Part IX

One of the places that I knew I had to get back to was Orava Gallery in Hviezdoslav Square ( Hviezdoslavovo namestie ) . The gallery is housed in the former County House from the 17th century when Dolny Kubin was made the County seat . It was renovated to its current state and is the perfect setting for the art of this region . At the North end of the square sits St. Katherine’s Church built on the remnants of the first Roman Catholic church in the 14th century . That’s almost 700 years old folks . To the left of the gallery building is the Evangelical Church of the Augsburg Confession ; for all of my Lutheran friends out there . Inside the gallery , I was met by Milan . He smiled broadly as I reminded him of our meeting 2 years ago .

Romaine , my cousin Jan Kysel ( key-zil ) , his sister Elena and her husband Gero were walking through the square during a festival ; Jan and I were discussing the architecture and history of the square ( mostly him schooling me ) and we walked to the building that houses the gallery . We stood looking at the Evangelical Church , as he was telling me the history of it , I turned around to face him and saw a huge banner hanging from the side of the gallery . There , floating in the slight breeze was Andy Warhol . I had to look twice . I yelled to Romaine and Elena to look at the banner and they had a look of surprise too ! 8700 miles from home and I was going to see Warhol in a museum NOT called MOMA or Art Intstitute of Chicago…fantastic ! We looked at our watches and saw that the gallery was closing soon but decided to take a shot and see if we could get in . Hurrying in through the curved Gothic doors we were met by Milan and he was very gracious . Gero played the ” family from America ” card and Milan kindly allowed us access …. to the whole gallery . I’m sure Gero over-paid or greased the tip jar , he was very generous in that respect . Andy Warhol was the son of immigrants from the Carpatho-Ruthene region of Eastern Slovakia . He was born in Pittsburgh Pensylvania . The Carpatho-Ruthenes ( or Rusyn ) are a distinct ethnic group living in the borderlands with Ukraine . The Eastern Carpathian range extends toward the South here and it is considered a separate region in Slovensko . For a Slavophile they are a very interesting group to study . In the end , we were able to see Warhol’s vast work , on loan from his museum in Medzilaborce near his ancestral town of Mikova . It was a wonderful experience to share it with my wife and cousins . I believe to truly know a culture , you have to examine it’s art . Art can represent not only the artist , but also the prevailing mood of the place in which the art was produced . Art captures everyday life , it captures old and new notions of the artists society , and it broadcasts those notions outward . Art can be trained into the artist , but I think the best art is naive art ; art that isn’t contrived .

After roaming and wandering through the gallery for 2 1/2 hours ( it is on 3 floors ) , I chatted with Milan , he agreed to lunch , and I thanked him again . This was a very special portion of my excursion through the Upper Kingdom ; it left many more questions than answers . I sat on a bench in the square and jotted down notes for further research . I thought about the iconography that filled an entire wing , and how the church kept the Slovaks grounded and gave them , not only solace , but a place to gather and visit – exchange news and ideas . Most of the icons were carved and painted by local artists , lost to eternity , they were gifted – and naive . Their compassion and piety drove them to craft wonderful wooden and stone statues and statuettes . There were also carvings of myths and legends . In the top photo , I am standing next to Juraj Janosik , known locally as a Slovak Robin Hood . ( Yer-eye Yanoh-shik ) Janosik has a story as sweeping as any of the Slovak historical great . Unlike Svatopluk’s reign ( we saw him in the photo of Bratislava Castle from an earlier blog – you know , the dude on a horse in front of the big white building ) , Janosik didn’t really conquer anything but seemed bent on upsetting the status quo in late 17th and early 18th century Upper Kingdom . Janosik was known for being especially chivalrous and his territory is thought to extend into Poland and as far west as Bohemia and Moravia in present-day Czech Republic . I have been to his hometown of Terchova ,and wandered through the Mala Fatra mountains in his home territory . Janosik became a popular legend as a symbol against oppression . I can’t help but think about my Grandmother handing down the legend and story in Slovak culture . The statue of Janosik was carved by Stephan Sivan ( Shtephahn Sivahhnyuh) a wood-carver from Babin ( Bahbeen ) , directly North of Pokryvac , a man devoted in piety and gifted in woodcarving . His statues of everything from Madonna and Child to Beehives ( nearly life-sized women , with a slit for a mouth and a door on the back to access the honeycombs ) reflected his essence of being in Orava . I saw the display on the last last trip and I was able this trip to spend more time poring over each statute , statuette , and figurine to get the feeling he was trying to convey . I love naive art in all forms ; it is the result of a person’s emotional and physical state , without the interference of a formal training to get in the way … straight from the heart and soul . In the end , it is the essence of my trip here in Orava….just me and Robin Hood , trying to bring peace and comfort to those around us , and for me further meaning….

XV

Rain again today , big mystery ; it was pouring when I awoke at 6:00. After meditation , I decided that I would go for a hike , the weather notwithstanding.

On my walk into town from the train , I take the long way , as usual ; I stumbled upon a hiking trail that disappeared into the trees on a mountain east of the castle . I have been inside for a great deal of time as a result of the rain and cold . Don’t misunderstand  ; I derive a vast amount of joy from reading and writing for 6 to 8 hours a day. Today I made a conscious decision to get some fresh air , no matter the rain and 5-8c ( 30’s-40’s in US parlance ) .

After breakfast , I suited up – hiking boots , water , snacks , and my water-proof day pack  . The trail was more rock than mud , and I kept to it on a slow rise , traversing back and forth . I craned my neck up , trying to find a break in the trees , scanning for the alternating light and dark grey clouds that I knew were above me. I stopped for a drink of water and added another layer as the wind began to blow. Sleet began to bounce downward off of the leaves , adding a clicking and tapping rhythm as I hiked through the thickening mist. I’m no stranger to foul weather , having worked and played in for many years. A few backpacking trips had only a few hours of sunshine , in an entire weeks worth of living in the wilderness. I was not in a joyless mood , I actually had a smile on my face and reveled in the fact that this was my experience , singular only to this pair of legs and swinging arms .

The sleet became more intense , and changed to snow as I stopped here and there to try and get an idea of where I was . The boughs and branches were thick and blocked my view , added by the fact that it began to snow. Snowflakes were so big and heavy that the leaves and in turn , branches were bending . The wind began to drive the snow through the trees and it began to adhere to and pile up on every surface around me. This surreal landscape reminded me of a fantasy movie and I expected elves and sprites , witches and unicorns to coming dancing and running through the thick arbor. In an instant , the snow stopped and turned back to sleet – frozen rain . By the time I made it to the top the wind had ceased and any moisture was done coming from the sky. Coming out of the trees , there was no panoramic view , and the mist was absorbed by the mountain – like a huge sponge made of trees. I front of me was a boulder and I took a seat , glad to be off of my feet and I took a breath . Up there , not a sound from down below me. Just the whistling and calls of birds as they flew from snow-dusted branch to the grassy ground around me.

Sitting on the boulder , wet ass and all , the wind carried a sound. Slightly audible at first , so I slowed my breathing and relaxed. I heard a word in a transcendent moment . The singing birds seemed to have stopped and I heard it clearer …” pokracuj “…very slowly at first and then quicker and louder. I looked around and saw no one. The meadow around me was green and white and still the voice. I sat in complete silence , no voices in my head , just the sound of my breath. ” Pokracuj ” , it was loud and clear , and it was a voice that I had never heard before .

I sat there for what seemed like an eternity and it began to rain again. I stood and saw a break in the clouds on a far horizon. That break showed a beam of sunlight blare through like a bugle in an empty subway stop. As I headed back down in the light shower , the birds began to sing and call , their lilting songs buoyed my legs and wet behind as I slowly descended. I stopped every now and then to try and listen for the sound of that guide vocal. My only companions were the birds and the tapping and clicking of melting snow falling as water off of the trees above and around me. At the bottom , I came out of the trees and was completely surprised to see that the field before me had no snow in it. As I walked out and away from the mountain , I could see the snow-line , like a baker had sprinkled powdered sugar precisely around the top of the near cone-shaped mountain. The sound of traffic and school-kids from the castle tour awakened me from the half-trance and near-thought that I had been in. I had to find out what that word was that I heard.

Once back at the Penzion , I got out of my wet clothes and sat down to look up the word that floated off the snowy trees and into my consciousness. “Pokracuj ” , it means to ” keep going ” ( poh-crotch-ewy ). I sat looking out of my window , searching through the mountains around me , thinking that there was a physical entity that guided me to that transendence. A wave of peace swept over me , warm and fresh -the smell of that meadow and the trees – right in my room. I have always been one who doesn’t ascribe to things that are not real. ” Contempt prior to investigation , or experience ” , has been my M.O. ; I feel the presence of my Grandmother more now , than I ever have in the past. I am not sure quite what it is , and I am not sure I can quantify it. I am going to have my M.O. stand down for a bit and see where this leads. My particular Guide Vocal has told me to ” keep going ” , and I shall.

One of my favorite songs is Guide Vocal on the Duke album by Genesis :                                 ” I am the one who guided you this far                                                                                               All you know and all you feel                                                                                                             Nobody must know my name                                                                                                           For nobody would understand                                                                                                           And you kill what you fear

I call you for I must leave                                                                                                                    You’re on your own until the end                                                                                                      There was a choice but now it’s gone                                                                                                I said you wouldn’t understand                                                                                                        Take what’s yours and be damned ”

Lines 1&2 )   Thinking about my teachings , and Buddha tells me that ” all we are , is a result of what we have thought. The mind is everything. What we think we become ” . It would seem that my Grandmother could have been a guide vocal all these years ( among many others ) and I wasn’t aware of it. Lines 3&4 ) Alone in a place in which I have a fleeting chance to see any kind of family , and very little connection to anyone else , I feel as thought I am stripped bare of the trappings of my life in the US. I have kept the guide vocal close to me , as a muse and because I didn’t think anyone would truly understand . Line 5 ) I am keen to this completely. Meditation has wiped away fear and any anxiety that may come my way as a result of fear. Lines 6&7 ) I have come to terms with the transient nature of this life ; people come and go continuously and I do my best to celebrate them and hold them close to my heart. I know also , that I am alone until the end ( whenever that comes ; it’s not up to me ) and I’m fine with that as well.                Line 8 ) I’m not sure that this applies to me. This is a song about one person’s bitterness toward another. Lines 9&10 ) It seems the more I know , the less I understand . I think that Line 10 doesn’t apply as well , I have nothing to take that is ” mine ” and it is a statement made in bitterness.

Today was a very enlightening day , even in the cold , rain , and snow . I am still very thankful to be here and I am also very thankful to you for reading this . Namaste’

Part VIII

Orava was covered in a mix of sun and clouds today , with a light sprinkle from time to time . The forecast had us at partly sunny , but this is the mountains , nothing but a shot in the dark . I spent a better portion of my morning on the patio , doing research and taking notes . I am a member of Academia.edu and it is the best subscription I have ever taken out . There are thousands of papers on the subject of the Upper Kingdom , Austro-Hungary , and Slovakia . I am trying to narrow my focus . It is nice that the people that write the papers or articles are reachable through the e-mail service on the site . There is also a section for grants and I am now investigating a grant to do open-ended research ; of my choosing . I will see what Providence has in mind for me .

I am sitting on a bench in the square ( namestie ) and hearing the bell peal in front of me sends me back a few hundred years . I’d like to harbor some romantic notion that I could live two or three hundred years ago , but I can’t . I’m too soft and I would never survive . We have these notions , entirely given to us by films and serials, that history was poet kings and ladies-in-waiting ; knights and damsels . For at least 99% of the population , it was surviving hand to mouth . In the Upper Kingdom , which is what the Magyar (madge-yar ) rulers called Slovakia , most of the land was owned by the ruling nobility of any given area . There was no use of the land allowed , unless said noble or count allowed it . Hunting was not allowed as that land and activity was reserved for the nobility only .

Looking up at this imposing yet beautiful castle , I am trying to imagine what life was like for my Grandmother as a little girl , then young lady . In the picture above my Grandmother Marija ( Maria – Mary in the US ) is seen just two or three years before she would leave Pokryvac ( po-kree-votch ) forever . My Great-Grandfather may well be in the US with Marija’s sister Zuzana at the time of this photograph . As I mentioned in an earlier blog , Great-Grandfather Matej ( Matthew ) made two trips to the US . We don’t know why just those two girls ; but we are grateful to him. Without Marija , there would be no ” us ” . I have pored over every photo I have of her and she wears the same soft smile in all of them . I can see it in my Great-Grandmother’s face too . That is Zuzana to Marija’s right , and on the far left is my twice Great-Grandmother . Zuzana also ( it’s a ” Slovak thing ” ) ; she was born in 1841 and might have been nearing 70 in this photo . The harsh realities of their lives are etched a bit greater on her face than that of her daughter’s . What I do thing is tres cool , is that they are standing next to a tree ; the family tree – I get it . At this time in their history , the Magyars were beginning to refine and bring to bear the full weight of their oppression of the Slovaks . The period from the late 19th century to pre-WWI was an time of incalculable struggle for the Slovaks in the Upper Kingdom , on many levels – cultural , political and linguistically .

Sitting on the banks of the Orava river now and watching this dark green carpet flow South past Oravsky Hrad , I’m wondering what this castle meant to my ancestors , how they felt about it , and what part it played in their lives . Looking South with my minds eyes , covering the topography of a landscape that spreads out in mountains and lowlands , criss-crossed by rivers and all of them leading to the river border of the Dunaj in the Hungarian Plain ; I can’t help but still feel some small dislike for the modern Magyars . In a way I feel sorry for a culture that thinks themselves superior to another and forgets that we are human beings that should be granted a degree of dignity and respect . For 1,000 years the Magyars refused to do this , and the Slovaks weren’t the only culture to suffer at the hands of the Magyars ; the Croats , Serbs , Slovenes , Romanians , and the list goes on and on . As a Buddhist I work very hard at letting any bad energy go away from me ; when I think of the indignities my ancestors were exposed to , I can’t help but get ” frustrated ” . My view from the top has been more insightful than my view from the middle , in Bratislava for example . I have many more days here , winding through verdant valleys , standing in deep green meadows that draft the mist , and feeling the stones from ages past . The deeper I go back in the history of my family , the deeper I go in turn , into myself . I stay up late reading and writing , I get up early walking over to the river for meditation and offerings of gratitude . I am here because my Grandmother left , perhaps I am the part of her that is returning to see her home again … to look up from the rolling fields in Pokryvac and see Choc Hora ( Choc Mountain ) and the snow-dusted Tatras against a pastel-blue sky , straight out a a folk painting . Nonetheless , we are both enjoying our view from the top….

Part VII

From here in Orava I can look South and West and watch history unfold with my minds eye . Poland above me to the North , only a 25 mile trip , the whole of Europa lays beneath me and to my right . To my left is Ukraine , the former Russian State , an independent sovereign state now . The border above me shifted and ebbed in a continual territorial struggle between the Magyars ( Hungarians ) and the Poles . The photograph above shows the West Tatras from the road into Pokryvac . It is the village from which my great-Grandfather took two of his daughters to the US . Matej Halaj went back and forth twice ; in 1910 (+/-) to take his daughter Zuzka to the US , and then in 1913 to bring my Grandmother Mary ( or Marija as she was known ) . If you stop and think about what our ancestors went through to get from Europe to the US , it was a leviathan task . Because the Upper Kingdom was land-locked , as were all of the countries in Central Europe , they had to take trains to a port and then board ships to get to the US .

A journey from here in Orava might take days , or even weeks . It is more than 1,000 kilometers ( 640mi ) to Bremen , Germany . The routes to take may not have been as numerous as we may think . Infrastructure in the late 19th and early 20th centuries was not as complex as perhaps the interwar period ( 1920’s & 30’s ) . In 1910/1913 travel , people like most of our ancestors carried their own bags and faced hardships that would wither any of us . I have always realized that fact and feel a lot of gratitude toward them for doing what they had to do . The Halaj ( huh-lie ) men were millers . Our history can be traced to 1721 ; thanks to the meticulous research of my cousin Jan Kysel . Millers were very smart men ; aside from milling grain , they had to make and repair everything themselves . Millers had a very important job , and were very influential in not only the development of agriculture , but they were among the first to form guilds and gained a little power as a group . In the Middle Ages and into the early 20th century they served a very important mediary between the lords and peasants . The miller was a step up from the peasants , or in the Upper Kingdom , serfs . We shall visit this aspect of history in the Upper Kingdom down the line .

As a boy my Mother would take me to museums , The Art Institute in Chicago , and we would tour New Orleans or Spring Break . I would look at the buildings and architecture of New Orleans , or Philadelphia and think , ” wow , this really old ” . As I began to read more history around the age of 12 or 13 and discovered that the history of the US was very late on the timeline . It occurred to me how seriously young our culture was , and how we learned quickly to play like the other empires from the early-middle 19th century on . It would take no time at all for the US to turn into just another group of ass-hats on the world stage . We look back and beat our chests over the fact that we went from being a colony to becoming a colonizer ; truly stunning . I look at a country like Slovakia , that had its history and culture shaped by one country , for the most part , and is just now working to claim themselves to the world … quietly and without too much of the look-at-us-ism that the Americans do so well . I love this country for that . Yes , they have great potential . Yes , they have the youth with energy and ideas . Best of all they have the wisdom to take a long view of their plans and work with patience and earnestness to see it through . I like that approach ; it suits me better – and I’m learning to live on ” Slovak time ” . History has been a long grind for the Slovaks and they are in no hurry to start beating their chests about their accomplishments , and I’m beginning to find the core values that were lost in me .

I had the good fortune of being invited to Pokryvac today to see most of my family who had gathered there for a day of remembrance . The 1933 Fire in Pokryvac was devastating and annually the village gathers to remember . I had lunch at home with my cousin Elena Kyselova ( Starka ) and her family . We then took a walk after lunch and strolled down the road to the home of Zelmira Zapotocna , the widow of my Dad’s cousin Rudolph . In spite of the language gap , it was a great time . My cousin Janko served ( as always ) as my interpreter and I am eternally grateful . I never felt out of place and they extended every grace to make me feel like family . I came back to my room and feel a bit less like a clown wandering around in the Upper Kingdom …..

Part VI

The sun finally peeked out as I waited for the train to continue on to Orava . Trnava will be behind me . It cost all of 9,78Euros to go 227km – that’s about 141 miles . The US will never get it . I am really diggin’ the cost of living here ; it would be very easy to retire here ; the language will come to me . I am getting much better at getting around ; the Slovaks are very kind and patient with me .

Our train headed mostly North and within a half-hour the landscape began to change . By the time I passed through Trencin , the Carpathians began to sweep around from my left ( West ) , and I began to see the Fatra’s to my right ( North-east ) . The train kept on to Zilina and the Fatra Mountains slowly introduced themselves . There were no craggy peaks yet , they are further in and farther up ; but I could feel my heart begin to beat with authority as the train began to slow a bit , winding it’s way around the southern edge of the Mala Fatra . Mala ( or little ) Fatra Narodny Park is the smaller of two national parks . Narodny is ” national ” , and to the south-east is Velka Fatra Narodny Park . The Velka ( Vel’ky is great, big…you get it ) Fatra is the larger park in area . I have been inthe Mala Fatra and it rivals Yellowstone or any of our national parks . The scenery is breathtaking and unlike ours , the parks are quiet and clean ; even at the height of season . I was talking to a young Slovak on the train and we compared notes on the outdoors in our respective countries . I had a leg up as I had seen the parks in both countries and was up front about the way most people in the US treat the parks . We both agreed that the reverence for nature was greater here ; he still wanted to see the parks in the US and I was glad to point out where to go and when . He was a big help when we got to Kral’ovany , where I had to switch trains to continue on to Oravsky Podzamok . I had to cross via a tunnel and was pleasantly surprised when I came up from below and saw my train waiting .

The train before me looked like something you would see in an old Cold War spy movie . This was no sleek , ultra-modern craft , like the train I had just been riding . My train was low and squat ; speaking to me and saying ” I may not look like much , but neither do you ” . I was the only person on the train and told the conductress , who looked like a headmistress at a boarding school for bad girls , that I was hoping to get to Oravsky Podzamok . She then smiled , beaming broadly and in her best English said , ” we will get you there ” ; I said ” dakujem ” and bowed . ” Jednosmerna , prosim ” was my request . ” Vitajte na Slovensku ” ( welcome to Slovakia ) , was her warm reply . I bowed and thanked her again . The train , two whole cars , jerked as we pulled away from the mainline and headed into the woods . I looked out of the window , searching for anything that looked familiar from my trip here in 2017 . We were not more than five minutes from the depot and the Orava River came into view . It would not leave my sight now as we trundled along on its banks . For me , and maybe me alone . watching the little villages pass by was more life-affirming than my time spent in the larger cities . Sure , they had the Renaissance and Baroque cred going for them , but life here in the mountains of the Upper Kingdom still remains tied closely to the land .

Yes , here I am ; at last . Deep in the heart of Orava and trying to relax and tell myself that I will be here for a good long while . My view from the gate of the train station , had me nearly tripping and falling . I could not keep myself from looking up . In all of its timeless majesty was ” my castle ” . Yeah , I get it …it’s no Bojnice , Bratislava , or even Neuschwanstein ( the alleged model for the Disney castle ) ; our castle is a bastion that says ” give me your best shot ” . It sits on top of a spire of lime 560meters (1800ft+) above the Orava River . On my 10 minute walk from the station to the penzion (hotel ) , I never stopped looking up . Above me stood the history of everything that mattered in my eyes . In my study of Slovakia and Eastern ( or Central ) Europe , I was continuously pulled North by my curiosity . ( Sorry Greg , too many “ly”s ? ) . Hopefully , a few of my questions will be answered on this trip ; some about history , and some about this 1/2 Slovak – trying to find his place in the history of everything…..

Part V

The rain stopped for a few hours as I walked down Palisady Ulica to catch the bus at Grassallkovich Palace . I took one last look from Stefanikova down toward the Stary Mesto ( Old Town ) . I could see St. Michaels Gate sticking up through the rooftops and to the right St. Martin Cathedral shoved its spire skyward , and beyond it stood Bratislava Castle , gleaming white and standing high and wide . I am now heading to Hlavna Stanica , the Main Station – literally . Almost all ground transportation converges there , I will do my best to stumble through my limited Slovak and buy a one-way ticket to Trnava , the home region of the Hlavatovichs . It was fairly simple to get my ticket , I had rehearsed my lines before I got to the ticket counter ; wouldn’t you know it , the young lady spoke English . It cost me 2euro .18 ( +/- $3.00 ) to got the distance of Chicago to Naperville . That’s what you get when you live in a country that doesn’t spend all their money on military hardware or corporate welfare . The train station looked like any I had seen downtown , just smaller and neater . About half way to Trnava it started to rain again . The fields on either side of the tracks were a combination of vineyards and grain . Slovakia has long grown wine in this part of the country . I was startled at how vast the vineyards were , but knew that wine has be made here for 3,000 years . In the near distance I could just make out the Lesser ( or White ) Carpathian Mountains . Like most railroads anywhere , we rolled by some run-down and shaggy places ; it’s a reality of life – they don’t run train tracks through the best neighborhoods in town .

Trnava had a gritty feel to it as I hailed a taxi to get to my friend Ivan’s place . The driver was a nice guy and I had no worry , as Ivan predicted what the fare should be . My apartment was tres groovy . It is an efficiency studio , with a lot of light and a balcony that looked toward the Old Town , Of course , it bears mentioning that all the buildings in this complex had the look of Soviet-era/Cabrini Green feel . They are multi-colored now and not unpleasant to look at . I scored another perfect location and timed my walk in the rain at 15 minutes to get in the outer wall of the Old Town . An added bonus was that there was a shopping mall nearby , with a grocery store facing in my direction. I stumbled around a small section of the city center , feeling like a wet dog in a strange neighborhood , I turned around , hit the grocery store , and headed back to get a warm shower and do some research. Trnava has a past as both checkered and gilded as any in the Upper Kingdom . Trnava was the first town in the Upper Kingdom to be granted a town charter ; this happened in 1238 . If we put this in its proper historical context , the Native Americans were still more than 350 years away from their ” immigration problem ” . The only disadvantage they had was that their Department of Homeland Security wasn’t equipped with the latest weaponry to repel the invaders at the shore or at the riverbank . Things might be a little different today…I’m just putting that out there

I kept waiting for a call from a friend of ours , that he had made contact with my family outside of Trnava . Ivan finally called today and said that there was no answer from the Hlavatovich’s . I am 27km from finding out about my grandfather’s ancestry , and nothing but crickets . I have to chalk it up to experience and continue my journey tomorrow . Onward and Northward , this clown-car revue will take up residence directly below Oravsky Hrad for 1 solid month . I loved my time in Trnava , there were a myriad of sights and museums for me to explore and it only furthered my knowledge of how Slovakia came to be what it is today . As far as finding some sort of roots here , for now , it won’t happen . I came in with no expectation , and in retrospect , I’m still happy that I came here ; I made a good friend in Ivan and we will see each other soon . Somehow , so close , but yet so far….

• 

The Misadventures – Part IV

My apartment , an efficiency , was on Palisady ; just below Bratislavsky Hrad . From my small balcony , I could see the massive castle and the spire of St. Martin’s Cathedral . I stood and stared in wonder for a few minutes and made the decision to go back out in the rain . Undaunted , I squared away my gear and took a few moments to hatch a plan of attack ; not exactly the first time it has occurred in this city .

Bratislava occupies a perfect spot in the topography of Central Europe. The castle sits above the city and the river like a brawny security guard , serving as a sentinel that reaches back deep into the mists of history . Palisady ulica ( street ) curves up from Grassallkovich Palace to Bratislavsky Hrad ( castle ) . I know what you’re thinking , and yes , there are palaces , cathedrals and castles everywhere here . Slovakia’s St. Martin’s Cathedral served as the coronation site of the kings of Hungary from the mid-16th to the early 19th century . Bratisalava is the only capital in the world that borders two sovereign states . Austria to the West , from whence I came ; and Hungary to whence I will take my time going back . From high up behind the castle walls , feeling like a tiny speck , I looked out into Austria and down the Dunaj toward Hungary , trying to imagine the rise and fall of history . It would seem like a shallow breath at one time , and a convulsive gasp at others . I watched as the clouds and mist obscured traffic on the bridge and river below . I thought about all of my Slavic ancestors back into time ; back into Samo’s Empire in the 5th century ; how many had walked through St. Michael’s Gate , traveled through this old crossroad that had been trammelled by countless warriors , cultures and kings . I wondered if in fact , my family was represented by anyone then. I supposed that the blood that runs through me came from somewhere else . Maybe my grandfather’s people really did come from Croatia or Slovenia ; or worse yet – from Hungary . By chance , my grandmother’s ancestors were swept in from the vast Russian steppes as the Avars blew across this region in the 5th and 6th centuries when the Pannonian ( Roman place-name ) Plain was the superhighway for East to West invasions . The sands of humanity shifted and shoaled in a continuum like the ancient river underneath me . The features of my family in the North , Orava , are very different from the faces of my grandfather’s people in Trnava . I believe that getting acquainted with this land and it’s people will counsel half of me at least . The other half will require a trans-continental trip of far more epic proportions ; Thuringia , Wales , Great Britain , Scotland , Ireland , and who knows where , regarding my maternal ancestry .

The unrelenting Central European rain snapped me out of my day-dream and I shuffled back down Palisady to my warm , and dry digs . Monday wasn’t going to be any better , but I’d been watching the weather here before I left and knew that spring and winter were going to do some sort of elaborate flamenco dance ; I came prepared . On Monday morning , 13 May , I took a Tram to Eurovea . A mall that was like any mall in the US . I felt like I had never left Orland . My purpose ? I needed a ” Slovak phone ” ; and I found one for 77euro , and bought a 7euro SIM card . Marek at the Orange store was very cool and set me up in less than 10 minutes . Take that AT&T ! He was very personable and his English was right on . I was in business ; I immediately called my German friend Albrecht ( he liked Al ) and we met for kava and a pastry . I was very comfortable with him and we made great fun at how alike we were . When I told him that upon retirement I read Nietzsche , he jumped up and yelled , ” no way ! ” ; I replied ” way ” calmly . He laughed even harder . He kept saying that I couldn’t be from the US , I kept assuring him that I was and even showed him my passport , he looked over the top of it at me , laughing that it was a fake . Yes , I told him , there are some of us that actually read that kind of book . I told him we weren’t all dumbkopfs ; he asked me to prove it . We had such a good time with the verbal fencing it continued into lunch . We made a lot of hay over the fact that 7,000km separated “twins ” . Albrecht is from Leipzig and when I told him that my grandfather’s people came from Erfurt/Muhlhausen , he couldn’t believe how the world crossed our paths ; nor I . Later that evening we watched the Slovaks lose in the last 2 seconds of their match with Canada and milled about waiting for the Swedes return from their game . I had a tough time leaving , but it was getting late and I couldn’t put another glass of Kofola down my gullet . I had to be up early to travel on to Trnava , the next stop in my Upper Kingdom Roadshow . I didn’t have to sell my soul to the devil , and got away from the Slovak Crossroads…..

Part III

12/5/19 I left Vienna on Flixbus at 10 am and the ride to Bratislava was short and smooth . The best 7euro I have spent yet . It started raining as we headed out of Austria into Slovakia , as we crossed over the Dunaj ( pronounced doo-n-eye ) , the Danube ; the rain became more intense . I’ve mentioned this before , I don’t know if I’m being tested , or what the ultimate plan is – but I carried on in an intrepid fashion . I hoisted my 50lb duffel over my shoulder and made a beeline for the Hviezdoslav statue in the square named after him . I dropped my duffel and strolled over to him and stared at him , as he pushed a stony, heavy gaze in mirror . For those of you still staring at the stew of vowels and constants ; it’s pronounced ” heavy-ez do slav ” . Pavol was one of the many great Slovaks that underpinned our culture in spite of the best efforts of the Magyars , as the Hungarians are known , and he was a genius poet . As the cold Slovak rain pelted me and fouled my glasses , I didn’t back down . Somehow I knew I wasn’t going to win this staredown , but I wanted to get his energy . This was my time in our country ; now is what I’ve waited for … more than 35 years . His work is impressive . He focused on not only his writing , elevated Slovak literature ; he also pushed to make Slovkia a stand-alone political entity . My man !

I grabbed my duffel and sped over to the carriageway of the National Theatre – the old opera house . I stood and watched the rain fall on the square , the southern edge of the Old Town , and felt a wave of relief wash over me . I had some time some before I was to get my apartment , so I walked north through the steady , wet curtain and jumped into a pub . I was looking for a cup of that marvelous Slovak coffee , but instead walked into a bar full of Germans , getting tuned up for their hockey game against Denmark . They were a long way from that game which was being played in Kosice . I should say again , that Slovakia is hosting the Ice Hockey World Championships , so Bratislava and Kosice have been flooded by hockey fans from all across the globe . I moment of national pride for the Slovaks . I ordered a kava ( coffee ) , much to the surprise of the German fellow standing next to me . Between peeks at the action on the screen above us , he asked where I was from ; again , I answered quietly , ” the US ” . He looked at me , smiled and said ( yep – you guessed it ! ) ” Trump ” . I winced , and he toned it down ; but not before his partners all spun and looked at me . I felt like the guy who farted loudly in the elevator . He slapped me on the back and asked if I was in town for hockey . I told him what the purpose of my trip was and we were off and running . Albrecht was smart and entertaining . We exchanged e-mails as I didn’t have my ” Slovak phone ” yet and he invited me to lunch on Monday ; the adventure continues….

Part I

Hello , Ahoj – and welcome to the journey of a man-child in the land of his ancestors . I am recently retired and chose no other country in world but Slovakia , for my existential quest . What says meaning and depth like a trip to the topographic wonder that my grandparents left behind to find a better life in the US ? My Grandfather Jan Hlavatovic ( you will have to excuse my lack of Slovak diacritics , this keyword does not have them . Should I blog from my phone , we shall be standing firm in the eyes of Bernolak , Stur , and Hattala )…where was I ? Oh yes !… My Grandfather Jan Hlavatovich either emigrated or got chased out of the Trnava region ; my Grandmother Mary ( Marija ) Halaj may well have been dragged to the US by my Great-Grandfather Matej . Any and all of this is supposition until I can prove otherwise . My endeavor here in Slovensko , will prove difficult at times , as my language skills are still quite lacking , but the Slovaks are kind and warm in their energies to help me along .

Since this is my opening salvo at bloggery , I will be brief . In the course of this blog , my intention ( quite possibly a " mission statement " here - so pay attention ) is to address a few of the questons I have regarding my grandparents and their precedents and some , if any , history I can unearth - be it as it may . I am traveling to enjoy this beautiful country as well and will share my thoughts on that vast subject as which is Slovak history and culture as a stand-alone entity . A goliath task if ever there was ...this Eastern Europe after all , everyone had their fingers in the halusky .

Part II

I landed in Vienna on 10/5/19 ( using the European date notation , always made more sense to me ) . I stayed with friends near the Innere Stadt . While Vienna is chock full of fantastic architecture , the dynamism of the old Habsburg Empire is captured in the staid strength that the buildings exude from inside the Ringstrasse . The Ringstrasse , literally the Ring Road , encircles the Innere Stadt . I was lucky to stay a ten minute walk from a complex of palaces and museums , and the beautiful Burrgarten . I could spend the rest of my time here explaining how this gorgeous park came to be … not going to do it . I found the tram very easily and headed Southwest to the Schonnbrunn Palace . I was simply awestruck by the vastness of it . There is something incredibly life-affirming for me to traverse a completely foreign city ; alone at that . It is also very nice to speak to complete strangers who are experiencing what you , yourself are seeing – and to relate to each other what you are seeing for the first time .

I had been sitting on a bench pondering the history that had taken place here , having just walked the whole grounds in 45 minutes . I young man from Sweden sat down next to me ; we must’ve had the same look on our faces because we couldn’t stop grinning . He was 32 and had been dying to see Vienna since he was quite young . I shared the same . We chatted on about our lives and bid each other good day – it began to rain . I really don’t know what it is that Europe has against me , but it rained virtually the entire 4 weeks of my trip in 2017 . I haled a taxi , no walking to the tram stop in the pouring rain . My driver was a very nice gentleman of Egyptian descent . He asked where I was from , in turn , and I quietly responded ” the US ” . He smiled and said ( you guessed it ) ” Trump ” ! He turned to see the blank expression on my face and apologized . I told him that must of us are not happy with him and he replied that it was more a punchline than a name now . We both laughed . He was a Economics student when he left Cairo , traveled between Europe and the US . He said that Vienna was the best place to live . I couldn’t have agreed more ; a nice city with warm people . Only the day before , over coffee , I had a wonderful conversation about music with a young law clerk . He plays the cello and the bass ; we talked for all of his lunch hour about Jazz and Blues . In the end we exchanged e-mails and he invited me to see him play at a concert in the Hofburg Palace . I will be back in Wien on the 1st of July and he plays on the 2nd … maybe it will work out .

As I stood in the doorway of my friend’s apartment , there on Weidenerstrasse , the clouds started to break and I considered another short walk later before dinner with Ivan , my host . It was difficult for me to journal ( and still is ) and articulate what it’s like to be away from the noise of life in the US . I don’t mean that in a derogatory way , and it is certainly not directed at anyone . I am really not on vacation , because I have to keep digging and researching for the book I’m in the process of writing . I am enjoying the step-by-step/breath-by-breath aspect that has been afforded me . I took one last walk ; to Belvedere Palace ( pictured above ) and really got lost there . Letting my eyes crawl over every square foot of that Baroque beauty . The photo above is from Lower Belvedere , the ” backyard ” of the Palace . In this vast garden , it is not very difficult to see why these places were havens from the everyday lives of the emperors and empresses . Even with a multutude of visitors , I was able to sit and find solace and peace . Birds filled the garden with an aural tapestry of sound . The Palace also houses the largest collection of Klimt paintings .

On my walk back through the neighborhood surrounding Ivan and Neva’s apartment , the mood captured me and I sat on an old stone wall an watched the sunset settle slowly behind a church . I though about the history of Wien and about my history ; the rises and falls , and the triumphs and failings … maybe we aren’t that different . The following day , the 12th of May ( my sister’s Birthday ) I will be leaving for Bratislava and Slovensko … the home in my heart .