Off to Bratislava we were on Saturday to help the good Slovak people celebrate their national crafts and to enjoy their regional cuisine. Anna Grace, home from three days of the electronics-free class retreat, opted to hang at home with Clayton Theodore and catch up on
social media homework and laundry. She has assumed the title of The Teenager with great aplomb.
The festival featured traditional woodworking, metalworking and ceramics, as well as weaving and lace-making. Tony and I were proud of the fact that we could distinguish even a few subtleties between Czech, Slovak, and Polish handcrafts. Babuschkas aplenty were on hand to share their wisdom, though, of course, we could not understand a word they spoke.
The intricacies of tatting lace were like miniature works of art in their own right.
National costumes were prevalent, but not nearly to the degree as a Kirtag brings out the Trachten.
Bratislavan Brides seemed to be everywhere! These newlyweds made a grand appearance through the Old City during our lunch…
…while this bride-to-be went decidedly more understated through the town.
Needing to walk off some of that delicious regional cuisine we wandered across the city, past graceful and gracefully aging architecture and Socialist art, to St. Elisabeth Church, a Hungarian (Catholic) church in Slovakia noted for its striking color.
St. Elisabeth Church is a Hungarian Catholic church in Slovakia, consecrated for Elisabeth of Hungary, daughter of Andrew II who grew up in Bratislava Hrad (Bratislava Castle).
We were unable to tour the interior with a wedding about to get underway, though we did catch a glimpse of our third bride of the day, along with a darling member of the wedding party.
A couple of final notes about lunch, a most delicious meal in an unpretentious little restaurant somewhere in the Old City. This table seemed set for Djadja and Buscha.
Musicians from the festival took their beer break and regaled the nearby lunch goers whenever their steins went dry.
The days’ special of wild boar goulash was fabulous; what is remarkable about my selection is that, although it was on the menu, I did not order Zander!
Tony and I enjoyed a classic, lengthy, European lunch at this little street side cafe, unlike the two embarrassing Americans next to us. They sat across the table from one another, and were about this interested in their togetherness. No guidebook or map to look at, nothing. We don’t think they shared 10 words of conversation.
|Thank you, Internet, for the photo
They sat for lunch about the same time we did. When they did speak, though, this is what we were treated to:
Husband: “What’s taking so long with our lunch?”
Wife, motioning to a server: “I know you’re not our waiter, but we need our food. We have to eat and catch our boat.”
Husband: “And I want to pay now so we can leave right after we eat.”
Shortly thereafter the correct server brought their shared dish of wild boar gulasch and French fries on a plain white setting to the table. The same dish I was served (considerably later, of course), but mine arrived on a pretty printed platter with dumplings and garnish. Ha.
The worst part? The witless day-trippers from Vienna left half their food uneaten.