Naked in the Rain -- Ljubljana, Slovenia

I sincerely don't know where to begin (which seems to be happening to me more often than not, as of late).

I'm in love with Slovenia (I seem to be falling in love more often than not, as of late).

I'm in Slovenia and I love it.

I suppose that's a start.

The first time I learned of this little Balkan country was on a train ride from Copenhagen to Belgrade. My boyfriend and I rumbled through Slovenia at dusk and I barely glimpsed the landscape as the sun set over the green horizon.

However, my brief glimpse was big enough to convince me that Slovenia was the most beautiful place I'd seen in all of my life (at that point, I'd only seen a bit of the United States, patches of Canada and a coffee shop in Copenhagen. But still).

I've been pining for the little Balkan country since that train ride in 2010.

And now I'm here. In Slovenia.

And loving it.

Dear Slovenia,

Nice to get out of the train and finally meet you. 

Mind if I stay forever? 

Yours (truly), 

-Aimee

The Slovene I'd contacted via blabla car drove me all the way to Simon's apartment just outside of Ljubljana.

I was looking forward to staying with Simon for many reasons.

a) he wrote this in his original CSing message:
I am a chocoholic and I can offer you much chocolate (between 10 and 20 different kinds - depending on season ;) and much Italian coffee too. I love cheeses as well, so you will not starve here (not French but mostly Italian; currently: mozzarella di bufala, pecorino sardo, parmiggiano reggiano and some more). I (usually) have fresh figs from my mum's garden on the Slovenian-Italian border. She will be glad to give me some, because I usually do not take them because I do not like them :)

b) he has walked the Camino de Santiago, and as I'm obsessed with the idea of attempting this pilgrimage at one point in my life, I wanted all of his ideas

c) he wrote this in a following CSing message:
First, on Saturday afternoon 2 very good close friends will come to visit me. Sabina is a pregnant girl and Kristijan a sporty doctor with immense knowledge about healthy food. You will like them for sure. They are already keen to meet you. I have organized a Lebanese dinner for the four of us as well. The menu:

- Gluten-free Tabouleh Salad
- Falafel with Sesame seeds
- Home-made Hummus
- Lebanese Meatballs with orange and peppermint
- Chicken filet with harissa and yoghurt
- Yoghurt dip with cumin and walnuts

Whoa. This person seems slightly enthusiastic about my visit. I hope I don't disappoint him. My blog does tend to portray me as a good deal more exciting than I actually am... oh well. Not much I can do about that. 

Simon was on his balcony when I arrived at 1:30 in the morning, so he whispered a quick "hello" and scurried inside and down the stairs to meet me. I payed my Slovene for the ride (which felt very out of place after all my hitchhiking), hoisted my rucksack onto my tired back and mind-over-mattered my exhausted self towards Simon's apartment.

The apartment was small (the way I like them) and chocked full of exotic spices, wines, liqueurs and a dozen varieties of dark chocolate.

"It's a smaller stack than usual," Simon gestured to his chocolate pile apologetically as my eyeballs nearly popped out of their sockets.

Smaller than usual? Whaaa?

"Make sure to help yourself. Whatever you want. Any food, chocolate, cheese -- whatever." 

Simon introduced me to many of his spices and oils. Walnut oil, pistachio oil, hazelnut oil.

It was very nice to meet them. I hope we become very friendly during my stay in Ljubljana.

He then opened one of his cupboards and introduced me to Crema Novi, a gourmet hazelnut chocolate spread that has forever ruined Nutella for me.

We didn't go to bed until three in the morning. I was probably too busy mourning the loss of Nutella (like a child who just found out that Santa Claus isn't real or that chocolate eggs are not, in fact, laid by special chocolate chickens) to feel tired.

I woke up late the next morning (my body doesn't want to live in a world where Nutella is a cheap substitute). Simon woke up later.

"Can you go into the other room?" he asked after he'd mixed his batter and washed the grapes. "I want the presentation to be a surprise."

"Sure," I took my laptop into the bedroom and sat at his desk.

I'm getting a surprise breakfast in Ljubljana. Goodness, CSing is the strangest, most beautiful thing. I'm staying in the home of a complete stranger in a gorgeous city and waiting for HIM to surprise ME with breakfast. Umm...

Simon made me this. Complete with cappuccino.

Gluten-free crepes. One generously smeared with Crema Novi, another with honey and cinnamon, and the last with unbelievably delicious pistachio butter. Freshly pureed apricots sprinkled with slivered almonds, goji berries and grapes served as a side/sauce.

This breakfast made me purr. It was awkward.

I cleaned up in the kitchen and Simon checked the weather.

"We have just a few hours of sun," his voice carried into the kitchen. "We can go to a river where I've never been, to a medieval city or to the old town of Ljubljana. But it will rain this afternoon, so I recommend leaving Ljubljana for another day when we have more time."

"I think I'm ready for some nature," I mulled over the choices. "Can we go to the river?"

"Yes."


We piled into Simon's blue car and clumsily made our way to the river (sign posts aren't Slovenia's strong point and my host's GPS wasn't working).

The soft, musty smell of rain in the air.

The clear, crisp sound of water rushing along the riverbed.

The feel of damp earth giving way underneath my barefoot shoes. 

The simple little things that I love to stop and notice.

As predicted, the came down in the early afternoon. 

Rumbling, grumbling, FEROCIOUS thunder. 

My skin tingled. 

Streaking, glittering, DAZZLING lighting. 

My heart skipped all the beats. 

The rain did not wash the CSers out. 

"I have an idea," Simon sputtered through the torrential downpour. "Shall we take off our clothes and swim in the river?" 

"YES!" I trumpeted. "Let's take off our clothes and swim in the river!"

I found the roots of a tree in which to stuff my bag (for some manner of protection) and tiptoed into the shallow, bubbling, bouncing, tingly cold river. 

The rain drenched my hair and shoulders and naked chest. The river danced around my legs. Thunder boomed directly overhead and lighting flashed silver white through the thick grey.

That might have been the moment I fell in love with Slovenia. 

Not many words were spoken. Simon walked naked through the river in the rain. I walked naked through the river in the rain.

I saw a bench. A rickety old bench. Sitting in the river.

(I am using my prepositions correctly. The bench was not beside the river. It was not on the river. It was in the river) 

Just hanging out. 

I went and sat on it. 

Simon sat beside me. 

I'm in Slovenia. Sitting on a bench in a river in the middle of a deluge. Naked with a fellow I met at an ungodly hour this morning. 

I chuckled. Simon chuckled. 

Thunder boomed. Rain splattered. Lighting streaked. 

We shivered. And regretfully abandoned our bench, tugged on our drenched clothes and danced through the sludge all the way to the parking lot. 

Simon's nice blue car has nice cloth seats. Nice cloth seats do not take kindly to drenched clothes and smelly hippies (Simon is not the smelly hippie in this scenario). 

But Slovenes are kind people who take kindly to drenched smelly hippies. Simon and I approached the park café and asked if we might be able to borrow/have two large garbage bags to act as seat covers. We were laughed with by the barista, laughed at by the customers, and granted our two large bags just before we shivered, shook our way into a damp pile of cold and wet. 

"We have the big dinner planned for tonight, so it would be better to have something small for lunch," Simon commented as we tumbled into his apartment, dripping half the river on the floor. "Cheese. Do you want sweet or savory?"

"Mmmm.... sweet sounds good." 

Sweet tasted good, too.

Simon napped. I did something that resembled work (but was mostly google mapping various routes through South America).

Sabina arrived at 17:30.

Tiny woman. Sparkling green eyes. Dark, dark hair. Deft, delicate hands. Quick wit. Easy smile. Contagious laugh.

She gave Simon a bottle of wine and then passed a gift to me.

Dark chocolate with orange. A small tube of lavender hand lotion.

Life gives me what I need as I need it, I thought as I looked at the dry skin on my hands and the scars around my nails from peeling cuticles.

"Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you," I sputtered helplessly. "This is just what I needed. And you managed to get my favorite kind of chocolate, too."

She smiled happily. I got the distinct impression that giving perfect gifts is one of Sabina's favorite pastimes (and one that she's perfected over time).

I gave her a quick yoga lesson wherein I did my best to explain some of the contraindications for pregnant women.

"Take open twists."

"Keep a wide stance."

"Do you best to stay off of your belly." 

I need to read a book on prenatal yoga. Or take a class. I want to be able to offer more to people with baby bellies. 

It didn't take me all that long to run out of exercises, so we moseyed back into the divine smelling kitchen and waited for the doctor and his girlfriend to arrive.

It didn't take me all that long before I had both the doctor and his girlfriend (a Pilates instructor) upside-down. It's almost disconcerting how easy it's become for me to convince people to let me put them on my feet.

Simon called us in for dinner.

Amaranth salad

Homemade hummus

Yogurt dip with cumin and walnuts (he even made his own Greek yogurt)

Meatballs with orange and mint

We talked and laughed and moaned.

I think I caught myself purring again.

This is getting absurd. I can never ever actually live with a gourmet chef. I would turn into a cat.

I wandered off to bed around midnight. It took effort to move.

A few days of meals like this and I'll need to design a prenatal yoga routine for MYSELF. Good grief. 

I asked for a small breakfast the next morning.

"I'm still so full from last night," I patted my second trimester belly (full of meatballs and falafel).

Simon made me this.
 

Crepe stuffed with Crema Novi, bowl of pureed papaya with cardamom and almonds and a cappuccino.

So NOT small, my mouth watered but my belly screamed in protest

So first world problem, Bourget. 

I told the falafel to pipe down and I ate my Crema Novi.