Several Unfortunate Events in Ljubljana.

On our second day in Slovenia we drove from their small coastline up to the capital city, the frequently mispronounced Ljubljana. (“lub-li-ana”). Instantly we loved it. The vibe was just right. After the down-turned expressions of most of the Croatian population, friendly Slovenians shone out like light in a dark place. That is until we were faced with the first major incident of our travels.

Ljubljana was a dream to drive into (albeit a Sunday afternoon) and almost a dream to park in (defiantly due to the day of the Sabbath). But all the same, we parked up near to some central flats where parking was free, then sauntered off into the city centre. The buzz of weekend life soon caught hold as we quickly found a toilet spot in a riverside cafe. The sights here are not to be compared with Vienna; the salmon pink town hall, the dragon bridge with its painted toe-nail guardians and the triple bridge being probably the extent of photographic souvenirs (the castle perched on the hill – sadly missed out of our extensive tour – another biggie). However it is a wonderful place for soaking up continental life.


Sunday afternoon wanderings lead us in search of the mysterious ‘Metalcova’, an ex-army base taken over by squatters... and now playing host to a youth hostel, a museum, and several eclectic clubs. We were intrigued. Suspicions were correct: peeking out from the modern courtyard of the ethnography museum we were unsure whether this was a back end council estate or a new style of modern art. The whole of two streets were covered in a myriad of spray-on colour. Graffiti reigned here. We ventured in and discovered some creepy models, ingenious building works and people just rising from a late night, not just from the youth hostel (an ex prison) but from the second storey of what could only be the hyped up music venues. One man almost watered me instead of his tomatoes hanging from a basket on the roof.

So how can such a hidden treasure become such an unfortunate event?? Well the first was perhaps discovered that morning: no gas. And after several fruitless searches previously we found a much obliging outdoor shop assistant who pin-pointed a spot on the map and looked up its postcode. But then more disappointment: the special station for refilling gas canisters only did propane. Not only that, they told us that it was only possible to find butane on the coast. So no more cooking in the van for a while.

Second, after a night’s stay in a campsite out of town, we drove back in for a photo trip (only two hours or so) and parked up near to where we had spent the night, on the road by a couple of bars. Returning, ready to move on again, we were greeted by police warnings attached to the van’s windows. All in Slovenian. And there was a clamp.

A young Slovene was just getting into his car on the opposite side of the road and I ran over to ask for a translation, which we got, as well as a lift all the way through the city to the parking place where one could pay for such atrocities. Once there all we could do was hand over the money and hope for the best. The man at the desk spoke little English. We were left to find our way back to the van.

At last we were on our way again, after the clamp miraculously disappearing and a sneaky van passing us in the street. There were also many more cars parked around us by then... Oh, and a couple of gentlemen having a laugh and pointing at our now free to roll wheel.