Until recently, my schooling on all things Bratislavan occurred during a minute stop on a train traveling from Prague, Czech Republic, to Budapest, Hungary, almost a decade ago.
Several travelers boarded; a few disembarked. Some of them flashed passports, suggesting that we had stopped in a different country, in a major European city about which I knew β¦ nothing. In September, my husband, Steve, and I fly to Frankfurt, Germany, and then Vienna and then hop in a cab for the minute drive to the capital of Slovakia, a relatively small country that stacks neatly atop Hungary on a map.
We know where it is, but figuring out what it is takes more exploration. We bid the driver goodbye just outside Old Town about 8 p. In the morning we are in a better frame of mind to assess the hotel and its amenities.
The bedroom is similarly appointed, and both rooms have the requisite flat-screen TV. The view includes a large courtyard blessed with a smattering of brilliantly green trees and a bar and restaurant with a spectacular sound system. In the background, yet another flat-screen TV, this one tuned to CNN, delivers the latest on the Conrad Murray trial β another reminder of the thirst for American pop culture. We have traveled 6, miles to immerse ourselves in a country that has been settled by or ruled by Celts, Romans, Slavic tribes, Magyars, Tartars, Turks and Habsburgs, Germans and Soviets, a land that became a country in after the so-called Velvet Divorce from the Czech Republic.
We seek out dumplings and garlic soup and the ham rolled around horseradish cream. During our visit, we trek about a mile uphill to the Bratislava Castle, a several-times restored structure that looks a bit like an upside-down table whose origins date to the 15th century and is now a museum and national monument.
