Slovenia...suicide and good coffee

Slovenia?  I know you've heard of it but probably only because of the World Cup.  It looks like Duloc from Shrek, has an insanely high suicide rate and is probably smaller than Sydney.

After my amazing time in Venice I head to Slovenia, with absolutely no idea what to expect.  I mean how could I really?  I know a lot of Slovenians but until 3 years ago I ashamedly admit I had heard of Slovenia but could never have pointed it out to you on a map.  It’s north of Italy, surrounded by Hungary and Austria and the food is to die for!  If you want to get fat, move to Ljubljana. 

Seeing B (Bernarda) again was amazing and I must say I would never have gone there if it wasn’t for her.  It was weird, you know, almost 2 years have past since we last saw each other but aside from our hair being longer nothing had changed.

The city of Ljubljana is stunning, the buildings are so incredible I just can’t describe them and the cobble stoned streets make you feel like you’ve just stepped back in time.  There is a museum or some kind of art or photography exhibition on just about every street corner so I spent days being all cultured up and visiting these things, and a castle!  They have castles here!  For an Aussie that was pretty cool to see in real life.

Slovenians themselves are an interesting bunch.  They wear a lot of black and grey, look like a bunch of emo’s and don’t seem to have much of a sense of humour.  I suppose you’d be depressed too if you were cold most of the time and living in a shoebox.  It’s a small country with a ridiculously high suicide rate.  But the scenery is fantastic, looking out the window of B’s apartment right onto the Austrian alps.

Ljubljana from a castle tower

Jumping on a castle

I went horseriding around the base of the Alps and Lake Bled one day, which was something I didn’t think I would ever say...like ever...in my life.  “Yes, so there I was horseriding around the base of the Alps...”  It’s almost pompous, but it wasn’t.  The elderly man that took me around kept stopping at houses of people he knew for Schnaaps.  Clearly a Slovenian thing, don’t think it could take off in Australia.  It’s red or purple and takes like you’ve been stewing your blueberries in kerosene and then drinking it...hmmm...tasty.  But I tell you what, that stuff is gold for warming you on the inside.  So full of purple fuel we continued to ride around paddocks and fields, after about an hour or so I got a bit to the point of over it.

That night at B’s place the pain began to kick in, a friendly reminder that I was no longer young and nubile.  2 weeks later I still have bruising around my, well...just think about yeah? 

If it wasn’t so dry in Slovenia I would have stayed longer just to spend more time with B, but after ten days my skin was in desperate need of a milk bath.  I miss that woman all the time, and as the bus turned towards Trieste and I thought of all the things I had left behind I smiled and shed a little tear.  The bitter sweet departure from Slovenia...what I left behind and for what lay ahead.

Bi-Ko-fe we love you...we're not sure what you're trying to say but we love you