These hunched figures are as much a part of Devin as its castle, first mentioned in 10th century chronicles, and now a gaunt ruin guarding the frontier with Austria and the Czech Republic.
But the pace of life in Devin is accelerating: nearby Bratislava, whose population is expected to double over the next two decades, is sprawling in every direction, and picturesque Devin is too inviting a destination to escape notice.
Swedish international developer Skanska is planning 23 low-rise apartment buildings on a slope overlooking the town. The project will double Devin’s population, and according to Lubica Kolkova, the mayor, will clash with the local architecture, environment and way of life. “If it goes ahead, this place will never be the same,” she says.
For Skanska, local resistance being fanned by Ms Kolkova is part of the challenge of doing business in transitional economies. The company was issued the necessary permits by the previous mayor, but is now in talks with Ms Kolkova to find a consensus with the current administration.
“We haven’t put a spade in the ground there, even though we have our permits and are entitled to get on with it,” says Noel Morrin, senior vice-president for sustainability at Skanska’s headquarters in Sweden.
“But we recognise that Devin has a cultural importance within Bratislava and Slovakia, and we’re in discussion with them about what we build and how we build it.”
It is a process that will inevitably be repeated in towns and villages around the Slovak capital, driven by a local real estate boom. The price of housing in Bratislava has doubled over the past five years on the strength of the country’s EU membership and its economic prospects. Prices are expected to rise as much as 20 per cent this year, after 25 per cent growth in 2007.
Migrant workers continue to flock to the capital from the east of the country, where unemployment is among the highest in Europe, while wealthier Bratislavans exchange apartments in communist-built tenements for family houses in nearby towns.
“Bratislava will grow to 1m, so until you create the necessary housing for those people, prices aren’t going down,” says real estate consultant Laurie Farmer.
The boom is not confined to residential real estate.
Opinions vary as to whether Bratislava already has too many office projects in the pipeline, but Mr Farmer argues that developers would have no trouble filling new buildings for at least the next three years.
“Demand is as strong now as it’s ever been,” he says. “If you need 2,000 metres of office space right now, where are you going to rent it? The space just doesn’t exist.”
Bratislava has 800,000 metres of office space, about a third of what is on offer in Prague and a quarter of that in Budapest, but local monthly rents of €10-€20 per metre are roughly comparable to those in the Czech and Hungarian capitals, as is the local 9 per cent office vacancy rate.
If there is a chill in the Slovak real estate market, it is coming from banks, which have grown skittish following the US mortgage crisis.
Developers now need as much as 40 per cent equity just to get in the door, compared with 10 per cent cash two years ago, and their records are also being examined more closely.
This is weeding out weaker local companies and forcing others into joint ventures with international developers such as Holland’s Rodamco and Ireland’s Quinlan.
The presence of foreign developers may also be setting new standards of conduct in the rough-and-tumble real estate market.
Ms Kolkova, after all, was able to appeal to Skanska’s code of conduct and its commitment to avoiding “unacceptable environmental and social risks” in calling on the company to compromise.
“Our code of conduct is just as applicable in Bratislava as anywhere else in the world,” says Mr Morrin.
“Property development is potentially messy everywhere, not just in Slovakia. However, we are willing to talk about how we adapt or adjust what we are permitted to build so that the local community feels more comfortable with it, within economic reason.”
