Trekking in the Tatra

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly where my urge to explore the world comes from. Sure, I spend my days studying a foreign language, learning about the Germanic way of life and delving into its literature and culture. And yes, I moved 250 miles away from my home in the south to experience life in a bustling northern city. Hey, I even have the German word for  Wanderlust tattooed on my foot, and spend my free time devouring travel guides and soaking up stunning photography of far off lands.  So you could say that my everyday life revolves exploring the unknown, discovering new places and trying new things. But my wanderlust was just as strong before I took up a German degree at the University of Manchester.

I have been travelling abroad on family holidays all over Europe since the age of five, from the Austrian Tyrol to Amsterdam, but as a family we never strayed far from the places in the travel brochure. The trip that really sparked a desire to get off the beaten track and to use a holiday to expose yourself to incredible experiences and not just for relaxation, was when I went mountain walking in Slovenia’s Tatras.

When I signed up to the 10 day trip to Slovakia and Hungary with my explorer scout group I was so excited. The itinerary looked fantastic. Sightseeing in Budapest. Great. Staying in a small Slovakian town. Cool/ why not. Visiting a water park and thermal spa. Brilliant. There was just thing that I wasn't exactly overjoyed at the thought of. Three days of hiking in the mountains. I was fourteen at the time and the typical lazy teenager. I avoided exercise like commuters avoid conversation on the tube, and I’d been on my P.E teacher’s black list all year. The thought of spending 3 days in the heat, sweaty and out of breath didn't exactly fill me with joy, yet it turned out to be my favourite and most memorable aspect of the trip.  Still, it wasn't something I fell in love with instantly.

I remember waking up the morning of our first hike, with little energy and far less motivation. We had arrived at the hostel at one in the morning and had to be up at seven for an eight o clock start. The sun was already drying off the dew on the grass outside and we were repeatedly told to put sun cream on before we left. The weather forecast had predicted a meltingly hot day and I groaned inwardly. I was not good with the heat at the best of times. But a whole day's hiking in it was my idea of hell.

The first hour of the hike was hard work. The steep incline from the off left my thighs burning and my throat dry. Why was I doing this again? I was supposed to be on holiday, yet this was not enjoyable. Why had I thought this trip would be a good idea? I hated exercise. But as the first hour passed my body adapted to the climb. The panting eased and I felt more strength in my leg muscles than pain. I began to enjoy myself and pushed to see how quickly I could get up the huge rocks that were arranged like a spiral staircase up the mountain path. And whenever I stopped to get my breath back I was rewarded with the intoxicating view of apple green fields stretching for miles. The higher I climbed the more spectacular the view became. I was beginning to see what all the fuss was about.

Woo look I made it up a mountain.

The great thing about walking the Tatras is that the terrain changes regularly. Just as your skin is starting to prickle from exposure to the sun the path heads into a forest and the cool air soothes the redness, whilst your eyes are captivated by the sight of waterfalls and countless types of flora and fauna. Just as you need warming up the forest fizzles out and you’re in the open air again. Because of this the landscape never becomes boring or “like the rest of walk”. You find yourself constantly looking around and taking it all in. One of my most vivid memories was walking along a path in the early evening, which on one side gave way to a stunning view of the forest below, and stretched so far that I could see pancake flat fields and splatterings of tiny houses in the distance. I remember asking to stop for a few seconds. Not because I was tired, or in pain, but because I just wanted to stop and appreciate what was in front of me. I had no idea that all this stunning scenery was hidden away in a former member of the eastern bloc.

Totally loving that shit. 

The best views though, were saved for the top of the mountains. There is nothing quite like hauling your exhausted little body up the last few rocks to the peak, your head pulsating, your entire body red hot, only to be greeted with the best reward you could think of. A 360 degree view of nature at its finest: mountains and grey skies one way, green fields and sunshine the other. When you discover the mist around you is in fact clouds you realise how high you are, you feel suddenly powerful, omniscient. I remember standing up on my now very shaky legs and feeling as if I was one of the gods on mount Olympus. The ice cold wind cooled my burning skin and I began to find a new found love of the great outdoors.

However not all of the trek felt as incredible and thought provoking as that moment. Although most people can’t wait to get back down again, the walk down the mountain is far less enjoyable than the walk up.  By now you’re tired, your feet are sore and each time your sole makes contact with the ground you feel a hot pain at impact, your feet and calves become more inflamed, your back starts to hurt and your shoulders sting from the heavy weight of your rucksack. Soon, your sugar levels become low and your legs feel more and more like jelly. At this point even tripping is enough to throw you over the edge. I was close to tears at times. I just wanted to stop, but was urged to keep going even though I was running on empty. I wanted an easy solution, but there wasn’t one. The only way off this mountain was by foot. I’d just have to grin and bear the pain, the cold and damp, and the gnawing hunger in my stomach. For another three hours.

Throughout the hike, I felt that I’d finally reached my limit, only to keep going and realise that I still had more in me. My tolerance level gradually rose with each step and I discovered that I was capable of a lot more than I thought. Before this trip, I’d been the type of person that wouldn’t do something if they thought it might be a bit difficult or uncomfortable, and wished for constant plain sailing. But the reward of exerting yourself and pushing yourself to the limits hit me that day when we finally reached the restaurant that marked the last part of the hike, and of course lunch. My friend and I were so hungry (we’d had no time to buy snacks and the only food we’d had that day was a tiny plate of sausage and bread at the overnight stay in a mountain hostel) that the sight of the restaurant was like a mirage in the desert. I was so weak that I could barely get up the steps or hold a knife and fork, but the sensation of just being able to sit down in the warm, after a day of exposure to the elements, and eat something warm and filling was incredible. When I’d refuelled and finally come back to my senses, I thought about what I had just done and felt a huge rush of adrenaline. I had achieved something I didn’t think I could do, and had had the most incredible adventure at the same time.

 It was there, in that little Slovakian restaurant on a rainy summer afternoon, that my definition of a holiday changed. It’s not just about getting away for a week and relaxing somewhere else, it’s about throwing yourself into new experiences and seeing where your limits could take you. Now when I book plane tickets I plan for adventures, rather than for days on a sun lounger. I’ve firmly got the bug to see as much of the world as I can, and do as much as possible, regardless of how demanding it is, both in everyday life and on holiday. My whole perspective shifted that day, and to think that all it took was pair of hiking boots and some fresh air.