Out and about in Orava
Orava, Slovakia and Zakopane, Poland
Moving on from Podlesok, our next campsite is just outside the town of Namestovo and directly on the Orava reservoir, the largest man-made lake in Slovakia. It’s so lovely to be on the lakeshore and have plenty of gulls for company! His Lordship even managed to persuade Herself to join us on a boat trip on the lake, with a visit to Slanicky Ostrov island. The 18th century Roman Catholic church there is all that remains of the village of Slanica, one of several villages which were flooded when the dam was completed in 1954. I enjoyed the exhibition of folk art in the church, especially the wooden figures. Well, I would, wouldn’t I? It figures.
After the Wooden Road and wooden churches, in this area, we also found plenty of wooden houses. The village of Podbiel has no fewer than 47 traditional Bobrova rala log houses dating from the 19th and early 20th centuries. They certainly look very cosy. If I were a human, this is the type of house I would live in! Of course, being wooden myself, I suppose I am a little biased.
One of the most beautiful of the famous Slovakian wooden churches on the UNESCO World Heritage list is just down the road from us in Tvrdošín. This Gothic Roman Catholic church, All Saints, dates back to the 15th century, but was rebuilt in Renaissance style in the 17th Century. That’s still pretty ancient though, and the recent restoration job is excellent. I love the fact that the baroque altar is not painted, so you can truly appreciate the quality of the carving and the texture of the wood. What an impressive interior! And the exterior, of course, is simply lovely.
Being so close to the Polish border, I knew that it wouldn’t be long before the Oldies made a trip over. Sure enough, we soon set off for Zakopane, the well-known skiing resort on the foothills of the High Tatras, which is only about an hour’s drive from Namestovo. Already en route, we noticed hordes of hikers streaming in to the area, and dozens of huts along the roadside doing a roaring trade in Oszczypek, a local smoked cheese made of salted sheep milk. I can understand why the area is so popular. The scenery is gorgeous and it certainly looks like a hikers’ paradise. Many of the villages are beautiful too, with elaborately decorated traditional wooden houses, even more ornate than the ones we had seen in Slovakia.
Zakopane itself was … how should I put it? … a shock to the system. I, personally, found the town pretty non-descript and overrun with tourists. Having traipsed up and down the busy pedestrianised main street with the Oldies, I, for one, wasn’t heartbroken to see that they weren’t too inclined to traipse around town much longer.
They had read about the famous market and decided to check that out instead. Sure enough, there were stalls selling local produce: Oszczypek of course, honey, jams, sausages, as well as shoes, leather jackets, traditional clothing, and souvenirs. Then more stalls selling honey, jams, shoes, leather jackets, more shoes, souvenirs, more shoes… it just went on and on, dozens of stalls, selling more or less the same selection of items over and over.
Now the beauty of Zakopane is its location and its location is truly beautiful. At an altitude of between 800m and 1000m, it lies in a valley between Gubalowka hill and the High Tatras. Suffering from sensory overload due to the proliferation of shops and market stalls, the Oldies decided to escape up to the top of Gubalowka hill, with a view to, well, enjoying the views.
The queues at the Gubalowka Hill funicular were daunting, but fair dues, they moved quickly and before long we had reached the top. Here we all did a double take. We thought we had left the market stalls far behind us, but no. They were all here again. The same souvenirs, the same shoes, the same leather jackets, along with stand after stand offering funfair rides, bungee trampolines, gravity rides, mini golf, inflatable slides … and they just went on and on. We walked for a good half-hour along the ridge in the hope of getting past from the stalls and finally being able to enjoy the views. But there was no end to them in sight. And no view in sight.
Seriously? You’re standing on the on the top of a hill with a (potential) panoramic view of a stunningly beautiful mountain ridge. Do you really want to spend your time there buying glittery cushions? Or aprons with rude pictures on them? Or neon pink hair braids? Or holographic pictures of the leaning tower of Pisa? Or going on a Santa Claus train ride? Or through a gravity tunnel, whatever that is?
The sad thing was, whether you were in the market for any of the above or not, the stalls almost completely obliterated the view of the High Tatras. Her stubby-legged Ladyship didn’t stand a chance of getting much more than a glimpse. His Lordship, in spite of his height, wasn’t much better off. As for Yours Truly, tucked up in Her Ladyship’s rucksack to protect me from the throngs of tourists, I was left completely in the dark.
The Oldies were in shock. I was horrified. We had come to see the High Tatras and ended up only seeing tat. With a capital T. Something is definitely missing there!
