Part 24: Ljubljana (Days 69, 70, 71, 72)

---

The sound of the metal bars closing behind me echoed down the bare corridor. The small cell was empty except for two beds. I could make out my cellmate on the bottom bunk, his reddish beard glistening in the chink of light shining through the tiny barred window. I didn't know how long I would be in here, but it would be at least three days. Six hours earlier, I had been in a four-star hotel. Now I was banged up. And the worst thing about it was I was paying for the privilege.

You might expect the above paragraph to be lifted straight from some hooliporn or some East End gangster's autobiography, but it is a true account of my arrival in Ljubljana, the Slovenian capital. You see, we were staying in the Hostel Celica, a former prison with designer cells available to those who want to pay €26 per night to stay in a six foot by six foot barred enclosure. So stop panicking mum, I haven't become a drugs mule.

The Celica was a far cry from any hostel we have stayed in since Amsterdam - three floors, a restaurant and bar, all decorated lightly and tastefully belying the building's former existence as a prison built in the late 19th Century. In 2006 is was voted best hostel in the world by Lonely Planet, but an unfortunate side-effect are the prices. Paying €3 for an hour's internet use and €5 for laundry jarred slightly - it is still supposed to be budget accommodation.

We were impressed nonetheless, and took the opportunity to have dinner in the restaurant before heading out to an Irish bar that was showing Manchester United v Celtic in the Champions League. On the way we passed by the famous Dragon Bridge, so-called because of the four stern-looking mythical beasts standing guard on each corner of the structure that runs over the river Ljubljanica.

The bar inevitably attracted a few expats as well as a large bearded man, possibly Scandinavian but definitely not Mancunian, who cheered a little too vociferously for United as if he had something to prove. The prices reminded us of home too - around €2.50 for a half-litre of Union beer was evidence that we were back in the EU.

Of easily walkable size, the Slovenian capital is an atmospheric city with plenty of attractive architecture and scenery. The castle looks down on the city from a steep hill to the south, while the town curves around the Ljubljanica. As we walked across the triple bridge, which as the name suggests is a three-pronged structure which originally dates from 1862 but was revamped by Joze Plecnik, who added the two flanks 89 years later. His statue overlooks the bridge. From here we strolled through the large town market which sold just about everything, before backing past the St Nicholas Cathedral and into the old town, filled with carefully designed baroque structures including the Robba fountain and 18th Century town hall. There were plenty of options for a pitstop here with people filling the upmarket outdoor cafes, but after choosing one with a mouthwatering array of chocolate-based drinks, we weren't served for about five minutes and walked away in protest.

If you ask for a hot chocolate in Slovenia you generally get exactly that. The one I ordered over the north side of the river shortly afterwards was almost as thick as soup, and delicious as it was, very sickly.

On our initial saunter through the Plecnik square we had noticed a high police presence with some barriers being put up. We thought nothing of it at the time, but helicopters circled throughout our walk through the old town. As we made our way back round perhaps 90 minutes later, a crowd had gathered and little British and Slovene flags had been stuck to the barriers. Being curious, Si took the opportunity to ask two of the ubiquitous policemen who was visiting. Disinterested, one replied "Elizabeth" and the other said "Queen". Just as he was trying to work out who the hell this Elizabeth Queen was, it dawned on him that our own dear monarch was on the loose in Ljubljana.

We were of course quite excited by this, neither of us having seen HRH in the flesh before. As we waited for a good 90 minutes at the front, a huge crowd gathered. Being British, we became aware that some of the pack of natives pressed against us might think of us as the Queen's sort-of away support, who follow her around on all her trips abroad hoping to speak to her. The reality was of course that we were there purely by chance. If anything she was following us. I decided I would make this known if she should by chance talk to us, and would also ask if she wouldn't mind taking a few things back to Blighty as my backpack is getting rather weighty.

Unfortunately, our crafty vantage point was ruined by the media scrum which soon jostled for position on a raised platform right in front of us. Bloody journos, inconsiderate bastards to a man. The British hacks were out in force, naturally. All seemed to know each other and talked shop in the casual, blase manner that all reporters and photographers seem to do.

Finally she appeared, wearing a green outfit and hat, accompanied by an entourage of such fearsome proportion that they obscured the view from most of the public trying to get a glimpse. Within two minutes, she was gone. She can fair move for a pensioner. But, unexpectedly, dragging his heels about 50 metres behind was Phillip, and he was a lot more attentive to the crowd, stopping to chat with a few along the way. It transpired that they were there on a three day state visit to Ljubljana and Bratislava, and it certainly seemed to get the locals in a state. This amused us somewhat - she's our queen, not yours!

After all the excitement was over we collapsed into chairs at a nearby cafe. Si dashed off to try and steal one of the little Union Jacks from the barriers, but the pesky locals had looted the lot. The Slovene flags had been barely touched. Ebay is his best bet now unfortunately.

Slovenia is noticeably more modern and developed than any other country we have seen in Eastern Europe, which partly explains why it is the only former Yugoslav republic to have gained EU membership. English is widely spoken, embraced even. On occasions it was possible to overhear youngsters talking amongst themselves in Slovene and English. This may be partly down to the fact that there are over 50,000 university students here, or that schoolchildren learn English from the age of nine. Here more than anywhere, we really felt like we were cheating.

The downside to visiting places like this out-of-season is that they do like to spruce up their major tourist attractions during this time. We found this with the cathedral in Zagreb, and sure enough, when we took the smart new furnicular railway up the hill to the castle, the tower was surrounded by scaffolding and closed to the public. Fortunately, the courtyard and ramparts were accessible, so we took in the giddy view of the city before watching a 20 minute 3D film on the history of Ljubljana. Frankly we looked absurd with the big glasses and headphones, but the effect was well worth the public humilation. The whole complex is under the management of Festival Ljubljana, who have placed modern signs everywhere as well as a very 21st century-looking bar in the courtyard. Old and new mixes uneasily - there are even blue spotlights on some of the old stone steps.

That evening I felt brave enough to branch out into uncharted gastronomic territory. I was so hungry I could have eaten a horse, so I headed out to the Red Hot Horse takeaway to do just that (lame I know. The joke, not the horse). A horseburger and a coke set me back three euros fifty. Slightly disappointingly, it tasted just like beef. I realise that this anecdote will be read with horror by some of my female friends who like to ride, but if I hadn't eaten it, somebody else would have. Si's stomach was still not 100 per cent, so fearing a relapse he played it safe - and opted for a Chinese takeaway!

We had taken in most of the small city over the past three days so on Friday we rose early to fit in a visit to Bled, about 35 miles north west at the foot of the Julian Alps. It is where Michael Palin began his journey through Eastern Europe in his excellent book New Europe, and was the most westerly point of our tour. The main attraction is the impossibly stunning lake surrounded by the mountains. In the middle is a little island with a church that you have to row to, and high on a rocky hill to the east is a small medieval castle. It is the jewel in Slovenia's crown and its most popular tourist destination. Adding to the attraction was the lack of other visitors, seeing as it was well out of season, but the foggy weather was disappointing. A lot of bars and facilities were closed until April, but we did see one boatful of tourists take a journey to the island. We didn't really have time for that but we did take a relaxing stroll around the lake, cameras clicking regularly, stopping on occasion for a drink before catching the hour-long bus back to Ljubljana.

The situation was thus - our train to Budapest was to leave the following morning at the impossibly inconvenient time of 2am. So, having arrived back in town at about 5.30pm, we had a bit of time to kill. We bought our train tickets first, learning that we couldn't get a sleeping place (a setback which was to grow in significance later). Then we took a cab out to the BTC Centre, a huge shopping and entertainment complex a few miles out of town. Think Lakeside without the dribbling cretins in west ham shirts. It was all very modern and impressive so we sat down to a massive pizza before settling into the multiplex cinema to watch Tropsky Vihar - or Tropic Thunder in English, Ben Stiller's latest work. Mercifully, the film was in English with Slovene subtitles, and the locals didn't seem to mind. They roared along and even to our amusement repeated some of the lines as they trotted out of the cinema when the film was over.

Back in the centre, we dumped our bags in the lockers at the station and decided to drink away the last few hours in the city. Dressed for travel and not partying, we hit a few quieter bars including the England Pub, which featured the three lions on an illuminated entrance sign which guided us in via the expat tractor beam.

Eventually, it was time to leave this charming city, the train was in and we took our uncomforable seats, which appeared to have been designed by the same people that masterminded the torture techniques in KGB prisons. Fixed middle armrests ensured we got no sleep whatsoever on the nightmare nine hour journey to Hungary's capital.

---