A cack evening in Bratislava

I didn't end up seeing much of Bratislava yesterday. I had a bit of a snooze when I got to the hostel and then made the massive mistake of deciding to wash my clothes. I'd booked the Freddie Next to Mercury Hostel (don't ask me why it's called that) because reviews online said it was new, clean and, most important to me at the time, had a laundry. What it had in actual fact was one crappy old top-loading washing machine with no instructions that didn't tumble dry. I tried to work out the symbols as best I could, then, expecting the cycle to take about an hour and a half, wandered through the presidential palace park to the Old Town. I thought I'd have plenty of time later in the evening to explore more of the Slovakian places, so popped into an Irish bar to watch a bit of the cricket with a load of Yorkshiremen before heading back to sort my washing out.

When I checked my clothes I found that the machine had wet some of them a bit and then dumped undiluted washing liquid on top, so that stuff was lovely and slimy. There were quite a few people in the hostel living area by that time, so I asked one of the guys if they knew what to do and apparently he'd worked it out the day before through trial and error. I started the machine again and decided to wait around until it finished to make sure it had actually worked this time. I could have tried chatting to the people in the living area, who were all separate travelling groups but had joined up into a big gang at the hostel, but I was still so unbelievably knackered and probably incapable of holding any kind of normal conversation that I just sat in the corner, writing and trying to ignore the utterly shite music they had blaring. To be honest, I don't think I would have got on with them anyway as they were all a bit excitable, and I didn't mind being that one weirdo who creeps everyone out for the evening. More so than normal.

The clothes came out washed, but drenched. The spin cycle seemed to max out at around 1 RPM, and I had to wring everything out in the sink before hanging them up. By the time I was done, it was gone 10 and I had to rush back to the Old Town to find some food. The centre of Bratislava doesn't seem like it's the place to be of an evening, and some places were already shutting up at that time. I found a place called Slovak House that did traditional food, and a particularly surly waiter brought me beef goulash with white bread dumplings. It was pretty bloody awesome. It was then I realised that the hostel gang were sat behind me at the Turkish hookah place next door, and there I was, eating dinner by myself like a loner before murdering them all in their sleep. The waiter brought my bill without me actually asking for it, so I took that as a cue to leave, and I headed back to the hostel.

The presidential palace at night

Not sure what's going on here, but I
definitely didn't have the roast pork

My clothes still weren't dry this morning, but I had a bit of time before having to catch my train, so I took them out to the roof patio, while everyone else was still asleep, and lay them out in the sun for an hour while I organised the rest of the stuff in my bag. I have most definitely learned a lesson there; wash clothes in hostels with more organised and modern facilities. That's going to be a top tip in my guide "Stating the Bleedin' Obvious for Backpackers".