Slavic Meditations

Back home, we call it Indian Summer. The cold snap a few weeks ago vanished, put back in its proper place. Sun returned, the darkness lifted, and there we were again in the warmth and beauty of the last remnants of summer. Yet, for me, it wasn’t just Indian Summer. I had been denying the coming of Autumn, not so much dreading Autumn itself, but that which came after- cold, bitter winter robbing us of the comforts to which I had become accustomed. I must also say that I dreaded Autumn as much as I denied it, my vision of Autumn had gone beyond all that it truly means. I was afraid of it and hated it without knowing why. One day before I left for Bratislava, I realized that Autumn had come without my knowing it. It was then, staring out the window of the number 24 tram that I realized I might find joy in Autumn after all.

The parks beyond the Rynek had changed from lush green to magic golden. Leaves from the trees that had guarded against the sun in summer had resisted the change as much as I, but nature has her way of having her way. In an instant, everything had become so gentle and beautiful, and I was equally amazed at how much I loved it. Living in Florida for all that time, I had forgotten those subtleties, and when I lived in Tennessee, I never noticed nor appreciated it at all. This was something that just wasn’t important, that I couldn’t see or have until now. In Krakow, the sun had still shone brilliantly, highlighting what had changed over time, but seeming to me so suddenly.

The following morning, my friends and I made our way to the train station, ready to get away for awhile, for some much needed rest, or simply some time to think. Arriving before dawn, Krakow was still asleep, at peace with itself. Before having too much to consider it further, we boarded the train and settled in for our journey to Bratislava. Everything seemed in order yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been left behind. Sitting back, we were ready to begin.

The train had been jostling along for about an hour or more before I had become aware of any of my surroundings deep in the Polish countryside. Miles of track beneath me, from where I had begun, stretching out to a destination I only had a vague notion of. Commanding mountains sprawled out in the distance, seeming so far away, so untouchable. Autumn was here as well, vibrant green replaced by crimson and gold. Leaves slowly cascaded down, creating a new footpath. As we crossed over an old bridge, a pristine lake extended on either side. I could see a small dock where I’m sure people sit in the summer, but now it’s deserted. The lake is calmed, all falling into a dreamy slumber, hibernating until spring comes again. Further along the Polish landscape, forest stretches along the track, engulfing us, and as I glance out the window, I see how the birches are slowly changing; there is a peaceful emptiness about the people less landscape. My silent reveries out the train window and my thoughts of the passing surroundings are deep, and I’m only brought back as a train passes, startling me home.

Our arrival into Bratislava was less dramatic than I had imagined. Cold, grey skies threatening rain dominated, leaving us to wonder from the train station in a sort of delirium about our next logical step. As we made our way to the hostel, we turned round and round in circles, missing streets, confused as to our direction and our destination. Stark buildings and a somber sky seemed to make it all blend into one and there was no to really move beyond where we were. And then, in an instant we realized we were on the right path and had been all along, everything else was merely detours.

We checked into the hostel for the night, assaulted by the sounds of loud backpackers doing their thing in the bar. Desperate for food and adventure, we set off further into the heart of Bratislava, or that was our intention at least. We meandered down a side street, merging ourselves onto a highway and toward Bratislava castle, sitting so quietly and stoically at the foot of the Little Carpathian mountains. Keeping to our propensity for losing direction, we circled the castle, walked along the Danube for quite a way in the wrong direction, suddenly realizing then turning around to right ourselves. As we came back to one of turnoffs, we realized that we had just circled the Old Town, skirting around its edges like a predator hunting its prey. Once deep inside, we were shocked at what we found. The Old Town in Bratislava was empty.

Few people passed us on the street, shops and cafes were closed, and very little energy was circulating about. Walking through the streets, you couldn’t help but feel that you were outside reality, peering in, desperately trying to catch a glimpse at a world we couldn’t be a part of. With so few options left for us, we chose a small restaurant to dine. Our Slovakian meals were a gastronomic delight, and I was personally grateful that my hunger had properly abated. Leaving the restaurant, we descended into the darkness again, prowling the streets searching for something we couldn’t even name. Our circles were endless, inevitably leaving us where we began. After a quick drink in a bar, we headed back to the hostel for what we had hoped would be a restful night’s sleep.

The story that night in the hostel was the same as every other. Loud, obnoxious, and displaced voices rang throughout the building, sleeping would be more difficult than we had hoped. Every night it was the same, just as you had relaxed and pulled yourself into the place where sleep is about to overtake you, a voice or the crash of some foreign object would bring you back, and you’d be forced to start all over. Again and again and again, there was no peace.

We awoke Monday morning thinking that today would be different, but as we glanced out the window of the hostel, the same grey sky hung lifeless over us. Today would be little different. Our first stop of the day was Bratislava castle which we had circled the day before, far removed from what it was, what it stood for. Hiking up the foot of the mountain to find the penetrable point of this former fortress, weariness set in, frustration dogged attempts to remain delighted. At the point where should have been some feeling of victory, there was only disappointment in finding Bratislava castle, that impenetrable and ancient fortress to be a reconstruction begun 50 years ago. Losing interest quickly, we instead walked about the gardens surrounding, trying to figure out what we were going to do with ourselves. I stood on a high wall, looking over at the Danube, seeing cars zooming by on the freeway beside it, on bridges crossing it, and there was no magic, no majesty in it at all. Stepping away, my attitude had then met that of the sky, hopeless.

Yet, as much as the weather didn’t want us to find beauty, there was a moment, there on the far side of the castle, where it was just us, walking beneath golden trees, they too losing their leaves, without protest. These newly fallen leaves dotted the path in some spots and completely dominated in others, creating patterns on the cement and a stark contrast to everything else that was so bleak. I took notice of Autumn once again. The grass was still green and damp from the rains that had come earlier. As the stretches of green and gold now were in stark contrast to all else, it occurred to me that I was in a particular moment that I would never see again. The leaves that had fallen hadn’t dried and curled yet, ready to crunch under the feet of unaware passersby. No, we were there at a perfect moment to see something so new and beautiful that it cannot even be described. I watched my flatmate aimlessly pick up leaves, gathering them together with no purpose but that they were there. I was jealous of the ability to appreciate without thought, something which I have never been able to do.

When time seemed to escape and we were feeling pressured to see more, we headed out into the city, not really knowing why. It was Monday, everything is closed on Monday. The only museum open was the Jewish Museum so we went in, looked around, and left mostly uninspired. On and on, we prowled through the city streets again, trying to figure out what to do with ourselves. On a lark, we decided to take the 20-minute bus ride out to Devin castle, a ruin. We knew it was Monday, that it was closed today, but I was of the opinion that sometimes its better to see it from afar than to never see it at all.

After our bus ride, we stepped out in a quiet outskirt of Bratislava proper and there was heartbreak all around. What was left of Devin castle was so amazing that I had changed my opinion; perhaps sometimes it is better to not see it at all, if you can’t have it. I wanted to get as close as possible, so I walked up the steep drive toward the gates, wanting desperately just to peer, to have one moment to look around, and as I approached, an elderly man opened the gate. It was a delightful surprise and I wouldn’t know how much for a while more. We entered the gates, each of us starting on a new pace with new direction to see what we wanted, to have the experience we craved. Halfway up the mountain, I turned around, looking back at what I was leaving keeping in mind what I was gaining by moving on. There was a moment of indecision, quickly discarded as I moved on.

Completely entranced by the perfection of that one moment, I could see the sun starting to doze peacefully, beginning to slip off into the horizon, casting the most beautiful hue over our previously grey and daunting world. I climbed toward the ruin itself, frantically trying to get as close as I could, only to realize that it had been blocked off, from every direction in fact, you could get around it but not to it, not to its very heart. Feeling somewhat disheartened, I sat down on a bench, looking at the mountainside so close to me, gazing over to see the Danube looking much more peaceful and calm than it had before, and I sat there, I was listening to silence. Every sound that was made, albeit few, echoed off the mountain and then off the castle, reverberating almost painfully in contrast to the nothingness of before.

I climbed higher, as high as I could, trying to get some perspective on where I was, where I was going. Almost dramatically, I reached the highest point and I stepped over to look at the depths below me. I was first startled by the change in landscape, such a sharp drop-off compared to the gentle climb on the other side. Yet, the more I became aware of where I was and what I was seeing, I realized that fear to be unnecessary. Haze, the sun nodding off, golds, greens, crimsons, and blues dominated the landscape now and there was still some stolen serenity for a moment, and I was there realizing I was exactly where I was supposed to be. We spent a couple of hours on that hillside, thinking mostly, but also realizing what I had been missing all along.

We made the transition back to the city, no, there was no transition. We simply reemerged painfully into the cold, empty, and dark world that we had left for a few hours reprieve. Bratislava stayed the same for the next two days, threatening to be so much more than it was and leaving me feeling a little abandoned and disappointed. When we left two days later, the sky finally broke and the rain poured down. It was time to go home.

When I started to think about it, there was sadness about leaving Devin, about leaving the peace found there. At the same time, it didn’t have to be let go and I think that in the grander scheme of things maybe that’s what I needed, a reminder of things that are beautiful, things not always being what they seem, another lesson in perspective. As our train rattled back into Krakow, it was good to be home. Its funny how that is really, but I had come home.

Autumn had come without my wanting it, without my knowing it, and without my feeling it. But it was little moments that made me aware and once becoming so, every change is different now and I feel as if I notice things a little more than before. Resisting had been an exercise in futility and with acceptance came some sort of peace, for the moment anyway. Autumn had come and I was never so happy to see anything in my entire life.

LINK:
My Blog
http://blogs.bootsnall.com/april/

Quotes for the week:

“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn.” –John Muir

“If winter is slumber and spring is birth, and summer is life, then autumn rounds out to be reflection. It's a time of year when the leaves are down and the harvest is in and the perennials are gone. Mother Earth just closed up the drapes on another year and it's time to reflect on what's come before.” –Mitchell Burgess