Beautiful Towns # 10 - Slavonice, Czech Republic

Located just one kilometre from the Austrian border and surrounded by rolling green hills, Slavonice is one of the most captivating small towns in the Czech Republic. Since it is still off the radar for most international tourists, the town retains a relaxed provincial feel fused with a dose of artistic and cultural flair due to the many Czech artists who have taken up residence and opened studios and galleries in the historic buildings. Found at the point where the historical regions of Moravia, Bohemia and Austria meet, the town has traditionally been considered part of Moravia but today it is included in the region of South Bohemia.

With two squares jam-packed with ornate buildings smothered in sgraffito facades and nary a concrete building in sight, it's easy to see why Slavonice is a cut above the average Czech border town. The facades are the most impressive and extensive to be found on Czech soil, and they are among the finest anywhere in the former lands of the Austro-Hungarian empire.

The town went through a prolonged period of riches and prosperity lasting from the 14th to 16th centuries with its place on the main trading route between Prague and Vienna guaranteeing a steady stream of commerce to fund the construction of grand renaissance buildings. However, the main trade route was eventually moved to the east passing through the Czech frontier town of Znojmo, and the boom times came to a close in Slavonice.

The town's population was predominantly German-speaking before World War II, but the end of the war brought the mass expulsion of the German population from the Czech lands and the population of Slavonice dropped to a fraction of its former size. During the Communist period from 1948 to 1989 Czechs were not encouraged to resettle in the houses left vacant by the former German inhabitants, so the town became a ghostly shell of its former self.

Under the Communists the frontier with Austria was a highly restricted military zone as part of the iron curtain, and as a result Slavonice was essentially cocooned and prevented from growing or developing. Today this can be considered a blessing, since it effectively protected the town from having any ugly and tasteless concrete buildings constructed in its midst by Communist planners.

Nowadays, Slavonice has developed a strong reputation as a haven for Czech artists and writers who wish to escape to a beautiful corner of the countryside for creative inspiration far from the capital. There are several studios and workshops which have set up shop, and international artists, especially from Austria, have taken notice and begun to frequent the town as well.

In the early 1990's both Slavonice and the nearby town of Telč were promoting themselves as potential UNESCO heritage site candidates, but at the last minute the town council in Slavonice decided to withdraw its bid, so only Telč was placed on the UNESCO list in 1992. I expect that the townsfolk and artists in Slavonice simply decided that they preferred to keep their town low-key and liveable, and to let Telč handle the tour buses and mainstream international attention.

Slavonice is becoming increasingly popular with cyclists, and it features prominently in organized cycling trips across the country. It is possible to walk, cycle or drive the one kilometre south to the border, and from there the Austrian village of Fratres is less than one kilometre further on. Getting to Slavonice by public transport is easiest by train coming from Jihlava (passing through Telč on the way), though buses also connect the town to Jindřichův Hradec, Jihlava and Prague. While taking the two-carriage regional train south from Jihlava it feels like you're approaching the ends of the earth, and when the train pulls into the station in Slavonice it is truly the end of the line, with the Austrian frontier within sight.

Classic Castles # 5 - Červená Lhota, Czech Republic

This picturesque Renaissance chateau stands on a rocky outcrop in the middle of a small lake in South Bohemia, about 100 kilometres south of Prague. The bright red colour of its exterior is directly reflected in the name of the castle, since the word 'červená' means 'red'. A small garden is found in front of the chateau on the island, and the lake is surrounded by a park with walking trails which provide excellent views of the castle from every angle.

The castle was first constructed in the Gothic style in the 14th century, and at that time there was no lake surrounding it, merely a river. In the 16th century a dam was constructed in the river which created the lake and left the castle perched on its island outcrop, increasing its defensive capabilities and romantic appeal.

The castle became known as Červena Lhota in the 17th century, when the facade was painted bright red and red tiles were placed on the roof. The stone bridge which connects the castle to the mainland was built in 1622, replacing the drawbridge which had been in use up to that point.

Towards the end of the 18th century the German composer Karl Ditters von Dittersdorf (a close friend of Mozart) lived in the castle and died there in 1799. A major renovation in the early 1900's changed the appearance of the castle to its present Neo-Renaissance style. At the end of World War II, the castle's Austrian owners were expelled and the property was confiscated by the Czechoslovak government. In 1949 the castle was opened to the public as a cultural monument.

The castle is quite difficult to reach by public transport, with limited bus connections making it possible to visit only on weekdays. Buses from Soběslav take about 30 minutes and will drop you 100 metres from the lake and the castle. Soběslav is on the main rail line between Prague and České Budějovice, with frequent train connections to both cities. The historic town of Jindřichův Hradec is found to the south-east of the castle, but there are no regular public transport connections from there to Červená Lhota.

Like most attractions outside major cities in the Czech Republic, the castle is closed from November to March and is only open on weekends in April and October. From May to September it is open daily except Mondays. Tours of the castle interior last 50 minutes and take in rooms which are brightly decorated in historical styles.

A large restaurant is located directly across the stone bridge from the castle, offering all the typical Czech traditional dishes. During the summer months renting a rowboat and going out on the lake is a relaxing way to spend an hour or two. Horse and carriage rides are also a popular attraction in the park and castle grounds.

Quirky and Unusual Sights # 4 - The Minaret in Lednice, Czech Republic

The Lednice-Valtice region was once the family home of the Lichtensteins, who began developing the complex in the 18th century. Many pavilions, fountains, statues, arches and castle ruins can be found spread over an area of several hundred square kilometres. In the 19th century the complex was further developed with many structures built between the family's palaces in the towns of Lednice and Valtice.

The palace in Lednice is surrounded by a huge landscaped garden, the most unique and outlandish feature of which is the minaret, built in a Moorish-revival style in 1802. At 60 metres high, it was supposedly the tallest minaret outside the Muslim world at the time of its construction. In the early 19th century it was very popular for the European aristocracy to embrace exotic foreign cultures and artistic forms by having palace rooms decorated in Chinese, Japanese or Middle Eastern styles.

One story of the minaret's construction claims that Prince Alois Lichtenstein had planned to construct a church in the town of Lednice, but his proposal was rejected by the local municipality. As an act of cheeky defiance, he ordered the construction of the minaret as a substitute. Its construction was led by the architect Hardmuth, who had a difficult task given the extremely swampy ground the structure is built on. This was overcome by driving wooden piles deep into the soil to act as a foundation. The minaret has a wide base structure with turrets and arcades lining the roof, all topped with a crescent moon symbol. The exterior of the lower floor is decorated with textual inscriptions from the Koran written in Arabic script. The lower floor contains eight rooms with Moorish designs painted on the walls. The main tower provides views over the Lednice castle gardens and as far south as Valtice and the Austrian border. Today it is used as a lookout tower and is a popular attraction for visitors to the Lednice palace.

The Lednice-Valtice area is a possible day trip from Brno, Bratislava or Vienna. Local trains connect it to the nearby town of Břeclav, which is a major rail hub with regular trains to all the surrounding cities and international capitals. The Lednice-Valtice area can also be explored while staying in Mikulov, which is a lovely Czech town a few kilometres west of the region.

A Little Local Flavour # 1 - Keleti Station, Budapest, Hungary

During the last ten years I've spent many an hour waiting to change trains in Budapest's cavernous Keleti station. Every time I'm in the station, the first place I head for is the platform with the Keleti chess players society. Without fail, there are always a number of intense games in progress, with the regulars eagerly engaged in matches against passengers while they wait for their trains. This goes on in the centre of the main hall of the station with noise, confusion and milling crowds all around them, yet it never seems to break their concentration. Most of the regular players are retirees who use the platform as their social meeting place, and they enjoy offering sage advice and commentary on the moves made by passengers as they play. A few years ago I had an hour to wait for a train to Pecs, so I agreed to play a game against one of the grizzled veterans. Predictably, I was thrashed in less than thirty minutes, despite the helpful advice of the onlookers. Have you ever noticed these players? Have a look the next time you are in the station, I'm sure they must be crowded around watching a match on the platform right now...

Read and vote for my entry in the Bradt Guides travel writing competition

Remarkable Relics of Communism #1 - Hunedoara, Romania

Over the years I've photographed many socialist-realist murals throughout the region. They are still commonly found in train and bus stations, schools and universities, museums and other public buildings. Some have been destroyed as modernisation processes have taken hold, and there is often little interest or care for them shown by the local citizens, so I think it's important to document these fascinating works of art before they disappear. This pair of photographs are of the murals found in the train station in Hunedoara, Romania. They face each other on opposite walls of the ticket hall. The first mural shows a group of workers in the steel mills, a hive of productive, purposeful activity. The three workers in the centre are all cooperating on a common goal, representing the socialist ideal. The second shows the workers enjoying the happy life they have built together, represented by a nature scene with a group enjoying a picnic. In the background it's possible to see the steel mills of Hunedoara with smoke rising from the chimneys, the source of the prosperity for those at play in the foreground. The train station building is also unique, it has a tall spire on the roof with a red star attached, representing the city's importance as a major hub of communist industry and production. Nowadays, most of the steel mills and factories have closed, but the train station murals remain as images of its former glory days.

A Memorable Evening with the Russian Border Police

Crossing borders in the former Soviet States is usually unpleasant and time-consuming; being woken on a train in the early hours of the morning by grumpy guards and snarling dogs is the norm. During the time I worked in Russia I got used to the procedure, and had all my visa paperwork and residency documents properly prepared, with additional photocopies of each to hand over if needed. During a trip to the Baltic states I got into quite a conundrum due to the constantly changing working visa regime and the Russian/Belarusian open border agreement. It's a story involving travelling illegally across Belarus, bribing sleazy border guards, and spending most of the night locked in a jail cell at a Russian border post. It is truly one of the craziest experiences I've had while travelling.

I booked a train ticket from Moscow to Vilnius after being assured by a travel agent and a major travel website that the train would not pass through Belarus, but would take a northern route through Latvia instead. I boarded the train in the evening, expecting to arrive in Vilnius in the morning. I awoke in my bunk in the middle of the night and happened to pull up the shade and look out the window; imagine my horror when I saw a platform sign for Minsk station! As there is no border control between Russia and Belarus, the train had continued across the border in the night. I was in rather a difficult situation of course, as I had entered Belarus without a Belarusian transit or tourist Visa. A few hours later the train arrived at the Lithuanian border, and the Belarusian border guards came on the train. They took a quick look at my passport and said 'problem'. They led me down the train corridor and put me in the little room used by the conductor. Finally a guard came in who spoke passable English, and he informed me that I had broken Belarusian law, and that he should take me off the train and detain me. Then he said that if I would be so good as to hand over 100 dollars in cash, he would look the other way and forget about the whole thing. What could I do? Being arrested in Belarus was not something I really fancied, so I had to pay him the bribe. It all felt rather unclean, but I handed him the money, he shook my hand and sent me back to my carriage. I then continued safely across the border into Lithuania, happy to be on EU territory. However, this meant I had no Belarusian stamps in my passport, and no exit stamps from Russia in my passport or on my working visa papers. I wasn't sure what difficulties this might cause when I went to re-enter Russia again.
When I did reach the Russian border again, eleven days later on a Tallinn to Moscow train at about ten in the evening, the Russian borderguards took a glance at my passport and immediately started asking me where my most recent Russian exit stamp was, and about many other exit stamps as well. Sweat started flowing. They took my passport off the train to check with their superiors. The minutes were ticking past, and the train was due to leave shortly, when I saw through the window the borderguard coming back flanked by two uniformed soldiers. I had a gut feeling that I knew who it was they were coming for. They came to my carriage and told me that I needed to collect my things and come with them. I took my bag down from the overhead bin and we got off the train, which then pulled away from the station and disappeared into the night leaving the four of us standing on the platform. The borderguard spoke English at about Elementary level, and he said 'come', and he took me into the border patrol station, a concrete block sitting in the darkness. I decided from the start not to speak any Russian to them whatsoever, as it would give them too large of an advantage in negotiating, so they had to make the effort to speak English to me. I was taken up the stairs to a long hallway with many unmarked doors, and the guard opened one of them and led me inside. The room was divided into two parts, one half containing an old wooden desk and a metal chair, and the other half was a cell with white-painted bars. An iron-frame bed with a stained, ratty old mattress sat in one corner of the cell, and a pile of rough military-issue sheets and blankets sat on the chair. The guard asked me to sit in the chair while he opened my bags and spread out all of my things on the desktop; my dirty travelling clothes and dog-eared books were thoroughly inspected for whatever it was he hoped to find; finally satisfied that he hadn't found any incriminating evidence among my socks, he shoved everything back inside.
Two more guards entered the room, one of them most certainly the boss, who started asking me questions rapidly in Russian. I made it clear that I didn’t understand him at all (which wasn’t far from the truth anyway) and one of the younger guards painstakingly tried to translate his questions into elementary English. I was asked about every detail of my time in Russia, if I was there for spying or terrorist activities, even if the name given in my passport was really my name, or if I held Belarusian citizenship. They found faults in my working visa papers, such as that my attached identification photographs were several millimetres too large, and were cut with uneven borders. Pointing out to them that they had been cut that way by the person in the visa department in a Moscow government office didn't seem to help matters. Because of the kind of working visa I had, I needed to renew the validity of the document every four months. Every time that happened, they gave me a new visa page, and took away the old one. Unfortunately the old visa papers are where border guards usually put entry and exit stamps, and without the old visa paper it looked (to them, at least) like I had been repeatedly leaving Russia without getting any exit stamps. That I did get the stamps, and that they were on my old visa document then sitting in a file in a Moscow registration office seemed to be a concept they couldn’t believe. Neither could I, but I also couldn’t believe that the foreigner registration laws could be applied so inconsistently and that nobody in the little room, aside from me, really seemed to know what the latest laws on the issue were. I had been warned that legislation changes made in Moscow sometimes took quite some time to trickle down to the provinces, and here it was slapping me in the face.
I also had to explain to them the small matter of my Belarusian border crossing, something that was not easy to do in elementary English. At one point I found myself teaching them English words to make myself understood, such as repeating 'today, I think', followed by 'yesterday, I thought', so I could tell them using the past tense 'I thought the train didn't go through Belarus'. During all of this the boss continued to stare at me with great suspicion while this was translated back to him by his interpreting guard. The other two were younger and much more relaxed, they seemed like new recruits who were still learning the ropes and hadn’t developed an appropriately menacing stance towards incarcerated prisoners yet.
At about three in the morning they managed to contact the 24 hour emergency number my school had for teachers, and spoke to a very sleepy visa manager to verify the identity of the Geoff Brown person they were holding, 'if that WAS his real name'. I finally had them convinced I posed no threat to Russian national security by about 4 o’clock, so they begrudgingly stamped all my documents, made me sign a statement that I had not done anything illegal when crossing borders, and admonished me never to cross the border without getting a proper passport stamp.

Staggering out into the night, they put me in a taxi to go and find the one hotel in the little bordertown of Ivangorod. The driver dumped me and my luggage out on the pavement and drove off in the darkness, leaving me in front of another concrete block with no lights visible. I wasn't sure it was a hotel at all, but I went up and tried the door handle, and it swung open easily. I climbed the stairs to the lobby carefully in the dark, and managed to wake up an old woman who worked there. We did our best to understand each other and to fill in the check-in form. I wasn’t sure what information some of the spaces on the form were requesting, so in the end she threw up her hands and accepted it half-finished. She handed me a key, and I climbed the stairs, still in the dark, to find my room at the end of the corridor. I was holding out a desperate hope that the key would open the door easily, something that is usually not the case with older Russian locks. I breathed a sigh of relief as it turned easily, and I walked in and shut the door with relief. Finally I had a room, and I collapsed onto the narrow creaky bed and was almost instantly asleep.

I slept soundly for four hours... until I was awoken by a brass band playing outside my window. It was victory in World war II day, and the band were playing on the town square as part of a parade. 'Welcome back to mother Russia' was my uppermost thought. It was impossible to sleep after that, so I got up and tried to take stock of the situation. I knew I would have to spend the rest of the day in the town waiting for the next Tallinn to Moscow train to come through late that evening, and had no idea what I would do with myself for the next eleven hours.

To pass the time, I visited an old cemetery near the border, on a hilltop covered with thick forest. Among the trees were thousands of graves, many of which were neglected and overgrown with bushes and weeds. The grave plots were marked out by painted metal fences that encircled each site; often a bench was placed inside the fence where relatives could come to sit and visit with their ancestors. I saw a family of parents and children sitting at a grave, making an afternoon visit to a loved one. Some graves had small metal platforms where relatives could leave offerings for the deceased - biscuits, painted eggs, prayer candles, rice poured in the shape of a cross, and cups of water were all common offerings that had been left by the Orthodox faithful. Most of the older graves were marked with metal Orthodox crosses, often with a picture of the person affixed. During the Soviet period, members of the Communist party were buried with rectangular headstones of carved granite or metal, with red metal stars crowning the monuments. Many of the stars have been removed or cut off since the fall of socialism in 1991, either by relatives or vandals, leaving a thin metal spike in the place where the star was once attached. Only a few stars remain there in Ivangorod, on the older, untended graves, with the red paint now flecked and peeling off. The whole cemetery gave that impression, in a state of slow decay and returning to the natural state of the forest it sat in. It seemed that there were far more people slumbering in their grass-covered graves on the hill than living in the sleepy town below, leading me to believe that many young people had left the region to seek a better life elsewhere, leaving their ancestor’s graves to sit quietly in the forest, patiently awaiting their return.

That evening, I walked back along the road I had traveled the night before by taxi to reach the train station. It was a surprisingly new building with a fresh coat of paint, certainly the newest in the town, probably to keep up appearances for the benefit of the majority of train passengers who would never do more than glance out the window here at the border. I sat in the empty waiting room as the light grew long in the fields across the tracks. The train was late by over an hour, and it was after eleven before the train pulled in and I saw the border guards go out to do their duty. The guards had put a stamp on my train ticket that would allow me to take the train without needing to buy a new ticket. When I finally went to board the train, the conductor glanced at my ticket and said 'nyet', while trying to wave me away. Imagine my state of frustration. At that moment, one of the border guards I knew (I'm on a first-name basis with five or six of them) passed by, and I got him to explain the situation, and the conductor was forced to let me on. However, my ticket was for a sleeping carriage, but since all the sleeping carriages were full, the conductor gave me a seat to sit on for the twelve-hour overnight trip. She really didn't like me or my ticket, so she gave me the seat next to the bathroom, rather smelly on a Russian train, and noisy, since people were going in and out of it all through the night. The train arrived in Moscow in the morning, with the chorus of Moscow's theme song playing over the loudspeakers - 'Moscow, greatest in all Russia'. Welcome home, indeed.