High Tatras Mountains – Slovakia

Never, in the history of mankind has there been a more beautiful segway between blogs. Forget the fact it wasn’t the last blog, but the blog before that, the one where we had to go through the whole non-kerfuffle of entering Italy, the one where the immigration officer didn’t even bother to look at the ID page, instead simply finding a blank page to stamp. Now you might think I can be unnecessarily harsh on Italy sometimes, but make a cuppa tea, grab a penguin – the biscuit, not an actual penguin – and read on.

There are always countries I get anxious flying into, and ones that I don’t. At one end of the scale there are countries like pretty much every West African country which still fills me with dread. In the middle you have the likes of Australia, New Zealand and the USA who can be absolute pricks when they want to be, and then France and Italy where it won’t be intimidating, just plain frustrating, but then it might not be. You then have the likes of Japan, UAE, the UK (yes, as a citizen, this is cheating but believe me, strolling into the UK through the eGates, as one can do in the UAE, now that’s free movement), and Poland. Despite Poland being part of the EU and having to manage their way through the EU’s new border system causing hour-long queues and let’s be honest, an unnecessary amount of bureaucracy, the Polish at least get on with it – for a start they actually do it. I have flown into France once and Italy twice this year and not once was I registered for their new immigration nonsense; in Italy they didn’t bother after 7pm. Fine, it was mid-morning in Poland, but at the end of the queue was a makeshift photobooth, fingerprint machines, and officials that got on with it without being arses. I was sent to a special assistance immigration desk where there was no photobooth, but the immigration officer did take a photo of me on his phone which I thought was a simple solution to a simple problem. As he flicked through my passport waiting for the system to do whatever it needed to do, he clocked my Italian stamp and asked if I had been to Italy the weekend before. I said yes, gave him all the details to which he replied that I wasn’t on the system, so, I told him a story as to why. His response was simply, ‘say no more, Italy.’ I left passport control having officially entered two countries at the same time, thanks to Poland, yet again no doubt, picking up the slack of their Mediterranean partners – sound familiar!?

We had an hour or two to kill before meeting the group and heading off to Slovakia, so we tracked down a lovely restaurant opposite the terminal and tucked into some even lovelier Polish beer and their legendary dumplings, pierogi. It’s been a long time since I was last in Poland and in the short time I had been back I was just as in love with the place as the first. The aforementioned ‘we’ this time was another one of my, dare I say, besties who had finally agreed to come on a short group tour with me. Now I travel on group tours so I don’t have to worry about others but there are a select few that have broken into my flight zone (cow speak – Google it) and now was the time for John; married, father of two, flown once – to the Isle of Man – in the last 10 years or so, but before then had spent around five years farming in the Ukraine, so it wasn’t entirely his first rodeo. Ultimately, he didn’t hesitate when I suggested the trip and that is always a good start. 

On meeting the group I was glad John was with me as there was a distinct lack of young beautiful ladies to spend the weekend developing my flirting skills and confidence with for it only to be shattered several days later. After all these years of travel I have yet to learn not to judge the group in the first 10 seconds of meeting them. This bunch, as is usually the case were fantastic, a flock of Brits and Irish led by two wonderful local Slovakian guides. There were no complainers, everyone was super interesting to talk to, and we stayed up late every night drinking an unhealthy amount of Slovakian beer only to wake up the following morning with a miraculously clear(ish) head. Harking back to Georgia you might recall I didn’t quite know how to conduct myself; there was no such problem this time. Triggy was back. I think on this occasion I had properly found my true self again, my old self, comfortable and happy in my own skin so that I could be playful and sarcastic while not stressing that I may look an immature fool and that I need to act my age, whatever that means. It’s amazing the impact relationships have on us, and I only hope that I can find someone who encourages us both to be as near to our best selves that a relationship allows.

Anyway, enough of that, we had hiking to do. Only it rained a lot on the first day and so we were diverted into a cave. I wasn’t too enthused about this as I’ve seen enough caves and ones you can stroll around tend to be a bit meh; I would have been much happier walking in the rain considering I had packed for it. Yet as this was to be the weekend that kept on giving, the caves were actually pretty decent with an hour-long walk through a network of tunnels and caverns. Upon leaving the caves, the rain continued to fall and there is no doubt that many of us would probably have been getting a little deflated if we had been trekking away up in the mountains. Still, that’s what we did after a splendid lunch of local grub. The rain fell for most of the afternoon, but the plan had always been to accept it should we want to do any hiking with the compromise being we would only be wet for half the day. We didn’t see much, but what we did see was beautiful and sometimes the rain and clouds are able to bring a beauty of its own that can only be experienced out in nature – there is nothing good whatsoever walking around a wet city, nothing. 

The following day was to be our last full day of hiking, thankfully the rain stayed away and by lunchtime the sun was shining. In fact, the clouds began to clear as we hit our highest point around 2,200 metres revealing a canvas of jagged ridges, forests and lakes for as far as the eye can see. The hiking was stunning and the trails were relatively quiet until we descended to a mountain café on the edge of a beautiful lake and the curse of roads and easy access allowed the place to fill beyond capacity with selfie-loving, Saturday day-trippers. We had a pee, ate some emergency chocolate biscuits, and got back onto a trail that required a wee bit of effort and so ensuring peace and relative solitude once again. That was until our guide farted while telling us about bears, an unexpected act he was really quite shocked by but funny nonetheless. Eurasian brown bears were all over the place. We never saw one, but our guide had a can of bear spray attached to a holster within easy reach, and the torn-up rotting tree trunks were evidence of their presence. I failed to take any notes during this trip but as I remember it, bear spray is basically pepper spray which unleashes a huge cloud of chilli between you and a charging bear. The bears demolish rotting trees looking for the bugs inside and the Eurasian brown bear has never killed anyone, although I can’t remember if that is in Slovakia or the whole world. It also doesn’t detract from the fact that they have been known to have a nibble at people. Whatever you do, don’t run, nor climb a tree as this just encourages them; if no bear spray is available just have a chat with them which apparently calms Eurasian brown bears down somewhat, and then move back from the area you first bumped into it. However, having not long ago been attacked by a 650kg animal, these days I have even less confidence of surviving something with teeth and claws that is very angry with me. 

The final morning hiking in the mountains was much the same as the previous day – stunning. Before we knew it, we were heading back over the border to Krakow to catch an evening flight to Stansted. John was sold, he loves hiking and beer so that was easy, and unlike me he is genuinely good at talking to random people which he happily did all weekend. One of his greatest fears of group travel is what I call the General Theory of Travel Avoidance, that is the, ‘I don’t like people telling me where to go and I like to be free as a bird to go wherever I want argument.’ I don’t disagree, but he, like me, has a job and what’s more he has a family and an addiction to farming in his free time which makes planning wanderlust travel quite impossible, even more so if you want to go hiking in bear country. Needless to say, until we retire at least, as long we want to do foreign hiking trips, this might just have to be the way. The fact he agrees is great news all round, and if it returns us to Eastern Europe, even better.