Last time I was in Slovenia, Sabi was four months pregnant.
And now there's Larissa. A bubbly little girl with mousy hair dressed all in pink.
Dino helps Larissa bounce on some kind of air-filled creature that appears to be half donkey, half red gummy bear.
She holds onto the ears of the half donkey and giggles.
I love being with families. Being in homes that feel lived in. That have fruit baskets and baby strollers and too many open jars of honey and plastic black and white cows just hanging out on kitchen tables.
Andrej called me around nine o'clock on the second of October, letting me know that he was leaving Ljubljana and would be in Trieste to meet me in less than an hour.
"SUPER!" I happy danced all over Michele's empty apartment. "I'll be ready!"
Of course, I'd already been ready for the last two hours. I'd breakfasted, showered, fed the cats, packed, repacked, knit cat toys with the extra bits of yarn, made my bed, and triple-checked the flat for adapters and chargers and the mislaid sock. Then I sat on Michele's balcony, watching the sea and wishing I had more things to do.
I took the elevator down five flights of stairs and closed the door to Michele's apartment complex, leaving the keys hidden in the toes of one of his shoes. The door eased shut behind me with an unsettling clang of finality.
Did I forget something? What did I leave behind this time?
I ran through the checklist of important items.
Passports, chargers, laptop, camera, sarong, knitting needles... yeah, everything is safely stuffed into Ellie.
I think that sense of finality has more to do with the fact that this door closing signifies me being done with couchsurfing for two months. Finished. It's over. I don't have to spend an hour every day browsing profiles and sifting through all the crap messages in search of amazing people like Salvo and Marco and Denis. I get to be with Andrej. I get to visit Sabina and Dino and Simon. I get to know that I'll be safe and comfortable for the next two months, with my friends in Ljubljana and in my own rented room in Mostar.
It's always a wonderful experience to meet and share life with people like Denis, but the stress of wondering if the person in whose home I'll be living will be a Davide or a Denis can be overwhelming.
Taking a breather will be good for me.
Andrej pulled up to the curb and I unceremoniously heaved Ellie into the backseat and hopped into the front.
"ORANGE CAT!" I shouted my nickname for Andrej and flung my arms around him.
"So good to see you, Cat."
We spent the journey from Trieste to Ljubljana catching up in the car, under Cat's umbrella, in cafes, in restaurants and on beautiful walks along the coast. Over a year and a half had passed since our last meeting, and we had a good deal of catching up to do.
I didn't take any pictures. Not a one. I was too happy to see Andrej to be bothered with my camera -- especially after spending two days on my own with four skeins of yarn and twenty hours of podcasts.
I need to spend some time outside of my head.
We visited Dino and Sabi and Larissa on the outskirts of the city before retiring to Andrej's home near the center of Ljubljana.
I always get a little worried when I visit people I met on travels years back. I wonder if my memory of them is correct, or if time and distance put them on an unrealistic pedestal in my mind. I wonder how they've changed. I wonder how they'll react to the ways I've changed during the last two years.
I'm not the same person I was then.
I hope we still appreciate who the others are now.
The moment Sabi opened the front door, all my fears were assuaged. She smiled, laughed a little hysterically and gave me the most reassuring of hugs.We chatted and watched little Larissa dance nonstop for the better part of an hour.
Yeah. I think we'll be just fine.
The next day, Andrej dropped me off in the city center before he went to work.
That's right. Because while Boy and I would consistently forget which day of the week it was, other people have commitments. Like jobs and things.
Fall is spreading its colors, smells, flavors over Slovenia. Leaves are turning brilliant shades of rust, gold, orange, crimson. Air smells damp with rain. Chestnuts, pumpkins, and persimmons are in season.
The weather is brisk enough for a sweater. Cold enough to blush cheeks and frost windows. Chilly enough to justify warming up with hot chocolate or mulled wine.
Andrej's fridge was looking a bit bare, so I stopped by a Spar to purchase a few vegetables and an abundance of cheese with some money he'd handed me that morning.
Living entirely off of picnics is all well and good, but it's so nice to consistently buy real food. Onions and eggs and rice and courgettes and butter and fennel... the things that can't be eaten as are, but need a bit of preparation. Going shopping and preparing food helps me to feel settled. Helps me feel just a little bit closer to being in my own space.
"Dober dan," I say to the lady at the register as I unload my basket onto the belt.
"Dan," she replies.
"Hvala," I take my receipt and shoulder my bag.
The only words I know in Slovenian. Other than "modra mačka", of course. Which means "blue cat", so isn't really helpful in shopping situations. Or most situations, really. But is still nice to know. Modra mačka.
Andrej returned from work later that afternoon. We chatted for a few minutes, took on a short walk, and then Andrej drove off to his ballroom dance class.
I stayed home, cranked up my sad music and cooked a creamy parsnip pear soup and a courgette risotto.
Yes. I think I'm "home" for a while.
Andrej took me on an adventure to see some waterfalls on Tuesday, but approximately 100 meters before we arrived at the trail head, my Slovenian friend was pulled over by the police for speeding.
He was going 66 kilometers in a 60 kilometer zone.
"If it was only five kilometers over the speed limit, the fine would be forty euros, but since it's six kilometers, the fine is a hundred and twenty-five euros and points off my license," Andrej explained.
"SIX KILOMETERS!" I practically exploded. "That's less than four miles over the speed limit. You'd never get a ticket for that in the US. That's just normal."
"Traffic tickets are really expensive in Slovenia."
"I'd say so. Remind me to never drive in Slovenia. Sheesh."
"Maybe the police are trying to make some extra money now because they were on strike for six months."
"The POLICE were on strike? Why?"
"Police get paid very poorly in Slovenia when compared to other countries in Europe."
"And everything was okay while they were on strike?"
"Yes, everything was fine. But we all got used to speeding because we knew there was no one to stop us. So now we'll see a lot of people getting tickets."
And by speeding, he means going four miles over the speed limit.... my goodness. I would get so many tickets in Slovenia.
Andrej received his ticket from the apologetic policeman (who seemed to recognize the absurdity of the fine), and then we drove literally thirty seconds to the trail head.
"If that was the only time I sped and I got a ticket," Andrej rationalized, "then maybe I'd be pretty upset. But you see, I always drive a little too fast... so one ticket every two years? It's not so bad."
I have so much to learn from Andrej about equanimity.
There are many reasons I love Orange Cat. This is one of them. How easily he lets misfortune slide off him, like when he didn't get angry or upset when his phone was stolen out of his pocket in Mexico. How he chooses not to dwell on all the reasons he could feel unlucky and targeted by the universe. He's like a duck. Little disasters just slide off his back like water.
I'm like a chicken. Bad things happen to me, and I turn into a ruffled, indignant monster.
The hike to the waterfalls was stunning and steep. It was, by far, the most difficult hike I'd attempted since my injury this spring.
But I can do it, I thought in delight. My knee hurts a little... but not horribly. And it doesn't hurt much at all if I go quickly. I mean, my lungs and heart hurt if I go quickly, but my knee feels pretty okay.
So I conquered the mountain in spurts, hiking like a madwoman until my heart felt ready to burst, then sitting down and chatting with Andrej until I'd caught my breath. Then hiking like a madwoman again.
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| We'd hoped to drink some blueberry liqueur here, but the cabin is closed for the winter. After an unusually warm September, it's at last gotten cold enough in the mountains to close up shop. |
When we finally reached the second waterfall, I was thoroughly exhausted and positively elated.
My knee didn't stop me from getting here. I feel like part of me has finally woken up after a long hibernation. I feel integrated, like my body can start keeping up with the dreams of my mind and heart.
I slept like a rock that night. Not even Andrej's talkative refrigerator could disturb my deep, satisfied sleep.
Andrej met me at the Cat Cafe after work the next day.
Yes.
A Cat Cafe. Where there are seven cats you can play with/admire from a distance while you drink your coffee (and sometimes defend your coffee).
Our next adventure was the Skocjan Caves, a UNESCO World Heritage Site in the southwest of Slovenia.
"It'll be gentler than yesterday," Andrej assured me.
"That's probably for the best... yesterday's hike was great, but my knee is a little sore today. A good kind of sore, though."
"There are five hundred stairs, up and down!"the guide shouted over the chattering tourists as we gathered around the entrance of the cave. I glanced at Andrej with a half smile.
I guess that is gentler than yesterday... not exactly a walk in the park, though.
"Okay, the rules!" the guide kept our attention. "No photographs, with or without flash. Do not go off the path, do not touch the dripstone. There are cameras in the cave and I have eyes on my back, so I advise you to follow the rules."
The caverns were incredible. Giant formations, hundreds of thousands of years old, covered with calcite and still growing. One of the largest underground canyons in the world. Bridges over abysses that looked like they were straight out of the Mines of Moria.
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| One of the only pictures I was allowed to take. |
After the tour, we walked to a viewpoint with a tour group from Iceland.
"Oh, I was in Iceland three months ago," I exclaimed. "It was beautiful."
"Where did you go?"
"We were only able to afford to rent a car for two days, so me and my boyfriend didn't get very far... but we saw Geysir, Gullfoss, Skogafoss, and an iceberg lagoon I keep forgetting the name of. We spent most of our time in Reykjavik. We were there during the Euro Cup, so we got to stand on the hill and cheer for Iceland!"
"We were there too," they laughed with me.
"So we were standing on the hill together three months ago," I grinned, regretfully acknowledging the ability of sports to bring people together.
Another quiet evening with Andrej. I made a frittata, we snacked on roasted chestnuts, shared a bottle of Macedonian red wine and watched youtube videos on the couch.
Yes. This totally relaxed feeling... these lazy evenings and easy conversations... these real meals instead of picnic after picnic after picnic.. this is what I needed.
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