Off the Car Train, Up the Mountain

We unloaded the car at six, too early to do anything besides find a parking space in Poprad and walk up and down its single pretty street. After trying a succession of overpriced hotels, bored receptionists typing figures into calculators that were twice what we wanted to pay, we visited fake-folksy pensions in Spišká Sobota, then gave up and headed west into the mountains.

My first impression of Štrbské Pleso was awful. Stop-start traffic queued along the road into town, cars parked like supermarket trolleys at four quid a pop, building cranes and souvenir huts. Souvenir huts, souvenir huts, souvenir huts. The path was crammed all the way to Popradkse Pleso, like a crowd walking to a football match. But in the woods, for a moment or two, we were absolutely alone. It was idyllic.