The Kosice-Zilina-Bratislava Regiojet: an unheralded and unforgettable train journey

I first visited Slovakia in the early spring of 2010, traveling eastwards from Bratislava to Poprad in order to see the Vysoke Tatry. I wasn't then interested in Kosice - I had come to see the finest mountains in this part of Europe and there wasn't a need to go further east than was necessary. The train journey was very picturesque until the rivers, forests and mountains were ineluctably mingled by the deepening dusk into an amorphous blankness relieved only by the occasional village and passing vehicle. 6 years later, Mary and I would enter Slovakia from the northeast. Kosice was our first Slovakian hub, and we would make the same journey, only in reverse.

Below: The High Tatras from Poprad train station, one of a number of beautiful mountain ranges which the Kosice-Zilina-Bratislava train journey passes. Sit on the right side of the train for the best views if headed in this direction. We didn't, so this (taken before we boarded the train) was my best picture of the ride. On the Zilina-Bratislava leg of the journey we were so snug in our roomy seats and with out take-away McDonald's that our cameras remained firmly in our bags.

Part of the Visegrad Four (a group established in 1991 to increase cooperation between the freshly-minted post-Communist Central European states of Poland, Hungary and then Czechoslovakia) which has dominated tourism in what has otherwise been popularly defined as Eastern Europe, Slovakia is the region's best-kept secret. Poland has Krakow. Hungary has Budapest. The Czechs have Prague. It might be a long shot to say the Slovaks have Bratislava, but they have mountains. Lots of it, which constitute 80% of Slovakian terrain. Even the Slovakian flag has mountains (on the coat of arms, beneath the double silver cross). To see them, those who prefer being moved to moving can turn to the country's decent railway network.

We broke our journey in three stages - Kosice to Poprad, Poprad to Zilina and finally Zilina to Bratislava. At Poprad I even managed a rare feat - by eliciting a hint of a smile from typically inscrutable railway staff when I bought our tickets in a sorry jumble of Polish, Russian and Slovakian. (Yes, I checked the phrasebook shortly after to confirm my risible lack of competency in Slovakian.)

Below (top to bottom): The creative architectural blends within the Poprad and Zilina train stations - the former looking like a park in a hangar; and the latter like a cross between a school canteen and a chapel.

Our progress took us through a roll-call of the mountain ranges within the country - first the rolling fields of the Levoca Mountains as the train left Kosice; then the formidable High Tatras as it approaches Poprad (which form the bulk, please forgive the pun, of the blockbuster views on the journey); then the wooded meandering valleys of the Low Tatras and Mala Fatra Mountains around Zilina, watched over in a few spots by abandoned keeps; and, just before the Bratislava suburbs appear, the great arc of the Western Carpathians peters out in the low hills of the Little Carpathians, dotted with frozen ponds on which amateur ice hockey outfits square off and youthful exuberance chased shadows on skates.

Below: The Mary Expressions aboard the Tatras Express. If there is one thing which appeals more than the wood and water which zip past it would be the free wifi.

We were far and away the most conspicuous foreigners in the carriages. Only outlandishly large backpacks indicated the presence of fellow travelers. There were many Czech visitors, though, with their country practically next door, not all took the train. Commuters apart, the majority of the other passengers aboard the train were locals off to hit the slopes with their unwieldy bundles of ski equipment.

Below (top to bottom): Slices of Slovakia - late afternoon walkers in the Tatras foothills; and the stump Strecno Hrad above the Vah River (Slovakia's longest) just before the train rolls into Zilina.

The Kosice-Zilina-Bratislava train journey passes through some unforgettable scenery yet remains unheralded. Perhaps the route needs an uplifting name, one such as the Trans-Siberian Railway which lends such weighty significance to a single steel filament running the oft frostbitten length of the northern Eurasian wastes. Possible names could include the Western Carpathian Express, the Trans-Slovakian Railway, or simply the Tatras Express. It would go some way in attracting travelers, for many of whom train journeys retain a modicum of the romantic. Yet in our impatient, abbreviated and faddish world today, we may be glad this train ride is yet to find itself on one of those Top 10 Train Journeys lists.

Good luck trying to get that Glacier Express reservation.

Logistics

Taking slightly over 6 hours, this is a manageable journey even if one chooses not to stop in between. There is something for everybody. Kosice and Bratislava are the two largest cities in Slovakia, their old towns stroll-worthy historical landmarks in their own right. Poprad, Liptovsky Mikulas and Zilina are adventure bases from where respectively the High Tatras, Low Tatras and the Mala Fatra Mountains can be visited. One could ski, hike or scramble up narrow gorges on metal ladders set vertiginously next to waterfalls (at Slovensky Raj National Park, best visited from Poprad). And then as mentioned - the castles. Oravsky Zamok, to where buses from Zilina run, was where the 1922 horror classic Nosferatu was filmed. Trencin, its castle built on a ridge overlooking the old town, can be visited en route between Zilina and Bratislava and right next to the train station.

Go for the RegioJet 600 series trains, some trains take the slower route through Central Slovakia. Seat reservations aren't necessary, but would prevent having to uproot when somebody with one comes along. In Zilina and Bratislava, Student Agency handles ticket sales on this route. You won't miss their red and yellow banner within the train station. We bought Relaxed Class, which affordably offers spacious seats and ample leg room. For Tatras views, sit on the right if starting from Kosice and on the left if from Bratislava.

Spissky Hrad: Castle on a hill

So why exactly are we here? Mary asked again when we got off the bus in the little town of Spisske Podhradie. Having looked around earlier, she had quickly decided that she wasn't overly enamoured of a disused stone pile atop a nearby hill.

Below: Are we going up there?

It's been a common refrain, possibly for two reasons: either that on Day 34 of the trip and on the back of the Tatras' majesty most other sights seemed to pale in comparison, or that she simply needed to be told the rationale for everything we do and set eyes on. Neither boded well for me.

Below: Not one for kitschy superlatives, Mary's not sure why we visited Spissky Hrad.

Spissky Hrad: another castle with a kitschy superlative

Spissky Hrad translates into Spis Castle. Listed as Central Europe's largest - wait for it - ruined castle, it occupies a scenic hilltop spot from where the surrounding Spis region was once governed. This region between the Tatras to the north and the Slovak Ore Mountains to the south marked the marches between the Hungarian and Polish (up north away beyond the Tatras) kingdoms. The metal riches chiseled out from the Slovak Ore Mountains by communities of German miners also formed the basis of Spis prosperity from late medieval times.

Much of Spissky Hrad's present-day fortifications was hurriedly completed around the mid-thirteenth century with Mongol horsemen looming on the horizons. There is a story of how the defenders attempted to negotiate the ensuing siege away by kidnapping a Mongol princess as a bargaining chip. Having succeeded, this princess then fell in love with the castle commander's son. On the day of their betrothal, Mongol soldiers scaled the castle walls to deliver their wedding gift - an arrow planted unerringly in her heart.

Yet having emerged relatively unscathed from the inferno that was the Mongol invasion of Europe, Spissky Hrad was ignominiously reduced by fire to ruin five centuries later. No records survived of how. Arson, lightning and negligence were put forward as conjectures that heedlessly reduced Slovakia's largest castle to yet another historical footnote.

Below (top to bottom): looking back towards Spisske Podhradie from just below the castle; sitting on the same rock where I took a photograph in a previous 2010 visit.

The way to the castle wasn't hard to locate - one could see the castle from pretty much anywhere in Spisske Podhradie (Podhradie means under the castle in Slovak). The main path, once it emerges from the periphery of the town, leads (uphill, a crucial detail) across a glorious swathe of grass to the castle gate. We knew it was closed then, so a strict adherence to economy of effort dictated that we got to the point from which the ruins, the town and its surrounding hills could all be seen clearly at once. And then no further.

Below: Both castle and town in the rolling Spis country.

The roofless ruins today stand as a sobering reminder to all who would listen: let not those who are mortal trumpet their treasures by the hearth, for death comes ignobly, unseen, like a thief in the night. And let man listen, for even stone perishes.

Spisska Kapitula

Just west of Spisske Podhradie is the village of Spisska Kapitula, where the bishopric of Spis was once established. The main sights comprise the bishop's palace and St Martin's Cathedral, which was locked when we got there. We purchased tickets to enter from an adjacent building, and was asked to wait as the warden prepared to unlock its doors. She emerged with a bunch of large medieval-looking keys, the kind which are impossible to lose.

Below: standing before St Martin's Cathedral in Spisska Kapitula.

Perhaps more interesting is a pilgrim's trail which connects both the cathedral and the palace to a series of chapels further west. This sought to recreate for pilgrims the experience of Christ in the last days before Calvary, and was set up during the second half of the seventeenth century as part of Counter-Reformation efforts to wrest precious souls back from Protestant clutches.

Near the cathedral, we saw approaching an elderly lady who had just completed the last steps of the trail. She smiled and, pointing back towards its start, said something about it being a nice walk (she could very well have been referring to a regular morning stroll in the park). To be fair, the trail ran along a broad ridge and wasn't tough at all. My only thoughts dwelled on the next return bus we had to catch and a footsore wife sitting by my side. May God forgive me.

Below (top to bottom): the Spissky Jeruzalem trail - which starts from near St Martin's Cathedral at Spisska Kapitula, passing several shrines; and finishing not far away at the Chapel of the Holy Cross.

Plodding Poprad

Poprad, the small city south of the Vysoke Tatry resorts where we were based and from where we had arrived that morning, contained little of interest - apart from panoramas of the High Tatras away up north on a clear day. These are still stirring even if one finds it hard to ignore the utility poles, roads and houses that clutter the foreground like toys in a dishevelled playpen.

Below: Poprad panoramas - from the platform where trains leave for the Vysoke Tatry resorts.

That same very evening, we returned famished. Desperate eyes scouring the vicinity around the train station passed over two bars (no food - we asked), a small cafe about to close and then what looked like a posh eatery across the street from our guesthouse. We advanced three paces before we learnt that the establishment only contained chairs and mirrors.

Also, the waitresses there brandished scissors.

Logistics

Poprad was our base, from where buses (the bus station is next to the train station) run to Spisske Podhradie. Signs near the bus stop in the centre of Spisske Podhradie point the way to Spisska Kapitula, about 15 minutes away on foot. Walk west - uphill and with the castle at your back.

We haven't had time to explore the area thoroughly. But two other viewpoints towards Spissky Hrad can be found on the Spissky Jerusalem trail leading northwest away from St Martin's Cathedral in Spisska Kapitula (get to at least St Rozalia Chapel to see the spires of St Martin's framed by Spissky Hrad in the background) and on Drevenik hill south of the castle (from where on a clear day the castle ruins can be seen against the Tatra peaks to the north). Allow a full day to take in either.

Above (top to bottom): the map of the area around Spisske Podhradie; and a brief description of the Spissky Jeruzalem complex.

Vysoke Tatry: chairlifts to Heaven

From Kosice, we travelled to Slovakia's crowning glory - the Vysoke Tatry, the High Tatras in English. The mountains are part of the same chain we visited in Zakopane (only this time we were on its southern slopes), and thus need no reintroduction.

Below: The Vysoke Tatras deserve their name. Here we are, lounging at Skalnate Pleso and hiding our disappointment after frost prevented us from ascending to Lomnicky Stit.

The Vysoke Tatry are aptly named, for the tallest peaks in all of the Carpathians are found in this little pocket of Slovakia. Recalling Mary's profound respect for those whose work involves making moving uphill easier, we planned our mountain jaunts around cable-cars and chairlifts. These were very busy, it being after all the height of ski season and every slope a merry carousel of expectant ascents and exultant descents.

Unlike the compact township of Zakopane, the Vysoke Tatry resorts were strung out along a 25-kilometre stretch. These have been woven by roads, well-marked footpaths, cable-cars and a railway track into a very convenient network. The main resorts were (from west to east) Strbske Pleso, Stary Smokovec and Tatranska Lomnica. All boasted impressive all-round mountain views. We stayed at Stary Smokovec, so we could move easily to either of the other two.

Below: The township of Stary Smokovec, boasting all-round mountain views.

The unfulfilled promise of Lomnicky Stit

Lomnicky Stit, at 2,634 metres above sea level (asl), was the one that got away. Having a cable-car connection to the second highest peak in the Tatras cut at a stroke the gordian knot that I've christened the Mary Conundrum (namely that an attraction has to be simultaneously and sufficiently spectacular and accessible in order to justify a visit). Lomnicky Stit was the reason we set aside three days in the Vysoke Tatry - hopefully that at least one would yield clear blue skies.

Our very first morning, a Sunday, delivered such weather. Fearing that the limited seating on the cable-car would be quickly snapped up by the weekend crowd, we hurried to Tatranska Lomnica. (Mary later slipped heavily on a icy kerb after seeing how I seem to skip lightly across it.) At the ticket office, doom was delivered - there's frost on the cables, the cable-car isn't working.

It was -20°C at the top. But wasn't that meant to be normal for the time of year?

Below (top to bottom): Three rides get you to Lomnicky Stit - the first between Tatranska Lomnica and Start; and then between Start and Skalnate Pleso (and thence to Lomnicky Stit, we don't have a picture and you'd know why by now).

We still endeavoured to get as high as we could. The ascent to Lomnicky Stit necessitated changes at two intermediate stations - Start and Skalnate Pleso. Only the final Skalnate Pleso-Lomnicky Stit leg wasn't working. Skalnate Pleso is the name of a tarn in a little cirque at 1,751 metres asl. Once there we fixed our crampons and took out our hiking poles, though eventually we found them to be of little use. Every laboured step - knee-deep in snow - was a tough lesson in the effectiveness of skis and snowshoes in tackling such terrain. Frodo and his Fellowship had covered far tougher ground on cruel Caradhras with lesser equipment than ours.

Below: Mary quite enjoyed being above the clouds - the sense of being above everything else in the world. I guess it's what one would call, literally, day-dreaming.

Wait, Frodo had a ring, and Gandalf. Our rings we left in Singapore. And the only wizard I ever worked with was called InstallShield.

Life lessons on Predne Solisko

Strbske Pleso was 25 kilometers west of Stary Smokovec. Robert, who owned the apartment in Kosice where we previously stayed, said it was possibly the most scenic spot on the Slovak side of the Tatras.

Below: Strbske Pleso on a cloudy day. Walks around the lake are popular in summer. In winter people walk on it instead.

It was snowing when we arrived, and much of the jagged skyline which would have greeted us on a clear day was lost to cloud. The crowds still turned out - after all skiiers go for powder and not to ogle at mountains.

A chairlift brought us up to Chata Solisko at 1840 metres asl. Beneath our dangling feet, 6-year-olds on skis managed as adroitly as 60-year-olds on snowboards in hurling themselves downslope with reckless abandon. Mary was thrilled, even as the wind clawed the living senses out of our faces. I sat uneasily, gripped only by the fear of slipping off and ending up impaled on a pine tree. The contrast in predicaments was comical, and was swiftly reversed when we touched terra firma again.

Below: The chairlift to Chata Solisko, pictures of which flatteringly conceal our chattering teeth and quavering fingers.

After an unscheduled breakfast of vegetable soup and sausages (while we waited out the clouds), we started walking upwards towards Predne Solisko. On paper it looks like a straightforward ascent of about 200 metres on a zigzag path to the peak. The truth was a familiar story - namely that after the first turn each footfall landed us progressively deeper in snow. Our progress uphill, until we were defeated by a steepening gradient, was a trying story of two scrambles forward three slumps back. When we stopped to turn around, our toes were numb (yes, no garters) and our hair caked in frost (erm, no ski masks too).

Below: Mary looking every bit like a veteran hiker on the trail up Predne Solisko. When we were descending later on, the only veteran thing we felt were our nearly mutinous knees.

We stood under a little oasis of blue in an otherwise grey roof. Here and there swirling clouds revealed to those patient enough tantalising glances of pearly summits. The sky was spotless the day before, but we spent much of it lounging around indoors. I would have rued it had Mary not chided me for regret.

Living the moment really becomes so much rawer when one is trying to rub life back into one's fingers.

Below: Not the top of Predne Solisko, but as far as our will served to carry us. Yes will is used here in the singular. Whose was it, though?

Logistics

Poprad, on the line between Bratislava and Kosice (Slovakia's two biggest cities), is the gateway to the Vysoke Tatry from elsewhere in Slovakia. Stary Smokovec is the hub, where the train from Poprad stops and from where one can change for Tatranska Lomnica. www.vt.sk/en/lifts-and-slopes/ indicates whether the cable-cars and chairlifts are running.

Kosice: deepest, darkest Slovakia

Bordering sloth

I didn't look forward to crossing the Polish-Slovakian border when I woke. Technically, the crossing would be effortless given that both countries are in the Schengen Zone. Practically, there weren't any direct buses across to Slovakia from Sanok where we started. We had to - take a deep breath - bus it to Miejsce Piastowe, change there for another to the Polish border village of Barwinek, walk 3 kilometres across to the Slovakian village of Vysny Komarnik, then take another bus to Svidnik where the last transfer would bring us to Kosice.

Below: Day and night views of St Elizabeth's Cathedral, the easternmost Gothic cathedral in Europe and Kosice's stately centrepiece.

Our journey to Barwinek went without a hitch. The border was fairly nondescript - a vehicle park occupied by the odd laden trucks (most of which zipped by without stopping), several buildings housing duty-free shops, grocers and currency exchange offices, perfunctory two-sided welcome-goodbye signs and people (not many) who knew exactly where they're headed. We steeled ourselves for a 45-minute trek to Vysny Komarnik, ready to turn and raise pleading thumbs at the slightest hint of approaching wheels. Yet a bus was miraculously parked on the Slovakian side not far from where we were alighted on the Polish side.

A change at Presov for Kosice was still necessary, but crucially needless toil had been averted. I've never been so happy to see a bus. Methinks I've grown soft.

Below (top to bottom): the start and end of our day's journey - waiting on a cold morning at Miejsce Piastowe for the bus to Barwinek; and taking a short breather outside the Jakab Palace in Kosice. The neo-Gothic palace was once the home of Peter Jakab whose family built the State Theatre (pictured further below) and in 1945 housed then president of Czechoslovakia, Edvard Benes.

Crossing the Valley of Death

Wooden churches were why we found ourselves so far east in Slovakia. There was a cluster of these in the villages near the Polish border - Vysny Komarnik, Nizny Komarnik, Bodruzal, Mirola, to rattle off but a few unfamiliar syllables. Svidnik was the intended base, but we decided ultimately to skip it because we had already seen four wooden churches in the Sanok skansen.

Below: The wooden church in Vysny Komarnik, snapped unceremoniously as our bus zipped by.

The journey from Vysny Komarnik towards Svidnik was unexpectedly scenic. The sun shone through cloudbursts in between periods of drizzle on green fields and distant rolling hills. It wouldn't have looked out of place on a brand-new Windows desktop. Yet the road also took us through the Valley of Death. I make no inauspicious utterance. In the same vicinity as Sanok, Dukla Pass is amongst the easiest passages across the Western Carpathians. Its bucolic surroundings witnessed a series of intense battles during the latter stages of the Second World War, as the Soviets hurled men and metal against what the Nazis christened their Karpatenfestung - the Carpathian Fortress.

Except for the odd tank and field gun set up as memorials throughout the pass, there is little reminder of the blood spilled so prodigiously in these hills. Yet even as posterity is slowly coming to grips with the immensity of the war between the Nazis and the Soviets, nobody really comes to these hills.

Below: One of many memorials to war all along the Dukla.

Kosice

I remember Manchester United beating Kosice 3-0 in a 1997 Champions League game. Denis Irwin, Henning Berg and Andy Cole scored in a romp of like vintage as the last Roman conquest. 6 years after being the first Slovak team to reach the group stages of the Champions League, Kosice faced relegation from the second tier and liquidation. This spectacular see-saw sequence of quick advancement and a quicker atrophy really sums up Kosice's past.

Below: The State Theatre, the present shape of which was built in 1899 - about when Manchester United was last seen mounting a serious challenge for the title.

The city once commanded a thriving north-south Baltic-Balkan trade, on which riches it became one of medieval Europe's biggest cities. Unfortunately, the relative peace on which the trade relied was shattered in 1526 by the Ottoman (Turkish) invasion. Centuries on, a gradual recovery was stymied by the turbulent first half of the twentieth century, as Kosice went through a musical chair of political masters - until 1918 the Austro-Hungarian empire, then a short-lived Slovak Republic at the end of the First World War, then interwar Czechoslovakia, then a revanchist Hungary during the Second World War and finally a reconstituted Czechoslovakia at its end. In 1945, Kosice was briefly the capital of Czechoslovakia until Prague was retaken by the Red Army. Under Communist rule, Kosice became an important, albeit drab, steel town. How long its 2013 designation as European Capital of Culture keeps it in the public spotlight is anybody's guess. As with everywhere else in Slovakia that isn't Bratislava, few have heard of Kosice and fewer still have visited.

Below (top to bottom): Memento mori, for even cities die - the Immaculata, commemorating the plague in Kosice in 1709; and St Michael's Chapel, once an ossuary for the cemetery that used to surround it.

Being a good five-hour train ride east of Bratislava does Kosice no good at all. One has either to backtrack, or go on to Ukraine, Poland or Hungary (unlikely options, given that distances are similar in the latter two from the well-trodden gems of Kraków and Budapest). While there might just be a modicum of truth in the assertion (made by visitors who have often also been to Vienna and Budapest) that Bratislava offers - comparatively - little of interest, the same cannot be said of Kosice. Promoters fete its city centre as having Slovakia's largest concentration of historical monuments - which means to say the city centre isn't actually very big, and that all the other Old Towns in Slovakia are actually quite small.

Above: inside St Elizabeth's Cathedral...

Below (top to bottom): ...and above it - the lenticular shape of Kosice's main square is clearly visible from the narrow viewing platform atop Sigismund's Tower, to where an equally narrow passage led.

Crossing into Slovakia, we also noticed the increased presence of the Romani people (known colloquially and derogatorily as Gypsies) on the streets. As a rule of thumb, Romani populations in Europe have clustered more thickly around where Turkish sabres were once rattled, though later migrations account for their present-day dispersal throughout much of the western world. In these parts, the Romani often find themselves the object of popular suspicions. Just ignore them, they are very organized, an Austrian man later warned when in Vienna we were given roses by a Romani lady and then asked for a donation. Stories abound of more elaborate wallet-pinching ploys. We met with no trouble, though.

For dinner on our last evening in Kosice, we opted for crepes at a restaurant opposite St Elizabeth's Cathedral. A well-heeled Romani lady sat behind us, shortly after we were brought our English menus. The waitress then turned and asked in English if our neighbour required the same. There was a brief moment of embarrassment when the Romani lady replied in confident Slovakian.

Below: Mary's a tad conspicuous in these parts.

It was a subliminal demonstration of how deeply prejudice runs. It's chilling, too, given how inescapably we travel around these parts with perceived foreignness etched into our Mongoloid complexions.