Like I said, I will get to talking about Vienna in a bit; first let me say a few things about the Slovak people. Saša aside, I didn’t know anyone when I arrived, and although a couple of weeks later I can’t exactly claim to now possess a large number of Slovak friends, I have at least met a few of her friends and observed a few locals while enjoying a cheeky afternoon beer in the sun. From a personal point of view, being completely unable to speak the language makes it incredibly difficult to get a handle on the people here. As someone who speaks a couple of languages this is incredibly frustrating, as I feel both completely ignorant and utterly useless, incapable of even introducing myself properly, or arguing that my change is wrong. The one word I knew when I arrived was Ahoj, which predictably means Hello. I remember this word because a friend and I took great delight in doing camp sailor impressions while shouting AHOJ one night after a couple of beers.
Not knowing the language is a huge stumbling block; no matter how hard I listen I just can’t pick up tone or emotion or anything apart from my own name and Ahoj! So, understanding the people is difficult, particularly in a few short days, but I will say this, the Slovaks know how to laugh. On my second evening we went for a drink with Saša’s parents and some of their friends at the local canoe club on the Danube, and despite not understanding anything for about two hours my sides hurt from laughing. Saša translated as much as possible, but most of the time she was bent double herself. Now, the egocentric part of me would like to think that this whole performance was for my benefit, but I know that this is not the case, especially not the story about the Communist crisps, which genuinely tasted like 5 day old crisps that had been re-bagged! For all I understood that may actually be true. Just so I don’t disappoint you, let me reassure you that I have added to my ridiculously limited Slovak. For instance I can say please, thank you, cheese, mushrooms, ham, beer, cheers, and I learnt that Ahoj also means goodbye. If I can learn the word for Jack Daniels I may even stay longer.
One thing I will say though, the locals are not scared to make a few quid from tourists. I was sitting enjoying a beer and a sandwich in a little bar just of the main square, by now I was comfortable enough with the lingo to point at the menu and say please and thank you. When I got the bill though, which incidentally came in a little wooden box, the kind of thing you might put your Uncle Bill’s ashes in or something, I noticed that all is not as innocent as it first appears in Bratislava. The bill was all in Slovak naturally, form the address at the top down to the price at the bottom; numbers are universal so no worries there. Then right at the bottom I noticed they had sneakily added a little sentence in English, “The final price doesn’t include the tip, thank you”. Now, aside from the bare faced cheek, a couple of things struck me about this little additional sentence. 1 – The English was perfect, this wasn’t the kind of translation you usually get, normally done by the owner’s cousin’s neighbour who loves Bond films and can thus speak English, or so he claims. No, this was a professional translation. Why not do the whole bill then? 2 – The word “tip”. Not service charge, but tip. As a Yorkshire man I find it hard to tip at the best of times, but there’s not a prayer when it’s that blatant. On a slightly more serious note, I don’t really begrudge the local bar owners and the like making a bit extra out of tourists, heaven knows we do it in Britain, not just foreign tourists either, the woman on the door at York Minster (makes it sound like a Christian nightclub doesn’t it?) tried to charge me over five pounds to get in. I explained that a couple of years ago when I last visited it was free, with a donation box for those from the south, but she didn’t budge. Then again she was a fairly rotund woman so budging probably doesn’t come naturally.
Before you get all comfy thinking I’m ready to move on, bad news, this isn’t the only example of blatant exploitation of foreigners I experienced. And it happened on the same day! On my way back from the bar to the flat I went via the train station to check the times for the trains to Vienna, and to be honest I don’t mind admitting I was perspiring ever so slightly. I don’t normally say perspiring, I was just reminded of a story my mum told me about when she first started working back in the early 70s (or was it late 60s!). Apparently she went into work one summer morning and complained, as only my mother could, that she was sweating from the heat. One of the older ladies in the office kindly pointed out to my straight talking mother that “Horses sweat Mary, ladies perspire”. I can imagine my mum’s reply. So anyway, I was a bit sweaty when I arrived; it was in the low 30s, which is about 3 degrees below death for most northerners, so I went to buy a bottle of water. Unfortunately, I only had a 500SK note, and the drink was about 28SK. I gave my note to the woman in the kiosk, who tutted at me audibly for burdening her with such a vast amount of money, before proceeding to short change me by 100SK. I counted my change, looked at the sign with the price, and did a little bit of open mouthed waving of my arms, and she didn’t even look at me. So I said, in my angriest German (I’d been advised that the Slovaks prefer Germans to Brits, although I found out later they had lost 2-1 to the Germans in a Euro 2008 qualifier the night before), that she owed me money. Again, she didn’t even acknowledge me. I had to admit, while I was holding the best cards she was bluffing like a champ. What could I do? Cause a scene for the sake of a couple of quid? I didn’t want to, there’s nothing us Brits hate more than causing a scene, but it was the principle. So I did what I’m sure my mother would have done, I swore very audibly in German and turned on my heel and left. Quickly, for there were a few big blokes looking my way who obviously spoke a bit of German.
By the way, I’m aware that I should have written “we Brits” before, but I don’t say “we Brits”, I say “us Brits”, so there.
When I told Saša she was suitably horrified at what had happened, but I think she was just humouring me really. Anyway, if memory serves the main idea here was to talk about Vienna…
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