To start this lens off, here is the tale of where my love affair with Slovakia began. 'First Encounter' is one of the letters included in 'Letters from Slovakia', available to buy for only $15.99.

First Encounter

It was during a sunny morning in the summer of 1997, whilst trawling through a list of embassies in London, that I first came across Slovakia.

I had just started a job selling a web-based tourism product and having exhausted all of the National Tourist boards, I was now working my way through a list of embassies, attempting to set up sales meetings.

Up until that day, I had only ever heard about Slovakia in the context of Czechoslovakia, the country in Eastern Europe that was hard to pronounce and almost impossible to spell. Of course I had heard of the Czech Republic, in fact I had called the Czech Embassy the day before trying to arrange a meeting. However, in my ignorance, I had thought that Czechoslovakia had just decided to change its name to the Czech Republic following the fall of Communism, or perhaps to make it easier on children around the world taking their geography exams. I had no idea at this point that Czechoslovakia had actually been made up from two unique nations that had peacefully gone their separate ways four years earlier.

My first reaction on discovering this new country was to feel quite pleased. Not because Slovakia had finally got its independence after a thousand years of waiting, but because the Czech embassy hadn't agreed to a sales meeting, and so this was like a second bite at the cherry.

About two months later, I found myself walking down Kensington Palace Road on my way to the Slovak Embassy, and in my hand was a ticket for the Ambassadorial Champagne Reception, to celebrate Slovak Day.

You see, not only had I managed to get a sales meeting that morning when I phoned up the Embassy, but when I went there a week later I ended up having a two hour conversation with the Commercial councilor about Slovakia, the Gabcikovo Dam and whether the country was ever likely to join the European Union.

They didn't buy the product by the way, but then I was never meant to be a salesman and I changed jobs quite soon after. Then a couple of weeks later I received an invitation to Slovak Day at the Embassy.

What happened at the Slovak Day Reception will be the subject of a future "Letter from Slovakia", but needless to say I had a great time. And the invitations didn't end there! I continued to receive letters from the Embassy for over a year, inviting me to art exhibitions, poetry recitals, craft fairs, etc., which were all taking place at the Embassy.

And it was thanks to the Slovak Embassy, that when I met my Slovak wife-to-be for the first time at a party the following March, I was able to give her the perfect chat up line.

'Do you fancy going to a classical concert at the Slovak Embassy, on Saturday?'

The Journey from Hell is one of the letters included in 'Letters from Slovakia', available to buy for only $15.99.

The Journey from Hell

My first visit to Slovakia was in 1998, to spend Christmas and New Year with my wife-to-be's family. Having recently purchased our first house, and so watching our pennies somewhat, we made the trek half way across Europe by coach instead of by plane.

We left Dover on the morning of the 22nd December, finally arriving in Brno, Czech Republic, at midday on the 23rd December. The journey was pretty much as you would expect a 30-hour coach journey to be. Awful.

Between us we had about 7 items of hand luggage (one of which belonged to me), which we squeezed into the luggage rack above our heads, in the space reserved for our legs, and anywhere else we could find. One of the bags (the Christmas presents bag), which just couldn't fit anywhere else, took up half of my wife's seat. This basically meant that we had to endure a 30-hour journey sharing one and a half seat's worth of space and with no legroom whatsoever. Worse still, all of the videos, shown continuously throughout the night, were in Czech.

So even though I found myself in the seemingly envious position of being the only male onboard (with the exception of Vladimir and Boris, the coach drivers) cooped up with 40 stunningly attractive Czech and Slovak au pairs, all aged between 18 and 23, for over 30 hours - the journey was still pretty awful.

As bad as it was, nothing in the world could have prepared us for the second leg of our journey, the 5½-hour trip from Brno to Ruzomberok, in Slovakia.

Whilst queuing at Brno bus station (for 2½-hours) I hadn't really envisaged any problems in securing a seat on the 3:00pm coach to Ruzomberok, seeing as we were third in the queue. I was wrong. When the bus arrived, on time I hasten to add, it was exactly that a single decker bus (as opposed to a coach) and was full; completely, totally and utterly full to the brim. For some unknown reason the bus driver opened the doors when he arrived at the stop, though not to let anyone off and surely not to let anyone on.

I boldly pushed my way to the front and enquired of the driver when the next bus to Ruzomberok would be. What happened next was quite remarkable. On hearing of our plight of having to get to Slovakia before Christmas the driver got up from his seat and began to load our two suitcases and 8 items of hand luggage (my wife had bought some more presents in Brno) into the front of the bus. We ourselves got on, stood between our luggage, and before we knew it were on our way to Slovakia!

At the time, as we left Brno coach station, I remember feeling guilty and also rather sorry for the two people we had queue jumped (I am British after all) to get on this the last bus to Ruzomberok before Christmas. That guilt lasted all of ten minutes.

In the UK, or the States of course, it just wouldn't have happened. Safety laws just wouldn't have allowed it. There we were, on a bus with as many people standing as sitting, and that wasn't accounting for our luggage.

It wasn't long in to the journey, perhaps 20 minutes, when my legs began to ache. Standing fixed to the spot, boxed in and unable even to adjust my stance, I soon realised that I could be stuck like this for over 5 hours - there was just no way I'd be able to last that long!

Two suitcases, two food bags and a Christmas present holdall further up the bus stood my wife, seemingly non-plussed by our situation. Well I suppose at that point we had been standing for less than half an hour, and anyway it appeared that she had fashioned more space for herself between the bags and was able to vary her standing position from time to time.

During the next four and a half hours, of one of the worst travel experiences of my life, the bus must have stopped half a dozen times. To begin with I had logically seen this as my best chance of securing a seat. Yes, I had thought to myself, 20 people get off at Trencin, and so 20 standing people are seated. So there I stood (obviously) and counted the seconds until we arrived at the first stop.

Unfortunately, as it turned out only 2 people got off at Trencin, only one of whom was up at my end of the bus and too far away for me to grab her seat. Instead, a middle-aged bearded fellow, 3 mini-rucksacks, a Christmas present bag and a handbag further up from my wife, grabbed the seat and barely before the poor old lady had vacated it. I could hear the bastard sigh a contented sigh as he lowered himself into his seat, like a king in his throne. I may have imagined it, but I'm quite sure I saw him smile at me, a smug sort of smile, which said 'I've joined the ranks of the seated classes, you standing person you!'

Deflated at the thought of standing until the next stop at Povazska Bystrica, I now found myself faced with another problem. The old lady, who wished to get off the bus, was now busy trying to squeeze past my wife, almost tripping over one of the mini-backpacks as she did so. The next, and more difficult, part of this improvised assault course would involve the old lady getting past two huge Samsonite suitcases and me. In short, this was just not going to happen. The only possible solution was that I, the two suitcases, a Christmas present bag and two food bags, would have to get off the bus to let the old lady off. That done, I would have to load them all back on again, hopefully before the driver drove off.

This process took about 5 minutes, although it did seem to take a lot longer under the glare of a bus full of Slovaks, who seemed to watch my every move. As the old lady finally got off the bus she took my hand and thanked me and then smiled a toothless grin. This made me feel really good, and I too smiled as I arranged the hand luggage back on the aisle of the bus, in a slightly different combination so as to create as much space for myself as possible. Then I went back for the suitcases. A man, seated at the front of the bus must have felt sorry for me, as he got up from his seat and helped me lift the two Samsonites that I had been struggling with. While he was up helping me, I half toyed with the idea of stealing his seat, but quickly dismissed this wicked thought from my mind, and then felt extremely guilty after such a show of kindness.

The bus stopped a further three times before I was finally able to get a seat (incidentally my wife was seated after the second stop at Povazska Bystrica). Two of those times I repeated my removal man act for the entertainment of the entire bus, aided once more by the kind hearted Slovak, who was called Jan by the way. Each time I thanked Jan for his help, he nodded his head and said 'okay, okay' as if to reassure me that it was no trouble at all. I liked Jan. In fact, I decided there and then that I would like Slovakia - and those first impressions have been proved right ever since.

Since that day, I have used Slovak public transport on numerous occasions in my journeying throughout the country. On the whole, the bus and train services are very good, far better than in the United Kingdom, and at a fair price too. In fact, that first journey was the only bad experience I have had in Slovakia, and you have to remember that had we been in England we wouldn't have been able to get on the bus in the first place and may have spent Christmas, on our own, in some cheap hotel.

The trip that my wife and I took from Banska Stiavnica to the beautiful little town of Kremnica last week, is a more typical example of a bus journey in Slovakia. It was a 30-mile trip, to the backdrop of stunning mountains, through the picturesque countryside where the unfortunately named "Hell" beer comes from. Ironically, that bus journey from Hell was an altogether more pleasant experience!

An Invitation to the Embassy is one of the letters included in 'Letters from Slovakia', available to buy for only $15.99.

An Invitation to the Embassy

"Champagne Sir?" said the waiter.

"Yes please," I replied, finishing off the glass I was holding and taking a new one from the tray.

I turned back round to the group of people I was with, and joined in the toast that someone had just proposed.

"Na Zdravie!" I said.

Well actually that's not exactly true. I probably said "Cheers!" or "Your health!" or even "Bottoms up!" But I definitely didn't say "Na Zdravie!"

You see, at the time I couldn't speak a word of Slovak. To be perfectly honest I hadn't realized that such a language existed, I probably thought our hosts were speaking Czech. Yet, despite my ignorance, there I was drinking champagne, eating caviar, and mixing with dignitaries, diplomats, ambassadors and MPs at a Champagne Reception inside the Slovak Embassy, in London.

A couple of weeks earlier, when I received the signed invitation from the Slovak Ambassador, it had come as a bit of a surprise. I had met with a Counselor from the Embassy a few months prior, to discuss an Online Tourist service that helped promote countries in the UK. Although, the Counselor was not very interested in the product, he was very hospitable and we ended up spending a further hour or so discussing politics, economics, tourism and culture.

It was then that I first learnt a little about the history and culture of Slovakia, and heard about the Gabcikovo Dam, the Tatra Mountains and the Velvet Divorce for the first time. As I went to leave, the Counselor presented me with a tourism pack about Slovakia, which included a colorful, illustrated book and a CD-ROM with many photos of the country. I remember leaving the Embassy thinking how charming and generous the people there had been. But even so, I was still very surprised when I received my invitation.

So there I was, a fortnight later dressed in my best suit and with the invitation in my inside pocket, walking through Kensington Palace Gardens, on my way to the Slovak Embassy. I had been to a number of meetings with Counselors from different countries over the few months prior to that day, so I was quite used to walking down the avenue of Embassies that runs parallel to Kensington Palace. However, on that day the journey from the Underground Station had been a little different.

It was only days after Diana, the Princess of Wales, and the newly crowned Queen of Hearts, had tragically died in a car crash in Paris. The whole of Kensington Palace Gardens had become a shrine to her, with mourners laying wreaths and sympathy cards everywhere. I could smell the flowers as I had left the Underground, but it still did not prepare me for the scene when I reached the palace gardens. It was like a sea of flowers. I don't think I had ever seen so many flowers. I too stood with the other mourners for a time, before finally continuing my journey to the Embassy.

As I walked down the avenue of Embassies and Consulates, I recognized a few of the beautiful buildings as ones where I had had meetings before. I passed the Royal Nepalese Embassy, the Russian Embassy, and many more. On and on I continued, until at last I reached the final two buildings on the street, which were in stark contrast to the others I had just passed. The first, a drab, gray affair, which looked like an old office block from the 60's, was in fact the Czech Embassy. Next to it, housed in an even more ordinary looking block, was my destination - the Embassy of the Slovak Republic.

Despite my longer than planned detour to Kensington Palace, I had still made it on time for the Champagne Reception. I fished out the invitation, from my inside pocket, and joined the queue. Once in the queue, it suddenly struck me what exactly was I doing there? I didn't know anyone, except for the Counselor and he might not even be there, I didn't know anything about Slovakia and it was the first time in my life that I had been to something like this before. I suddenly felt quite nervous. I quickly made a plan - once inside, head for the champagne!

The queue continued right through to the reception hall, where people were introduced one by one to the Ambassador and his wife. Having said hello to his Excellency, I went and got a glass of champagne and a plateful of nibbles, and went and looked for somewhere to stand. I spied an elderly, Asian gentleman, standing on his own and looking as uncomfortable as I felt, so I went and joined him.

I began to talk with the old man and discovered that he was actually from Vietnam. His English wasn't very good, and he seemed quite nervous, so he didn't say too much but occasionally nodded as I made comments about the weather and other equally uninteresting topics. I was just about to leave and get another glass of champagne, when we were suddenly joined by a group of people, one of whom said:

"Let me introduce you all to the Vietnamese Ambassador!"

I had been making small talk with an ambassador. Cool. I went and got another glass of champagne.

After a few glasses of the Bolly, I was beginning to feel more like networking, and I began to tag myself on to different groups of people. I ended up having an interesting conversation about Margaret Thatcher with a Conservative MP's wife, I spoke to a Minister from the island of Tonga, and also continued my conversation about Slovakia and the European Union with the Counselor I had met earlier that month. However, my most interesting encounter came near the end of the soiree, just as I was thinking of making a move.

On the far side of the room there was a small exhibition, presenting a number of sculptures by a Slovak artist. There was also an interesting, full color book on display with a history of the sculptor's work. It was the last of many that had been given out over the course of the evening. The artist was Arthur Fleischmann, who had recently died aged 94, in 1990, and I learned that he was in fact one of the most important sculptors of the twentieth century. I read that amongst many other famous pieces, he had been commissioned to do a sculpture of Queen Elizabeth II and also of Pope John Paul II.

As I was reading about Fleischmann, a middle-aged woman and a young man in his early twenties approached me. The lady, who appeared to be in her fifties, began to speak to me.

"I know it's awfully rude of me, but do you mind if I have that book you are reading," she said, "It's just that I had promised it to this young gentleman."

"No problem." I said, handing her the book.

She proceeded to write a message in the front of the book and then signed it. I noticed that she had signed it Joy Fleischmann.

By now I'd had enough glasses of champagne to ask this lady who she was. I reckoned that she could either be Fleischmann's daughter or granddaughter. I decided to err on the side of caution.

"Are you Arthur Fleischmann's granddaughter?" I asked.

"No, actually I was his wife," she replied. "I was quite young when I married him."

I continued to talk to Joy for awhile, and sensing that I was interested in her late husband's work, she promised to send me a signed copy of his book. A week later, my signed copy of the book about Arthur Fleischmann duly arrived in the post. To my surprise there was also a separate letter from the Slovak Embassy - an invitation to a classical concert at the Embassy.

I could get used to this, I thought.