Canadians, and Americans too I imagine, live under a curious delusion. Since our countries are so incredibly large, we figure Europe can fit in our pockets. Sure, it might take a couple of hours to get from, say, the bottom of Spain to the top of Germany, but surely journeys within countries can't take more than a few dozen minutes! And you must be able to jump from city to city in these strange little Eastern countries that look like so many ink-spills on the map. I can authoritatively tell you that this is not the case.

Just a note, this update has been a twofer, so in the unlikely event you're interested in our non-adventures in Bratislava, scroll down.

Thanks to the very helpful front desk at our hostel, we found out that the best way to get from Bratislava to Humenne, the base-camp for our adventure to Karna, was to travel first to Kosice, the second major city in Slovakia, and then connect. The trip to Kosice took over six hours, and the trip to Humenne nearly another two. Now, I've been traveling back and forth between Alberta, Saskatchewan and British Columbia my entire life, not to mention some pretty long-haul train rides here already, but let me tell you, that one nearly did me in!

We had, fortunately, had the foresight to buy supplies for lunch along the way, consisting of dry buns, bananas, and Snickers bars (it was a long week-and-a-half without you my pretties! I think I'm going to have to go into Snickers rehab when I get home), and without these I would have wanted to die. More than I already did, that is. Oh blood sugar, why must you dip so low when I forget to eat, and then punish me mercilessly? Why?

I spent most of the train ride reading an Elizabeth George novel that we'd picked up in Friedrichshafen. It was good, entertaining, and very interesting because a couple of summers ago I bought a book on how to write a book by her, without ever having read her. I got some useful hints from it, and having read her work, I can see that it wasn't a total waste of money, which is lovely.

We arrived in Humenne in the evening. We had tried to book a room ahead at the Best Western in town, but ran into difficulties when the receptionist who answered didn't speak English, and poor Will's Slovak wasn't up to the task. We figured we'd probably be pretty safe winging it, and we got a nice double room with minimal fuss, that ended up being cheaper than our crappy hostel in Paris had been. Oi. If you go to Paris, don't go to the Blue Planet. It sucks, though it did introduce us to the first Stanley.

All we did that evening was go to the supermarket for some really, really gross bread and cheese, then we hid in our room that night watching music videos. I've developed an unhealthy fascination with Justin Timberlake's newest hit "Sexyback." Leaving aside any moral judgments on the matter, I find the whole thing aesthetically offensive in the extreme from the get-go, from the title to the music to the vocals to the video. It's just incredibly, incredibly stupid. Apparently our dear Justin has taken it upon himself to restore a little joy and beauty into the world, declaring, in an overproduced and rather ridiculous tone, "I'm bringing sexy back." That, combined with an exceptionally mediocre performance from Robbie Williams in "Rudebox" kept me entertained for hours. Sometimes, if I was lucky, I'd be able to catch the video once on the one music chanel, then a few minutes later on the other. Exciting times, I tell you.

Also, note to my friend Mustard, you know who you are: I saw the music video for Satisfaction, scantily clad girls using power tools. It lived up so perfectly to the song I was dumbfounded.

The next day was the big day, the checking of the final box on our to-do list for the trip. It sounds impressive, but we only ever had two real items on it, Run with the Bulls (check) and visit Karna.

We got up late in the day and took a twenty minute bus ride out to a village in the Slovak countryside. For the eight of you who have ever been to Smeaton, Saskatchewan, you'd know more or less what to expect. It was pretty much all houses and a church, but kind of half rural, half urban, with big overgrown yards that occasionally tried to pass themselves off as gardens. The houses were all old, and so were many of the people, though it was a Saturday afternoon, and quiet. We pretty much walked the length and breadth of the place, got some great pictures because it was beautiful, and then went back to Humenne.

That night was music videos and a Ken Follett novel that someone bought in India and left in Prague, which we traded for another Follett novel we bought in Spain. Both were terrible. I didn't even get to see Sexyback all the way through, and Ken has got to be one of the worst writers I've ever read. It was entertaining in it's badness though, and Will and I shared many a a laugh over his various literary foibles. But don't waste your time on it if you're not killing time in Slovakia. I also got to call home and talk to everyone who was there, which was lovely.

Before Ken and Justin though Will and I ate dinner at the hotel restaurant. I had duck, and he had a venison steak, we had dessert and a couple of drinks, and the total was, what, $30 Canadian? It was wonderful, and cheap, and I miss it already. I like duck, and I think I'll seek it out whenever I can.

The next day, which, as always, was today, we got up, had breakfast at the hotel, checked out, bought supplies for the day and got on a train to Kosice, from where we'd be catching another to Budapest. I bought eight buns, four bananas and ten Snickers (we had a lot of Slovak crowns left, and not much of Slovakia), and we ended up waiting in Kosice for six hours for the first train to Budapest, and ate most of the food there in a park. I managed to finish Ken, mercifully, and started on Red Dragon by Thomas Harris, which is the prequel to Silence of the Lambs. I finished that on the long train ride here and just started Silence when we'd arrived.

When we were arriving into Prague I saw someone just finishing the book, two volumes in one, and offered to buy it from him. He gave it to me, but tore out the copyright page so we couldn't resell it. At the time I didn't care, but looking back I'm actually rather offended. There are a dozen ways to make it seem reasonable, but in the end it just sort of seems like a jerk thing to do, you know? Especially the way he did it. He said sure, then, wait, tore out the page, and handed it to me. Like giving a gift with strings attached, you know? We were unlikely to try to sell it anyway, but now we won't even be able to trade it in at a bookshop if we wanted another one.

On the plus side, they're really, really good books. Especially coming off of Ken Follett. It's just so nice to read a well-written tome. It's obviously not perfect, but everything from the style to the tone to the verb-usage was, and is, exquisite. Makes me want to see the movies. And go to bed.

Current Location: Budapest, Hungary