Bratislava Day One: Disappearing Museums, Accidental Catholicism, and Tasty, Tasty Meat

I woke up early today, ready for my first full day in Bratislava. Bratislava, however, was not so ready: it turns out that nothing opens until 11am on weekends. (I can only wonder if this has something to do with the stellar reputation of the city's nightlife.) So I waited at a café, just me and the barista at 9:30am. He brought me a cup of bitter, almost Turkish-style coffee with one small cloud of steamed milk. I sprinted laps around the old city for the rest of the morning.

Bratislava's compact Old Town is a pedestrian-only tangle of cobblestone streets so cute you could just eat it right up. The narrow lanes converge at the Main Square, which features a complete hodgepodge of buildings ranging in color from white to pink to mint green. The Rick Steves guidebook tells me that each building dates from a different era and has been recently restored to its unique original splendor, and color.

This square is home to the City Museum, located in the old town hall. It contains information about the building it's housed in, as well as mostly 18th and 19th-century artifacts of Slovak life. It's about as interesting as you make it.

My ticket to the City Museum came with dual entry into the Apponyi Palace, which I hear is not actually a palace, but the restored former home of a Hungarian aristocrat. I also heard-- later-- that it's only open during the summer months.

Not all was lost, however. While searching for this nonexistent museum, I ducked into a church to escape from the sudden onslaught of spectacularly miserable weather. As I sat in the back defrosting, more and more people began to file into the pews, and stay there. So I figured I would stay, too. I ended up participating in mass. The ceremony featured as special guests a Gregorian chanting choir, a group of young men with lovely voices. The music went well with the dramatic black-and-gold church décor.

All of the sit-stand-kneel acrobatics of mass sure worked up my appetite. Fortunately, it turns out that the Slovaks make really, really good food. For the price of 2.5 café crèmes in Paris, I was served duck meat that fell off the bone, buttery, melt-in-your-mouth potatoes, syrupy local wine . . . Even the cabbage was delicious. I think I understand now what keeps Slovaks going in the face of late-October wind and rain.