Square of Prancing Water

I caught the train to Kosice in eastern Slovakia for two reasons. Firstly, because trains to Lvov leave from here. Secondly, I had planned to go on a mission to the main museum in Medzillabourse, Andy Warhol’s ancestral home.

The first imperative looks like it will be satisfied easily enough. I’m catching a train to Lviv at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning. Fourteen hours later, I’ll be in Lviv. I’m busying myself collecting snacks for the train trip and trying not to fret too much about arriving in the Ukraine. Hey, I can read Cyrillic! I have a handful of useful Russian phrases at my disposal! I am developing a smile which simultaneously says, ‘I’m a woman of character and virtue, be nice to me’ and ‘It’s really not worth your while to notice me or harass me’ and ‘I am ferocious on the inside so and carrying a knife so don’t even think of messing with me.’ (Demonstrations on request.) I’ll be foiiiine. It looks like the election which took place over the weekend hasn’t resulted in any bloodshed either. *touches wood*

Alas, I wasn’t able to get my act together to see what is apparently the largest collection of Warhol personal memorabilia and ephemera on show anywhere in the world. Too many buses, all of them leaving at the wrong times. Instead, I took myself to Bardejov, allegedly the prettiest town in Slovakia. Fifteenth century town, big cathedral with with eight gothic altars intact inside, excellent town square given the nod by UNESCO, marauding teenage malcontents, all was in order.

Kosice itself has been the bonus. It’s a beautiful town full of not unattractive, not uncongenial people, rather than tourists. The first vegetarian restaurant in Czechoslovakia opened here years ago: good-bye bratwurst, hello, soy meat! Cabbages are sold out of carts in the market and all sorts of wild mushrooms are piled onto table-tops. Yea verily, an angel watches over Kosice. In Kosice you also find the easternmost Gothic cathedral in Europe, and the only one, I’d wager, whose bells toll ‘Yesterday’ on the hour. There’s lots of weird pseudo-gothic fixtures tacked onto Art Nouveau facades too. I was extremely taken by the city’s musical fountain situated right in the middle of the central square.
All day and well into the night, the fountain dances as music is pumped loudly out of speakers which encircle it. Not just any music, mind you. Imagine a saxophone-only Phil Collins number or the music for a triumphant finale to an ice-dancing pageant or the soundtrack to an interpretive dance piece called ‘The Triumph of the Self.’ If you went to primary school with me, remember the music Mrs Greenslade favoured for her percussion numbers. How does a fountain dance?, you may well ask. Jets buzz on and off, spurts shoot higher and lower, bashful showers turn into forthright water towers… Yes, well, yes. And after dark, the music and dancing water are accompanied by tasteful flashing lights. It seemed to attract quite a crowd of lovers young and old, wistful types staring into the fountain, family groups strolling. Do I need to add that I was transfixed?

And so Lviv it is, manana por la manana…