Little did I know when I set off on my European expedition almost two months ago that I would end up in a little cottage in the depths of the Slovakian High Tatras, taking Wally the dog on my first ever solo dog walk through the beautiful mountainous terrain, or indeed that this would be my best stop by far. Thank God I was recommended this gem of a getaway by a fellow traveller in Poland (Harriet (the hilarious one), Kraków), and go me for adding it to my itinerary.
I arrived in the picturesque village of Ždiar rather bruised (ego) and battered (knees). (En route to the train station in Bratislava that morning I had tripped up – with mahousive back pack strapped on – fallen over, my knees as my breaks, unable to get up due to the weight of my back pack, lying in the middle of the street like a capsized tortoise, with three Slovakians rushing over to come to my rescue / fight back their hysteria (I don’t blame them; it must have looked bloody (literally) ridiculous). Unclipping my back pack I was able to right myself to sitting, and appreciate the gravelly damage in all its glory. For my knees it was like a re-run of when I fell over while running (lol) last February, and I think they rolled their eyes and sighed as I bust open the scarring once more. It was a great look. But I had a train to catch! After trying to style it out with the kind Slovakians – attempting small talk while emptying my bottle of water onto my legs, looking up at their totally bemused faces from ground level – I needed to get going. I walked (limped) to the station with weeping knees, hoping that no passers by would notice my unfashionable plasmatic leg accessories. I managed the last ten minutes of the walk with no further injuries, and headed to the pharmacy next door to the station. I thought (naively) that they would clean and dress me (my knees not the whole of me – don’t be silly) as the nurse had done in Leamington following Knee Bust Up #1 last year. I wasn’t to be so lucky, and had to spray and patch up my knobblies myself, and even made use of my trusty first aid kit (thank you, Karen!). Open wounds amateurishly covered, I made the train and subsequent bus with relative ease, which brings us back to where we left off.)
As I hobbled from the bus stop I couldn’t stop looking around at the scenery (probably unwise for someone who is prone to tripping up…). Huge majestic mountains surrounded me, with cute little huts dotted around covered in bright flowers and wooden decking. It was as if I had been transported back to a simpler time, where being at one with nature was simply the way of life. It felt magical and exactly what I craved. Arriving at The Ginger Monkey I was welcomed by Dan, the coolest, funniest, shell-embellished-hat-wearing, long-haired, slipper-loving Aussie who ran the hostel. He was great. After removing my shoes (house rule) he showed me round as if he was giving me a tour of his home, and I felt instantly part of the Monkey family.
The mornings consisted of fuelling up on soft boiled eggs, toast and tea; the days spent hiking, walking the dog and gazing at the unbelievable view; and the evenings enjoying hearty dinners and drinking beer. It was a tough life. On my first full day I tackled The Saddle – a 26 km hike through the mountains with 26,000 stops for photographs. It was steep, long, windy… and I loved it. We celebrated with pizza night at the local pizzaria (I made my own and chose blue cheese, cherry tomatoes, onion, walnuts and rocket (possibly the poshest pizza Eastern Europe had ever been asked for)). The following day we were due bad weather and a village-wide powercut – the perfect opportunity to pretend we were nature-loving hippies who didn’t miss WiFi, hot showers or toasted bread. After a very cosy morning spent in pyjamas, laddleing gas hob heated water for our tea, a couple of us took Wally (the dog) for a river walk (my second ever dog walk (my first being with Rachel and Rocky in Brinklow (not quite as scenic but enjoyable none the less))). After such a back to basics day we relaxed in the evening – when the power resumed – by watching Liam Neeson strut his stuff (Taken) while nursing our electronic gadget separation anxiety. And then all of a sudden it was my last day, and not even a full one! I had until 14:51 precisely to end my time in the Tatras on a high. I decided to spend my last morning having some alone time with my latest bff (that means best friend forever, dad): Wally. We were going to do the forest walk. We set off in good spirits, and got about five minutes down the road before Wally decided he did not want to go on the forest walk, but was much MUCH more interested in smelling his friends’ urine markers. Lovely. Despite a good ten minutes of my best negotiating skills, I could not win this war. I had to return to The Ginger Monkey, tail between my legs, and return the defiant dog before setting off (for the second time) on the forest walk. I managed to progress past the piss path without Wally, and had a lovely lone stroll through the woodlands, making it back in record time (they said four hours, I did it in two hours ten 😉), giving me time for a last Ždiarian lunch before making tracks (and I’d like to point out that the onward journey did not involve any capsizing tortoises).