Sue and I took the night train to Poprad from Prague. That wasn’t a great idea. This was 1995. It wasn’t all that long after the collapse of communism. We shared a sleeper carriage with four Russian soldiers with smelly feet and loud snores. We didn’t sleep much. We disembarked at dawn in Poprad ... a sleepy, godforsaken, city in the foothills of the Tatras. Much of Poprad was pretty grim. Yet we were somehow charmed by the place. (Many years later I would set the first few chapters of my novel, ‘The Many Lives of Heloise Starchild,’ here. That’s a plug by the way.) No one spoke any English. Or French. We ordered meals in cafés by gesturing for food and eating whatever came. Sue found this unspoiled neighbourhood (the one in the photographs) in a guide book. We walked around, took two snapshots (these) and got a local bus back to the station.
what3words /// The simplest way to talk about location
What3Words:
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