When I checked in, the receptionist recommended I walk up the hill to the war memorial at Slavin so I could take in the view of the city. She then boldly proclaimed that this included "the ugliest building in the world."
I could hardly wait as I climbed the final steps and turned to take in city. In my mind I pictured a single monstrosity of glass and concrete twisting skywards like a badly pruned bush, staining the skyline.
I realised almost immediately that I should have asked for more specifics on the building in question, because it was not clear which one she had meant. Though there were several candidates in the 'ugly' category, no particular one sprang forwards as 'ugliest' or indeed 'ugliest in the world'. Initially I thought this was a Good Thing. But it then occurred to me it could also be a Bad Thing- what if none of them stood out because they were (all) equally the ugliest building in the world?
In his book The Architecture of Happiness, Alain de Botton plays on the idea that in buildings as in people, beauty is the promise of happiness. In this way, we are attracted to beautiful buildings because we feel they will make us happy.
Standing at the top of that hill, I wondered if the opposite was true. Did the ugly buildings make me sad? I certainly felt something towards them, but it seemed closer to disappointment at their lost potential rather than direct sadness at their ugliness.
Poor Bratislava. My grandfather was born there in 1927, lived through WWII and the beginning of the communist regime before moving to Prague, meeting my grandmother and ultimately fleeing in 1949. Slovakia has always been the ugly cousin, but beauty is there. Not as overt as grander, richer, European cities, you need to do the digging to find it. A bit like happiness really. 😉