Sea Archers -- Ljubljana, Slovenia

Simon had to work Monday morning (as most people do), so he drove me to Sabina's for the day. During the Lebanese dinner party two nights before, I had mentioned that I'd like to hitchhike to Bled for a daytrip. I'd heard it was a stunning lake and was one of the must-sees for people visiting Slovenia. Usually I disregard "must-sees" because they're overrun with tourists, but when they involve lakes and mountains, I turn down my turned-up nose and let myself see the must-see.

Sabina (because she's perfected the art of giving perfect gifts) offered to drive me there. Unless I wanted to hitchhike, of course.

Hitchhiking is all well and good, but so are trips with particularly beautiful people.

"That would be phenomenal," I gushed. "My goodness, I would be so happy to go to Bled with you."

So Simon took me to Sabina's. Where I was fed cheese and chocolate and coffee for breakfast and then introduced to Sabina's apartment.

I said hello to the keyboard and played a quick ditty, recognizing that the season of memorized Simon and Garfunkel has most definitely passed.

I said hello to her self-cleaning, bean grinding, coffee machine robot (which is 100% magic).

I said hello to the couch on which I'd be sleeping and the bath in which I'd be bathing. 

"If you want to take a bath while you're here, you can. Here's a scrub for your face and for your body. Here is salt you can use. And please take as many towels as you need. Do you have a toothbrush? Here's the toothpaste. Here's the extra toothpaste for when this one is finished. Do you want an extra toothbrush anyway? I keep them down here. They're very soft. I got them from my dentist."  

Moments that leave me speechless.

These.

Before we left Sabi's apartment, I found myself gifted with a new pair of sunglasses (Tessa had taken her John Lennons back to France) a wooden flute (the perfect vagabond instrument) and a new toothbrush.

"And your feet -- do they hurt?"

"Yeah, there's still a lot of sea creature stuck inside. I didn't realize the needles would break so easily."

"I'll call my friend who used to be a nurse and ask her what to do. Then we can stop by my doctor on the way back from Bled."

"I don't have insurance and I can't really afford to go to the doctor," I tried not to hang my head. "I can just wait for them to come out. I've certainly made enough holes in my feet for them to find their way eventually."

"We'll see if they can put you on my card," Sabina insisted as she dialed up her friend.

I've only met this person and she's taking such good care of me. I'm going to visit a DOCTOR. Wow. I can't even do that in America. 

"Okay," Sabi said as she hung up the phone. "My friend said to heat up olive oil and put it on the foot with a bandage." 

I'm not used to this kind of care, I thought as we bandaged my swollen foot. My grin-and-bear-it American nature is so confused right now. But I think I could get used to this. Yes. I could definitely get used to this. 

Instead of going straight to Bled, we took a quick detour to pick up a friend of Sabi's who'd be joining us for our touristic excursion.

Dusha. Yet another fabulous Slovene.

I think I love everyone in Slovenia. They have the perfect combination of carefree ease and sensitivity and humor. They also make super coffee. No Nescafe around here. 

Renato (Dusha's Italian husband) made another super coffee for me (whereby he proved his Italian-ness) and we laughed at my poor understanding of geography as I savored the hot drink.

I accept this whole no sense of direction thing, but I am rather pleased that I finally know what/where Albania is. I'll learn more about what/where other parts of the world are as I get to them. Central America will be next. 

We didn't leave for Bled  until about one o'clock in the afternoon.

Dusha and Sabi giggled in the front seat and were considerate enough to converse in English (between the giggle fits) so that I felt included. People in Slovenia speak remarkably good English, as they live in one of the few Eastern European countries that does not dub its films or television.

Perhaps this is one of the reasons I love it so much here. I've been traveling through non-native English speaking countries since September (with a month break in England to volunteer with the alien believing, cauliflower leaf eating crazy kundalini yoga teacher). It's nice to feel like I can communicate with everyone (without having to resort to charades or google translate), should I need to do so.

Perhaps another reason I love it so much here is because everything I see (and everything I eat) simply takes my breath away. 

 Bled Island used to be the home of a temple of Ziva, the Slavic goddess of love and fertility. Now it is home to an Assumption of Mary Church and is a popular location for weddings. Sabina and her husband were married on this island. A local tradition is that the groom carries the bride in his arms (not fireman style) up the 99 steps and the bride remains silent during the whole journey.

 I'm trying to decide whether or not I approve of this tradition. I generally dislike it when women are carried and told to be quiet, but this has the extra air of fairytale romance and island and Slovenia, so I'm conflicted.

Bled Castle peering through the trees. The oldest Slovenian castle complete with drawbridge and moat.

 We stopped for our picnic at a place with a view of which Tessa would approve.

Lake Bled properly appreciated and apple cores fed to properly devoted ducks, we drove to the less touristic Lake Bohinj.

I'm not sure why it's less touristic. It's every bit as beautiful.

 Sabi wanted to take me on a short hike to see a waterfall, but my feet were throbbing angrily with bits of sea urchin (Sabi calls them "sea archers" and I haven't been able to correct her yet. I like it too much), so we decided to just enjoy the view.

Sabi.

 Sabi treated Dusha and me to homemade ice cream and I found myself remembering Simon's grandmother. I stopped in my tracks and "focused on the pudding."

Sabina and Dusha laughed at me. Which isn't unusual, as Sabina and Dusha are always laughing about something. 

We stopped by Sabina's doctor at about six pm. It felt odd to enter the clean office and sit on the big, sterile bed/chair.

I haven't been in a real doctor's office since... well... ummm... have I ever been in a real doctor's office? The one time I went for help was when I fell off my bike in university and needed stitches in my knee. But the receptionist told me it would cost hundreds of dollars, so I left and put a band aid on the HOLE in my leg. Is this really my first time experiencing a real, western doctor? In SLOVENIA? for SEA URCHIN needles? 

My life is hilarious. 

Things stopped being hilarious shortly after this realization. Feet are sensitive, and even with the doctor's expert fingers and high quality instruments, I experienced pain that I didn't think was possible from just a stupid little sea creature (I'm allowed to call them stupid. I'm still feeling bitter).

What a drama. 

"You must hold still," the doctor chided me as my foot involuntarily, violently twitched. "They are very deep. Yes. Very, very deep."

Coulda fooled me. Blurgh. 

"I'm from Colorado. We don't have a lot of sea urchins. I didn't know that that the needles were so delicate. They certainly don't feel delicate," I grimaced and forced laughs in between yoga breathing.

Sabi stood in the corner and looked concerned. 

"You shouldn't put oil on it again. Oil closes the holes and makes the needles sink in deeper. Next time, use alcohol. Half alcohol and half chamomile tea."

There won't be a next time. I'm going to let my fear of swimming alone for a while and keep my feet on rocks.

The doctor was only able to get one needle out, but it was the largest, most painful one.

I gave her a hug.

"Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you!"

I gave Sabi a hug.

"Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you!"

Dusha and Sabi prepared dinner for friends that evening. Turkey, sauteed veggies and salad. I sat at the table and chopped tomatoes as I chatted with "Garfield" about our day at the lakes and my vagabond career. 

Sabi loves animals as much as she loves people and has a penchant for reverse anthropomorphizing. Primarily with cats. Deano (Sabi's husband) used to be a black cat (but is now a marmot). Sabi is a black cat with a white face and chest. Dusho is a cat with loads of colors.

Andrej is Garfield.

"What kind of animal am I?" I asked as I tossed tomatoes into the salad.

"Hmmm..." Sabi pondered. "You're a blue cat."

"Nermil!" Garfield pointed to the comic strip on his phone. "You can be Nermil."

Is it silly that being the "blue cat" makes me feel like I've just found a home? I want to live here for months and be the blue cat. 

Dosha's husband drove over a few minutes after dinner had been served. He inquired about the bandages on my foot and I solemnly told him that I'd been cruelly attacked by sea archers.

"Are they still inside?"

"Some of them, yeah... but they're really deep."  

"Renato is an expert at this," Sabina told me as Renato gingerly placed my foot on his lap.

A magnifying glass was summoned. Tweezers appeared on the table. A lighter and a needle materialized in front of Renato.

Again? ARGH. 

I chose to laugh again.

What's that quote? If you're going to be able to laugh about it one day, you might as well laugh now. LAUGHING. 

I laughed harder when Renato attempted to suck the sea archer needles out.

I WILL LAUGH SO HARD ONE DAY. 

I stopped laughing for a moment and looked down my legs. Everyone was gathered in front of me, watching the surgery. Simon, Garfield, Dusha, Deano and Sabina. Renato had my foot against his mouth and was trying to suck the deep needles closer to the surface. 

This. I will NEVER forget this image. I will also NEVER step on a sea archer again. 

No more needles were removed.

"They are too deep," Renato shook his head and put down the instruments of torture. "I'm sorry."

"No, thank-you for trying," I took back my foot and gave him an awkward hug. "I guess they'll come out when they're ready."