A view of the previous visit's peak, an electrical storm on that day, from our summit.
A prime position with the Adriatic below.
We arrived in Strba, Slovakia, on a Friday afternoon, after traveling through a mountainous region and having stopped at a supermarket for supplies. We knew we were heading to a small town, even a village and so could not expect much in the way of shopping facilities. Little did we know how incorrect the premise would be. In the valley, below the High Tatras, are a number of towns and a large city, Poprad, with numerous supermarkets. Better more than less, good for competition and variety of products. After a restful period, Sunday would be our first day in ‘dem Tatras’. We researched, read and heard a little of these mountain ranges, the low and high Tatras. Whatever we heard and read certainly did not capture the essence of this spectacular and tough region.
With a twenty minutes journey ahead on a pleasant Sunday morning, we searched for Strbke pleso but were waylaid when the GPS decided she knew better. It’s one thing when we think we know a route but when the expert gets it wrong, it makes life uncomfortable, if not difficult. We eventually found the hiking starting point but not before we had to park the car in a very formal structure with a sophisticated system of equipment—read high prices. The lake and surrounding hotels with cableway access to partway up a mountain we hiked, is quaint, attractive and just lovely. Actually, it is a whole ski village with what looks like much accommodation, access by train and vehicles and the old standby, feet. The hike we completed was equally pleasant and a good challenge, too. Once again, we hiked part of it in a light rain. (The text pertains to the previous posting re photographs.)
The only blemish on the day was when we drove up one of the hills before we were lost. Travelling through the closest village or maybe the second one away from the lake, a uniformed fellow carrying what looked like a bazooka waved us down. Speeding through a village. What a terrible feeling and we had yet to begin our time on the mountains. We pulled over to the designated space for offenders and their cars and waited to hear what we had done wrong and the punishment thereof. Usually, the ticket would be forwarded to the rental car agency which would charge us anything from $50 upwards for administration charges. Administration in this context means they receive the summons from the police and email it to us. That’s the full responsibility. Good business. One of these days I can see them advertising discounted rates for ‘speedy drivers’.
The officer explained we were speeding, actually, the driver was speeding. I’ve told Jenni she has to take it easy but will she listen? No, of course not. That I was driving does not change the principle though, whatever that means but it sounds intelligent. I had not noticed any speed signage. He then informed us that the universal speed limit in villages was 50 kms per hour. Here was the win of the day. It appears they were having a cash special. Instead of the official charge, he could give us a discounted rate at the equivalent of $36 in cash. Immediately, my mind raced (slow down, we nearly got another fine) to the beloved country and thought these were ex-South African cops—the new South Africa and all that. However, we think it was genuine because he gave us what looked like official documentation. Who knows? Nevertheless, it was a good feeling to get the daily special and not have to have it linked through the rental car company. I’ve never enjoyed a speeding ticket so much—a little like the tight-shoes syndrome. Hopefully, Jenni learned a good lesson.
We call these "Maude Clouds", they create much enchantment.
Like tended gardens but actually wild and free. (There's always a little church, even in the most remote places.)
We commence our dense descent from the peak.
Spectacular sunsets in the region.
After a tough day on the mountains, 'park' the boat in Senj and pop in for a beer...um Diet Coke.
Close to sea level again.
Cheers,
Jenni and Jeffrey
My ('little bit') pregnant friend here does not speak Hungarian so I'm helping him out—"Do you speak English?"
We often get lost but sometimes we really get lost. After this, I feel like a for 'ever rest'. Even Australia features on the board; what a small world to walk!
Can you blame us for getting lost? What do you make of this signboard? All we wanted was a bathroom (and Chopok).
"That's the saddest story I've heard in a long time but you still can't play with my camera or anything else of mine." Talking with a Canadian born in Croatia who turned around when we explained what he faced ahead. (The editor often captures these scenes, catching me off guard.)
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