Slovakia
As I write this I've been to 32 countries on this planet. But what constitutes "being" in a country? Usually it's obvious when you can count it as a real visit, even if you were only there for a day or less - like you've at least eaten at a restaurant, attended a conference, or played a gig inside its borders.
Really short visits get a little tricky but we can probably agree on the parameters. For example, if your plane lands in Lima and you had a two hour layover where you didn't leave the airport, then you haven't been to Peru. But if you had a slightly longer layover in Frankfurt during which you took the train into town for a bratwurst and beer and a short stroll by the river, then you've totally been to Germany.
While some may argue otherwise, I consider Slovakia as I country I've been to. Here's my whole story of my brief time traversing that country which happened during a two month music tour around Europe. Let me know if you disagree.
We played a gig in Ostrava, right inside the Czechia side of the border, and then had to haul ass, driving all night to get to Romania the next night by way of Slovakia and Hungary. Somehow I managed to get a couple winks in the back of the van before taking over the 4am-8am drive shift. We were already in Slovakia, not that I could really tell as outside the window was just highway and night sky.
These overnight shifts are pretty damn rough, but luckily I only needed enough brain power to follow Stefan driving the other van ahead of me. I managed to stay awake focusing on the insane dark and narrow mountain roads while crazy truckers passed us around blind curves. Macario also helped, riding shotgun and blasting all kinds of curious music on shuffle play. Soon enough the sun began to rise, slowly revealing an unexpectedly picturesque landscape of rolling hills and autumnal colors. Aw, this country is nice!
Eventually everybody was flat out asleep except for Stefan and I. There's a bit of other-worldly and perhaps misguided heroism one feels when doing these crazy driving shifts in foreign lands. But still everybody has limits. Stefan and I pulled over at some random turnout on the highway just to get out and absorb some crisp morning air to revive our beleaguered brain cells. We checked in with each other, exchanging words of solidarity and encouragement. I also took a moment to piss on Slovakian soil. Making my mark.
As the shift continued I started worrying too much about the upcoming border crossing into Hungary. This whole part of the world was new to me, and I had zero idea about how international politics played out around here. What's the procedure? Will the guards be assholes? What questions will be asked? What answers should I give? Do I need to wake everybody up and gather their passports? Or shall I let my comrades collect as much precious sleep as possible? The concern grew, and anxiety sure does keep me awake.
But I continued to follow Stefan toward the edge of the country and then.. without any fanfare we were in Hungary. Apparently nobody felt the need to patrol the border on this particular route today. Okay then! I felt a bit foolish about worrying so much, but that's how I roll.
By 8am I had enough with this shift and desperately needed some z's. It took about 25 minutes of honking and flashing lights and tailgating behind Stefan before he realized I wanted to pull over. Finally he got the message and we hit the next exit. As a reward for tackling that stretch I got to lay down in the one solitary sleeping area in the back. I put on my eye mask and crashed the fuck out…
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