Krakow to Krakow via Slovakia 6th Oct 2001
Sliding over the Tatras to Slovakia
We dined on our own version of Polish cuisine. Knorr produce Zurek in packet form and so, by the fantastic cooking method of adding hot water, we produce us dinner in next to no time. To be fair, we did boil up some pierogies to add bulk. And so to bed Monday morning, we returned to town and send off the aborted email. As we were only dashing in and out of town, we attempted to park as close as we could to the internet cafe much to the chagrin of the local plod who told us in no uncertain terms to move on. Much to our embarrasment, this was one of the times that the bike decided to not respond to the starter button. Hippy duly applied herself to the pushing area of the bike and we made a hasty exit.
Later, emails sent, I had got to the point of convincing myself that it was definately the starter motor rather than the battery/charging system that was at fault and so decided to strip down same and fix the bike myself. After 20 mins back at the youth hostel, I got to the bit where the starter motor was to be removed from the engine only to find that the nice slim spanner I had used when taking the thing apart in Blighty was not the one that I had packed in the tool-kit. It has to be said that my patience was more than tried when to cap it all, the resident playful kitten knocked over my coffee. Funny how the small things really annoy. I was aware of the gardener becoming more and more miffed with me as I was in the way of his leaf gathering exercise. Mad really, as more were falling than he was collecting. Still, it kept him out of trouble. With the bike back together and my trusty starter motor sat on the back seat, we set off to find the bike shop which was now open.
With a bit of hand waving I managed to explain that it was only a slim spanner that I required and so stripped down the bike to the appropriate degree in their workshop. It then turned out that their 13 mm ring spanner would also not fit. At this point the butchers of Krakow resorted to the heavy hammer and drifted the stubborn bolt free. I had my eyes closed all the time. Stripping the motor down found that the solenoid was the weak link and the guys dispatched their oily youth in search of a replacement. No joy. A replacement could come from BMW in germany in 2 weeks! Still, they did make us a nice cup of coffee and would only take beer by way of payment. We resolved to get the offending article from Motorworks (see links) and rearranged our schedule for the next week to suit. Anyway, I put the bike back together only for the fffff starter to work perfectly. At least I know where the problem is now.
Originally, we were to head towards Prague after a bit of dithering in Southern Poland. Now, we wanted to be back in Krakow in a few days to pick the solenoid.
Hippy listed all possible destinations in South Poland and Slovakia and came up with a 5 day itinerary that fitted our plans to a t and so we resolved to sprint to Zakopane, email and call Motorworks to arrange for the bits, do a mini tour of Eastern Slovakia and get back to Krakow by way of Zakopane. And so to bed.
After the immediate attention to our sick bike problem - emails and phone calls, we had a quick beer. Regrettably, Hippy's beer turned out to be hugely alcoholic and she became dormouse like on return to the hostel. Action was required and so we set off to take the cable car to the high Tatras. A visit to the tourist office told us that it was blown off and so we fell to plan B which was to go for a potter on the bike.
The weather was scorching, hence plan B went a bit pear shaped. As we tried to go for a run in the Tatras each road we took, became closed to traffic just as it started to look interesting. So foolishly clad in motorcycle gear we decided to go for a walk. This proved heavy, hot and entirely impracticable. People passed us, looking a mixture of sympathetic and incredulous, that people would contemplate walking in such gear in a heat wave. Needless to say the walk was aborted when the motorcycle liners were too sticky. I could go into more detail but some of you may be about to eat.
On return to the hostel we had decided that if the cable car was running tomorrow we would go for it. Thankfully on return to the hostel we met a great bloke, Don the American, who also was a civil engineer, so he and Pat could engage in discussions of aggregate and concrete while I.....drank some more beer in a bar. But seriously Don was a chatty, eloquent and unusually soft-spoken and self-effacing for an American. He conceded that he often remained quiet near groups of his fellow countrymen for fear outsiders may assume he is associated with them. The topic of the recent American crisis came up and we all seem agreed that we have been reassured up the lack of a knee-jerk reaction by dear Bush baby.
Wednesday the Indian summer continued and thankfully the wind had subsided, so the cable car was on or up. Since we were leaving for Slovakia afterwards, unwisely we planned to again dress in gear anyway on the top it could be very cold - do we ever learn! The queue was 2 hours in the baking sun, by which time we had gathered from some Canadians in front that it was possible to walk down, but clearly this was not an option the way we were currently attired, despite it being the perfect day for it.
Kicking ourselves for not having better foresight we arrived at the top almost sick that we couldn't enjoy the sights of lakes etc. on the walk down. For those of you who know my inborn aversion to distance walking, it will be clear how good an opportunity we were missing. The views however, were breathtaking - surpassed only by the Rockies (in our opinion).
Return by cable car and back to the hostel to literally peel off motorcyle gear and detach the liners before we could bear to continue to Slovakia.
Sliding over the Tatras to Slovakia
Our trip across the border went smoothly, and on such a clear autumnal day the views of the Tatras and the valleys nestling between them were beyond description. Both Pat and I were amazed that Slovakia had not made it onto the 'must-do' list for British hikers and motorcycles. We had both had gone to this dear country with few expectations and quickly felt it was a country in need of a huge marketing boost.Our journey to Bardejov, traversed the edge of Slovakia and rolled and swerved wonderfully on excellently paved roads. I guess most people would want to visit here in the summer, but they would be missing out on spectacular views with the whole array of autumnal colours, harvested and ready to harvest fields and essentially the whole gamut of countryside scenery. Hippy's initial opinion was that here is a country better off than |Poland, but there was something niggling me that I could not put my finger on. The houses and roads seemed much better maintained than Poland, but the youths hanging around seemed somehow different, the lack of cars on the roads ..... I just couldn't weigh it up.
We made great time and even managed to find a bank on the way. Hippy did bank duty while I eyeballed a young man who did not realise how much he implored me in Slovakian to give him some cash, regrettably, I could not understand and give him what he wanted. C'est la guerre. Heartless British sod. Hippy managed to make it past security as she had taken notice of the no guns and no mobile phone policy and left her Kalashnikov and Nokia on the bike. Here was one of the clues about the state of the country that could not be ignored. I've never been a great fan of gun culture!
Bardejov is a quaint little medieval walled town that has been selected by UNESCO on account of its authenticity. We used our Lonely Planet directions with great effect to find the best value gaff in town to find it full or shut down. The hand gestures where non-specific but negative. We were redirected to the Semafor Pension which was run by a charming couple; Dorothy and Vladimir. On arrival, Dorothy offered to do our washing and they went to great pains to make sure that we understood when breakfast would be served. Their guest book was fascinating and cosmopolitan 60 year old cyclists from Australia to motorcycling priests from Germany along with hum-drum holiday makers. He was a cattle expert working in farm development and she the monuments director for the town. We talked at length about Slovakia and gleaned some idea about the state of the economy. Apparently, the average wage is around 9000 Slovak Crowns per month. We laughed a little when the bill arrived the following morning at 1200 Crowns(it transpired that the washing and breakfast carried supplemental charges!). Beware of Greeks (or Slovakians) bearing gifts. Clearly, here were a couple doing very nicely for themselves.
After regaining our breath from paying the bill - a whole seventeen and a half pounds mark you, we checked out the local sights. Bardejovske Kupele is an old (and new) spa and houses an excellent museum of traditional wooden housing and other buildings. The sight itself was somewhat haunting, shrouded as it was by thick mist. Oh, how we regretted not having taken photos of the local scenery on the previous day. Actually, we're really selfish, because we can cherish the memory and you don't get to see it. Also local was a timber church with lovely interior wall paintings, some dating back 500 years. There are a series of these churches around the area and we selected only the one to see so that we could press on to Kosice.
After a picturesque valley road lined with holiday chalets, we came over a rise to be faced with endless blocks of flats. This was the beautiful Kosice of the guide books? Following the Centrum signs put a different slant on things. Finding accommodation was the usual saga until Hippy spotted a Hotinec sign. Being chief communicator, I poled in and engaged the proprietress in sign language conversation. I believe that she thought I was being a little forward when I started making the internationally accepted sign for sleeping. Suitably told off, I left the bar and we went in search of a hotel. (Hippy and I, not the proprietress)
Later in the evening, we sat mesmerised by the sound activated, illuminated fountain that squirted along to old favourites such as "Take me home (country road)". But seriously, the effect that came along with the Mozart selection was quite inspirational. Also to be found on the central square of Kosice is one of Mr. Cohens finest food emporiums. Entering within, we availed ourselves of breakfast materials and a couple of local beers. Beers less than 10p! We passed up the opportunity to buy Fany yoghurt but simultaneously said "Andy Smith" when we saw it. Proceeding to the checkout, imagine out dismay when the bill came to 135 Crowns and we only had 130. We had not intended to shop when we went out and so had only taken one pound 95 with us with which to get blotto. Helen had to grovel in her secret place to get the credit cards out. I must tell you that this is not a painful experience, though it is embarrassing infront of a queue of twilight shoppers.
From Kosice we sped off on a misty morning to Spisske Podhradie. On the way, we passed by a shanty village inhabited solely by Gypsies. It is hard to know whether their situation is one of choice, as we well know that generally these people tend to live on the fringes of society, or whether they are so prejudiced against that they are forced into this position. I fear the latter. Certainly, the opinion of the 'caucasian' Slovakians is extremely negative.
The town itself is uninspiring if unspoilt. Up on the hill behind, however, is the most beautiful castle. Hippy and I parked at the designated parking plot labelled Spisske Hrad - that being the name of the castle - and made our way up an extremely steep hill to gain entry to same. Clad as we were in motorcycle gear (once again) this proved hard graft indeed and so we made a couple of stops on the way up. Rounding the back of the castle to gain entry, we discovered that there was in fact a carpark close to the main entrance. At this point, Hippy decided to retrace our steps back down the hill to do some sketching of the outside and I resolved to complete the climb and look at the innards. The castle is extremely well preserved and contains an interesting set of guns (this is Slovakia after all) and torture equipment which was being sampled by a bunch of middle aged local tourists. I can only guess at their motives.
Down the road was a walled town by the name of Levoca. We were unimpressed and I guess we have begun to understand that a lot of the time that we visit things, we will find that we have seen better examples somewhere else on our tour. But, the seeking out is important and if we decide to pass up the opportunity of seeing things, we well miss out on fantastic sights. Still, the coffee was only 25p for two cups!
A gentle trundle along reasonable roads took us back to Zakopane. Much of the route was similar to our glorious arrival into Slovakia, but regrettably, the weather did not prove to be so photogenic as before. A frustrating effort in the email cafe typing the majority of this left us jaded after a very full day and so we retired praying for nice weather for the morrow when we planned to make up for our pathetic efforts previously in the high Tatras. At least we had full bellies having consumed a healthy quantity of Bigos in a cafe adjacent to the ubiquitous MacDonalds. This delicious local dish of cabbage and sausage was a fraction of the price of the woodshaving burgers available next door.
An early start and the standard hostel breakfast prepared us for the toil up 5 miles of track to lake Morskie Oko. This time we had been a little more prepared and made use of the hostel left-luggage room. Now clad in Craghopper trousers and trainers, but still overdressed in the reinforced motorbike jacket department, we managed to keep to the pace of all the other hundreds making their pilgrimage to the most beautiful lake in Poland.
The track was asphalted for the most part and cobbled step walkways were provided up the hill to avoid the hairpin bends. There was a horse-drawn option available and as we reached the top and the poor brutes sweated and panted their way past us carrying loads of seemingly appropriately fit cargo of bods (sic). To cap it all, none of the passengers seemed to be enjoying the ride and given the reek coming from the horses, I can imagine why. However with 20 passengers each time at $7 a piece it was quite clear that the owner were making a good living. Whether these profits were passed onto the workers (horses) I have my doubts, in the way of luxury stabling and top of the range hay. So what's new - when did enterprise benefit the workforce!!
Many of the youths making their way up the path were sporting their national football colours and it seemed that they had been frogmarched away from the telly to take their Saturday constitutional and were a little miffed at not being able to see their heroes do battle on the turf.
The lake itself is impressive, particularly the size of the moraine bar retaining it. Being late in the year, the sun was low and so we did not experience the same magical colour that we had seen in similar lakes in the Rockies. An other case of - its so much better elsewhere. But to be fair, the crags surrounding the lake were delightfully crinkly. Slartibartfast would have been mightily impressed. Regrettably, low cloud again, and probably our photographic skills, will probably not have done justice.
On leaving the lake, we passed the queue for the border crossing into Slovakia, which endlessly crept up the hill. This created a nightmare situation. Faced with an oncoming lorry on our side of the road, which had decided to bypass the queue of domestic vehicles. There was a high noon like standoff. Us going up hill the 10ton truck coming towards us, with no verge and no gap in the traffic for the truck to pull into, I began to wish I had been more religious.
Pat sat looking at the driver, who was continuing unabated and I shouted nonsensense (sic) to Pat to try to pull over to the side. My theory being it's bigger than us - and I don't care at this moment who is the right or wrong, we just need to get out of it's way. We managed to squeeze past on a dodgy gravel margin, with a cliff face to the side for comfort. Relieved that we were still alive, we had only just regained our breath when we were faced by a coach doing the same thing approaching us. This was clearly, the common practice - heaven alone knows what happens when a coach faces a coach or even a car!! Also to those of you wishing to travel this way cross the border midweek!!
Returning to the hostel for a quick change to motorcycling gear and collect baggage and we had a gentle run back to Krakow to get to the youth hostel and pick up our shiny new starter solenoid. Wrong! We did in fact pick up a telegram in Polish which the nice lady at reception translated to the effect that the documentation was incomplete and that the consignment is waiting in Katowice awaiting further info. Who said that this was not going to be frustrating.