11.05.2008
6.27.2008
We are not in Slovenia.
That's right. I know, it may seem unceremonious to just get up and leave and not write my grand, final post to commemorate our time in Slovenia. Yet, how can we? How can someone just write a few meager words that could capture our experience living in such a country?
Really, I can't. I would cheapen the experience by rambling on and on about Slovenia being one of the most beautiful countries in the world, populated by a warm and gracious people. I admit I was homesick near the end of my stay, though now I'm comfortably nestled back in Canada I find myself missing the old brick buildings and distant mountains - Vancouver has mountains but the architecture is sadly mediocre - as I walk around my neighbourhood.
So, a great big thank you to our Slovenian friends for guiding us through their culture and making our time there memorable and enriching. We'll be back!
I (Lisa) would just like to add that we'll be posting a few more things here once we're settled in to our new place in Vancouver. We have pictures and trip reports we'd like to post, and I've been asked for updates on what we're doing now. Soon!
Really, I can't. I would cheapen the experience by rambling on and on about Slovenia being one of the most beautiful countries in the world, populated by a warm and gracious people. I admit I was homesick near the end of my stay, though now I'm comfortably nestled back in Canada I find myself missing the old brick buildings and distant mountains - Vancouver has mountains but the architecture is sadly mediocre - as I walk around my neighbourhood.
So, a great big thank you to our Slovenian friends for guiding us through their culture and making our time there memorable and enriching. We'll be back!
I (Lisa) would just like to add that we'll be posting a few more things here once we're settled in to our new place in Vancouver. We have pictures and trip reports we'd like to post, and I've been asked for updates on what we're doing now. Soon!
6.01.2008
Another postcard from Slovenia.
We have been busy, and we like busy.
First, in light of Liberation Day, which occurred not too long ago, we made a day trip to visit Baza 20 (Base 20). Once a major nerve center for the partisan forces during the Second World War, it stands now as a museum. Baza 20 is one of the (or is the) last remaining partisan bases in Europe. The buildings are crumbling from time and the elements, surrounded by a dense, leafy forest that is eerily quiet. I did discover that the partisans operated under their own economy and issued their own money. They also established facilities to repair vehicles and electronics, built shops for cobblers, gunsmiths and other trades, and even had a hospital. And all of this was done out in the sticks, during a brutal war. I was amazed at the tenacity and endurance of our species, despite the overwhelming odds.
We had the privilege of attending Vinska Vigred in Metlika, an annual wine festival celebrating the local vineyards. We stayed with a friend who hails from this lovely town, and we were treated to Slovenian hospitality. Our hosts were very sweet and friendly, and made our brief visit a pleasant one. To properly visualize Vinska Vigred, imagine three stages blaring music at the same time, copius amounts of local wine and crowded streets.
We sampled the muskat, a very sweet variety. None of them lacked the complexity often associated with tart wines. Each glass contained a depth of fruit that I would not forget anytime soon.
In other news, the amount of schoolwork I have to complete has decreased significantly. We took advantage of the time afforded to us so we rented a car and had a three-day road trip. Hopefully, we can get the photos up before we leave.
First, in light of Liberation Day, which occurred not too long ago, we made a day trip to visit Baza 20 (Base 20). Once a major nerve center for the partisan forces during the Second World War, it stands now as a museum. Baza 20 is one of the (or is the) last remaining partisan bases in Europe. The buildings are crumbling from time and the elements, surrounded by a dense, leafy forest that is eerily quiet. I did discover that the partisans operated under their own economy and issued their own money. They also established facilities to repair vehicles and electronics, built shops for cobblers, gunsmiths and other trades, and even had a hospital. And all of this was done out in the sticks, during a brutal war. I was amazed at the tenacity and endurance of our species, despite the overwhelming odds.
We had the privilege of attending Vinska Vigred in Metlika, an annual wine festival celebrating the local vineyards. We stayed with a friend who hails from this lovely town, and we were treated to Slovenian hospitality. Our hosts were very sweet and friendly, and made our brief visit a pleasant one. To properly visualize Vinska Vigred, imagine three stages blaring music at the same time, copius amounts of local wine and crowded streets.
We sampled the muskat, a very sweet variety. None of them lacked the complexity often associated with tart wines. Each glass contained a depth of fruit that I would not forget anytime soon.
In other news, the amount of schoolwork I have to complete has decreased significantly. We took advantage of the time afforded to us so we rented a car and had a three-day road trip. Hopefully, we can get the photos up before we leave.
5.25.2008
The Tito-Canada Connection
Today is Dan Mladih, or Day of Youth, in the former Yugoslavia. Dan Mladih marks Josip Broz Tito's "birthday". Actually he was born on May 7th, but the 25th is the anniversary of an attempt on his life, and was enshrined as his official birthday. Every year a "relay of youth" across Yugoslavia would culminate at a Belgrade stadium with a hand-off of a baton and symbolic message from the youth of the country to Tito.
Just in time for the big day, I thought I'd post some pictures I found on Titoville a few weeks ago. It would seem that a certain young man had a forged Canadian passport in the name of Spiridon Mekas, as a British subject of Yugoslav origin. When he wasn't masquerading as the Canadian Spiridon, the young man was better known by his other name, Josip Broz.
5.10.2008
Liberation Day.
On Friday, Ljubljana locals commemorated the liberation of their city during the Second World War by partisan fighters. Every year people walk the 35 kilometer trail that circumvents the city, exactly where a massive fence was erected to contain the populace.
I did the walk last year (I'll find the post about it later) but I can't this year, unfortunately. Dr. Filomena is liveblogging the event even as I write this post. You can follow along here. Pengovsky's post on the subject is here.
I did the walk last year (I'll find the post about it later) but I can't this year, unfortunately. Dr. Filomena is liveblogging the event even as I write this post. You can follow along here. Pengovsky's post on the subject is here.
5.08.2008
This might of interest to my Slovenian friends.
Today I'm meeting my professor for a consultation. He's teaching three of the three classes I'm taking this term, so I suppose I'll be meeting frequently with him for the duration of my stay.
For one of my classes, Social Ideologies and Modern Literature, I decided to focus on Slovenia. Most international students write about their home or the European Union. That's acceptable, but I want to try my hand at writing about my temporary home.
My paper will compare poetry written by women in Communist and post-Communist Slovenia. Some of the poets I'm focusing on are Maja Vidmar, Barbara Korun, Taja Kramberger and Svetlana Makarovič. I'm still looking for women who wrote during World War Two and prior to the Tito-Stalin split around 1948. I have two books in my possession that have some excellent examples from that era.
So it goes. I'll update more if anything interesting happens. Today the sky is bright blue and the sun is fat and proud. I'd like to venture out there and soak it up.
For one of my classes, Social Ideologies and Modern Literature, I decided to focus on Slovenia. Most international students write about their home or the European Union. That's acceptable, but I want to try my hand at writing about my temporary home.
My paper will compare poetry written by women in Communist and post-Communist Slovenia. Some of the poets I'm focusing on are Maja Vidmar, Barbara Korun, Taja Kramberger and Svetlana Makarovič. I'm still looking for women who wrote during World War Two and prior to the Tito-Stalin split around 1948. I have two books in my possession that have some excellent examples from that era.
So it goes. I'll update more if anything interesting happens. Today the sky is bright blue and the sun is fat and proud. I'd like to venture out there and soak it up.
5.07.2008
Nobody likes old people.
Tonight there's a free concert in Tivoli. Every year this happens. Students pour into the streets and drink in the parks before they stagger into the makeshift outdoor venue, singing and swaying.
I'm too old and tired and sick to show my face. Besides, I have some writing to get done.
I'm too old and tired and sick to show my face. Besides, I have some writing to get done.
I went to the hospital.
That's right, I did. A Slovenian hospital!
This was about two weeks ago. I was having severe stomach pains and acid reflux that burned my throat. Lisa dragged me out of bed, where I was curled up in the fetal position and crying, and got me inside a cab.
The hospital here is organized like the university. Rather than just one central building, several wards are scattered around the main complex. I stepped out of the cab and saw streets lined with leafy trees fluttering in the sunlight. After entering the wide lobby the entire hospital becomes a labyrinth of slender halls. You can tell the hospital was built in the 70's: the walls are painted in solid mid-tones and corners and edges are rounded. The interior smelled clean, like a hotel room. After asking several people where the emergency room was, an exuberant middle-aged man in a smooth green smock lead us to the reception desk, but not after chatting with everyone he passed on the way.
When we told him we were from Canada, he immediately mimed sweeping the floor. He likes curling.
We sat in a narrow hallway. Elderly patients laid on gurneys down the length of the hall, murmuring to themselves or staring stoically at the ceiling. Someone called my name. I walked into one of the many small rooms adjoined to the hallway and hopped up onto the examination table. A young woman entered the room and pulled a pink curtain behind her. An intern was assigned to me; I got lucky. I'll digress a moment and explain something. In my short thirty-odd years, I've seen the inside of a hospital more times than most honest people. In my experience, having an intern examine you before the senior doctor swaggers in and coughs out his final diagnosis is like nibbling on a garden salad before tucking into foie gras.
I won't extend that metaphor anymore than I have to.
We waited in the crowded hall, shifting our legs to avoid the incoming gurneys carrying groaning patients. After an hour I was called back in and the doctor, in his staggered English, told me I was indeed suffering from acid reflux. He didn't know why. He wrote me a prescription and ordered me to see a specialist. Not just any specialist, but the kind that gleefully slides a fiber-optic camera down my esophagus and probes around my stomach. Everything else was fine. My bloodwork came back normal and the examination found nothing egregious.
I think, objectively, the moment was fascinating. I've never received medical treatment in a foreign country though I knew in advance that Slovenia has excellent healthcare. I found myself taking mental notes on how the hospital functioned; unfortunately, the pain and anxiety distracted me from my amateur observations. If I sit under a tree, with an open book draped over my thigh, my thoughts will have a chance to mingle.
This was about two weeks ago. I was having severe stomach pains and acid reflux that burned my throat. Lisa dragged me out of bed, where I was curled up in the fetal position and crying, and got me inside a cab.
The hospital here is organized like the university. Rather than just one central building, several wards are scattered around the main complex. I stepped out of the cab and saw streets lined with leafy trees fluttering in the sunlight. After entering the wide lobby the entire hospital becomes a labyrinth of slender halls. You can tell the hospital was built in the 70's: the walls are painted in solid mid-tones and corners and edges are rounded. The interior smelled clean, like a hotel room. After asking several people where the emergency room was, an exuberant middle-aged man in a smooth green smock lead us to the reception desk, but not after chatting with everyone he passed on the way.
When we told him we were from Canada, he immediately mimed sweeping the floor. He likes curling.
We sat in a narrow hallway. Elderly patients laid on gurneys down the length of the hall, murmuring to themselves or staring stoically at the ceiling. Someone called my name. I walked into one of the many small rooms adjoined to the hallway and hopped up onto the examination table. A young woman entered the room and pulled a pink curtain behind her. An intern was assigned to me; I got lucky. I'll digress a moment and explain something. In my short thirty-odd years, I've seen the inside of a hospital more times than most honest people. In my experience, having an intern examine you before the senior doctor swaggers in and coughs out his final diagnosis is like nibbling on a garden salad before tucking into foie gras.
I won't extend that metaphor anymore than I have to.
We waited in the crowded hall, shifting our legs to avoid the incoming gurneys carrying groaning patients. After an hour I was called back in and the doctor, in his staggered English, told me I was indeed suffering from acid reflux. He didn't know why. He wrote me a prescription and ordered me to see a specialist. Not just any specialist, but the kind that gleefully slides a fiber-optic camera down my esophagus and probes around my stomach. Everything else was fine. My bloodwork came back normal and the examination found nothing egregious.
I think, objectively, the moment was fascinating. I've never received medical treatment in a foreign country though I knew in advance that Slovenia has excellent healthcare. I found myself taking mental notes on how the hospital functioned; unfortunately, the pain and anxiety distracted me from my amateur observations. If I sit under a tree, with an open book draped over my thigh, my thoughts will have a chance to mingle.
5.01.2008
Rog appears in the news.
I wrote about the gargatuan squat known as Rog last year for my journalism class. The squat is making the rounds again:
The future of the former Tovarna Rog (Horn) bicycle factory on Trubarjeva cesta iscausing controversy. On one hand, it is an ugly abandoned building that the citywants to put to reasonable use. On the other hand, it is a lively, autonomous centre for freedom and creativity, which the occupants want to preserve.
Slovenian film nominated for Oscar.
From the Slovenian Times:
Luzar's film "Vucko" (Wolfie) about a lonely retired man looking for ways to meet new people has been nominated among films from Germany, Spain, Israel and the Czech Republic.
The five finalists were selected among 45 works from 29 countries, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences said on its website.
4.27.2008
A postcard from Ljubljana, and others.
As I've mentioned in my previous post, now that I've made the transition from tourist to (temporary) resident I personally find it difficult to write about anything extraordinary as it applies to me. I think my mind is elsewhere, most likely the future, and that does affect the content in a diary-like medium like a blog.
Spring in Ljubljana is a gorgeous time of year. Tumultuous, yes, with it's moody weather swinging from grey and stormy to pleasant and warm within a matter of hours. We've been going on short walks in the city, hunting for medieval houses we read about in our guidebook and sipping coffee at the banks of the Ljubljanica River.
We are fast approaching our departure date. There are few trips I want to take before we leave, though we will always regret not seeing this or visiting that - the common complaint of tourists worldwide - without appreciating what we have seen during our stay. Am I going to miss Ljubljana? Yes. But I also miss my life in Vancouver, which was much longer than my life here. Will I come back? Perhaps, but not for a long time.
In other news, I submitted three poems to a small outfit that wants to publish chapbooks. I'm still waiting for their reply. I also have a project waiting for me back in Canada, but I can't tell anyone a word of it until, well, I don't know really know when. I have to complete three essays and undergo one exam before I leave.
Lisa was kind enough to inform our esteemed readers that we were traveling a few weeks ago. So, here are some of my impressions of our recent Balkan trip. These are written as thumbnail sketches, based on memory and notes, so they may appear too impressionistic and fleeting (or poorly written). During the trip, I was writing poems for publication while riding on trains and in solemn hotel rooms.
Bulgaria
We've been to this lovely country before though we stayed longer this time around. This was our first stop and for some reason I was completely exhausted when I stepped off the train. We got a private room in a hostel and stayed for the Easter weekend to gain momentum for the next leg of our trip. Sophia is huge, busy and exciting. We checked out dilapidated Communist monuments and wandered the streets at night looking for booze and food. One thing I'll say about traveling in the Balkans: eat dinner early. Nothing is open at night, expect greasy fast food joints. I can imagine kitchen brigades slipping away at night to tuck into spinach burek and a lager, forgoing the customary meal at home. However, we ate at one of the best Moroccan restaurants I've ever visited, though an odd plastic smell permeated the dining room and it made eating there a tad unpleasant. Oh, well.
Macedonia
To be honest, I don't have much to say about Macedonia and Skopje at the moment. Skopje, rebuilt after an earthquake in 1963, is mostly replaced with plain concrete. The train and bus station is a marvel, though. Very blocky and utilitarian, with much unused space, but the interior is airy. Huge, too.
The Turkish Quarter is lovely. We bought baklava and walked the hilly, cobbled streets. The neighbourhood cafes were inviting and crowded affairs.
Ohrid: Seated at the bank of Europe's supposedly oldest lake, surrounded by craggy mountains, I really enjoyed this town. We visited a tiny monastery situated on a rocky outcrop. We then stumbled upon a massive archeological dig around a cathedral. The workers pointed out the trail as we navigated around the wheelbarrows and pickaxes. We saw the standard ruins left behind by the Romans. Ohrid is worth visiting.
Kosovo
We were there for about 24 hours. I was surprised, after hearing about this newly independent nation in the news for so many years, that it would be so bustling. People were everywhere. The street outside our hotel was a long trench, as were most of the streets in the surrounding area. Turbo-folk was blasted from every angle.
On the highway to Pristina: Olive-coloured military transports rumbling past our packed bus. Checkpoints manned by bored soldiers puffing on American cigarettes. Half-built houses, three times the size of the average family home in Vancouver, were the dominant landmarks. Building supply stores were seen every twenty kilometers. The highway severed a vast grassy plain, and gray mountains cradled the landscape; storm clouds crept towards us from behind them.
For some odd reason, no one was smoking on the sidewalks of Pristina, yet men were selling cigarettes from card tables on the curb. We ate at a Chinese restaurant near the UN headquarters; it was very good, very filling. Children sold lighters and flashlights on the street, shining their wares at customers seated in restaurants and cafes. Route 66, an American restaurant selling burgers, tempted us from afar. I craved onion rings and beer.
Albania
We had to walk across the border early one morning to reach Albania from Ohrid. The sign welcoming visitors was dotted with bullet holes, shot from the Albanian side. After one taxi ride we took a long minibus ride through the mountains, driving on winding roads. The driver fed me cigarettes and blared techno from a new radio. He bought a live fish in a plastic bag from a roadside market and threw it into the trunk; we could hear the poor thing flapping listlessly for a portion of the trip.
Albania is one of the most mountainous countries I've ever visited. From my perspective, there is no flat land in that nation, just one mountain rising and falling into another one; villages clung to the sides of those green giants.
Tirana: Cigarettes and passports sold on cardboard boxes. Cars, scooters and trucks racing on roundabouts. Mosques pepper the skyline. Excellent coffee, terrible ice cream.
From Durres we took a ferry, a massive ship with several dining areas and private cabins. We slept in the "common room." Passengers made makeshift beds out of their clothes, though some had blankets. Others slept in the halls. I stepped out to the deck and saw the infinite darkness of the Adriatic Sea at night.
Oh, and Durres is interesting. We checked out the mall (I haven't been in one for two years) and ate decent pasta. To get to the dock we had to walk through a shanty town filled with vendors and kids asking for money. Two guards watched over the gate that lead to customs. For me, that was an odd experience.
Italy
I'm of two minds regarding Italy. First, it is beautiful. Don't let anyone tell you different. Rome, for example, has a dream-like quality to its streets and squares. I think a combination of very long streets filled with enticing shops, and the epic fountains majestically rising from the pavement like ornate bouquets, make Rome appear "unreal" to new visitors. I got major food poisoning, which seems to be a common reaction North Americans have when they visit Italy.
Lastly, when I return to Canada I'm going to relocate my online presence. First, I'm withdrawing myself from Blogger. My blogs will remain online but there will be no new posts and the comments will be closed. I'm looking into building my own website that's going to have a dual function: blog and business.
Friday, we're off to Maribor for the day.
Spring in Ljubljana is a gorgeous time of year. Tumultuous, yes, with it's moody weather swinging from grey and stormy to pleasant and warm within a matter of hours. We've been going on short walks in the city, hunting for medieval houses we read about in our guidebook and sipping coffee at the banks of the Ljubljanica River.
We are fast approaching our departure date. There are few trips I want to take before we leave, though we will always regret not seeing this or visiting that - the common complaint of tourists worldwide - without appreciating what we have seen during our stay. Am I going to miss Ljubljana? Yes. But I also miss my life in Vancouver, which was much longer than my life here. Will I come back? Perhaps, but not for a long time.
In other news, I submitted three poems to a small outfit that wants to publish chapbooks. I'm still waiting for their reply. I also have a project waiting for me back in Canada, but I can't tell anyone a word of it until, well, I don't know really know when. I have to complete three essays and undergo one exam before I leave.
Lisa was kind enough to inform our esteemed readers that we were traveling a few weeks ago. So, here are some of my impressions of our recent Balkan trip. These are written as thumbnail sketches, based on memory and notes, so they may appear too impressionistic and fleeting (or poorly written). During the trip, I was writing poems for publication while riding on trains and in solemn hotel rooms.
Bulgaria
We've been to this lovely country before though we stayed longer this time around. This was our first stop and for some reason I was completely exhausted when I stepped off the train. We got a private room in a hostel and stayed for the Easter weekend to gain momentum for the next leg of our trip. Sophia is huge, busy and exciting. We checked out dilapidated Communist monuments and wandered the streets at night looking for booze and food. One thing I'll say about traveling in the Balkans: eat dinner early. Nothing is open at night, expect greasy fast food joints. I can imagine kitchen brigades slipping away at night to tuck into spinach burek and a lager, forgoing the customary meal at home. However, we ate at one of the best Moroccan restaurants I've ever visited, though an odd plastic smell permeated the dining room and it made eating there a tad unpleasant. Oh, well.
Macedonia
To be honest, I don't have much to say about Macedonia and Skopje at the moment. Skopje, rebuilt after an earthquake in 1963, is mostly replaced with plain concrete. The train and bus station is a marvel, though. Very blocky and utilitarian, with much unused space, but the interior is airy. Huge, too.
The Turkish Quarter is lovely. We bought baklava and walked the hilly, cobbled streets. The neighbourhood cafes were inviting and crowded affairs.
Ohrid: Seated at the bank of Europe's supposedly oldest lake, surrounded by craggy mountains, I really enjoyed this town. We visited a tiny monastery situated on a rocky outcrop. We then stumbled upon a massive archeological dig around a cathedral. The workers pointed out the trail as we navigated around the wheelbarrows and pickaxes. We saw the standard ruins left behind by the Romans. Ohrid is worth visiting.
Kosovo
We were there for about 24 hours. I was surprised, after hearing about this newly independent nation in the news for so many years, that it would be so bustling. People were everywhere. The street outside our hotel was a long trench, as were most of the streets in the surrounding area. Turbo-folk was blasted from every angle.
On the highway to Pristina: Olive-coloured military transports rumbling past our packed bus. Checkpoints manned by bored soldiers puffing on American cigarettes. Half-built houses, three times the size of the average family home in Vancouver, were the dominant landmarks. Building supply stores were seen every twenty kilometers. The highway severed a vast grassy plain, and gray mountains cradled the landscape; storm clouds crept towards us from behind them.
For some odd reason, no one was smoking on the sidewalks of Pristina, yet men were selling cigarettes from card tables on the curb. We ate at a Chinese restaurant near the UN headquarters; it was very good, very filling. Children sold lighters and flashlights on the street, shining their wares at customers seated in restaurants and cafes. Route 66, an American restaurant selling burgers, tempted us from afar. I craved onion rings and beer.
Albania
We had to walk across the border early one morning to reach Albania from Ohrid. The sign welcoming visitors was dotted with bullet holes, shot from the Albanian side. After one taxi ride we took a long minibus ride through the mountains, driving on winding roads. The driver fed me cigarettes and blared techno from a new radio. He bought a live fish in a plastic bag from a roadside market and threw it into the trunk; we could hear the poor thing flapping listlessly for a portion of the trip.
Albania is one of the most mountainous countries I've ever visited. From my perspective, there is no flat land in that nation, just one mountain rising and falling into another one; villages clung to the sides of those green giants.
Tirana: Cigarettes and passports sold on cardboard boxes. Cars, scooters and trucks racing on roundabouts. Mosques pepper the skyline. Excellent coffee, terrible ice cream.
From Durres we took a ferry, a massive ship with several dining areas and private cabins. We slept in the "common room." Passengers made makeshift beds out of their clothes, though some had blankets. Others slept in the halls. I stepped out to the deck and saw the infinite darkness of the Adriatic Sea at night.
Oh, and Durres is interesting. We checked out the mall (I haven't been in one for two years) and ate decent pasta. To get to the dock we had to walk through a shanty town filled with vendors and kids asking for money. Two guards watched over the gate that lead to customs. For me, that was an odd experience.
Italy
I'm of two minds regarding Italy. First, it is beautiful. Don't let anyone tell you different. Rome, for example, has a dream-like quality to its streets and squares. I think a combination of very long streets filled with enticing shops, and the epic fountains majestically rising from the pavement like ornate bouquets, make Rome appear "unreal" to new visitors. I got major food poisoning, which seems to be a common reaction North Americans have when they visit Italy.
Lastly, when I return to Canada I'm going to relocate my online presence. First, I'm withdrawing myself from Blogger. My blogs will remain online but there will be no new posts and the comments will be closed. I'm looking into building my own website that's going to have a dual function: blog and business.
Friday, we're off to Maribor for the day.
4.22.2008
Not so many spare winter hours after all
Between our work, travels at the end of March and our post-travel malaise (Italy was glorious but we happened to run afoul of some suspect pizza in Rome), we haven't been posting much. We're trying to get our work and school obligations done, while enjoying our last six weeks in Slovenia. The time has flown by and I'm living in denial about how short our remaining days are here. I can't speak for Jay, but I've got some posts in the works.
4.10.2008
Gogol Bordello tickets
Does anyone happen to have an extra ticket or two that they are selling for Friday's show at Mediapark? I was waiting until I had a little pocket money to buy the tickets, not expecting GB to be so wildly popular here as to sell out. Looks like I was wrong.
4.02.2008
You know it's Spring in Ljubljana...
...when thunderstorms and hail roll in around 1pm.
We're back in our snug apartment after two weeks on the road. The train from Venice seemed to take ages to get here and the policist shining his light in my eyes during a "random" 1am document check (no more borders in Schengen my eye!) didn't speed things along much, but we made it at about 2am this morning. The church on Roznik glowing like an orange beacon in the dark from the window of the sleeping train was a welcome sight.
It's a long trip from Rome (we left at 14:50), but one can hardly complain about traveling through the Italian countryside on a fast train! The Eurostar stopped in Firenze and Bologna but those beautiful cities will have to be explored another time, as we were ready for a bit of time at home.
The train to Ljubljana didn't leave until 21:30, so we had time for a couple of "sprizze" in our favourite little hole in the wall in Venice. It's only a short walk from Santa Lucia, but as there are no "sights" on that particular street, it's only frequented by locals. "Due sprizze, per favore" earns a smile from the waiter, and we are always sure of a comfortable seat beside the canal, sipping the amber or ruby drinks that are a Venetian specialty. After a walk up the nearby tourist thoroughfare, where sour-faced waiters in white jackets tout expensive menus in six languages and sunburned couples eat 20 euro salads and bicker in German and English, it's refreshing to sip the mixture of Campari (ruby and bitter) or Aperol (amber and slightly sweet), Proseco and soda, and listen to the sound of waves and the conversations of Venetians as they end their work day or begin a night on the town.
Today's rain is a bit of a relief, as everything from the Macedonia/Albania border onwards was sunny and hot (poor us!). It also gives us a reason to spend the day at home, resting and preparing pasta with sundried tomatoes from the market at the Campo dei Fiori. Contentment!
We're back in our snug apartment after two weeks on the road. The train from Venice seemed to take ages to get here and the policist shining his light in my eyes during a "random" 1am document check (no more borders in Schengen my eye!) didn't speed things along much, but we made it at about 2am this morning. The church on Roznik glowing like an orange beacon in the dark from the window of the sleeping train was a welcome sight.
It's a long trip from Rome (we left at 14:50), but one can hardly complain about traveling through the Italian countryside on a fast train! The Eurostar stopped in Firenze and Bologna but those beautiful cities will have to be explored another time, as we were ready for a bit of time at home.
The train to Ljubljana didn't leave until 21:30, so we had time for a couple of "sprizze" in our favourite little hole in the wall in Venice. It's only a short walk from Santa Lucia, but as there are no "sights" on that particular street, it's only frequented by locals. "Due sprizze, per favore" earns a smile from the waiter, and we are always sure of a comfortable seat beside the canal, sipping the amber or ruby drinks that are a Venetian specialty. After a walk up the nearby tourist thoroughfare, where sour-faced waiters in white jackets tout expensive menus in six languages and sunburned couples eat 20 euro salads and bicker in German and English, it's refreshing to sip the mixture of Campari (ruby and bitter) or Aperol (amber and slightly sweet), Proseco and soda, and listen to the sound of waves and the conversations of Venetians as they end their work day or begin a night on the town.
Today's rain is a bit of a relief, as everything from the Macedonia/Albania border onwards was sunny and hot (poor us!). It also gives us a reason to spend the day at home, resting and preparing pasta with sundried tomatoes from the market at the Campo dei Fiori. Contentment!
3.26.2008
Update
We are on the road right now, traveling around the Balkans and haven't much been in the vicinity of computers. We're hoping a bus for Ohrid, Macedonia in an hour and a half, so I must run to grab some burek and see something of Skopje's Turkish quarter. More soon!
3.09.2008
The diary of a lost international student.
I should warn you, gentle readers: this will be a rather long post.
When I first arrived in Slovenia, I felt like a tourist. Each building needed to be photographed and poured over as though I was the first person to discover them. I watched people exchange pleasantries like a dispassionate anthropologist. I counted cobblestones. I savoured each bite of food and every sip of wine, trying to identify a particular nuance in flavour that differed from my indigenous staples.
I've been living and studying here for about a year and with some difficulty, like wedging a square peg into a slightly smaller square hole, I managed to ease myself into the rhythms of Slovenian life. What does that entail exactly?
Going to school, shopping at the outdoor market, wandering the city and meeting with friends. I have settled into a quiet life and I'm fond of being a little reclusive.
I've been writing essays for school. In fact, that eats up most of my time. I have few lectures, so I invest my energies into reading, research and writing. At the moment I have to four essays for FDV and two essays for UBC. At the end of the semester, around the end of April, I have to write six exams. Luckily, three of them are oral exams. Lately I've taken to working at the FDV library, a small sleek space with an arboretum attached to its exterior. The library is held aloft, above the faculty. The symbolism is not entirely succinct, but welcome nonetheless.
"Wait, only a few lectures?" you ask.
In Slovenia, post-secondary students have the constitutional right to be taught in their native language. Naturally, this is understandable. When I take classes in Canada, I expect the lectures to be in English. However, professors in my host faculty don't receive any compensation for holding extra lectures in English. This means Slovenian and international students are lumped together, which is wonderful. Unfortunately, some Slovenian students have trouble understanding lectures in English and request (some would say demand) to be taught in Slovene. The professor must abide. I have no problem with this, really.
Consequently, I was asked, along with the other international students, to leave the classroom on two occasions this semester. Not because we were unwelcome but because the lecture would be in Slovene and hence, useless to non-native speakers. Despite the professor's stalwart reassurances that all is well, I quickly vacated the classroom to conceal my embarrassment.
I have heard another anecdote to illustrate the tension between local and international students; however, since it's unsubstantiated I'll refrain from mentioning the incident. I assure you the atmosphere is laden with misgivings, as though a fog had seeped into the faculty and clung to the walls and desks.
The students are not to blame, nor the professors. The university's administration, which advertises classes in English without including a clause, needs to be held accountable for causing such a bureaucratic debacle.
The professor for those two classes I mentioned, including a third that is two semesters long, agreed to hold personal consultations and lectures for international students at his own expense. A respected poet and theorist (not to mention any names), I'm fortunate enough to have him as a mentor of sorts for one semester. I owe him thirty-five pages before I return to Canada.
Lisa and I want to ride bikes through the city. Although we never got around to seeing more of Slovenia in February, due to illness and school, we will be taking advantage of the upcoming warm weather to explore this lovely alpine nation.
More to come, I'm sure.
When I first arrived in Slovenia, I felt like a tourist. Each building needed to be photographed and poured over as though I was the first person to discover them. I watched people exchange pleasantries like a dispassionate anthropologist. I counted cobblestones. I savoured each bite of food and every sip of wine, trying to identify a particular nuance in flavour that differed from my indigenous staples.
I've been living and studying here for about a year and with some difficulty, like wedging a square peg into a slightly smaller square hole, I managed to ease myself into the rhythms of Slovenian life. What does that entail exactly?
Going to school, shopping at the outdoor market, wandering the city and meeting with friends. I have settled into a quiet life and I'm fond of being a little reclusive.
I've been writing essays for school. In fact, that eats up most of my time. I have few lectures, so I invest my energies into reading, research and writing. At the moment I have to four essays for FDV and two essays for UBC. At the end of the semester, around the end of April, I have to write six exams. Luckily, three of them are oral exams. Lately I've taken to working at the FDV library, a small sleek space with an arboretum attached to its exterior. The library is held aloft, above the faculty. The symbolism is not entirely succinct, but welcome nonetheless.
"Wait, only a few lectures?" you ask.
In Slovenia, post-secondary students have the constitutional right to be taught in their native language. Naturally, this is understandable. When I take classes in Canada, I expect the lectures to be in English. However, professors in my host faculty don't receive any compensation for holding extra lectures in English. This means Slovenian and international students are lumped together, which is wonderful. Unfortunately, some Slovenian students have trouble understanding lectures in English and request (some would say demand) to be taught in Slovene. The professor must abide. I have no problem with this, really.
Consequently, I was asked, along with the other international students, to leave the classroom on two occasions this semester. Not because we were unwelcome but because the lecture would be in Slovene and hence, useless to non-native speakers. Despite the professor's stalwart reassurances that all is well, I quickly vacated the classroom to conceal my embarrassment.
I have heard another anecdote to illustrate the tension between local and international students; however, since it's unsubstantiated I'll refrain from mentioning the incident. I assure you the atmosphere is laden with misgivings, as though a fog had seeped into the faculty and clung to the walls and desks.
The students are not to blame, nor the professors. The university's administration, which advertises classes in English without including a clause, needs to be held accountable for causing such a bureaucratic debacle.
The professor for those two classes I mentioned, including a third that is two semesters long, agreed to hold personal consultations and lectures for international students at his own expense. A respected poet and theorist (not to mention any names), I'm fortunate enough to have him as a mentor of sorts for one semester. I owe him thirty-five pages before I return to Canada.
Lisa and I want to ride bikes through the city. Although we never got around to seeing more of Slovenia in February, due to illness and school, we will be taking advantage of the upcoming warm weather to explore this lovely alpine nation.
More to come, I'm sure.
3.02.2008
Kolo
Now that the weather is getting nicer, being in proximity to all these great bike trails without a bike is killing me. Jay and I are in the market for a bike to use this spring. Anybody out there have a bike they'd like to sell or rent out for a few months? We'll be checking the flea market and the stores, but I thought I'd beat the internet bushes first.
2.27.2008
My neighbours are teh cute
They periodically have parties where their friends come over and sing along to pop hits together. They are doing an adorably off-key rendition of Soft Cell's Tainted Love right now.
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