If You Fall, Remember to Relax

Another day, another train ride. From Bratislava I went to Poprad Tatry, and from this small town I went to an even smaller one named Zdiar, where the tiny grocery store closes at 3.30, and the ride up the mountain is in a ready-to-be-retired bus that has the same petrol smell as the old trucks I took rides in once on my grandparents‘ farm. Along the way I think I spy a man pulling a car; as we draw nearer I see that it is a home-made trolley for wood with a car door on either side to keep the contents orderly. The bus is filled with noise, everyone seems to know everyone - that, or this is an incredibly friendly mountain. I sit right up the front so that the bus driver won’t forget me, clutching my pack to keep it from sliding off the seat as we round bends and pass up and down slopes. I go to exit the bus and with a downward swish of his hand the driver has me sitting once more; he drives closer, the reversal hand gesture meaning I’m to get off now.

I arrived at 3.15 so am able to dash to the tiny grocery store for supplies. The offerings are meagre, but I uncover orange juice, yoghurt and chocolate - foods I‘ve been craving. I met Australian Andrea on arriving and learn she is about to attempt the two-hour river walk with the resident dog Wally so I join her, and spend my evening trying to avoid mud, snow and ice, and fail miserably: my boots will never be the same, but another gorgeous memory is installed in the library of my brain. The High Tatras still have snow on their peaks (and at their base too) and the beauty of this mountain range is wondrous. We sit for a while on the dry grass staring out and marvelling at the magnitude of these mountains - we are only seeing them through a small window. I trace them on a map and they seem to run on indefinitely. Briefly, I pretend that Heidi was actually set in Slovakia and not Switzerland. There are ski runs ringing circles around us, but the snow isn’t as thick here and only in patches, so there are no skiers, though Andrea says there were some on the weekend. Wally has gone off out of sight.

Back at the hostel I eat dinner with Andrea and our hosts, Jess and Sean, who cook the biggest pot of stir fry I‘ve seen, and as I sit in the kitchen it feels like I’m sharing a meal in someone’s home - always a special feeling when one is living in hostels.

My brief encounter with a fellow Australian will end tomorrow as Andrea moves on; there are two other guest in the hostel, though I haven’t sighted them yet as they’ve been out in the mountains trying to snowboard (seeing as I don’t know them, I can’t attest to their snowboarding skills). I think I’ll leave snowboarding alone - I had enough trouble staying on two feet during yesterday’s walk. Andrea who, in one career, cared for old people, advised, if you fall, remember to relax. Falling isn’t on my agenda but I do intend to spend this week relaxing, and I couldn’t have picked a more perfect spot.