Today, I spent a lot of time daydreaming about my favorite place in the world to go to as a little girl- Slovenia.
I was fortunate to grow up in a military family, where we were able to live all over the world and travel often. For the first half of grade school, I lived in northern Italy and spent a lot of time visiting nearby countries. There is no way to tell how thankful I am for everything I experienced, learned, lived during that time. I have seen that culture can be so beautiful and so different than it is in my backyard, and it has given me a penchant to discover more and more of it.
That being said, it could be potentially difficult to pick just one favorite place. But, surprisingly, it's not (very surprising, considering I'm
slightly indecisive -
slightly). I've always known that it's Slovenia, that lovely little country just east of Italy. We visited just three times, and I was fairly young, so a lot of the details are fuzzy. I couldn't tell you anything about the country except the bits that I saw myself, so that's what I'll do. In no particular order, here are the memories about Slovenia that have etched themselves into my thoughts and remained after all this time-
I remember the fireplace at the house we stayed in over the Christmas holiday. On the kitchen side, the fireplace was open into a small room covered in beautiful, decorative plates, where everything was rustic and inviting. On the bedroom side, the back of the fireplace was built into a stone bench that would get toasty when the fire was lit- perfect for warming up wrapped in a blanket that was a little scratchy, but perfect anyway after being in the crisp winter air.
I remember Nelly and Junior - the two cows we befriended that lived in the field next to the apple orchard. It must have been spring, this visit, because the apples were small and green and would crunch loudly when the cows ate them whole off of our flattened hands. I remember learning that cows have seven stomachs (am I remembering that correctly?) and wiping the cows' apple drool on my faded blue jeans.
I remember skit night during the summer trip that was girls only, plus little Jon Luca. It was mothers against daughters, and the laughter that evening rose higher as the sun sunk lower. Our grand production was Wolferella, in which I played a very loud (and very obnoxious) Rumpelstiltskin- my performance was so... moving that a very old, disgruntled Slovenian man came over to shake his cane at me and mutter incoherent Slovenian things (I'm sure he was telling me what a compelling role I played).
I remember when we visited to ski and were met with the first winter there in years and years that didn't see one single flake of snow- so instead we hiked the vast mountains with a precocious, sandy-haired little local girl as our guide who learned her English from watching Cartoon Network. After a particularly long stretch of trail, Dad surprised us all with a thermos of the richest, creamiest, most delicious hot chocolate I have ever had, and it warmed me all the way down to my toes.
I remember riding a brown horse with a white diamond between its eyes and a tail that swished back and forth to rid us of the horseflies. I remember the clearest blue lake, with blinding sunlight glinting on the surface. I remember the winding roads on the way there, hairpin turns at harrowing heights, with Mom beseeching Dad to please slow down. I remember walking though the orchard alone one morning, smelling air that had never been so sweet. I remember lush green, everywhere- trees, grass, mountains. I remember a rope swing hung on high branches. I remember stray cats, mangy and begging for scraps from the table and just a little love. I remember a huge barn covered in moss and wooden beams that was a picture of fairy tales.
I remember enough to know that I want to go back.
