OVER THE RIVER AND THROUGH THE WOODS

Clearly, blogging isn't for those with "privacy issues". And I am sorry to say,
that Dougie (this is NOT his chosen Slovenia name, I'll fill you in on that later, but rather a longstanding term of endearment for our favorite Fulbright Fellow) has more than "privacy issues", he has privacy neuroses.

"You made it sound like I'm Tiger Woods, with a vacuum fetish. Vacuuming IS a mindful practice.

And does it ever worry you that when you put things out there, out there on on the web (at least he didn't say "into that maze of tubes"), they go to whoever, and forever?

......

but I did like the picture."

As most of you know, Doug is incredibly even-tempered, and serious, hence the name, Dougie. So, out of respect for him, I am telling you that he DOES NOT have a vacuum fetish, just an undeniable love of vacuuming. And just in case privacy concerns invade future posts, I need to go ahead and reveal another time-sensitive secret. Due to a high degree of condescension on his part, Doug's Slovenian name had to be been assigned rather than chosen. He is now officially named Jed Doughhead, with Brownie Birtwhistle being the close second.

So let's see, that's Hollin, Hippolyta, Zue Elderberry, Silence and ......well, Jed Doughhead.

He had it coming to him.

OK, now the river part -- we got a glimpse of Jed's Law School office
today, and it is quite, quite beautiful, right on the river. I think we can safely say that it is the art deco counterpart to our socialist style apartment building. We may end up moving there.

Jed's big introductory talk is Tuesday at 12:30 for 200 people, including a contingent from the Slovenian Ministry on Climate Change. And the title:

"Climate Change:

Can our Legal Frameworks Meet the Coming Crisis?"

SMALL, POWERFUL, and SILENT

"Just how I like my woman".



Today is our 18th wedding anniversary, and this was Doug's giddy proclamation tonight, when he first used our apartment's vacuum cleaner.




SPOILER ALERT, SPOILER ALERT


For all of you who DON'T know Doug's dirty little secret,



I am about to reveal it.


For those of you who do,



you will not be surprised when I tell you that Doug

has already thoroughly vacuumed our 300 square feet, and is "happy to report that our Slovenian vacuum is up and running."


We returned from our lock-out outing, and Doug, our Fulbright Fellow, was on his hands and knees trying out his newfound machine.

And all I have to say is,


"That's how I like my men".

sNOw FIRE FROM THESE DRAGONS

"DON'T WORRY MOM, SOON WE'LL HAVE SHELTER"

Snow Globe

"But Jia and I just voted, and we've voted you out".

All I wanted was some mayonnaise, or Basil, or pepper, or really any one item that could flavor

some type of dinner from the meager selection of ingredients left in the refigerator. There

is a foot of snow on the ground and the city has shut down. I headed to the Mercator, and to photograph the dragons in the snow, and Zue and Hollin (I have faithfully promised them to use their Slovenian names in this blog, as well as with each new personal introduction--doug thinks this is over the top and has told them that the US Embassy knows there real names and will give them trouble if they try and assume a "false identity") decided to stay behind and build an igloo. I returned empty-handed except for three Bitter lemons adn a few buns, because all three Mercators within walking distance were closed. As we headed into the apt building door, we realized it was locked, and of course, having never been out alone, I hadn't thought of bringing any keys. Being in the land of no cellphones, I was pretty much at a loss for what to do. But luckily there was a place to buzz for entrance, so we were relieved. But then it became clear that we had no idea of the apt. owner's name. And unfortunately for us, there were no numbers, and I couldn't just start calling each one in English.

So, next, we decided to throw snowballs at our third floor window, hoping Doug or Hippolyta would hear. Hollin hurled one, and MISSED, slamming it into the 2nd floor window. The woman came to the window speaking in

Slovene, just as Hollin dove behind his igloo. So there I was alone, with no idea how to explain our predicament.

But then two young couples came to the doorway and called up to an apt for entry.

I casually strode in behind them, but then one couple started speaking really fast to me in Slovene, and I was convinced that he was noting that I couldn't gain entry without my own key

(you know that stranger in a strange land nuttiness one gets in a foreign country--SINSLN as we call it). In fact he wanted to know if he could borrow the snow shovel inside the door. I was so relieved that his rambling was not about my entry, that I gladly handed him the shovel, but then I thought perhaps I would be responsible for losing the only shovel that belonged to our building (SINSLN), so

I followed him out to say that maybe he could just leave it right outside the door when he was done, and CLICK. There went the door. Locked once again.

And hence the title of this post, and Hollin's subsequent proclamation, "and we've voted you out."

It was starting to get dark now, and

I just couldn't for the life of me figure out what to do. I headed towards the bakery where the only person I know in

Slovenia lives -- a young boy with an interest in the U.S. who gives me free Kofis-- thinking maybe he could call Doug for me, but then realized that I didn't know the apt. phone number. In fact, the apt. doesn't even have a phone. Hum.

So we waited, and waited. It was dark now. I took photos. I broke out the Bitter Lemon. I talked with passerbys. I was really cold. I knew Doug would not come looking for me for a long time, because he is used to me staying gone for hours in order to have some "alone time". I reached several times in the bag for my cellphone. It was clear there was no solution other than to wait. Everyone had clearly settled in for the snowy night, but surely someone would come along sometime. Hollin and Zue were convinced they could sleep in their igloo for the night, and it would be "fun".

One HOUR later.

This woman comes out. Hollin yells "MOM, QUICK TURN AROUND!", I lunge toward her, she jumps, and screams, I begin babbling about "sorry, sorry, thank you, thank you, i'm so glad you are here".

Hollin was really embarrassed, but I was just really happy.
We opened our bag for dinner, and all realized that I had apparently gotten the Slovenian words for 1 and 5 mixed up. There was only one roll in the bag.

KAFE AND KROFI

Jia's (or Zue Elderberry's --her self-appointed Slovenian name) cookbook sleeping routine has presented itself as concrete evidence that jetlag does indeed exist. With her 5 year old lack of psychic overlay, she has now, for four nights, methodically fallen asleep at 1 am, and blythely awoken at 12 noon. That would be 7 pm, and 6 am EST -- just one hour off her 8 pm to 7am U.S. clock, and just one hour off her 12 hour orphanage-set clock, that she has so ardently adhered to over the last four years.

Today, with one entire Krofi of her own, we enticed her to get up at 10 am, with hopes of an earlier bedtime tonight. I am desparate after I got so irritated last night that I told her we wouldn't "have ANY food on the table" if "mommy doesn't get her private time to trade options on her computer". It was effective, in that she thought that sounded really serious, but .... we really need to get on a regular schedule.

It snowed all night last night and there are 8 inches now, with it continuing still.

I look around at all these apartment windows and wonder what the Slovenians are doing, because all we can think of is Kafe and Krofi.

Have figured out the secret to laundry in the snow -- racks and radiators.
American ingenuity or American ignorance? You decide, because I already I know the answer.

A Cold Day

Icicles on Plecnik's Triple Bridge

River Ljubljanica, traversing the city

Guarding the entrance to Plecnik's Bridge

KROFI

Krofi seems to be the official donut of Slovenia, and now it is the official donut of our family.

You can find them on every street corner, in every bakery window. And they are hard to resist with lots of powdered sugar, barely sweet bread, and a delicious apricot filling.

Walked to find the Vegetarian restaurant today (there are two in town), and it was quite lovely, with good food, and a beautiful interior.

27 Euros for five -- that's 40 dollars.

It is striking how much Jia stands out here. She is the only Asian we have seen yet, anywhere, and everywhere she is stared at, at length.

It is similar to taking a blonde child to China, though no one has asked for photos of her!

Luckily, she is not old enough to notice. We have an appt. with the Embassy Monday in order

to see about school for her, and maybe the others as well. I am confident that Jia can go to a Slovene school and enjoy it. Otherwise, she is a bit bored here with all the walking, and touring, and architecture awing.

The other two like it all though and are finding lots to do without a school.

Hippolyta (as Avery has renamed herself here in Slovenia) is convinced that she

was meant to be born Slovenian,

and Hollin, (Garrett's newfound Slovenian name) is readying to buy a bike, in order to find some freedom from the 300 sq feet -- and, I am sure, in order to explore the Erotica Shop next to our apt, as well as all the other rather

explicit stores that dot the city's landscape. He got his first clue about Europe's comparative sexual openness

on the plane, and has been interested ever since. In the seat pocket of Adria Airlines, there was a government sponsored Slovenian tourism magazine where one of the sections was on sex shops. He remains intrigued. Tonight he asked me, "Mom, what will I do with that Erotica Shop right next door?"

That was easy, I told him he and his dad can frequent it, just as Hippolyta and I plan on frequenting "Salon" - the upscale and simply beautiful restaurant and vitamin bar just across the street.

But what stands out the most in the last two days is the food. The fruits and vegetables seem to have

at least twice the flavor as compared to ours in the States. Even the organic food in Asheville does not completely compare. Carrots, tomatoes, pomegranants, beets, onions, pears, apples and oranges are what we have

tried thus far. The produce from the little Mercato (government owned version of the stop-n-go on every corner) as well as that from the big outdoor, more expensive market, is all good. We can't stop talking about the flavor difference, and in winter time too.

Hum, is it the lack of use of artificial fertilizers here? Closer to the Mediterranean? Don't know.

And finally, eventhough everyone seems to speak English, and well, we have decided to learn Slovenian at a close by language school. We start Monday.

"Gutentag" is how everyone greets us. Clearly, they think we are German. Then, when we look clueless, they soon go to "Parlais vous Francais?". Today, we got so befuddled with all the languages at the market (where fewer people speak English and more speak German, Hungarian, and Italian) that we just starting calling out numbers in any language in order to get our Clementines (kind of as a family joke since we know the numbers in 10 languages, but nothing else). I called out Ba for seven in Chinese, and Jia suddenly, and very seriously, yelled out "no mom, that's eight, you mean Liu", ---as if they would have noticed. Obviously, Chinese is the ONE language no one does know here.

APPLES and RED PAPRIKA POTATO CHIPS

The drive from the airport was notable for snow, lots of gray, many evergreens capped with snow, and apartment buildings lining the streets. It was similar to the train ride from Hong Kong into mainland China, when we were going to adopt Jia, with

dingy gray apartment buildings, one after another, rising 10 and 20 stories high (though much higher in China), each with laundry drying on the balcony from an extended pole. There was no laundry today in the snow. The Slovenian lawyer sharing the cab with us, who was exceedingly pleasant and helpful, commented in English "you will notice the remnants of socialism here on the streets from the airport". But the landscape was lovely.

So there indeed were "remnants of socialism", but they were clearly mixed with capitalism --as evidenced by the airline, airport advertisements, and high-end shops along the road.

After the Tito-Stalin split of 1948, Yugoslavia became much less oppressive than other communist countries in the region. Travel was less restricted, and thus there was interaction with the west. Tito died in 1980, and Slovenia delared its independence from the former Yugoslavia in 1991. It has since developed as the richest and most westernized of the Yugoslavian countries. Apparently much of its business is in local hands -- which is apparent in the many shopping sections of tourist brochures,--- values its natural resources, and has quite a bit of national pride. It joined the EU in 2004, and the UN in 1992. Its involvement in the Balkan war was comparatively little, with minimal destruction or loss of life.

The national pride is readily apparent from airport marques, and street billboards, tauting their local beauty and many amenties.

The cab stopped at one of the high rises and there we were. It was 25 degrees with 6 inches of snow on the ground.

Building in the "socialist" style, as well as being the view from one of our three apt windows

"Second elevator on the left, second floor", our apt. owner, who was faithfully waiting for us on the curb, yelled as Hollin went into the lobby.

"The second, the second on the left". But Hollin was already on the 1st elevator, closing the metal door and heading up. Quickly realizing that he was already heading towards the 3rd floor, he reached for the 2 button. It was no where to be found. The door opened, and a Slovene woman spoke at length to him. He said "pardone moi" in a French accent, and then came a long explanation in French. Hollin finally admitted to speaking only English, and she quickly switched to English, in order to tell him that the elevators went to either EVEN or ODD floors, but not both. He had happened upon the odd numbered floor elevator and was mortified. Funny how being in a foreign country makes you feel so dumb sometimes.



So, 2nd elevator now, 2nd floor, 300 square feet, 5 people, 2 bedrooms --one of which doubles as the "living" room, a kitchen with a table, chocolates, and a considerately placed jar of home-canned peaches, and one bathroom. The toilet is alone in getting a room to itself,

though this water closet is aptly named in that it is so small that it is not possible to get in and still be able to close the door. Hollin has managed to squeeze his way in, motivated by his teenage self-consciousness, or perhaps by the fact that perhaps his bathroom activities demand

more privacy than ours.

Our spiceless kitchen, so to speak

Overwhelmed might be the best word to describe today, and jetlagged. So tired that nothing seems doable. Lots to keep busy with though --- Slovene school for jia, language school, things to do to avoid killing each other in this small space, meals for 5 for 6 months, on the 3 by 4 table in a kitchen with 4 sets of china, two knives, minimal cutlery, few tools, and no paper towels, bus schedules, bus passes, grocery stores with lactose-free milk, where to take the trash, how to do laundry for 5 with no dryer in the snow and few clothes on hand, how to get coffee that is drinkable, faulty internet connections, and many whines from the children about our dog left behind at home.

Rest, and everything will seem manageable in the morning.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed, but not worried.

You've got to like a country that has apples and red paprika potato chips in its vending machines.

TOUCHDOWN

Touchdown didn't seem as relevant to me as it did to my 14 year old as he excitedly muttered it in the snowstorm on the small tarmack of Adria Airlines. Out of touch, and upward was what I was looking for.

When we made the decision to accept the offer to spend the semester in Slovenia, it seemed like the perfect escape to the unknown. The previous two years had been wrought with illness and turmoil, and we were desparate to get away from mid-life.

So, with too much luggage, filled with too many seemingly unecessary items ( afterall, what is "necessary" in Slovenia? ) we had finally made it to the last leg of the trip -- a jaunt from Frankfurt to Ljubljana.

Turqoise and black are the official colors of the Slovenian Airline, Adria, and those colors adjacent to gray leather seats, a beautiful black haired flight attendant, and another suave gay one, made it immediately apparent that Slovenians had very good taste, and money, somewhere. So in an attempt to be as inconspicuous as possible, the five of us, and our 10 luggage items, quickly sat down in the first row. "This is something like you call Business Class", said the lovely female attendant in a polite, and beautifully accented English. "Yes" she continued, "there are plenty of the seats in the back of the plane for to choose from".

I wondered how she knew we weren't booked in "business class". I imagine our

pack-like appearance had given us away.

The airport tourism campaign capitalized on the LOVE in Slovenia, and that was exactly

the feeling I was having as we walked into the airport from the skyway.

Everything was pristine, with marble floors, leather chairs, a high-end children's play area,

and little glassed-in smoking boxes. Hippolyta, my 10 year old immediately pronounced that this trip was "meant to be". I didn't know how to respond exactly. For better or worse, beauty has always spoken to her.

Our luggage had been right there, beside the plane, on the tarmack in Frankfurt, but now was no where to be found. The only problem with that, other than dirty clothes and teeth for an unknown duration, was that

my 5 year old's stock of cashmere was in those suitcases. We would need them soon, as the

pink one from the plane was now filthy. Jia is addicted to cashmere for comfort and self-soothing. We had packed a green, two brown, a plum, and a mustard "sveter" - which, when packing, had reminded us of the game "Clue". And we had packed her so called back up cashmere items as well. They included a pink scarf, a lavendar mini skirt, and a yellow piece of a sweater. They all have a story. The pink mini skirt was a 20 dollar 8 inch long Calvin Klein from TJ Maxx, with the original $450 price tag tucked inside. The yellow sweater, was mine before my husband let Jia use it one day when her favorite was no where to be found. She left it in the car that night and it was completely sleeveless the next day. Months later Hippolyta found a yellow mouse nest under the back car seat.