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.
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 Bratislavsky 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|
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.