Just put it in the budget.....

There are two things about traveling that, no matter how prepared or road savvy you are, will most definitely come up at some point. The first has to do with taxi drivers. Its pretty much guaranteed that you will be ripped off by them so you might as well put it in the budget and just roll with it. When you don’t know the language, the city, or the meter fees, its recipe for someone taking advantage. And they will. I haven’t had any really bad experiences, my worst experience was actually in Seattle, so I can’t complain too much. But it probably helps that I can usually give directions in the native language. Plus when you are talking about a few dollars here and there, it’s not enough to stress out about.

Saturday night I was in Bratislava, the main city of about 500.000 in Slovakia. We finished playing our game at about 6 and after quickly going to an Internet café and getting on ‘hostelworld.com’ had a place to crash for the night. I was with my new teammate from Latvia via college in the USA. We booked into our clean but very former communist dorm like hostel where we found ourselves bunking with 12 Portuguese guys, all under the age of 23 and ready to party.

Anyway, later that night after dancing at a disco till 2 am, we hailed a cab. Sure enough, the fare was about 10 dollars and I swear we were in the car for 2 minutes. This was the same route we had made earlier with about 20 Portuguese guys, drunk, lost, and yelling and still managed to walk it in 10 minutes. Hmmmmm. At that point, after driving on the bus for four hours, playing in a game, and partying all night, 10 bucks to get into bed seemed like a bargain.

The next day Dita and I went wandering around the city. It was a Sunday so it was quiet, mostly tourists roaming the downtown streets or people flooding out of church. The center of the city was absolutely adorable, with cobblestoned streets, plazas with fountains and cafes along the perimeter, beautiful architecture at every turn. The buildings in Slovakia are all painted different colors but instead of clashing, it makes for a fun look. They are strong colors: burnt orange, pale pink, baby blue, that only look good because they are unique. I suppose after the communist left and they were allowed to have beauty again, people wanted the boldest most obvious color. A big ‘F you’ to the Red. But maybe I am sensationalizing it because that is what I would do.

We stopped at a newsstand and I picked up an International Herald Tribune before heading to a café to drink Viennese coffee. What a perfect start to the day. I was SO happy to have an English paper. After a light breakfast we made our way through the windswept streets until we came upon the city’s famous St. Martin’s Cathedral. It was a huge stone church with stained glass and a wrought iron gate. Not too different than any other ancient European church. They are all beautiful and heavy with history, sadness, and hope. It isn’t until you see the people that worship there that the place really becomes special.

We walked in during communion, people lined up through the aisle waiting their turn, the choir singing behind the priests. It was wonderful to be inside, a magical Sunday morning. The church felt like a little sanctuary from the cold and wind, the stress and problems of the real world. The singing was so peaceful and everyone was so serene. I really do love churches and sometimes I wish I was a believer. And then they started talking…and that was my cue to leave.

Outside we started talking pictures, the trolley like bus that takes tourist around, nuns walking in the street, statues outside the church. As we turned the corner and began walking down a narrow street, the alter boys soon followed, their white robes hanging low, their arms holding gold crosses and leading the priests into the convent. It was a beautiful site and as we turned to take pictures, my camera in one hand, my cell phone in another, I felt a little too 21st century. But I stopped and
watched them walk towards us, the leaves above changing color and blowing in the breeze, their solemn faces flushed from the cool morning, the church bells ringing like every Sunday morning. They formed a cocoon around the priests, their flowing ornate green and gold robes and large headpieces, as they entered the building. The sentimentalist in me loved the site, the innocence of a Sunday morning; papers, and coffee, and church. The pessimist in me wondered how many of them were closest pedophiles. Oppps did I say that out loud. I wish my mind didn’t go to that.

We continued walking up to the large castle that overlooks the city, winding our way up streets of closed shops till we reached the summit. It was a beautiful view but disappointing castle. The outside was impressive but the inside was nothing but a courtyard. We didn’t have time for the museum and needed to eat before the train so after a few pictures started down the hill. We ran into some of the Portuguese guys and continued to do so the rest of the afternoon. The city is quite small obviously since after being there 12 hours, we were already recongnizing people on the street.

After a lunch of sour cabbage soup we roamed through the center of the city, which is a maze of historical streets mixed in with chic shopping and overpriced tourist menus. We stopped at a bronze circle imbedded in the cobblestone that had distances to some of my favorite places in the world; New York (6856km), Istanbul (1231km), Athens (1253km), Buenos Aires (11,835km ).

Finally it was time to pack up our things at the hostel and make our way to the train station to meet our teammate for the journey back home. It was here that the second aspect of traveling comes into play. Taxi drivers will rip you off and you will be confused about public transportation. Don’t get me wrong, the public transportation in Europe is good, the maps are usually color coded, clear, and cover the city well. In fact, I had a much more difficult time figuring out how to get from JFK to Manhattan than I ever did in Paris. It’s the ticket buying that gets you. Every city is different. Sometimes you buy a ticket from a booth, sometimes its automatic, sometimes you buy on board, sometimes it’s cash, and sometimes it’s a card. Even within cities the buses can be different from the metro and the tram ticket can look the same at the metro but be more or less expensive. Sometimes you even have to buy two tickets if the route is extended. It’s a mess and only after you’ve lived in a foreign city long enough can you really grasp the whole experience with confidence.

Dita and I waited in the cold for about 15 minutes, anxious for the very cute trolley car to sweep us away to the train station. As we were waiting, I asked a lady how much the train costs in Slovakia (my first question to a stranger!) and surprisingly enough understood her answer. Unfortunately, I didn’t know how to ask her where to buy the ticket but since there were no ticket booth or automated sellers, we assumed you must buy on board. But we all know what assuming does….

As we board the trolley we quickly realize that the driver is not selling tickets through the glass door and there is no automated machine. I am standing there with my perfect change looking around, hoping to find someone interested in our confusion. We did find one guy interested, and he was carrying a badge and quickly approaching us.. He comes at us like a secret service agent and immediately become upset when we communicate our lack of tickets. We’re speaking through sign language mind you so the anxiety of everyone involved is increasing rapidly, especially when he gets out the penalty paperwork. I’m doing my best negotiating and stupid American act, which isn’t too difficult seeing as our confusion was anything but staged, and attempting to tell him we’ll just get off the tram and go buy a ticket. Then a woman looks at me and says in English, “ well I’m a tourist” as she waves her perfectly punched ticket in front of me. I guess you are just smarter than me, I think as I turn away. Then I turn back and ask her where she’s from. France. Figures.

So as I try to wave the guy off with promises of punched tickets a second guy stands up blocking our path to the door. What is this a freaking sting? Then a nice Slovak man with extra unused tickets attempts to offer them to us but the Gestapo aren’t having it. The original FBI guy is irate and red in the face, obviously disgruntled over the situation and threatening to have the police meet us at the station if we don’t pay the fine. One thing I have learned to avoid in foreign countries is custom officials and police because you never know what you are going to get. My GM tried to tell me after the fact that there is nothing they could have done but I have a healthy distrust of police officers I can’t communicate with. You just never know when one of them had a fight with his wife that morning and can’t stand women for the day.

Anyway, Dita and I shuffle around in our wallets to find the fine money. We come up short since the fine is 1400 crowns, the equivalent of 50 US dollars and a small fortune in this country. We only have enough for one fine so we tell them we’ll go to an ATM at the train station. In a moment of weakness or laziness or pity, the man tells us to leave and we stand there for a second shocked at his sudden mercy before getting the hell off the trolley lest he changes his mind.

What a day! I would have liked to have been really angry at our predicament, angry at the man who fined us, and pissed off at country that preys on unsuspecting tourists but I don’t like to spend my energy that way. It’s just a part of traveling, and he is just doing his job. All in all, it was a fun weekend in Bratislava and a relaxing train ride back to my little mountain town..