16 October: Ljubljana

16 October: Ljubljana 

I have a list of tourist spots I want to explore. But first a couple of places close to home. Number 1, the hostel basement. I check out two cells formerly used for solitary confinement. A chilling experience, the scene only lit by my phone.

The ceiling of the approach lobby has been decorated by one of the artists who – I belatedly understand – are the inspiration for the prison makeover. It is intended to overlay dark times with a new and more peaceful vibe. (By the way, if you Google “cool places to stay in Ljubljana” I have found that Celica comes up top.) 

Second up, I poke my nose into Metelkova – the (former?) artists’ squat, bang next door to the hostel. On a bleakly cold Monday morning, with no one about, it’s perplexing. Who is living here? On what basis? Does the art “renew”itself? Scrolling through these images won’t to justice to them; I was impressed.

The most recent artwork, on a road hoarding outside Metelkova, is dated 6 October. One day before the most recent Israeli incursion into Gaza. Prescient, or what?

On to the market, which is a true farmers’ trading ground. Everything seasonal is piled high: pumpkins, mushrooms, soft fruit, grapes, plums. Mounds of cabbage sit next to piles of sauerkraut, and what could be cabbage juice. Elderly locals engage in animated conversations. 

The craft side consists of just one young guy, selling aprons, oven, gloves, and bags made by his mother. He reckons the cold weather has put off the rest of the sellers. We chat and he tells me his plan is to make money as fast as he can so that he can retire, and do crazy things like his mother – who is up to cycling all the way to Jezersko, from where I have just travelled.

Then a little visit to a purveyor of spirits and wine. I find myself buying Mum a ginger and lemon liqueur, based on some notion of healing property. I am a soft touch.

I pass by the cake shop I had flagged yesterday for revisiting. But, just looking at the outsized portions, my heart fails me.

I have arrived at an unravelled, tired state, incapable of taking anything in. Time to return to the hostel to regroup. But, even with a break, my energy is flagging. I re-fuel at a fresh pasta joint (very good) and then manage to visit the pink church that has been so visible these last two days – only discovering, later, that it isn’t, in fact, St Nicholas Cathedral, as I thought! The red colour is symbolic of the Franciscan monastic order. Wiki tells me that the original 17th-century frescoes were ruined by the cracks in the ceiling caused by the Ljubjlana earthquake in 1895. The new frescoes were painted in 1936 by a Slovene impressionist painter.

By mid afternoon the cake craving can no  longer be suppressed. I collapse into Lolita’s and indulge myself. Apart from the designer cakes, there is a designer ceiling. 

Although I am loathe to call it a day, plantar fasciitis is winning. And, as I have had some near misses with the hurly-burly cyclists, I am becoming a danger to myself. (It’s all very well removing cars but way to go in making it a comfortable pedestrian experience!) And so I stroll back to the hostel. 

At recently built (2010) Butcher’s Bridge – wide enough to be a square – the locks gleam in the late-afternoon sun. 

Passing by Metelkova one more time, it remains enigmatic. Alone, a guy is sitting on some steps playing guitar, but avoids eye contact. Elsewhere, groups of hoodies are playing a boule-type game with discs, or sitting in groups, smoking. I am not at ease, and feel a sense of security, using my key card to re-enter the hostel.

Impressions of Ljubjlana after two days? A dynamic, forward-thinking, artistically expressive, calorie- and culturally rich destination. Very much recommended.

And Slovenia? A fabulously beautiful country full of contrasts and complexity.

15 October: in Ljubljana

I hadn’t intended to post after yesterday. But I can’t help myself. The current addiction.

Hostel Celica is not just a former prison. Adjacent buildings include an ex-Yugoslav army garrison. Read all about it at the hostel website, https://www.hostelcelica.com/en/ex-prison-hostel/

I could make use of the fact that the hostel, is located only a couple of metres away from a former artist squat, now known as Metelkova Mesto, an autonomous social and cultural centre in Ljubljana. If you are into wicked good art, concerts of alternative bands and graffiti, Metelkova will be right up your alley. So now I know. I check the Metelkova website and find that Channel Zero are playing tonight. YouTube refers to them as “psyhadelic stoner rock scene”. And possibly a fast route to a splitting headache. Maybe not.

I experience Ljubljana on a relentlessly wet day. Booking onto a guided walking tour, being drip-fed fascinating nuggets of history over a 2-hour period and a couple of kilometres, is a good option.

In no particular order, these are the facts that have remained with me: 

• Slovenia has the highest per capita number of churches, Michelin stars (?!) (in Europe? the world?), and private vineyards. It produces 80 million litres of wine per year, of which 6 million is exported. The population of the country is 2 million. You can do the maths!
• In mediaeval times, the capital totalled just 6000 people – half the size of Bradford on Avon!
• It likes to think of itself as a leader in things ecological: 70% recycled, bike rental at €3 per year, free taxis to compensate for the increasingly pedestrianised areas of the city centre and inconvenience thereby caused
• There are two main architectural styles: Baroque (Slovenia was within the Habsburg empire for 650 years) and Secessionist (much building after 1895 earthquake). The main concert hall was the testing ground for the Vienna greats – Brahms, Beethoven etc
• Asking a Slovenian if they think the country was Communist – as opposed to socialist – is likely to cause some embarrassment.
• Slovenia has an architect with a reputation as big as Gaudi or Foster: Jože Plečnik, who worked in Vienna, Prague, and Ljubljana. A passionate nationalist, he anticipated Ljubljana becoming the capital and designed grandiose buildings ahead of its time.
• Occupied for 1000 years (our guide mentioned this all-important fact on several occasions), and successful military figures therefore being thin on the ground, the statue chosen for the square outside the cathedral (to which he has given his name) is France Prešeren, Slovenia’s most revered poet. His importance is reflected in one of his poems being used for the national anthem of the Republic of Slovenia. France was considered as the chief representative of the Romantic school in Slovenia. Undoubtedly, his pieces were full of emotions, sentiments, and deep meanings. Furthermore, he was one of the greatest European Romanticists, as he was recognized not only regionally, but as one of the developers of European literature standards. (Seehttps://sloveniatour.si/what-are-the-most-important-slovenian-writers-and-books/)
• 93% of Slovenians voted for independence prior to the breakup of Yugoslavia.
• Slovenia has a meagre 47km of coast – a sore point, to charge by the way our guide related this fact. (Later in the day, film footage at the SEM (Slovenian Ethnographic Museum) of the last fishing boats being used, dating from a time when seaboard families would survive from fishing, was particularly poignant.)
• We were told that “Karst” is the one word Slovenia has given to the rest of us. But, Googling it, I found that Slovakia has a bigger area of Karst landscape. Hm. 
• In former Yugoslavia, Slovenia had 8% of the population but 25% of GDP.
• I showed the tour guide the article written by Andrej Aplenc – Polona’s political agitator friend, who I met at Šenkova Domačiya. He was lamenting the apparent loss of democracy in media institutions, but the guide commented on how that periodical comes from the extreme right wing, and that it represents the views of her parents. Clearly, Slovenian politics is a minefield.
• The Slovenian language is expletive-free. All vulgarity is taken from Serbian! And the arrival of the printing press was huge importance to attaining Slovenian as a language, and the state’s integrity.

All in all, a fascinating couple of hours. But I must learn never to follow food-related recommendations from Slovenians. I have lunch in a dumpling joint and have to abandon a ginormous tarragon and cottage cheese specimen. It is served with a massive bowl of barley, bean and vegetable stew and a bowl of buckwheat. 

Defeated by the rain I head back to the hostel. The SEM is on my way, so I stop off for a look. I’ve already mentioned the boat. Amid many interesting artefacts from the past there is an intriguing caption to some bread-making realia:

In the past, when there was no yeast, such as in the area around Mokronog, as late as the 1950s, bread was kneaded on a mentrga (a special kneading table), to which kravaji (sourdough) were added. Once a year, in the autumn, they made kravajce in the form of loaves for the whole year. The loaves were dried on a board in the sun and then in the oven on a rack.

Have I understood correctly – they made loaves to last for a whole year?!

Browsing in the museum shop I hear the two girls at the ticket desk breaking intermittently into flawless English. I have to ask them – why. And it’s kind of as I suspected: English is so dominant – in the capital, at least – and they are so conscious of the smallness of the Slovenian-speaking world. Why huddle in the shallow end of the swimming pool when the open sea is next door. Also, English may be more flexible for certain words – they cited “awkward” as an example. 

Back at the hostel, I slide downhill into a huge piece of pizza, grateful to avoid a trip out. The teacher leading a large group of French schoolchildren launches into a karaoke session. At the point when Céline Dion is taking over I call it a day and retreat to my cell.

14 October: Šenkova Domačija to Ljubjlana

Maria turns up the “card of the day” that we have been reading each morning, to improve my Spanish:

... “The magic of starting again”. It is apposite for this day of change, when we go our separate ways.

I enjoy one last glorious burst of sunshine, cycling to the village vending machine for a few cheesy purchases. 

After 2 weeks of planning to do so, I walk up the hillock behind the house. It gives the archetypal view of Šenkova Domačija, making it seem as though it is the only homestead in the valley. The morning sun is blinding and, although not the most flattering light, is still an impressive amphitheatre. 

And there is yet another lovely view of St Andrew’s Church.

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Perhaps because I am leaving, the morning coffee break is early. It’s an opportunity to say goodbye. Polona embraces me warm heartedly and there is talk of me returning – perhaps even staying in the dorm, off-season. Drejc is a hand shaker but there is the same good feeling.  

The bus has been stationary at the “terminus”, visible from the house, for a couple of hours. What does the driver do the while. I discover when I arrive: he is snoozing on the back seat, curtain drawn. I hear an alarm, and the sounds of reluctant awakening. And then we’re off, Maria waving from the raspberry patch. Waves of sadness and gratitude wash over me. And I wonder how I will adapt to my solitary, damp-cottage existence – and the grey UK climate. I have had almost 2 weeks of sun, nothing unusual in these parts. But I will get some acclimatising rain in Ljubjlana in two days’ time – if the forecast is right.

I’ve been reflecting on the debates I have witnessed in the last 2 weeks and whether the passionate attachment to view (excuse Buddhist jargon) is particular to the Karnicar family or endemic to Slovenia. And whether it is also linked with a small-country mentality in some way. There is understandable resentment, for example, that because of the hospitality industry being 15000 in deficit, foreign non-Slovenian speakers take restaurant roles, and Slovenian diners are forced to speak English in their own country. Historically, being cut off by mountain borders perhaps encourages a more traditional, inward-looking outlook. I would put money on it being the last country to get around to reducing its meat consumption. (I have been told that just 1% of the country is vegetarian.)

I check into my hostel and am taken aback that its conversion from a former prison retains quite so much of the atmosphere of that time! My bedroom – a former cell off a long, red-tiled corridor – is made of steel, with a second grill door directly after it. The windows are high and I can only access my bed – which bridges the gap between the two side walls – by standing on a rock which has been placed on a pebble floor. Designer chic, or unbearably austere?

First impressions of Ljubjlana are its graffiti! 

And also evidence of a very rich cultural life, that I will have to bypass. I do, however, make it to the Museum of Contemporary History – trying to take in some of the complex and violent phases that the country has lived through. I can respond on an emotional level to the First and Second World Wars. (Eyewitness videos do a good job of keeping alive some very horrible stories.) But I just can’t integrate the border and alliance changes, the bringing together and dissolution of states and countries, the splits within Slovenia itself, the way the rest of Europe – including the UK – contributed to how the story unfolded, with secret treaties promising bits of land, etc.

A temporary exhibition of paintings by the 20th century artist, Tone Kralj, evokes the Second World War from a different angle. This painting is said to depict Fascist Italy commanding an Italian song from a member of the resistance, and one of the many victims:

Outside the museum, there is a commemorative exhibition of works by the photographer, Joco  Znidarsi, who died recently and was the first Slovene photojournalist, a prodigious prizewinner, decorated for his work by two presidents of Slovenia. 

Regarding “The face of the little girl Francka Gril in her father's embrace”, Znidarsi says, “She didn't speak a single word during the entire visit. She's not used to people. More than what we would do to her, she was afraid of what we would do to her father. Even today, we don't know what she really thought.”

Walking through the park, I’m impressed by the level of activity: there is a skateboard park, rollerskating drome, volleyball area, children’s play area… 

A Google Maps rating brings me to a riverside eatery. Sitting on the terrace, the sheer number of people is overwhelming. I head for a fish meal, the waiter deciding me in favour of octopus. I watch the sea of humanity, including an elderly roller-skater strutting his stuff on a nearby bridge, hips gyrating, arms flowing.

Back in my cell, sounds of the city come through the window: conversations, traffic, music. I am missing the mountains.

13 October: sunflower seeds, sheep shearing and a reactionary conversation

Removing the sunflower seeds from their heads is an ongoing job; and the drying of them – apparently – a bit of an experiment. It’s pleasant work, sitting in the entrance to the camping toilet block while it’s chilly outside.

In a nearby barn the sheep are undergoing their second shearing of the year. With five people involved, it is a labour-intensive process: Luka and Marcus holding the sheep down, while Krystjan brings up the next sheep and Myra bags up the wool. A neighbour does the shearing.

After lunch, sitting on the terrace having coffee, the conversation alights on what – to the Slovenian ear – sounds like a hilarious double entendre: “I want two sheets” vs “ I want to shit”, or “horse” vs “whores”. I mention that the word “whore” is being replaced with the more neutral “sex worker” and am met with blank looks. To my surprise, I discover that prostitution is illegal in Slovenia. So why would a more neutral name for it be needed. Ok, and what about homosexuality? Once again, I am taken aback  by the strongly opinionated stance. One in the group around the table lost a lesbian sister when she committed suicide, aged 14; another person suffered abuse from men and her worldview of them is fixed forevermore. Yet there is zero tolerance of the LBGTQ+ and its sense of entitlement. Views are expressed that would be shockingly politically incorrect in the UK. But we end up acknowledging some common ground and devouring the best part of an (out of date) box of chocolates.

Maria and I extricate ourselves – finally – and soak up the last of the sun by the lake. I’m leaving tomorrow, so this is my last opportunity to take in this magical, extraordinary valley.

Following our recent broccoli and cauliflower pick, broccoli and cauliflower soup is on the menu. Followed by broccoli and cauliflower frittata. Hmm. It’s all very tasty, but an epic brassica fest, given that we had broccoli and cauliflower frittata for lunch, as well. I can’t complain about bad food management!

We are happy to “ piggyback” on the dessert made for the weekend guests.