Tatra, Slovakia
by Tom Koppel
Slender and fit, Josef Michlik, an acclaimed carver and folk artist in his 80s, draws his bow smoothly across the strings of a beautiful violin crafted of wood from the local forests. On his walls hang broad mounted antlers, trophies of a lifetime of deer hunting in the Tatra mountains, the highest in Eastern Europe’s Carpathian range. In the kitchen, with its traditional tile stove, his wife Maria prepares a snack of blueberry juice and home-made cheese from a milking goat that is brought in each night for protection from the bears and wolves.
My wife I are visiting the Spis region in northeastern Slovakia, which is for her the “old country.” Raised on a farm in southern Ontario, Annie spoke only Slovak until she reached school age and had to learn English. This makes the trip a special occasion: returning to her roots, getting to know her Slovak relatives, and discovering the rich culture, stunning traditional architecture and spectacular landscape that her parents and grand-parents left behind when they emigrated to Canada and the US.
Our hosts, the Filip family, take us by car on day-long outings to towns and sites of particular historic and personal interest. In the foothills, the lush green rolling countryside is planted in canola, maize and barley. Narrow country roads are lined with evenly spaced apple trees. And to the Northwest, the serrated peaks of the High Tatras are always in view.
We clamber through the ruins of enormous Spis castle, built in the 12th century on a stark hilltop already occupied at the time of Christ by migrating Celts. The thick stone walls withstood even Mongol attacks. By the 16th century they enclosed a residential palace of the most powerful family in the Hungarian aristocracy. Ownership changed under the Austrian Habsburgs, and eventually a fire destroyed everything made of wood; what remained was abandoned to the elements. As we leave, dark clouds sweep in. Rain pelts down and lightning flashes over the looming castle. It is easy to imagine a Shakespearean character like Hamlet pacing the high battlements, tormented by his thoughts.
A wonderful surprise is the lovely walled town of Levoca, a former royal city and cultural centre of the Slovak national Enlightenment in the late 18th century. There are arched gateways and streets lined with medieval buildings in pastel colours. Among its landmarks are the 14th century St. James church, with the highest wooden altar in Europe, the 18th century theatre, the multi-columned 19th century town hall, and the open-air “shaming cage,” where transgressors were publicly punished. A basilica and field on a nearby hill is a traditional pilgrimage site, where Pope John Paul II once celebrated mass for over 600,000.
The Filips have often attended those masses, and they appreciate the much greater religious freedom they have enjoyed since Communism ended barely two decades ago. The oldest child, Robert, tells us how Stalin ordered the Church crushed. In the 1950s, police raided the monasteries and convents and threw most priests and nuns into prison camps.
Robert himself felt the oppression as a bright high school student near the end of the Communist period, when church attendance was still discouraged and he was warned that openly practising his faith could hurt his chances of going to university and having a successful career. But then came the Velvet Revolution and the independence of predominantly Catholic Slovakia. One Sunday morning we watch as a stream of proud parents, decked out in their finery, lead their children to the local church in elegant white robes and muster them for a procession and their first communion.
Bitter memories remain, however. In one village, a memorial refers to an uprising against the Nazis near the end of the Second World War, and we discuss the subsequent postwar occupation. It’s a pure myth that the Soviets were liberators, says Robert. He tells us how Russian soldiers dragged his grandmother by her long braid into the kitchen and demanded food. Rape and pillage were commonplace. Nor have most Slovaks forgotten how Soviet forces crushed a more liberal form of socialism in 1968, in what was still Czechoslovakia. The leader at the time, Alexander Dubcek, was himself a Slovak and a forerunner of Gorbachev. Gejza, Robert’s father, adds simply that the Russians behaved like barbarians.
Then we visit an elderly relative who lives in a tiny village and wears the black shawl and somber dress of mourning. A closer look reveals that, although dark, the fabrics and stitching are incredibly ornate and detailed. Opening her closet, she displays her extensive wardrobe and admits a bit sheepishly that women like to appear in church in the finest and most elegant clothes. And she has sewn everything herself, all her life. She takes us to the cemetery and shows us the grave of Annie’s great-grandmother, which she regularly tends with flowers and devotion.
We also spend glorious days in the High Tatra mountains. We ride a funicular railway up into Tatra National Park and hike through the forest of red spruce to a remote waterfall on a major stream. Thunderous water spirals into deep gurgling holes as we sit on a gigantic weathered boulder and enjoy a picnic. There are no mosquitoes to spoil things, even in early June.
Another time, the entire family soars in a dizzying cable car and gazes down as we pass the tree line en route to a barren peak. It is a poignant moment for the Filips. As a young man, Gejza climbed this very same mountain in city shoes, carrying a valise, to collect the needles of a rare high elevation evergreen shrub called kosodrevina, mountain or mugo pine. A doctor had told his wife, Terezia, that she could never have children, but a folk remedy offered an alternative. She soaked in hot baths infused with the needles. The resulting three children (son Robert was followed by daughters Julia and Maria) seem to indicate that this worked, but they had never been up the mountain or seen the shrubs, which spread below us in a broad swath.
The Tatra region is known for its enchanting alpine villages. Log-built and chalet-style houses feature large balconies, colourful window shutters and other fanciful and ornate woodwork. There are centuries-old wooden churches and attractive, affordable boutique hotels that are popular in summer with hikers, campers and lovers of wildlife. In winter, they host skiers from all over Europe. We spend a night in one of them, in a romantic top floor room with dormers, and eat in a restaurant that serves local wild game and freshly caught fish from the lakes and streams. But most evenings, Terezia pampers us with her Slovak home cooking, a rich cuisine that starts with tasty soups and moves on to pork or chicken main dishes, plus potatoes from their large garden, or pirogies, or dumplings with butter or gravy. And then comes dessert. They say that if you don’t gain weight while visiting Slovakia, you have not been treated to true Slovak hospitality. And so we do.
Our final day, we visit Michlik, the carver and instrument maker, a long-time friend of the Filips, who has been featured in documentaries on Slovak national television and played his stringed instruments in a local folk music group. In his village, Zdiar, people speak a dialect, Goral, that is closer to Polish than to Slovak, a vestige of centuries of Polish rule over the region. He regales us with stories about his life. For many years, he was part of a hunting club with access to some of Europe’s most pristine alpine wilderness, where boar, lynx and mountain goat still run free. During the Communist period, he supplemented his carving income by keeping sheep and renting out rooms, mainly to tourists from East Germany. He takes us through his workshop, where antique hand tools coexist with a modern lathe and band saw. His latest violin, and its ornately carved wooden case, will be an 18th birthday present for his grand-daughter. We see racks of carefully stacked wood that has to air dry for three to five years. Most of it is now earmarked for his grandson, Marek, who apprenticed under him and is carrying on the proud tradition.
We hate to leave Slovakia, but at least we have a very special souvenir. A framed bas-relief of the Tatras, carved in pale linden wood by Marek Michlik and a gift from the Filips, graces our living room wall.
Private Tour of Secret Prague by Night
If You Go:
Lonely Planet Guide to the Czech and Slovak Republics
The transportation hub for the compact Tatra region is Poprad. Frequent buses and a narrow-gauge railway connect to the three main mountain villages, which are less than 20 km apart. Smaller Zdiar is 16 km farther east by bus.
The comfortable Penzion Encian in Tatranska Lomnica charges $57 to $64 per night for a double room, depending on season. They offer great breakfasts and a fine dinner menu. Another excellent place in the village is Stara Mama “traditional Slovak” restaurant.
In the foothills, Levoca is the most attractive town, with Spis Castle only 16 km away. Two small historic three-star hotels, Arkada and U Leva, face the main square and charge $70 to $90 in high season for double rooms.
Poprad airport has minimal flight options. Better to take a modern, scenic express train from Prague. Rail Europe makes advance bookings, www.raileurope.com, but it costs less than half as much to buy the ticket and reserved seat to Slovakia yourself in Prague.
British Airways offers convenient connections to Prague via London. www.ba.com
About the author:
Tom Koppel is a veteran Canadian author, journalist and travel writer who has contributed travel features to numerous newspapers and magazines for over 25 years, including the LA Times, Chicago Tribune, Dallas Morning News, Columbus Dispatch, Georgia Straight, Globe & Mail, National Post, Islands Magazine, Sydney Morning Herald and Canadian World Traveller magazine. He recently completed his fifth book of popular nonfiction, about the South Pacific islands.
All photos are by Annie Palovcik.
Medieval Fontaine-de-Vaucluse nestles among chalky cliffs to the east. After strolling to its renowned spring, the largest in France, we savor luscious crepes at an open-air bistro overlooking its emerald stream. From picture-perfect Gordes, a white stone village clustered atop a hilltop, we hike the rugged trail to enchanting Abbey of Sénanque, set among perfumed lavender fields and golden wheat that undulate in warm breezes. And inside walled Pernes-les-Fontaines, a self-guided walking map guides us to many of its forty treasured fountains.
Entering the Palais des Papes through enormous portals, we meander through its arched courtyards and into halls with vaulted ceilings, huge treasury rooms and even the colossal kitchen tower. Exhibits and illustrated storyboards explain how in 1309, Pope Clement V escaped the turbulence of Rome to reside in Avignon. A subsequent pope bought Avignon from Queen Joanna I of Sicily for 80,000 gold gulden. And over a span of 68 years, this vast fortified religious fortress protected and pampered seven consecutive popes until the papacy officially returned to Rome.
Delighting in cool breezes off the Rhone, we later approach this bridge. Humming the catchy children’s song immortalizing St. Benezet’s bridge, we zanily sing, “Sur le pont d’Avignon, l’on y danse, l’on y danse,” over and over. Circling round and round, we dance our way across the remains of this fabled structure…to the amusement of others strolling there.
Along many others, we stream back along this angel-inspired bridge and imagine those alluring bygone days. We then thread our way down cobbled streets to other shaded plazas and discover venerable cathedrals displaying resplendent artistry including refurbished mansions serving as fine art museums. Lingering in open-air bistros over buttery croissants thick with local cheeses and pungent lattes, we contemplate the extravagances of Avignon’s past glory days.
Mature plane trees shade the ancient forum, today bustling with shops, hotels and bistros, including Le Cafe la Nuit depicted by Van Gogh in Cafe Terrace at Night. The brilliant yellow walls, awnings and tablecloths recreate this acclaimed impressionist’s luminous effect of shimmering evening lights. Sipping café-au-lait and munching flaky-fresh croissants there, we notice a chunk of the original Roman Forum in the façade of Nord-Pinus Hotel across the way. And just off the square, Hotel d’Arlatan incorporates thick walls from Emperor Constantine’s extravagant royal residence.
As I watched the glorious sunset from the Venetian-style lighthouse, Fenari, I contemplated the many tragedies that have befallen this beautiful island.
The harbor of Vathi is surrounded by houses with red-tiled roofs. Cafes animate the waterfront. The summer evening is scented with the smoke of grilling kebabs and fresh-caught fish grilling over charcoal coals. There is a curious atmosphere here. Ithaka’s hillsides are scented with wild sage and oregano, dotted with vibrant wild-flowers and silvery olive groves. Surrounding the tranquil orchards and vineyards are the high menacing mountains.
It’s an Odyssey in itself just getting off Ithaka. The taxi picked me up as scheduled in order to make the sailing to Lefkada. I enjoyed the scenic drive and arrive in plenty of time, but fifteen minutes before the ferry was due to arrive, I discovered that the ferry that had broken down, and we must leave from a different port. After a hair-raising wild race by taxi on a twisting road with hairpin curves and precipices, I arrived at the port just minutes before the ferry sailed.
Sailing past Cape Doukas, the towering white cliffs rise from a sea that is as blue as a robin’s egg. The Cape looks like a gigantic wedge of cake with a lighthouse on top for a candle.
The boat circled the island of Skorpios, a small island, densely wooded with cypress and pine trees. The red-tiled roofs of the Onassis’ villas are half-hidden behind the trees. In each little cover there are piers, each with a palm tree planted at the end. Around the dock areas, the grounds are landscaped and showers of magenta bougainvillea spill over the stone fences. One of these villas was a gift to opera singer Maria Callas in the days before Onassis abandoned her in favor of Jacqueline Kennedy.
Because the Swiss are known for their quality chocolate making, and combined with my passion for the confection, it was on my agenda to check out some of the shops, nestled among other outlets selling high line fashions, watches, and jewelry. Two chocolate shops, Confiserie Sprungli and Teuscher produced a hearty scent of cocoa that pleasantly flowed through my nostrils. It was a chocolate feast for my eyes, as meticulously-decorated items with such names like Pariser-Konfekt and Gianduia-Rustica lined the shelves of delights, many of which are handmade at Confiserie Sprungli.. Even though chocolate prices range around $50 a pound here, one can keep things more budget-friendly by purchasing the treats in 100 gram increments (around 3.5 oz).
Switzerland is one of the most expensive countries in the world to visit, but ironically, Zurich gives away one of the most important staples of life: water, via its 1,200 public fountains that dispense the crystal clear liquid (my taste buds noticed no chemical taste) from unique statues that have needles on top of them so as to keep pigeons away. I couldn’t help but notice St. Peter’s church, one of the conspicuous landmarks of the area, for its 28 foot in diameter clock face, the largest in Europe. I wanted a nice vantage point of the Old City, and got it a few blocks north at the Lindenhof. It’s called that because of the Linden trees that dominate the park area that overlooks the river, offering great views of the Old Town. It’s the highest point of the Old City that dates back to pre-Roman times, when the Celtic Helvetti resided here. Across the river, I spotted the double Neo-Gothic domes of the towers of the Grossmuenster, which dates back to the 12th century, and where the Reformation began in the country.
The beauty of a place truly shows through, not when the weather is picture perfect with the sun a blazing, but when the weather isn’t ideal, as was the case with my ascent to Uetliberg to get a bird’s eye view of the area. Once again, with my Swiss Pass, I was able to take a 22 or so minute commuter train ride from the Hauptbahnhof (Tracks 1 or 2) to the base, taking in chalet homes, green soccer pitches, and Switzerland’s own brand of autumn foliage that complimented the greenway paths along the tracks. From the station above, I proceed upwards for about ten minutes on dirt paths “beautifully-littered” with fallen red, green, brown, orange, and yellow foliage. As I ascended the mountain top, I noticed tall giraffe-like figurines whose antlers serve as lights. There are numerous hiking and biking paths that cut through lush greenery that makes getting lost a pleasant experience.
Even though Zurich West is a just a few minutes away from the Haptbahnhof by numerous S-Bahnen commuter trains to Hardbrucke station (including the S9) or around ten minutes by tram, it was as if I stepped out into a totally different world. After disembarking, I noticed I was close to 415 foot high modern skyscraper called the Prime Tower. It’s a world that’s a cross between a post-modern and old Communist-style city mixed uniquely with new ideas in design that cherishes the old remnants of Zurich’s past going back two centuries. This area was once made up of factories and foundries that produced soap, various mechanical parts, etc. In the early 1990s, Zurich West began to revitalize itself, using the skeletons of its industrial past as a basis for what it is today, a bustling multi-cultural melting pot containing trendy clubs and bars with names like “Supermarket”, retail and second hand shops (there’s a nicely-stocked Salvation Army thrift store that’s called “Heils-Armee”), and offices full of white collar workers glued to their laptops.
As I walked on the wide walkways among the edifices, I took in such bizarre sights as the the Freitag shop which uses 19 old shipping crates stacked nine stories high to sell handbags and wallets made out of recycled industrial components. And down the street, the outlets in a strip mall called Im Viadukt are nestled inside the arches of a railroad bridge that was built in the late 1800s.
I could stay on its shores for ages, admiring its mirror-surface and abundant vegetation but we had plenty things to do. It was already 4 p.m. when we arrived. Hungry sick and tired after a long trip we had to pitch tents while others sought firewood and cooked dinner. It was rather complicated to find dry firewood as soil was damp and mossy. Trees covered with lichen were demi-rotten. Fortunately my husband Vadim found a huge fallen birch that was dry enough to make fire.
Despite our hopes and expectations, rain didn’t stop and wind became even more furious, making trees swing from side to side.
For a moment we kept silence. Wind gained strength. It started to snow, although it was July. I didn’t expect it would be so cold and windy. Shivering with cold I offered others to fish on the lake bank hidden in thick vegetation. As it turned out the idea was great. Our friends who preferred to stay near fire were chilled to the bone as we returned with our modest catch. It is that we set up our tents and made fire in the forest edge winded from every side. Hard wind and rain turned our fire into smoldering coals. Three perches and two roaches we managed to catch made a fragrant and tasty hot fish soup that warmed us up and filled with energy. Our joy didn’t last long. The hot tea Vadim boiled on a bonfire became cold in a few minutes. There was no hope that the weather would improve. Severe wind almost blew out our fire. It started to hail. Trees were swinging in the strong wind threatening to fall down. It became clear that we would have to spend the whole night in fragile tents under huge trees. The idea to spend night under the Sword of Damocles frightened Kristina so much that she pledged us to drive away as soon as possible. It was already 2 a.m. It would take at least two hours to pack two tents and a boat in the darkness of Karelian night lightened by two tourist lanterns. There was no choice. The only thing we could do is to go to bed.
When I zipped my tent from the inside, I felt myself like a small insect caught by hail under a fragile leaf. I saw nothing but darkness in my small tent, although noises and howls made it clear that huge trees were swung and thrashed severely in the thundering wind as if they were ears of wheat. In spite of my anxiety I slept like a baby after active day in nature. As we got up the weather didn’t changed for the best, on the contrary it became even colder. It was time we left. One may think that it’s a pleasure to leave stormy, rainy and hostile place for cozy armchair in your sweet home. It depends on the person. Karelia is not sunny and friendly most of the days. It can be rather rigorous and austere. Nevertheless it recharges you with vital energy, makes one strive for life, be grateful for small favors made by nature and notice sun even during rainy days.
