reunion Tour."
It's very easy to get lost in Bratislava, but that's half the reason you traveled here anyway. Here's a Google map of the locations mentioned: Ruzinov Map
(As I've mentioned before, my notes on this Eurotrip were stolen in San Jose, Costa Rica. More on that later. Due to this my memory of this part isn't accurate so I will substitute it with online information.)
Aboriginal Hostel's excellent breakfast fixed my palinka hangover quick, and I drank enough free coffee to keep me wired until at least sunset. The hostel staff had no additional information on hitchhiking to Bratislava, so I took the hitchwiki.org information to heart:
When heading west (M7 to Balaton or M1 to Austria and Slovakia), you should take bus 272 from Kosztolányi Dezső tér or Sasadi út and get off at the stop Budaörs, benzinkút. It stops right in the Agip service station with a lot of traffic to both motorways. The journey takes 20 minutes. It can be a great place if you get a chance to talk to drivers, though the staff of the petrol station may not allow it.
It was a lucky day. I didn't have to wait long to get a ride, and the guy was practically fluent in English. He was an Austrian-Hungarian who handled construction contracts for various projects in Central Europe. His current project was a large entertainment park that would be built right by the convergence of the Austrian-Slovak-Hungarian borders. I had been through that empty region before. I congratulated him on his success, but secretly felt that the last thing an untamed wilderness area needed was another massive, sprawling building complex.
View Larger Map
What did it matter? I'm no fucking earth child. With just one ride I was almost to the Slovak border. The Austro-Hungarian dropped me off at the highway exit near Rajka which lead to his house and happy family. At that moment, I saw no safe place by the highway so I went to the auxiliary road to keep from getting killed.
My luck ran out. After an hour barely a car had driven by. I was impatient and grumpy. I estimated the border would be no more that a kilometer away so I started walking down the 150/S2 to see if on the other side I would encounter a bus stop where I could go directly to Bratislava. My Budapest hostel hangover was starting to return and the coffee had wore off. It's sunset. I swear no more palinka ever again.
Highway M15: This is where you should cross the border
When I got to the border, there were no bus stops - hell, there weren't even cars. A lonely, derelict border station from the days before the highway had been built sat there as a stunning monument to post-Communist neglect. Here words like "renovation" and "renewal" don't exist. The desolate relic mocked my stupidity for taking the auxiliary road instead of the highly-trafficked highway border crossing. I crossed the border on foot alone. The two cars that followed ignored me as I entered Slovakia.
There was another building ahead surrounded by trucks. Perhaps I could rest there for a minute and find a ride. Or perhaps not.
Road 150: This is where you shouldn't cross the border
Strip clubs are fun, but not the place to waste my time while I am still 20 kilometers from my final destination. Plus I imagine that border strip clubs have some rather frightful ladies. Beyond the club I saw nothing promising for a ride nor a rest. I focused what little energy I had and swore I would walk all the way to Bratislava if I had to, God dammit.
Another kilometer down the the road my luck returned. The two-lane road had been reduced to one-lane for a construction project. Temporary stoplights had been put up in order to make the two-lanes alternate turns so as to avoid head-on collisions. This created considerable backup on the lanes. Bad for the drivers; good for me. I started casually walking up and down the line of stopped cars asking for a ride. Within 15 minutes a nice elderly couple had taken me to my old home of Ružinov, Bratislava.
"Ideally we get him so drunk that he will miss his 8am flight. Leaving him no choice but to work with us. C'mon...do you know what that guy could do for our hostel website traffic?!?!"
The owner of Aboriginal Hostel was explaining why we were trying to finish off 6 bottles of various Eastern Europe liquors in the amount of time normally reserved for the 100 Meter Olympic dash. The target of his scheme was Josh, the American owner and founder of Hostelmanagement.com, one of the best website for promotion and networking in the hostel industry. Josh had excused himself to the bathroom for minute - most likely due to the copious amounts of alcohol we had been drinking all night.
Aboriginal common room
Being a Costa Rica hostel manager had perks. By simply flashing my business card and website, the Aussie manager had given me 20% off my room and access to the staff's store of liquors. He introduced me to the owner and Josh, who by coincidence was staying at the place on the last night of a month-long Eurotrip before he caught an 8am flight to California the next day. He had picked the hostel due to its good ratings.
Josh was a programmer and website designer who had eventually focused his work on his personal project, Hostelmanagement.com. He was a quiet and unassuming man who didn't talk much unless it was about web design. He looked at my hostel's website and quickly pointed out several things I could change in order to increase our traffic and guest visits. I could clearly see how valuable he could be to any hostel business.
I wasn't the only one. Aboriginal's Hungarian owner had been trying to convince him to become part of the Aboriginal team. He was a flashy, loud, jewelry-wearing man who was more concerned with the monetary aspects of hostel ownership than the hospitality part. He not only promised Josh great pay, benefits and compensation for his missed airplane flight, but said that he had "special friends" who could get Josh the golden prize: a free one year European Union work visa. No questions asked. Delivered to his hands within a few weeks. I know from having failed to get a EU work visa that this is no small task...
Palinkaaaa
The Hungarian owner's showy manners and bribes seemed to make the shy Josh uneasy. He was polite, but kept insisting that he had to make his flight back to the USA the next morning. This was difficult considering the strong spirits we were drinking. What the owner offered us was formidable: Hungarian and Romanian Palinka, Croatian Rakija, Polish vodka and beer for those who lacked the balls to pound these shots.
I of course jumped into the liquor with no reservations. It was all free. I've never found liquors from this part of the world particularly enjoyable, but the palinkas and rakija were high-quality brands that went down smooth. Too smooth...
Besides I had to do "business" with these hostel employees. We talked of partnerships and the possibly of me working as a manager at Aboriginal in the future if Costa Rica didn't work out. Josh asked my recommendations for Central America while the flashy Hungarian hostel owner insisted we drink one more shot...Josh, the pay is good...one more shot...We'll get you an EU visa...another shot...palinka good...blahblahshotblah...pa-shot-linka...
pa...lin...kaaaa...
aaa... aaa... shot...?
Fuck... Why did I pay for a bed? Around 9am I woke up on the couch in the common room. The Aussie manager looked amused and told me to get some breakfast...It's FREE! I asked what had happened to Mr. Hostelmanagement.com. "Oh, he made his flight, but in bad shape. I need to get home myself and recover." My shape wasn't as bad as I expected and a few cups of strong coffee helped.
I ate the free breakfast (it's delicious), checked Hitchwiki.org then caught the metro to the nearest hitchhiking spot to Bratislava, Slovakia.
That is the first thought that came to my mind when I got picked up by the truck-driving Hairy Hungarian Hitcher. His massive beard, short stature and round figure gave him the appearance of a dwarf who had crawled out of a mountain from Middle-Earth. I had no way of expressing my thoughts since I discovered with a simple "Hello" that my driver knew not one word of English. Magically in my travels I had acquired 6 words of Hungarian, which were enough to make the Hairy Hungarian Hitcher (now referred to as the HHH) smile with delight and chat to me as if I were his long-lost friend.
Truck drivers. The true saviors for many a desperate hitchhiker. Lonely, creepy, smelly and uncouth...they receive a bad reputation even though most of them have a heart of gold. All most truck drivers need is some entertainment since being on the road for a million hours can get mind-numbingly boring. Hitchhikers have received the same bad reputation as truckers thanks to a few bad apples; and we get bored standing by the road. Naturally, we bond quite quickly.
Lost in Serbia
Somehow my conversations with the HHH were more interesting than Dusan, my first hitcher who had taken me from the northern side of Belgrade to the desolate, hot highway where I got the next ride. Dusan and I had rambled on in my broken Serbo-Slovak-Polish language and he was happy to leave me with two wonderful gifts. The first was a wilted cellophane-wrapped sandwich that I greedily accepted (when traveling never turn down free food.) The second was a fine map of Serbia. It was not a standard highway map but it was detailed and included all the major roads and cities I needed to know for traveling.
Too bad I'm leaving Serbia today.
I was showing this map to the HHH, who laughed and then suddenly looked concerned. He pointed at the northern-most point on the map and said something with a rather regretful tone in his voice. He repeated it with the same sadness and I looked at his hairy, dwarf face. I gathered that was the point where I had to leave. Only when I when we reached the border did I understand that the border police was his principle concern. No hitchhikers. Were it not for that I would have had a ride on highway E75 all the way to Budapest. I shouted, "Egészségédre!" and got out.
My next two rides were spent in silence save for the Hungarian greetings. These people weren't as excited as the truck-driving HHH to venture a conversation with a foreigner when they couldn't speak English. My final ride dropped me off in central District IX within the vicinity of a metro stop and a shopping mall. The mall had a bookshop where I quickly checked my email. My last-minute planning skills were in effect, and I was hoping for a last-minute Couchsurfer to give me a place to stay.
There was no last-minute Couchsurfer. I received responses, but they were offers for other nights or locations too far outside of downtown for me to handle getting lost at 9 at night. This left me to search for hostels. I already knew of some from previous stays so I headed to my favorite of them all: Budapest Bubble. It's perhaps one of the smallest hostels in Budapest, but by far the coziest and friendliest one. And one of the co-owners, Olga, has received praise and admiration from far away for her smile and indie-girl good looks. I took the nearest metro there.
Budapest Bubble was full. No surprise for a place that only has 20 beds. However they did send me to their sister hostel, Aboriginal Hostel, which was a mere 500 meters down the road. I thought I would get some sleep. Instead, as a card-carrying hostel manager from Costa Rica, I met some very important hostel people who revealed to me the rather sordid and often dirty business of hostel management. This is gonna be a long night.
Wake up. Go to work. Realize that your low-paying job will take you nowhere. Realize it pays enough money for alcohol. Buy alcohol. Drink it. Pass out. Repeat.
It's another day in Belgrade, Serbia. As a tourist my typical day went something like what you see in the video above. The only difference was that at some point I could leave. Every time I go to Serbia I fall more in love with the place and think how nice it'd be like to live there... Hold on, dreamer. As one Serbian asked, "American, if you make the same wages as I, will you love the place??" ...
Still the party goes on. Despite nights at the Belgrade Beer Festival watching great music (including those from the video, S.A.R.S.), the best times came from hours of wasting time on the winding streets of Belgrade. Nothing important ever happens and at the end of the day you ask yourself, "Where did the time go?"
The next thing you ask yourself, "Who gives a damn?"
We sit at a cafe drinking. We're relaxing after spending the day wandering the ruins of Kalamegdan fortress. Some of us have beer or strong coffee while others are content with water. I don't recall the names or nationalities of all of those sitting with us. Some are Serbian and others are from as far away as Australia. We arrived with a group of four, but that changed rapidly. New people keep arriving at our table. As soon as they arrive others leave. But some of them return. Others don't. We order another round of coffee and beer.
Belgrade Cafe Gatherings
Our little cafe table is a revolving door of new faces and conversations. Every conversation starts as an epic plan with someone to travel to some new location in Serbia; Sabac is nice by the river; no, the fortress in Novi Sad; no, no let's go back and party in Nis... As soon as the plans are set in stone, they crumble and fall apart like the old buildings of the White City. Someone leaves and another comes to replace them. New plans begin ever more elaborate than the first; a train to Sarajevo, Bosnia; no let's hitchhike to the Hungarian border; Timosoara, Romania's not so far away; we can go all the way to Latvia if we leave now...
We order another round of coffee and beer. And another.
I have seen this a million times when traveling. Plans, plans and more plans that are thrown about like so many darts at a board. Very few actually make it to the target, but the game was fun regardless of the time spent. We spend all afternoon on plans for traveling to the ends of Europe and back. At the end of day we stay at a Couchsurfer's house in Belgrade for the night, completely exhausted from all the dreaming we've done.
