The Rugby Express

The Piešťany lads achieved another milestone last Saturday by attending the Žilina Beach Rugby tournament. The day (and night) was a great success and we all had great fun mingling with fellow rugby players from Žilina and Bratislava.

We had a very small contingent, but we can be proud of each and every one of them: Adam (a captain, a winner), Jakub (consistent as ever), ‘bigfoot’ Michal (who didn’t shy away from any tackle), David and Martin (the quick ones), plus ‘old’ James who was pleased to share valuable playing time with the youngest side in Slovakia. Also present was big Dominik Gulás, who was ruled out by an injury.

After a placid train journey to Žilina, we wisely decided to share a taxi to the venue, a beach club close to the Váh river. Once there, the organisers informed us that two teams hadn’t turned up so, after a quick reshuffle (they must be used to this in Slovakia), they decided to do a 4-a-side tournament with 5 teams: two from hosts Žilina (Bears and Beers) and two from Slovan Bratislava, plus RUC Piešťany. That meant playing four games under immense heat. Better than the eight initially scheduled, I guess.

As it turned out, our first match was the best one. There was great handling –hardly a dropped pass in the first few minutes-, committed tackles and, thanks to the speed and skill of our youngsters, a handful of tries. I for one was out of breath after one minute, time enough to swallow some sand and choke my lungs. The heat was excruciating and, as we only had two replacements, we couldn’t wait to get off the sand to catch some air and drinks. Despite the exhaustion, we won the first game due to good teamwork, fitness and talent.

From the second game onwards, we had an extra couple of guys provided by the other teams, who kept praising our quick, clean and brave performance and were always happy to give us a compliment and a tip. In this respect, I should mention Michal Mihalík who, on and off the field, kept giving us positive and constructive feedback.

The second game, with the help of a couple of ‘Bears’, finished in a draw, with David and Martin getting the best part of the tries. In the end, everyone scored a try except Michal the gentle giant –who was an exceptional tackler, not afraid of anyone- and myself although, in my defence, I have to say I did provide quite a few assists, the best one being a long ball that perfectly fell into David’s hands for him to score. I could try it again 100 times and it wouldn’t work. That was more satisfying than any ball I could cross the line with. But let’s not get carried away!

After a win and a draw, we felt confident and we were well aware of our strengths. However, game 3 caught us off guard and by the time we woke up, we had already conceded a few sloppy tries. But still there were good contributions from our players who never gave up and were not afraid of tackling and running at big men. Bravo.

Match 4 saw us fall again but we were always competitive. Special mention goes to David who got a bunch of tries, one generously gifted by Mihalík, a true gentleman. We also have to thank the Bears and Slovan players who briefly joined our ranks and gave us extra legs on a hot summer day.

After these matches of 5 minutes per half, we all agreed to call it a day and avoid any play-offs. After the competition –all in a very friendly spirit-, we picked up our medals, attended the press, had a nice gulaš lunch and finished it off with a swim in the nearby Váh, a personal moment enjoyed by the Piešťany players.

A delay with the train back home turned in our favour as we were forced to mingle with the other teams. Martin a.k.a. ‘Casanova’ always kept an eye on the pretty girls, much to the amusement of Adam and myself. Meanwhile, Michal a.k.a. ‘Bigfoot’ helped the groundsman out with repositioning the volleyball nets on the pitch.

The 100 minute delay meant we got to the station with enough time to improvise a touch-rugby clinic in the underpass. That was the beginning of the camaraderie with the Slovan Bratislava crew, who payed for our taxi and ushered us on to the train.

The rugby atmosphere would continue on the train restaurant, where else if not? We took over the whole wagon and, no sooner had we sat down, bottles of beer and shots of stronger stuff were circulating faster than the train itself. Martin was well away with the partygoers on one table while nearby most of the lads were devotedly listening to Mihalík’s discourse on, I guess, rugby. I, instead, was left speaking in Slovakenglish with a few Moravians who had spent the delay soaking up beers and borovičkas served by a happy-go-lucky waiter who ended his shift drinking with the rugby lot. Typical rugby! Typical Slovakia!

We just made it off the train in time after saying a long goodbye to our newfound friends, who had showed the lads that a game of rugby doesn’t just end after the final whistle. I can only imagine the state in which they would get to Bratislava but you can rest assured that our responsible and clean-living lads arrived home in one piece. At least I hope so!

Panelák

Ni iglesias, ni plazas, ni ayuntamientos. Si hay un elemento arquitectónico común en todas las ciudades de la antigua Checoslovaquia, estos son los ‘panelák’. Se trata de bloques de pisos de hormigón que se construyeron en la posguerra como respuesta a la falta de vivienda y a la utopía de crear una sociedad igualitaria. Se construyeron de forma rápida, con material barato y sacrificando la estética por la funcionalidad.

En la República Checa, uno de cada tres ciudadanos vive o ha vivido en uno de estos horrendos bloques que afean las ciudades y yacen como una herencia muy visible del comunismo, por mucho que hoy en día se hayan pintado de colores vivos.

Por fuera, los ‘panelák’ se caracterizan por su monstruoso tamaño y su sombría uniformidad soviética. Por dentro, contienen pequeños habitáculos que no distan para nada de nuestra vida moderna forjada a golpe de Ikea.

En Bratislava, la mayoría de la población se concentra en Petržalka, donde se encuentra la mayor aglomeración de ‘panelák’ de Chequia y Eslovaquia. Allí sobreviven, como monumento al siniestro poder del comunismo y como puerta de entrada a todo aquél que llega desde Viena.

Sin embargo, y a diferencia de las ciudades-dormitorio occidentales, asociadas con inmigración, pobreza y delincuencia, los ‘panelák’ eslovacos son lugares tranquilos donde habita la clase media. En época comunista, estos bloques uniformes rodeados de espacios verdes podían albergar tranquilamente a un abogado, un médico, un conductor de autobús o un ex presidiario.

La primera vez que tuve que rodear un ‘panelák’ fue en Nové Mesto nad Váhom, donde esperaba encontrarme a un carterista o un mendigo en cada esquina. Las calles están poco iluminadas y los bloques apenas permiten un respiro, pero la mayor amenaza que te puedes encontrar es un niño jugando a hockey con su padre o una señora paseando su perrito. Parece Bellvitge pero podría ser Les Corts.

La semana pasada visité Žilina, en el norte de Eslovaquia, una ciudad que conserva dos bonitas plazas y algunos edificios interesantes pese a una planificación urbanística realmente caótica. Allí tuve la oportunidad de visitar tres bloques de extrarradio: dos en el barrio de Solinky y uno en Vlčince, donde pasé la noche.

Los estrechos ascensores ejercen de máquina del tiempo hacia un pasado donde la denuncia podía ser el arma silencioso de un vecino envidioso. Nadie escapaba de un igualitarismo forzado por el temor y la sospecha. Ahora, por suerte, el uniformismo queda por fuera y cada uno decora y gestiona su casa a su imagen y semejanza. Algunos aún conservan el olor rancio del comunismo mientras otros se dejan seducir por el falso resplandor del euro. En cualquier caso, visitar un ‘panelák’ es un fascinante ejercicio de historia tan recomendable como pasar una tarde de cine viendo ‘La vida de los otros’ o ‘Goodbye Lenin’.

A nadie se le escapa la fealdad de estos paneles de hormigón que ponen a prueba aquello del determinismo geográfico. Los ‘panelák’ del siglo XXI se han maquillado con varias capas de chapa y pintura pero estas metrópolis de Lego multicolor permanecerán siempre como el símbolo de un fracaso. Económico, político y arquitectónico.