Slovenia Part 2: Things Get Real

We awoke mid-morning, had some breakfast, and then headed out to experience all that Ljubljana has to offer.  We found an outdoor market, which Lucas accurately pointed out is a great place to experience what local people eat and how they act. I managed to spill some coffee on my shirt, which was an excellent excuse to buy a new one with a dragon on it.  Apparently there is some legend about a Greek warrior who came to Ljubljana and slayed a dragon, which explains why they all over the city.  

After trying on some cool hats and sampling local food and drink, we hiked up to Ljubljana Castle, which has an amazing view of the city.  On the way, we were passed by a sprinting Slovenian man, who upon closer inspection had a very weathered face and was probably about eighty years old.  When we reached the top, we noticed him jumping from rock to rock with his capri pants swaying in the wind.  I hope I am in half as good shape when I am that old.

In the castle courtyard there was a wedding taking place and two little kids were kicking a little nut around.   When it reached me I kicked it back, which prompted the little blonde Slovenian girl to say, "Hvuala,"  which means thank you, and is pronounced to rhyme with Koala, in the most adorable way.

On top of the castle we met a dangerously charming British couple.  Everything they said had me hypnotized.  They could have told me to jump off of the castle tower and I would have done it without question, because they are just so damn charming.  Apparently they had quit their jobs and were spending their savings driving a van around Europe.  The Brits are able to use certain verbs that American could never pull off.

"Yes we had considered wintering in Tunisia, (Tunisia with four syllables as opposed to our measly three) but we're not sure if government will permit us to drive there."  Everything to them was "really fantastic" or "absolutely brilliant" including Budapest, which they recommended highly for New Years, and Czech beer which they said is the best in the world, to groans of protest from Lucas and Isabelle who had spent all morning debating if German or Belgian beer was better.

After absorbing the gorgeous surroundings, we descended and toured the city's churches and museums, including a stop at the library, which was designed by a famous Slovenian architect and I know my parents would enjoy it very much.  We also found the Parliament building which is not terribly impressive except for the doors, which are famous and filled with sculpture. Isabelle proved to be a great guide, translating her French information on Slovenia into broken English or Spanish, and explaining the significance of every building and statue.

For dinner we went to the supermarket and bought some pasta and meat which I happily cooked in the hostel's kitchen.  Alberto thanked me for cooking and began calling me, "The Cookie," as in 

"Thank you for cooking, Cookie...you are a great cookie!"  

We drank some wine and tequila that Alberto brought and prepared to head out.  Thankfully Noelle agreed to stay in, which meant nobody had to take care of her.  This time we wanted to avoid the turisty clubs and decided to venture deeper into the city, following advice from one of the hostel employees.  First we had some wine on the Dragon Bridge (my favorite spot in Ljubljana) and discussed conspiracy theories, agreeing that the U.S. government has far too many secrets.

We went from the Dragon Bridge to the art district, where apparently a group of students had congregated in the '90s and I didn't quite hear the whole story, but I guess the government tried to stop them from taking over the square, but they finally gave up and just let them have the place.  

As we ventured further and further from the downtown Ljubljana, there was less light and fewer people, I started to feel a bit uneasy, but we were in a group and Lucas seemed to be confident that this would be a cool place to go, so I tried not to worry.

When we reached the square, we saw that there was graffiti and post modern, abstract, metal sculpture everywhere.  Students stood around with drinks, wearing leather and sporting piercings of various kinds.  I felt that something was not right about this place as we opened our last bottle of wine and listened to the strange music that leaked out of one of the buildings.

After a bit, two young men approached us, one wearing a black jacket and the other with sores all over his face.  I told them I was from the states, but only the tall one, without the sores, seemed to know any English.  Every other thing he said was "fuck's sake," as in,

"You'll have to excuse my friend,"  he gestured toward the red, sickly looking spots all over his face.  "He has the H.I.V. very bad, fuck's sake."  

I started to become more and more uneasy, and then things escalated quickly when Lucas tried to ask what the word for Prost (German cheers) was in Slovenian, raising his cup to clink it with the Slovenian student's.  Upon hearing the word Prost, his expression changed drastically, and he said quietly but forcefully,

"German...you are German."  It was more of a statement than a question.

"Yeah,"  Lucas responded in the kindest voice.  The student removed his black jacket to reveal a red soccer warm-up.

"My grandparents were killed by the Germans, forty-five kilometers from here.  Now we fight."

He put his fists in the air, and I stepped between him and Lucas, who walked in the other direction trying to avoid a confrontation.  I tried to talk down the angry Slovenian who kept explaining to me about his grandparents.

"Fucking Germans for fuck's sake, killed my grandparents, fuck's sake.  Fort-five kilometers from here."  

"Look I told him.  I'm Jewish.  I understand.  I understand your anger, but this is a new generation.  Lucas did not kill your grandparents, you have to understand that."  I don't think he quite got what I was trying to say.

"Fuck's sake, you go forty-five kilometers.  You go there!"  He looked around crazily for Lucas who had disappeared with Isabelle, and then finally put his jacket back on, seeming to give up. Keith, Alberto, and I had a seat on the curb and tried to wrap our minds around what had just happened.

"I don't really feel safe here, like I think we should go."  I could tell Alberto was shaken up.  Keith and I consoled him and tried to sound like everything was fine when another student came over and sat next to us with his head in his hands.  He looked at us momentarily and then let out an extraordinary amount of vomit onto the street, which did not contribute to making Alberto feel safe.  We watched the angry young Slovenian emerge from inside the building and take a serious fall, the force of which pulled off his pants and exposed his entire bare ass.

"Lets get out of here," Alberto said, and Keith and I did not need any more convincing. 

I told them to wait where they were, and I walked into the dark club, which was filled with smoke and art students dancing strangely to music that was a mix of techno and wailing folk rock.  I saw Lucas and Isabelle happily sipping dragon beers at the bar.

"Look at how they dance!"  Lucas seemed to love this place.  I told them that it was time to go and they agreed.  We left the place, which is how most Americans would probably imagine night-life in a former Yugoslavian Republic.  It was about 4 a.m., so we decided to see if Bacchus was still open, but because they were closing soon we figured it wouldn't be worth paying the cover, although I wondered if my princess was in there.

We walked back to the hostel in near silence, and when we were about to make the turn onto Tomisceva Ulica, we heard a shout from across the street.

"GERMAN!"  The angry student and his afflicted friend had found us, so we took off at a fast-paced walk and made our way into the safety of the hostel.  I consoled Alberto by telling him that now we had an incredible story to tell.  We set an alarm for 7 a.m. to make the trip to Bled in Northern Slovenia.