April 3 - Basshunter

My good friend the cleaning lady in high heels woke us up five past seven. We grunted for a while, and were struggling with getting out of bed to have some breakfast.

After breakfast we spent some time watching tv. I was thinking of telling Kamila about Basshunter, and how his music was being played in Germany, but decided on it being pretty uncalled for. Poor Kamila shouldn't be exposed to such a mostrosity down here anyway, so why bother her with that hideous information? I was, however, brutally awakened from my dream about this picturesque Basshunter-free asylum just minutes later, when I, in a small town in southern Slovakaia, was forced to endure "Boten Anna" on tv. I took cover, for real, under the blanket and moaned in agony. Then I had to ask for forgiveness on behalf of all Swedes for him and his music. I am happy to announce that we were forgiven.

We left Vel'ky Meder at noon and went to Bratislava, where I was to be spending some time on my own, as Kamila had to work the day after. On the way there I saw an IKEA sign, and was struck by a sudden rush home-sickness. We made a quck stop at IKEA and had some meatballs, adn all of a sudden, everything felt great inside me again. The human is such a strange creature! When we ate, I saw the most Swedish woman I've ever seen. She sat at IKEA eating meatballs, dressed in an outfit from H&M and wore a purse from Björn Borg. She got a call, and she picked up a phone from SonyEricsson and began to speak in Slovak. Strange woman.

After the meal I felt an urge for påskmust. Julmust, of course, is preferred, but in the absence of that, påskmust will do just fine. If you're not already aware of it, IKEA all over the world (except in Sweden) sells Swedish food outside the main store, while we in Sweden have to settle for a hot dog for €0.50. I went to the food court in a jolly mood to buy a bottle of the Brown Gold. Naturally, they didn't have any påskmust, so I demanded to talk with someone who speaks Swedish to point out the obvious shortcomings in the sortiment. They didn't have anyone who spoke Swedish there, and didn't understand the fuzz at all. After all, they had lingonberry juice, and that should suffice, right? I took my bag of potato crisps, my milk chocolate and left, disillusioned as few.

IKEA was left behind, and we went to central Bratislava to find a park to chill out in. Bratislava is, however, clinically free from parks, so we had to settle with a bench in an old cemetery. We were enjoying life, but nothing is forever. For the first time in my life I was thrown out of a cemetery. Because, as the janitor yelled in his most beautiful Slovak, "this is not a goddamn park". So out we went, and I found an Internet café, which I planned on visiting after getting my stuff from Kamila's car. She insisted, however, on driving me there, all 30 metres, and I accepted. It didn't work out all that good at all, and our days together ended with her car barely touching a red Seat, which resulted in a red Seat without a rear fender. She had to pay a fine to the police, and then some money to the car's not so happy owner.

I stayed at a football hotel in the outskirts of Bratislava. Yes, you read that correctly: a football hotel. As a sidenote: it seems like almost no one, except some women and men in suits, speaks English. Rather annoying, I tell you. My hotel room was beautiful beyond your wildest imagination, as you can tell from the pictures.

Navigation

Prologue
Autumn 2006
March 11, 2007 - The preparations
March 30 - The arrival
March 31 - The big fining day
April 1 - To Slovakia
April 2 - At the spa
April 3 - Basshunter
April 4 - In Bratislava
April 5 - Going home!