Slovenia Part 1: My Slovenian Princess

I just returned from Slovenia, a wonderful country that is much more developed and modern than most people think, making it a model for Eastern European democracies. A lot happened there and it might take a couple of days for me to write it all down and post the pictures, but it's not like I have to go to class this week, so here is what happened day 1.

We took a bus to Ljubljana, the capital, which took about two and a half hours from Trieste.  I traveled with an international crew including three Americans, a Mexican, a German, and a Belgian.  Of course we were accompanied by over twenty Spaniards who stayed in a different hostel and were very cold in Slovenia.  On the way, my friend Keith (from Montana) and I started looking at a Slovenian travel guide (pictured above) and decided that this weekend was going to be a good time. 

I mean just look at all of the amazing things Slovenia has to offer: dragons and giant flowers, white water rafting and ice climbing, tree houses suspended on ears of corn, flying horsemen with tophats, cliff diving, and of course housewives, traditionally dressed, and doing their cleaning while standing on top of pastries.  What's not to like?

We arrived in Slovenia, which looks exactly like Vermont, at about 5pm.  I mentioned the similarity between Slovenia and my home state to Alberto who took this idea and ran with it, frequently tapping me on the shoulder and telling me things like,

"Hey, I think this looks like Vermont."

"Noah...we must have fallen asleep and now we are in Vermont."

"Keith, I think it looks like Montana now."  Keith responded by telling him that it looked nothing like Montana, and more like Mexico to him, which had Alberto holding his sides and laughing hysterically.

Alberto also informed us on the bus that life is like a box of chocolates and he got very excited when he saw a Mcdonalds in the Slovenian bus station, making up a new song on the spot that he sang throughout the weekend.  It was a serious of deedeedee's followed by a two word hook,

"At Mcdonald's!"  

He also introduced us to some of his favorite English sayings including "Awesome Possum,"  and "Of Course my Horse."  Alberto makes me laugh more than anyone else on earth, and I could not imagine traveling without him.

 

We checked into our hostel which was right downtown and looked like the entire place had been purchased out of an Ikea catalogue, complete with pink walls, bunk beds, and very modern looking reading lights and appliances.  The staff was extremely friendly and patient with us and I highly recommend Fluxus hostel to anyone who finds themselves in Slovenia for a night or two.

 

We left our stuff and went out for a Kebab (delicious) and to buy some alcohol for the night. We discovered that Slovenians have two types of cheap beer which are quite tasty, one featuring a Dragon (an important symbol for Ljubljana) and a Goat (not sure of the significance there).  We bought a good number of Dragon and Goat beers and some wine and headed downtown for Botellon, which is the Spanish term for drinking outside in the town square.  We walked along the river for awhile, noticing people enjoying a drink or dinner outdoors, many bridges, and some beautifully lit up buildings.  

We arrived in a square next to three such bridges, and saw a large group of people bopping to loud house music.  On either side of the square were two phone booths, and in the center was a Heineken tent, a couple of large LCD monitors, and two good looking young people with microphones.  Before we had time to say "What the fuck?" a woman with a clip board grabbed us and ushered us toward one of the phone booths.

"You have to talk, thirty seconds,"  she informed us, in a thick, Eastern European accent.  I asked her why, and she explained to me in broken English that there were two teams, and whoever could get more people to talk in their booth would be flown to New York City for a Madonna concert.  This was completely unexpected, but I knew that we had to help, realizing that the stakes could not be higher.  We each had our turn in the booth, yelling things in our native language, hearing our voices on the loud speakers reverberate throughout the square.  I said something about being born in New York and people cheered when they heard the name of the city that they were trying to get to, so I closed out my thirty seconds by yelling MADONNA!!! to the delight of the crowd.  

After our booth time, we were handed a ticket and told to scratch.  I did so, revealing a long code of letters and numbers.  They pushed me into the Heineken tent, where I was handed a freezing cold beer and a free hat in exchange for my ticket.  Some won shirts and various other prizes, and to top it all off, the tent was full of gorgeous Slovenian women.  After a few minutes of oggling, I went back out into the square to see the Spaniards arrive.

 

We took over the piazza and had a tremendous Botellon which involved a lot of shouts of "Grande!"  some national anthems, some discussion with a Slovenian homeless man, and pictures with a big ladder that the Spaniards found somewhere.  After a few too many dragon beers and some strong Slovenian wine (the labels say 13% alcohol, but it feels like more), my American friends needed to be put to bed.  I was not happy, because it was only midnight and I was ready to hit the clubs.  Alberto and I walked Keith and Noelle back to the hostel with Alberto doing all of the work, because I refused to help them.

"They are 23 and 24 years old," I kept reiterating.

"They should be able to handle their liquor."  Keith began telling my to go fuck myself in Italian when I told him to walk straighter, which did cheer me up, and he begged me not to leave him alone with Noelle (a stereotypical American from San Diego), repeatedly telling me that he was going out with us.  As soon as we entered the hostel he was in a bed, asleep, while I profusely apologized to the hostel employee David who was very understanding.  After convincing a hammered Noelle not to go out alone to get food, Alberto and I went back out and met up with Lucas (from Germany) and Isabelle (from Belgium) at a club called Bacchus.  

 

We paid our five Euro cover and hit the dance floor, where beer was not too expensive, and the odd array of American pop songs kept coming, which were thankfully not remixed.  We heard everything from Love Shack, to Uptown Girl, to Eye of the Tiger, to One More Night by Phill Collins.

Alberto met some terrifyingly young girls and tried to get me to dance with them.

"They are children,"  I kept telling him, "absolutely not."  He was convinced that they were much older, or at least that one day they would be much older, and therefore it was no problem. I found some British girls that were closer to my age and a lot of fun.  We did the twist and I was immediately reminded of my friend Brett's excellent impression of Chubby Checker, which made me wish he could be there to experience this with me.

I laughed as a watched a crew of Sovenians all dressed in orange jumpsuits, who danced on top of a balcony, and then came down to sneak into people's photographs.  Their leader sported a large afro and was one of the more interesting dancers I have seen in Europe, and I wondered if they dressed this way every time they went out or if tonight had some special significance.  At one point I looked across the dance floor and saw a gorgeous girl with blonde hair and my jaw completely dropped.

"I have to dance with her,"  I told my friend Lucas, just as a swing song came on and a guy started dancing with her friend.  I seized my opportunity, grabbing her hand and dancing with her until the song ended, at which point I was completely smitten.  A tiny man with a unibrow grabbed me on the shoulder and looked at me very seriously.

"Do you have any idea who she is?"

"What?  No, why would I?"

"You are unbelievable,"  he told me, shaking his head.  

"I'm sorry but I am not from around here.  Who is she?"  I asked.

"She is an actress, very famous in Slovenia...all of the movies.  How can you not know her?" I talked to her little handler for a while who kept calling me ignorant as he condescendingly informed me all about her film career, like I was a child who had never heard of Slovenia.  He seemed to be very surprised that I was able to dance with her, frustrated that I had penetrated his vigilant defenses against potential suitors.  I noticed a large group of men gathered around her looking to dance who were unsuccessful.  I felt pretty proud of myself for getting that far, but when the club closed, I became separated from her and her little minion before getting a phone number or planning to meet again, and I was devestated.  I had lost my Slovenian Princess forever.  

Alberto said goodbye to the children and we headed home around 5 a.m. for some much needed sleep...sightseeing in the morning.