Der erste Mai

Last night, in honor of Labor day, I visited Bratislava, capital of Slovakia. It is a city about a third of Vienna’s size and grandeur located about 50 kilometers east of chez moi. Between these two European capitals there is little. Grass and trees, maybe a bunny rabbit or two. Upon approaching Bratislava, you drive through three or four now abandoned check points, reminiscent of the cities not so distant communist past. The first buildings that appear are the big concrete Soviet block housing units, and then the castle dating from the 10th century comes into view, looking down regally from her elevated spot upon the graffiti and concrete at her feet.

The city center itself is quite pleasant. Open, pedestrian friendly squares display an architecture reminiscent of Viennese grandeur but somehow more welcoming. Young English and German tourists, seduced by the city’s cheap beer and spirits spill out of the cafes and bars that line every side street. Sculptures and fountains, modern and otherwise, fill the main squares and decorate the passage ways. Other, less familiar pieces of art hang from the third and forth floors of buildings, attached with a rather complicated system of ropes and wires. One of my favorite sculptures was a large post office box elaborated by a couple of iron clad maidens, naked, skinny, and rather bored.

After having a beer and comparing snitzel prices, we walked out of the center towards the castle, crossing ugly patches of mostly deserted highways. Finally beneath the castle hidden away into the base of a hill that has been inhabited since the stone age we found the club we were looking for. An ex bomb shelter dating from the cold war with short squat doors through which no more than one can go at a time. Just inside stand two men, large in every direction. They bark something in Slavic and let us pass through the long narrow concrete corridor into the wild dance scene happening underground.

It’s late when we decide to bid adieu to this lively city. We cross back over the highways and concrete to find our car and I think about the similar amputation feel of American city centers. Is it not strange that Bratislava, so long our enemy, so resembles the dirt and grime of our Baltimore, Saint Louis, and Atlanta?