Goodbye Low Tatras and hello Hungary
Our time in the mountains is over! Today we cruise downhill. That is what we think as we mount up and leave beautiful Banská Štivnica behind and head for Hungary. …
Feck Arse Bollox
The great thing about having to huff and puff up a hill in the evening, is that there is usually a downhill to look forward to at the start of the day.
We awake with a feeling of lightness. Yesterday was something that we had dreaded a little and having it over feels like – ridiculous I know – a holiday! We eat a leisurely (and fairly scant) breakfast at our guest house and take some time to stroll around and enjoy our surroundings. The centrepiece of the town is the white church and spire and there is a stairway (dubbed the stairway to heaven, by us) that leads from the level of our guest house up to the church which of course, in the best European fashion, sits atop a hill. The stairway is covered and we make our way up, just as the first of the tourist buses start to arrive. …
When the anticipation is far worse than the reality
When I was a little girl, my family went every year to have flu injections. There were two doctors in town: Dr Deravin, who would sit behind his desk with his pipe in his mouth and question his patients in a heavy smoky voice, and Dr Nott, who was renowned to be the best at giving injections. Ours was Dr Deravin and it was him we went off to see for our annual shots.
I was terrified of injections and my older brothers took great advantage of this, taunting me about how much it would hurt. I went into a spiral of terror and cried relentlessly the morning of a particular Saturday we had our appointment for the injections. I cried the whole drive to the surgery and continued wailing as we waited for our appointment. I must have looked to be in such misery that a patient who was also waiting in to see the doctor offered that Mum could take me in ahead of his appointment. With that I wailed louder and Mum thankfully declined the offer.
When we got into the doctor’s office, he decided to do me first. My mother thrust up my sleeve and held me tightly. Dr Deravin laid down his pipe, took up the needle, wiped my arm with cool alcohol and then … nothing!. “I didn’t even feel that,” I announced to my family, my tears drying up suddenly in the way that only small children can manage.
The anticipation was far worse that the reality.
Today we are due to ride what became known as the infamous E77 during our research for this trip. …