At the dinner table at Vinium Galeria Bozen in the town of Pezinok, Slovakia, where a charming and well-spoken Eddy serves us with generosity, a distinguished gentleman walks up to our table. Dressed in a smart chequered shirt, his silver hair neatly parted, he enquires if we are from India. The gentleman had recently been to Delhi-Jaipur-Agra, so his curiosity seemed natural.
He delights at our answer, immediately orders for us a burčiak, a partially fermented drink that’s somewhere between grape juice and wine. Its equivalent would be the urrak in Goa, the first distil of feni.
The burčiak, available only in autumn in the Czech Republic and Slovakia, tastes like lemon liqueur, with a tangy, refreshing flavour that’s easy to drink being low on alcohol content.
But more than the burčiak, it’s the easy hospitality, the friendliness of residents that impresses in this fairly nondescript town about 20 kilometres south of the Slovakian capital of Bratislava.
It’s a recurring theme through the four days we spend driving around Slovakia, the friendliness, the easy but not overbearing warmth. That, combined with the country’s good-looking people and better-looking landscapes, its underrated wine, overrated pilsner and unheralded plum brandy, the 130 kmph highways and ski-slopes that turn into breathless treks in summer months, makes for a memorable trip to central Europe.
At the Limbavin winery, named after the Limbach region of Modra, about 20km north of Bratislava, stacks of bottles are being labelled personally by Ladislav Pucek. He is the chief wine maker of Limbavin, “among the best three in the country,” according to his friend Milan, who works for the government but happens to be visiting. Milan graciously translates from Slovakian to English on behalf of Pucek, who founded the label with his brother Jaroslav some years ago. Pucek gives us a quick round of tasting, because he has to finish labelling and rush to another appointment, before packing up a few bottles for us.
Slovakia has a long history of making wine though its produce is not as widely travelled—or known—as France, Italy, Spain or several other European nations. The region we are in is the Small Carpathian wine-growing region, which produces the Slovak version of Chardonnay, Pinot Blanc, Noir and Gris besides Gewurztraiminer, Cabernet Sauvignon, Albernet, St. Laurent and Zweigeltrebe.
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The Vinium Galeria Bozen in Pezinok.
Limbavin also makes a Vellinske Zelene, using the Gruner Veltliner grape, a dry white wine. The region has over 150 wine planting villages, we are told, producing wine with a higher level of acidity and mostly all dry.
Limbach is the final stop of our brief journey, which begins and ends in Bratislava, with its magnificent castle that has a medieval-themed fair on the day, St Martin’s Cathedral, a charming blue church and the eccentric Čumil. The bronze statue of a sewage worker peeping out of a manhole is one of a few casually placed statues dotted around central Bratislava. One night in Bratislava is enough, says the young hotel receptionist, as she brusquely circles the city centre on a map and says, “That’s all there is to it.”
Roughly two hours’ drive north-east of Bratislava, through the town of Nidra, which is about halfway, is Banska Bystrica. This town provides the lunch stop, at Bearded Brothers, by the canal. It is here that we discover Royal Crown, a cola beverage that’s apparently existed for over a hundred years, made in the US, and is widely drunk all over Slovakia, instead of Coca Cola.
Banska Bystrica as a town is unremarkable, though a cultural festival is just wrapping up in the city centre. Dressed up young people perform rambunctiously, but the show ends before sunset. The town is bordered by a river, and hills beyond, which gives it a mystical allure when its drizzling.
It’s a Sunday, almost all stores are shut, though the Bystrica Klubovna, part of a larger chain of restaurants and bars, is thriving. Set inside what looks like a former church, it has its own brewery that crafts the light, frothy lager Klubovňácka 11° and a Borovička, a juniper-based drink similar to gin, but fruitier.
Served in a chilled test-tube like shot glass, it’s got neutral notes, which explains why the group of pensioners seated outside repeats their orders every few minutes. The bartender suggests I try the stout as well, which turns out to be lighter than the Guinness, more easy-going. My reaction pleases him enormously. It’s definitely a blessing that our rooms are walking (or was it staggering?) distance from Klubovna.
The drive the following day up north to Jasná in the Low Tatras is stunning, with rich mountains, thickly wooded forests enveloping the highway. Like most highways in the country, speed limits change frequently peaking at 130 kilometres an hour. Jasná is a ski town, its resorts designed with hot-tubs, on-site spas for tired skiers afer a long day on the slopes, and often without air-conditioning. September is not off-season for Jasná, but a great time for long hikes along silent and still ski lifts and grassy paths that in winter will become snow covered ski slopes.
One trek starts from Mt Chopok, reached through a cable car that runs every half hour. Past the Kamenná chalet, across Demänovské saddle and Mt Krúpova hoľa to Mt Ďumbier, this roughly 8-9km long walk can take up to four hours. It offers great views, weather permitting, from Mt Ďumbier, the highest point of the Low Tatras. There is also the leisurely stroll one can do from the Crystal bar through Vrbické pleso, the Luton Nature Trail, to Biela púť and back to the Crystal bar.
A return to the lowlands
The drive from Jasná to Modra and Limbach goes via the majestic Lake Liptovska Mara, where a friendly cat joins us, posing for pictures as if that’s his purpose. For just a brief moment, we consider taking him home, back to India. Sacrifice the bottle of Domovina Slivovica (a strong 52%), the local plum brandy, in favour of the cat. But the absurd moment passes and reality takes us back on the road towards Vlkolínec.
Up the hills about seven kilometres from the town of Ružomberok, is the village of Vlkolínec, a UNESCO World Heritage site comprising of some 40-odd houses. The medieval site, with its wooden houses, barns and a well, has a museum of sorts, a souvenir shop and a sprinkling of people. With its roots in the 10th century, first records dating back to the 14th, most buildings here are more than a hundred years old. The cool air and mist add to the mystique of the village, with its apple trees, barely motorable paths and sense of antiquity.
On getting to Budapest by train from Bratislava, we realise that the two countries share, besides common history and culture, a love for fruit brandy. Known as Palinka, it comes in many fruity flavours.
At the famous ruin bar Szimpla Kert in Budapest, our bartender is a Slovak, willing to chat about the Palinka as he pours out four shot glasses, with two each of peach and apricot flavours. It turns out to be a mildly flavoured drink, whether it’s downed or savoured, depending on your age.
As we raise our glasses, I am reminded of this nugget of information a tour guide in Budapest shared. One of Hungary’s greatest moments of pride was when their football team, led by the legendary Ferenc Puskas, beat England 6-3 at Wembley in 1953. England were the hot favourites in that match and had never before lost at home to a team from outside the British Isles.
Till today, you can say 6-3 instead of “cheers” when raising your glass. Better still in Hungarian.
“Hat- három”.