In May 2016, I was in Austria for a little under a week, and decided to visit Bratislava, the capital of Slovakia, for a day. I arrived at Vienna’s train station that Spring morning (I cannot remember the exact date; but that detail is not relevant to this story anyway), and asked a cashier for a round-trip ticket. Normal, basic stuff, right? Still, the man behind the counter’s facial expression changed drastically after he heard my request; he went from smiling to serious in a matter of seconds. He started to question me and my intentions. “Are you travelling alone?”, “What are you going to do in Bratislava?”, “Are you going to meet anyone?”, and so on. I simply told him that, yes, I was travelling by myself, that I just wanted to explore a new city, and that I was not going to meet anyone; just wandering around. He said okay, sold me the ticket, but made me promise that I would be back in Austria before dusk. I promised, intrigued and unsure of why he, a perfect stranger, was so concerned about my well-being. He then told me one last thing before I left:
Be careful, people over there have lost all hopes and dreams.
The train ride was quick and quiet. When I got off at Bratislava’s train station though, I rapidly understood what he meant. Something felt off. The station had a creepy vibe, I felt as if everyone was staring at me, the stranger. I brushed off this uneasy feeling, and decided to walk to the old city, the only true touristic part of Bratislava. There were countless buses that could take me there from the station, yet I did not have a lot of cash, and was trying to save it as much as I could.
This walk felt like hours. It was not great. First, there were only men in the streets. All looked suspicious. They would stare at me, which made me quite uncomfortable, but didn’t speak to me or bother me. I continued my walk at a faster pace, anxious to finally arrive where the tourists should be. That is when a group of men came up to me, screaming. I could not understand the language, but I knew that they were not being polite. They formed a circle around me, insulted me, tried to grab me. I was calm, I did not want to show any sign of fear, but inside, I truly was panicking.
Luckily for me, a group of American boys, who I learned afterwards were there for a bachelor party, arrived just in time to scare the men away, and yes, save me. I must have thanked them two hundred times, and I asked them if they could walk me to the old town, where I would be safer. They did, and we agreed to meet each other again at the end of the day so that we would go back to the train station all together.
The rest of my visit went well. The flow of tourists, which I usually abhor, was now so comforting and reassuring. I was not alone. I was safe.
I wandered around, had a nice meal, photographed the decrepit churches and the graffiti-ed buildings, while hoping that the Americans would not forget their promise to meet me later on.
They did respect their engagement. They walked me back to the station, they took care of the scared little girl. Once I got back to Vienna, I felt a huge sense of relief after having been so tense and nervous all day. I honestly do not know what would have happened if the American men had not arrived at the right time. Things could have taken a dramatic turn.
I am not saying that Slovakia is a dangerous country. I just met dangerous men there on a particular May day. I know numerous people who have enjoyed Bratislava. It simply was not my case, unfortunately. Who knows, maybe I’ll go back one day, accompanied, more prepared and informed.
Bittersweet Travel Memories 