My recent travels left me wanting for time to sit and give sufficient thought and reflection on my experiences north of Albania. I hoped not to let too much time pass between the walking of and the writing about the capital of Slovenia.
I arrived shortly after midnight and was given last-minute housing at one of the hostels in town. My roommates were sleeping soundly upon my arrival and continued to do so until after I got up that morning. After breakfast I was told of a tour that left from the center of the city every day at 3PM. Ljubljana has many eye-catching treasures, but it is always good walk with an artist when trying grasp Matisse, Monet, Degas or Dali.
Slovenia is Europe proper, there can be no question. Unlike some of the other Balkan states like Bulgaria, Slovenia did not have to hastily paint its face to appear presentable for audience with Germany, Austria or France when seeking membership as part of the European Union. Its culture and art are on par with those of the finest cities in Italy.
While taking the tour, the weather turned cold and rainy. For those of you who know me, you know that I was born and raised in the cold and rainy. Life in Seattle had prepared me well to take advantage of sites unencumbered by rain-fearing tourists.
As the sky bristled into grey curdles and frayed black-on-white chords, the streets were abandoned for want of dry cover.
This city can boast the finest examples of Baroque and Venetian influence, and the modern additions to the place have enhanced those cherished, high necessities of vanity.
City is more than a place to work, trade, and walk.
It is the golden buckle on your boot.
Your emerald ring.
Tassels hanging from lace at the foot of the guest bed.
Slovenia is the hand-shaped gold wound under the lip of the goblet you never drink from; the home of saints and the regretful lonely.
albaniacalling 