YOU KNOW YOU ARE IN SLOVAKIA WHEN A GUY GIVES YOU A RIDE IN EXCHANGE FOR SCRAP IRON

When somebody says to you “I have three houses, come visit me” it’s usually a good idea to consider the offer. If that somebody has three houses in a remote region of a former communist state it is a definite yes. You may have to shit in an outhouse, eat three times your body weight in cheese and be ultimately be deleted from Facebook by your (enthusiastic) but ineffably insane host, but it’ll assuredly be a tit tweaking, face slap of an adventure. Slovakia is the perfect idyll for me; alternately an innocent maiden beckoning you through natural orchards for flushed cheeked frolicking and a boob-tubed trashy whore of mish mashed cultural detritus who wants to bang you to a soundtrack of 80s ballads. Incidentally - it’s not that Slovakia is stuck in the 80s, it’s not, it just politely refuses to acknowledge the proceeding decades. That suits me fine. So shoulder pads please lets have a Slovakian adventure: