It felt like it had been raining forever. Perhaps it was just the unavoidable pessimism we were feeling about the weather: the forecast did not look pormising at all. Perhaps it was experience: after living in Poland seven years, I was familiar with the depression about the seemingly-continuously gray sky. So when we woke today and it wasn’t raining, we knew we had to go out and do something special.

A trip to Slovakia was in order.

This year, however, it being so cold, we weren’t able to take the boat out over flooded village. There was only one goal, in fact (other than taking the cousins out for an adventure): Bryndzove halusky.

If this Slovakian adventure looks similar to the Slovakian outing two years ago, that’s because it is.

It’s the known and the comfortable that we’re seeking, with a touch of adventure. For example, we’ll head south to the Tatra mountains again, but we’ll try a walk in a valley new to us. After all, it’s not vacation as much as a sort of homecoming.

And so we headed back to Slovakia, back to Namestovo, and it was, in a way, like we’d never left. We drove on the roads that we’d cycled on so many times, around the lake where we stayed during two New Years’ vacations. Back to our old mini-vacation spots when we lived here.

In Namestovo, we discovered gypsy carnival. Except the operators were gypsies only in spirit, traveling from town to town, living in RVs improvised and standard.

But what was that to the cousins? They only cared about the few rides set up in the corner of the parking lot, all of them involving, in one form or another, going in circles.

Once back home, more of the familiar and the known: a walk to the river.

I recall very few visits to Jablonka that didn’t include a walk to the river. Even in the depths of January snow, we took walks to the river, a round-trip journey of about four kilometers (roughly 2.5 miles).

In many ways, it was for the cousins as well. “Who wants to go for a walk?” Reaction: minimal. “And see cows and chickens?” Instant agreement.

Had we added, “And jump in puddles,” we certainly would have gotten a better reaction. Indeed, the puddles and the mud were the hit. “Bloto!” one cried, the second echoed, and in moments, they were plodding through yet another puddle.

And so it continued throughout the entire walk: the cousins ran ahead, we called for them to wait, they waited. Repeat.

Once in the meadows, the mud disappeared, but flowers everywhere, as were the smiles.

.

In short, a fine second day in Polska.