…another city, another hostel. One of the joys of interrailing is going to bed in one country and waking up in another.

With no internal borders in the EU it doesn’t necessarily feel like another country, until you realise that you can no longer read the signs at the station. On the other hand, no borders means no rude awakenings in the middle of the night – and sadly no passport stamps.

I had no time to be philosophical about my arrival in Bratislava, though. The train came in at 5.35 in the morning, and since it was continuing to Budapest, there was no question of lingering before getting up and getting out. Arriving at a locked hostel shortly before six, you never know what you’re going to meet: a friendly and welcoming hostel worker or a grumpy night watchman with whom you share no language – or any other kind of understanding.
How wonderful then to be greeted – without even ringing a bell – with a wide smile and the friendly question: “Are you really early or really late?” Having established that I was indeed “relly early”, I was let in, given a tour of the facilities and offered to crash on the couch for however long I needed to catch up on the sleep deprivation that resulted from being woken just after five. Long before my room was availabe, the showers were at my disposal, and feeling refreshed I headed into town, in search of coffee and the ubiquitous free walking tour. Thanks to Downtown Backpackers for a warm welcome to one of Europe’s tiny toy capitals.