and versatile bike , performing manoeuvres almost telepathically . The engine is always elastic and forgives any moment of distraction , picking up well from the low range when I find myself dazed by the landscape . Among brushstroke corners and gentle hillsides , villages are marked by bilingual signs . In some cases , in addition to the Slovak and Ruthenian names , there is also the Ukrainian one . Numerous crucifixes by the side of the empty road keep me company ; seen one after the other , they look like a Warhol ’ s series of portraits . And where are Christs sacrificed in series if not on the battlefields ? Keeping this suggestion in my mind , I head towards the Dukla Pass on the nearby Polish border . Here , the German Army and the Red Army beat the hell out of each other from 8th September to 28th October 1944 .
The memorial erected at the top of the pass , surrounded by the war cemetery , is steeped in the standard rhetoric of war monuments ; it ' s a shame to see the pathos diminished by the sloppiness of the liquor shop . It ’ s planted right in front of the beautiful park , making even the tank looming over the street lose its evocative power . Much more impressive are the armoured vehicles scattered in the Údolie Smrti below , the Valley of Death , so called because of the 138,000 dead from the bloody battle on the Eastern Front , which determined the current borders and the split of Ruthenian people . Following the path with a trickle of gas , my small yellow Banana Jane brings me in the presence of a green monster of steel . It ' s not hard to imagine these fertile hills being violated by the roar of armoured vehicles , the gunshot and explosions , the atrocity of mechanised warfare . Treaties make borders but , up until eighty years ago , war had to be waged first . It ’ s something we should keep in mind when talking about the unity of Europe .
Not far away , in front of yet another residential Pantone palette on the outskirts of Svidnik , other remnants are on display in the park of the war museum , a fine example of 1960s modernism . Two teenagers canoodle shyly under the porch , a father explains something to his son about a tank , a couple takes a selfie . It ' s hard to think of a better use for these machines .
At sunset I reach the nice town of Bardejov , where I ’ ll stop for a couple of days to rest , taking advantage of Bardejovske Kupele ; it is a large thermal park much used
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