The Tour of Slovenia
Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.
Where we are: We’re in Ljubljana. Say that three times fast.
The Tour of Slovenia
We’re not on a tour of Slovenia. We’re just hanging out in the capital, Ljubljana.
It’s a small country—we could easily do a tour of the whole thing, but I’m not in the mood for that. Today, we rented a car and drove to Lake Bled, the most famous sight in the country. We’d seen the whole lake before lunch, so in the afternoon, we kept driving—chasing a view of Slovenia’s tallest mountain. I think we inadvertently covered the entire northwestern quadrant and nearly crossed into Austria.
It was a good day. And now I’m tired, with no desire to go anywhere tomorrow. I think I’ll buy some veggies at the market and make lunch in our apartment.
Yesterday, we walked across town to watch a professional bike race—the actual Tour of Slovenia—zoom past on their first day of racing. The race lasts five days; like I said, it’s a tiny country. The Tour de France runs for 21.
But for this cycling fan, seeing the pros on the less-famous roads of Slovenia was a thrill. No crowds. No need to arrive days—or even hours—in advance. We wandered over to the sprint line about thirty minutes before they were due, found a shady spot on a stone wall, and waited. And for about fifteen minutes, the scene exploded: cars, officials, spare bikes everywhere.
The cyclists flew past in seconds. But they were very exciting seconds.
While we were waiting, we chatted with the (one) other fan already there. She was a British cycling enthusiast on holiday with her brother and sister-in-law. She’d slipped away from an art gallery visit to catch the race. She was as delighted to be there as we were.
And then she asked the dreaded question: “What else have you done since you’ve been here?”
I hate that question. It always makes me feel like I’m not doing enough—like there’s an expectation that travel must be packed with doing. I fantasize about turning the tables: “What did you do last week, when you were at home?”
They’d probably look puzzled, then list things like work, the gym, television, grocery shopping. And I’d nod and say: Exactly. That. That’s what we’ve done.
It’s a weird liminal space Lee and I occupy—always passing through. Not quite living in a place, but not exactly on vacation either. We’ve settled on thinking of ourselves as lazy tourists who are really bad at touristing.
I haven’t been to the city museum, or the Plečnik museum, or even the castle on the hill. I might get to those things. I might not.
But I’ve learned to pronounce Ljubljana, which feels like an accomplishment. I’ve discovered that pumpkin seed oil is phenomenal. I’ve ridden the bus home from IKEA, carrying a pillow. I’ve bought peonies for our apartment, talked on the phone, and established a relationship with the cheese lady. I’ve gone to the gym. I’ve walked a lot. I bought and assembled a fan.
I may be a lazy tourist who’s bad at touristing—but as lives go, this one feels pretty full.
Take care,
Lisa
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