23 September 2008

Ljubljana


There is something wonderful about being anonymous in a foreign city, passing endless signboards and adverts that promise endless things in an unknown language. I feel like a secret as I wonder what "Do kdaj zabrisanih prohodnosti?" could possibly mean. But then again, I don't really care. I walk along the canal on bank of the River Ljubljanice and smile to myself.

"Ljubljana," says my friend Jani, as we cross the triple bridge in Prešeren Square, "is a shy and quiet kind of city." A statue of Prešeren, the famous Slovene poet, dominates the square. Jani points out the bust of a woman between two windows on the adjoining street, in the direct gaze of the bronze Prešeren. Julia was the woman with whom he was hopelessly in love, and he has been immortalized as such. Somehow his wistful gaze summarizes the city for me.

Bordered on the north by Austria; in the east, Hungary, Croatia in the south; and Italy and the Adriatic Sea in the west, Slovenia is called the pocket country for its diminuitive size. It is filled with brilliant legends, heartbreaking music, and forests full of castles and witches who eat children. The dragon is the symbol of Ljubljana, and dragon lore colors the city's ancient past. After stealing the Golden Fleece from Colchis, Jason and his band of Argonauts sailed down the Danube searching for a route home. Diverted to the Ljubljanice, they pulled their boat ashore to carry the boat to the Adriatic and sail around the Balkans back to Greece. From the bowels of the river emerged a dragon, and Jason promptly chopped off his head. He then presumably continued dragging the boat ashore, unaware of the fate that bitch Medea had in store him.