Part 11: Sweet bleeding dragons, and brightly painted plungers in Western Slovenja

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“It only takes cursory sample of your average Slovenian’s English to see how badly my Italian sucks,” says a note from my pad. “I could never have had this short conversation about beer in Italian.”

Ljubljana

Arriving in Ljubljana, it is clear this small town has something special. It has an air of safety and accommodation. I feel accepted and allowed to go about my plans without being harassed. There is a feeling that life is relatively secure, yet there isn’t an overwhelming police presence, as you often find in Italy. I may be the only tourist in the city, but there is a fair amount to see here.
Ljubljana feels a bit like Reykjavik, in size and technology. It feels modern and new, much more like northern Europe than any Italian city. Perhaps the newness is due to the fact that it has been destroyed by several earthquakes and been rebuilt throughout the ages.
Since I’d just recently come from Italy, the human tendency is to make comparisons. In evaluating prices, I’ve found that gas is much cheaper here (about 20%!)(MISSING), bread is just slightly less here, beer is less, and wine is slightly more. The public restroom cost is far cheaper here than Venice, where it was an amazing 1,50€.
I hiked to the top of the castle, overlooking the city. There is a funicular, but they want 3€ to save yourself the walk, or else 7€ for the ride and entrance to the museum. I kept the little money I had and just took the outside tour. It looked very significant, and the castle dates back to the 12th or 13th centuries.
Slovenian is a very strange language. It sounds very much like what you’d get if Russian and German had a mysterious lovechild that no one ever talked about. That’s Slovenian; but I’d bet Polish could be described in a similar way.
I am actually quite curious regarding the fact that essentially one in two Slovenians speak fine English. It’s quite uncanny actually. Your random Slovenian is approximately 20 times more likely to speak English than your average Italian. Now, if this were a tourist area, it would make sense, but I often feel like the only “tourist” in town, which isn’t suffocating me with natural beauty. In fact, if I didn’t have all this “business” to do around here, I’d probably be bored off my rocker. It’s not that Slovenia isn’t a beautiful country – it’s just that it’s beautiful everywhere except here – where all the people live. That’s kind of like Molokai too: everyone lives on the driest, dullest area with the worst beaches (Kaunakakai).
I set out again around the town. There was a Philharmonic Concert, but to emphasize my level of financial patheticism, I had to decline the purchase of tickets to the evening’s performance, even at a very reasonable 14€.
I kicked around the corner to the brew pub I’d visited on my first day, and engaged an attractive barmaid in a chat about why everyone speaks English in this country. She said they’d taught her starting at 9-years-old, but now they started at 6. It makes great sense, considering there’s only about 2 million people who speak Slovenian, and 1 billion who speak English.

Worst mistake of your life

A group of 25 Englishmen walked through, coming from Wolvey, about two hours Northwest of London. They were having a stag night, before their friend was to get married. As they walked through, my barmaid muttered under her breath, “biggest mistake of your life.” I asked if she referred to the marriage, and she said she’d never do it; it was unnecessary. I took a softer line and proposed maybe no one should marry before 30. I sampled their dark beer, and found it very pleasant, a well-priced diversion.
I left the pub and used a complicated vocabulary of charades to ask a middle-aged man if there may be a hockey game tonight. There wasn’t. Hockey, along with ski jumping, is the national sport of Slovenia, and many of their best players move to America to play in the NHL.

Post-apocalyptic Nightlife

One night I made my way to Metalkova Ulica, the street famous for its nightlife scene. I didn’t know what to expect until I stumbled onto Lonely Planet’s top rated hostel in the world: Celica, a former prison.
I toured the hostel and took some videos, which I have included here. The hostel is a true gold mine, with the highest rates I’ve ever seen, maxed out occupancy, and the barest accommodations of any hospitality facility on Earth.
Just behind the hostel is a nightlife district like none I’ve seen. This place is straight out of Mad Max or that God-awful Barbed Wire film with Pamela Anderson, mixed with a little of Billy Idol’s Cyberpunk. Hundreds of teenagers, all wearing black and milling about drunkenly amidst the graffiti-soaked prison walls. I walked into a collapsing wooden shack that was decorated like a cross between a hunting lodge and an old saloon and ordered a beer from a curly haired kid, who couldn’t have been older than 19. When I complimented his Sex Pistols sweatshirt, he thanked me, and suggested I try some of their extensive Schnapps collection. Ah, that was my drink too at his age; I was, at 28, probably the oldest person within a kilometer.
I watched an old bum stumble around the prison yard in a brown sweat suit with a bell on his bag that attracted attention. It seemed to save him the trouble of actually begging for money: the bell said it all. But people didn’t give him money, they just moved away from this awful smelling man with the annoying ring. The bum was happy though, because when he spotted a bottle with some rancid backwash left in it, he’d stop in front of it. Balancing (with great difficulty), he unscrewed the cap of the unattended bottle and managed to pour about 70 percent of its contents into his permanent bottle of scum, as he wavered uneasily in the mild evening breeze. If he had been with in earshot, I would have congratulated him for inspiring me to dry out for the rest of the evening. I realize now it’s possible that I’m getting most of my calories from beer; is that bad?

Postcard to mom

“Dear mom: I don’t know if you were aware, but when I find myself feeling lonely or afraid, either on the streets of a foreign city somewhere, or on a dark deserted highway – I always find myself singing “Summertime” – then I feel alright.”

Dream log

That night I had an interesting dream:
I remember staring at an old-fashioned typewriter, making slow progress as I pecked away at keys.
I was in a strange European building, and I walked in to another room for one reason or another. I heard people in a small waiting room say something about a sales position open, and I walked up to the window and said, “you know, I used to be a sales manager for three years in America – if you think I could help, I’ll take the job.” As I said this, I realized I was still wearing my motorcycle helmet and apologized immediately and took it off, embarrassed. She said it was okay, she knew exactly who I was, because everyone in the town talked about me when I came in – I was “the American.”

Meeting the Jenkos

Today was another miraculous day in the life of Brennan. I am now Branej, which is a relatively common Slovenian/Serbian name. I met my distant relatives, the “Jenko” family in Zapoge, near Vodice. They are absolutely wonderful, and I am very lucky to know them. I took a twisted, backroads way to Vodice, and stopped to ask for directions at a gas station. The cute young girl at the register who directed me looked at me funny and said, “it’s just straight that way, maybe two minutes.” I smiled and said, “that’s very easy, thank you.” I had no expectation that I would be eating lunch with her two hours later.
I arrived in the little town and parked at the only commercial establishment, a café bar, where the barmaid was watching what EVERYONE IN THE ENTIRE COUNTRY was watching, the world ski jumping championship, which was taking place just one hour north of us, near the Austrian border. In any case, I ordered a coffee, and attempted to get some information about the village from the woman. She was clearly not excited about speaking English with anyone, so I dropped the effort. She wasn’t from Zapoge, and she didn’t know anyone in the town with the name Jenko.
I left the bike there, and decided to explore the streets a bit. The green countryside and the mountainous backdrop dominated even the flatland streets. It was really just one ½ mile strip, with houses dotted along it. I walked up to a pretty horse in a wooden pen - just to have someone to talk to - and he came up to investigate me. After a few sniffs, he let me rub his cheekbones, but the nose was off limits.
I found a small graveyard at the town church, and there was a Jenko grave among the other family names. Nearby was a woman hoeing her yard, and I thought I heard her say, “Hello,” in English. I approached and asked if she spoke English, and she said she spoke a little, but led me to her husband, who had a much better command. Emil, a well-traveled regional bicyclist in his 70’s, was very friendly when he learned my mission, and immediately got his bicycle and let me trail behind on foot to the Jenko family home. There, I met Dani(elle), just as she began to prepare the family lunch. Dani didn’t speak a word of English, but she called her son Davorin, and he quit working at his job 20 kilometers away and arrived in a flash to translate for us. Davorin works as a quality assurance tester for video-game software developers (yes, your dream job), but insists after a year of testing the same game, it truly is work. He is a fantastic gentleman, and soon the table was full with mother (Dani), father (Marko), sons (Davorin and Matej), daughters (Ursa and Rotija), and their beautiful, youthful grandmother (Vida). To connect the dots, Ursa was the young woman who gave me directions at the gas station.
My Slovenian relatives fed me the best German food I’d ever eaten (soup with noodles, potatoes and radishes, Chicken sausage with cheese), we talked about many things, and they gave me a great perspective on life in post-communist Slovenia. They explained how life had been better under the socialist regime - that everyone had work, and food, and the middle class included almost everyone. Today the gap between the rich and poor was much worse, and access to education had declined.
The Jenko family has many talented singers. This is because the family traditionally did not have enough money to buy any instruments. But there are more talented young artists in the family. As I used the toilet, I noticed the brightly painted plungers in the bathroom. These had all been hand painted by the children, when they were younger.
I hugged each of them in saying goodbye, and headed off to spend just a short while in Bled, the tourist capital of Western Slovenia. Bled is the tourist capital for a great reason though: spellbinding natural beauty just about everywhere you look. Set in the wilderness of the Julian Alps, it will really knock your socks off.
On the way to Bled, however, I noticed a weakened performance in my bike, and discovered my oil level had fallen alarmingly low (I check every day). I added some from my emergency supply, and stopped to buy some at Kranj (The Country’s fourth largest city, with an amazing 54,000 residents). After a quick top-off, I was back on the road, and arrived in Bled with just about half an hour to spare.
Half an hour is a vastly inadequate amount of time to experience Bled. I would have loved to hike around the lake, or row a boat out to the island. Instead I got to lie down by the shore, and take touristy photos of the water, church and castle on top of the cliff. A Japanese tourist offered to take a photo of me, and I thanked him for the shot.

Cheap Toilets

My first encounter with Slovenians, besides my gracious host, Boris, was somewhat mixed. I went to the tourist office to get a map (and a damn good one, I might add), and asked the clerk where there was a restroom. Perhaps he didn’t know the usual context of the phrase, or perhaps he did, but the man said, “Are YOU talking to ME?” Then he told me I needed to speak up, because he couldn’t hear me over the loud music he was playing on his computer. The restroom was located underneath the largest bridge in the city and cost an obscure 0,17€ for entry. I cannot imagine how they arrived at that figure. There were two people in the pay booth, and I wondered how they could even pay the salaries of the guards with a price that low. I decided, as I read my new map on the toilet, that if I ran a city I would charge ,50€ to use the toilet, with ,40€ refunded upon hand washing; that way you encourage healthy habits.

Boris

Before I set out this morning, Boris and I had breakfast together. I didn’t know it when I arrived, but he’s a local celebrity. While we talked, he fixed some tea with milk, and explained a bit about himself. A 45-year-old man with a beard and a careless grey fringe surrounding the bare surface on top of his head, he told he’d been unemployed for a while, but didn’t elaborate immediately. In 1992, Boris started one of the first internet companies in Slovenia, providing dial up service. His company had lasted until 2000, when he was forced out of business by the illegal competition of Slovenian Telekom. Apparently they monopolized the phone service, and had begun illegally packaging services in a way that made it impossible for him to compete. Ten years later, he has apparently won six lawsuits through the highest court in the land, and is about to reap the rewards. I’m very happy for him, and it’s clear that the struggles have aged him. I explained that in America it probably would have never come to an honest conclusion, and would have dragged on indefinitely.
Boris is waiting for his second child. She is supposed to arrive any day now, so my stay here is kind of exciting. I’ve never been present for a childbirth before, so this is a mini-drama within my adventure. He and his wife already have a two year old.
Of course, the inevitable happened – Boris told me that it will be too much trouble to have me here again tomorrow night, you know, with the baby and all. Part of me felt like he was lying about the wife and the baby at first - maybe that’s why he wouldn’t introduce me and he’s kept me locked in here like Fred Savage’s little monster.
I ate a Mars bar for dinner, while Boris called one person to check if I could stay there and was turned down. It looked like another host scramble, if he could ever find the host list he forgot to email me months ago; he’s been looking for through his emails for the last ten minutes. Surprise, surprise.
Boris has a wireless router in his home, but I can’t quite reach it from the pad that I’m staying at (20 meters away). So often I will just sit outside of his door, close enough to catch the signal, and check my email.
My favorite thing since I’ve arrived here is that twice he has walked out of his house while I’m perched around the corner, and he’s nearly had a heart attack each time. Imagine walking out your door, and immediately you feel someone behind you. It’s great watching a grown man scared to death, and then grapple with the annoyance that they don’t have a right to be angry at you (because you are their guest, and you aren’t doing anything wrong). It’s wonderful. I even startled his pregnant wife once, but she then invited me inside.
Well, at 10pm last night, Boris finally told me that it would be “impossible” for me to stay because I required too much attention and the baby was due to arrive any minute. The stressing about this lasted all the way until I made my first phone call, to a SERVAS member named Theo. Theo said it was fine, moved out of his own bed to sleep on the kitchen floor so that there was room for me. Really, it’s quite humbling what people will do to help other people sometimes. I told him I’d be happy to sleep on the floor, but he wouldn’t allow it.
Theo’s a seasoned world traveler, currently looking for work (like many people in Slovenia/Europe). After we talked for a while, I set out to try and connect with Ljubljana’s music industry.
I went to find one of two established record labels in Slovenia, Menart Records. I’d like to take a moment to compliment Slovenia for being much easier to navigate than France or Italy. That said, it’s rather odd when you see a street identify itself with two names simultaneously. Some addresses will say they are both X Lbljissnons street, and also X bjaklovic street. Finding Menart Records was rough because its street turns for half a block onto another major street, leaving me with deceptive indications. In any case, I found the building and went inside what looked like an old house, filled with children’s toys. I really questioned whether I was inside a record company or a day care center. I concluded that they don’t get many visitors.
I rode to visit their cross-town competition at RTV Slovenia, which used to be the state-run record label back in the communist era. There, a kind woman - and I’d swear she said her name was Schmiegel - helped me find the right person I needed to talk with.

Further, less-interesting observations: if you couldn’t get enough

On my first day, I looked at monuments and had a peak at the national gallery. The gallery wanted €7 for entry, so I politely told them to stuff it. It’s unfortunate though, traveling without the cash to visit these exhibits, but I don’t really have the time to enjoy them properly either, so I’ll excuse myself.
Just across the street from the gallery is the Museum of Modern Art. I usually enjoy these very much, however the pretty young girl at the entry advised me that since they only had one exhibit open (comic book strip) in the whole brand-new building, I’d be best advised to come next week and see an additional exhibit for the same €5 admission.
Further down the street, I found the U.S. embassy. I knew my reason for visiting was silly. I wanted to talk to the consulate about contacting Greece, to find me an address or a person on the island of Karpathos, so that my cousin in Italy could send some of my possessions in advance of my visit. I explained how silly it was before I told the woman. As expected, she said she could not help me. We both agreed the best thing for me to do was try to make an appointment and visit the Greek embassy.
However, she dropped one extra nugget on me during our conversation. As an American in the Schengen zone, I am allowed to stay 90 days before I am required to leave. I had hoped that this referred to any particular country, but the woman said it referred to most of Europe. To make myself proper, I’m considered going to Croatia tomorrow, but it will be about 70km through the middle of NOWHERE Slovenia. It may have been worth it if it saved me from deportation, but heck, I’ll just wait. I’m going to Croatia in a week. It would be stupid to waste a tank of gas and half a day driving there if it’s unnecessary. It’s not my fault the goddamn union keeps growing. Just a few years ago, Malta would have been a stamp in my passport, and just two years ago, Slovenia would have done it. Aww heck, the truth is that Monaco is not an EU country, and I visited there in December. I visited the Vatican in January; San Marino isn’t in the union, and I visited just a week ago. I actually went to the department of state and talked to the consulate there – if I get stopped by anybody, they should be able to testify for me. And come to think of it, I published a travelblog video of me in Monaco on Dec 23, wishing everyone a merry Christmas – perfect. I later learned that my understanding of international boundaries had been flawed.
As I was leaving the embassy, I stopped for a moment to chat with this cute young American with sunglasses in the lobby. Her husband was a marine, and they were stationed in Slovenia at the embassy for a few years. She was waiting for her escorted ride, and was very happy to talk to an American for a change. Her name was Shelly, and they’d been stationed in South America until two months ago. I jokingly asked if there was anywhere to get a good American cheeseburger, but she was fairly clueless and said she was a vegetarian. She and her husband mostly just brought their kids to MacDonald’s. Before she rode off with her escort, in the biggest, most American dodge truck I could imagine, she asked for my phone number, without making any promises to call.
I visited a medium-sized brewery called Kratochwill Pivovarna. The staff was very kind. They showed me the storage room, and explained that their Czech Brewer liked to produce his beer unfiltered, without adding any Co2. This is somewhat uncommon, and I admired his beers for their natural flavors. The staff let me review them and I posted something on beerme.com for their benefit. They have two excellent beers, a light and a dark (with Slovenian names).
I was surprised at how easy it was to navigate across the city when I arrived at Theo’s home the first time. Using the map provided by the city, it was very simple. Then, as I found the correct street on the first try, I discovered a new type of difficulty. The address on Theo’s street (Theo lives at number 11) went from number 9 to number 13. I walked in circles trying to find number 11, and stopped a high school student coming home from class. He, of course, spoke perfect English and helped me search the whole neighborhood – only to discover that number 11 was actually located AFTER number 13, as part of the same building. It seemed like some type of practical joke, and I would later discover how common an occurance this is in Slovenia.
Professor Pettan, the country’s top ethnomusicologist at the University of Slovenia’s music academy, spent an hour talking with me about interesting Slovenian musicians, and ancestral analysis. He had just returned from a fishing trip, and with my travel stories, I convinced him to test his own DNA with Family Tree DNA. The professor named several Slovenian musicians worth investigating: Lado Jaksa, Imer Traija Brizani, Benato Chicco, Katalena, Brina, Terra Folk, Jararaja, Turbo Angels, Atomik Harmonik and Vlado Krslin to name a few. He said it was easy to become popular in Slovenia, among such a small group of people.

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Photos

Dragon bridge
Brennan at the famous Dragon bridge of Ljubljana.

Union Beer
Approximately 40% of Western Slovenians drink Union.

Jenko family
Here I am with my modern-day Jenko family!

Two places at once
Slovenian streets sometimes have two names at once!

In park
Brennan playing in a park.

WFC
Extreme fighting isn't just for Classless American Trash anymore - Slovenians like it too!

Play structure
They have a pretty fun-looking play structure for kids in Ljubljana.

Castle
Big crazy castle above Ljubljana.

at castle
Brennan at the castle above Ljubljana

in Zampoge
Me, at my ancestral village of Zampoge.

Cool Shadow
Out on the streets at night.

Decorative car
Be careful what bridges you ride under - it's easy to forget there's this weird-looking chef on top of your van.

Zampoge1
A field in my ancestral town of Zampoge.

Zampoge2
A building in Zampoge.

Zampoge3
A home and a church in Zampoge.

Ancestor's Grave
One of my Jenko ancestors' grave.

Kratochwill Beers
Local Ljubljana brewery

More Capitol
Scary pretty.

One last capitol at night photo
This city is stunning.