The lollipop pink Franciscan Church of the Annunciation in Ljubljana, Slovenia; all that glitters is gold

Franciscan Church of the Annunciation - Ljubljana, Slovenia

The undisputed eye-catcher of Preseren Square in Ljubljana, Slovenia, is the lollipop pink Franciscan Church of the Annunciation. It was built halfway the 17^th century, which makes it a good five decades older than the Church of Saint Nicholas. It’s not immediately clear how an order that venerates poverty could be served or even acknowledged in a Baroque basilica, but perhaps this paradox is assailed in the near absence of light in the church.



Interior of the big  pink church in Ljubljana, Slovenia

Darkness seems to be the going theme of the Franciscan Church in Ljubljana. Amidst a gloomy expanse - shadowy smears on the ceiling instill a vague reassurance that it’s probably covered with very beautiful but quite invisible scenes - are stellar islands of light. Up ahead over the main altar shimmers a depiction of Mary’s annunciation by the lily-bearing Gabriel.



INRI in Ljubljana's Church of the Annunciation 

But the first object one will notice when entering the church is the unusual INRI to the side and forward of the main altar. It’s unusual because the arms of Jesus are more vertical than horizontal, but more so because its opulent execution is again quite contrary to Franciscus’ leanings. Another noteworthy detail are the tools in the hands of the two chubby cherubim, a hammer and a thong, which may point at a connection to freemasonry.

Another hint towards freemasonry may be found in the emblem on the front door, which reads MARIA, but also reminds of the rule and compass.


The name Maria on the door of the Franciscan church in Ljubljana
resembles the rule and compass symbol of freemasonry



Muse over Preseren

Central in the Old Town of Ljubljana, Slovenia, is Preseren Square, named after France Preseren, who was a 19th century poet. In the early 20th century he became famous enough to have a square named him but during his life he wasn’t recognized much, neither by a literary audience, nor by miss Julija Primic, to whom his attentions inclined with a hungry favor.


France Preseren statue in Ljubljana, Slovenia

Desperate by her rejection France reverted to that single great power writers have, namely to turn whatever’s real into fiction, or at least adapt it to such an extent that it can be molded into something bearable.
 

Muse over Preseren

France Preseren’s efforts were so effective that not only the legacy of Julija Primic but the whole of Slavic literature was pushed onto a new course. Today it’s difficult to find Slavic literature that is not in some way or other inspired by the work of Preseren.

The exquisite Saint Nicholas Cathedral in Ljubljana



The Church of Saint Nicholas - Ljubljana, Slovenia

 Dashing off Castle hill to get as far away from Ljubljana Castle as fast as possible, in fierce need of something to marvel at, Draga and I slam into the banana yogurt yellow wall of an enormous cathedral. It’s the famous Church of Saint Nicholas. I’m comforted at once. Nicholas is after all the patron saint of fishermen and sailors, and I am one. A sailor I mean.



Nicholas Church, Ljubljana - Bronze door in southern facade

 The Church of Saint Nicholas was built in the early 18th century, although bits and pieces were added over the years. The dome, for instance, wasn’t put up until 1841, and the impressive bronze doors were installed as late as 1996 but that was because of the visit of Pope John Paul II to Ljubljana on May 18, 1996.

 That the church of Saint Nicholas has a distinct Italian feel to it is not so strange. The original design was made by Andrea Pozzo, an architect from Rome, who based it on existing churches in his home town.



Nicholas Church, Ljubljana - Western or Main door; detail

 The door in the South façade of the church was created by local artist Mirsad Begic. It portraits the deceased Christ from whose body rise six bishops of Ljubljana. A crowned Madonna with Child is depicted in the upper right corner.


The main door, in the western wall, was made by Tone Demsar. It shows the history of 12 centuries of Christianity in Slovenia.



The Annunciation of Mary by Giulo Quaglio

 The frescoes inside the church of Saint Nicholas were created by Giulio Quaglio and Matevz Langus. Giulio Quaglio also painted the fresco on the soutern wall, depicting the annunciation of Mary. On the east wall is another fresco, but it’s unclear who created it or what is shows. The only reference to this piece that I could find occurs in The Bradt Travel Guide, 2005, reprinted in 2008 by Robin and Jenny McKelvie.



The Angel's Proclamation of Zahriah Wolf by Janez Wolf (?)

 According to the McKelvies this fresco was done by Janez Wolf and is called The Angel’s Proclamation of Zahriah Wolf. That artist and model have the same last name may be a cute coincedence, but who Zahriah Wolf might be is a mystery. The Internet’s never heard of Zahriah Wolf, and is also very silent about a connection between the painter Janez Wolf and the Church of Saint Nicholas, or even Stolnica Svetega Nikolaja, as the building is known as in Slovenian.




Copy of a 15th century Pieta - Church of St. Nicholas, Ljubljana

  Also on the south wall is a beautiful copy of a 15th century pieta, a sculpture depicting Mary with the deceased Christ. Another, younger, pieta can be found inside the church.



Interior of the Church of Saint Nicholas - Ljubljana, Slovenia

 The Cathedral of St. Nicholas is located at Dolničarjeva 1

Ljubljana Castle in Ljubljana, Slovenia - Fallen, fallen she has!



Ljubljana Castle - Ljubljana, Slovenia

There are two things that Slovenia has a lot of and that is historic buildings and money. But woe the grounds on which the two meet. The castle of Ljubljana is a battle ground, but now for taste, misused funds and travesty.

The oldest written record of some kind of defense structure on Castle Hill in Ljubljana stems from 1144. The outer walls that are visible today were erected in the 15^th century, in response to the Turkish threat. When that threat lifted (this after the Turks had destroyed much of southern Slovenia) the castle became obsolete as a defense post and went through a period of decay and misappropriation.



Inside Ljubljana Castle

From the 1960’s onward, the castle’s been revamped to serve as a center of merriment and cultural happenings. Nowadays people convene and marry there, or come to drink coffee in the café that covers half the compound. The new owners even put up a little cable car, so that visitors don’t even have to make the troublesome climb up. The lower station sits in town among dilapidated houses and looks entirely false, if not ridiculous. No signs anywhere indicate where the station might be, so tourists should look for a shitty neighborhood and take their chances.

It’s obvious that history is not a theme that the new owners are occupied with. There are no explanatory texts posted or dummies in traditional garb looking troubled through the loopholes. There are no artifacts on display, no galleries, no glass showcases over which to ponder.

Ljubljana castle is not really a castle. It’s the shed skin of a lost age that remains neither revived nor remembered, or even honored. In stead, Ljubljana castle is ruined more thoroughly than time could have ever achieved.

A Walk through the Exquisite Old Town of Ljubljana



Ljubljana Castle
Ljubljana, Slovenia



In the heart of the bustling metropolis of Ljubljana lies the sanctorum of the Old City; once sprung up along the river Ljubljanica and now meticulously kept as a kind of life-size museum of times long ago. Practically free of cars, it is a haven for the traveler weary of shopping malls and the slings and arrows of modernity. There are squares and churches, boulevards and back alleys, countless restaurants and coffee bars and an occasional hotel, such as the four star Antiq Hotel, situated just below Ljubljana Castle that towers over the town like a perpetual sentinel.



Antiq Hotel
Ljubljana, Slovenia



With Italy and Austria only a hour away, Ljubljana was the richest city of the former republic of Yugoslavia, and it shows. Draga pulls me into a Zara outlet, speaks English with the attendants and tries a hat.

     “Do I look like a moron in this?” she inquires.

     “I think you should get it,” I say impatiently. A wealth of history lies waiting to be explored just a few steps away, but the precipitating snow is merciless on protruding ears. “You look lovely, darling,” I urge. “Now let’s head for Presernov Trg.”

Presernov Trg or Preseren Square is named after the poet Preseren, whose statue stands gleaming in the drizzle. From the square three almost parallel bridges lead across the river into unusually wide streets. There’s a certain feel of abundance to Ljubljana’s old city, not only because of its grandiose architecture but also because of the space that was left open.

Ljubljana is on all accounts quite a breather.

The Awesome Public Transportation System of Ljubljana, Slovenia

One of the most pleasing features of the town of Ljubljana, Slovenia is its excellent public transportation system. The buses are all brand new. They go everywhere, and the whole system works with a kind of credit card. This credit card can be obtained at any of the many kiosks, and charged at special stations, which are also all over town.
Watch the clip for a demonstration:

The City Park Shopping Complex, annex Kolosej Movie Theatre in Ljubljana, Slovenia



Yep, there it is

 It takes us a while, but then we find the car buried under a foot of snow, parked in a side street somewhere close to the train station of Ljubljana, Slovenia. My gloves (bought in Poland, right after the car got broken in to) and bear hat (bought in Zurich, right after the car got broken in to again) lay loyally on the passenger seat. Someone’s been kind enough to fold the mirrors in and pull the wipers off the wind shield. In any other country the windshield would have been smashed and the mirrors snapped off, but the few days I’ve spent in Slovenia so far have introduced me to possible the nicest and hospitable people in Europe.

Draga decides I’m comfy enough to brave yet another shopping mall. I remind her of what happened in Usce Centar in Belgrade but Draga is determined. She gives me vitamin pills and forces me into thirty minutes of yoga, and off we go, once more onto the breach.

Angels and Demons and Santa Claus

Saint Nickolas

The phenomenon of Santa Claus is an adaptation of the legend of Saint Nickolas, who was the bishop of Myra in the fourth century AD. He’s the patron saint of, among others, sailor, which makes him interesting to me (because I am one).

Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet

The Santa Claus tradition is upheld pretty much everywhere in the Christian world, but it’s always a great pleasure to see a local interpretation that is ultimately foreign to, well, a foreigner. In the Netherlands, where I grew up, folks are visited by Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet (Black Pete), who give gifts and spread treats. In the olden days Black Pete was known to shove bad kids in his bag and drag them off, but recently such pedagogic measures are no longer appreciated. The name Sinterklaas, or Saint Nickolaas, became Santa Claus in the English language area. Saint Nickolas is also the patron saint of merchants, which may explain why his appearance coincides with the most lucrative commercial period in the year.

Tonight I was in Ljubljana, Slovenia, which is predominantly Catholic, where I was introduced to the Slovenian interpretation of the Santa Claus tradition. Amidst huge Christmas trees and myriads of strings of little shiny lights, people gathered and sang songs and drank hot chocolate. The atmosphere seemed like something out of Little House on the Prairie, so sweet and homey. The star of the show, Santa Claus, stood high on the stairs of the central church, in a shiny cloud of little kids dressed like angels. On the square below roamed a troupe of the most gruesome devils.



A Slovenian devil



Most peculiar was that this whole thing was a static setting. The angels and demons roamed about a bit but there was no sign of some great battle or any indication that the situation would be resolved, or even what Santa Claus had to do with it. In fact, some of the angels were observed to taking a liking to some devils, and by the end of the event, most devils had an angel or two hanging from their arm, as the entire town’s population drew towards the nearby café’s and began to enjoy the comforts of the jolly season and each other without discrimination.

From Ljubljana to Belgrade by train

The train station in Ljubljana is an imposing Romanesque building painted a pale banana-yogurt yellow. Unlike train stations in, say, Poland, which are invariably grey or granite, always wet and peopled by grim eyeing xenophobes, or in the Netherlands, where careful exuberance is supposed to console the traveler for not having a car, the train station in Ljubljana is clean, bright and dignified. It’s almost eight in the morning. The train will leave at 08:15 and will arrive in Belgrade at 17:20. That's a cool nine hours of Bach, Bryson and peaceful solitude. It's November so I'm not expecting too many travelers.
     “I’d like to go to Belgrade,” I whisper shamefully in English to a smiling lady beneath the word INTERNATIONAL. In any other country she would be a mere ticketeer (and behave as such); here she is a seasoned hostess with pride and passion.

The train between Ljubljana
and Belgrade



     “Belgrade we got,” she says with a slight touch of an New Jersey accent. I decide not to ask where she acquired it. “That’ll be 49 euro.”

I’m amazed. That amount wouldn’t even get you across a border from any location in the Netherlands. Here it takes you through three countries. I’m so used to last minute airplane travel, that I don’t consider riding trains anymore. Base, of course, thinks differently and has decided that the scope of my experience should be expanded with an international train ride. So be it. Iwana kisses me, wishes me luck and gentle pushes me into the direction of my platform where I’m received by a raincoat type who’s peddling Jehovah’s Witness literature. It appears that in Slovenia too the world is coming to an end.

The fair interior of the train between
Ljubljana and Belgrade

I should have said hi to the budding beauty sitting opposite of me. The train is about 30 years old but in mint condition, and travelers are cooped up in coupe’s. We’ll be knee to knee for who knows how long, wondering if the other’s noticed that we’re trying to ignore each other. She’s wearing spike heals which can only be very uncomfortable while traveling. Being a practical man myself, I conclude that women do these things to themselves to show the world that they believe that a man would be attracted to somebody who would have to be carried after half a mile of hauling luggage. It’s been long clear to me that my most intimate convictions are automatically published on my forehead, and I really need to break some ice here. That is, if the formation of ice wouldn’t be thwarted by the train’s heating system, which is still working very well, save for the thermostat, which, at some point, must have attracted the attention of itinerant vandals and is now a gnarled stump stuck on hell blaze.

After thirty minutes into the journey the sun breaks through the fog, and raises the temperature in our coupe even more. Nobody is brave enough to open a window and quickly the temperature rises to a near lethal level, although it’s not the temperature that is the enemy. Every person in the coupe, from the prim college girl in my lap to the unshaven drunk to my right, turns into steaming volcanoes of the most repulsive odors. I’m smelling a bouquet of breakfasts waft from all available orifices. The girl’s high heel shoes begin to reek like sneakers, and the mud-streaked clogs of the drunk like the devil’s ass.

The train stops and all of us jump up and try to escape, only to be shoved back in by some heavily armed border boys who want to see our passports, tickets and sweaty faces. Minutes later we are in Zagreb and everybody in my coupe leaves. For twenty blissful seconds I have the place to myself. Contently I arrange my Brysons on the seats around me, my note pad, sandwiches and a bag of apples. My map of Belgrade I spread out over the opposite seats. In one fluent motion my left hand brings my first sandwich to my mouth, my right hand lowers towards the map and as my finger lands on the Belgrade train station, the doors open and a cordon of about fifty young men burst in and spread out over the coupe’s and fill them like water fills holes. There are six seats in my coupe. Seven of these guys squeeze in and settle in where a split second before were the expanse of a map, lunch and literary leverage. It’s not that I hate people. It’s just that I prefer them to come in book form. These seven, who occupy five seats, carry luggage in duffle and gym bags. They wear training suits and gold chains. All of them have crew cuts. Every move they make comes with a series of loud editorials and brutal guttural laughter.

Wrestling Croatian ninja's on the train

What would Bill Bryson do?

One of them notices the titles of my books, concludes I’m a stray foreigner and desiring conversation. “Guess what we are?” he says looking at me grinning.
Well, son, you know those little bags of soup? You rip where it says RIP, and the soup comes out from the other end.
“We’re all Jiu-Jitsu champions!” he cheers and slaps his neighbor in the neck. The neighbor jumps up and throws himself upon his violator and a second later I’m dodging the knees and armpits of seven Croatian ninja’s. “We’re on our way to a Jiu-Jitsu tournament!” a muffled voice screams from underneath a mountain of trained flesh.
     “Where’s the tournament?” I yell back.
     “Beograd!”
     “Wonderful…”

They embark on a series of games that in involve lots of screaming and hitting each other on the head with sausages, that were packed for that reason, it seems. I quickly learn that friendship in Croatia revolves largely around producing idiotic howls of heat and displays of fierce violence at the least provocation. “Jiu-Jitsu is great fun,” explains the one guy from under a choke hold. It’s a hybrid of judo, wrestling and lots of loud laughing.

The door slides open and two kids throw themselves on the ninja’s. I estimate them at five and seven years old. They fight like animals and the ninja’s fight back.
     “Hey, shouldn’t you be a bit careful with those kids? Who are they anyway?”
     “Never mind!” yells the guy, “They’re Gypsies.”
Then they see my camera, resting on my biggest Bill.
     “Give me that camera!” yells the oldest one.
     “Never!” I scream back.
     “Give me that camera you crazy foreign bastard!”
     “Over my dead body, you larcenous Gypsy hoodlum!”
The little one grabs my Bill and whacks me on the head with it. The bigger one snatches my camera away and takes off with it. I decide that while the train is still moving, it’s probably safer for everybody that I wait for God to take control of this situation.


First train station in Serbia


Close to the Serbian border I get the camera flung back at me. The kids have taken over a hundred photos, most of themselves posing with or without beer bottles, and some very nice ones of other people on the train. It’s all and all a series of photos that I would never have been able to produce myself and I’ll treasure them forever.

In Serbia the train stops more than it goes, and hamlet after hamlet passes by. Then we enter a city that keeps going without an end and I conclude it must be Belgrade. At 17.25 the train comes to a shrieking halt and I exit without ado. On the platform stands my Virgil; a tall blonde woman who speaks British without an accent. We shake hands, and she informs me that we have an appointment some time next week. We’ll be spraying graffiti on a wall somewhere, and this for a very noble cause.

     "Take me home, darling," I tell the woman. "I don't care where it is as long as it is peaceful enough to listen to some Bach and maybe read a line or two of Bill Bryson."

Serbian Orthodox Church in Ljubljana



Serbian Orthodox Church
in Ljubljana, Slovenia

 In an oasis of peaceful green, and located at the Prešernova cesta (Museum Area), the white edifice of the Serbian Orthodox Church of Ljubljana hides behind a collar of trees.

It’s a fairly new building, erected in 1936 and is dedicated to saints Cyril and Methodius, the brothers who invented the Slavic alphabet that is still known as Cyrillic.

The church is open for public every day except Mondays, and from 09:00 to 12:00, and 14:00 to 16:00. Sunday services are at 10:00.

To tourists who are not familiar to the typical interior of an Orthodox church, the relatively modest Orthodox church of Ljubljana is a good place to start. It has all the features of its gargantuan eastern cousins, but is obviously a renegade Benjaminesque version of them.

From the dome, Christ Pantocrator looks down on a black and white checkered floor and panel after panel of Biblical depictions.

There are the apostles, saints and countless heroes, all cast upon the signature Byzantine mould, staring stoically into a small bubble of timelessness in a town on the edge of a shaken world.

Ljubljana; a tour of the town

     "Who is that woman on the side of your building?” I ask Ivana as we trod towards the bus station. I don’t know where Base finds these people but for once I’d like a guide who is male, ugly and boring, and who guides me straight into the first local watering hole. Ivana - a striking specimen of Slovenian femininity - wags her head. “She’s either the battered patron of Slovenian women, or else I don’t know,” she says as we step onto the bus.



Ljubljana from the top it's highest building

 

Public transportation in Ljubljana works with a kind of credit card that the traveler may purchase at any of the many kiosks, and replenish at will. Swiping the card across a reader automatically deducts the fare. “You can travel anywhere in Ljubljana for 60 eurocent,” she explains.

I follow her into a high building and moments later we stand side by side overlooking the city. “That’s where we’re going,” she says as she points at the Old Town of Ljubljana, and steps forward. There are hidden traces of greatness in her gait. She halts at the ledge and stares ahead as one who’s learned to archive life’s great illusions.



Ljubljana Old City main street

 We speak briefly of the war. I tell her that I was born only two decades after the second world war had ended, but that I grew up very much with it. These people saw their world on fire that same time ago. The conflict in this region ended at the turn of the millennium, but it’s obvious that the fires haven’t all died down (http://www.ljubljana-life.com/ljubljana/ten-day-war).
“It doesn’t really matter whether the good guys or the bad guys are bombing your building,” she says. “What matters is that you have no more building.”

She turns to me abruptly, smiles from ear to ear. “I drew up your chart,” she says as if I’m supposed to know what that means. It appears that Ljubljaneans pass their time with either skiing, drinking and smoking, or drawing up each other’s star chart, which then reveals essential details about a person’s character and potentials.
“Well, let’s have it.”
“You have a high disposition for drama and scandals in the family. And the world will soon be ready for your talent.”

The last part is striking because the exact same thing was predicted to me by means of a fortune cookie that came after a meal at a Chinese restaurant in Seward, Alaska. I was working on a cruise ship at the time. It was then that I fell in love with Alaska, and spent many an evening staring at its mountains from a secret crew-section of the aft deck. Alaska is a magical place and I situated my first novel there. That was 1992, and now this lady is telling me that the world is still waiting. I learn that I live in a patient world.


Ljubljana, bridge over the river Ljubljanica


Back at street level, we follow a main artery onto the Old Town. I’m pleasantly surprised to see that the inner city is free of cars. Imposing buildings mark the edge of squares and wide streets, and everywhere is color and cheer. We stop for coffee at one of the many café’s and overlook the river Ljubljanica, or Little Ljubljana, that cuts through the Old Town.

The classic facades with their balconies and bow bridges below remind me of Venice, which is only two and a half hours away from here. I spent many a day there, wandering the squares and slipping into one church after the other. Like Venice, Ljubljana is largely catholic. But there’s also one Serbian Orthodox church. Since I’m headed for Serbia, I ask Ivana to take me to the Orthodox church. I’ll mark it as my gate onto a further east.



Ljubljana reminds of Venice



Ljubljana, first impression

     “Have you had anything to eat in the last five minutes?” they want to know after we’ve ran up the stairs of their five story building, daubed lollipop pink with a statue of a voluptuous lady balancing on a ledge. They’re on the top floor, in what used to be an unused attic.  Wooden beams cut through every room, against the ceiling and on the floor as well. Beyond the windows bustles a gleaming town, varnished in drizzle.

   “…no…?” I carefully reply.

     “Wonderful!” they exclaim. “We just cooked up a horse, so start at the tail end and work your way up from there.  How come your bags are so heavy?”

     “… I brought some books…?”

     “You don’t need books on a holiday in Belgrade! You need to travel light.”

     “No! Leave me my Brysons! Unhand the Peterson!”

     “Calm down and have another hunk a horse.”