I had five days in Bratislava which was more than enough time to see the majority of ‘tourist’ sites so I decided to take a trip about 20 kilometers to the south to the Modern Art Museum, the Danubiana, perched on the edge of an island smack dab in the middle of the Danube River. The problem was getting there. There wasn’t exactly any direct route. My, curt and mostly unfriendly, unhelpful hotel staff told me just to go to the bus station. The cute young guy at the tourist information office told me of a public bus I could take that would bring me to the town where the museum was located and then I would ‘surely see signs to follow’ to walk there. The best laid plans…

So for about thirty cents I hopped on the bus (which turned out to be right around the corner from my hotel–thanks guys) and rode south through the charmless communist-era apartment blocks, through corn fields, and through lovely little ‘subdivisions’ of surprisingly newer expensive-looking homes. I had been told to ride the bus to the end and get off at the final stop…which I did…and I was in the middle of nowhere with no sign of any museum…or really anything at all. I asked the bus driver who spoke no English and just shrugged at me. I asked a little old lady who was waiting for the bus. She spoke no English either, but spoke German, a language I am quite ‘unfluent’ in except for a few words. But through body language (I’m learning how much we really can communicate with this under-praised language) and a few ‘jas and neins’ I was on my way down a random path in the woods, past a church, through a tiny town, through another trail in a second set of woods, across a highway, onto a bicycle path—full of Sunday rollerbladers (Slovakians love ice hockey so it’s no surprise to see so many in line skating in the summer) and cyclists, across a bridge and dam and lock system on the river, and finally an hour after getting off the bus, I reached the museum. I think I practically walked back into Hungary. Perhaps I should have rented a canoe and paddled my way here downstream from Bratislava instead—that may have taken less time. Okay, probably not. The bus ride took me thirty minutes, but the walk from the bus stop took me one hour. Something just didn’t seem right about that.

The museum itself was actually a bit of a bore, although the building itself was really cool and the grounds were nice with interesting sculptures dotting the landscape. But I realized that I actually had more fun (using the term ‘fun’ quite loosely here) walking through the woods and different neighborhoods of ‘every-day-life-Slovakia’ than seeing the inside of this museum. It was one of those ‘it’s all about the journey not the destination’ moments that I’ve come to love. I liked seeing the town and as I sweated my way down the one mile path that linked the mainland with the island I had ample time to take in the surroundings especially the huge white fluffy clouds that hung low in the blue summer sky. It got me thinking about how little time in our busy, work, work, work lives that we have to just gaze up at the clouds like we did when we were kids.

Traveling like I’ve been doing and breaking out of my everyday routine has made me much more cognitive of things I didn’t notice before. We all know how easy it is to get caught up in a ‘routine’—it’s almost like being on auto pilot all day. We walk around like zombies listening to our ipods or staring at our latest text message on our cell phones. It seems like all our senses all dulled. We barely notice the simple sights, sounds, or smells (unless it is a very stinky urine soaked hobo sitting on the train next to you) all around us.

Remember the days lying on the plush green grass in your front yard and just staring at the sky for hours on end? How great was that? I tried to do this as I walked, amazed at the wondrous clouds and all their shapes and mystery. It was nice…but of course, I got bored with it after five minutes.

A common conversation I’ve had with folks back home lately:

“I’m now headed to Bratislava.”

“Brati-what? Where in the world is that? I’ve never heard of it.”

Well, my little geography students, Bratislava happens to be the capital of the fairly newish country of Slovakia. We all remember being back in school learning about a country far, far away called Czechoslovakia? Although, I’m hesitant to say that as a kid I pronounced it ‘Checkle-slovakia.’ Well, the second half of the compound word finally declared its independence after the Velvet Revolution of 1989 and a new nation was born.

Bratislava is often overshadowed by its much larger, much more touristed ‘step-brother,’ Prague. But, I’d been to the jewel of the Czech Republic and had heard that Bratislava was just as lovely, but with less crowds and even lower prices. Bratislava is great. It is another one of those places that forces me to walk around its cobblestone, medieval pedestrian-only old quarter with a bit of a smitten grin plastered across my face. Not only is it charmingly filled with story-book castles and towers and some amazing gothic and baroque architecture, there is a great artistic cultured feel to this town.

The streets brim with colorful cafes, museums, theaters, and art. It’s summertime so there are outdoor concerts nearly every night wafting the sounds of Jazz and even Latino beats through the echoey centuries old cavernous lanes. There are these fun whimsical life-size Bronze statues at every turn—‘the Frenchman,’ ‘The Peeper,’ and ‘The Photographer.’ I can tell I’m in Europe again—there’s an artsy creative feel to these cities that seem to give them a progressive edge over many American cities. Although Millennium Park in Chicago is one place that comes to mind that always reminded me of something I’d find in Europe. The plazas and lanes here burst with life and public art mixes with form and nature. After 7pm, families come out with their kids for a refreshing gelato treat, lovers nuzzle and purr into each others ears on benches lining the park, girlfriends laugh and chat over a glass of wine, and the tourists snap happy photos of this fairy tale scene that is real life Slovak-style.

Something hard not to notice here–the people are all beautiful. I have to say, so far on my trip, these are the most gorgeous women, as a group, that I’ve encountered. Of course, I’ve seen pretty Asians, Australians, Argentineans, and Emiratis (at least their eyes were amazing), but the majority of the gals I pass here could all be walking right off the runway of a fashion show. You know them as all the eastern European models on the pages of the fashion mags: extremely tall with legs up to their neck, thin, and nearly perfect.

Another sign I’m in Eastern Europe? Beer is the breakfast of choice here with many locals. Every morning I would undoubtedly see guys hanging out at cafes way before noon with a couple pints of lager and a cigarette. I like to do as the locals do, but I still prefer a latte and maybe some eggs over easy. Or a bagel—something else Slovakia has. I haven’t seen one of these since…hmmm….maybe Australia, but I honestly don’t recall any there either.

The one odd thing that stands out amidst the scene of medieval delight–besides the rows and rows of communist apartment buildings just on the ‘other’ side of town and the Soviet super highway that was built right through the old Jewish quarter destroying dozens of old buildings in its path —is the local McDonald’s. But even it is brimming with life under the umbrellas on its alfresco ‘McCafe.’ And even this little slice of America somehow, if it’s possible, takes on an air of European charm.