I'm starting this post from the living room of my new friends in Zagreb, Croatia. This will be my home for the next eight days, but I'm already wishing I'd carved out more time to spend with this welcoming, vivacious family. Matea sits in the kitchen and helps her daughter with some Italian homework. A clock ticks softly on the wall to my right, surrounded by family photos and colorful paintings of elephants and dancers. A giant minion onesie is crumpled on the couch to my left, big brown eyes oggling me. Choksa, a soft and cuddly and probably-my-new-best-friend chocolate colored dog sprawls out on the floor where I was petting her before I started writing. She lifts her adorable head to stare at me occasionally, wondering why I'm choosing to sit with something as uncomfortable as my laptop when I could be sitting with her.
Because I'm behind on my blog again and have no time for cuddles. Blurgh.
My last days in Slovenia were spent breathing, touching, watching autumn manifest itself in all the nooks and crannies. The glorious golden colors of birch trees lining the streets, the nearly blood red vines clinging to fences and bridges, the mushrooms growing into fungus forests overnight in Ljubljana's eight million parks.
I walked in the rain. I watched leaves drown in puddles on the sidewalk and careen down the swollen river. I stopped to admire the way raindrops rested on flower petals and the long, elegant coats and warm winter scarves and sturdy umbrellas of the Ljubljanians strolling the streets around me.
I carried no umbrella (Boy always carried the umbrella. And now I don't have Boy) and wore all my layers of jackets. My purple puffer, my grey sweater, my mustard raincoat.
I did not look elegant.
I look like a yellow marshmallow with black boots.
When the sun finally emerged, I walked in that too.
Once a year, Slovenia has a restaurant week. During this week, one can book a table at high-end restaurants and order a menu for fifteen euros. We managed to book a table for my final Wednesday in Ljubljana.
My throat has been bothering me for the last few weeks. Weird, painful lumps that didn't seem to go away and gave me all sorts of anxiety.
I don't think I'd be so bothered by them if my body wasn't already being monstrously inconvenient, I rubbed my fingers across my sore glands and grimaced. But I don't like how this feels. Even a little. Zero liking. My body is falling apart... just during this year, I've had a wisdom tooth pulled, a NASTY sinus infection, a frightening experience with marijuana that sent my body into convulsions, a horrible cold that lasted for weeks, a torn ACL/torn meniscus/evulsion fracture/bruised bones knee explosion, an impressively awful cough, uterine polyps and now this throat thing. What's going on in there? Seriously?
I don't want to panic. But I'm having such a hard time keeping it together. All I can think of is that my dear friend Judy got throat cancer a couple of years ago and all the horror stories my speech pathologist friend tells me about what happened to her patients...
And because Andrej is one of the most caring people I know, he spent about four hours driving me around to various doctors on Thursday morning. I got my blood drawn, was told I have a viral infection and that it would go away on its own.
I paid six euros for seeing a doctor and all my blood work. And the doctors felt bad charging me.
Yes. I will live in Europe one day.
"I feel really bad about you driving me around so much..." I apologized to Andrej as our longer-than-expected excursion finally drew to a close.
"Don't apologize," Andrej smiled. "That just makes both of us feel bad. You can be thankful. That's a better feeling."
"Okay. I'm super thankful that you drove me around for four hours. Really. I appreciate you a lot."
Then Andrej went to work and I went on a walk, rubbing my throat and making sure all the lumps understood that they were free to clear out at their earliest convenience.
That evening, we drove off into the countryside and spent the night at a rustic little hotel near Zrece. I commandeered the couch (because I'm crazy about couches) and Andrej settled into the bed that looked big enough to comfortable sleep about half of Ljubljana.
"Night, cat," Andrej called to me from across the room.
"Night, cat," I put in my headphones and logged onto Skype to chat with Boy.
I'm going to miss being in a place where I have a nickname. Nicknames are lovely. Nicknames make me feel like people know me.
The next day, we went for a drive, a short walk (it was freezing), and then decided it would be best to scratch the hike we'd planned and just head into town to soak in a hot tub.
 |
| I don't even... what? |
We marched up to the castle on Saturday.
I'm leaving tomorrow.
Oof.
I don't feel ready.
Didn't I just get here?
On the way back to Andrej's apartment, we chanced upon a chocolate festival.
There are far worse things to chance upon.
We spent the afternoon sharing drinks with Andrej's friends and watching children throw breadcrumbs at swans. We spent the evening appreciating Ljubljana's city lights and eating our last bag of roasted chestnuts on one of Ljubljana's many bridges, lights sparkling in the water below.
Something I've learned the hard way is that it's stupid to make plans when I don't feel grounded. When I don't feel at peace with the present. Because then my plans might just be about avoiding what I don't like instead of pursuing something I DO. And there's a really important distinction there.
Being here helped me make a decision less influenced by my stress and loneliness. And more influenced by what I actually want to do with my life.
I'm leaving Ljubljana tomorrow afternoon. I'm going to miss this place... the excessive amount of bridges and parks, the elegant coats, the morning mist. I'm going to miss the hot chocolate and the chestnuts, that one guy who always plays his accordion in Preseren Square and all the bikers who never ring their bells to let you know they're sneaking up behind you. I'm going to miss all the street art, the dragons and the random chocolate festivals.
I have three more days with Andrej, and then I leave him too.
Dear Andrej,
I'm
not sorry for making you miss so much work this month because we were
off adventuring somewheres awesome. I'm not sorry that you probably
(definitely) went way over your usual food budget buying us all sorts of
delicious cheeses. I'm not sorry that you spent hours helping me take
care of my health issues. I'm not sorry that I... err... kicked you out
of your own living room every night from between 10:00 pm and 8:00 am.
I'm not even sorry I drank most of your coffee.
I'm just so grateful.
-Aimee
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