CHESTNUT PUTT-PUTT

Slovenia is a country with early winters -- aged to (a bit beyond) perfection.

And maybe that is why they put Halloween in February. They call it Carnival day, and it’s without the candy, but with adult participation.

Carnival, February 2010

There is not one pumpkin in the entire country for this Fall season. And there may not be one witch either -- At least not of the Christine O’Donnell kind.

Pumpkins are passé. The only even mention of them was in the first grade core curriculum at the International School. “Today’s lezzon iz to learn ze deeference between a pumpkin and a zchack-o-lantern, yes?”

Now, it may be that in a country where everyone dresses in black, and dyes their hair orange, those fall color schemes are irrelevant.

But chestnuts aren’t.

Chestnuts are to Slovenia, what pumpkins and gourds are to the U.S.

Yes, here, there is a kava in every cup, and chestnuts at every table. Chestnuts roasting on every corner, netted bags of chestnuts at the Maximarket, and chestnut hulls in riverside ashtrays. And these chestnuts are delicious.

Chestnut trees line many of the city streets. And the ground around them is layered with sleek brown targeted nuts. And what is (unknowingly) tricky for the foreigner is that people all over Ljubljana are picking up and pocketing those chestnuts.

“Mom. Look, all these chestnuts. I have pockets and pockets full like that old man. Can we roast them for my birthday? I am going to have a party aren’t I? I turn six in how many days?”

“Sure, that sounds like a great idea. We can do it in the oven and you can watch them POP.”

Chestnut Trees lining paths

Picking up chestnuts, a Ljubljana past-time

And chestnuts aren’t limited to the city streets. In Tivoli, the expansive Ljubljana inner-city public park and green space, the paths are lined with huge old Chestunut trees, and the ground is carpeted with bullseyes.

In the heart of Tivoli, is the one putt-putt course in Ljubljana. It is government run, well really it just looks that way, because it has that “socialist-era” feel , with a lot of concrete, no brightly colored model animals, no waterfalls, and no snow cones. There is of course, a kava café.

And a whole lot of chestnuts dotting the greens.

Mini Golf cafe kava

Tivoli putt-putt

But in Ljubljana, unlike in our U.S. post midterm election world, there are no tea parties, (just those kava cafes), and no confusion of church and .............

……………….putt-putt.

Yes, the Ljubljana putt-putt may indeed be “socialist-era”, but that has it's advantages. It's really quiet, and, unlike in the U.S., there are no abutting church marques, no “ten commandments” adorning the entryway, and no concealed weapons.

It does lack those pink flamingos, fast food odors, and loud car radios.

View from U.S Tropical Gardens putt-putt

Church, Taco Bell, and KMart

U.S.Tropical Gardens golf

“The Ten Commandments of Mini Golf” as posted Leicester, NC Tropical Gardens Mini Golf

‘Don’t be a mini-golf geek’

‘You are a golf geek if you put like Tiger Woods teeing off’

‘You putt in groups of more than five”

And so on.

on the way to U.S. putt-putt

Now granted, it may be that rules like these are just irrelevent because at Tivoli, it is not really about golf. In fact, there never seems to be anyone on the course. The café though, does a bountiful business.

“Hallo”

“Hello, Dober Dan. Is the course open?

“Yes, yes, of course”

Ok, four players please.

Wondering if we were making spectacles of ourselves daring to go onto the always empty course, I asked.

“And can you tell me, why is there no one on the course? Will these people play” (pointing to the crowd of café patrons beside us)

“No, no, no, because vyou may not take your coffee drink onto the course”.

Oh, well that explains it.

For the next two hours, not one of those Putt-Putt café patrons joined us. Only an Octogenarian couple picking up chestnuts and putting them into four large cloth bags.

So after a while, it became more interesting to pick up chestnuts and put them in their bags, than to play, given how frustrating it had become to aim for a hole, on green felt covered with brown targets.

“Ti govoriš angleški?”

“malo, malo”

“How will you roast those? You know, cook them? I am thinking of having them for my daughter’s birthday party.”

“No, no, vWe feed them to our pig”

“Your pig?”

“yes, svey like them very much And we also use them for hum, hum, you know, um”

He then pointed to his shirt,

then his heart, then rubbed his pant leg.

“You use them for laundry soap? “

“Ne, ne.”

“For heart medicine?”

“Ne, hum m,um”

“for skin ointment?”

“Ne, ne, ne ,ne”

“Jewelry? Ornaments? Wreaths?”

I give up.

“Ne, ne,ne I do not know more English. Wve will go now”

Nes veidene.

“Adio”

The 18^th hole was the final disappointment of the dilapidated course. Unlike those capitalist courses, where one’s 18^th shot goes into that direct pipe-line from the last and lowly hole, straight to the cashier, this course had only a hole clogged with chestnuts.

Isn’t that just like a socialist era putt-putt course? Chestnuts in every cup.

18th hole clogged with chestnuts

As we meandered out into the park, again between long rows of Chestnut trees, suddenly the Putt-Putt attendant was running towards us.

“PARDON, PARDON, so sorry”

Hello, Yes?

“Zhe old man, tellz me to tell you. Zthese Chestnuts, they are used as MOTHBALLS. That is why we pick them up, Zthey are not to eat zthese kind. In ze market are ze ones you eat. Zese will give vu diarrhea in the stomach. Zthey are for the pigs and such.”

Mothballs, mothballs?

In a country with interminable winters, and so little sunshine?

My mind suddenly veered towards that horrible medical case report of the mother and her children awaiting liver transplant, after picking mushrooms from the Golden Gate Bridge park, and putting them into their spaghetti sauce.

,

“Let them eat cake!”

And how about a little game of Chestnut putt-putt, or moth-ball golf for those sweet little six year olds.