Bratislava, as a capital city (1/2)

2nd February 2016

Arriving in the suburbs of Bratislava on the express train from Vienna.

"Oh, shoot! " I said to myself on the train to Bratislava, as I looked in my coat pocket. I still had the postcard for my aunt and uncle! If I were staying in Austria, I wouldn't have any problem posting it; only I was about to cross the Slovakian border.

I had an idea. The ticket conductor passed through the carriage for the second time to check tickets. I called out to him "Excuse me... " - he seemed to understand English. I carried on: "I forgot to send this postcard in Austria, " I said, showing him the stamp. "Could you send it for me, since I guess you often go back and forth over the border? " His ginger moustache curled down in a frown as he thought about it. Suddenly he spoke: "Posta, posta. " I smiled and held the card out to him. He looked at me in surprise, shrugged helplessly and stuck out his bottom lip to show me he didn't understand. So I explained again, that the stamp was Austrian so in Slovakia I couldn't...

There was nothing I could do. We apologised to each other, and the man in navy uniform with red trim and a military hat set off to carry on stamping tickets.

That was my warning sign. In Slovakia, hardly any people speak good English, unlike in Austria, the country I was leaving behind. During the three days I spent in Vienna, almost everyone I met spoke incredibly good English, except for the lady at the hostel in the vineyard villages.

Day 1: a provincial atmosphere

Right from my initial arrival at the station, I sensed the division between Western and Eastern Europe. Stepping off the train, I looked for the lifts to get off the platforms. My search was in vain because there weren't any. I tried to buy a bus ticket in the entrance hall. I asked a lady in one of the windows, who, again, only spoke Slovakian. Outside, the pavement kerbs were all uneven, the road had been patched up dozens of times, the bus I got on looked as though it had come straight out of the 1970s. And when I wanted to cross the busy road that my hostel was on, I realised there were no pedestrian lights!

At the reception desk in the Hostel Blues, I talked to the first anglophone I'd encountered since arriving in Slovakia. She had a strong build, dyed red hair, and her sharp brown eyes stood out from her square-shaped face. She spoke with a slight Slovakian accent but I would love to speak English as well as she does! She showed me all the points of interest in the town, suggested good places to eat lunch, and gave me the keys to my room. Every room in the hostel was named after a world city, so I arrived in Moscow on the first floor, thankfully by lift, with my luggage. But to my surprise, Moscow, with its four beds, was unoccupied.

The sky was as bright as the Presidential Palace, , where I began my exploration of Bratislava that afternoon. I saw children playing in the French gardens of the Slovakian White House, open 365 days a year to all citizens. Imagine if the children in France could play in the Elysée gardens! The palace, built in 1760 in Baroque style, resembled a town hall of a big city near where I live. I was astounded by the simplicity and accessibility of the place.

I went back down the Obchonda road, where I'd had lunch. The shop signs cropped up in a jumble of colours, fonts and sizes. At the post office, with a little difficulty, I asked for a Slovakian stamp for my Austrian postcard which, finally, would be able to leave Bratislava. I went down the road of Michael's Gate, which, with its domed bell, reminded me of the Grinzing church which I'd seen two days before. The little side passages on the road were a surprise: charming havens, very calm, which harboured small restaurants, houses and doctors' surgeries.

Before I went into Saint Martin's Cathedral, I saw a lady walking my way, who was perhaps around 90, in a grey jacket and khaki hat and carrying her shopping bag. The road that she was coming from made me feel as if I were inside a postcard from the post-war period. Everything before my eyes was drab and washed out. The brightest colour was a building painted lime green... As for the cathedral, I was stunned by how little grandeur it had. Though my guide had already warned me. To make matters worse, it's right on the edge of a busy road. From the outside, the nave is nothing special. Only the top of the church tower, green with some gold bordering, topped with a crown (because it's the Reims of the Hungarian Kings, where their coronations take place), stands out.

In 1563, Bratislava became the capital of Hungary, after the previous capital was captured by the Ottomans. From 1563 until 1830, 11 Austrian Habsburgs and their 8 wives had their coronations here. It was difficult, in that very bleak interior, to imagine Maria Theresa, Schönbrunn's mother, with her husband Emperor Francis I, in their coronation clothes surrounded by all the grandeur of the royal court...

Heading towards the main square, I made eye contact with Cumil, a statue of a sewage worker with his elbows resting on the edge of the manhole, intently watching girls walk down the pavement in front of him... he even has a sign saying he is a "man at work"! In the main square, which would be plenty big enough for a city with 10 000 residents, I came across his friend in front of the rococo-style palace of the French ambassador. Napoleon was leaning his elbows on a bench. And in front of the Japanese embassy, there was a Samurai waiting in his sentry hut. Despite the winter weather, I was surprised to see a steady procession of tourists posing in front of all the statues.

In the suburbs of Bratislava, opposite a building that couldn't be any greyer, I really wanted to go to the Blue Church. At first sight, in the middle of a town on the pale water of the Danube, it seemed almost mediterranean, as if from a Greek or Turkish island. The church of Saint Elizabeth, built in 1913, is a vibrant blue, the sort of blue that inspires wanderlust, giving the building its unique character. The church tower almost resembles a lighthouse, with its conical shape dominating the horizon. I wasn't alone; a group of Chinese tourists seemed to be admiring the place as much as I was.

Bratislava Castle, one of the country's symbols. Although there was a fire in 1811, the castle was not restored until 1956.

The blue of the church was darkening, and so I decided to enjoy the pedestrian paths in the centre, with the houses painted in lime and pistachio green, murky and canary yellow, and creamy and greyish white. I felt almost at home amongst this eclectic collection of buildings, which you get attached to very quickly - even quicker than to the huge maze-like Viennese palaces. I may have doubled back down the same road a few times, but, "I like it", as the singer Francis Cabrel would say. Looking along the tram lines, I admired the jewel that is Bratislava Castle, its white glow contrasting against the dark night. I'm hoping to visit it tomorrow.

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