Sredi septembra naju je obiskal Aaron, sin ameriškega prijatelja Richarda, ki sva ga spoznala na trekingu v Indiji. Na potovanjih večkrat srečaš prav posebne ljudi in Richard je eden izmed njih. V tistih nekaj dneh druženja sva imela srečo spoznati čudovitega človeka polnega energije, ki svoje počitnice nameni humanitarnemu delu (Richard je namreč pediater) v Nepalu in trekingu po Himalaji. Za Richarda sva imela občutek, da ga poznava že od nekdaj. Ti občutki se pojavijo vedno, ko se z nekom v trenutku ujameš in si na isti “valovni dolžini”.
Po večdnevnem trekingu smo se ločili, nato pa smo se še enkrat srečali v majhnem mestu ob vznožju himalajske verige. Shirana telesa smo ob večerih polnili z raznovrstno in predvsem prvovrstvno hrano ter si delili vtise iz dosedanjih potovanj.
Kolikokrat ste si z znanci na potovanjih obljubljali kako se boste obiskali čez nekaj let? In kolikokrat se je to res zgodilo? Richard nama je pred odhodom namignil, da bo Slovenijo mogoče obiskal njegov sin Aaron. In vesel bi bil, če bi ga midva spoznala z našo deželo. “Off course, no problem” sva mu odgovorila in si mislila, da se to po vsej verjetnosti pač ne bo zgodilo. Toda v začetku letošnjega poletja naju je Richard kontaktiral prek elektronske pošte ter potrdil Aaronov prihod. Bila sva navdušena. Pripravila sva načrt obiskov vseh najlepših kotičkov te naše male deželice, načrt športnih aktivnosti in kulinaričnih užitkov.
Letošnji september je bil najlepši mesec v letu, razen tistih neprijetnih štirih deževnih dni. In ravno tisto 4-dnevno mokro septembersko Slovenijo je spoznaval Aaron. Vsak dan njegovega obiska sva si vsaj za trenutek zaželela, da bi Aaron lahko videl Slovenijo v soncu, zelenju gozdov, modrini rek, jezer in morja ter belini naših Alp. Vreme se je res pohecalo, in ko je Aaron odhajal nazaj proti domu se je nebo razjasnilo. Ne glede na vremensko farso smo se odlično zabavali in na koncu sva se počutila, kot da bi se vrnila s potovanja.
Aaron je najino zaskrbljenost z vremenom vztrajno odpravljal z besedami, da je zanj Slovenija lepa tudi v dežju, saj drugačne sploh videl ni. Najbolj pa je bil navdušen nad ljudmi, gostoljubljem, načinom življenja. Večer pred odhodom je v najinem skromnem najemniškem stanovanju svojim prijatljem napisal mail, ki ne potrebuje komentarja. No ja, Gregorjevega komentarja res ne morem spustiti: “Ta mail si bom sprintal in ga obesil na steno v svojo pisarno. In ko bom spet kdaj jamral kako mi je težko, ga bom prebral, tako da se bom spomnil, kako dobro življenje imamo v Sloveniji”.
Aaronov mail je v angleščini, prevod bi bil (pre)velika neumnost!
Hello from beautiful Slovenia. Where to begin?
A weekend un-like any other I’ve ever had. On every trip I try to slip below the country’s surface, to penetrate the landscape, not to mearly float and see, but to feel. Writing now from my friend’s one bedroom flat in the hills outside Krajn, Slovenia, I think I’ve come closer than ever to accomplishing this.
I arrived Friday. Ales (ahlesh) and I ate near the train station and walked for several hours while we waited for Bojana (boyana) to leave work. The rain came and went; threatening but never making good. We walked in the old section of Ljubljana, the country’s capital, which has more of a city circle than square. From here bridges branch off across the river, one road heading up to a castle. With space hard to come by in their flat, they thought it best to sleep at Bojana’s parents house. There is a wonderful sense of community in Slovenia, and it takes little prodding for the people I’ve met to lament the loss of community that came with the dissolution of the former Yugoslavia. This need for community shows up in wonderful ways. Bojana’s parents live in a house her grandfather built. Her grandmother still lives on the first floor, same as in Ales’s house. Soon Ales and Bojana will move in with his parents, putting 3 generations under one roof. I haven’t found a house in Slovenia that doesn’t have a garden behind it. I’m told that Slovenians “like to know what they’re eating.” My guess is it’s something much larger than this. Sitting down for dinner the first night with Bojana and Ales, I was surprised to see them sharing salad from one bowl in the center of the table. I was invited to join, and was happy to do so. In every meal I had there was one dish that was shared by all. Slovenian’s like to know what they’re eating, it’s true. But more importantly, they like to know those they’re eating with.
I’m afraid this is getting a bit long. I’ll skip through saturday. We won’t meander through the country as I did, stopping in sleepy towns, and crossing a small wooden bridge to a castle built in the 13th century that sits on a small island. It rained, they apologized, and I brushed off both. Let’s skip now to the dream like red wine colored memories of Saturday night.
Gregor’s white two story weekend house sits quietly on a hillside covered with vineyards. Nine of us sat under an overhang supported by wooden beams, and ate meat hot off the grill. It wasn’t until the light of morning that I would know we were surrounded by apple trees, which grow like weeds in Slovenia. The house has two doors, one which leads into the kitchen, and the other into the cellar which holds 3 large barrells full with wine. We drank and laughed and ate and drank. If I could, if I had the skill, I would stretch out this next sentence without punctuation, flowing on, for this is how the rest of the evening went. We left the house at 11:00 in a heavy, rain soaked darkness. We headed up-hill, aiming at an unseen church perched on top, I was cloudy on why, but willing. We climbed into the clouds and fought against the slippery grass. Maybe 25 minutes had passed when I stopped Ales. There was music somewhere. More climbing, more slipping. The music grew louder, and now, 100 meters away, there was a faint yellow light. A party at the church! Like a dream, we broke through the fog and into the light. A large army tent had been set up and rows of thin wooden tables and benches filled it. Everyone is laughing and talking. Most are over 40 (50?). A band plays. (one accordian, one keyboardist, a woman sings) Every table had four or five bottles of wine; some glass, some plastic. There may be 15 people at a table and only 6 glasses, but no one goes thirsty. I waltzed, I polkad, I asked a girl in Slovenian to dance with me. A large man with a mustache, Martin, put his arm around me and my glass was never empty again. With Martin leading and Ales translating, we entered a squat, stone, one room building the community built. The pride of the hill this room was. There were two large metal vats. Everyone that lives in the hills makes similar pilgramages to this hut, and pours their wine into the vats. They all have keys, and anytime they want they come for a drink. Community again. We stayed in that room, one glass among the eight of us, and drank.
I will skip again. Skip off the water of the coast that we visited on the way home. I should land in Bojana’s parent’s kitchen, eating a fantastic meal of venison and veal and potatoes; drinking wine and talking politics and history with her father as we look out over the hills and gardens. We should also stop down the road in the small bedroom that Ales’s grandmother occupies. Sitting with her and Ales and his parents, eating ice cream and cookies and an apple I picked in the front yard. We laugh at small talk, and marvel at the way the 2nd world war touched all of us sitting in the room. His grandmother,now 82, was sent to Serbia by the Germans for four years. My grandfather was forced to flee Poland. On the way out, we stop to eat grapes that were picked from vines not 10 feet from us.
What else can I say? Don’t worry. Nothing.