The next day, Gareth & I had another leisurely breakfast courtesy of Michael's kitchen (Michael having already left to go to work), then made our way to Südbahnhof to catch a train to Slovakia.

Bratislava used to be linked to Vienna by a tram line, and there's talk of reinstating the service - it's only 45km after all - but for now the train takes over an hour and goes a very circuitous route through the beginnings of the Steppe (vast flatness stretching away into the east; there be Magyars). However, soon enough you're back in the hilly lands north of the Danube.

We wandered aimlessly around Bratislava, taking care to note the way back to the station for later. The city is like a small Vienna in many respects. Actually, thinking about it, it reminds me more of Passau. Same river, opposite side of Austria. Hm. There's lots of renovation going on, and I dare say many a Euro is pouring in now that Slovakia is a fully-fledged member of the EU.

Lunch was reasonable, with delicious beer (I had a dark Krusovice which I haven't had since Sydney - yum!) in a dark but by no means dreary little place right in the old town. We walked off the calories around town, stopping to buy a gift for Gareth's friend who would be putting us up at our next port of call, before heading back out to the station.

My poor attempt at speaking Slovak in the station (having mastered the phrase "two first-class return tickets to Žilina please", I failed utterly to understand the reply, as predicted) nevertheless got us our onward tickets, so we retrieved our luggage from the consignes (where the bloke spoke perfect English) and found our train with only a minute to spare. The next few hours passed without incident, the only notable occurrence being the sudden reduction in speed when we moved from the EU-funded nice new track to the presumably Soviet-era trundly bit about an hour out of Bratislava.

And then there we were in Žilina. We had to jump down out of our carriage onto the tracks because the platform wasn't long enough to accommodate the whole train, and then wander down to the station building avoiding snowy puddles. On the platform we were met by Jo, Gareth's schoolfriend who has been mad enough to buy herself a Slovak pub & restaurant in a small town with no tourist trade to speak of. And what a lovely girl she is!!

So she drove us to her madcap hostelry, where we were assailed by noxious clouds of cigarette smoke, the drone of Slovak sport commentary on the telly and the suspicious glances of ordinary working men. It was utterly bizarre!! We soon got chatting to a few of her regulars, however, and before long we were best buddies (Slovak beer isn't bad actually). We were even treated to a traditional Slovak proverb: "Beer, smoked pork and mothers-in-law are at their best when they're cold"!

Friday was our first full day in Slovakia. We walked into town with Jo to visit her accountant (strange though it may seem, Jo is actually making a profit on her business, after months and months of constantly being ripped off because she's a foreigner and a woman to boot), then carried on into the historic heart of Žilina.

It's a surprisingly pretty little town: the beautiful colonnaded main square at the top of the hill has churches and stately buildings facing into a green area (actually it was white with the snow), whilst the roads leading up to the hill are twisty and mediaeval, full of little shops and architectural details. At the base of the hill, somewhat prosaically, is a huge Tesco supermarket, but then this is the price of progress.

We had coffee and cake in a delightful little coffee & cake shop on the main square that was recommended to us by Jo's waitress, then popped into the Irish pub (yes, they really are everywhere) next door and had a quick beer before lunch. Well, it WAS St Patrick's day! Then we walked back to Jo's and had a late lunch of borshch, chatting to Jo's waitress Eva before her evening shift.

That evening Jo & I both had a massage at a beauty clinic in town (the girl wasn't too bad but she didn't put her back into it in my opinion). It was a bit weird having no way of talking to the person who has got her hands all over you, but I just lay there and took it.

Then Gareth & I (later joined by Jo after her massage) had beers in what was clearly a locals-only bar, judging by the looks we got from the staff and clientèle. The barman was most strange, and refused to understand our request for beer, instead fetching over one of his regular clients and using him as a translator. They were all a bit surly looking, to be honest, but the beer was very tasty so we put up with the unfriendly service until a second round had been consumed.

We entered a Greek restaurant on the main square, sat down and were given menus, but we couldn't get served because the kitchen was going to be closing in 20 minutes' time. I ask you! And I thought German customer service was lacking. So instead we went to a pizza place, also on the main square, where we were overwhelmed by the pleasantness of the waitress and the buzz of the place in general. Next to us were two (East) Germans, who were on business here (there's a big Korean car factory in town, with suppliers from all over central Europe, which has brought recent prosperity).

Our next stop was the Irish bar again - well it WAS St Patrick's day - where the three most amusing things were the very gay leather armbands they were giving away (branded with the Guinness harp, of course), the astonished looks Gareth & I got from the locals when we were able to sing along to practically all the songs that were played, and the fact that I ended up drinking most of everyone's beer (everyone being me, Gareth & Jo, not the whole pub!) because I'm such a hardened drinker in comparison with those two lightweights.

We waddled home at an ungodly hour and had some of the local firewater called borovi?ka, which tastes rather like sweet gin, before turning in for the night.