June 18, 2005

The Mystery of the Penzion Ivana

I left the paradise city of Levoca to head for another historical village much further North, called Bardejov. Little did I know that I was going to have the most puzzling experience there.

The morning started on an ordinary but pleasant note. Mrs. Dubecky, my landlady, was up. She would not let me leave for the bus station before having one of her home made rolls and a cup of coffee. She and I sat down at the kitchen table and with her son's itinerary in hand, after some calculations involving the time difference between Australia and Slovakia, we came to the brilliant conclusion that Vladimir would have just arrived in Sydney. Mrs. Dubecky was beside herself with joy. She was sparkling with anticipation. Vladimir would call soon. In her mirth, she pushed a whole plate of rolls towards me but I declined, having to go.

Plate of sweet rolls...my mouth is watering!

Arrival in Bardejov

The bus journey was uneventful. Once again I travelled through post card like countryside, dotted with pretty, colourful villages. Upon arriving in Bardejov, I walked to the main square, which, to my surprise was quite

Town Hall Square, once an ancient market place, now is towered by the Gothic Church of St. Aegidius

deserted. I lay down in the sun on a bench facing the quaint town hall. It had the tiniest windows you could imagine, and perched on the roof, for centuries on guard stood a Middle Age life-size tin soldier.

Feeling perfectly content, I was waiting for the tourist office to open.

I had no doubts that getting a room would be just as easy as it had been in Levoca. At one o'clock sharp, I walked into the Tourist Office. The young woman in charge spoke enough English to help me. After I had explained I did not want a hotel but a room in a private home, she took out a long list of "privats". They were all quite expensive compared to what I had paid before, (maybe because Bardejov is a UNESCO classified site), and were all quite far from the town center. She called the one closest to the main square but unfortunately it was full. I was not sure what to do next when all of a sudden she exclaimed "Penzion Ivana". So I asked her to call.

The place was not on her printed catalogue. While she retrieved the info from the computer, she explained that it was a cheaper pension, right behind the bus station. On her screen the rooms cost 500 crowns, still a little steep for me. However, I could not be too choosy if I wanted to be close to the main square. There was one available room.

500 Sk note - Ludovit Stur, Slovak leader from 19th century.

I could hear the high pitched voice of a woman speaking at the other end. She wanted to how many nights it would be for, my name, my nationality and said that she would be waiting for me. I was relieved; the problem was solved. All I needed to do was to go there, check in, drop my pack and then enjoy exploring the city. I set off, retracing my steps towards the bus station. It was quite hot and I was looking forward to not having to lug my pack on wheels over the cobble stoned streets anymore. In my head, I was even considering trying to negotiate a bit of a deal with Mistress Ivana. I saw a sign saying, "PENZION IVANA 80 Meters" after I passed the bus station. I was getting closer.

There it was, in front of me. The cutest little inn, painted bright yellow. with geraniums at the windows. The house was silent, though, all the windows closed, except for a tiny one on the side, at the very top. No matter someone was waiting for me. I rang the bell. A couple of minutes passed. Nobody answered. Surprised, I rang again louder and longer. Still no sign of life inside. That was weird; the lady from the Tourist office had called, confirmed that I would be arriving shortly. It had taken me no longer than the expected 10 minutes to reach the place.

I rang again several times, knocked on the door and the windows, bellowed out... to no avail. Nobody was answering the door! Using my "teacher who is getting impatient voice", I boomed using full lung capacity, "Is anybody there?" Still no answer. A pretty blond woman came out of a flower kiosk across the street looking at me inquiringly. My stentorian voice must have scared her out of her wits. "Iz zere a probleme, Can I help you?", she added smiling. I handed her the reservation from the Tourist Office, explaining the situation as clearly as I could in simple English. She nodded her head, frankly puzzled and said: "Prosim, one momant."

She ran back to her kiosk to lock it, came back and started ringing the bell. Then she pounded on all the doors, tapped the windows and called out in Slovak with no more success than I. She pointed to the car parked on the side. Somebody should be home. Suddenly she jumped. We both thought that we had seen the top window curtain move a little. Was somebody watching us from inside? How strange. The flower vendor ran to the side and called out. No response. She threw some pebbles lightly against the opened window. No reaction. No sign of life.

The girl flapping her arms helplessly, exclaimed "I am sorrrry. I not understand." I was sorry too. I was beginning to feel, hot, tired and cranky. I had no idea what to do next.

I asked: "Do you know the people of this penzion?" "No, I have never seen them", she replied. More and more mysterious and she worked just across the street from them. I thanked her for her kindness. She went back to her flowers.

I looked at this "damned" house. It was pretty, well kept but for some reason the owner "Ivana" had decided not to let me in. Maybe she did not like my nationality, my gender or my looks but then why did she make arrangements with the Tourist Office?

1 Sk, 2 Sk, 5 Sk, 10 Sk coins. The 1 Sk coin shows a sculpture of Madonna from Master Paul's altar in Levoca (1507-1518)

All of a sudden, Í had an idea. I was going to call this elusive pension owner from the phone booth nearby and get to the bottom of this rigmarole! The phone number was on the sign by the door. I copied it, got all my loose change ready. I surmised that I had enough money for a two minute conversation.

I dialed. The number rang for a long time. It looked like there was nobody in...then abruptly, I got through. A high pitched voice answered "Prosim?" Quickly, I said as concisely as I could, mixing languages and in the most urgent tone. "Hello I am tourist Canada from Tourist Office. Reservacion Zimmer. Name Roberts waiting outside. Prosim open door" The lady replied something in Slovak in a slow, fluted voice. Her speech was cut off abruptly. I had run out of crowns! I walked back to the pension, convinced that this time I would be let in. I rang the bell, waited, ran the bell again. Nothing. I called out. Nothing!

The flower vendor seeing that I was back, walked once more towards me. I explained that I had phoned, that someone had answered me but that I had not been able to communicate well. Would she mind calling again and talking on my behalf? I showed her a 100 crown note, telling her that I had no more change.

100 Sk note - detail of sculpture from Master Paul's altar in Levoca.

She indicated that I should not worry and took out her cell. Once again the phone ran for a long time. Finally the high pitched voice answered. A conversation went on in Slovak for a good five minutes between the two. I could guess nothing from the face and the mimics of the flower seller. She kept saying "Dobre, dobre, dobre", which I think means okay. Then she hung, looked at me and told me: "She open door now".

At last! We waited a couple of minutes. Nothing. Both exasperated, we ran the bell, knocked, called out. Total silence. I was flabbergasted and at the same time, I was beginning to think that it may not be a good idea to stay in a household where people behaved in such an incomprehensible manner. Finally, I asked the girl. "What did Ivana say on the telephone? Why does she not answer the bell? What is going on?" "I not know", the girl said. "I not understand. Sorry, I cannot help. Dovidenia" She ran back to her kiosk, locked it and walked away.

Epilogue:

Needless to say that I gave up. I started walking around again, lugging my pack, feeling a little sorry for myself. I found accommodation for an exorbitant price. However I made the most of my luxurious room with a jacuzzi bath and a 24 channel TV.

I decided to go back to the Tourist Office to let them know about the strange occurrence at the Penzion Ivana. When I told the girl my story, she had her eyes popping out. She turned red, picked up the phone and called Ivana. She conversed with her a while, getting more and more crimson in the process.

Upon hanging up, she apologized profusely. I insisted that it was not her fault and asked why Ivana had not answered the door. Like the flower seller, she looked at me blankly and said that she had no idea. I am bemused to this day about what happened and why it happened.

On to Bratislava...