Merry Christmas

Serjig sent us this electronic Christmas Card from San Mauro. Looks like Gigi has replaced Rudolph!

Croatia, Slovenia and London, November 2011

Day 1 - Getting There - 11/4

When we told people that Karen and I are going to Croatia and Slovenia they ask two questions. First, "Where is that?" Second, "Why are you going there?" Hopefully, I can answer both.

Croatia and Slovenia are independent countries that were part of the former Yugoslavian Republic. This whole region, part of the Balkans, has been a hotbed of conflict for centuries as it is the at the crossroads between east and west. The Slavic peoples of this region have been occupied by the Greeks, Romans, Ottomans, Habsburgs (both Venice and Austria), and Nazis. General Tito led the Yugoslavian resistance during WWII and expelled the Germans without help from the Allies. That's why after WWII, Tito was not under Soviet rule like their Eastern Bloc neighbors. Tito led a "Third Way" that was not under the influence of the USSR or the Americans. This "Third Way" was Socialist, but independent. After the fall of the iron curtain, several wars broke up Yugoslavia into independent states. Some were short, like the Slovenian War of independence in 1991 which lasted only ten days. Others, like the wars in Croatia and Serbia were much longer and bloodier. One of my goals for this trip is to find out more about the people of these countries and maybe learn about the the reasons behind the conflicts both recent and ancient.

We took commuter rail from Providence to Boston, a bus to the airport, a plane to London, a shuttle to another plane, a flight to Zagreb (the capital of Croatia) and a but to the terminal. All told, 15 hours from Providence to Croatia. Luckily, 6 of those hours were spent sleeping. In the past we have taken evening flights on Saturday and arrived in Europe early Sunday morning. Trying to force yourself to sleep on a 6pm flight is impossible for me so I always arrive groggy and jet lagged. This time we decided to leave a day early on Friday, but take the late night flight departing at 10pm. It was much easier to sleep on the plane, we get an extra day in Europe and arrive feeling, well, maybe not refreshed, but at least ready to go.

Day 2 - Zagreb - 11/5

Karen and I rented a car from Hertz in the Zagreb Airport. Renting a car in the US for a trip to Europe is much less expensive than renting the car when you are in Europe. But make no mistake, renting a car in Europe any way you do it is costly. Add in almost $9 for a gallon of gas.

Park across the street from the airport

Zagreb Airport is tiny. Even smaller than our airport back home in RI. There is a beautiful park right across the street. We bought the Eastern European chip for our GPS so we could find our way around. This is an absolute savior. Last year we navigated the backroads of rural Italy with our GPS and only got lost once. I'm telling you, we could never, ever have done this without GPS as roads are not well marked. And we soon found out that in Croatia, not only are we dealing with a completely foreign language, but most streets have no signs. But, with our trusty GPS telling us "turn right, turn left" we were in downtown Zagreb in 15 minutes.

Market in Zagreb

Unfortunately, we spent the next 30 minutes driving in circles looking for the hotel. Hotel Dubrovnik is on the square in the middle of Zagreb. There is no cars allowed in the city center, thus our difficulty finding it. I parked the car (illegally, I'm sure) and we walked to the hotel. At reception, the clerk told us where to park the car "Go down the street, it says 'not allowed' but go anyway and I will buzz you in." Gotta love Europe. The motto should be "It's not necessarily illegal."

Statue in the market square

The main square in Zagreb is filled with outdoor cafes in all directions. Karen and I agree that the square reminds us of the piazza in Lecce. While there is no word for the evening stroll in Croatian, there were throngs of Croats, young and old, couples and families and teenagers all out for the Passeggiata.

The cafe lifestyle is huge in Zagreb. Outdoor cafes are in the main square and stretch down streets in every direction. Large tents are set up with tables and chairs filled with Croats drinking Cappucino, beer and Coca Cola from the bottle

Karen and I expected to see more wine drinking since Croatia has some up and coming wine regions, but the alcohol drink of choice is definately beer. We wander the streets looking for a place to have drink when we see a sign for a Bodega, Spanish for a wine bar. We go down an unlit ally down a narrow outdoor staircase and opened the door to a small smokey bar. We often look for these little hole in the wall places that aren't listed in any guide book. The place where the locals hang out.

Olive trees

One of our top ten meals we had was in Barcelona in a place like this. Incredible tapas served on mismatched plastic plates served by a staff distracted by the soccer pregame. Sometimes, however, a place is unknown and off the beaten path for a reason. A glass of wine, pay our bill ($2.40 US) and out the door.

Baban Restaurant

More wandering, Karen and I have an embarrassment of choices. We finally settle on Babon, an Italian restaurant just off the main square. We're seated and handed off to the English speaking waiter.

Normally, when going to Italy or Spain, we brush up on our language skills so we can muddle through with our (very lacking) Italian and (worse) Spanish. But, with Croatian, we didn't even try. Spanish, French, Italian, German and the other Western European languages are Germanic in origin, just like English. So, our American brains can more easily pick it up. With Croatian, we have no chance. It is Slavic in origin so words are not recognizable and constructs are strange to us. Luckily, Croatian schools teach English to everyone and almost all Croats under 40 speak some English.

Our waiter tells us we are in the best Italian restaurant in Zagreb and it is owned by a former Milan soccer star. Exellent credentials. We ask him for a recommendation of some Croatian wine. He brings a bottle of Merlot. Despite the ravings of Paul Giamatti in "Sideways" this merlot is excellent. It is much more tannic than most Merlots which I can find to be overwrought. Almost rustic, more like a Cabernet than a Merlot.

Most of the pasta has meat so we opt for some lighter fare. I order the grilled veggies and Karen gets the potatoes roasted with herbs. I also order the grilled focaccia and chiabatta.

Here is what I notice about Croatian food. It is simple. Don't misunderstand, I don't mean unrefined or unsophisticated. What I mean is food in its purest form. Fresh veggies, brushed with olive oil and grilled. This allows the true flavor to come forward.

Karen's potatoes were not so much roasted with herbs as French Fries. But again, perfect in their simplicity. Not heavy, not greasy, perfect. The bread wasn't grilled, but no matter. Grilled veggies with bread, oilve oil and wine. What could be better? This is what we would prepare at home. How about Tiramisu served in a stemless wine glass with homemade (I think) Lemoncello? Okay. Not too sweet (the Lemoncello or the Tiramisu). Again, perfect. Total bill; less than $60.

I read in my guidebook that you don't tip in Croatia (and those ubiquitous tip jar
s are nowhere to be seen). But, I can't do it. I leave the equivalent of $6 and slink out, embarrassed by this miniscule tip.

Vendors are selling roasted chestnuts on almost every street corner. We buy $2 worth and stroll and munch. These chestnuts, unfortunately are dry and chewy, not moist. We're not in Rome anymore.

Our new favorite bar

It's only 8, so we look for a place to have a drink. Outisde the main square of town is a tiny bar called Orient Express. Inside looks like one of those Manhattan bars. Very narrow with lots of wood paneling. There's a group of eight people at the bar so we grab a table and I order a beer while Karen gets a glass of Prosecco. The bartender opens a new bottle, a good sign. My beer is a Croatian brand, crips and light. Nice for the end of the day.

What I begin to notice after being in a few places in Zagreb is the music. Croatians love their pop and disco. But, a lot of the 70's and 80's hits are redone in Croatian. It is bizarre enough to hear Abba in a Croatian bar, but sung in native Croatian puts us in another world. I assume this is because Western music was difficult to get into Yugoslavia during the Socialist era and certainly not played on the radio, so this is what was popular. I wasnt to ask someone about this, but just then a woman walks into the bar, greets the bartender and hands her a CD. She puts it in and blasts some Croatian folk ballads. The entire bar sings along to these weepy tales of lost love (or a flat tire on a bicyle, how the Hell would I know>). After a few songs, it is back to the pop music. The bartender pors shots of a clear liquid for the group at the bar. Four men and four women in their late 20s early 30s say what sounds like "Zig, Zig, Zig" and toss back the shot. Now, I cannot let this stand without asking a question. "What is 'Zig, Zig, Zig?'" "No, it's Zivjeli." Sounds like Zghee-zghee-lee.

Vonda introduces herself. She is from Dubrovnik on the Croatian Coast and she proceeds to buy me and Karen a shot. The clear liquid is grappa infused with herbs. Grappa is a by product of the wine making process. Imagine you are a peasant in the Middle Ages. All your labor goes toward the comfort and wealth creation of your lord. In return, you might get some minimal protection in the castle should the Barbarians overrun your fertile valley (then again, they might just close the gate and leave you outside to fend for yourself. All day you toil in the fields for starvation wages. Meanwhile, the grape vines you tend are used to make wine for the noble class, who enjoy lavish banquets where the wine of your labor is served. The Pomace (the skins, seeds and stems leftover from the wine making process) are just thrown away, or maybe used as compost fertilizer for the crops.

One day a merchant traveling the trade route gives you a nip of this clear liquid. You can only take a sip and it burns going down, almost gagging you. But, it warms you up and lifts your spirits, just like the time you liberated a glass of wine from the Duke's table. The merchant tells you it is grappa and is made by distilling the very Pomace you are throwing away. You figure you can make a still and have your own supply of grappa. After all, they're just throwing th stuff away! It might not be fine wine, but it sure keeps you warm on those cold nights. So, for centuries, until the 1960s Grappa was strictly the drink of the working agricultural class. Mostly in Italy, but in other European winemaking areas as well.

Then, grappa went upscale. People starting infusing grappa with herbs and fruit flavors. Grappa tastings started popping up and grappa started to get graded on aroma, vintage and flavor just like fine wine. Imagine grading moonshine by vintage! But that is just what happened with grappa. There was even a restaurant on the Providence waterfront named Grappa in the 1990's. They had many varieties of Grappa, some glasses costing over $30! The Grappa fad soon fizzled in the US, but it is still going strong in Europe and in Zagreb, all the hip people are drinking it.

I downed my shot of "Rocket Fuel" and Karen took a polite sip and discreetly dumped the rest in her water glass (how would anyone know, it's clear?) We talked with Vonda and her friends about Croatia. They were from all over the former Yugoslavia. The coast of Croatia, Istria, Serbia, everywhere. I asked Vonda about the war, but she dismissed me saying it is much to complicated to discuss in a bar. Politics is too complicated to discuss? It never stopped the drunks in the US from talking BS in bars! Then, she whispered "Sometimes I don't even understand it." Vonda explains that her generation has forgotten all about that madness as evidenced by her friend who would have been enemies 25 years ago. Lesson learned.

I return the favor and buy Vonda and her friends a round of Grappa. I down the shot. God, that stuff burns going down. More music, more laughing, and the bartender comes over and buys us a shot. Karen's is again discreetyly poured in her water glass while I take one for the team. Our total tab is about $18. I ask Vonda how much I should tip and she tells me the euivalent of $2. I do as I'm told, but can't get over the guilt of this measly tip.

Day 3 - Istria - 11/6

Breakfast at Hotel Dubrovnik. Breakfast in Croatia is like the rest of Europe. Coffee or tea, bread or croissant, and maybe some fruit or yogurt. Tell me, why can Croatia Air serve fresh plums and kiwi at 30,000 feet, yet we get canned pears at one of the top hotels in Zagreb? Anyway, we cross the street to what looks like a farmers' market. The stalls are little sheds with thatched roofs. Turns out this is not a farmers' market, but a the wine festival we saw a card for at the airport. The wine is sold in bottles, but also plastic jugs.

Karen leads me up a huge stone staircase that opens up to a huge square. There is a giant market with scores of vendors selling both local and imported produce. Vonda had told Karen about this market last night. Local grapes, carrots, squash, herbs, lettuce, everything is piled high for as far as the eye can see. This place is massive and the residents of Zagreb are supporting this market full force.

We check out of our hotel and head to Istria, the peninsula of hill towns in the northwest corner of Croatia. Istria, like the rest of Croatia, has been conquered and reconquered countless times by all their European neighbors. But, Istria has a unique recent history that makes it very attractive to us. Istria was part of the Venetian Empire for 400 years. Then, after WWI, when the Austrian Empire was defeated, the Balkans were carved up and Istria was granted to Italy. At the beginning of WWII, the Italian army occupied Istria and later the Nazis were here. But for a good part of the first half of the 20th century, Istria was Italian. There is strong evidence of this influence in the architechture, food and culture. Many Istrians speak Italian.

Our mission, the truffle festival in Livade. It has no address, so we plug the town center into the GPS and head off. How hard could it be to find the largest truffle festival in the world?

I can't imagine what this ride was like before the toll road was built. Tunnels go through hills that must have been nothing but endless swithbacks a few years ago. Our trip takes 2 1/2 hours but it must have taken a full day or maybe longer a couple decades ago.

A few miles from our destination we pass through Buzet. The city sign says "Grad Tartufa" or City of Truffles. Then we see a huge tent with a hundred cars on the parking lot. A sign says "Truffle Festival." I do a quick U turn and head into the lot. This must me it, right? How many truffle festivals could there be today?

For a $5 admission you get a wine glass to sample as much local wine as you like. Plus free samples of local cheese and all kinds of truffles and truffle related products. There are dozens of vendors, a band and a couple of restaurants serving up pasta with truffles. First up, cheese with black truffle. Now we need some white wine. Muskat Bijeli is a well known local variety and a lot of Chardonney is grown here as well. Then, we try some truffle and olive tapanade. Oh, we're taking some of that home. Karen and I have a long discussion about getting stuff home. After all, we had mighty struggles getting wine home last year from Italy with El Beasto. Even with all the potential headaches of lugging this stuff around the Balkans, breakage and customs, we agree to go for it. You only live once!

More wine and figs with orange peel. We're taking some of that, too. By now we're geting pretty hungry. Luckily, one of the restaurants has pasta with truffles. Karen and I split a plate of ravioli with shaved truffles. I'd tell you it's perfect, but you already knew that! We buy some more truffles tapanade and then we have the most unusual food I've ever encountered.

Donkey milk with grappa

Next to a cheese station is a gentleman pouring a thin, milky looking liquid into sampling glasses. I ask him what it is and he says "Donkey milk with grappa." "Really?" "Yes. Try some?" Karen and I exchange looks, but what the hell? I talked before about how grappa is so strong and not real pleasant to drink. But, this is sweet with just a little kick at the end. The wine cooler of the grappa world. I tell the vendor that this is a "chick drink." No one gets my humor in Croatia.

It's another hour to our hotel, so we're off again. The raods are getting more narrow and twisty as we are in the heart of the hill towns of Istria. Momjan is a speck on the map, but we like out of the way places so this is ideal. Agriturizmo San Mauro is a farm with a restored bar and restaurant to go with a handful of rooms.

Did I mention it is out of the way? We navigate the one road to town (calling it a town is generous. There are no traffic lights or even street signs. No stores, just a couple farms and a restaurant). Imagine our surprise when we get to our destination and it is packed with cars. We can't even find a parking place. We have to park down the road in a muddy lot packed with cars from Croatia, Italy and Slovenia.

San Mauro is packed! Wall to wall people in the bar, in the restaurant, and outside in the courtyard where a folk band is playing traditional favorites (loudly). Everytime the door to the bar opens, the sound of the band comes blasting in. It's like Led Zeppelin has been reincarnated as a Croatian oompah band. We ask the bartender to check in. "One moment," and he leaves to go find someone. But he also leaves a bar full of thirst patrons. If they don't get served soon they are going to blame us for making their conduit to alcohol leave. This could get ugly. Ten stressful minutes later the bartender returns and just like that goes back to work. Oh well, we've liberated some wine so we're in no rush. After what seems like forever, he pulls out what is surely a reservation book, looks at me and says "You are Karen?" Close enough, at least we're getting our room. We drop our bags and go onto the balcony. The view is amazing. Towns dot a few hilltops, but mostly this is farmland dedicated to vineyards and olive groves. Karen and I head back downstairs and ask the bartender if we can get on the waiting list for dinner. He says no and leads us out the door. From the front porch he points to a house about a half mile down the hill. "Go there. They have food. Good restaurant." Now, allow me to point out that you may think the bartender is being abrupt with us. Quite the contrary. His words may be short, but English is not this gentlemen's first language. And he has a jammed bar with thirstly customers. And with all this he takes the time to help some clueless Americans who come wandering in (with a reservation, yes, but still). Down the hill we walk and see a sign on the house that says "Taverna." Must be the place. Inside, it is completely empty except for a the bartender. I ask if we can have dinner. He gives me a quizzical look. Perhaps it's not going to be as easy as I thought being an English only speaker in Croatia. I add "Eat?" He says "One moment and leaves. Two minutes later he returns. "OK, we will make up table."

Menus in Zagreb were in Croatian and English, but this one is 100% Croatian. We ask for some help from the bartender/waiter. We decide on pasta with shaved truffles, green salad and, of course, a glass of red wine. The wine comes first. It is good, phew. We also get a basket of focaccia and two kinds of olive oil. Our bartender/waiter explains that one olive oil is young (this year) and the other is old (2 years). The focaccia must have been wood fired because there are no grill marks on it, but it is charred from being close to the flame. They young olive oil is great, but the aged is out of this world! The green salad is fresh and crisp. The pasta comes out and we can smell the earthy truffles. I got the tagliatelle and Karen got the gnocci. Both are homemade. The tagliatelle is outstanding, but the gnocci is doughy. I trade dishes with Karen knowing she will never finish the whole bowl of pasta.

We finish but getting the bartender/waiters attention isn't working. He's talking to some cops who, while obviously on duty, have come in to watch the hockey game on TV (who knew hockey was popular in Croatia). Then he talks to the loud Italians at the bar. Karen says it sounds like 50 people are at the bar. I say 3 Italians are as loud as 50 Croatians. I oughta know, we spend every Thanksgiving and Christmas with her Italian family! Karen then says that Istrians and Italians have many similarities but one difference is that Istrians don't talk with their hands. She's right, I haven't seen a Croatian gesture with her hands while talking.

I get our bartender/waiter's attention and ask him for the check. It comes to less than $50. I give the equivalent of $60 and wait for the change. And wait and wait. Now, you may ask yourself why I don't just get up and ask for the bill or the change. Well, I did, in Zagreb. I was told that is rude and by doing that you are telling the waiter that they are not doing their job. The uptight American in me wants to say "But, you're not." But then I force myself to remember that Europe functions on its own clock. Meals are supposed to take 2 hours or more. Our rushing and stressing and eating too fast is killing us, our European cousins would say. And, you know what? They're right. The world lifts and I ask Karen if she is ready to go. We walk back up the hill to San Mauro. The band is gone and so are the people. But, the bar is open and it still early. Karen convinces me to sit for a cup of tea. We have chammomile with lemon.

Karen hypothosizes that this is a family place and she seems to be right. A couple of young men who work at San Mauro are sitting together in a booth eating a late dinner. Being one of three boys, I immediately recognize these guys as siblings. As we sip our tea, one of them comes up to us and says to me "You are Karen." Again? "I am Serjig." Serjig is late 20's maybe early 30's and speaks excellent English with the typical Croatian accent. We congratulate him on a successful and busy day. He says that today was a sort of open house day for Agriturizmos all over Istria. Hundreds of people come from all over Croatia, Slovenia and Italy for this event. For about $10 they get to sample wine, cheese and an entree from the Inn. Serjig said this was their best year so far. He then tells us that they distill their own grappa and it infuse it with all kinds of herbs and flavors. They also make their own wine and olive oil, both of which are excellent.

I ask Serjig how the proposed entry of Croatia into the EU would affect his business. He says he hopes Croatia doesn't enter the EU. Too much beuracracy and not enough protection for local goods, he says. We've heard the same thing from other people in Croatia. One person said "There are Belgian tomatoes in the supermarket. Why? We grow good tomatoes in Croatia." Another said "They are selling garlic from China. It's not good but it costs half as much." Preach on, brother.

This is the crux of the problem of globalization and how it can destroy local economies. If Europe becomes homogenized, it loses what makes it unique. And that is all the different people, cultures and food. Just because you can buy a German car with lower tariffs isn't a good enough reason to join the EU if it means losing your identity.

Day 4 - Truffles - 11/7

View of Momjan from our balcony

Breakfast at the San Mauro is at 8:30. That's great, but with no clock, cell phone or watch we have no idea what time it is. I go down to the car, turn the ignition; clock says 7:37. Time for a shower and get ready for the day.

Narrow streets in Motivan

A word about water pressure in Croatia. In a word, powerful. Think of a hose with a spray nozzle times ten. Just washing your hands in the sink can be an adventure. Turn on the faucet all the way and the water comes out so fast it splashes out of the sink. Do that a couple of times and soak your pants and you learn to turn on the tap slowly.

Serjig isn't serving breakfast. It's an older man (his father?) and a woman. Neither speaks English. But we hear them talking amongst themselves in Italian. We didn't expect to speak Italian, so we didn't brush up on our Italian or bring our electronic translator. But, I give it whirl. "Ovo?" "Si." "Salumi?" "Non. Vegetariano." "Cafe?" "Un cafe, un te. Grazie." Anything more complicated and I'm in the weeds.

Wine recycle bin

He brings some crusty homemade bread, jam and butter. Then, scrambled eggs with truffles and a drizzle of the farm's olive oil! Karen gets crepes and fills them with homemade jam. The best!

Montevan town wall

Today we are touring the hill towns of Istria. First stop, Motovan. The drive is a crazy series of climbs and switchbacks, the only way to get to the top. Higher and higher we go with hairpin turns. I can't imagine this drive in high season and bumper to bumper traffic, but today we are one of a couple cars going to Motovan so I drive at my own pace. Fast on the straight stretches and slow around the blind curves. We park the car and hike up the rest of the hill. Motovan itself is closed to traffic so you walk up cobblestone streets. It's raining so the stones are wet, but not too slippery. You have to watch your step, though, because the stones are very uneven. There are several cafes and shops selling truffles, but almost everything is closed. Tourist season is over. We see a few other brave souls who prepared better than us by bringing umbrellas. So that's it, a quick stroll around the town, pausing at the top for the viewand back to the warm dry car for our next destination Groznjan
Montevan cemetary

This tiny town transformed itself into an artist community in the 70's. There are dozens of artist studios in this tiny midevil town. We climb another service of dizzying switchbacks and at the top we see a tour bus. The driver is outside chatting on his cell phone. The passengers must be in the town. We walk into town, but don't see another person. Every artist studio is closed. Absolutely nothing is open except a cafe. The streets are deserted except for a couple of cats lounging in the middle of the street. By the time we get back to the car, the bus is gone.

Village of Hum

Next stop, Hum; The self proclaimed tiniest village in the world (Momjan might have something to say about that if they had a good publicist). This is perhaps the most vertigo inducing ride of them all. No cars here, just us. We go through the huge iron doors to town (whose handles are cast iron and in the shape of ox horns) and wander around the village. Couple of shops, a restaurant or two, a church, a couple of houses and that's it. We don't see another human being. It's almost like wandering around a museum after it has closed. We are utterly alone.

Truffle sign

Last stop on our hill town tour; Karlic Tartufi and truffle hunting. Truffles are a fungus closely related to mushrooms that grow underground, often near oak or hazelnut trees. Since they grow underground, humans cannot find truffles without help. Pigs were traditionally used to find truffles, but now dogs are mostly used since pigs often eat the truffles they find (at San Mauro, there is a retired truffle hunting pig names Gigl).

Truffles are highly prized in the culinary world. They fetch huge prices (the most every paid for a truffle is over $300,000). If you order a plate of pasta with shaved truffles in a major city you can pay $50. This area of Istria is a fertile truffle region. The largest truffle ever, almost 3 pounds, was found in this area by Giancarlo Zigante and his dog Diana in 1999 (that record has since been surpassed by a truffle found in Tuscany, the other truffle hotbed of the world). Zigante has opened a string of truffle shops, selling whole truffles, truffle tapanade, truffle oil etc. These shops are everywhere. In addition, Zigante has opened a high end restaurant in the area.

Like I said, there is big money in the truffle business. And Istria has taken advantage of the fact. There are truffle shops everywhere, truffles on every restaurant's menu and lots of people spend time in the hills with their dogs looking for the valuable fungus. The fruits of this micro economy is plainly visible. Lots of new BMWs in driveways (not all driveways, but you definately see it). Without truffles, Istria would be a very different place, and quite likely, much more economically depressed

Persimmon tree

We meet Mrs. Karlic and she says "I sent you mail." We confused, then she adds "Rain, it's too wet. Dogs can't find truffles in the rain." Oh no. We try not to look too disappointed because Mrs. Karlic is visibly disappointed that she can't take us out. We chat for a few minutes and she asks if we want to see the truffle hunting dogs. "Sure." She take us around the house and I make a mental note of the Mercedes parked in the driveway. Mrs. Karlic apologizes for her English (which is actually good) and tells us her 15 year old daughter normally does the English translationfor the family but she is in school today. The daughter also speaks fluent Italian, German and our course, Croatian. After meeting her very active dogs, we go back to the house where Mrs. Karlic breaks out the schnapps and grappa. The grappa is infused with mistletoe and is very strong. The schnapps is cherry and delicious. I ask about cherries as I have seen a lot of cherry foods in Istria but not a cherry tree. She tells us that cherries do not grow in Istria. Then, Mrs. Karlic breaks out the stash. Several Rubbermaid gallon and two gallon containers filled with truffles. One is filed with the rare white truffle that is only in season during the summer. We take in the fragrance and admire the size of the largest specimens. There are thousands, maybe tens of thousands of dollars worth of fungi in here. As we get ready to leave, Mrs. Karlic hands us a bottle of truffle infused olive oil. "A gift" she says and apologizes again for being unable to take us out. We tell her not to worry, we will go out next time we are in Istria.

By now it is late afternoon and we are hungry. We skipped lunch because the finale of the truffle hunt is a pasta dinner topped with truffles from the hunt. No truffles, no meal. We drive to Ligage and stop at a small restaurant. No one is here so I peek around the corner and see a young woman working on a laptop. "Are you open?" "Yes." We sit down and order a glass of Istrian white wine. We then order a salad and a truffle cheese plate. The waitress brings us a basket of bread and we make mini sandwiches with the truffle cheese, romaine, red cabbage and top it with a little olive oil. Wine, cheese, bread, olive oil, and greens. I'm sensing a trend here.

Gigi, retired from truffle hunting and enjoying the good life in Istria

After a short nap, Karen wants to go out. When I say there is nothing to do in Momjan, I'm not exagerrating. There are no stores, no cinemas, no bars, nothing. Just our inn and the bar is closed during the week. We walk a half mile to the next town and go in a tavern. The locals chat in Italian at a table and two others are reading newspapers at the bar. I order two glasses of local wine from the bartender, a tall thin girl with red hair. She plops the glasses on the bar. "Grazie" I say. No response. She turns and prints out our receipt and puts it on the bar. "Thank you." Nothing. A woman walks in and greets everyone. They speak Italian too fast for me to pick up anything except a few words about the bar's cat. Karen tells me she is asking the others about their day. We leave the bar at the same time as one of the men who was reading a newspaper. he goes one way and heads home. We go the other and head back up the hill. There's not a single car on the road. We walk past our inn and back down the other side of the hill to Konoba, the restaurant we ate at last night. The restaurant is empty. No cops, no Italians, just the owner Kiki and his friend Drago. They are watching the news, tut tutting over the trial of the former Prime Minister accused of taking millions in bribes over an oil and gas pipeline project. The scam unravelled when a mayor of one of the towns on the pipeline route talked too much about suitcases stuffed with cash. Corruption, Kiki says, is a normal part of politics in Croatia. I point out that while corruption is never acceptable, when the US President schemes to enrich his friends (oil companies and Haliburton) hundreds of thousands of people die in an unjust war. "Eat or drink?" "Red wine, please." We watch more of the news. There is a story of a beauty contest winner. "Housewives" says Kiki. "Real Housewives of New York?" I ask. I think he is comparing on of the contestants to some reality TV star I have never heard of, but I'm trying to be helpful. "Desperate Housewives" says Karen. "Yes!" Miss Universe looks like Eva Longoria. I ask Kiki if there is a game on TV. Hockey, soccer, whatever. He flips to a Polish League soccer game. "No good" says Kiki. He turns on another game and we discuss sports in Croatia. Drgao is very proud of the Croatian handball team. They won a medal at the first Olympics to feature handball: Atlanta 1996. The local soccer teams can't compete with other Euro teams because of the money. Then, Kiki flips on a show about American muscle cars. "This is America" he declares. "Hot Rods and Hollywood" he laughs. I tell him my brother lives in LA and his eyes widen. "And he drives an '95 Civic."

More wine and the next show is about motor cycles. Kiki says he loves driving the sharp turns of Istria with his motorcycle. I tell him a lot of people I know like to ride Ducati, an Italian motorcycle. Kiki says "No, Honda." I ask him if he rides a Honda and Drago says Kiki's bike is "Stupid." "Stupid fast" he explains.

Pasta with truffles

Karen asks Kiki how long he has owned the restaurant. He says six years. We ask about business and he tells us it is hard. Great months in the summer, but slow in the winter. He has several apartments attached to the restaurant that he rents out and he says only one of his tenants has a job. He blames politiecs, beuracracy, things he cannot control. He says he doesn't want to join the EU, but politicians will probably push it through. Kiki's phone rings and he goes in back. I sense an opening, so I ask Drago about the war. I don't want to offend him, but I am curious. He says he is 41 and was in the Yugoslavian army. He doesn't say when he was in the army, but based on his age, it must have been during the war. He says there were Slovenians, Croats, Serbs, Bosnians all served together in the army. They all lived together as neighbors and friends. I have difficulty understanding the next part but I think he said that they asked him to clean out a school or village and he coudn't do it. These were his friends and neighbors last year and now they are his enemy? I let it stand at that. We're not talking about your great grandfather in WWI, your grandfather in WWII or your dad in Korea or Vietnam. This was ended 15 years ago and the scars are rea and just below the surface.

Fig tree growing through concrete

Kiki returns. "It is a problem." He tells us someone called out sick or quit or something and now he as to replace them. In the meantime a large party is coming in around 10:30. "Eat or drink?" I ask. "They will drink" Kiki says emphatically. "That's good. Much profit in alcohol" (why am I speaking broken English?). "Yes, but it is problem." Kiki doesn't elaborate. The party arrives and Kiki is a great host, laughing and joking. They start to smoke, so Kiki locks the door so he doesn't get busted (restaurants are non smoking in Croatia).

Day 5 - Rovinj - 11/8

Truffle cheese for breakfast!

Serjig is serving breakfast today. Crepes with jam and cheese, tea with local honey, espresso and bread. We tell Serjig our truffle hunt was cancelled. "Ah, the weather." After breakfast Serjig shows us his shop and wine cellar. His family has nine hectares (over 22 acres) of grapes in small patches on the surrounding hills. There are dozens of stainless steel tanks for fermenting, a grape crusher, a bottling machine, everything to make wine. Serjig tells us they rarely use oak but sometimes they blend a little oak aged wine with the stainless. Then they take the skins, seeds and stems and distill grappa. The distillery is in a different building down the road. Serjig says grappa has only been popular in Croatia for a few years, but they sell a lot. Since grappa is made from the byproducts of the wine making process, vintners are always looking for something to do with the seeds, skins and stems. Serjig says there is a method to dehydrate this stuff and press it into briquettes for grilling.

Serjig with his dog, cat and retired truffle hunter, Gigi

I ask Serjig about how his family bought the farm as, of course, there was no private ownership of land under Socialist Yugoslavia. He said his family worked this land during the Tito years. When the Iron Curtain fell and Yugoslavia broke up, the fledgling Croatian government needed money. So they offered the land for sale and Serjig's family bought it and some other plots on the surrounding hillside. Serjig said "It was difficult. If my family didn't buy the land someone else would," Serjig was schooled in Italy (he holds dual citizenship as do many Istrians) as was his brother in Oenology (wine making).
Wine barrels

Grape vines

I ask Serjig if he could ship some grappa or wine to us in the US. He says he checked, but since they are not in the EU, they cannot. Too bad, because I was going to ask him to put our truffle booty in with the grappa. Looks like we're going to have to find a place to stash them in our luggage.

Rovinj

The drive to Rovinj is less than an hour, mostly on new highways, again bypassing the switchbacks that could have made this a full day trip.

Istria is officially bilingual so street signs and road markers are in both Croatian and Italian. The longer we stay in Istria, the more I wish we would have brushed up on my Italian since it seems everyone speaks it.

Street light in Rovinj

We arrive at the hotel Casa Alice (pronounced Ah-Lee-Che, not Alice like the housekeeper on the Brady Brunch). No one is there so we walk to the old town of Rovinj. or Rovina in Italian.

View of the Adriatic down a Rovinj alley

Rovinj is on a tiny peninsula jutting into the Adriatic Sea. While still a fishing village (fishing boats fill the harbor), tourism is the top moneymaker here. Like Newport, in summer the tourist crush overwhelms the town with people, traffic and noise. But, we're here in the off season which has mostly locals and university students visiting the cafes. Many shops are closed for the season, including a couple dozen gelateria. Too bad, I wanted to sample the Croatian competition.

We grab a table at the outdoor cafe on the waterfront between a group of four twenty something women and two local middle aged couples. The women want to be Italian so bad with their over sized sunglasses and dyed jet black or dyed eggplant hair. Even though it is 70 degrees and sunny, the locals are bundled up in puffy down coats, scarves and hats. This is a phenomenon we saw last year in Italy. I guess they as so used to hot summers, if the temps fall below 75, they bundle up.

After a glass of wine and piece of cake, we stroll some more in the old town. While the waterfront is crammed with over priced cafes and T shirt shops and closed gelaterias, the back alleys are slightly more grimy and real. We pass a wine bar with no sign, just "VINO" spray painted on the bricks outside. Empty clubs thump disco beats to no one.

Kiwi tree at Casa Alice

Still hungry for lunch, we stop at a pizza place order a pizza margarita. I'm hopeful because they have a wood fired brick oven inside. Unfortunately, we get shredded mozzarella with what I believe to be canned marinara. The crust is excellent, though. I end up feeding most a bit to one of the dozens of local feral cats.

Puppies!

Walking back to the hotel, I hear a dog bark. All of a sudden a puppy comes bounding towards us. Then another puppy, and another and another, Six or seven puppies in all surround our feet. They're yapping and jumping while we high step trying to avoid stepping on the growing chaos at our feet. Then I realize there is traffic in the street behind us and the owner is nowhere to be seen. Karen picks up one of them, but we can't pick them all up, so I try to lead them back to where I heard the dog bark (that must be their mom). I get several feet and a woman comes running out and grabs two by the scruff of their neck and takes them inside. Karen brings her puppy to the house and the owner returns and herds the rest inside, seemingly unfazed by the disaster that was narrowly averted. She smiles and thanks us and we continue on our way.

Cheese plate at Bosket

Boris, who works at the hotel, recommends Bosket for dinner. It's not in the old town, so it's not as touristy, he says. A 20 minute walk away, we go inside and sit down and the friendly waitress gives us the menu. Mostly seafood, but some nice pasta on the list. When she returns, she has a platter of raw, uncut vegetables. Tomato, eggplant, zuchhini, spinach and some other unknown green. She asks if we would like these veggies grilled. Sure! Better than pasta any day. She comes back with some wine. She tells us her name is Ratka and she is from Bosnia. We ask Ratka if the wine is local. "Yes, 50 meters" meaning the winery is 50 yards away. Yup, that's pretty local. The olive oil is from the same are and is green, fruity and unfiltered. We mop it up with some grilled bread. Bread, wine and olive oil. I could live on this stuff alone.

Grilled vegetables

Ratka is cleaning up so we pay the bill which she explains line by line. About $60 Our dinner arrives served on a huge platter. All the veggies we saw before are grilled except the spinach which is sauteed in olive oil. The mystery greens are sauteed as well and folded in some potatoes. Karen and I try to eat slowly. We savor each veggie, grilled so simply yet perfectly. On the side is a pesto of parsley, garlic and green olive oil. Drizzled on the veggies makes them better, if that's possible. This is the Croatian meal by which all others will be judged. When Ratka returns we tell her how much we love the meal. "We have a primitive kitchen" she says proudly. This is not meant as a put down, but a method of cooking to be strived for. In this brand new modern restaurant, they opt for the simplest method of preparation. She asks if we want coffee or dessert. "Apertiva? Lemoncello?" "One moment" and she leaves.

Pear brandy and another liquer

"One moment" is a phrase we hear all the time in Croatia. Not "just a minute" or "let me check" but "one moment." There must be a direct Croatian translation for a common phrase that means "Please wait and I will check." When Ratka comes back she has two bottles. One is labeled and filled with camel liquid. It is strong, slightly bitter, maybe witch hazel. The unlabeled bottle has a pear liquor. It is spicy and sweet and goes down easy. Way too easy. We bring the bottles to the bar and Karen talks with the Ratka and I talk to a man I will call Mr. Drunkypants. He is from Croatia (town of Hum) but moved to Trieste, Italy where he now lives. He doesn't drive because of a DUI that isn't his fault (of course). Mr. Drunkypants gives his opinion on every worldwide issue and his opinion is the only correct one. I listen, interject occasionally and disagree when the topic comes to smoking. He says smokers (he smokes, of course) should be allowed to smoke anywhere, anytime. "What about non smokers who don't want to breathe smoke?" "They can go somewhere else." "But if everyone can smoke everywhere in your smoking utopia, where can the non smokers go?" "They go where there are no smokers." "But you want smoking everywhere." If course, I will never win this argument with Mr. Drunkypants, but no matter. The government has won the argument and he has to go outside to smoke.

Turns out Ratka's apartment is one street over from our hotel so we walk her home. She came from Bosnia over 20 years ago. Her husband works in a restaurant and they have two teenagers. We wave goodnight and tell her we will see her tomorrow.

Back at Casa Alice, Boris introduces to the owner, Christian. He is in his early 30s and is a mechanical engineer by trade, but with no jobs in Croatia, he built and opened the hotel. This place is impeccably designed with stone faces, a pool, small dining room and best of all, a bar downstairs. Christian pours some wine and tells us about the difficulties of building a hotel from the ground up, literally. Bureaucracy is his biggest complaint. Slowed down the process tremendously.

Boat in Rovinj's harbor

Then, Christian tells us about his ex-girlfriend from Italy. Every time he went to visit her, she said "You buy for me." "1,500 Euro and still not enough" and he leaves it at that. We thank Christian for the wine, apologize for keeping him up and call it a night.

Day 6 - Wandering Rovinj - 11/9

Fountain in Rovinj

No plans today, a day of leisure. Breakfast is cheese, crusty bread, tea, fresh tomato and a pastry baked by Boris. Christian's family have some land with 1,500 olive trees. The oil from these trees is served with breakfast. It is some of the best we have had in Croatia. Young, green and unfiltered oil has such a forward olive flavor.

View from the hilltop church in Rovinj

Walking around town we get lost several times, but who cares. After all, if have no plan and no destination are you really lost? Lounging in a cafe with a view of the Mediterranean, a cup of tea, a slice of cake, we see many of the same faces from yesterday. The Italian wanna be women are sitting with their boyfriends, the real Italian guy is now with a group of friend while his 8 year old daughter tries to get his attention. It is very easy to fall into this lifestyle.

Cafe in Rovinj

72 degrees and sunny so we lounge and snooze by the pool til dinner. Ratka has our table set for us. We order wine (just a carafe, it's going to have to be an early night). Ratka brings out tonight's selection of veggies Arugula for salad plus carrots, zukes, eggplant and a long stalk of broccoli. Yes, yes and yes.

Ratka asks if we want polenta, too. Now, I don't like polenta. I've tried it many times hoping to find a way to like it. And, being a vegetarian, everyone tries to force it down your throat like a goose being gorged before its ultimate demise as foie gras. It's always mushing and grainy. Not a good combination. I shake my head, but Karen with an enthusiastic "Yes!" Ratka looks suspiciously at me and I agree to try it.

Letter carrier on a vespa

Grilled bread, green olive oil, local wine. Can we stay forever? We can hear the chef chopping our veggies in the kitchen and few minutes later two platters of grilled veggies and polenta topped with cheese arrive. If the broccoli is mushy (it was boiled, not grilled) it is the only miss. Eggplant, zuchhini, more potatoes, all perfect. The platters are set in a tray warmed by candles. So, we take a couple of hot pieces and put them on our plate and leave the rest to stay warm. We eat slowly and preserve the joy. The polenta is perfect. Sliced thin so it is not mushy and grilled. Some local cheese melted on the top adds flavor. Why can't everyone cook polenta this way? A crust of bread, a slice of eggplant and some drops of oil. That's all that is left of our feast.

Entry way to a restaurant in Rovinj

Ratka asks if we want coffee but we opt for the pear brandy instead. Just one glass, we have to get up early tomorrow. We tell Ratka how much we have enjoyed our meal and people of Istria and that we are sad to go. Karen and Ratka are now best friends, kiss on the cheek goodbye. As we walk down the road, Ratka opens the door and says "one moment!" She returns a minute later with two clementines "for luck." We wave goodbye again and I pocket the juicy presents. "Bye, bye nice people" and Ratka is back inside and back to work.

Back at Casa Alice Boris gives us the house phone (it has an alarm on it) and sets it for 5am. We flip on the TV for a couple of minutes. There are a few channels with American shows and Croatian subtitles. "Sabrina the Teenage Witch," some Blaxploitation movie from the 70s, "Friends," and a Bruce Willis movie from when had hair ("Die Hard 2?") No wonder Croatians have a distorted view of America. Look at the crap we are exporting.
String of peppers at a farmers' market

Day 7 - Traveling to Slovenia - 11/10

I didn't have to worry about the phone/alarm not waking me up. A rooster starts crowing at 3am. Boris has packed us a huge lunch due to our early departure (could he be any more thoughtful?) 3 1/2 hour drive back the airport, drop off the rental car, 20 minute bus ride, 5 minute tram ride and wait for the train the Slovenia.

Croatia is such a place of contrasts. Many public places like train stations, airports bus stations (as well as some apartment buildings) are Socialist era with boxy architecture, peeling paint, old windows in dire need of replacement, repair or renovation. This is the most visibly legacy of this period and, unfortunately, a very ugly one. On the other hand, the transportation infrastructure is brand new and still improving. Public works projects connect remote towns with bridges and tunnels. I expected to see a lot of Socialist era cars on the road, but they are gone, replaced by new Toyotas, Hyundai, Kia and European models.

Olive trees

Another example of the old and new is the ancient farmhouses that dot the countryside. These still stand, but have been renovated to modern standards. The stone frames stand, but inside can be as modern as an apartment or hotel in any American city. Like all European old towns we have visited, long abandoned houses and apartments are being renovated to bring in tourists. This work is ongoing and presents a lot of opportunity for Croatians who are forward thinking and with access to money.

Rovinj

Guidebooks paint the Croatians as less friendly than some of their neighbors. We found quite the opposite to be true. We found friendly Croats everywhere anxious to speak English and talk about their homeland and ask questions about the US. Is everyone going to be your new best friend? Of course not. Some service people might seem off put by your request, but I truly think this is a language barrier. As I said, we made no effort to learn Croatian (other than a few rudimentary words). Imagine you are working at a ticket counter or a bar and someone who doesn't speak your language comes in a tries to buy something or ask a question. Of course you're going to be confused and maybe frustrated. We just try to handle it with a smile and good humor. After all, we are the foreigners and are grateful for any help or kindness we receive.

Boatyrd in Rovinj

Croatia is a place with many layers and I'd love to get to know these fun loving, hard working, well educated people better. But a week won't do it. It could take a lifetime.

Fountain

The train stops at the border of Croatia and Slovenia. Since Slovenia is in the EU and Croatia is not, a border check is required. A dozen intimidating looking guys get on the train and check passports. Their radio our names to some unknown place and stamp our passports. "Anything to declare?" Yeah, you guys scare the crap out of me. I say to Karen "Imagine what it was like during the Socialist era." These guys must have been ten times scarier. The train arrives and we use the GPS to find our hotel (taxis are notoriously crooked in Ljubljana according to guidebooks). After check in at the hotel, we find an ATM to get Euros (Slovenia has been in the EU since 2007 and was the first former Iron Curtain country to join the union). Ljubljana feels very modern, more so than Croatia. I read that Slovenia had 80% of the manufacturing in the former Yugoslavia, but only 8% of the land and 8% of the population. It is obvious that this city is prosperous. Lots of new cars with Audis and Mercedes to go with the less expensive models crowding the streets. Well dressed office workers emerge from modern buildings and fashionably dressed students fill cafes. These cafes line the streets and Slovenes sit here for hours sipping coffee (or beer) and chatting. There are more cell phones here than in Croatia (when I told one Slovene that we were not carrying a cell phone, they were shocked. "What do you do for work?" was her reply. I explained that American cell phones don't work in Europe.) But, most people in Ljubljana are very courteous about talking on their phones in public. Multiple times I saw people discreetly end conversations when stepping on a bus or train and when talking in public, they whisper in the phone. Quite a difference from the US where you can hear people on every street yelling into their phone details of their latest health issue or sexual encounter (or both).

Cafes have tons of outdoor seating, especially in the old town by the river. It is only in the 40s tonight, but the outdoor cafes are jammed, thanks to outdoor heaters. Those cafes without the heaters supply their patrons with blankets to cover their legs and shoulders.

Karen and I choose a cafe and sit down (inside). Lots of dark wood and beams in the interior (it looks like a ski lodge) and a fancy coffee machine behind the counter. The wine is dispensed through a tap system like beer. We get two glasses of a local grape I am not familiar with, Refosk. It's ok, but nothing to write home about.The next glass, Merlot is much better and Karen's Cabernet is outstanding.

We order slices of pizza margarita and pizza bianci. The waiter says he will check, but he may not have slices of margarita. "That's ok, if you don't have slices of margarita, two slices of bianci." The music is great. 60s Motown and Ray Charles with a sprinkle of 70s funk. The pizza arrives and it has meat on it. I had misread pizza bianci (its dark in the there and my eyes are bad). But instead of bianci it's some Slovenian word meaning meat. I explain that we are vegetarian and he graciously takes it back while we apologize profusely, embarrassed at my mistake. He returns shortly with a pizza margarita. It is very good with rich sauce and Romano cheese mixed with the Mozz. Goes great withe the wine, too! Whatever that tap system is behind the bar, it keeps the wine at the correct temperature (why is it so hard to get a glass of wine at the right temperature?) and keeps oxygen from getting in.

We walk some more and stumble on a crew filming a commercial, TV show, movie or something. The setting is Christmas so there are lights on all the buildings and soap suds stand in for snow. We watch for a few minutes, but nothing happens so we stroll on. None of the chaos of Italy here. Slovenes are fun loving, but orderly, too. Bikes stay in their lanes, pedestrians wait at crosswalks for the light (and NEVER jaywalk) and everyone seems happy.

Open air market

Walking in the park in the center of old town, we see posters for St. Martin's Day. The festival is tomorrow and commemorates when the young grape juice officially becomes wine, just like Beaujolais. Kind of a blessing of the fleet for wine.

As we walk back to the hotel, we stop at a nearby cafe. It has a huge antique grape press out front and couches with tables inside. The bartender is a tall stylishly dressed woman in her mid 20s. We order a glass of the local Refosk, hoping for a better result. Not so much. Oh, well we gave it a shot. The bartender is finishing her degree at the university in English and Italian. She wants to be a translator. We ask about the St. Martin's festival and she says they will have some the new wine tomorrow in the restaurant downstairs, but would we like to try some now? Sure! The first one definitely tasted you, almost grape juice. But the second one already has some nice character. I think it will be a winner once it ages. The bartender agrees and we compare people to wine. Often they get better with age. "Develop character" I say. "Gain spirit" she says. I must agree.

Karen and I split a chocolate cupcake with some Cabernet. Chocolate and wine, thank you Ljubljana.
Ljubljana's castle

Day 8 - St. Martin's Day - 11/11

Couples put locks on this bridge to symbolize their devotion

11/11 is two very important holidays. Nigel Tufnel Day celebrates the Spinal Tap guitarist who goes "to 11." It's also St. Martin's Day. St. Martin was a Roman soldier who was baptized as an adult and lived as a Monk. In most parts of Europe, St. Martin's Day is celebrated with a feast. But in Slovenia and Croatia, it is the celebration of when the must turns to wine. Just like St. Martin, the sinful must is baptized and becomes pure wine. Sounds like as good an excuse as any for a party.

This pizza guy is a dead ringer for former Providence Mayor Buddy Cianci. Trust me, it looks just like him

Our first order of the day is a walking tour of Ljubljana. Tickets for the 2 hour tour are purchased in the Tourism Office. The gentleman who sells me tickets is wearing a NY Yankees shirt. I ask him if he likes baseball and he says "No, I like American football." He says his favorite team is the Giants (ugh, the team that beat the Patriots in the 2007 Super Bowl). I tell him I like the Pats and Tom Brady. "He is good" he replies. Our tour guide is Simona, a pretty woman in her mid 20s with small ear and nose piercings and stylish glasses. She begins the tour in front of City Hall. She explains that Ljubljana was settled by the Romans. It was modern by Roman standards with roads, viaducts for its water supply and indoor heating. After the fall of Rome, Ljubljana is settled by the Slavs who fend off attempts to conquer the city by the Turks. The Austrians take Ljubljana in the 14th century and rule for 400 years until Napoleon conquers it in the early 19th century. After a few short years the Austria Empire retakes Ljubljana and persecutes all the residents who complied with French rule. Austria falls at the end of WWI and Tito pushes out the Nazis in WWII leading to 50 years of Socialism as Yugoslavia until 1991 when a 10 day war results in Slovenian Independence (there was a huge 20th anniversary celebration of Slovenian Independence in June). Simona shows us these influences throughout the city from the fountain built during the Renaissance to the castle on the hilltops that kept out the invading Turks to the doors to the church doors build to commemorate the visit of Pope John Paul II in 1996.

Simona points out the flag of Ljubljana. It has two stripes, green and white. The green represents the fertility of the surrounding land. The white represents the fog that descends on the town in winter and stays for months. In the center of the flag is the castle of Ljubljana and a dragon.

Legend has it that Jason and the Argonauts came to present day Ljubljana after stealing the Golden Fleece. Here a dragon was terrorizing the town. The dragon demanded a maiden as sacrifice every day. If the people of Ljubljana did not comply he would breath fire and burn down the entire city. Jason fought the dragon for 3 days. Just when it seemed that the dragon was going to win a giant bolt of lightening struck a nearby tree. When the dragon turned to investigate the noise, Jason took his opportunity and snapped the dragon's neck, killing him. There are variations on this story, like St. George actually slaying the dragon, but Simona says that she has thoroughly researched this topic and she is 100% sure Jason was the one who killed the dragon. What this doesn't answer is why the dragon is on the flag and not Jason. It's like making Goliath the good guy and not David.

Inside Cty Hall, Simona shows us a map of the city and some paintings depicting the city's rich history. Then she points out a bust of one of the mayors of Ljubljana. Ivan Hirbar was mayor of Ljubljana for 14 years during the late 1800s and early 1900s. He is a hero in Slovenia because he brought the Slovenian language to public life in Slovenia. At the time only peasants spoke Slovenian because the Austrians were in control of the country. His rabble rousing finally caused the Austrians to kick him out of office in 1911. When the Nazis occupied Ljubljana in the 1940s they tried to install a puppet government in Ljubljana. They as Ivan Hirbar to be the mayor to try and add some legitimacy to the Nazi occupation. Hirbar protested by jumping into the river draped in the Slovenian flag. He died shortly thereafter.

The castle is on the largest hill in town (just north of Ljubljana is the Julian Alps), supplying good protection for the city. A new funicular was built in 2006. Simona says it was built by the same company that built a funicular twice as big in Germany. When it was found that funicular cost half as much as the one in Ljubljana, the mayor left office. "Did she jump in the river?" I ask.
The funicular that cost the mayor her job

View of the city from the castle

Spanning the river across the square is the famous three bridges designed by the even more famous Joze Plecnik. Plecnik designed almost every notable building in Ljubljana including the library, market square, office buildings and these bridges. Actually, the center of the 3 bridges was already standing when Plecnik designed the other two to help ease the congestion of a growing city. He designed these two new bridges in the same style as the original so that they would appear to be from the same era (unlike the castle). Plecnik did in 1957, having fallen out of favor with the Socialists for his devout Christian beliefs. Today he is revered by all Slovenes as a master of modern and classical styles.

Preseren's offending statue

The tour ends are Preseren Square. Preseren is the most famous Slovenian poet. One of his poems is the words to the Slovenian national anthem. Preseren was an alcoholic and died young. Many of his poems were about unrequited love a topic he know much about. He was in love with a woman above his social station. Never being able to have her, he drank and wrote. When the statue was erected in the early 20th century is caused a scandal. Above Preseren is his muse who happens to be nude. A priest from the Franciscan church across the square tried to put a sheet on the statue to cover up the muse. Grandmothers knitted her sweaters to keep her warm. Finally, the church planted a tree so its worshippers (and clergy) could be shielded from the blasphemy. Later a bust of Preseren's true love was placed in view of the statue just down the road from the square. Hasn't this man suffered enough?

Thank you and Cioa Simona. Enough learning for today. Time for some shopping (we buy some presents for family members at the open air market) and have a nice lunch (veggie sandwich with zuchhini, eggplant slices and Mozz with a glass of Rose).

The river has a lovely walkway, well lit and lined with cafes. Going down a flight of stairs we at an outdoor cafe 25 feet below street level right above the river. This skinny, skinny and long cafe is hidden away almost like you are spying on the rest of the town. The cafe owners have mounted a huge TV screen on the stone wall across the river for patrons to watch the latest Euro music videos.

A word about the Slovenian music we heard. In both Slovenia and Croatia they love American disco (Eurobeat music still plays on the radio nonstop) but many of the American hits of the 60s to today have been remade in native languages. We heard everything from Bruce Springsteen, to Creedence Clearwater Revival to Beyonce to the Ronettes sung in the local languages. Then, there were the original versions of songs like Tom Jones (they love Tom Jones!) and Van Morrison. My guess is that Western music was extremely difficult to get in Yugoslavia so they just rerecorded the songs in the native Slavic tongue and the tradition stuck.

We walked and walked trying to find a place where we didn't have to order pizza. It took literally 90 minutes and I'm getting hungry! Finally we stumble in a place and it's like a Salvador Dali experiment. There is a crushed can on the wall surrounded by a picture frame. A trombone sticks out of the wall. A table and chair set are bolted to the ceiling. Umbrellas at tables indoors, set with mismatched linens and place settings. Several booths have a snake bench for seating. Inspired by Gaudi's creation in the Parc Guel in Barcelona, the benches curve like a snake and are decorated with mosaic tiles. I wish I brought my camera.

Our waiter is a very friendly young man from Macedonia who is going to the US this summer to participate in some ponzi scheme, I mean multi level marketing project. We have a salad with canned olives and hard tomatoes. The pasta is passable, but in the end, the cuisine for vegetarians in Ljubljana is limited. Just a step above pub food. OK pizza, some good wine and limited veggies. I'll bet it's better in season when they can get more veggies locally.
Enjoying a persimmon at the market

;Day 9 - London - 11/12

First off, sorry for the poor picture quality. I was taking pictures at dusk from the top of a moving bus

Our direct flight from Ljubljana to London is cancelled, so we have to connect through Frankfurt. We get to the hotel before noon and have the whole day in front of us! We ask the concierge how to get downtown (our hotel is by the airport) and he says to take the Hotel Shuttle to the airport, transfer to the bus replacement to Picadilly (that part of the subway is under repair) and then the tube downtown. Total time: 2 hours. How long for a cab? "About 25 minutes." How much? 48 pounds. About $80. Sometimes when time is limited you have to suck it up. Cab it is. Karen and I split and apple turnover for breakfast so we are starving. And we're not getting pizza! London is jammed with shoppers and tourists (think Times Square on New Year's Eve) and most places on the main street are fast food (no way!) or pubs without any vegetarian friendly options (mashed potatoes with bacon, really?) Then Karen spots a place off the beaten path. There is a sign posted on the brick wall outside "Safeguard your valuables. Criminals are known to operate in this area." Sounds like my kinda place. The menu in the window (one thing I really like about touristy cities) has several vegetarian options including vegetarian Fish and Chips!

I had visited London and Liverpool in 1994 and had forgotten how vegetarian friendly it can be. I had my first fast food veggie burger in London and really appreciate the vegetarian items are noted with a "V" on most menus and even canned goods and premade food like sandwiches in the grocery store.

I enthusiastically order the Fish and Chips and Karen gets the special; roasted veggie pie. I ask the waiter what's on tap (we're in London, no wine here) and he rattles off several brands I have never heard of (except Fosters). I order an ale and Karen gets something a little lighter (Old Golden Hen). When they arrive, Karen's is lighter in color but very hoppy (think Dogfish Head 60 Minute). Mine is much maltier.

This place is jammed. We're lucky to have a table as many groups and couples walk in and walk out when they can't find a seat. My faux fish and chips is actually a slice of Mozz with herbs dipped in beer batter and deep fried. It even comes with a side of tartar sauce! What the hell, you only live once, right? Perfect with my malty beer. Karen loves that they serve the chips (French fries) with vinegar, the same way the Italian Americans in Rhody eat fries. Karen's dish is awesome as well. Roasted veggies (peppers, onion, eggplant etc) in a puff pastry shell. The mashed potatoes on the side are stiff and starchy, but mixed with roasted veggies, transform to a smooth and tasty vegetarian Shepard's Pie.

After lunch we head to the bus to take one of those "Hop on, hop off" bus tours. This is the other thing I like about big tourist cities (along with the menu in the window). Touristy and cheesy, yes. But, you get a good feel for the city and learn a lot of interesting facts and stories to go with them. For example, when King Charles' wife saw him picking flowers for his mistress in a park, she ordered the park's flowers plowed under. Today "Green Park" has no flowers, only trees and grass.

Executions in Middle Age London were common. London was the Texas of its time. The condemned were paraded through the streets in a wagon. Dead Man Riding was allowed one last drink along the route. The alcohol makes the condemned more passive, the thinking went. That last drink is where we get our phrase "One for the road." If the condemned turned down the drink he was said to be "on the wagon" a phrase we still use for teetotalers today.

The day is warm (almost 70) and there are even a few peeks of sun (a rarity for London in November). So we sit on the open air top deck of the bus. We see the British Museum, Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, Hyde Park (where Bruce Springsteen played a massive outdoor concert in 2010), London Bridge, Picadilly Circus, Trafalger Square (if Big Ben every strikes 13, the lion sculptures in the square will get up and walk around, according to legend), and the London Eye without ever setting foot in any of these London landmarks. If we had a week, we could do it all, but with a few hours, we ride the bus with the tourists.

We also see lots of protesters. At the famous department store Harrods, there is a guy on a megaphone telling a large audience of protesters with signs that Harrods should stop selling fur (Hell yeah!) Then, at St. Paul's Cathedral a huge protest is out front. Tents are pitched, signs everywhere. As I get closer I can see this is like a Occupy London protest. The next morning on the news we see lots of stories and discussion on "Meet the Press" type shows with suits discussing the protests. They are, surprisingly, mostly supportive, even saying that this could lead to a cap in executive pay. Can you imagine anyone saying anything remotely like that on a major TV network in the US and being taken seriously?
The London Eye

The London Eye opened in 2000 and is a massive Ferris Wheel/Observatory. One revolution takes about half an hour and provides spectacular views of the city, or so I imagine. Today is the ceremonial Lord Mayor's Day when the mayor and the queen do something or other. Whatever it is, it's huge. The streets are lined with people. Especially the bridges which are six or eight people deep. We soon see way. This Lord Mayor's Day thingy is huge and a massive fireworks display is lit off over the Thames River. Traffic is so snarled we are stuck in gridlock on the bridge. This bit of good luck allows us a perfect view of the fireworks.

There is a big soccer match on TV so we stop in a bar called TigerTiger for a drink and to watch the match. This place is almost like a British Hooters with bartenders wearing tight, tight spandex and cut up T-shirts. But, this isn't a boy's club bar. There are lots of couples and lots of groups of women. A lot of the women watching the match are dressed as pirates (what is going on with this Lord Mayor's Day holiday, anyway?) England scores the only goal of the match against World Cup champion Spain (although a shot from a Spanish forward hits the post in the second half).

Karen wants Indian food (there is, of course, a huge Indian population in London) and we find a spot to our liking. We get some veggie dishes and split them. They are good, but the real entertainment is at the table next to us. Three gay men in their late 30s to mid 40s are gossipping like schoolgirls. Which gay pride parade is the best, which of their friend is (and mostly, is not) dating material, which people they know with the worst breath and who is still in the closet.

A $115 cab ride back to the hotel (God, this city is more expensive than New York). I ask the cabbie if he heard the game and he says yes. We talk soccer (his team was relegated to the second division this year) and American Football (some people working the Tampa Bay Bucs/Chicago Bears game in London were in his cab.) He tells us Jude Law once rode in his cab (along with a bunch of other famous people I have never heard of) and he wants to one day drive Route 66 in America.