Venice....home of Prosecco, and that's all you really need to know.

I get lazy when I’m in Ljubljana.  Life settled into a pace, and while I saw interesting things every day, they just became part of life.  That is my excuse for not blogging. 

Life in Slovenia was wholly delightful.  Our apartment gave us a more natural setting.  We shopped for groceries, did our laundry and vacuumed like we normally would.  When I stepped out on the balcony (9^th floor), to enjoy the view of the Julian Alps, it always smelled of clean laundry, as everyone hung their laundry on their balconies.  I found a small cheat though…if I turned on the air conditoning (which I’ve been know to do), it emitted warm air, and if I hung the clothes in the warm draft, it was like having our own dryer. 

Every day, we took the bus into downtown, and every day it was entertaining.  Whether it was impromptu rainstorms, driving everyone shrieking under cover, or an elderly Slovenian jazz group performing Mack the Knife (In Slovene), spontaneous dance performances in Preseren Square, or just watching the Ljubljanans from a café, something new happened every day.  We spent hours at Le Petit Café, not because we’re scenesters, but because the service is notoriously slow.  They were recommended in a recent New York Times travel section,so I expect the place to be filled with hipsters and tacky tourists next time I go.  I never argue with the best Bela Kava in town…huge mug filled with strong coffee, hot milk, foam and liberal scoops of ground chocolate.  Perfection.

On that note, after a fine dinner of Mexican tapas and margaritas, we did our last load of laundry and packed for Venice.  An early morning rise is my enemy, but I performed well, as did my fearless companion.  Through rainstorms, our shuttlebus got us to Venice (Mestre) in 3 hours.  This is where I pat myself on the back for the successful military operation I’ve pulled off, only to have everything screech to a halt.  I negotiate Mestre train/bus station which is basically 5,000 tourists, all dragging their luggage, while they fruitlessly search for escape to their hotels in either Venice or Mestre.  I found the right bus, bought tickets from the newstand, and we’re off…right?  No, first Emme has to get rousted from her seat by an entitled geezer who obviously disliked tourists on “her”  bus.  Tough shit, honey.  The real problem is we are on the WRONG bus.  After being deposited at the AIRPORT, arguing with my oh-so-helpful bus driver and finding that the only bus going in my direction didn’t leave for another hour, an executive decision was in order.  Taxi.  And that’s how, 25 euros poorer, we arrived at the hotel.  Our room the family run hotels is ready…and it’s on the ground floor, next to garbage bins.  No thank you.  Mama has an argument with the owner and offers to go have lunch while he makes other arrangements.  A lovely 3^rd floor room awaited on our return.  Today, I noticed that the owner’s cell-phone ring is the theme from The Godfather, and he yells ‘capeesh’ a lot, at his son.  I’m going to be happy, fun tourist for the rest of my visit, I think. 

So, Venice.  It’s lovely.  How descriptive.  Oh, it’s like pulling into parking lot of Disneyland, and they point you to the gates (bridge over the Grand canal), and you’re on your own.  Maps are pointless.  It is a giant maze, built on monstrous proportions.  There are no straight streets.  Go left – dead end.  Go right, through the pretty campo – you’ve hit the canal.  Straight ahead, through the single-file alleys between buildings – there’s a gate.  Virtually everyone is carrying a map, studying it…turning it upside down…shrugging their shoulders.  If the point of Venice is to get lost in the labyrinth and make discoveries, then we’re doing the right thing.  There are gorgeous photos to be taken, at every turn.  Gondoliers (wearing striped shirts, red scarves and straw hats, thank you very much) gliding down the canals, palazzo balconies, overgrown with vibrant flowers, tiny alleys that lead to courtyards.  Plus, there’s lots of ice cream, which helps with the ‘lost in a Disney maze’ thing.  Prosecco, lemon, pineapple and tiramisu gelatos (today’s haul), all perfect and cooling, the Prosecco like eating creamy champagne, the snow-white lemon mouth-puckering tart from frozen bits of lemon zest.  Tiramisu, deep with coffee and rum, sprinkled with cocoa like the real thing.  Ah, and the organic pineapple gelato, icy and lumpy with pineapple bits.  Tomorrow, expand to the dark chocolates, the intense amarena, the local pistachio…

Took a chance with a quiet osteria with no “turist” menu, or pizza.  Told the owner to give me the daily special, he offered to make Emme spaghetti and tomato sauce.  We dug into the basked of Italian bread, cut for each basket from a huge loaf, 4 feet long.  Dripped it with extra virgin olive oil and polished it off quickly.  My homemade tagliatelle came dressed with olive oil, olives, fresh tomato and bits of fresh mozzarella.  I can never eat pasta that comes from a box again.  It was spectacular, eggy and rich.  Accompanied by a glass of local prosecco, it was the best lunch I’ve had in a while.  We finished it off with two homemade ‘tarts’.  One was a chocolate chip biscuit, sandwiched with orange preserves, the other a pastry shell filled with coconut cream.  These were served with a huge spoonful of sabayon, from a large bowl behind the glass counter, then given the final touch of chocolate sauce.  Amazing! 

We wound our way back through the maze, occasionally following the yellow arrows pointing us toward Piazzale Roma, not entirely sure we were ready to emerge into a world of vehicles again. 

We have purchased our tickets to tour the museums of St. Mark’s, later in the week.  We’ll see the Basilica, Ducale Palazzo, Museum Correr, the Archeological Museum and the National Library.  Cool!

Have also set aside a day to get a 12 hour pass for the vaporetto (Venice’s equivalent of a city bus), boats that make stops all down the Grand Canal, and even go out to the islands of Burano, Murano and Torchelli.  So, much good sightseeing to be done.  Now, it is time to rest my really, really sore feet!

Lovely Ljubljana

Photos, because I've been lazy...
The city, looking down from the Castle:

Interior of the Castle Tower:

Dragon Bridge:

Interior of St. Nicholas' Cathedral:

The market and government building, on the river:

Franciscan Church, on Preseren Square:

After a rainy day, the sun comes out over the Alps:

And, we enjoy a delightful treat of Cherry Bonbon ice cream!

Today, the exhaustion hit.  So, while a thunderstorm raged outside, the kid and I hung out and watched retro music videos and ate potato chips.  Eventually, the rain stopped and we got hungry for real food, so we headed downtown.  Checked out the oldest sections of the city Trnovo and Krakovo, which still have sections of a Roman wall from 14 AD, courtesy of Augustus.  

Enough of this sightseeing, it is time to eat.  Found a lovely outdoor table, and ordered a cheese pizza.  This is (most of) what showed up.  I didn't expect my cheese pizza to be sectioned off, by cheese variation.  E ate the mozzarella section.  I went kitty korner for goat cheese.  Haven't established the yellow blobs, but I did find a camembert rind melted onto the pizza. 

We headed back downtown and found a jazz concert in full swing.  These old guys were rocking it out, and despite being Slovene to the bone, did a phonetic English version of “Nobody Knows the Troubles I’ve Seen” that would have done Louis Armstrong proud.  

Naturally, when this kind of of music is played, the youngsters in the crowd...start swing dancing?  It was a sight to behold, Converse-wearing, pork-pie hat-wearing hipsters all swinging to the oldies.  There's always something unexpected around the corner, in Ljubljana.

This apartment called my name today and told me that I should be living there.

E insisted (insisted!) on ice cream, so back to sit by the river and relax.

 You'll note that mine contains fruit.  Fruit is very good for you.  We should all eat it daily.  I did.

Back to the apartment, and I found this sign in the elevator:

I'm pretty sure the translation is that the elevator can hold 300 kg, or 4 obese people.  So, maybe less ice cream tomorrow.

We No Speak Americano

Just to clear this up for anyone who believes Rick Steves when he tells you that 'everyone in Europe speaks English'...he's a lying liar who lies.  Yes, if you are staying in $300 a night hotel rooms, like Rick does, the concierge does, in fact, speak English.  I can assure you that, if you are trying to avoid the tourist traps and live like a local, not everyone has decided to learn two or three extra languages.  This is especially true of communist-era cashiers, bureaucrats, and anyone who works in or near a bus and/or train. 

Although today, I did get scolded by a young woman for not telling me that I wasn't Slovene, at the local children's festival.  She gave me a long account of how E could paint a picture, based on a Toulouse-Lautrec painting, and if it was chosen, it would be displayed in a local art gallery..  I nodded politely, because I have this idea that I am in their country, and shouldn't expect everyone to cater to me, because after all, I am the freaking visitor.  Naturally, she spoke perfect English.  Sigh.  

Here is the award winner:

If you’re in the Pacific Northwest, I have incredible news for you…it does not rain non-stop everywhere in the world.  I I know, right?  It’s in the 80s and sunny.  I feel like I’ve finally eliminated the vitamin D deficiency I’ve been harboring.  In fact, I may even have a TAN. 

This is what I had to contend with today:

And somebody had to sit on that couch, under that tree, by that river, and eat ice cream, and dammit, it was me.  

Oh, and yes please:

No, I did not steal the Absolut bottles from the bar.  Did you know that Ljubljana was voted the most honest city in the world?  Well, when in Rome, blah blah blah.

I settled for this, because this an addiction with an international following, obviously:

And with that, I am off to collect my laundry, which is drying on the patio.  They have washers, not dryers, but that's cool, clean laundry is good laundry.
I have been in North America too long.  I heard what I thought were gunshots.  Instead, it was pretty, pretty fireworks.  I forgot because most governments tell us that we're too stupid to use those.

South to Slovenia

On the train to Ljubljana.  Two rows up, there is a beagle.  The guy one row in front of me is drinking a beer.  So far, the police have not been called in to officiate.  Dogs are allowed on trains and the subway.  It’s very civilized.  Then again, people train their dogs not to annoy passengers or use the train as their watering ground, which is probably why it works better here, than in North America. 

Ten minutes outside of Vienna and we’re in wine country.  45 minutes out and I locate the Lindt factory.  It’s hilly now, all perfectly green and lush, with farms in the valleys.  On one hill, I spy a castle.  Next to the river, there is a herd of cattle, lazily drinking water, in the sunshine.  It’s like the Sound of Music without all of the annoying singing.  There cannot be any more beautiful place than the Austrian countryside.  I want to live here and wear a dirndl and sing to the sheep.  For a week, anyways.

I’m going to eat my bagel sandwich, but have to pick off the trinity of death, first – lettuce, cucumber tomato.  Not ready for that, yet. 

In case I sounded too perky about my day, I’ll follow up with the ‘switching trains in Maribor’ story.  Vienna to Maribor (deep Slovenia), no problem.  Arrive Maribor, have 4 minutes to switch trains.  Hop off train, hop on nearest train posted Ljubljana.  Cleaning lady yells at me, tells me to go to other track.  Some people are jumping across the tracks, in front of our former train.  Me, I got 40 pounds on my back and a 7 year old in tow.  So, down stairs, through tunnel, up stairs (this is not Austria, there are no escalators).  Hop on train.  Aisles are clogged with luggage and a youth group.  Oh good, my favorite.  Plop my butt in first class and wait for the fallout.  He arrives, in the form of a grumpy, middle-aged conductor who speaks not one word of English.  He does make it clear that because I have no reservation for a seat, JUST A TICKET, that I will have to pay him 6.8e.  I argue , he rolls his eyes, says something in Slovenian to other first class passenger who obviously sympathizes with him having to deal with non-Slovenian speaking foreigners.  I pay, but I pay with an attitude, bitches!  He’s now standing in the bar car, probably spending his ill-gotten gains on grain alcohol.  I cooled off a little when I saw he hit up other passengers, too.  At least I’m not alone.  45 minutes ‘til Ljubljana.  MUST all men snore so damned loudly?  I’m feeling anti-culture right now.  I may hit up the Ljubljana train station McDonald’s out of spite.  And hunger. 

Vienna Waits for You

Third trip to Vienna, and I love it more each time.  Beautiful in a way that Paris can only hope to be, clean, sophisticated, yet mannered and civil. 

Nothing starts the day like a Brauner.  Strong espresso, served in a small cup, on a silver platter.  Cream, sugar, a biscuit and a glass of water accompany it, no matter the place.  The Viennese have a delightful habit of an 11 am coffee break.  I take advantage.  

I took E to the Albertina Museum, thinking she would be bored, but I was wrong.  She loved it all, especially when I showed her that when you look at a painting up close, then stand back, it’s entirely different.  There was a large Max Weiler exhibit, so she had fun interpreting his works, and what she saw in each drawing.  Max’s work involved the use of crayons in his later years, so perhaps she could identify with the medium!  Luckily, there was a temporary exhibit of the Batliner collection so we also saw a few Monets, Picassos, Russian abstracts, and some really lame “contemporary” art – code for ‘painting an entire canvas in one color and selling it for a fortune’.  I have no appreciation for modern art.  The whole thing is set up in Prince Albert’s former palace (no, not the one in the can), so we get to see the Hapsburg staterooms, also.  Bad wallpaper, everything trimmed in 23.5 carat gold, fancy fireplaces for the times, marble staircases. 

We decided to brave the Sacher Hotel for real Sacher torte.  We lined up, cattle-like, with the other tourists and were finally given a table, I read the menu, and discovered coffee alone would be 6e.  Time passes…no waitress comes to our table.  So, we bailed.  I had a recommendation to try the Landstmann Café…from the 1880s and Freud’s favorite.  2 subway stops and we were out of the tourist hell, and on a gorgeous, sunny patio, next to the Burg Theater and the Rathaus.  The smell of flowers from the park carried in on the breeze…lovely.  Sacher torte and Kracherl, a local elder-flower lemonade were enjoyed, for much less than at the Sacher Hotel.  We actually got treated like customers, too.  The café has a large clientele of politicians and journalists, so it was entertaining to people-watch. We took a walk through the Rathaus’ gardens, filled with flowers, palms, and fountains, while admiring the beautiful architecture of the Rathaus.  So many parks in the city, and they’re all safe and absent any homeless villages.  

We decide schnitzel is in order for our last night in Vienna, so we trek off to SchitzelWirt, which has the best in town IMO.  Putenschnitzel all around (turkey), sitting out on the patio.  Inside, there are many large tables, and no one gets one to themselves.  You find a table with room, and join whoever is there.  I don’t mind that, but it’s a smoking establishment, and the air is blue.  Outside is better.   

We have not eaten enough today.  We hoof it over to Zanoni Eis and yes, again with the patio.  E has a kid’s concoction called a Pinocchio, which is homemade strawberry gelato, decorated with whipped cream, sprinkles, ice cream cones and smarties.  I opt for the Pfeffermint Pokal, better known as the liquid After Eight.  Chocolate  ice cream, peppermint schnapps, chunks of chocolate, whipped cream.  Yes, it’s a good thing we walked so much today.  Did I mention my blisters?  Time to go back to the hotel and pack and watch German music videos. 

I’m going to miss my hotel shower.  The shower head has LED lights in it that change according to the temperature of the water.  Green is cold, blue is warm, red is hot.  Don’t need a light on in the shower, and I never have to worry about the kid burning herself.  Awesome.  

Also, going to miss Vienna’s transit system.  1.8e per ride, half price for kids.  That covers the huge subway system, the regional trains, trams and buses.  It’s also clean, safe, on-time and comfortable.  If you want people to use the transit system, it has to be like this.  It must go where you need it to go!  They also allow families to travel on one fare, during the weekend.  Why on earth would you drive?

May I also say that Vienna (like many European cities) manages to balance bike lanes and sidewalks brilliantly, and Vancouver could take note?  It’s a complicated  engineering  feat, but it goes like this:  take one sidewalk.  Draw a line down the middle.  On one side, stencil a picture of a bike.  On the other, stencil a picture of a person.  Voila!  Bike lanes that don’t interfere with traffic OR pedestrians!  Well, unless you stray into the bike lane, in which case you will get yelled at by an angry German guy.  So I’ve heard. 

In the beginning, there was Germany.

Today, I blog.  I am trainbound for 7 hours, as we head from Frankfurt to Vienna.  I am finally settled in my window seat, with table for computer, in a cell-phone free zone.  Not that that matters to the guy across from me.  Cell phone rudeness is universal.  Having 4 minutes between trains meant that I had to take out an entire Spanish chorale group, by swinging my backpack down the train aisles, to get to our train car.  C’est la vie.  Stand in the aisles, take your chances with the rude American (as they all assume I am). 

What a blessing the computer has been.  I’ve always travelled light on technology, but it was foolish, as the Europeans are so connected.  Everyone has a phone or computer, and there is free WIFI practically everywhere.  Not having to look for internet cafes is wonderful, as is the ability to check my emails, get directions and clarify locations without hassle. 

Last night, while exhausted to the point of dizziness, I still didn’t sleep well and neither did Emme.  Damn Rick Steves was right, we were awake at 3:30 am, wired.  After I stumbled around the hotel room, spilling a glass of water, trying to convince Emme it was, in fact, 3:30 AM, searching for a sleeping pill (thanks for the advice, Rick), I passed out for awhile.  Love 12 pm checkouts.  Copious amounts of wonderful, strong, thick European coffee later, I’m feeling more myself. 

E is a seasoned traveller.  She is deeply involved in a novel right now.  I pointed out the Rhine as we crossed it, and she pointed out that she’d seen it before.  Touche, oh cynical one. A river is a river is a river.   Travelling through two countries in one day, to her, is just putting her closer to the good ice cream. 

The weather has been in the 90s, and thunderstorms, creating my least favorite type of weather:  HUMIDITY.  I’m soaked from the rain, I’m soaked with sweat, it’s lovely.  Reminds me of a Georgia afternoon.  Can’t say I appreciated the lightning strikes, close to the plane, while landing yesterday.  The flight was turbulent the entire way, with us having to stay buckled in for the majority of the 10.5 hour flight. 

The Germans have been uncharacteristically lovely to us, so far.  They all adore E, and put up with me out of necessity, I imagine.  I have never appreciated Frankfurt as anything other than an inexpensive place for a plane to land, and this trip is no exception.  I am so looking forward to Vienna and it’s graciousness, beauty and oh, the food.  Tomorrow will visit the Hofburg Palace, because I love it, but not before a Brauner (strong coffee mixed with hot milk) and an international newspaper in a café.  E is jonesing for schnitzel and ice cream from her favorite shop.  Who am I to deny her?  We’ll no doubt visit St. Stephen’s cathedral, to light a candle for my grandfather, which has become a tradition.  After sleep.  Much more sleep.

Now, I will watch the rain as we travel through the German countryside.