Ljubljana, Slovenia

Finally I am getting around to posting about my experiences in Slovenia (I'll post about London next time.) Has it already been over 6 months??? My how time flies...

Germany was beautiful, especially after the 36 grueling hours it took to get there! 6 days of rest with a friend who knows me well and still manages to act like she enjoys my company after 17 years. We slept late, talked, celebrated my birthday with really bad Chinese food, talked some more, sang American Idol karaoke with the kids, had tea with her German friend, talked, watched movies, hiked and enjoyed a few outings to Stauffen, Germany and Lucerne, Switzerland before I headed off on my own to explore Slovenia.

When it came time to leave Germany I was a mess of tears and anxiety. Even though I've traveled alone on numerous occasions I was genuinely surprised to experience a rush of fear as Laurie walked away and I faced a long train ride to an unfamiliar country. Anyone who has traveled by train in Europe knows the challenges of navigating the transportation system while speaking a foreign language, but doing it alone at night was daunting and took every ounce of courage I could muster. As I arrived at the main train station I realized that the tourist information office was closed, which was fitting since I could not locate my train and could have really used their help! The station was dark, cold and extremely crowded so I found a track that looked promising and waited. It was an educated guess because the departure time was close to what was reflected on my ticket AND the destination cities seemed suspiciously Slavic; however, Ljubljana was not listed and I was worried. I DID NOT want to end up in Zagreb on that particular trip! Panic was beginning to seize my heart as I listened to the unfamiliar languages and contemplated calling Laurie and just scrapping Slovenia all together. But just as I was about to lose heart the train arrived and I found a sympathetic conductor who confirmed that I was boarding the correct train and that he would awaken me when we arrived in my chosen city.

I hopped on the train with a smile of relief while fun memories of past overnight train rides filled my mind, train rides when I was in my 20s and thought that kind of thing was fun and cool. Train rides shared with others of like mind, not middle-aged Croatians and Germans who were angry that I could not speak any of their languages. Ah yes, my smile froze when I saw my compartment. I knew that this train ride would be COMPLETELY different from the adventurous rides of my youth. My "room" (it was actually smaller than most closets) had 6 bunk beds, 3 on each side and mine was on the top, right next to the ceiling. I could not even sit up and my fellow passengers had so much luggage that I was forced to sleep with my backpack on my tiny bed. And I use the word sleep lightly, because I barely did any of that. Instead I listened to a mix of Slavic and German until at least 2:00 am, apparently these strangers had become fast friends and were too wired to sleep. Finally the symphony of snoring began and I was thrilled to be the quietest of the group! All in all it was a miserable night with little sleep, cramped quarters, no privacy and possible bed bugs. Not an experience I am likely to repeat. Yep, I think my extreme budget travel days are over. I much prefer a little luxury at this stage in my life, and by luxury I mean private room and bathroom in a semi-decent hotel, not a train.

Overall my impressions of Slovenia were very favorable. Ljubljana was a gem tucked into a valley in the shadow of the Julian Alps. The people were friendlier than in most of the former Eastern Block countries I've visited. They seemed more like Austrians or Italians, maybe because they share a border! Either way they were charming, helpful and open. They were eager to share about their history and culture and even about their lives under Tito's rule of thumb. It was fascinating to learn more about the Balkans and their conflicted past.

I loved watching the locals prepare for Easter with hand-carved wooden flowers, beautifully painted eggs and palm fronds. Sitting in the stillness of the large Catholic church on Palm Sunday filled me with peace. The sound of the large pipe organ was stunning and the newly restored frescoes breathtaking.

I made my way to the castle, enjoyed the many bridges, ate lots of gelato in the crowded main square, went shopping at a large department store, ate SOME of the local food, enjoyed the Bosnian Food Festival and dancers at the street fair and spent time reading in the park. The city's charm and relaxed pace were refreshing and in many ways I was reminded of Prague.

If you get the chance to go, TAKE IT. Just take note of the following:

1. DO NOT walk in the bike lane - EVER. They WILL yell at you. If you've never been yelled at in Slovenian I can promise you it's an experience you want to avoid. In fact, I would encourage you to avoid being yelled at in ANY Slavic language. Well, being yelled at in Greek, Italian or German is also unpleasant, heck even being yelled at in English is awful, but it's worse when a large man on a fast bike is screaming before he almost runs over you! :-)
2. They eat horse meat. Really. And no, I DID NOT eat any. Been there, done that - ON ACCIDENT in Belgium. I wish I didn't know that horse meat is red, but I do. Ugh. Perhaps on a trip to Slovenia one should stick to a purely vegetarian diet. I'm just sayin'....




3. Their national soda, Cockta, was um, "hard to swallow"..... Just be warned that it's a mix of cola and lemon-lime. Neither the name nor the flavor were appetizing!



4. They serve their hot panini sandwiches with pickles and hard boiled eggs in the middle - ew! I was quite surprised when I bit into mine.
5. If you see a gelato stand - BUY yourself a scoop, it's just as good as what you find in Italy.
6. DO NOT under any circumstances stay at the hip youth hostel that was once a prison. Trust me on this one. (Yes Lane, you were RIGHT. I admit it for all the world to see, or at least the 3 people who read this blog!)

It was a lovely experience and I'm glad I braved the overnight train ride with a compartment full of strangers. Beautiful country. Fascinating history. Friendly people. Go see it for yourself sometime!

Deep In The Heart Of Texas

It has been a long time since I retreated. Almost two years since I took the time to drive away from the distractions of city life and into the wide open spaces and gentle rolling hills of the Texas Hill Country. This weekend found me unwinding with each passing mile as I made my way to Laity Lodge, an amazingly sacred retreat center nestled deep in the heart of Texas.

In a way I was driving into my past. Transportedto my teenage years when I spent many hours on an old blue and white church bus, looking at the same scenery as we lumbered up the hill to the run down Baptist youth camp. It was old and dusty with the Frio River slicing through the winding, wooded paths. Alto Frio was its name, and a rather strange one if you think about it. For the uninitiated, frio means cold, or very cold in Spanish, but alto is most commonly associated with halt, although a quick google search reveals that it also means tall or high. I spent many weeks of my youth at that Tall, Cold River Camp.

So many cherished memories. Long nights in the bunkhouse with giggling girls; choking down terrible food in the mess hall and making sure I NEVER put my elbows on the table; kicking rocks and holding hands with a cute new guy because PDAs were strictly forbidden, and the reason we snuck down to the river (!); pulling pranks at the boys' dorm; silly "Olympics"; small groups; worship in the open meeting hall; and of course, rededicating my life to God at the nightly invitation offered at any Baptist camp worth its salt! Good times, good times all around.

But now I'm older, and those carefree days are long gone, as well as my nights spent in the rundown bunkhouses of Alto Frio (thank God!) I've graduated to a retreat center for grown-ups. A real treasure that serves nourishment for the body and soul in a serene lodge set in a canyon carved in two by the same river I swam in as a kid. As I contrasted the old and new memories this weekend I was stunned at how they intermingled. Hiking to the top of Circle Bluff I remembered how I used to stare at the canyons wondering if any Native Americans remained hidden in the bluffs. I found myself looking for arrowheads on my hike yesterday, something I have done my entire life whenever I'm outside of the confines of asphalt and highways. I also kept an eye out for jumping cactus and rattlesnakes, I find that I'm still allergic to both...

Dipping my toes in the frigid Frio River took me back 25 years to the laughter and splashing and freedom of playing at Alto Frio or Garner State Park. And the stars. Oh my, the stars! I forgot how much I missed them until I stared up into the inky blackness and looked at the twinkling lights as they blinked on and off. I used to imagine that they were diamonds and I'd wonder how they stayed suspended in the universe. If it were possible I would have stared all night just to burn the vision of those heavenly jewels in my eyes forever so that I would never forget the peace I feel when I gaze upon them.

Yet, as much time as I spent remembering, I found that I was also fully alive in the present. As I listened to a wise, impassioned professor teach old truths of the gospel in a new way I was captivated as I considered them from the context of my personal history. It was powerful and exciting and deeply satisfying to my soul when nuggets of truth finally burst through the soil of my heart, soil that has been tilled for 26 years. And later in the night as I lounged by a warm and cozy fire, snuggled up in a borrowed coat, listening to a beautiful poem, I was astounded as I contemplated the words of "Alive Together" and realized that God created me to be in that very place, at that very moment. I nearly wept as that truth took root in my heart, and I finally just rested in the experience of living. I'm pretty sure a few stars even winked at me as I walked into the quiet stillness of the night and gazed upon them while peace flooded my soul.

Today as I took communion the mystery of my faith was profound as I looked out the picture window to the canyon and river below, and marveled that the Creator of such beauty died so that I might know him. How grateful I am to have once again spent a precious few hours, deep in the heart of Texas, retreating from the works of man. I will spend my upcoming nights in the city remembering the handiwork of God, and waiting with bated breath for my next retreat into a diamond-studded, Texas night.

Nostalgia

Nostalgia is one of the bittersweet by-products of getting older. Reminiscing about the years gone by; looking back at who I used to be; seeing who I am today; looking forward to who I have yet to become. Sometimes there are tears as I confront the dying dreams of my youth. But usually I find serenity when I start digging in their rubble, because despite pain and disappointment, my life is good, and full, and happy. And for that, I'm grateful.

Last weekend was full of nostalgic digging for me. I felt like I was stuck in a time warp as I was transported to my youth during a reunion concert of one of my favorite artists. Granted, most of the concert-goers were, ahem, "aging", some more gracefully than others, and no one really stood or danced for long, (at least not like they did 20 years ago!) Yet, it was still fun watching the band, swaying to the rhythm, listening (and singing!) every word to songs I've known for 20-25 years. Remembering what they meant to me when most of my life was still stretched out before me. Knowing what they mean now as I approach the middle of my life. Wondering what they will mean when I'm old and gray and spend more of my time remembering than doing. Those 3-minute melodies formed the soundtrack of my youth and they always transport me back in time.

As the last strains of that soundtrack faded I traveled on to Tulsa to attend the wedding of my nephew, a man still in the prime of his life. Youthful, handsome, hopeful. It was moving to watch the man I remember as a little boy embrace his glowing bride. To observe my parents as their pride and joy, my brother, watched his own pride and joy enter a new stage of life. I don't think I've ever seen my brother "beam" as he did on that night. To catch a glimpse of nostalgia as it crossed my sister-in-law's face and momentarily clouded her stunning blue eyes with tears. To sit and know the groom's sister, my niece, as an equal, a fully grown, married woman instead of the girl she once was. It was deeply moving and powerful to watch all of these things with the memories of soccer games, dance recitals, graduations and travels swirling around in my head. How has time passed so quickly?

As nostalgic as I sometimes am for the carefree days of my 20s, other than Laurie moving back, I usually don't ever want things to go back to how they used to be. Too many painful wounds that I'd rather leave alone. So, although I allow myself some nostalgia, I'd rather move forward, learn, grow, live and love. Freely. Openly. Vulnerably. Peacefully. And so I am.