Stuck on Slovakia

I haven't really spent much time in these posts talking about my feet. Well, that's all about to change. My shoes are pretty nasty. Having received several good soakings without time to dry they have achieved a level of funk previously ascribed only to George Clinton. If they were exorcised by a priest, burned, and the ashes were scattered across the Pacific they might be laid to rest. Despite these precautions there is still a distinct possibility that all indigenous marine life in the affected area would go suddenly extinct. So, in an effort to rectify the situation, I switched over to my flip flops. These are of the shower variety and were in no way intended to bear the load of a 170lb man carrying a 25lb pack up to ten kilometers a day. As such, the base had begun to separate. Which, naturally, brings me to the subject of Slovakia. First, some background. In Zakopane I met a Canadian lass named Kristen who was travelling a similar route to me. Stately ambassadors that we are we decided to bury the strife between our two warring nations and travel together for a while. Our first stop was the small Slovakian town of Levoca. As we walked the cobbled streets I kept stumbling; my sandals had finally reached a point where they required life support. We found a little shop that sold Slovakian superglue, which could have been goat urine for all we knew, but the 30 cent price was right so we snapped it up and went outside for a quick repair job. It was your typical tube of superglue and I forgot about the seal that needs to be pierced before the first use. As such, my squeezing of the tube had but one effect; Freddy Mercury said it best, it was under pressure. Remembering the seal, I punctured it with the cap, temporarily sealing it again. Kristen, in her infinite wisdom, took a big step back as I confidently declared, "It won't splash that far." Apparently I know less about fluid dynamics then I think I do. The second I removed the cap a geyser of permanent bond sealant erupted from the tube. About half the contents spewed forth onto the pavement, my sandals, arms, and legs. Barefoot for the repair job, one errant step would have left in me in Slovakia a lot longer then I originally intended. The big problem with permanent sealant is that it has a nasty habit of being, well, permanent. Since I didn't really want to become a town resident we patiently waited for the glue to dry then finished the repair job. Feet intact, crisis averted, we hightailed it out of town high on the fumes