Yet Another Trip to Slovakia, Part 5: Trips to Žilina and Banská Bystrica, and Simon Learns How to Ride a Bike

Continued from Part 4:

Day Trip to Žilina

Terezia's mom had the idea to take a day trip via train to Žilina. Anyone with any knowledge of Slovakia's geography knows that Žilina, up in the north-central part of the country, is not exactly a short, quick trip from Podrečany (in the south-central part of the country). And anyone who knows anything about Slovakia's cities or towns knows that Žilina is a far cry from the picturesque, atmospheric historic towns of Banská Štiavnica or Levoča. Based on photos I've seen of Žilina, I've never been particularly interested in going there, but when Terezia's mom suggested it, adding that you can get there via a scenic, hour-and-40-minute-long train ride that goes through 22 tunnels, we thought, "What the hell? Why not?"

Banská Bystrica's austere, somewhat fascist-looking train station, completed in 1951.

Stained glass windows inside Banská Bystrica's train station depict scenes of kroj-bedecked Slovak peasants and other traditional folk themes.

First, however, we had to drive to Banská Bystrica to catch the train there (since taking the train from Podrečany would involve two transfers and an additional hour and a half of travel time). The train takes you through gorgeous and dense forests, dramatically steep hills, and at times nearly vertical mountain terrain - as well as 20 of the 22 tunnels. You then descend into the southern end of the massive Turiec basin that leads north to the modern, industrial town of Martin. After taking a northwest turn through another range of steep, tree-covered hills, the train finally deposits you into the heavily industrialized valley around Žilina and the Váh river. 

Some village seen from the train.

Stretches of the ride went through dense forests and rocky, mountainous terrain, but it was impossible to get non-blurry pictures of that from the moving train.

Shot of the mighty Strečno castle from the train.

Brief history: Žilina is the fourth largest city in Slovakia, with a population of more than 85,000. It got its start in the early 13th century as a Slavic trading settlement, and grew to become a significant hub of trade and commerce. It's been a major manufacturing center since the 1700s, with a booming garment industry and a chemical works emerging in the late 1800s. Today it's a city of heavy industry, including, notably, the sprawling Kia auto factory, which opened in 2004. Unfortunately, far-right Slovak nationalism has roots in Žilina: the racist rightwing scumbag politician Ján Slota was mayor of Žilina from 1990 - 2006. (Slota's extreme nationalist Slovak National Party was part of the ruling coalition in parliament with Robert Fico's Smer from 2006 - 2010.)

Anyway, when you exit Žilina's bustling train station, you're corralled onto Národná, a grand, tree-lined pedestrianized shopping boulevard. Národná takes you a few blocks up towards Hlinka square, a massive, round, communist-era public square whose focal point, directly across from where you enter it, is the rear-facing view of the historic Cathedral of the Holy Trinity, with its tall bell tower, and the adjacent Burian watchtower, both of which imposingly sit atop the edge of a raised area that's reachable by ascending either a series of zigzagging steps and platforms along the wall in the front, or a long, straight, shallow-stepped climb to the right. This is the money shot view of historic Žilina that adorns all of the city's tourist brochures and promotional material, and which inevitably accompanies any published write-ups of the town.

Národná, the broad major artery between the train station and Hlinka square.

The classic view of Zilina's old town from Hlinka square.

To the left of the church is the hulking travertine marble-encrusted Mestské Divadlo, the city's performing arts theater, which bears a striking resemblance to the kind of streamlined fascist architecture found in Rome's EUR district. To the right of the church is a big, ultra-modern shopping mall called Mirage with an entrance done up in a honeycomb pattern. These extreme contrasts are a defining characteristic of Žilina's old town.

The Mestské Divadlo (town theater) bears an odd resemblance to Benito Mussolini's EUR district in Rome (and its Palazzo della Civiltà Italiana). It's one of the most striking 20th-century theaters in the whole country, but definitely has that stark, streamlined look that both fascists and communists seemed to gravitate towards. Also, note the Ukrainian flag/banner down the side.

The contemporary Mirage shopping mall, adjacent to the old cathedral.

Once you pass the church, continue straight, down the crowded pedestrianized block to the right, to get to the central old town square, Mariánske námestie (St. Mary's square).

Facades on Mariánske námestie.

Mariánske námestie

Žilina's historic old town is minuscule, and even within this very small area, as much as 50 percent of the historic structures and facades appear to have either been radically reconstructed, streamlined, and stripped of ornamentation, or, in some cases, razed and replaced entirely. As a result, you have a somewhat jarring mishmash of historic styles and modern intrusion. Even Lučenec - yes freakin' Lučenec! - might have retained more of its ornate, historic Habsburg-era facades than Žilina. It is not the first city you'd want to visit if you love to marvel at remarkably intact, picturesque medieval or Renaissance town centers. 

Mariánske námestie with some rather 1980s/90s-looking intrusion, courtesy of a big reconstruction project that occurred in the 90s (read on for more details).

As I mentioned, Žilina has a long history as an important industrial center and transportation hub in the north of Slovakia. Unlike Banská Štiavnica or Levoča, Žilina never lost its economic importance and languished as an irrelevant backwater. That means it never underwent a decline in population or economic activity, and over the years, the city council has continually adapted the urban landscape to suit whatever needs it had at any given time. Whereas Banská Štiavnica remained frozen in time since its importance waned in the late 1800s, Žilina has been subjected to continued redevelopment and modernization right up to the present. This means many of the city's historic buildings and facades have been heavily altered, erased, or destroyed.

Even on Národná, it's really only about every fourth facade that retains the original, ornate Habsburg-era style. In between you have facades that were given very plain, dull, streamlined makeovers.

One of the weirdest things about the old town is the architecture in the main central square, Mariánske námestie. Nearly all the buildings are adorned with newly constructed, glistening, sharply pointed A-frame gables. A number of these gabled facades have almost none of the kind of ornamentation that buildings in Slovak historic centers almost always have, and several feature windows done in a style which looks quite oddly like something out of the 1980s or 90s.

Some of the central square's facades have had a curiously 1990s-looking makeover. The triple-gabled one in the center-right is obviously the worst offender, looking like something from an American strip mall or outdoor shopping plaza. Just put up a Ross or Petco sign to complete the look.

This blurb from the town website's history section offers some clues:

On December fifth [1997], St. Mary’s Square was returned to use after extensive reconstruction. Restoration took place from 1995 until 1997, and was preceded by archaeological research, which unfortunately could not be completed because of [the] quick process of construction. The town center received a new look . . . many houses underwent a comprehensive refurbishment. [Emphasis added.]

So, going by this, it seems that these puzzling, spartan and modern design touches were, in fact, a product of the 1990s, and as you can see, they very much look like something out of that decade or the previous one. It's a strange direction to go in when restoring a centuries-old historic center. Most towns try to faithfully restore them, but Žilina apparently had other ideas.

This row of facades on Mariánske námestie starts out looking nice enough on the left, but gradually gets more spartan and 80s/90s-ish as you scan to the right.

What's even weirder is I found numerous old postcards and photos online of Mariánske námestie from the 1930s and earlier, and almost none of the buildings at that time had gabled facades. I also found a few photos from the 1980s, and the buildings were still devoid of gables at that point. Furthermore, this style of gabled facade is not something you typically see in any of the historic town centers in Slovakia, with the very notable exception of Bardejov. So, who decided to give all of these facades gables with 80s/90s-style windows, and why?

Compare this old postcard with the image directly below. Do you see any gables here? Because at some point after this, all of these buildings sprouted gables, and some of them were given weird 80s/90s-style windows too.

Compare with above. What the hell happened? And whose idea was this?

Take a look at this 1930s-era photograph. No gables!

Here's a photo of this same row of facades as above from the 1980s: still no gables, and proof that these gables were added in the 90s. This raises the question: why in the hell did they decide to radically alter the look of the main square in the 90s by adding gables and A-framed roofs to nearly all the buildings? Why deviate from the original historic look?

I'm posting this current photo again of the same row of facades as the two photos above, so you can compare directly.

I suppose it's possible that in the Middle Ages all the burgher houses originally had gables, and maybe they ditched them in some later era after they (presumably) fell out of fashion? I haven't found any medieval-era paintings or illustrations of the square to see if this was the case, and the town's website doesn't mention anything about restoring burgher houses to their "original appearance"; only that the town center "received a new look." So, it's a bit of a head scratcher. Maybe they hired an architect who really likes Bardejov?

Despite this, while I'm not sure if Mariánske námestie is going to take anyone's breath away, if you squint a little, it all looks more or less cohesive and pleasant. It's objectively nice in that it's well maintained, and most of it looks decent enough, save for some of the most extreme 80s/90s-looking makeovers. The spacious square is very accessible, with an open, inviting feel and ample seating on benches. And, in fact, one important detail that sets this square apart are the arcaded/portico corridor walkways that line the entire perimeter, which is reminiscent of Bologna (which has portico walkways galore).

The old town hall, just left of center. Its upper facade is adorned with numerous bells, which apparently go off every hour, but I don't recall hearing them while we were there.

Locals were out in droves (by Slovak standards) when we were there, though these may have been lunchtime crowds. I saw almost no one who looked like a tourist. There were throngs of fashionably dressed teenagers and university-aged students darting in all directions; a number of 30-something professionals in sharp, sleek business attire on lunch breaks; some pensioners milling about; and a few small groups of homeless people having boisterous, slurred exchanges with one another. I have to say, the scene here was WAY more bustling than Prešov or even Levoča, where there was nary a soul to be found when we went.

I'm sure the fact that this dominant building (the Conversion of St. Paul church and the adjacent monastery) was covered in scaffolding during our visit contributed to my somewhat downer take on Mariánske námestie as a whole. The square is probably a bit more striking when this thing isn't obscured by janky-looking scaffolding.

So, here's a picture of the church, circa 1930s, without the scaffolding.

Hanging out on Mariánske námestie's old well.

It's not uncommon in most Slovak towns with a gorgeous historic center to find that when you exit the main square in any direction, the historic buildings start to fade after a block or two and you see a sudden increase in architecture from more recent eras. Žilina's old town is an even more dramatic example of this phenomenon - you need only to walk a few doors away from the main square before seeing weird, modern intrusion. The sometimes tacky anything-goes signage of the shops adds to the visual noise.

We had lunch at a place on the corner of the main square with comically bad service: one server, who was the boss of the other servers, audibly chewed out her (very young) underlings for not doing their jobs well minutes after we were seated. The food took forever to arrive (very uncommon when ordering from the lunch specials menu), and when it finally did, they'd forgotten the soup (not serving soup before lunch in Slovakia is a capital offense). By that point, we'd been waiting so long that we thought, "Screw the soup," and dug straight in to the entrees. When the bill came, Terezia told the head server lady that we never got our soup, but she was unable to deduct it from the bill since the soup was automatically incorporated into the prices of the lunch special items. (Sigh...)

During the five years it took to receive our lunch (which tasted OK; we've had worse), we noticed a steady stream of happy people filtering through an ice cream shop a few doors down holding cones with generous scoops of nicely textured, colorful ice cream. This seemed like the place to go, so we went straight there after lunch. This was not your typical Slovak zmrzlina joint, however; they offered flavors that were akin to Ben and Jerry's, i.e., slightly exotic with chunks of brownies, cookies, fruit, and whatnot. But the actual flavors didn't live up to the appearance: I ordered two scoops: the Brownies and the Oreo Mint Cookie. The latter tasted like paste, while the Brownies was just OK - nothing at all like a typical flavor-packed pint of Ben and Jerry's.

After milling about the old town some more, we then slowly made our way back down to the train station for the ride back to Banská Bystrica. In typical Slovak railway fashion, they didn't announce the platform number that our train was to arrive on until the minute the train was actually arriving, which meant we had to endure a literal stampede of passengers who were all making a mad dash across the station for the platform.

Inside Žilina's bustling train station.

Žilina's train station also has stained glass windows depicting kroj-clad Slovak peasants.

I have to be brutally honest: I do not think that Žilina is really worth visiting. Unless you've got a peculiar obsession with Slovakia and you're trying to visit every city or town of consequence, or you like seeing bizarre hodgepodges of architectural styles with insensitive treatment of historic sections, there is little of any real significance to see or do in Žilina. There's no coherent sense of old-world atmosphere or stunning lanes of ornate facades or rustic stonework. While the surrounding natural setting, with steep, dramatic, forest-covered hills and the rushing Váh river, is quite beautiful, the city itself and the industrial and logistics center wasteland that surrounds it leave a lot to be desired. So, I really can't recommend the place. It might be a decent city to live in, but from a foreign tourist's perspective, it has nothing that I would go out of my way to see.

Day Trip to Banská Bystrica

Maybe it was because Žilina was such a predictable letdown; perhaps it was because our time was cut short in Banská Štiavnica from having to spend so much of it solving the mystery of the town's new parking system; and maybe it was because we had to leave Bratislava's old town earlier than planned due to Simon's legs getting tired from all the walking; but I was still yearning to spend just a little bit more time on this trip in some beautiful, ornate, intact historical center of any town that actually has one. So, on Friday we took a short day trip to Banská Bystrica, the closest town to Terezia's mom's village to fit that description.

We drove to Banská Bystrica in the morning; ambled around and gawked at the vast, extremely picturesque, colorful central town square; took a gander at the old castle's gorgeous clock tower and cathedral; had a decent lunch at a place with outdoor seating on the square; ate the best ice cream we've found so far in Slovakia; swung by the SNP museum, where Simon checked out the old WWII-era military airplane, tanks, and train on display outside; then made our way back to the car, where we parked easily and for free just across the mighty Hron river and a couple blocks from the old town (take note, Banská Štiavnica!). It was a nice outing spent outside the village, and not in Lučenec, so I was content.

I did a pretty thorough write-up of Banská Bystrica in this post from 2014, so you can read that for more details. We also made a short visit there in 2019, which I wrote about here. I'd certainly give Banská Štiavnica the edge over Banská Bystrica in terms of overall beauty and atmosphere. I also have a soft spot for Levoča, and Kosice's historic center is hard to beat with its stunning gothic cathedral and lovely main square, but Banská Bystrica still ticks most of the boxes.

 

Brief history: Banská Bystrica, a small city (Slovakia's fifth largest) of ~78,000 inhabitants, is a relatively bustling urban area with a big university, several factories and wood processing plants, and of course, a striking and colorful historic town centered around a large main square. Nestled in a narrow, gently curving, forested valley along the Hron river, Banská Bystrica came to prominence in the middle ages as a copper mining town colonized by German miners. It has since come to hold a lot of symbolic importance in Slovak culture and history, due in part to its location in the middle of the country, but also because of its role in the Slovak national awakening in the 1800s and the Slovak National Uprising during World War II. 

Simon has no memories of our previous trips to Slovakia, and therefore no recollection of the time we went to Banská Bystrica with him when he was two. But both then and now he was immediately drawn to the big fountain in the center of the main square. He also could not resist climbing the steep steps of the main square's plague column. An outdoor misting device had been set up on the square, which he gleefully ran through numerous times (though I think it's probably more useful on sweltering summer days).

We ate lunch at Reštaurácia u Richtára and ordered the mushroom cream soup, which had a nice wild mushroom flavor, and the duck, which was a decent leg and thigh in a slightly orange-flavored sauce, with a side of beautifully crisp fried potato wedges. The restaurant's men's restroom had these gorgeous medieval vaulted ceilings, which I was trying to point out to Simon (since he's starting to take notice of things that I tend to obsess over), but he was like "yeah, whatever," and was totally preoccupied with the little hand on the motion-sensor activated paper towel dispenser that flashes green when you wave your hand in front of it.

 

After lunch, we were going to head to what appeared to be a popular ice cream spot, right at the base of the slightly slanted clock tower at the top of the main square, but on the way there, we noticed another place, called Moja Srdcovca, whose ice cream looked too good to resist. I ordered a scoop of the pistachio nougat and a scoop of Belgian chocolate. This was the first ice cream we have found so far in Slovakia to clearly beat Záhradná in Lučenec. The Belgian chocolate was super rich and flavorful, like eating an actual chunk of quality chocolate, while the pistachio's flavor truly popped, and was possibly the best pistachio ice cream I've had outside of Italy. This place alone might be a reason to return to Banská Bystrica on future trips. I'm serious: Moja Srdcovca might be on par with Berthillon in Paris!

Moja Srdcovca: without question the best ice cream we've found so far in Slovakia.

Simon was interested in the old military plane outside the SNP museum. It's kind of stupid because you have to pay 50 euro cents per person to board it and the thing is very small (you'd struggle to spend more than a minute inside it), and you can't even go into the cockpit (you have to look at it from behind, at a distance of about 10 - 12 feet, through a plastic window). But when you're trying to entertain your young kid and maintain their interest, sometimes you have to suck it up. We actually went on this plane on our last trip when Simon was two, but as soon as we'd paid and went on board, Simon pooped in his diaper, so we immediately had to run out of there and make a dash for the car so we could change him. This time, he had to take a dump here again, but fortunately the guy at the front desk of the SNP museum let Terezia and Simon in for free to use their restroom.

As I've mentioned in older posts, the SNP museum has to be one of the coolest examples of modern, 20th-century communist-era architecture in all of Slovakia.

School field trip to the SNP museum.

It's the end of the school year for many schools in Slovakia around this time, and we saw groups of teenage boys and girls dressed in formal prom-like attire, roving in packs around the town square loudly celebrating because they'd just graduated their equivalent of high school or specialty/trade school. They were going up and down the square singing boisterously (and perhaps drunkenly), sometimes accompanied by one of them playing an acoustic guitar or violin. This is apparently the traditional way to celebrate high school graduation here.

You can see a pack of male secondary school graduates just left of center in the lower third of this photo.

It felt nice to spend a little time basking in the old-world atmosphere. I just need a bit of that now and then, since we're unable to travel like we used to, because we now have a kid who is at an age where he's really incapable of traveling like we used to. I'm hoping in a couple of years we can leave him with Terezia's mom or Tony for a week and then take off for Prague or Florence, or wherever. Then, once he's in his early teens, he'll be at an age where he's able and willing to travel with us in a way that's similar to how we used to travel. 

Communist-era post office.

The Hron river in the center of the town.

Simon Has (Finally) Learned How to Ride a Bike!

For a few years now, Simon has been somewhat resistant to learning how to ride a bike, though that's not entirely his fault.

When he was three, we got him a balance bike. Balance bikes are small bikes with no pedals, designed to teach kids aged two (or younger) to three, how to balance themselves on a bike and coast by pushing themselves with their feet. Once they get the feel down, in theory, the transition to a regular bike with pedals is supposedly easier and comes more naturally. Balance bikes are now considered the new way to teach kids how to ride, and training wheels, though still common, have been falling out of favor. 

The problem is when Simon got his balance bike, he'd been riding tricycles for a while, and he was accustomed to having pedals, so his immediate reaction to the balance bike was, "Where are the pedals?" Because it had no pedals, he had zero use for it, and no matter how often we tried to get him to ride it, he steadfastly refused. Meanwhile, we'd go to any local playground and see kids half his size coasting around effortlessly on balance bikes.

The balance bike we got him had a pedal conversion kit for when kids are ready to pedal. I installed it, and that made him want to ride it more, but he was having a hard time balancing, and by the time we got the pedals on, he'd already outgrown the bike. We put some training wheels on it, which got him riding more, but as he was visibly outgrowing the bike, it was time to get a real bike that fit him.

The other problem is our neighborhood. We live on a steep hill, and while there are some level streets a block or so away, they're quite narrow and crammed with parked cars, and just not ideal for a kid who needs space to learn to cycle freely. So, whenever he wanted to practice cycling, we had to throw the bike in the car and drive to a park with flat, smooth, spacious concrete paths or areas for cycling.

We got him a good, new, well-rated bike for his fifth birthday in March, but he didn't seem interested in using it prior to our trip to Slovakia.

However, Tony happened to buy his daughter, Tea, a Woom bike. Woom bikes are Austrian made and universally acknowledged as the best kids bikes in existence. They are the lightest kids bikes on the market (the largest size weighs in at a remarkably light ~15 pounds), and they are specially designed to fit kids ergonomically. They get nothing but gushing praise from parents and bike experts. The problem is they run about $550 new - you're definitely paying for that ultra-light weight and ergonomic design. In Bratislava, every damn kid seems to have one.

(Kids bikes have long been known to be insanely heavy pieces of garbage that would be better used as boat anchors. Over the past decade or so, increasingly lightweight and better designed kids bikes have been coming on the market, but they are more expensive. Speaking as a longtime cyclist myself, I can attest to the massive difference it makes to ride a light, well-designed bike.)

 

Tea, who is four, has been riding a Woom pedal bike effortlessly since she was three, and she used the smaller Woom balance bike before that. Tony brought Tea's bike to Podrečany so that Simon could practice riding on it. Terezia's mom lives on a perfectly flat, long, well-paved, and extremely quiet street - the perfect place to learn how to ride.

Tony was the one who first got Simon out on the street, and he ran up and down the length of it alongside Simon while he pedaled. At first Simon was a little shaky and hesitant, but after going up and down the street with Tony a few times - only grabbing him when he looked like he was going to veer wildly off the road - Simon was able to ride with minimal assistance. We took turns running up and down the street with him until he was comfortable and steady enough to ride without needing to be grabbed or held at any point. After several more "laps," he no longer needed a little push to help him get going, and he was pedaling too fast for us to keep up when running alongside him.

Tea's Woom bike is the size 3 and Simon needs the size 4, but the Woom is so damn light and well designed that he's able to ride it pretty easily (and we can still raise the seat more to his height). The size 4 Woom is supposed to last until kids reach the age of 9 or 10 (or older, depending on how tall they are). 

We'll see how he does on his new bike when we get back home. It's a good, solid bike, but not as light as the Woom.

Some kids just seem to naturally have better balance at a younger age, and Tea is one of those kids. Not every kid masters a pedal bike with no training wheels at the age of three, like Tea did. I also believe (and have heard) that little kids who are very tall for their age, like Simon, also have a bit more trouble with balance and coordination (i.e., they're a bit clumsier). For example, I couldn't ride a bike until I was five, i.e., Simon's age, and I was also tall (though not as tall as Simon) and clumsy at that age. And L'udmila and Chris' older daughter, Sasha, who is also five and possibly even a hair taller than Simon, is still learning to cycle (she also has a Woom bike).

 At any rate, yay Simon!

 Click here to see all the photos of the trip so far.