Why my camera set-up now looks a lot like the one I started with

When I first got into photography, at the age of 11 or 12, my camera was a simple Panasonic point-and-shoot. It wasn’t fancy, but it was special—it could shoot underwater.

It didn’t take very long though, and the hoarding began. 

My parents bought me my first DSLR, and from there, I started accumulating lenses. First came the basic kit lenses, then the f/2.8s, and eventually my first 70-200mm. Before long, I had a fully stocked, incredibly heavy backpack that followed me everywhere.

Vacations, day trips, even casual outdoor activities turned into full-scale photo shoots. I was hungry to build a portfolio, to keep improving my skills, and I convinced myself that having all this equipment was essential to my growth. 

Now, 14 years later, I have two Sony mirrorless cameras, more than six lenses for them, two film cameras with their accompanying lenses, and, frankly, a lot of other stuff.

Carrying all that gear at all times simply isn’t feasible anymore. Sure, I tried, but the effort became exhausting—and increasingly unnecessary.

The camera gear I used to carry around, even outside work.

You might be wondering: Why don’t you just use your phone? And to be fair, I do use my phone. But there are limits. For starters, my iPhone’s camera lens is too wide, and I don’t have the Pro model—it’s too expensive. 

Plus, as photographer Tony Northrup has so aptly explained, the megapixel claims on smartphones are mostly marketing hype. The resulting image quality often falls short, even for smaller prints, let alone when you try to crop or zoom in.

Then there’s the issue of software processing. Phone cameras flatten shadows and create an overprocessed HDR effect that eliminates the nuance I want in a photo. The results look artificial and, in my opinion, uninspiring.

So, I started brainstorming. Should I go back to compact digital cameras after a decade of avoiding them? Or perhaps pick up a compact film camera, so I’d always have a full-frame alternative on me?

The film option was tempting, but finding a reliable compact film camera proved nearly impossible. Most are over 30 years old, expensive, and prone to breaking down. I had my eye on the Nikon L35 AF, but I just couldn’t justify the cost. Frustration set in.

Then, while watching YouTube, I came across the Canon G10. It was a revelation. Unlike today’s cameras with CMOS sensors, this little workhorse features a CCD sensor, which gives images a film-like quality. Why?

Shot with Canon g10.

Partly, it’s because of the sensor itself. But more importantly, it’s the “color science” baked into the camera by its engineers. 

From what I’ve learned, older digital cameras often used film stock colors as a reference point when calibrating their image processing. As a result, the G10 produces images with a richness and character that are hard to replicate with modern gear.

The colors are beautiful—vivid, contrasty, yet just imperfect enough to feel authentic. The smooth grain adds an analog-like quality that ties everything together.

The Canon G10 also looks great. Its tough design, complete with a little viewfinder (which is almost useless, but charming), gives it a subtle rangefinder aesthetic. It’s built like a tank and has a sharp lens to match. 

My Canon g10.

Initially, I didn’t love the fact that it came with a zoom lens—I thought I’d prefer a fixed focal length—but the zoom has proven surprisingly useful, and I’ve grown to appreciate it.

What I love most, though, is how unassuming this camera is. When I used to shoot with my professional gear, people would often stare or act guarded around me. On the street, I felt like I stood out—almost like a threat. But with the G10, I’m invisible. 

People assume I’m just a tourist, and that anonymity is a superpower. It’s like wearing an invisibility cloak.

Another unexpected perk? With the G10, I feel free to take "imperfect" photos. With my professional cameras, I’ve always felt this pressure to make every shot exceptional. But the G10 allows me to shoot without overthinking, much like I would with my phone. This creative freedom is incredibly liberating.

Shot with Canon g10.

Last but not least, the G10 is unbelievably portable. Its lens folds completely into the body when powered off, making it pocket-friendly. I can always have it with me, but without the back and shoulder pain of lugging around a big DSLR or mirrorless setup. That alone brings me peace of mind—knowing I have a camera on me without being physically burdened.

Don’t get me wrong, I still use all my cameras. My Sony gear is for professional work, and my Minolta film cameras are for when I have the time to slow down and immerse myself in the creative process. But for everything else—for the everyday moments when inspiration strikes unexpectedly—the Canon G10 has been a game-changer. This balance has done wonders for my mental health, and I finally feel at ease with the gear I carry.

Photography is Truly an Art Like No Other

I recently went on a reporting mission to capture the story of tugboats in the port of Hamburg. Standing on a deck, I attempted to photograph the crew's engineer through a cabin window. The shiny waves reflecting off the glass, bathed in sunset light, presented a surreal image in my viewfinder. It felt as though I was creating a collage. In that moment, I realized that photography truly is an art form unlike any other.

When a painter creates a beautiful painting, there are virtually no limits to what can be depicted. It is an incredibly skill-demanding craft, yet there is no limit to how abstract or realistic the piece can be. Everything can be adjusted, from perspective to colors, and from light to textures. Regardless of how realistic or fantastical the painting is, it's always a man-made creation. Photography is special because, although many of these aspects intuitively describe it, at the same time, they don't apply at all.

Photography is contradictory. It is human-made; the sensors are artificial, and the pictures are effectively just calculations programmed by humans. The same goes for film. There is nothing natural about this process; if there were, people would have been capturing photographs for centuries, but sadly, they weren't. Film and the chemistry needed to develop it are human-manufactured media. However, a photograph doesn't feel man-made. It feels like a piece of time and space you can hold.

In a way, photography is a process of looking at life as if it's a film, and you're trying to find the one frame that captures its essence. The search is obviously made harder by the fact that you cannot rewind the movie. It is also made difficult by the endless angles, focal lengths, and lighting conditions you must explore before finding the image you seek. Finding that photograph is akin to searching for gold: you know it must be somewhere; all you need to do is strike the vein. 

Returning to the painting metaphor, photography is similar to traditional art forms because you are essentially assembling visual elements (many of them known from painting) to capture a specific emotion, making the image visually interesting in a particular way. What makes photography special, though, is that you can't really produce any of these elements yourself, unless we delve into a debate about artificial light, where the argument can become complex. 

But if you're not in a studio, most of what you're working with was there before you picked up the camera. That's what's so fascinating. What adds to the mysteriousness of photography is that anyone can do it. You don't need a steady hand with a brush to find an image and click the shutter, yet good photographs are still so rare and unique.

Photography is simultaneously an act of creation and not. In essence, it's just walking around, zooming in and out with your lens, snatching a copy of spacetime that was already there, regardless of your intentions. But at the same time, when you're there with your camera, rotating it left and right, up and down, back and forth, until everything clicks, and you know you've captured 'the one,' you feel in your heart that you've created something from nothing. That feeling is the reason we're all so passionate about this strange, quirky, often contradictory form of art.

Paris: The Most Culture-Driven City You'll See

Over the past few weeks, I've been immersed in a journalism fellowship program in Hamburg. But I didn't have much time to settle there, because soon after arrival I departed to join the European Data Journalism Network meeting in Paris.

I had never been there, or to France for that matter, if I don't count Strasbourg (which some of my German friends claim isn't really French - yikes).

The excitement of visiting Paris was slightly marred by my friends and colleagues bombarding me with stories about the bed bug crisis in the city. My Instagram DMs were flooded with images of bugs crawling out of metro seats, making me quite nervous.

Arriving at Gare de l’Est, I took the subway towards the Notre Dame Cathedral.

When I reached my accommodation, it was raining heavily, and I was soaked. Fortunately, the room was cozy. It was part of the owner's apartment, decorated eclectically but artistically. Framed pictures and paintings covered every wall, and small statues adorned every table. I tread carefully with my backpack, fearing I might knock something over.

I had a day to myself before the meeting, so I embarked on the usual tourist explorations. The gloomy weather meant fewer crowds, which I found advantageous. As a colleague had mentioned, one usually has to jostle for space on Parisian streets, but not that day.

I strolled across St. Michael's Bridge, past the Palais de Justice, around the Louvre, enjoying the solitude. The streets reminded me of other Western European capitals, save for the parts of Germany that were bombed. But Paris's distinct character and the stylish attire of its residents impressed me. Wandering in my decade-old shirt and worn hat, I felt almost out of place.

Reaching the Eiffel Tower, I was greeted by a perfect sky. However, I realized that such iconic landmarks lose some of their wonders when you've seen them countless times in media; they become just another picture when you see them on your own.

After walking a considerable distance, I stopped at a bar for a glass of wine. My next destination was the Arc de Triomphe, which was impressive. However, I most enjoyed meandering through the streets and boulevards, soaking in the neon lights and the city's perpetual buzz.

The cultural vibrancy of Paris is no marketing exaggeration. Nearly every other street window revealed a gallery, a vintage bookstore, or a design fashion store, all active even after dark with receptions of various kinds.

While listening to the "Age Of Napoleon" podcast, I happened upon an episode about the Louvre's history just as I walked through its courtyard. However, a street saxophonist's beautiful melody in a nearby passage captivated me, and I paused to savor the moment.

Returning to my room, I checked for bed bugs (finding none), but mosquitoes disrupted my night. The room's old wooden windows didn't close properly, allowing mosquitoes to enter. I spent the night swatting them, eventually resorting to sleeping with a T-shirt wrapped around my head and earplugs to block out their buzzing. Despite my efforts, I woke up with mosquito bites, including one on my eyelid, making me look, as if I suffered from the elephant disease at the meeting.

The next day, I observed Paris awakening – bikers rushing by, businesspeople heading out, and city workers finishing their cleanup.

Our meeting at the Alternative Economiques newsroom was inspiring, and I felt like I was finally "playing with the big boys." The office had a classic, old-school magazine vibe, with books and a 90s-style decor.

After a fulfilling evening at a bar, I walked home, reflecting on Paris's resilience against negative media portrayals. The city was far more lively and atmospheric than expected, a pleasant surprise given my initial low expectations.

I walked out of my apartment early in the morning after killing a total of 6 mosquitoes. I managed to stop for breakfast at a café on my way to Alternative Économiques. I felt I just had the most French morning possible. The interior was quite old-school in a good way, and besides me, there was only one other customer: a man sipping coffee, listening to music with wired iPhone earphones, and reading Le Parisien.

We spent the day meeting various research labs such as the Paris School of Economics, the World Inequality Lab, and the European Tax Observatory.

Traveling extensively has made me fearless in new cities, allowing me to feel at home quickly. My last morning in Paris, after battling six mosquitoes, was quintessentially French – breakfast at an old-school café with only another patron for company.

Our day involved visiting various research labs, including the Paris School of Economics and the World Inequality Lab.

I had to leave to catch my train back to Hamburg. It happened to be one of the worst train rides in my life. Even though I paid for 1st class, 12 hours was just too much for me. And the worst part was the lights stayed on throughout the whole night, making it tough to sleep. I ended up finding a spot on a bench in the restaurant car, where I could lie down at least for an hour. I was happy to finally get to Hamburg that day and recharge.

Hamburg: This City Wears Character on Its Sleeve

Leaving Slovakia for Hamburg was like a breath of fresh air that I desperately needed. The recent election in Slovakia left me feeling disconnected from my own country, and the opportunity for a scholarship abroad couldn't have come at a better time. So, without hesitation, I packed my bags and hit the road to Germany. I was about to embark on a two-month adventure in a city I'd never visited before: Hamburg.

Upon arrival, I realized that I had booked myself into a hotel apartment, lacking a private kitchen and a washing machine. However, it did have something I cherished – a nearby bouldering place.

Hamburg, with its scenic beauty and character, immediately won me over. I'm a sucker for aimless walks and street photography and the city's unique blend of retro-futuristic charm, especially in its metro stations, caught my eye. This place, with its cute cafes and bakeries and street art could serve as an example for the term “city with character” in a picture dictionary.

My workspace, the RTL building in the city center, exuded a mid-'80s style inspired by ships in the nearby harbor across the Elbe River. The Science department at Stern Magazine welcomed me warmly when I first showed up, and my colleagues treated me exceptionally well.

I didn’t stay in town for long, as after just two days, I found myself on a train to Berlin. It was for a meeting from the International Journalism Programmes, which gave me and other reporters the opportunity to be in newsrooms abroad. I always had mixed feelings about Berlin. Everyone seemed to love it, except my best friend and me. I couldn't help but wonder if I was the problem. Berlin had always felt drug-ridden, but I was ready to give it another chance.

After a full day of work, I arrived for a meetup with fellow journalists from the IJP. I was there early, so I wandered into a dimly lit, divey pub nearby, an atmosphere I adored, and drank a cold one at the bar. Little did I know it was a legendary spot.

Dinner that night was at a slow-food restaurant owned by two Slovak ladies living in Berlin. After everyone left, I and my Slovak colleague Denisa stayed at the restaurant and drank wine, talking to the owners deep into the night. Our conversation ranged from politics to Slovak society. It was one of those surreal experiences, which seem too perfect to occur at random.

On Friday, we gathered at the newsroom of Table.Media. This unique platform in caught my attention, and I must admit, I'm genuinely fascinated by the media landscape in this country. The German market boasts a diverse readership to which all the different kinds of media projects can cater and stay afloat.

Table.Media operates primarily on a business-to-business model, which gives it the opportunity to sell subscriptions to their desks for a hefty sum, around 200 euros per section of the newspaper. However, companies are willing to pay this price because they receive high-end in-depth analyses on a wide range of topics.

A shot of harbour still from Hamburg.

Our visit to Table Media turned out to be an enlightening experience. I had the opportunity to give a presentation on the use of AI in journalism, and it went rather smoothly. Strangely enough, I discovered that I'm more outgoing and less microphone-shy when speaking in English, especially when addressing a small and friendly group of fellow journalists from the same program. It made for a relaxed and enjoyable atmosphere.

The day was packed with valuable interactions and networking opportunities. I made some promising contacts at Table.Media and gained insights into their operations.

We were fortunate enough to receive an invitation to Clemens's apartment for dinner. Clemens is the head of IJP, and played a pivotal role in facilitating our visit to Germany, where we had the chance to explore different newsrooms and gain valuable experience.

Rather than taking public transport to Clemens' place, I opted to walk. The 45-minute journey allowed me to delve deeper into the Berlin atmosphere and even capture some snapshots, though I won't claim they were award-winning photographs. Nonetheless, I relished the opportunity to be out and about, strolling through the city on my own.

Berlin ZOO entrance gate.

Badger in a store window in Berlin.

Once we arrived at Clemens's apartment, he treated us to pizza. It was a laid-back affair, with engaging conversations flowing effortlessly in his cozy, old-school apartment. To top it off, Clemens handed me a book that I've since started reading. What struck me as particularly intriguing was that the book's story began at the same U-Bahn station I had used to travel from our hotel, a funny coincidence that added to an already thoughtful present.

After our delightful discussions, a few of us decided we wanted another beer. We made our way to a nearby supermarket, grabbed a couple of cans, and settled down outside to enjoy our drinks. I couldn't help but appreciate the German tradition of drinking al fresco, immersing oneself in the street's vibrant atmosphere.

Speaking of traditions, I've developed a fondness for Germany's graffiti culture, despite its somewhat destructive nature. It's a testament to people's passion for expressing their opinions about everything that matters to them. I've even grown to admire the unique style of an artist named Paradox, although I'm well aware of his reputation as a conspiracy theorist. From an artistic perspective, he's calligraphy style undeniably distinctive.

Later, I stumbled upon a few of Paradox's writings and met up with my colleague Danisa. On our way to Kreuzberg, where we had a meeting planned, we spotted three or four of his pieces adorning nearby buildings. Naturally, I couldn't resist taking a closer look and capturing them through my lens. Kreuzberg, with its unmistakable hipster vibe, oozes character and exudes a lively ambiance.

Street art from Paradox.

However, one thing I've found annoying about Berlin is the prevalence of cash-only establishments. It's a minor inconvenience, but it's surprising in a modern metropolis.

Nevertheless, we decided to revisit the restaurant where we had dinner the previous night. Danisa had an interview lined up with the restaurant's owners, so I photographed them for her. Afterward, we embarked on a leisurely stroll, eventually finding ourselves in the city center.

During our walk, we stumbled upon a charming bookshop, where we whiled away some delightful moments. Berlin, despite its quirks, had a unique charm that was impossible to deny.

Back in Hamburg, I spent a relaxing Sunday exploring the city, though the city center felt a bit lifeless compared to its neighborhoods.

The workweek officially began, and I had meetings at the newspaper. Making contacts and arranging interviews proved challenging, but I also worked on smaller stories, like the one about a colossal World War Two bunker.

It's one of the largest in Germany. It's not just its appearance that is astonishing, but the transformation it's undergoing is noteworthy too. Nestled in the heart of St. Pauli, this imposing structure, built by forced laborers in 1942, has long been a somber reminder of a painful past. But now, it’s undergoing a radical metamorphosis. A park adorning the roof, and a tree walk spiraling around the building will soon become a permanent part of it. This bunker is not just changing form, but also the sentiments attached to it. A place that once evoked negative emotions is blossoming into a vibrant and welcoming space.

During the week, I had the opportunity to meet with a photo editor from Stern Magazine, who offered some constructive criticism about my photography. Although it was tough to hear, it motivated me to improve and develop my own style. I realized that having a solid artistic background in photography was essential, something I lacked but was determined to work on.

In a way, the critique was a blessing, reminding me that there's always room for growth and improvement. The thought of endless learning and progress was both exciting and exhausting, but it was a journey I was willing to undertake.

So there you have it, a snapshot of my life in Hamburg. It's been a whirlwind of experiences, challenges, and self-discovery, and I can't wait to see what the coming weeks will bring.

Check out more of my photos from Hamburg:

A Personal Travel Essay And Long Brewed Thoughts On The Nature Of America

I've returned to the US for the first time in five years, and I find myself reflecting on my complex relationship with this country. Growing up, I was captivated by shows on the Discovery Channel, like "American Chopper," "Overhaulin'," and "West Coast Customs." While I loved the cars, it was the brief cut-scene clips that intrigued me most. They seemed to provide real-life glimpses into America, albeit in fleeting moments that demanded close attention. These glimpses fueled my curiosity about what life in America really feels like.

At 15, my parents generously offered me the chance to spend a year in the United States as an exchange student, and I accepted without hesitation. At the time, anti-American sentiments were influencing me, and I became skeptical of what I would experience. Nevertheless, I remained curious and excited. That year proved pivotal for my personal development, shaping me in ways that are hard to articulate, but in the most positive sense. Interestingly, I left the United States with the realization that life there wasn't much different from life in Slovakia. While there must have been stark differences in the past, particularly when Slovakia was primarily rural or newly liberated from communism, by the time of my visit, the contrasts were subtle.

Toward the end of my exchange year, some aspects of America frustrated me, yet the country somehow got under my skin and stayed with me. I care about America, and as the years passed, I began to miss it.

Whether by intuition or luck, I met an American student in college and fell in love with her. This relationship allowed me to spend time in the U.S. again, and I was particularly drawn to New England. The nature and weather resonated with me, and I enjoyed visiting New York. I even considered pursuing my master's in the US and living there for a few years. However, I ultimately left with the feeling that, as an Eastern European, I might never truly fit in and would always have to work twice as hard to prove my worth to American society.

Subway joint in rural Georgia.

These experiences held immense value for me. I discovered my love for living in Europe, being close to my family, and enjoying the familiarity of my region. They often say there's no place like home, and I found that to be true.

I also realized that I would inevitably start to miss America and feel a need to return to understand it more deeply. Over and over again, this feeling would hit me, though I can't quite explain why. Additionally, there was a closure I sought. For years, I had wanted to go back and see my host families at least one more time. The thought of never seeing them again was unbearable, as I had formed a significant bond with them during an important part of my life. Whether or not they felt the same, I knew I would return.

Time flew by, and suddenly I realized that it had been 9 years since I left North Carolina, the place of my exchange year. The idea that 10 years had almost passed—a whole decade, nearly half my life—hit me hard. I knew I had to return before reaching that double-digit milestone. While it may have been an irrational reason, psychologically it felt essential. I was afraid that after 10 years, my host families might forget me, and my time with them would become a fleeting memory, like a dream forgotten by morning.

A cruise ship in Charleston, South Carolina.

So I took charge, found the dates and flights, and booked the tickets. My dad said he would join me, which was exciting but also nerve-wracking. I knew the responsibility of planning and executing the trip was on me, so I prepared better than for any other journey.

Finally, the date of departure arrived, and we were already enjoying beers before our 11 am flight. Airport time is relative and fluid, after all. Travelers flying in from Asia might think it's 5 pm, and what kind of traveler would I be if I couldn't embrace foreign mindsets? Both of us were a bit anxious about getting to the hotel from the airport, going through customs, and most importantly, how we would be welcomed.

Airport shuttle to our hotel in Atlanta.

When we reached the hotel, it was an underwhelming experience; it smelled and looked bad, but we were too tired to care.

We headed to the airport the very next day to rent our car, catching a hotel shuttle to the domestic terminal. Once there, we boarded a special Sky Train that connects the airport to the rental car center. Though I may describe it casually, it was a thrilling experience. We were at the busiest airport in the world, and the immense infrastructure matched its reputation. From the train, we could see enormous facilities resembling small towns, designed for washing cars and featuring a colossal gas station.

The rental car center essentially consisted of tall parking structures bustling with vehicles coming and going. After presenting our reservation, we were directed to a specific level. A representative instructed us to choose a car from section two, where we found about 25 options. We could simply hop into a car and drive off. Options included pickups, Mustangs, and Chargers, but we chose a standard sedan for its mileage and because, quite frankly, I was afraid of damaging one of the more expensive vehicles.

Atlanta airport rental car center.

We then headed onto a roughly five-lane road leading us out of Atlanta, awestruck by the impressive infrastructure, especially since we come from a country that has struggled to complete even a single cross-country highway.

As we drove through the South Carolina countryside, we were struck by the number of small and impoverished homes where we couldn't imagine living.

Arriving at Myrtle Beach, one of the most popular coastal areas in the US, we were exhausted from the six-hour drive. Reuniting with my first host family, who had moved since I've last seen them, felt as if I had seen them only a week earlier rather than after many years of minimal contact. The experience was more stressful for my dad, whose English is less practiced.

We went to the beach and just hung out. It felt so good to see everybody.

Fisherman at Myrtle Beach.

The next day, we took a trip to Charleston, one of the few places in America that have maintained their historic core. The buildings are still mostly original, dating to the 18th and 19th century, and the city has a really nice atmosphere.

The ride from Myrtle Beach took over two hours, and I ended up in the flip-out seat in the trunk of an old Acura SUV. It made me appreciate the little legroom you get in an economy seat on a flight. The "kids" (all adults of my age and older) and I were spotting cop cars, finding words around the highway in alphabetical order, doing anything to keep ourselves entertained along the drive.

It was a hot day, and since I'm on the larger side, I sweated like bacon on a grill. Thankfully, my host dad Nick had reserved a horse carriage ride around town. I normally don't go for these touristy attractions, but it was so warm that walking around the city for a long time would have been difficult. Poor Leo, the horse, had to endure the high temperatures.

Since there are many horse carriages in the town, an old machine produces a ball in one of three colors for every party that leaves the base for a tour. This ball determines the exact route the tour will take, so individual routes aren't crowded.

Leo the horse!

Our tour guide was an older lady who had divorced her husband early after retirement. To make some extra cash, she started leading tours in Charleston, and she's been at it for 17 years. We learned this within the first five minutes of an hour-long journey. Imagine how talkative she was!

Interestingly, among all the information she shared with us, there wasn't much talk about the town's black history. Most of the beautiful buildings we looked at were built by slaves for their owners. Charleston was also the biggest slave port in the US. Not too many slaves were actually sold in the city itself, but they were forced to march to other towns instead, to be sold at auction houses.

Even before arriving here, I knew that the key to understanding the South and its past is through studying slavery and black history. After a day at the beach, I took this agenda to Wilmington. A white supremacist coup had been orchestrated here in 1889, and a Pulitzer Prize-winning book named "The Wilmington Lie" has been published about the events. I'd listened to this book in the past and knew that I had to visit Wilmington.

North Carolina's port town is guarded by a WW2 warship, which gives the scenery an interesting aesthetic. We went on a tour of the ship before heading to the historic district.

Honestly, it was interesting. And although I find America's fascination with the army is deeply ideological, I just had to respect it, since the national security of my country depends on these guys.

World War Two ship docked in Wilmington.

We drove to the historic district of Wilmington and found a spot where we could sit in the shade and eat our lunch sandwiches.

I had a black history self-guided walking tour downloaded on my phone and used this opportunity to read the introduction. It read:

Slavery came to the area with permanent settlement in the mid-1720s. Many of the early immigrants came from the South Carolina Lowcountry and brought slaves with them as they established plantations along the Cape Fear. Few came directly from Africa. In addition to South Carolina, many arrived from the sugar plantations of the Caribbean. Many early enslaved Africans entering North Carolina marched from Norfolk and Charleston.

A British merchants garden from the 18th century.

Slave accommodation behind a slave owner's mansion.

During this time, rice was the region's second ranked commodity. Many of the early settlers from the Charleston area grew rice. To overcome Cape Fear's challenging terrain, sophisticated systems of canals and gates had to be designed and monitored to ensure the proper flooding and draining cycles needed for successful harvests. Rice has been grown in West Africa for 3 three thousand years and slave-traders targeted tribes from that area for their rice-growing expertise.

Following the various stops, we were led away from the easily recognizable buildings by the riverside. As excited as I was, I couldn't help but notice the difference in the condition of these historical sites. Most were either falling apart or didn't exist anymore. It's safe to say that buildings reflecting white history have been better maintained.

A historic building of an African American newspaper The WIlmington Journal.

Due to the intense heat and our parking ticket running out, we didn't have the chance to complete our tour. From what we saw, Wilmington was beautiful and certainly deserved a more thorough walkthrough. The old houses are extremely cute, and I can imagine that walking through the historic neighborhoods must be magical in the fall.

Once we returned to our car, I was sweltering from the heat. It didn't help that I was already sunburned from playing putt-putt and beach games the day before. We had to stop and get some cold beverages before continuing on to Raleigh.

By the way, when traveling through America, I'm always fascinated by the number of pickup trucks this nation seems to need. Some were not far off from monster trucks.

We made it all the way to Raleigh that day. As we went out for a walk, hoping to find dinner, a police drama unfolded in front of us. We didn't know the details, but we saw a man running not far from us, being chased by the police. We turned away and walked in the opposite direction, just in case someone opened fire. Soon after, a storm closed in on us, and we quickly jumped into one of the restaurants. I'm glad we did because a storm akin to a hurricane broke loose in the streets.

The restaurant felt warm and welcoming, despite its ominous name, Death and Taxes. It was a proper establishment, with the chef tasting every other dish before they were sent out. It was the first time I've experienced a restaurant like this in the U.S., as I was never able to afford it before.

Police cars parked in downtown Raleigh during a police chase.

We had a warm welcome from my second host family the next day in Huntersville, near Charlotte, NC and spent the night talking and playing cards. The following morning, I took my dad for a drive down my memory lane. We went to my old high school and walked around it. It was then that we realized how much more sports infrastructure American high schools have compared to Slovak ones. Several football fields, a great gymnasium and at least six tennis courts were far from the one outdated mixed purpose hall I enjoyed in Slovakia. 

After that, we headed to Lake Norman, just to see the water. We were disappointed to find that there was nowhere to have a cool drink, so we jumped in the car and drove to Birkdale Village. 

It's essentially a shopping center without a roof and with nicer decor. I remembered the times we used to hang out here in high school before going to the movies, simply because we had nowhere else to be - public spaces for pedestrians to enjoy are scarce in U.S. suburbs.

Movie theater in the Birkdale Village.

We strolled through the back alley, meant to be a nature trail, and I recalled going to Barnes & Noble for comic books, Chipotle for lunch, and leaving a funny message in Slovak at Which Wich. After walking around, we decided to head back home. I took a rest before it was time to head into the city.

Driving to Charlotte alone was nice. I played good music and reflected on how at home I felt there. It was as if I had never left. I raged about traffic jams, imagined living there full time, and remembered my trips to the city during my exchange program. I parked and waited for my friends. 

Meeting them was extraordinary. We sat down and talked for so long that the self-service restaurant worker had to call us out. After dinner, we strolled around the block, finding Charlotte surprisingly charming and vibrant, with a European feel.

An Ice cream joint in Charlotte.

The next day, it was time to show the city to my dad. We drove down and walked around Uptown. The most interesting part of the visit was an old French Quarter, tucked between a parking house and office buildings. An old barber approached us and explained that the passage, with tiles shipped from Italy, was built during The Great War and only eleven like it remain in the country. Sadly, a developer plans to turn the place upside down.

I met up with my friend Chris in the afternoon. We used to hang out at his house and play video games in high school. He's doing well now, with a good job and making good money, but I could sense his despair about the political situation in the country. "My vote doesn't mean anything, and I can't make any change here," he kept saying. Despite his high-end salary, desirable housing is still out of reach, and he finds suburban life bland. "I can go a whole day without talking to anyone."

The vintage passage in Charlotte.

The French Quarter in Charlotte.

It was an eye-opening look into the soul of young Americans. I sensed a strong distrust in the system and the way the country is governed from various people I met. My second host family, for instance, expressed distaste for both Trump and Biden. At the moment, it seems that there is no direction for the country that would satisfy everyone. The system feels old, unchanging, and out of reach for most people.

I felt a disconnect too. In some ways, the United States appears to be out of step with Europe. Simple things, like the failure to reduce plastic usage and recycle, stand out. I also noticed a lag in the transition to electric vehicles (EVs). While commercials in the U.S. are still selling traditional trucks that most people don't need, European advertisements are focusing on EVs and hybrid cars. 

What I admire in the American spirit, though, is the enduring hope that tomorrow will be better, and the belief that the country can endure tough times. Nationalistic sentiments, for all their faults, seem to provide a kind of glue that binds this deeply divided society. Even if America doesn't appear as appealing as it once did, people across the political spectrum still take pride in being part of it.

We checked out of Charlotte in the morning and headed to Atlanta. The four-hour journey seemed endless. We eventually took a scenic back road around the Seneca River. Despite being falsely advertised, it offered a reality check as we drove through a forgotten area, dotted with old, sometimes crumbling houses. At one point, we had to wait for a pickup truck to guide us through a part under construction. The driver had a cigar, while the worker who signaled us sat in the bucket and collected traffic cones as we followed them in driving. Later, we stopped at a chaotic McDonald's for coffee. 

Two hours from Atlanta, we took a break at BoJangles. We weren't alone; a massive tow truck towing another tow truck pulled up. It seemed for a moment like it might attempt the drive-through, but thankfully, the driver, keeping his wits about him, hopped out just to grab a biscuit.

As we neared Atlanta, traffic congestion grew on the five-lane highway. Once we reached our hotel, opening our room door revealed the quintessential American scene: a huge billboard set against the city skyline.

Interstate highway leading through Atlanta, Georgia.

We ventured out to explore Midtown Atlanta. Despite the heat and humidity, the ambiance was comfortable, reminiscent of a more intimate Manhattan. However, the mood shifted when we crossed a bridge into downtown. Noticing many homeless individuals, my dad grew uneasy and suggested we head back before dark. I agreed. Later, we dined at a pub beside a historic movie theater. The walk to our hotel was memorable, with jeeps devoid of roofs and doors, blaring music, and roaring muscle cars; it felt like a scene straight from GTA.

The next morning, we visited a diner near our hotel, an establishment that's been serving since the 1950s. It felt like stepping back in time. After breakfast, we headed to Midtown for the metro. If I could wish for any mythical creature, a user-friendly and clean Atlanta subway system would be in my top three. The stations were confusing with no clear signage to guide passengers.

Determined, we found our way downtown with plans to visit the CNN Center. Exiting at Five Points, the surroundings immediately reminded us of scenes from The Walking Dead, with many visibly struggling individuals and deteriorating buildings. Prioritizing our safety, we quickly made our way to CNN and then to a nearby cafe. There, I cooled off with a drink, relief from the sun's intensity.

An old diner we ate breakfast in that morning in Atlanta.

Five Points Marta station in downtown Atlanta.

Later, we visited the Aquarium, which came highly recommended. While I usually have reservations about zoos and aquariums, this one, being the world's second largest, upheld high ethical standards in animal care. The sight of manta rays, whale sharks, and belugas was breathtaking.

Our day concluded with a stroll in Piedmont Park, but it was cut short by an approaching thunderstorm.

We flew home the next day after an intense ten-day trip filled with intriguing experiences. 

I've been studying America for almost a decade. The essence of American life has always eluded me, perhaps because it's somewhat similar to the European lifestyle—both are capitalist and individualistic. However, I've noticed distinct differences.

The American relationship to materialism, deeply rooted in their cultural heritage, seems stronger and more accepted than in my home country. Money plays a bigger role in social interactions and determines one's social status, influencing the quality of life. I rarely hear my friends in Bratislava talk about how much they make and I don't even know the income of my closest friends. In America, this was some of the first things I often learned from people and people in some places, New York City, for example, can really base their judgment on whether they will spend time with you on the basis of income. 

The American narrative of freedom places significant responsibility on individuals, especially when things go wrong. This is a far away place in approaching public policy compared to a socialism driven Europe.

Bridge connecting Atlanta’s midtown and downtown.

Small market booths at a music festival in Piedmont park.

While some relationships in America might seem transactional or superficial, it's also evident that Americans deeply value community. Many engage in voluntary work and continue to give back even after retiring.

Despite its consumer-driven society, America has birthed iconic music, movies, and video games. Though I believe there is some truth to the leftist critique of pop culture as an empty calorie consumer product helping working class people forget about how much work they are forced to put up with every day just to make a dollar, I think there is much more to it. The success of these art forms can't be denied—they're a result of hard work, talent, and significant investments.

What I've gleaned from my travels is the dichotomy that is America—a land of extremes coexisting harmoniously. While some Americans live in unbelievable luxury, others in rural areas struggle with poverty. The nation has a significant moral debt in its history, and while it often grapples with its past, it's commendable how rigorously America studies its own history.

Slovakia has something to learn from it. Our history is even shorter than American, but we have large gaps in learning from our Nazi and Communist past. In fact, many people don't even know it.

America is also wild. Flying over the United States and Europe is extremely different. America boasts wild landscapes, while Europe appears more cultivated, resembling a mosaic of farm fields. America's vastness, complexity, and rich history are encapsulated in just a few centuries. It's a nation that can't be labeled as strictly good or bad—it embodies both.

My Thoughts about Public Spaces / A Photo Essay from Poland

I took a couple of days off to regroup after finishing a long-term project and dove into my black-and-white world again.

In fact, I guess this is a long-term project too, just without a clear path right now. It’s about the way people treat what is public, what is everybody’s, and the way public spaces are shaped changes how we feel when using them, and living with them.

I honestly think it says a lot about society. Because the values of each society are mirrored in the types of buildings which dominate the city - either its banks, fancy shops, and offices when money is the key value, or history - churches, shipyards, boulevards, statues, when nations look for their common experiences in the past, to bond them in the present.

My understanding is that architecture and urban planning are similar to language when interacting with the society which uses them. Language influences how we feel and what we do, and the way we live comes right back to language and shapes it to be more useful, modern, and fitting.

The way a street, a building or the whole city looks can, I think, drive how people interacting with it feel and treat each other. And the way people are comes right back to bricks, concrete, and stone and transforms it to reflect society.

Old shipyard in Gdansk.

Works in front of an old shipyard shop.

Pieces of boats near a sea port in Gdansk.

Man walks his dog near a package box in Gdansk, Poland.

Socialist era souvenir store in Gdansk.

Lady cleaning a window in Gdansk.

A modernist building in Wroclaw, Poland.

Ships near the city of Gdansk.

Man on the beach of the Hel peninsula.

A sand path leading to a beach in Poland.

People playing volleyball on a beach on the Hel.

Wooden wave breakers in Northern Poland.

People sunbathing.

“You woke us up we will defend you.” A poster hung by the Solidarity movement, which is a Polish trade union founded in August 1980 at the Lenin Shipyard in Gdansk, Poland - famous for driving anti-communist dissent.

Paint-stripped ship in an old yard in Gdansk.

Greenhouse near a new city development.

Poznan city center.

Indoor market in Poznan, Poland.

Pizza place in the Gdansk city centre.

Construction in downtown Poznan.

Hat shop in Poznan.

A restaurant Gdansk.

A monument in Gdansk.

A staircase in Wroclaw.

Man fishing Gdansk.

Crowd said Heróyam Sláva! after Zelensky's Speech. Chills overwhelmed my Body

When my colleague asked me whether I want to travel to Kyiv I immediately responded yes. Two days later, we were on board the plane belonging to the Slovak government. 

Roses and Ukrainian flags at Majdan square in Kyiv.

Since the Russian war against Ukraine started over a year ago, I felt really bad I am not there reporting. I think this emotion has several sources. For one, I simply felt that all the reporting I did at home was less important than what war reporters were doing and I simply wanted to do something that could help the Ukrainian people fight the enemy - for which the mobilization of the global public through photography is crucial. The other motivation was probably a bit selfish. I work as a journalist partly because I like to watch history from the front row and I am super curious.

And even know I feel that I probably cannot bring home better war photographs than the guys from New York Times capturing frames in the front line, I wanted to be there. Traveling with the delegation of Slovak prime minister Eduard Heger and the minister of defense Jaroslav Naď was the best way to dip my toes into the situation, as it’s probably the safest way to travel to a war country. I still don’t have experience with war reporting and my colleagues that champion this discipline will probably still hesitate to bring me on board for the real deal, but I have gained some confidence to build on. 

We boarded the plane in Bratislava on Thursday morning and then spent a day in Košice waiting for the PM to run his errands. Even though Košice is my hometown, I didn’t go home and spent my day in cafes instead. I didn’t want my mom to know where I am traveling, so she wouldn’t worry. We’ve gone through security at the Košice airport, some with bags full of beer, and boarded the plane flying to Rzeszów, Poland. After a super short flight, we regrouped into vans and small buses and headed to the train station in Przemyśl. This was the first time in my life I traveled in a column chaperoned by cop cars. 

Eduard Heger and Jaroslav Naď on the Slovak governmental plane.

Slovak plane and a special car column at the Rzeszów airport.

The train was prepared just for the Croatian and Slovenian government officials and us. It was a sleeping train that could host four people per coupe and with all the cameras and bags it was pretty packed in there. We photographed the politicians on the train but had big problems getting our images and story to our editors. My phone provider didn’t have a Ukraine internet data package so we had to rely on our good colleagues from a competition newspaper, whom we have truly befriended. They were nice enough to share their unlimited internet package, but in the middle of nowhere, there was no service. I had to wake up from sleep at about 1.30 am to upload images because our train stopped in Lviv and I finally caught some connection. 

Train station in Przemyśl, Poland.

The night was fine, even though it was really warm. I couldn’t wait to get to Kyiv. We received two delicious pancakes for breakfast and coffee and got out on the platform to board our vans again. I snapped a pic of our PM and ran to the press group. We still couldn’t run our stories live, as the information was embargoed and we were supposed to publish flash news about every event with an hourly delay for safety reasons. We found later, that these rules have been broken by the same delegation which set them - the government employees have posted images from the station live on their social media. 

Heger in Kyiv.

This was my first time in Kyiv and even though it wasn’t on the front line, I still thought it was a unique experience to visit it during the war. Posters supporting the troops were all around the city, as one of the few signs was in a country currently aggressively invaded by an enemy state. We’ve gone out of the van at Mykhailivska Square where we had the chance to observe destroyed Russian war equipment and the sandbagged Monument of Princess Olga, the regent of the Kievan Rus from the 10th century. A Slovak Colonel who came along with a cigar in his mouth gave us a tour explaining, how the Russian soldiers cooked alive in some of these machines. Honestly, what a strange moment that was. 

Monument of Princess Olga.

From here we were supposed to head to the representative residence of president Volodymyr Zelensky, but since this trip suffered from a large amount of disorganization and chaos, we were told we should just head straight to Bucha. 

Russian troops left the town exactly a year ago. Bucha became the symbol of Russian brutality, because they executed, tortured, and raped hundreds of civilians there. For them, a remembrance ceremony was held and Zelenskyj, our PM, and the representatives of Moldova, Croatia, and Slovenia presented their speeches. Soldiers and citizens received their state honors. 

We drove through Hostomel, the sight of a large battle at the beginning of the war when Russians still thought they could capture Kyiv. We saw bunkers ready to be swarmed by the defending soldiers, destroyed buildings, and still, strangely normal life lived around this mess. When we arrived in Bucha, we were far from the first ones there. Tens of journalists were already lined up with their cameras and we struggled to catch a spot. I ended up shooting the event with a camera above my head, constantly banging my lens into a poor fella operating a TV camera in front of me. 

Soldiers raising Ukrainian flag at a Heroes of Bucha Memorial.

Eduard Heger and Volodymyr Zelensky.

Volodymyr Zelensky honoured a fallen hero of the Russian war against Ukraine.

Zelensky spoke in his movie star voice, ending his speech with “Slava Ukraini!”, to which the whole crowd responded in unison “Heróyam Sláva!”. I will never forget the goosebumps which covered my body at this moment. 

I will also never forget the speech of our PM which was totally unprepared, improvised, and which included pearls like calling Ursula von der Leyen the “president of the European Union”.

Ukrainian statesmen together with prime minister Denys Shmyhal.

Presidential cars leaving Bucha.

Left in chaos after the ceremony, we convinced our driver to bring us to Yablonska street in Bucha where the worst atrocities happened. We jump out of the car and were instantly greeted by a group of small children asking us, where is Zelensky. We pointed them in the direction we came from and the kids sprinted that way screaming the war leader's name. We walked down the street, looking at people hanging their laundry on destroyed balconies. Mr. Heger said Bucha looked a lot worse last year, and they have moved forward really fast, but you could still see bulletholes in the fences and houses. Imagine visiting your grandma in her village and seeing marks of gunfire in the facade of her house, that’s exactly how it felt. 

We’ve met a local businessman who ran a construction manufacturing plant material since the seventies. He took us on a tour through his property, which was totally shattered by artillery fire “Eyes hurt, hands keep working,” said Michail in his comment on the situation.

Michail.

Coming back to Kyiv we passed a checkpoint guarding the presidential residence and upon instructions from the governmental office approached a security check because we thought we will meet our PM or someone else there for a potential interview. But they took our phones and computers for security reasons, so we couldn’t record, write or edit anything plus it turned out, our PM wasn’t showing up anyway. In total chaos, we tried to leave the Mariyinsky Palace, upon which the soldiers didn’t know, if we are shitting them, or if we were just stupid. They asked us whether we were from Slovakia or Slovenia. We hesitated to answer that question, considering whether we should throw Slovenia under the bus and leave without shame of our own. We didn’t. 

Since there was nothing else to do, we took off to discover Kyiv. My friend bought lunch and couldn’t open the package, so he used barbed wire to cut it open. Bizzare. 

Barbed wire near Mariyinsky Palace.

Kyiv city centre.

Backstreet of Kyiv.

Louis Vuitton store in Kyiv city centre.

Kyiv is a beautiful city, I want to come back and just wander the streets. It also has a good portion of hypercapitalism, which I find hilarious. For example, there is a giant shopping mall right under Majdan square, where historical events happened nine years ago. Walking around, you wouldn’t know there was war. It was Friday evening and people were ready to have fun. Pubs were lively and lovely, and cafes cozy. 

Soldiers on the street were collecting money for the army. I contributed 10 euros. 

Majdan square in Kyiv.

Cozy information stand and cafe in Kyiv.

Tiles at Majdan square.

Shopping centre at Majdan.

Sand bags on a street in central Kyiv, pubs open in the background.

Back on the train, I interviewed the PM and then chit-chatted with him for over half an hour in our coupe. He is a nice guy. I wish that was enough for state politics. 

We arrived back in Poland in the morning, after a ten-hour ride. Approaching the runway, we saw Patriot systems pointed to the sky around the Rzeszov airport, strange times. The bus drove us all the way to our plane and my colleagues jumped out with cigarettes in their mouths. I think it was against the rules. I’ve never seen a group of people more addicted to nicotine than these folks. We boarded the plane and arrived in Bratislava in no time. 

This is how cultural Heritage burns

Fire destroyed seven buildings partially or totally in the unique, UNESCO historical center of Banská Štiavnica on Saturday. I thought these extensive urban fires are just stories for the history books, and so did the locals whose cultural club, museum, art school, and property have gone up in flames. This is a reportage from those places two days after the first amber sparked from the fire source.

Eluzína, a unique cultural centre turned pitch black.

Smoke still seeping through the surfaces.

Roof beams turned to char.

A view of the burned part of downtown.

Locals trying to save what they can from a burned, water soaked building.

A damaged museum and art school.

Firemen have been called in to inspect sparks and ambers seen by locals in the building where the first flames originated from on Saturday.

A Selection of Trash Images

My colleague from Denník N and I got a chance to look into a plastic waste plant near Bratislava, where workers and machines sort disposed plastic to then recycle or sell to other processing companies. I have decided to share my view of the story through a blog as we’ve used a different selection of images for the original story run in the newspaper.

Sorted waste for recycling. What cannot be recycled or used otherwise ends up in the incinerator, from which you can only see the chimney in the background. Description source - My dear colleague Tomas Grecko.

Dump trucks bring about 30 tons of waste to the plant every day.

City residents often pollute recycle bins with contents which don’t belong there, so the workers at the plant have to pick out the unsuitable pieces.

The selection line.

A machine automatically detects the character of waste and sorts it out accordingly.

Unwanted waste found in the recycle bins.

Sorted waste.

What is not recycled is burned in a neighbouring incinerator, technically called an Energy Recovery Facility. Description source - TG.

Jakab Palace: Story of incredible Neglect

Imagine if the Prague Astronomical Clock had not been one of the city's pearls, but instead the municipality was fighting for it in court with the heirs of the former owners for over twenty years, leaving the iconic building to fall into disrepair.

This is the reality for the people of Košice. Jakab Palace which the dispute is over greets tourists advancing from the train station to the historic city centre. In autumn, participants in Europe's oldest marathon run under the palace. The city wants the palace to be a showcase for Kosovars. Literally. If the city council could, it would set up a famous hall of famous natives there. But it can't.

At the end of last year, after years of litigation, the Regional Court in Košice ruled that the national landmark belongs to the heirs of the former owner, who currently live in Brazil. The city is using the last remaining legal options to make the court overrule its decision.

This palace has been my favorite building in the city since I can remember. Its architecture and green roof mesmerized me. Today I had the chance to get a tour of it.

If I had to describe what I saw in one word, it would be one that unfortunately fits many cultural heritage sights in Slovakia - Neglect.

The Jakab Palace was built at the end of the 19th century in the Neo-Gothic style. Štefánikova and Mlynská streets meet at its corner.

It was built in 1899 by Arpád Jakab, a builder and owner of a brickyard. Jakab obtained some of the building material from the St. Elizabeth Cathedral on Hlavná Street in Košice, which was being reconstructed at the time.

Jakab was also inspired by the Gothic style of the cathedral when designing his own dwelling. The palace stood out by the water at that time, as the Mlynský náhon once flowed where cars drive today and marathon runners occasionally run.

For two months in 1945, the building was the residence of Czechoslovak President Eduard Beneš.

Since 2001, it has been permanently closed due to ongoing litigation, and the building is rarely open to the public.

Molding designer chairs left to rot in a moist, cold room.

Czech Presidential Elections: my Photoreportage

I have covered the first round of the Czech presidential elections for Deník N. My job was to report on the night's happenings at the staff venue of Danuše Nerudová and, subsequently, Peter Pavel. It was an intense day, but I enjoyed every part because the competitiveness and time pressure pumped adrenaline into my veins. Here is my edit of the story I’ve captured.

Danuše Nerudovas' speech dest: Toes on the mark, hands calm on the desk… Yeah. And you are the best <3 .

A line of journalists waiting for the arrival of Danuše Nerudová,

Nerudová steps out of her car with her family in front of Galerie Nanes in Prague.

Danuše Nerudová and Robert Neruda.

Nerudovas' interview with journalists at her venue.

Nerudova thanks her supporters.

Photographers photograph photographers.

The presidential candidate acknowledges defeat in front of the crowd of her staff and journalists.

Nerudovas' son cries while she talks.

Husband Robert Neruda hugs Nerudova.

Some of the volunteers are helping Nerudova with her campaign.

Presidential candidate Peter Pavel.

Presidential candidate and senator Pavel Fisher comes to Peter Pavels' venue after admitting defeat.

Defeated presidential candidate and the member of the Czech Senate, Marek Hilšer comes to Pavel as a sign of support.

Peter Pavel prepares for a TV interview.

Pavel during an interview in the press room.

Pavel after the interview.

A shelf at Peter Pavels' team office in Prague.

Peter Pavels' campaign manager Pavla Nýdrle.

The meditating Power of alone Time

The past three months have been intensive. I've just moved to a new city and started working full-time as a journalist the next day. I love my job and gladly give it all my time, but after I've worked four days out of the last three weekends, going through protests, elections, a refugee camp, and other intensive events, I started to feel my social batteries were reaching the bottom of their charge. 

I knew that for the sake of my sanity, I had to take a break. Thankfully, the Velvet revolution brought not only the gift of democracy and freedom to do my job but also a national holiday. This year it fell on Thursday. I took out a vacation day on Friday and instantly felt the excitement of a prolonged weekend. Although originally, I planned to jump in my car and drive to Gdansk, it was scratched by the realization that I still haven't swapped my summer tires for the winter wear and could quite possibly end up crashing a second car this year in an ice drift. 

So, I went to Košice, where I still stored my winter set, and cleared the drawing board. I knew I needed to simply get out of Slovakia because, as someone who has to follow the happenings in this god-forsaken country, I had just about enough. Instead, I decided to travel to a country that is just as bad politically, but since I don't have to live there, it doesn't bother me as much! I booked my train and accommodation in Budapest on Wednesday and already sat in the first-class (I treated myself) car the following day. 

When you really really feel you need a break from a stressful job, simply sitting on a train and reading a book seems like a gift from the heavens. I haven't read a book for longer than half an hour in so long because when I come home after ten hours of staring at a computer, my eyes are tired, and I'm on the verge of falling asleep the minute I turn the page. I gotta say, now I see what Theodor Adorno yapped about. 

I read it until I got off the train at Keleti pályaudvar. As soon as I hopped off the train, I took out my camera and enjoyed the freedom of not having to do anything. I walked towards my accommodation but wasn't rushing. I enjoyed the luxury of time. To some extent, I'm now just curing my frustration from my youth when I was traveling with my parents, and they always rushed to see the following tourist location. I never had time to take any proper images and always felt the pressure of hurry. When I traveled alone for the first time about five years ago, crossing Vienna, Salzburg, and finally visiting a friend in Munich, I felt such a breath of fresh air and freedom that it carved a separate dopamine trail in my brain. 

I just walked the streets, embracing their entirety but also watching for attractive light or details to capture. When I got to my accommodation, I was shocked it was actually a whole apartment with beautiful high ceilings near the city center. I had to sit down and finish an article for work, which at that moment, was incredibly frustrating, but it had to be done. 

Right after that, I took my camera and headed out. I knew I was meeting a friend in a couple of hours and headed in the direction of our meet point, but I took my own trail. I've downloaded a google maps layer, which provided me with the most interesting architectural points of the city, and therefore I've moved accordingly. And dear god, was it relaxing.

I plugged in my headphones, listened to a new album by my favorite artists and later podcasts, and simply walked. Then I had dinner and then walked again. I realized I probably never spent time by the Danube riverside in Budapest in the evening and so I just sat on a little concrete wall and watched a fisherman hunting in the river. Elisabeth Bridge bridge was lit up behind him. The immanent calmness of the moment was meditative. I got up and walked towards a bar I was meeting my friend. I have already walked a lot that day, and my legs hurt. I got there early and just sat, catching up on unread articles I've saved for later. I was just so eager to read everything once I finally could. 

Seeing my friend was magical. We met during a youth exchange summer camp in Belgium organized by Rotary in 2017. Since then, we've met twice in Budapest, the last time was four years ago. To me, it's incredible how long these exchange friendships last. Emese and I never text, but somehow, it's just normal to meet when possible and catch up. This way, I have many friends worldwide, which is great because I can travel alone but not feel lonely and feel a little bit like a local when I'm with friends. I learned a lot about Hungary that night, and all in all, it was a lovely time. 

I walked home, and I was happy about that. My watch showed over 21 thousand steps that day. I was tired, but still, I read a book before bed. I just couldn't get enough. 

My morning was perfect as well. I made breakfast and coffee and just took my time. No rush. Finally. 

I headed out with a rough outline of what I wanted to see, but I didn't have to stick to it. I've listened to a history book about 19th-century Europe. The chapter was about Hungary, a perfect fit.

I gotta admit. I was never the first fan of Budapest. I never got the hang of it. I don't know if it was the reservation towards Hungary that our school system has bashed into our heads or if I didn't have enough historical knowledge to admire the amount of energy and stories the city holds. Or maybe I got just too encompassed in the hatred towards dictatorships I hold in my heart as a die-hard democrat. Or… simply, I didn't spend enough time here even though I've visited the city many times before. 

Maybe it's all of the above. My relationship with Budapest started to warm up last year when I visited my friends during their Erasmus there. They have shown me around, and I have seen the enormous potential for exploration this city holds. And now, I have to say. I started to love it here. 

This progress is similar to how I've felt towards Prague as well. It was just a city too big to grasp and too important throughout centuries to absorb humanly. I've spent so much time there and crisscrossed on foot and public transport, so much of it that I grew into loving it. Like. seriously LOVING it. 

Interestingly enough, I've always loved Vienna and never considered any skepticism towards it. I think the reason behind this may be that I've spent really happy moments there since early childhood and always took my love for it as a given. While my relationship with Budapest and Prague is something, I've built as an adult with my own worldview and taste. Maybe it's some property of the Ostblok metropoles, given by their much less streamlined journey through history, which makes their layers complicated. It takes work to truly get through before admiring tem. 

One way or the other, the small shops, bistros, and cafes got under my skin. There are so many, and they are simply so cute. Then it's also the incredible mural art that I didn't realize was such a significant part of Budapest's nature. 

Rain hitting the hood of my jacket started to feel heavy, so I decided to take cover in a Mantra cafe and have a cup of a warm brew with cheesecake. Btw I still live in the mindset of a poor student, not being able to afford anything, but forint is so cheap right now that even I can affordably live here like a german pensioner vacationing in Montenegro. So coffee and cake cost me less than 5 euros. 

Once the rain stopped, I headed up and continued admiring the incredible architecture of the city. It didn't take me long, and I was already eating pizza in a small Italian restaurant. This freedom to just make impulsive decisions is something like a bandaid on your soul. Incredible. I was pressing down the handle of the door before rationality had time to react.

My clothes were still a bit soaked from the rain, but I decided to walk to the other side of town and visit the incredible building of the Hungarian national museum. Then, I waited to take photographs of the old Ikarus buses, the most legendary pieces of communist public transport, which, somehow, were still in full service here. 

Then I went to my Airbnb and spent the rest of the evening editing pictures and reading a book. I left the city in the morning. 

I've spent two days almost entirely alone, in my world, just looking around and listening to podcasts, audiobooks, and music. For someone who works with people day in and day out, it was like putting a piece of ice on a swollen wound. Generally, I am outgoing, but my inner introvert needed some air, and I gave it to him. I prescribe this treatment to everyone who feels life is a bit too fast sometimes and doesn't have anyone close to travel with. Just take your time, walk, and relax. It's a cure. 

The Value of opinionated Photography

My first camera was a little soap box point-and-shoot, which took three shots, and then the AA batteries had to be removed. I used it to shoot horses at a summer camp when I was twelve. Then I shot bees and friends in an overly saturated manner. Then I was cropping pictures with no regard to standard formats. Then I underexposed, then I made some pics that were way too orange. Fast forward, my style is still not fully developed (if that’s even a thing), but I am starting to dip my toes into a purpose. 

An underwater photo of my friend I shot in 2011 (I was 13). A bit too much ey?

How do you develop a specific style? Well, you follow a bunch of role models, combine what you like about their work with your liking, and then over time, you add and subtract one thing or another until you’re somewhat happy. At the end of this process, your photos should be recognizable even if your name isn’t listed in the photo credit. But sometimes, it’s easy to get lost in the spiral of tons of different ways of approaching your visuals, and a bit of narrowing down can be helpful. 

I have recently been awarded a grant in the Slovak Press Photo contest, which assigns me to photograph Bratislava for the next year, with 30 of my best shots going into the city archive. There is a catch to this however, the city expects me to shoot them in a style that my contest images were delivered. That is a deep black, contrasty monochrome. At first, I was worried. What if my best images had been better in color? But then I realized having your style options narrowed down for you is really freeing you of the burden of unlimited choice. 

A leading photo from the series I have entered into the contest.

It helps because you can focus on photographs that would fit your visual style instead of focusing on all the good images that could be made at any given scene. Also, since you don’t have to worry about how your photograph is going to look after you’ve edited it, as you already have a pretty good idea, you can focus on what really matters even more than before. And what really matters is the content of the photograph and what it actually stands for.

If you are like me, you often see great images on Instagram that are technically perfect, but they just don’t seem to have any added value. They look stunning, but they somehow…. lack a point. And I’m not saying doing art for the sake of art is bad, I mean, I love modern art. In photography, however, I often feel that an idea or a point to an image is a spice that makes you remember an image. 

Once I knew my style and the topic of my long-term project, which was to capture the public space, and how people interact with it, I realized I didn’t want to completely stay out of the picture. No, I’m not gonna just snap a bunch of selfies now. But I started to approach this project less as a news story and more as an opinion piece.

A good opinion piece doesn’t just describe an individual position but uses components of the real world and analytically connects them to formulate a point. In other words, it’s looking at the real world from a certain angle. That means I’m trying to make a point based on my real observation of the public space but articulating it through my perception of what is dominant in the environment and adding a little normative point about how I think it should be. 

I always tried to make my stories to be contentful, absorbing the atmosphere and the main information the story is enveloped in. However, the power of opinion in photography has truly opened my eyes to how I can self-express through imagery in more or less subtle ways to give out an idea of how I see the world every day. 

Let me walk you through one or two images so you understand.

I have spent a lot of time traveling across this god-forsaken country, and I’ve realized that the fundamental problem of our public spaces is that people understand it as being a no-mans land instead of a place for everybody. That, in my opinion, is the reason why we litter public spaces with so much visual smog and effectively ruin architecture, ruin the sense of the public, and ruin the idea that the streets are not there just so a shop has somewhere to hang its banner. The streets are supposed to fulfill two roles - being a means of communication and making us feel human. 

Okay, so let’s get back to the title photo of this article - Obchodná street is one of the most important communications in Bratislava. It’s, in my opinion, also the worst-looking street I have ever seen. There is strong competition in smaller Slovak towns, but the fact that this is the center of our Capital city adds to the horror of its appearance. It’s covered in all kinds of incoherent visual material. Originally, when you look down the street, it should lead you toward the city’s landmark - the castle. However, kebab signs and others are competing for your attention. As any beginner photographer knows, the human eye tends to be dragged toward the lightest spot in the frame. By exposing my image, not to the whole image, but the sushi banner, I have manifested which object is the lightest - therefore, the visually most dominant object of the street view (hint, it’s not the castle).

Alright, moving forward. In the following image, I’m using irony as a way of expressing an opinion. A developer has decided to demolish a socialist architecture monument and has crushed the hearts of everybody who understands that continuity is important for societal development and that you should just start from scratch every time there is a paradigm shift. I mean, there are lessons to be learned, and there are objects to be saved. Just a reminder, the neoclassical building we adore so much today have been roughly the same age when the communists were replacing them as the socialist or modernist buildings are today. Just think about how much of a shame we consider it to have lost such cultural heritage.

Anyway, the writing on the fence says - we uncover the city's potential. One has just to stop and think that Bratislava’s potential has to be hidden really deep underground when they had to bring baggers to dig it up.  

Ok! You figure out the rest of these! 

And go out! Have your voice heard!

About that Time I went to Florida and it was cold and rainy

The few days before we left were tough. The shooting of two queer people in front of a gay bar in Bratislava has shaken the emotionally sound part of the Slovak public and has transformed the political debate. This happened on Wednesday night. 

I had to wake up early on Thursday and hurry to catch a court session involving a corrupt judge Monika Jankovska. She didn't even show up. I was tired from the previous weeks, as work kept me busy, and was holding on to my vacation, starting on Friday. I was already leaving for Vienna in the evening and had the plan to catch a bus from the same building as I have scheduled my afternoon interview. 

One of our photographers took a day off, however, and so it turned out, I was set out to photograph our president lighting up candles in front of the pub Teplaren. I also photographed her later at our office and then rushed to the train station to hitch a train to Wien Houbtbahnhof. I was meeting a travel buddy there. 

We had to wake up early to catch a plane to Krakow and, subsequently, to Bergen. Thankfully my uncle drove us to the airport. We arrived in Norway at about 3 pm. My friend Šimon whom we were visiting, picked us up at the airport, and we hopped on tram number one to the city center. Allegedly there exists a line number 2 in Bergen, but I haven't seen it and continue to doubt its existence. 

Of course, it was raining, I mean, we were in Bergen. I didn't bring a raincoat or an umbrella because I thought I could just campaign against the weather. 

We arrived at our accommodation in the city center only to find out, the key safe was empty. Scared, that we got scammed, I managed to contact the landlord and get a key to a different room. The surprise was, that the key from our room and the entrance door to the whole building was the same. 

After we sorted that out, we had a couple of drinks with Šimon, who was only too eager to gobble up the whiskey we'd brought him, as alcohol in Norway is too expensive for students to buy. After that, we headed out. St. John's Church was marking the end of the main street, and seemed monumental, as it stood on a battery of stairs. We have elevated to its level and walked towards the port. 

Ever since the time I lived in Iceland, I am fascinated by the northern seas. Plus, I have written a story about the port on the Danube in Bratislava recently, so I was quite interested to see the ships. As we walked towards the Unesco world heritage marked wooden houses, a beautiful sunset found its way to crawl through clouds and reflect the colors off the water spots throughout the pavement. Once we'd walked far enough, we walked into a 10-story tall cruise ship, which made us throw up in our mouths a little bit. 

In pursuit of beer, we have settled in a student bar at the faculty of arts at the local uni. It cost us 5 euros, which was less than we expected. We each bought Šimon a beer and left for home. We were worn out. 

Our steps in the morning lead towards Ulirken, the tallest mountain out of the hills surrounding the town. We walked through a very strange route, but after passing a football field and a hospital garage, we found ourselves at the heel of the mount. Realizing the prices of the cable car weren't a joke, we've started working the steps. Nature was beautiful, although the steps were such that they visually blended together, and it took enormous mental effort, to calculate each step. 

Martinas back gave up after about three sets of stairs, so we've had to call a retreat on a mission. We returned to the city, passing beautiful fall trees and other tourists heading up Ulriken. We greeted them as if we were tryhards already returning from the summit. 

A grocery store with a retro-futuristic name REMA 1000 has lured us in, and I've bought a chocolate bar and an apple. Waiting outside for my peers, I was surprised for them to come out of the shop with a pair of guys from my hometown of Košice in Slovakia. I've grown accustomed to this happening. When I visited Berlin earlier this year, I couldn't, for the love of me, speak German, because every stranger I met started speaking Slovak back to me. 

We walked past a shipyard and a housing facility and played water foosball. It's like a regular foosball, only the table has pools of water in it, because it's in Bergen, and it friggin rains all the time. Well, it didn't rain that day, but you get the point. 

Šimon later served us something he called Mechiko and me and Martina trashed him in front of his friends for like an hour. It's always fun when other people think we are actually assholes, but we are just friends like Jerry Seinfeld, Elaine Benes, and George Costanza. It's just tough to say who is who though. The dorm where Šimon stayed was quite different from my dorm in Brno. There were about 6 rooms, each with its bathroom, connected to this commonplace with couches, a balcony, and two mirrored kitchens. It was like a large flat really. “We are like on rehab here,” spoke one of the Šimons roommates “we don't have any alcohol, because we can not afford it. We eat little, and go on a bunch of hikes all the time.”

We left the apartment and entered a common gaming room in the neighboring building. Students had access to the pool and ping-pong tables there, I thought it was quite cool. 

I spent the next hours walking around the part of town called Florida with Šimon, having a good old talk like we used to have when we hung out almost daily during our university years in Brno. I'm sad my best friend moved to Norway, but who can blame him? Social tension in Slovakia is becoming unbearable, people now regularly choose violence, and opportunities are scarce and painful to realize.  

The port in Florida was interesting, although, from the architectural standpoint, it was a bit busy. It reminded me of those Lego towns some lunatics have in their basements. 

We passed a nightclub called Backstage, built in a cave. We've managed to visit Šimons university building, which has its own swimming pool. I thought my Alma Mater in Brno was quite modern, but god damn, this was years ahead. I mean, the whole country kinda is. Norway washes its oil-dirty hands off with an inland ecological revolution. Seeing a combustion engine car is a near to rare sight, and most big car manufacturers don't even offer non-electric vehicles here anymore. 

I guess what I liked about the city was also the calmness and quietness of the streets. I have no idea how but a town with precipitation like a freaking rainforest has managed to create a cozy feeling to it. 

After the walk, I bought a 12 euro, almost one-kilo salad in the grocery store, where I could mix it myself, and went home. I've taken a nap at home, exhausted from all the walking, and edited some pictures. Soon enough, Martina and I would pick up and head to Šimons dorm for some booze action. 

The night went well, after a short while, it was just the Slovak students (out of which one was from my high school, and I knew him, because he is also a friend of my buddy Lukáš, with whom I'd traveled to Berlin). We had a great time, we brought Šimon two liquor bottles from the duty-free store. One was a whiskey, which we'd drunk that night; another one was Zubrowka. We thought it was hilarious to bring these alcohol-deprived children booze they all hated.

Drunk, but still eager to take some images, I've managed to stop by Florida and capture these long exposure images at about 2 in the morning. 

When we got to the city center, it was full of drunk Norwegians. Quite a shit show to tell you the truth. They were all trying to cram into the tram, barely letting us hop off. The clubs in the city all close at 3 am for some reason. I must admit, though, the police were there in great numbers, ready to prevent any brawl from sparking. 

Surprisingly, the morning wasn't so bad. OH WAIT, OUTSIDE THE STRANGER WHO LITERALLY WALKED INTO OUR ROOM IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. Yeah, so remember the keys? The one from our room was the same one that fits into the front door of the building, so it turned out, everybody had everybody's keys here :). Apparently, the Norwegian owner thought it was normal, for people not to steal other people's stuff, but hello (!!!), it's typically not the Norwegians that stay at a tourist accommodation! Needless to say, we were perplexed. 

It was pouring rain in the morning, so we had to wait before leaving. We planned to get to the top of another mountain called Fløyen, this time by (a much cheaper) cable car. We have caught a glimpse of this cloud formation unusual for Bergen called the blue blue sky. It was just for a couple of minutes, but just enough to catch the view. As we proceeded to descend back into the city, I realized how amazing this place is. The path was mingled with different streams and small waterfalls. Mash-covered tree roots made you feel like you were in ancient times, looking for a game to hunt. I thought it was amazing, this was a sight to be had only 20 or 30 minutes walking from the city center. In the last quarter of our way down, it started to rain heavily. We ran into a cozy warm coffee and had to wait for a free table for at least 15 minutes. 

This was one of the last of our adventures. Our flight in the morning was set to depart at about 8, so we had to get up early. I was then very thankful that the tram ran very simply from the city center, straight to the airport. 

Visiting Berlin is like doing Research with boring Results

Just a couple of months before I leave Brno, where I’ve spent six years during my studies, I’ve realized, that Berlin is just as long of a drive as my home town in eastern Slovakia. “Wait so I could have just gone to Germany instead of Slovakia the whole time?” were my thoughts exactly.

Plus, I started to learn german in November, right after I got home from a little trip to Vienna. Disappointed in myself, because I couldn't even get a point across in a language I’ve studied for four years in high school, I hopped into a language course.

Ready to test my speech (in)abilities I’ve got together with a friend and planned our trip. I was driving, he was sleeping. We were a team.

I never knew what to expect from Berlin. In fact, I’ve never quite gotten a grasp of German culture either, probably due to lack of experience. It could be, that talking about German culture as a whole is a mistake altogether. Nonetheless, I was new to this. I’ve visited Germany only two or three times before, and my expectations were unclear. All the videos I’ve found on Youtube were highly positive, and I remember that Berlin was a super popular tourist destination within my social bubble pre-pandemic.

From the very start of the trip, I was ready to counteract reviews online. Not to be forcefully negative, just to stay real. Here are two myths of which some I can debunk:

First, Dresden, which is on the way to Berlin, if you travel from the Czech Republic loves people visiting the city. So If you enter as a driver, you may never leave. The reason behind this is the constant red traffic light that makes you stop about every ten to fifteen seconds. It’s great for sightseeing, not great for the environment. However, I cannot confirm this myth for certain.

The one that I can clear out is, that Autobahns in Germany don’t have a speed limit. If you believe this, you have been misled - it’s similar to the bottomless cup at Subway. It sounds good on paper, but after you use it, you realize it’s just as good as a normal cup. The highways don’t have a speed limit that’s true, the catch is - it’s only during roughly a third of your drive. The rest? Driving speed is restricted to 130, 110 or even 80 kilometres per hour. The bright side is, that they are free.

Talking so much about driving, I should acknowledge the bottom line - it’s not good to drive anywhere. It’s bad for the climate, and bad for your nerves. However, if you’re not driving alone it costs just as much as a train ride and you can save hours on transfer time. On the other hand, it is a constant struggle for parking. For example in Berlin, I was super unsure about where free parking even was.

After we arrived at our hostel near the city centre, I decided to drive my car to a faraway part of town, but even then, I was afraid of getting towed. I’ve tried to search online, but couldn’t find a reliable source of information on my phone. To be honest, that’s a bit disappointing. Poorer European cities have a more clear system, even Brno, which has its own map telling you whether or not you are in the paid area and if you are, it allows you to pay for parking in the app. I’ve spent the rest of the trip thinking in the back of my mind, about whether or not I’m gonna find my car where I’ve parked it.

Anyway, we checked into our room, dropped off our baggage, then dropped off our car and were finally let to roam the streets free. This was Saturday afternoon. The weather was nice and warm, it was one of those first really warm spring days, where it makes you believe for a moment the summer has walked through the door, but as soon as the sun sets you realize, it barely just rang a bell.

We’ve taken the S-Bahn to Hallesches Tor to look for an interesting architecture in the apartment buildings. After we got off the train we thought we have travelled to an alternate universe. Everything looked so scatchy. There were some super high people around and we have started to feel that maybe this city was not as safe as everybody promised.

We waited for the beautifully yellow metro to arrive at the station, so we could photograph it and get on the move. The area of East Berlin which we were walking now was pretty badly hit by all the graffiti and some homeowners have apparently decided to counteract this cultural trend by applying professional murals to their facades. I have felt a bit at home in this part of town. Not just because of the communist architecture, some of it was actually pretty, but because I can imagine this would be exactly the type of city planning that would happen in Eastern Europe. Basically, every one of the apartments and other buildings was interesting and pretty on its own. They were built because somebody had money and wanted to build whatever they wanted.

However, non of the developers cared to look around and amount their vision to the face of the street and clearly, none of the local officials found this notion problematic enough to create a design guidebook for the area. As it turns out though, if you pile tens of unique buildings one on top of another, you won’t end up with a beautifully unique neighbourhood, but with a bunch of visual smog.

To be fair though, I realize the city of Berlin was completely destroyed during World War 2 and its subsequent division during the Cold war made it impossible to produce a cohesive city plan.

As we continued to explore the area - moving closer and closer to the centre, we ran into some interesting architecture like the Czech embassy or the Potsdamer Platz. This one was particularly interesting because it’s packed with modern architecture. For example this umbrella square.

We were lucky enough to catch a beautiful sunset in this area which helped us create some beautiful images. The light was so soft, yet bright and orange at the same time. Unfortunately, the security guy working in the area which we thought was public, decided he didn’t like us and proceeded to kick us out. He wasn’t there to discuss anything with us, just show us the way out :). He refused to speak English but thankfully I understood what he was saying: apparently we’ve looked too professional and he’s thought we were doing some commercial work there without a permit. He didn’t let us explain to him, that we were just tourists enjoying a good photo opportunity.

No worries, we’ve had more than enough time to collect tons of good material.

And thanks for kicking us out! At least we were just in time for the blue hour on the top of a hotel on Alexander Platz. A beautiful view in beautiful weather. I gotta say though, it was the centre of Berlin and still, there was trash everywhere on the ground. I’m sorry to complain, but I’m not holding on to a pink filter. For the love of God, at least make the most touristy places clean.

There wasn’t time to enjoy the view for too long however, it was Saturday evening before Labour day and we thought we needed to do some grocery shopping. We’ve rushed into Kaufland only to find out, that there isn’t much you can buy at a supermarket unless you have access to a kitchen which we didn’t. We grabbed a couple of snacks and headed out. Thankfully, the restaurants were open the next day. By the way - if you think Berlin must be super expensive of a city for two students from Eastern Europe, it’s not. The prices of most commodities you will need - mainly food are really comparable to the ones of bigger Slovak or Czech cities. Some items are even cheaper in the German Hauptstadt.

The next morning was quiet though. In order to explain why I will assess the pros and cons of our accommodation. First the pros - location and price (about 30e/person for a night). Cons - the part where the damn walls are paper thin and every drunk guest of the hostel will wake you up in the middle of the night by slamming doors shut. The same goes for crazy Berliners honking their car horns at midnight right under your window.

We are no quitters, however!

The morning was tough but we hopped out of our bed (we only had one :( ) and ran across the street to get coffee. I wanted to practice my German, but the lady stopped me after two words and suggested we speak in English. Rude, I thought, but okay. So I switched to English but as I’ve already had german sentences lined up in my head, I have spit out a mixture of weird English and german something in a way of “One lungo und espresso bitte.”

We’ve managed to check off the most touristy places like the Brandenburg Tor, Bundestag etc. in the morning, with only a few tourists on the ground. This made for a nice calm experience. I’ve liked the surrounding area of Bundestag and Kanzleramt a.k.a. the washing machine quite a bit apart from the endless presence of trash on the ground and in the river.

I wanted to take a selfie in front of the Der Spiegel office which was nearby, but the magazine didn’t seem to have any type of sign on the building. I took the selfie anyway, I’m just not gonna have any idea why I took it in a couple of months.

Next on the schedule was the holocaust memorial. I really liked how it fit into the landscape from some points of view. I think it represents the message it is supposed to carry very well. however many people clearly didn’t understand the purpose of this landmark and have decided to run around with their kids having fun. It’s fine, just a bit disrespectful in my opinion.

About time we got to the memorial a lot of loud noises started to spread from the area of the Brandenburg Tor. Because of my nature, I simply had to go and check it out. To my surprise, as I’d forgotten what holiday it was, there were hundreds of people with red flags listening to some guy on the podium. It turned out it was the annual workers union demonstration. I thought it was interesting how many young people were there with the Die Linke flags and I even saw an older dude with a communist flag.

After this escapade, we’ve decided to grab some lunch. Our options were limited because of the holiday and the tightness of our pockets but we’ve managed to find a cheap pizza place. This was probably the worst pizza I’ve ever eaten in my life and an employee even asked us, if we like it. I mean, he must have known the pizza was shit.

After lunch, we headed to a view at Potsdamer Platz, which gave us the opportunity to photograph a great bicycle demonstration, which was taking a ride through the city. Later, we headed out to photograph metro stations which we found interesting. Berlin has 9 underground lines and each of the stations is in some way unique. I don’t mean to be too critical, but I think that might be overkill because in effect not all were too esthetic. Although that might be just a thing of personal preference.

In my opinion, the approach to the design of metro stations adopted by the city of Prague is far more tasteful, because they have developed three unique, yet modest and timeless designs each for one of the lines. This way it’s much easier to create a typical look because it’s not just a collection of art but in fact a visual standard, which helps passengers with their orientation in the underground system.

The stations we’ve visited were fairly pretty though, although not extremely photogenic (which is not a critique, cities are meant to be built for everyday use and its citizens, not only for Instagram and many beautiful places you can visit just don’t look that cool framed). By the time we finished this tour of roughly four places, we were so exhausted we had to fight to stay awake during transfers. Metro must be one of the vehicles where humans are most susceptible to kick it back. There is no sun, it’s a fairly monotone vibrating ride, much less rough compared to a train or a bus and it’s mostly quiet there.

One could even, I don’t know, fall asleep for a second and miss the right stop. Which is incidentally what has happened to us. No worries though, we have found our way and got ourselves to a distant part of town which housed an underway which was completely covered in graffiti. It had these interesting orange pillars too.

Not only interesting architecture has occupied the place, however. There was one other exposition awaiting us and that was a drunk man sitting with his back against one of the pillars. The mission of his evening was apparently not just to drink all the beers, but to also pee on every single pillar there was. And as far as I could tell he was pretty successful at it.

We have sped up the process of photography and videography and everything because being in close proximity to this scatchy guy was the last thing that we wanted.

The good news was, that this mysterious place just happened to be by sheer coincidence near the Berlin international congress centre, which is incidentally a piece of architecture, which I’ve wished to see but thought I won’t get the chance. It’s this space ship looking building which has been now turned into a covid vaccination centre. I’ve decided to ask the security guard patrolling the perimeter of the building for assurance that it is okay to photograph it. Yet again, I’ve tried out my german. Upon my attempt, the scary-looking guy with one red eye asked me: Gavarish pa rusky? I’ve responded negatively, but admitted, that my native language is Slovak. By chance, this guy has a part of his family from Slovakia and started talking to me in Slovak, declining my chance to practice german. He agreed that I can take some photos.

In the evening, we’ve managed to head out to drink some beer. Ready to use one of my last chances to exercise the language, I prepared the order in my head in German and waited for the waitress to show up. She did, and she asked where were from, Slovakia, we’ve replied. It turned out, she was Polish and was very keen to speak our language with us, burying my Deutsche Träume. I later complained to my lecturer that apparently learning German is completely useless for me since clearly everyone on this planet simply understands Slovak.

We left our hostel early in the morning and headed to photograph escalators of the Berlin stock exchange. Later, we returned to the hostel for our baggage and enjoyed the morning sun on the terrace of a cafe nearby and took a bus to my car. It was still in its place, unharmed, unfined, thank God. We didn’t leave the city right away but decided to stop by a Le Corbusier building called Unité d'habitation, which is an exact copy of the building of this architect, who has kicked off the fame of béton brut, or brutalism in Marseille, France. We visited the Olympic stadium where Hitler hosted his Olympic games in 1936 too, as it was not far from the apartment building.

The drive back home was tough. First of all, we’ve barely got gas to make it across the border to the Czech Republic, so we can tank the cheaper gas and not the one in Germany for 2e/l. Second of all, we haven’t slept for two days, because of how loud our hostel was. Third, we have really made the most of Berlin and have pushed it to the limit of what we could bear. We’ve still decided to stop in Dresden on the way home, however.

As you might have been able to tell, neither of us really loved Berlin. On the other hand, Dresden was just fine. The prices were much higher, but despite the city being also floored during the war, they have decided to rebuild its historical centre of it and so it was still able to keep its soul. Plus, the narrow yellow trams are so cute.

In conclusion, it wasn’t a bad trip at all. Just because Berlin wasn’t our vibe doesn’t mean I regret going. I perceive it in a way as the kind of research that doesn’t yield extraordinary insights. Yeah, you’re not gonna win a prize for it, but you didn’t know what the results would be at the beginning. Now, at least, I will never regret that I didn’t manage to make my opinion about the city, although I will not recommend my friends repeat my trip.

Embrace Naivety. The Art of joyful Photography

When I go to shoot a photojournalistic story, it goes one of two ways. Either I am with a reporter, who can pass me basic information of the story, or I am the reporter myself and have done some research about the shoot beforehand. Either way, I have to render the scene upon arriving on location and search for images that best represent the story.

Much thought goes into the work, especially if it’s a reportage I’m photographing, as it’s necessary to search for light and composition. At the same time, I have to pay attention to the emotion of the moment. Often, there isn’t a lot of time, and I have to scramble to create compositions. Sometimes I have to talk to the person photographed and learn a bit about their character, so I can think of ways to create an image that would complement, not contradict it.

Capturing stories and getting your hands dirty out there in the field is very fulfilling and a lot of fun too. However, it can be quite emotionally draining at the same time plus, of course, there is the mandate of bringing home usable images every time I go out for a shoot. Sometimes, I just need to let off some steam.

I don’t pick up my camera only when I’m trying to work, though. It’s a creative outlet and a way to relax as well. Even though I have had a camera on my shoulder since primary school, I think I am just now re-learning how to shoot in a way where I only have fun and not a lot of expectations.

In a way, it’s about following the breadcrumbs back to that creative innocence and naivety of amateur photography. Remember when you were just starting, and you simply went out and shot pretty flowers, or frosty leaves, up close, with your aperture wide open? At the moment, you’ve had so much fun, right? Nearly everyone’s photos from that period were shit when it came to their aesthetic value, but what I’m trying to say is that THAT wasn’t the point of you getting out with your camera. There was an element of passion, and there was an element of  the joy of just simply being out there creating.

Creativity hit rock bottom over the first year of the pandemic for me. There have been times when my camera was dusty because I didn’t shoot a lot. Many things I like to shoot were just not happening – there weren’t many reportage opportunities for me as most of society just stood still, and there sure weren’t many tennis tournaments to attend. I was just depressed. I mean, no compositions made any sense to me. I couldn’t see an image interesting enough to press the shutter button anywhere around me. It’s just recently that I’ve started to discover a way back to hobby photography.

The most important thing is to avoid the feeling that you have to shoot at least something. Whether travelling or just walking through your town, you simply don’t have to take one shot if you don’t feel like it. Often the things you see aren’t photogenic anyway, and you are better off just enjoying the moment. Plus, you will surely have the most memorable moments somewhere in your phone’s camera roll, after all. Just carry the camera on your side and chill out.

If you come home without a picture, it’s okay. Plus, you know, at least you don’t have to clean your memory cards right?.

You know what’s so fun about shooting for pleasure? Nothing has to make sense. You can go totally nuts. Flip the world upside down, shoot the whole scenery or just a tiny detail of it. Focus, or leave everything out of focus. It’s like Lomography, but with real cameras. If the pictures don’t come out good, who cares? If you don’t post them on Instagram, nobody will know.

For me, it’s the architecture details that please my creative side. I think it’s fun to find minor elements of the big buildings. Those pictures don’t covey any hidden meaning, and I don’t attempt to attribute it to them. It’s okay. They just make me happy.

Have you ever gone to a modern art museum? I went to the one in Vienna. Honestly, I didn’t truly know what precisely I was looking at any given moment. Interestingly enough, the visit left me culturally fulfilled anyway. Actually, that’s an understatement. In my head was bursting with inspiration. It reminded me again that things don’t have to add up to create some great message. The creative process is the message. It’s the only point. And that’s enough. 

Here, I will show you what I’m yapping about.

I figured: light is the simplest, most fundamental element of photography. So, if I want to create naively and not overwhelm myself with stimuli, I could simply photograph just light, without any object.

For example, here I shot this light in a philately shop in Prague. Would you learn anything about where I shot it, or what is the purpose of the photograph? Absolutely not. It’s nonsense. But I think of that photograph often when I need to get inspired, and It always fills me with the same joy I felt when taking it.

Or this one which I’ve shot in Vienna. But you wouldn’t know it, would you? Well, maybe you would, but anyway, the building in the reflection is Vienna State Opera. I think most people would suggest that it makes more sense to shoot the building itself. But you know what, I didn’t feel like that made sense at all, and it didn’t inspire me. But the light sure did! I loved how the light created a nice regular square in the window reflection, so I decided to focus on photographing just that alone.

Other times, I like to bring in other people. I have a couple of friends whom I call to go out with and enjoy photography together. It’s a great way to explore new compositions and exchange ideas, plus you can always use your friends as models if necessary. Often, the pictures I bring home from sessions like these are near worthless, but the important part is that I know I’ve had fun, and my creativity has been recharged.

Letting yourself be naive, create simple, fun images which you enjoy making is not just self-serving. Although it would have been enough. It can also help you accumulate energy for the serious stuff though, so you don’t fall into a routine.  

My 2020 evaluation: Comme ci comme ça

This is a collection of photographs that best reflect my year of 2020, the year of Covid-19. It’s been ten months of ups and downs for me. I have started writing for a big newspaper for the first time. I got my first degree at the university and my first journalistic award ever. But it wasn’t all bells and whistles.

At the beginning of the year, I had, as most did, a completely different roadmap in my mind. I wanted to pursue journalism and I wanted to get as good as possible in tennis photography, travelling around Europe to catch the best ATP and WTA tournaments. Instead, I stayed home and hoped I wouldn’t catch the Vid.

Citizens started wearing masks for the first time in Slovakia.

I have also experienced strong anxiety for the first time in my life. Anxiety to a point I didn’t know if I could bring myself to do literally anything. I got much better when I decided to speak up about it to my parents. They didn’t take it as seriously as I wanted them to but it was fine, I just needed to get it out of my system.

I have also experienced some moments of sadness in March when together with my colleague I was writing roughly two stories a week about small entrepreneurs who were literally days before bankruptcy. They were desperate, their lives were in ruins and I had to work hard to cope with that.

This is a photograph of a doctor and a graduating med student in front of the hospital emergency room. I have spent eigth hours with them on triage of patients. If you speak Slovak, feel free to read my blog about this experience.

My mood was not getting better due to the overall atmosphere in the country and the state of mind where I felt busy and completely useless at the same time. Days got better once summer came. I spent those months at our cottage with friends, going on hikes and trying to focus on a couple of stories. The pandemic wasn’t too prevalent at that point of the year so I managed to sneak in a beer or two with my girlfriend on a nice terrace in the old town of Košice. Life was good.

In September I joined a team of journalists from Denník N for a local journalism project in the town of Rožňava, at the heart of Gemer region, which carries rich mining history. These two weeks have given me a lot of experience. Days were long, we were working 12-15 hours a day. I was shooting photos while also trying to do some reporting for my written stories. But the party of journalists was amazing and I felt really good between them. It was a bit like jumping from your local football pitch to train with the national team all the sudden. I came home feeling very enthusiastic.

Walking in the rural village Brdárka with Martin. M. Šimečka.

Magnezit mine in Jelšava.

When autumn came my mood dropped again. These past months have been hard on my morale. I needed to focus on my education more and had to leave reporting for after my exams. I think I have just become completely stationary after constantly moving for years, and I can’t handle it. I thought I have lost my way to photography as well. I was really sad about it for a while. I couldn’t bring myself to take a real picture, I coulnd’t find any compositions and had zero motivation for trying harder. I felt like this skill-capital that I have accumulated almost a decade, has started to disintegrate and I couldn’t stop the fall.

Nationwide testing for Covid-19 at the State theatre in Košice.

Drive in Covid-19 testing station with paramedics setting up their workshops in public transportation buses.

I have to say, I’m still not completely over these empty feelings that caught me unprepared twice during this pandemic. I’m talking about feelings of complete lack of inspiration for anything, those feelings when you know your not a complete failure, but at the same time you feel like your not working hard enough while you can’t bring yourself to work. The more I looked around on the good old internet for help from other photographers I found, that a lot of photographers I regularly follow have experienced what I have at some point. That gave me a lot of motivation to start to work my way back to the state of mind I enjoyed.

A child form a poor Roma family, peeking through the door out of an apartment in Dobšiná with almost no furniture in it.

I have also found other cures for when one is feeling low. Running. I started to run every other day and I think I found that the feelings of anxiety from the overall pandemic package of shitty situations is just an overstock of energy. And indeed it did help me with my moral quite a bit.

This 2020 summary wasn’t really a celebration of the year being over. I have complained a lot, but there was some good to this year too. I had a chance to come home again, which felt like going on Erasmus to your hometown. I had a chance to reignite with my old friends for a couple of moments and I have learned for good that there are boundaries to living with your parents as an adult. I regret nothing about this year because my family got through it safely. So even know I’m ending 2020 with a bitter mood, I don’t forget that there is some sweetness that comes with it.

March Davis Cup was the last tennis tournament I shot this year.

Businessman at a village football game.

I wrote these thoughts down for two reasons. One: somebody might stumble upon this blog and feel understood, just like I did when I found those videos on YouTube from my favourite photographers. Second: I want to capture the atmosphere of this year for documentary purposes. I don’t keep a journal and I know I might forget this once life starts getting more exciting again and you know what they say, you’ve got to remember your low to recognize your high.

Anti Covid protests in Košice.

International Peace Marathon in Košice.

Floods in Eastern Slovakia.

Cows in the countryside.

Hiking in High Tatras - Bandit Cottage

Nebudeme ticho!

V Košiciach sa stretlo asi 100 ľudí aby vyjadrili podporu interupčným právam žien. "V čase koronakrízy poslanci neriešia to čo by mali, ale otvárajú hodnotové otázky, ktoré sľubovali že otvárať nebudú. Predkladajú sa návrhy na sprísnenie interupcií, lenže tie interupcie neodstránia. Naopak tieto návrhy ohrozujú ženy a ich fyzické a psychické zdravie. Vnímam to ako odvádzanie pozornosti od reálnych problémov," hovorí organizátorka zhromaždenia z iniciatívy Kritické fórum, Lívia Jánošíková. 

Lívia Jánošíková.

Teplota, podpis a biely náramok: Smena na košickom urgente

Doktor v bielom ochrannom overáli a respirátore si nasadzuje jednorazové gumené rukavice. Keď mu zaradom praskne už piata, trochu zahreší a odíde do infekčnej čakárne. 

To je miesto, kde by mal čakať na svojho špecialistu pacient podozrivý na Covid-19. To by bolo v ideálnom prípade. Lenže v tejto chvíli je infekčná čakáreň zároveň aj sklad oblečenia pre aktuálnu triážnu službu. A triáž to je cudzie slovo pre inak celkom obyčajné triedenie pacientov na tých, ktorí vyzerajú, že by mohli mať koronavírus a tých, ktorí sú len tak bežne chorí. 

V Košickej nemocnici Louisa Pasteura, ktorá už desiatky rokov nesie ľudový prívlastok Nová, dnes triážnu službu vykonávajú doktor Marek a medička Sára.

Marek je odborník v očnom lekárstve. Okrem medicíny robí už vyše dvadsať rokov učiteľa na  Lekárskej fakulte Univerzity Pavla Jozefa Šafárika v Košiciach. 

Na tej istej fakulte študuje Sára a u Mareka raz skladala aj skúšku. Rodáčka z Prešova je v poslednom, šiestom, ročníku odboru všeobecného lekárstva. V marci zvládla predposlednú štátnicu z gynekológie. V máji ju čaká ešte jedna z chirurgie. Musí sa na ňu pripravovať, no aj tak prišla dobrovolničiť.

S triedením pacientov na urgentnom príjme dvoch košických nemocníc pomáha prakticky od počiatku epidémie nového koronavírusu na Slovensku. 

Na začiatku smeny študentka zapisuje dátumy do predtlačených čestných prehlásení, ktoré majú prichádzajúci pacienti podpísať. Na papieri stojí, že pacient nebol v uplynulých dvoch týždňoch nikde v zahraničí a nestýkal sa s nikým, kto by mal potvrdenú nákazu Covid 19. 

Sára papieriky vypísala tak pekne, že ich niektorí pacienti nosili po nemocnici celý deň. Nikto ich od nich totiž ani nepýtal. 

„Rúčku vás poprosím,“ oslovuje zdvorilo medička prvého pacienta vchádzajúceho do priestoru urgentného príjmu medzi vchodovými dverami a recepciou. Záujemcovi o ošetrenie najprv zmeria teplotu, a na ruku mu nasadí bielu pásku. To znamená, že nemá horúčku a podpísal čestné prehlásenie, ktoré mu podal doktor. Sára následne berie zo stola s náradím dezinfekčný sprej a sterilizuje pacientovi dlane. 

Doktor Marek prišiel na triediacu službu už tretí krát. Doma ho to už nebavilo a navyše, očná pohotovosť momentálne funguje len v nemocnici na Rastislavovej, takzvanej Starej nemocnici. Polovicu jeho výplaty tvorili príplatky za služby na klinike v Novej nemocnici. Lenže teraz sú služby na jeho oddelení zrušené a keďže stavia rodinný dom, každé euro mu príde vhod. 

Keď na obzore nie je žiaden pacient, je čas na osobnejší rozhovor. 

Na akom oddelení by si chcela pracovať, keď dokončíš školu? 

Sára: Chcela by som si skúsiť prácu na anestéziologicko-resuscitačnom oddelení (ARO). Príde mi to ako všeobecná prax. Človek sa naučí uspávať, ale aj čo-to z intenzívnej medicíny. Tam si proste hodený do vody. 

Marek: Na ARO väčšinou berú mladých doktorov. Je tam dosť veľká fluktuácia zamestnancov, pretože tá práca je veľmi náročná na psychiku. Problém vidím v tom, že po štúdiu, kedy medici končia ako všeobecní lekári, by mali vedieť všetko, ale v praxi nie sú vlastne na nič dobrý. 

Priživujem sa na bolesti pacientov

Niekto je pri dverách. Sára máva na fotobunku sklenených dverí a pripomína pri tom historické zábery ľudí lúčiacich sa s parníkom, keď vypláva z prístavu. Dvere sú počas špeciálneho režimu nemocnice nastavené tak, že sa dajú otvoriť len zvnútra, aby na urgent neprúdili ľudia nekontrolovateľne.

Keď pani konečne vstúpi, začne vysvetľovať: Jej mamu práve priviezli na urgentný príjem a ona potrebuje zistiť, či práve na tento. 

Je evidentne vystresovaná, ale vystupuje slušne. Podpíše čestné prehlásenie a Sára jej odmeria teplotu. Keď zistí, že pani nemá horúčku, nasadí jej biely pásik. Nasleduje ešte dezinfekcia rúk a dáma môže pokračovať na recepciu. 

“Neviem ako to teraz je, či sa privolávajú blízky, keď je už s pacientom zle,” prehovorí medička, keď sa žena vzdiali. 

“Počul som, že na pohreb majú ísť maximálne piati ľudia,” hovorí na oplátku lekár. 

“To musí byť strašné, keď sa blízki nemôžu ani posledný krát rozlúčiť,” hovorí Sára a všetci s ňou súhlasíme. 

Znova niekto ide. Tentokrát je to pán, ktorého zrejme seklo v krížoch. Nie, žeby som bol lekár a vedel to odhadnúť. Ale vravel, že ho seklo a ja neviem, kde inde človeka ešte môže seknúť. 

Snažím sa nezavadzať no aj tak si ma pán všimne, keď stojím s fotoaparátom opodiaľ. “Prečo tu je fotograf?” pýta sa trochu podráždene. “Robím reportáž,” odvetím. 

“Novinári sa zase priživujú na bolesti ľudí?” 

“Reportáž je o dobrovoľníkoch, nie o pacientoch,” odpovedám trochu nevrlo, aj keď si uvedomujem, že pán v bolestiach má na nervozitu nárok. 

Z Prahy som zostala znechutená

Prečo si sa rozhodla ísť na medicínu?

Sára: V rodine máme veľa lekárov a dosť odo mňa čakali, že pôjdem na medicínu. Ale prvý rok som sa na školu nedostala. Potom to už prestali očakávať a mne to veľmi pomohlo. Znova som sa prihlásila na prijímačky a tento raz ma vzali. 

Kde všade ťa vzali?

Sára: Dostala som sa na medicínu do Prahy aj do Košíc. Nastúpila som do Prahy a študovala tam dva roky. Hneď prvý ročník bol peklo, veľa vecí som z tej doby aj vytesnila. Anatómiu som dávala asi na tri krát, z toho posledný termín bol v septembri pred začiatkom semestra. Bez akéhokoľvek oddychu som potom musela pokračovať v štúdiu.

Potom som sa dostala do medziročníka kvôli vyučujúcemu, ktorý na fyziologii vyhodil štyrikrát celý ročník. Nakoniec vyhodili aj jeho, ale ja som z toho systému zostala znechutená. 

Je to v Košiciach lepšie?

Je. Sme super partia a navzájom si veľmi pomáhame. V Prahe nás vzali na školu 600, ale skončiť malo len 300. Boli tam obrovské sitá a prostredie bolo jednoducho príliš kompetitívne. 

Mucha na stene

Pri dverách stojí otec so synom. Keď ich Sára pustí dovnútra, spolu s doktorom si zopakujú rutinu: teplota, podpis a prúžok na ruku. Pri chlapčekovi musí byť medička opatrná. Má zlomenú ruku, takže bielu pásku dostane na tú zdravú. 

Potom sme nejakí čas zase sami. Ticho. Prezerám si fotky vo fotoaparáte a každých pár desiatok minút sa so Sárou striedame na stoličke, aby nás zo státia neboleli nohy. 

Netrvá dlho a chvíľu prídu spríjemniť sestričky. Jedna pracuje na chirurgii a druhá na internom. Poznajú sa s doktorom Marekom. Vymieňajú si príhody a pletky. 

Miestny prednosta vraj spadol z motorky. Na stroj sadol po asi desiatich rokoch a hneď sa aj dolámal. 

Sestrička šuchce nohami po zemi a imituje chôdzu zraneného doktora, keď prišiel do nemocnice. Vraj sľúbil, že na motorku už nikdy nesadne. 

Po asi štvrť hodine sa obe sestry vracajú do práce a k nám prichádzajú pacienti. Jedného doviezla rodina. Starček má vyše 80 rokov a nedokáže ani vystúpiť z auta. Sára narýchlo uteká po vozík a ponáhľa sa v ústrety dôchodcovi. 

Stále si neviem zvyknúť na tie skafandre. Je to skutočne ako pohľad z iného sveta, alebo ako keby sme boli ohrození radiáciou. 

Mám zlý pocit, že Sáre nepomáham tlačiť toho pána na vozíku. Ale mám obavy sa zapojiť. Čo by povedali rodinní príslušníci? Že prečo sa v nemocnici hrá na zdravotníka novinár? 

Kým som lamentoval nad týmto nezmyselným vnútorným monológom a zároveň fotografoval, morálna úvaha bola pasé. Ostal som pri svojej vlastnej robote, pracovná pozícia: mucha na stene. 

Vzniká nová situácia: prichádza človek z druhého brehu. Z vnútra nemocnice. Tento pán prešiel triedením už skôr, keď sa do nemocnice dostal ako doprovod niektorého pacienta. Popri čakaní na urgente sa mu však zažiadalo nadýchať sa čistého vzduchu z cigarety, a tak vysvetľuje: Prosím vás, ja som pendler, budem tu pendlovať a fajčiť dobre? Doktor a medička prikyvujú. Ja tiež… z kolegiality. 

Tento vírus je strašne zvláštny. Že môžu byť ľudia aj asymptomatickí. Je vôbec to meranie teploty na niečo dobré? Hovorí mucha.

Marek: Aj chrípka vie byť bezpríznaková. Ja som napríklad raz chrípku nevyležal a naraz som dostal myokarditidu. 

To je čo?

Marek: Zápal srdcového svalu. Vtedy srdce slabšie pumpuje. Opuchnutý sval zhrubne a objem komory sa zmenší. Tým pádom pumpuje menej krvi do mozgu. Preto, keď sa človek postaví, tak mozog sa preventívne, z ochranných dôvodov vypne a môžeš odpadnúť. Keď sa niekde dobre udrieš, tak môžeš aj zomrieť. 

Koronavírus by takisto mal zdravý pacient prekonať. Poznám prípad pani, ktorá zomrela, lenže ona mala metastázy po celom tele. Covid-19 síce bol príčinou smrti, ale v jej prípade to bol v konečnom dôsledku rozdiel asi pol roka. 

Predstav si beznádej

Znovu pacient.

Tentokrát je to vážne. Starenka sa opiera o svoju (asi) dcéru a doslova narieka, kričí a vzlyká od bolesti. Má obličkovú koliku, konštatuje doktor narýchlo. Bolesť-nebolesť Sára jej rýchlo meria teplotu, to isté aj doprovodu. Teta sa s ťažkosťou podpíše, dostane pásku a mieri do čakárne. Tam ešte niekoľko minút narieka a čaká na pomoc. 

Kolika vzniká, keď má človek obličkové kamene. No a niekedy sa to všetko, čo sa má prefiltrovať cez obličky, na tých kameňoch zapchá a zasekne. Bolesti sú vraj tak strašné, že sa pacienti škriabu po stenách.

Táto pani narieka statočne a ja sucho konštatujem, že dúfam, že po ňu príde lekár skôr, ako s ňou spolupacienti stratia trpezlivosť.

Prišli aj dvaja rodičia. Išli na návštevu k dcére, je vraj vo vážnom stave. Viac nevraveli a ja som sa ich nezvládol opýtať.

Bolí ma srdce, keď som svedkom takýchto individuálnych tragédií. To sú momenty, kedy úmrtia vystúpia zo štatistiky. Je príliš reálna. Tá bolesť, ktorá ide z očí ľudí, keď ich blizki trpia. Ten stres, keď si pomyslím, že človek, ktorý zomiera mal nejaké sny, ašpirácie, možno predpoklady a on vie, že je to razom preč. Všetci okolo to vedia. Každý z nich je taký ako ja, ako ty. Predstav si beznádej. 

Nebojíš sa, že to nezvládneš? Keď uvidíš ľudí trpieť.

Sára: Mne robí najväčší problém, keď vidím, že ľudia majú fyzické bolesti. Keď sú napríklad v umelom spánku, tak som v pohode. Ale čo sa týka bolesti, tak tam sa mi stal aj taký trochu vtipný zážitok.

Boli sme sa pozrieť na plastickej chirurgii na odstraňovanie znamienok. Pacientovi tam pichli lokálnu anestéziu. Čo je taká blbosť, veď je to len ihla. Ale pacienta to evidentne zabolelo a dal to najavo. Mne z toho prišlo nevoľno. Bála som sa, že odpadnem. Takže toto budem musieť prekonať.

Pendler dopendloval

Hlavný recepčný vyhadzuje doprovod pacientov pred urgent. Vraj sa čakáreň preplnila. Okolo prechádza samozvaný pendler: “Už som dopendloval, dovidenia,” konštatuje.

Rozprávame sa už o kadečom. Sú dve hodiny do záverečnej. Keď prichádzajú pacienti, sám podávam teplomer Sáre. Neviem či preto, že som sa už asimiloval alebo preto, že mi je po šiestich hodinách už dlho. 

Doktorovi a študentke hovorím príbeh o operácii s 300 percentnou úmrtnosťou. Najrýchlejší chirurg 19. storočia, Robert Liston, sa okrem toho, že dokázal amputovať končatinu v rozmedzí troch minút preslávil aj jedným husárskym kúskom: Pri jednej operácii omylom zabil troch ľudí. Tak sa sústredil na svoju rýchlosť, až popri manévroch s nožom odfaklil nielen pacientovu nohu, ale aj prst svojho asistenta. Obaja nešťastníci zomreli kvôli infekcii. Treťou obeťou operácie bol pristojaci divák, ktorý pre istotu zomrel od strachu, keď mu doktor omylom porezal kabát. 

Tipujeme, koľko pacientov ešte príde. “Je pondelok večer, vonku je pekne…” rozmýšľa Sára. “To ako vyrátavaš?” pýtam sa. “Keď je pekne ľudia trávia čas vonku: športujú, majstrujú. Keď je vonku zima ľudia sedia doma v bezpečí.” 

Sárin brat je záchranár. Celý rok má rozdelený typologicky. Napríklad v júli je najviac úrazov krčnej chrbtice a stavcov, lebo ľudia zbierajú čerešne. 

Ja tipujem, že prídu ešte ôsmi, Sára vraví, že štyria a najoptimistickejší je doktor Marek, ten tipuje dvoch. 

Po siedmych hodinách v jednej miestnosti už kecáme o operáciách šedého zákalu, o miniatúrnych skalpeloch, ale aj o tom, ako sa doktor kedysi učil operovať na prasacích očných buľvách. 

Sme hladní. Viem to, lebo počujem ako kolegom škvŕka v bruchu. Celý deň nejedli a ani nepili, pretože v obleku sa nedá použiť toaleta. 

Nakoniec stávku vyhral pán doktor. Červený pásik nedostal za celý čas nikto, ale mne to nevadilo. Nemal som pocit ako by som zabil čas, že som nič nezažil. 

Pozeral som sa na históriu v priamom prenose, z prvej rady. Nikdy predtým som nevidel čo sa robí počas epidémie a dúfam, že to už ani neuvidim. Ale každá činnosť v týchto časoch je niečím zvláštna. 

Chcem zachytiť tie príbehy dneška, lebo stále žasnem, keď si niekde prezerám autentické zábery z minulosti. Či už je to výstavba sídlisk, prvomájový sprievod, Sovietska okupácia.