CHEAPEST PLACES ON EARTH
Bratislava, Slovakia
The so-called ugly duckling of Europe is actually an overlooked-and underpriced-swan of the Danube
The Europe of old is not dead. For travelers who yearn to know what it was like two generations ago, before it succumbed to heedless, unplanned modernity, there is one last untouched city, an ancient capital, in the middle of the Continent, where Europe's fading pleasures linger. Completely genuine, still uncloying, it rewards only those visitors who seek to learn about it. Built to human proportions on the banks of Europe's most famous river, Bratislava is largely unvisited by Americans. By night its cafes pulse with the energy of thousands of gorgeous students. By day it's a living museum to the twentieth century's failed institutions, where vestiges of a wobbly monarchy, the Iron Curtain, and the Velvet Revolution collide in one easygoing city.
For centuries, it was a crucible for world history, yet today its prices are as tiny as its emerging economy. Entire meals, beer and all, cost $2, beds go for $25 or less. Antiquity-packed museums are 50¢ . Even marked-up drinks from the hotel minibar cost but 45¢. Nothing overwhelms a modest budget.
Hidden in plain sight
Slovakia's current disadvantages breed some sour grapes: "We are the only European country where Communism came from the west-from Prague," lamented Martin, a well-traveled young Slovak whom I met on a quiet Sunday morning in the old town (star? mesto). Since the Czechs outnumber and outpace the Slovaks, blaming Prague (and not, say, St alin) for Slovakia's hobbled economy is something of a national pastime. The Communists were sent packing after 1989's Velvet Revolution, after which avaricious Slovakian politicos like Vladim'r Mec~iar, eager to rule a fiefdom of their own, seized the moment to manipulate a divorce from the Czech Socialist Republic. For Slovakia, stocked with Soviet-era heavy industry and little else, it was a foolish move. "We were a 15-million-person state in central Europe. That was something!" sighed Juraj, another Slovakian acquaintance. "Now we're only five million."
Some Bratislavs, who affectionately drub their city as "the ugly duckling of Europe," now see themselves as beggars at a banquet, their faces pressed to the window of the global party. But the budget tourist finds benefits to its trailing behind. Bratislava has no hordes of jostling foreigners, no hornet-like Vespa traffic, no money traps. Its tourism is nascent, not canned, and attracts with the vigor of freshness-it's a genuine European city hidden in plain sight.
Bratislava is also a modern city. Of a population of 450,000, some 60,000 are students-a breathtakingly good-looking crowd zapping each other with SMS text messages, forsaking Russian lessons for English, and generally lending the city a blithe mood. Yet the political upheavals of the twentieth century left the Iron Curtain in rusty evidence. The old town's baroque palaces and medieval city walls are cleaved by a nasty highway (a legacy of cavalier Communists, who did incalculably more damage than World War II bombing ever did). Restaurants still cook meals one course at a time. Stores and museums sometimes close when they're supposed to be open. Berlin, Prague, and Budapest quickly swept away the habits of oppression, but poorer Slovakia is growing up around them. Today, it's one of the few places in central Europe where the old bloc still casts long shadows. In fact, beyond city limits, many Slovaks have never met a Yankee in the ir lives.
Curiosity is rewarded
A healthy impulse is to begin touring at the somewhat severe four-towered Hrad (Castle) crouching over the city, which Slovaks liken to an overturned table. The Hrad (most dramatically reached by torturous staircase from the foot of the Novy(r) most, or "New Bridge") is a 1968 reconstruction of a once pitifully neglected ruin. There's not much to it except historical exhibits (though Parliament sits next door), but regarding the slanty jumble of the old town from its ramparts is a highlight of any visit.
The city's other most prominent landmark is the towering Novy(r) most (built in 1972)-a glaring remnant of the Soviet s' incongruous utopian ideals. Sure enough, it looks like a beastly Tomorrowland knockoff. Pay 10Sk (24¢) to ride to the top, where there's a restaurant, Kaviaren~ Bystrica (02/6241-2450). Locals bemoan the prices (100Sk for a sundae 250Sk for an entr?e!); Americans will be pleased to pay only $2.36 for a sundae, $5.89 a dinner, especially with such views over the Danube. Turn around and check the walls, too, which still bear bas-reliefs of the proletariat toiling for the State. From the back windows, survey the crumbling regiments of Petrz~alka's Communist-built estates, now going condo, but inhuman nonetheless-a third of Bratislavs live there. Take a long look: Europe is fond of whitewashing history by erasing blatantly inappropriate projects.
