Sunday drive
We broke out of our usual Sunday routine (too much vacuuming, beer, and Wolf Blitzer) to take a drive just for the hell of it. I used to do this quite a lot before I met Magda, so we went looking for some scenic spots close to Nova Gorica which I’d located before but which Magda had never visited. The boys promptly dozed off in the soothing combination of car seat comfort and air-conditioned coolness, leaving us free to have an uninterrupted conversation lasting more than 15 seconds. Some pictures:
Šmihel, looking east toward last week’s wine country.
Šmihel again, now looking west toward my place of work. We stopped to photograph the cloud because it reminded me of Beethoven’s hairdo c. 9
We stopped by this roadside partisan memorial in Čepovan to give Alek some nourishment. Such monuments are located all over the place throughout the country, and we try to read the inscriptions whenever we can. They tend to give one pause. This one also demonstrates the dual in Slovene, which they’d have you believe is not really a linguistic trait in the local dialect:
As [two] hostages they [two] fell [two]…
Next to it was a much more unusual sort of memorial, this one to Yugoslav pilots (clearly).
Soon it was time for Alek to produce a burp, which was readily forthcoming up in the driver’s seat.
All this activity woke up Adam, seen here with his orange “Tinky-Winky bag” and a travel brochure with Slovenia map.
Then we drove south and west through the Čepovan valley toward Sveta Gora. Magda remained sprawling in the expansive comfort of the rear seat’s vast swards of luxurious space between the two baby seats and took pictures through the windshield.
“I had an American boyfriend but he blew his nose into a bandanna so it didn’t give me a very good impression of Americans.”
“This from someone who judged an entire nation because she once met one single Swede who farted at the table.”
Sadly, the above conversation had to be interrupted in order to photograph a cloud which looked exactly like Dante Alighieri.
We stopped at a cafe just below the summit of Sveta Gora, the peak overlooking Nova Gorica, to get a drink and consider something to eat, if Adam was hungry. Here he consults the menu:
In case you didn’t get a good look at what’s on the menu:
Adam was happy to drink a bottle of strawberry juice. Okay, happy for about 15 seconds. He then ate a Dunajski zrezek (Wienerschnitzel) the size of his head.
Predictably, Alek begins to get all thrashy in Magda’s arms.
The inevitable meltdown commences. We rapidly decamp.
View from the okrepčevalnica, with obligatory panorama:
From here it’s ten minutes home for Sunday evening wind-down time with Wolf Blitzer. Any port in a storm.
Those bridges are fantastic. One day you should count how many roman arches each one uses…unless you have something better to do…
Where did the bandanna and Swede quotes come from?
Comment by Erik R. — Monday 18 June 07 @ 22.48 MDT+2.00
Slovenia doesn’t suck.
Comment by Jane — Tuesday 19 June 07 @ 02.13 MDT+2.00
Erik, at one time the railway bridge (the lower of the two) was the longest such span in Europe. It was destroyed in the Great War, and this is a replica. You are looking at the Isonzo (locally Soča) Front.
The quotes are the fruit of a conversation lasting longer than the usual 15 seconds we’re allotted when the boys are awake, and so it’s hard to keep track of all its twistings and turnings. At a guess, I would say that Magda was giving me some backstory, and I was throwing a little of it back in her face.
Indeed, Jane, Slovenia does many things, but sucking is not among them.
Comment by sgazzetti — Tuesday 19 June 07 @ 08.35 MDT+2.00
Wait a second…how many hostages were there again?
Comment by simon — Tuesday 19 June 07 @ 08.59 MDT+2.00
Simon, I have the sense that there were fewer than three. And are you in Luxembourg again? Does Paula know about this?
Comment by sgazzetti — Tuesday 19 June 07 @ 09.36 MDT+2.00
As far as I know, the Solkan railway bridge used to be (and still is) the biggest among the railway bridges made entirely of stone in the whole world. That’s what makes it so unique. His arch span is 85.0 m.
It was built in 1906 but destroyed during WWI. It is also a part of the picturesque 89 km long Bohinj railway that connects Nova Gorica and Jesenice (well worth a ride!).
Anyway, I always enjoy your photo material. It makes me see the beauties of my hometown from a whole new perspective. I am lately rediscovering the Goriška region by bike. Such a wonderful region to live in!
Comment by MiamiDreams — Tuesday 19 June 07 @ 10.08 MDT+2.00
I especially appreciate your continuing contributions of signage photography, specifically signage of the “I painted it myself, with my kids’ paint set” variety, oeuvre (I’m posting this comment simply so I can use that word), domestic oeuvre that is quickly disappearing thanks to every hillbilly (no offense, Jane!?), seljak, and peasant having access to a PC, Adobe, and a fine color printer.
My eyes were especially drawn to the footwear on the proffering waitress, namely her dazzling white clompers/slip-ons/utility clogs. These babies could probably be launched by a well-practiced twist of her ankle at any kid or adult not behaving themselves at the table. A mean trick disguised by her painted sweet smile.
So, did the waitress at this restoran really sport these pain-inducing shoes?
Comment by DarkoV — Tuesday 19 June 07 @ 14.21 MDT+2.00
“I had an American boyfriend but he blew his nose into a bandanna so it didn’t give me a very good impression of Americans.“.
Hmmm. Interesting that said American specimen didn’t use his shirt sleeve, thus causing even more serious negative impressions.
And.
Where the heck was she dating American men who actually had bandannas? Even cowboys (well, at least ones I met in Wyoming) scoff at wearing bandannas. Was this one of those dreams that women tend to have that turn into memories of experiences they thought they had? You know, like those dreams where you’re a character of no good deed in your spouse’s nighttime head theater extravaganza and, upon your mutual awakening, you find anger and disappointment aimed in your general direction for nocturnal activity you had never done.
Comment by DarkoV — Tuesday 19 June 07 @ 14.29 MDT+2.00
No offense taken, DarkoV. I’ve long since accepted that taking potshots at hillbillies is a highly-enjoyable (and possibly obligatory in some quarters) act for the rest of the population.
Comment by Jane — Tuesday 19 June 07 @ 15.19 MDT+2.00
Jane,
Just so you know where I stand.
Having been raised Roman Catholic (the Latin version), I feel perfectly comfortable making remarks of various pitch and content at Catholics.
Having been raised in the formative years in various swamps of Jersey, I am without shame in doling out commentary on Jersey-ites and Jersey, in general.
Having a maternal grandmother of 100% Slovenian peasant stock, I feel honored to be able to joke about peasants and hillbillies since I wish I had more of that blood running through my veins.
Comment by DarkoV — Tuesday 19 June 07 @ 17.25 MDT+2.00
I was going to demand that you go down to the river and take some pictures of that bridge, but I found this nice page about it, and some pictures on Flickr, so I guess you don’t have to.
Comment by Erik R. — Tuesday 19 June 07 @ 17.29 MDT+2.00
And may I just add in a snotty little aside that while it sounds like someone is vaccuuming with a beer in one hand, it is, in fact, one party drinking the beer and one other party vaccuuming all day. Although, it must be said, the beer-drinker does have the task of lifting his feet so she can get under the couch, no easy task. Especially while drinking and watching Wolf Blitzer.
Comment by gaoo — Friday 22 June 07 @ 23.32 MDT+2.00