Slovak it Till You Make it
- Joanna
- 1 day ago
- 17 min read
I took the train from Budapest to Bratislava, and it wasn’t a very treacherous journey at all... just under three hours or so. But before I even made it onto the train, I found myself facing one of the great unexpected challenges of European travel... the pay toilet.
Ugh! Horrible...
I'd gone this long on the trip without having encountered them.
The buck stopped here.
They're stressful enough at the best of times. Worse when you're bursting... let alone if there's something wrong with them... or they're under the watchful eye of the toilet troll. The moment I arrived at the station in Budapest, I was absolutely DYING for the bathroom. I was seconds away from disaster when I spotted the signs for the women’s washroom... and sprinted toward it. That’s when I realized it was one of those pay-to-enter situations.
Errrr....
You couldn’t just walk in. Oh no. First, you had to insert coins into a machine that would then "maybe" activate a little metal arm to allow you access into the precious lavatory.
How many coins? Who's to know???
BECAUSE THERE WERE NO SIGNS!!!
Unfortunately, I couldn’t figure out how the contraption worked. At all. The stress was too much for me. Overseeing this entire operation was an incredibly large, hairy, bald, angry man sitting in the office beside the entrance gate. He was like the executive director of the shitters... a man who guarded toilet access with the intensity of airport security. Worse. I'd say worse.
He started hollering at me through the glass, aggressively tapping on the window and pointing at the machine. The more he shouted and pointed, the more flustered and intimidated I became. I had no idea what he was saying, what he was pointing at or why he was getting so irate. It was a BATHROOM. My brain completely shut down. All of a sudden, in an instant, I could no longer understand coins, doors, technology, language... nothing.
At one point, standing there in full panic while this furious potty guardian screamed at me, I genuinely started to think that life might be easier if I just peed myself. It was an option...
He stormed out of his little custodial office... absolutely SHRIEKING... At me? At the machine… ?? At the pure absurdity of his anger? I honestly couldn’t tell. He slammed his fist down on the machine, grabbed the metal arm, yanked it backward just enough for me to squeeze through... and then pointed aggressively toward the bathroom. I had absolutely no idea what was happening. None.
I squeezed through and got away from him as quickly as possible.
What an asshole.
You know how Arya Stark in Game of Thrones used to quietly recite the list of people she planned to kill?
… this guy made my list.
I made it onto the train, relieved... and relieved... and arrived in Bratislava a few hours later. My accommodation was about a 25-minute walk from the station, but it was one of those beautiful bluebird days, so walking felt like the obvious choice. Sometimes walking is much easier than figuring out the public transit system... and, of course, how to pay for the public transit system. After bathroom-gate, I was done attempting to pay for hard things.
The moment I entered the Old Town of Bratislava, I was completely charmed. Mesmerized. Bratislava was quaint and elegant... and beautiful. I loved it. I wandered past the Presidential Palace and into the main streets, where every corner looked like it belonged in a storybook.
It was around 12:30 pm, and I wasn’t allowed to check into my accommodation until 3 pm. The owner had already sent me the location details, entry codes, Wi-Fi password, and check-in instructions, so I immediately replied to ask if there was any chance I could check in a little earlier.
No response. Nothing.
Since I wasn't really in the mood to haul a heavy backpack around the city, I found myself a little café, sat down, ordered an Aperol Spritz, some tzatziki & pita... and decided to do a bit of writing while I waited.
Yes. I’m fully addicted to Aperol Spritzes and tzatziki. I even took a photo and sent it to Merel with a #sorrynotsorry attached. She still remembers when we lived on Crete and I would eat tzatziki for breakfast like it was the most normal thing in the world. What can I say? It's good!
By around 2pm, I was done eating, drinking and writing... and I was ready to leave the café. I still hadn’t heard a single word from the accommodation owner about early check-in. It kills me how these professionals, with businesses that they want to thrive, can't respond to simple messages.
So I decided to take my chances and wander over there anyway. I mean… I already had the codes, right? So in I went.
Up, up, up... always up... to the third floor... lugging this anvil on my back, until I finally opened the door to the apartment. And honestly? The place looked completely ready for me. No cleaners. No guests. No chaos. The bed was made, everything was spotless, and it looked like they’d finished preparing it hours earlier.
So… I stayed.
**PS: He never did reply to my message. Ever.
Well... that's a lie. He wrote to me two days later, after I'd checked out, and only because he wanted me to write him a great review. That’s something I’ll have to think about... Because honestly, one of the most irritating things in travel is when people decide you’re not even worthy of basic communication.
Another annoyance about this particular unit... while admittedly small, and mostly my own fault... was that the apartment had absolutely nothing in it when it came to toiletries.
No shampoo.
No conditioner.
No soap.
No hand soap.
Nothing.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Like nothing complimentary at all.
Does that not seem peculiar?
I always assume there will probably be something... even if it's what the last guests left behind. I hadn’t packed much because most places usually provide at least the basics, and I’d already run out of what I brought without bothering to replace it. There wasn’t even dish soap in the kitchen, so I couldn't even wash a plate or cup. It felt oddly bare.
The place was called Beethoven’s Apartments.
Beethoven?
Wasn’t he German?
Why the hell did Ludwig van Beethoven seem to have such a prominent role in Bratislava? Apparently, he spent some time here over the years. Enough time is worthy of having a block of apartments named after him, I guess.
After I composed myself and reorganized my belongings for what felt like the thousandth time, I headed back out into the streets of Old Bratislava. It was much better to explore without the pack.
There are things that I will never ever truly grasp as long as I travel this world...
~ I will always pack clothes I never wear.
~ I will always pack clothes that don't fit me properly.
~ I will always overpack.
~ And I will always end up hating whichever suitcase I confidently believed was “the perfect luggage choice” before leaving home.
How many times have I said that I would never backpack again?
I can't even count...
Some things just never change.
I wandered through the old city taking endless photos... old buildings, random statues, narrow alleyways, the castle looming above the city, the UFO Bridge... and so much more. I even did a small wine tasting... because you obviously can't come to Slovakia and not try Solvakian wines. Then... I don't normally do this... ever... but I jumped onto one of those hop-on-hop-off trolleys that take you around the city. I figured, "Why not?" I had time... my knee was acting up after already so much walking... and it ultimately turned out to be a great decision.
The trolley carried us up to Slavin. Slavin is the primary memorial monument and military cemetery in Bratislava. It commemorates 684 Soviet Army soldiers who died during WWII while liberating the city in April 194.
The trolley reminded me of the one in Mr. Rogers' neighbourhood. It was almost identical. There were only three of us on the entire trolley tour, which made it feel less like public transportation and more like an oddly underfunded private tour. The driver wasn't too charismatic. I tried smiling at him and thanking him a few times, but I was met only with a scowl. Anyway, it also took us up to the Bratislava castle. Bratislava Castle is a hilltop castle overlooking the Danube River and Bratislava’s Old Town. It dates back to the 9th century in various forms and was once a royal residence of the Habsburgs. After a fire in 1811 left it in ruins, it was later rebuilt in the 20th century.
But truthfully? The MAIN part of the reason I jumped on the trolley was to escape the crowds in the Old Town. There were tours everywhere. Seriously... everywhere. Masses of them. One giant group after another shuffled past constantly... some with 50+ people packed together, all slowly moving behind a guide holding a large flag and speaking into a headset microphone.
Speaking of tours…
I had booked a vegan food tour for 11:00 am the next day. After seeing those enormous tour groups clogging up the streets of Old Town, I knew I didn’t want anything like that. I like tours that feel intimate... smaller groups where you can actually talk to people and experience the place instead of being herded around behind a flag like cattle.
A vegan tour sounded perfect. I figured it would be an interesting way to experience a different side of the food culture of Slovakia, especially since I’ve drifted more toward veganism lately.
But less than two hours after booking it, I received a message saying the tour wouldn’t be running after all… because I was the only person signed up.
Funny that.
But... fair enough.
The lady apologized and offered me a spot on their regular food tour at 1:00 pm instead.
I accepted.
Everything was settled.
Fabulous.
Then... I changed my mind.
The more I wandered around Bratislava, the more I started thinking that maybe I should get outside the city for a day. Don’t get me wrong... there was still plenty I hadn’t seen. But I’d explored enough to know that I wanted to experience more of Slovakia than just the city of Bratislava itself. If there was an opportunity to see the countryside, I was going to take it.
So I started searching online for day trips.
Everything was booked.
Every tour on Viator was full, unavailable for days, or... my personal favourite... unavailable to solo travellers. It's depressing when that happens... like independent people are somehow logistically offensive and not worth the energy. One of the frustrating realities of travelling solo is that most tours turn away single travellers. I get the economics side of things... Yes, a couple or group is more profitable than a single booking. Small private tours especially seem to prefer pairs, families, or ready-made social groups. But isn't there always room for just one more???
Solo travel already comes with enough moments where you feel slightly outside. Having tours reject single spots... or charge astronomical supplements for them... only reinforces that feeling.
Eventually, I gave up.
Then... almost as a last attempt, I picked up my phone again and checked availability on GetYourGuide. Now I don't normally use that platform much, but I have found that they often have what I can't find elsewhere.
And...
Miracle of miracles... There was exactly ONE spot left on a tour leaving at 8:00 am the next morning. I booked it immediately.
Ugh... oh ya... that food tour...
Shit.
I then proceeded to flood the food-tour woman with frenzied inquiries.
“Is there any way I can cancel the food tour now?”
“Do you think I might be able to switch to a Sunday morning food tour instead?”
"Is there any way the vegan tour is running the following day?"
"I'm trying to cancel online, but it's not letting me... are you able to help?"
“Hello?”
“Hello??”
"Hello???"
Nothing.
I started sending messages around 5:00 pm on Saturday night, and I kid you not... I didn’t hear back until 7:00 pm the following evening.
At which point, I was, of course, already on the other day's tour.
Remember what I said earlier about businesses not answering their messages?
It's absurd. Absolutely absurd.
She messaged to say she hadn’t seen my questions and that the guide had apparently been waiting for me. How do you not see the messages? It’s YOUR BUSINESS. The messages customers send are fairly important, in my humble opinion. I get notifications when someone writes to me. And... to add insult to injury... if the guide was actually WAITING for me for a lengthy time after the 1 pm arrival mark, how is it that nobody thought to contact me then to check whether I was on my way? lost? dead? trapped under a piano somewhere in Bratislava... after failing to appear for the tour. Seriously... 7 PM!!!
Dodgy.
They told me I’d receive a full refund, so we’ll see if that happens. I remain skeptical, mainly because I already received a cheerful automated notification asking me to leave them a review. To my knowledge, Viator doesn’t usually ask people to review tours they haven't attended. To be honest, after being blatantly ignored for almost 24 hours, I figured it was probably a financial loss and moved on.
That evening, before the next morning’s early tour, I decided to head out and experience a bit of Bratislava nightlife. Not all of it, mind you, because Bratislava is a full-blown party hub. I’m not exaggerating. At all. The moment the sun starts going down, the city shifts gears entirely. Groups of young people pour into the streets, bars start filling, music spills out of doorways, and the entire Old Town suddenly feels like someone quietly transformed it into a giant pub crawl.
At one point, I was sitting in a local café using the city’s free Wi-Fi when a little tourism questionnaire popped up before it would connect. It asked the usual things... my age bracket, how I arrived in Bratislava, how many nights I was staying... and then came the BIG question:
“What is your reason for visiting Bratislava?”
The options were simple and fairly direct:
Visiting friends or family
Business/work
Historical or cultural interest
Passing through while travelling Europe
Nightlife / partying
At least they know their brand..
Anyway, I sat there enjoying a glass of Slovak rosé… and then I had another... of course.
I was seriously contemplating having just one more before bed, but then maturity and reason briefly entered the chat. "Go to bed, Joanna. You have to get up early tomorrow."
My tour started at 8 am... and I am not a morning person. At all. I usually find any excuse to stay in bed.
But then I decided to treat myself and order one more glass of wine because, after all, I was on vacation. Right? Right.
The exact moment the third glass arrived at my table, my phone pinged with a message from the tour company that my van would arrive at the pickup location at 7:10 am.
WHAT???
7:10?!!!!
I thought the tour started at 8:00.
No!!!!
Eek.
The third glass of wine was perhaps not my most brilliant decision.
Like a trooper, I finished it anyway and headed back to my accommoation, and somehow, despite all odds, I was actually up and ready to go the next morning.
The Beethoven apartments were located in an area in the Old Town where vehicles weren’t permitted, so I had to literally “find” the driver somewhere outside the pedestrian zone. He sent me a location pin, but the map wouldn't show my location relative to his, which only made everything more confusing.
Eventually, I found a recognizable landmark near his pin, added it to my maps, and navigated toward the van.
According to the tour information online, the tour was supposed to last thirteen hours. Also, according to the tour information online, the tour was supposed to start at 8 am. So 7:10 am + 13 hours = 8:10 pm.
Hmmm.
Guess I wouldn't really make the evening food tour... not that she was writing back to me at all.
When I reached the van, two girls from Egypt were already inside. They became very excited when they found out I’d been to Egypt... and even more excited to discover that I absolutely loved it there. Instant ice breaker.
I can’t remember the driver’s name now, but he was lovely. Older and retired... kind, warm, funny, patient… exactly the kind of person you want guiding a thirteen+ hour road trip.
We drove around the city to pick up the remaining passengers, including a couple from New Zealand. The guy had apparently been in Bratislava competing in a badminton tournament.
Naturally, I asked if he’d won.
He laughed and said, “Well… if I had won, I probably wouldn’t be on this tour.”
Fair point. I've never met a professional badminton player.
I’m fairly sure his girlfriend was pregnant as well, but I didn’t want to ask outright and risk creating the most awkward van ride in Slovak history.
After picking them up, we stopped at another hotel to pick up another solo passenger. The driver hopped out and disappeared inside, only to return a few minutes later, explaining that there had been a miscommunication and the woman wasn’t ready yet. Apparently, she was misled by the original 8:00 am start time rather than the updated message stating that pickup would be earlier.
I’ll admit… we were all a little annoyed by that.
We had managed to drag ourselves out of bed at that ungodly hour, managed to be ready on time, and now we were sitting around waiting while someone else scrambled to catch up. Actually... Did she scramble? No.
So the driver decided to use the delay constructively by taking us to what he confidently declared was the absolute best coffee in the city. Now, when someone says “best coffee,” you naturally picture a charming little café with pastries and cozy wooden tables.
No.
This was a standard push-and-go gas station coffee machine.
The kind you pretty much find at virtually every gas station on Earth.
Still, I shouldn’t judge. My own favourite coffee back home is from Petro-Canada, so who am I to criticize?
After consuming “the best coffee in Bratislava,” we circled back to pick up the Italian woman. This time, she was ready. Unfortunately, she climbed into the van without acknowledging anyone or offering any apology for delaying the entire group. Nothing. Not a single word.
Hmmm.
A bit rude.
Maybe she was embarrassed... no. Obviously not. Maybe she didn’t care. Either way, she certainly didn’t act as if she cared.
Then we headed off to collect even more Italians... a couple who behaved as though they were on their honeymoon for the entire duration of the trip. They genuinely could not keep their hands off each other. Up until then, I’d been sitting alone in the front seat, but once they got in, it became very clear there were only two options: either separate the lovebirds into different seats in the back of the van... or sacrifice myself to the back of the van.
Off I went...
Our first stop was TWO HOURS away... I can't make this up. No wonder the tour was going to be thirteen hours. Holy sh!t. Granted, the driver did stop along the way to point out various castles and points of interest... and to let us stretch our legs. Fun fact - Slovakia is known as the "Castle Capital of the World" for its 180+ castles and chateaus,
We FINALLY arrived in lovely Čičmany, nestled high in the hills of northern Slovakia.... which felt like stepping into another century. It was one of the most picturesque little villages I’d ever seen. It was like an entire village of gingerbread houses. A true fairy tale.
Every wooden house was covered in white geometric patterns... swirls, crosses, hearts, and lace-like designs. The white markings were traditionally painted with lime to protect the wooden logs from moisture and harsh mountain weather. Over time, they evolved into a distinctive folk art style that has become one of Slovakia’s most recognizable cultural symbols.
Čičmany dates back to the 13th century and remained relatively isolated for centuries due to its location high in the Strážov Hills. That isolation helped preserve its unique traditions, music, embroidery, and clothing long after they disappeared elsewhere.
After we'd had about 20 minutes to explore Čičmany, we piled back into the van and were off to our next location. Bojnice Castle was only 45 minutes away. Along the way, one of the Egyptian girls asked whether we would be stopping for lunch. Without missing a beat, our driver replied in his thick, Slovakian accent:
“I would like to give you one hour for lunch and not make you to run with sandwich on the street!”
The Kiwis and I nearly choked trying to suppress our laughter. There was something about the sheer sincerity of it that absolutely destroyed us. I actually spat out my coffee .
Our next stop was Bojnice Castle and the surrounding village of Bojnice.
The castle itself was big, regal, dramatic and stunning, but in a very fairy-tale, almost Disney-like way. In fact, their entire grounds had been transformed into more of a family entertainment zone than a historical site. There were pony rides, face painting, giant balloons, souvenir stalls, a mini zoo, costumed performers... and even caged parrots.
It was all very sad... and alarming.
Yes, there were medieval-style souvenirs, such as toy swords and pretend armour, that at least somewhat matched the setting. But there were also endless stalls selling random stuffed animals, plastic toys, and cartoon merchandise that had absolutely nothing to do with Slovak history or the castle itself. It felt less like stepping into history and more like wandering through a circus-themed amusement park.
This was also where we stopped for lunch.
We were more or less gently forced into eating together because the guide clearly had no desire to lose any tourists wandering off on their own. We had to stay together “for organization,” which apparently included synchronized lunching.
Honestly, I think I might have preferred running down the street with a sandwich.
There weren’t many vegetarian options on the menu, so I ended up ordering fried cheese and fries... which was definitely more money than I’d normally feel comfortable paying for what was essentially a giant fried dairy rectangle and some potatoes. There were soups available as well, but every one of them contained meat. The Italian woman ordered the chicken soup. When she was finished, I casually asked how it was.
Without hesitation, she replied, very matter-of-factly:
“It tastes of chicken, so it was made of death. You would not like it.”
…Ok then.
Interesting review.
Thank you.
I spoke with the Italian woman a little more during and after lunch, but the conversation was neither comfortable nor particularly enjoyable.
She was… odd.
When she found out I was travelling alone, she told me she was travelling solo as well. She said she’d only started travelling solo in her forties... and hadn’t really done it before. Then, almost as a side note, she added that she used to see solo travellers as sad, lonely people with no friends.
She didn’t really expand on that... nor say she felt differently now. And she didn’t explain why she was travelling alone either. But the way she looked at me and spoke to me... I got the sense that, somewhere beneath it all, she still hadn’t entirely let go of that idea.
Wow. Really knows how to connect with people on a deep emotional level.
She wasn’t exactly the most charismatic person I’ve ever met. That’s for sure.
Ironically, by the end of the conversation, I had started looking at her as sad, lonely, and as potentially someone with no friends.
I must mention that our guide/driver was slightly unhinged behind the wheel.
Lovely person.
Questionable driving style.
He slammed on the brakes incessantly, sending all of us lurching forward in the van every few minutes. He sped, overtook aggressively, drifted into the wrong lane at times… and honestly, if I owned the company and discovered one of my drivers was treating narrow mountain roads like a qualifying lap in Formula One, I’d probably have my concerns.
Our next stop... two more hours of driving away... was Orava Castle. This was a purely driving tour of Slovakia.
Perched dramatically on a cliff above the Váh River, Orava Castle has that perfect gothic look... towering stone walls, dramatic cliffs, dark corridors. Legendary.
"Originally built in the 13th century, Orava Castle has been rebuilt, expanded, and reshaped over centuries of wars, fires, and noble ambitions. Its most distinctive feature is its vertical layout — a series of courtyards stacked one above another, connected by narrow stairways, stone passages, and gateways that make exploring it feel like climbing through time.
Inside, the castle is part museum, part maze. Rooms are filled with period furniture, armour, historical exhibits, and echoes of the aristocratic families who once lived here. But it’s the atmosphere that tends to leave the strongest impression: cold stone corridors, wind sweeping across the ramparts, and sudden panoramic views over the Orava region below.
There’s also a darker layer to its fame. Orava Castle became internationally known as a filming location for the 1922 silent horror classic Nosferatu, which cemented its reputation as one of Europe’s most atmospheric and slightly eerie castles."
Today, it’s one of Slovakia’s most visited heritage sites.
There are a LOT of stairs.
A catastrophic amount of stairs.
An unreasonable quantity of stairs.
By the time I reached the top, I realized two things:
The castle was haunting, mystical, medieval and unforgettable.
I seriously need to get back into shape.
I know I say this a lot... !!! Time for a change.
he tour itself was good in terms of what we saw... but my God… it was long. The drives between stops weren't scenic transfers either. They were HOURS.
By the time we reached Štrbské Pleso in the High Tatras, most of us had deteriorated emotionally into exhausted, empty shells, moving on autopilot. The glacier lake itself was impressive, but the clouds had completely socked in the mountains, so you couldn’t even see the dramatic peaks surrounding it.
At that stage, nobody really cared anymore.
We all just wanted to go home.
And home, as it turned out, was much farther away than advertised.
We didn’t get back until 11:30 pm.
That is a SIXTEEN-AND-A-HALF-HOUR endurance expedition.
Absolutely gruelling.
There were moments where I needed to stretch my legs so badly I thought my hips might permanently fuse into the shape of the back seat. And because I’d sacrificed my front seat to the honeymooners earlier in the day, I was now crammed in the very back with minimal space for my increasingly angry limbs.
To his credit, the driver did make one final stop about two hours before Bratislava and poured wine for all of us.
The stop... and the wine... honestly felt less like hospitality and more like emotional support. At that point, everyone was cold, exhausted, slightly delirious, stiff and openly complaining about how long the day had become.
Longest tour ever.
And honestly?
I can’t even imagine how long it would have lasted if the man had obeyed the speed limit.
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