Vrh nad Peski

I was in that area before, last year, and that evening Ž called the rescuers because I hadn’t come home before evening. This year I told him that I would be home in the evening, for sure not before, and I also sent him a few messages during my walks on the paths where some of the fiercest battles during the I. World War took place.

Under the mountain called Vrh nad Peski (a rough translation of this name would be The Peak above the Sands) huts for the soldiers were built, and the remnants of the wood could still be seen although it is mostly buried under the sand and rocks. Pieces of shells lie everywhere as well as empty cans and other, sometimes not recognizable objects. On the path under the peak of my final destination were also a few bullets. Some still whole, some smashed.

On the other side of the mountain used to be a huge graveyard; most bodies were later exhumed and buried in the valley. On my path I could also see numerous human bones. People carry these things home, therefore I was lucky to find some bullets at all; I don’t dare to pick one stone and take it home, yet anything made by human. Let those things lie there; I believe that’s where they belong. After all, they are covered with human blood.

To me the whole area looked like a mockery of nature, because alpine flowers were growing everywhere. There was at least one for every soldier who had had to be there involuntarly and at least ten of them for every soldier who had died on those steep slopes.

I hope to return to those places. Although it is not very pleasant to see all those remnants of the war, it is very beautiful there. And the view is magnificent, too; I could see all the way to the sea. Or one would brag: I could see all the way to Venice. Well, perhaps that city was Venice which I could see through my binoculars; who knows?

Tidying up

I couldn’t do it for years, gather so much energy to put the biggest room in my house in order. As we have no wardrobes or drawers (yet!) all our things are in boxes, and papers and magazines are usually piled up all around the room. It took me a week, each day a few hours, to sort everything, gather together and put it into boxes. I am sure that nobody will read all those magazines that gathered over the years again. Thousands of recipes which I will never use. Clothes that I will never wear again. So much trash of all sorts. I was pleased but also sad to browse through the old photos when life was still good and happy and promising, but I also found my diary from May 2003 when I was going through the hardest time of my life. So shocking to read all that.

I also found a photo of myself with Kiki, a cat I used to have when I lived in Kranjska Gora. Tears started to run down my cheeks when I remembered her. The last time I saw her, years after I moved away from there, she had five little kittens which all looked just like her, and she jumped into my lap just like in the old days when I called her. B kept telling me, when we were in contact, that she was fine. I doubt that she’s still alive; she would be 11 years old now. Heartbreaking, really.

I am glad that all that cleaning is after me. It seemed like a life project. My mom was always judging me because of the mess in that room but I couldn’t help it, it felt like if the room was cursed; I couldn’t move a thing in there over five years. Maybe it is time for a new life, maybe that’s why I could finally do it. It is a great relief; and I knew all these years that it would be.

The history of Ljubljana – part 3

If you ever visit Ljubljana (of course, if you don’t live here) do visit the cathedral. And look up.

Those frescoes were painted at the beginning of 18th century by Giulio Quaglio (and allegedly his son; the dome was built much later and painted by Matevž Langus). The photo doesn’t show all their beauty. 300 years ago people from all Europe were coming to see the paintings. And today people from the whole world keep coming to see the frescoes as well as the rest of the cathedral in all its beauty (you can be almost sure to run into a group of Japanese tourists in or around it).

And when you are once there walk around the building. You will be able to find the stones from the Roman graves as well as the copy of the remains (actually it is a copy) of the previous cathedral which stood on that place before 1701.

Actually we can be lucky to have the cathedral as it is, because all sorts of lucky coincidences happened when it was built.

The history of Ljubljana – part 2

So, our walk through the city center continued on Monday, and we visited the National Archive of Slovenia, the Ursuline Church and the library of the Theological seminary.

All of them were impressive but I was really astonished when I walked into the library. All around us were old books, arranged on the shelves by the subject, and above them on the ceiling was a fresco painted by Giulio Quaglio, who also painted the ceiling and some other paintings in the Ljubljana’s cathedral.

The books in the library are old, the youngest was printed in 19th century. There are also some very rare books but their location was not revealed to us because someone might steal them. I spotted the location of the first printed book in Slovenian language but it was missing. It was not stolen, it was just kept in the safe place. Though, we were allowed to flip through the pages of the song-book from 17th century.

The oldest book we had at home was from 1799 but it was obviously thrown away when my grandparents died. A pity. Our next walk was dedicated to the architecture of the 20th century. But more about this in one of my next posts.

Ljubljana these days

I’ve been taking terrible photos recently. This is the only one of about ten that looks alright. Ljubljana’s castle above the building of the Slovenian philharmony, in front Kongresni trg (the Congress square) named by an important congress which took place in Ljubljana in 1821, less than a decade after French army left it. Lots of important people came to Ljubljana then, including kings and emperors of different European countries.

Before that a monastery stood here (where the trees are) and about 2000 years ago here was a ditch behind a Roman wall (on the edge of this square the northern door of Emona, the Roman city, were standing) and a burial place for Romans. During the II. WW the square was changed into the fields where potatoes and also soy beans (for oil) were grown.

The name of the square was changed many times, depending on this who was leading the country. Now it’s got its first name back and also the splendour that it deserves. Though, it is better not to know how many remains of our past were destroyed for an underground garage below the square…

Old pictures

My grandmother still desperately wanted to meet her older sister. So we (grandmom, mom and I) drove to the south western part of our country, into a valley where she was born. I wanted to get as much information as possible about my greatgrandmom Marija and her father Luka but I abandoned all hope while we were sitting in a kitchen of my mom’s cousin where two of her cousins kept talking about themselves most of the time.

I could hardly believe my eyes when at one moment one of them showed us an old picture of Luka (he was allegedly born in 1870)!

Grandmom always claimed that he had been a beautiful man but I was rather disappointed when I realized that he had not been so very handsome at all. Though, his daughter, Marija was. She was supposedly the most beautiful and educated woman in that area. She could speak three foreign languages, and most of all, she could read. It was the first time I saw this (retouched) picture of her:

Of course grandmom’s sister opened the door this time. And while we were alone for a moment, she showed me her living room and there it was… supposedly another photo of Marija! Look at her hair, how it was braided!

Both, father and daughter were good natured people; father was successful and lucky man while his daughter was not really happy or lucky in her life. She died at the age of 44 while he lived 13 more years until 1953.

When we visited the graveyard that day, grandmom put six red roses onto her half-brother’s grave. I took three of them and put them into a vase on the grave of Marija’s two sisters. Later that day I was told that Luka was buried there, too… It is interesting how many years have to pass that we get to know certain things. Grandmom learned about the burial place of her granddad Luka and the year of his death after 60 years! And all we had to do was - ask!

P.s.: It was very difficult to take photos of these pictures because all were framed and covered with glass.

Tomaž

It was exactly 30 years ago when we heard a dreadful news. A plane, full of Slovenian citizens, crashed into a mountain in Corsica. One day later, a white rose was laying on one of the desks in my class. He was the cleverest guy in our class, always very quiet. His whole family went on a holiday that day, the first holiday in many, many years. They all died that day.

I don't remember if i was on his funeral but I remember visiting his grave once. And again this summer when I was coming from my hike in the mountains. It looked like as the gravestone was new but his birth year written on it was still wrong.

I wonder how many other schoolfriends ever remember him or am I the only one? After all, I drive to work almost every day through a street where he used to live. What would he be doing today if he lived?

30 years already... it's been a long time since he's gone. In my mind he is still a little boy at the age of 12, not more.

Medieval Sunday

On Sunday I visited the medieval fair in the old part of Ljubljana. I expected it too be a little bit more "medieval" and not so commercial. Although, I did not visit the booths in vain - I had a chance to flip through a book which was printed in 1587 (so, as you can see on the picture written in Latin: MDLXXXVII). The text was printed but the pictures were drawn by hand.I asked the "pharmacist" if he was not afraid that someone would damage that precious book but he said: "No, because nobody knows it is so old." Hmmm...I bought some biscuits made of honey, watched the funny medieval Romeo & Juliet show and caressed a poor little skunk that was breathing heavily lying in the sun. I found out that The Institute of the Republic of Slovenia for Nature Conservation is issuing the permits, so that people can treat wild animals so badly. What I also liked were the panels on which some historical facts about the medieval times were written in Slovenian and English, and I am glad that the fair took place in front of those four medieval houses that still stand in the old part of Ljubljana. Hopefully there won't be any stronger earthquake in this area - otherwise most of the houses in the old city center will collapse. Some of them are in a pretty bad shape. It is easy for me to imagine life in medieval Ljubljana but I don't think that it was very pleasant, though. :)

Date with a Roman

Every first Wednesday in month (during the warmer months of a year) the City Museum of Ljubljana organizes guided tours around Emona, the Roman settlement which was standing in the area where a part of the Ljubljana's city center is today. There were more than 50 people waiting in front of the museum when arrived there. A lovely young lady was our tour guide, and I have to say that I was amazed at her knowledge. She was talking fast and without any interruptions for two hours. We walked from one site to another. Most of the ruins are buried below the buildings or they were even destroyed, mostly after the WW2. A pity. Although Romans are not our ancestors (so the scientists say) I admire them for their knowledge. They had central heating (floor and walls were hot):They were exceptionally clean (they bathed almost every day and had the sewerage system in the whole settlement which is, after 2000 years, in some places still used today for different kinds of installations and wiring) :They had sense for beautiful things and good food: Next time I will borrow the audio guide around ancient Emona, and go on a tour by myself. It will probably take me more than just two hours. :)

Valentin Metzinger

Many years ago I found a book at my parents', published in 1929. The book belonged to my grandparents before they died in 1995. It was written by Ilka Vašte and its Slovenian title is Umirajoče duše (the Dying Souls). I don't think it was ever translated into English. I read it again this past week. Some say that the book is about Francesco Robba, famous sculptor but I think it is about Valentin Metzinger (the author uses in her book the wrong name Mencinger) and his love for Robba's wife Terezija. I haven't found anywhere on the Internet that this was true, although it is a beautifully written love story. She couldn't marry him because he was not famous yet!

Yesterday I went to see the house in which Valentin Metzinger lived. It stands on the opposite side of the street where the oldest houses in the city center are (I showed them to you in my previous post). There are his initials above the door and the plate says that he lived here between 1740 and 1756. He died three years later.I walked up the castle hill to see the fresco that he created (actually this is a copy, the original is in a museum). I wonder if the face on the left above is his portrait and if the woman's face is the one of Terezija Robba. The book says that he was a beautiful man. He painted many pictures that can still be seen in the churches around Slovenia. At the end he found his fame, and hopefully peace, too.

So, my walk through Ljubljana yesterday in the afternoon a was a pleasant one but I was really tired when I came back home. There are more photos I want to show you but I will do this in my next posts. Have a good weekend!

Franc

Ne s trnjem, s cvetjem naj ti bo posuta pot življenja.

Let your life’s path be paved with flowers, not with thorns, is a rough translation of what my granddad Franc Pociecha wrote into my memory book when I was, oh, so very young. He drew a nice rose next to these words. His hands were always shaking, but he was the one who was writing Christmas and birthday cards to me every year. I kept them all. He told us fairytales in the evenings and he read different kind of stories to my grandmom and us, when my brother and I were visiting. And this was often when I was still in the kindergarden. He was a German soldier in II.WW because he worked as a baker in Austria when the war started. He was enrolled and sent to the Russian front. Only seven of a whole battalion survived and he was one of them. He told us that he never killed a man. He later escaped and joined the partisans, but they sent him into jail. He was lucky to survive the war. He had a piece of shrapnel in his body for the rest of his life. He was the middle, the seventh child of 13. He outlived all his siblings. His father Johan (born on 5 May 1872) was from Męcina, Poland, and came to Slovenia (then part of an Austrian-Hungarian empire) to work in a mine (luckily granddad never worked there). He was born just after the war, in a year 1919, on a day when the three kings bring the gifts, 6 January to be precise (his mom Terezija said that he was born at four in the morning). His name Franc is actually Slovenian version of a German name Franz. He married at 27 and had two children, my mom and my uncle. It is hard to say if he was happy in his life. Content, I guess, always following the path of his wife, my grandmom.

I was his first grandchild, exactly 50 years younger. I have fond memories of the time spent with him. He never yelled at us, he was a gracious and modest person with a huge knowledge about nature and history. Though, he never had a chance to be an educated man because of the war. Or maybe because he was who he was. A simple, plain man with white hair and wide smile. He never spoke much, grandmom did. At 91 he could still read and see without glasses. And he was so happy that day when I got married… 50 years after him. I hoped that he would meet my children, but God has obviously different intentions with some of us.

On Monday I was walking up the mountain, called Ogradi, in the Julian Alps. I spotted this mountain in 2006 when I was staying in a hut near there with my colleagues from work. Oh, how I wished to be up that grassy and beautiful hill that day. Four years passed and my wish came true. If I knew it was so beautiful up there, I would have gone there before. It was rather stressful morning this Monday, people were calling me from work and from the insurance company, and I really wished that everybody would just leave me alone as the day was magnificent, so beautiful like rare days in a year are. Larches were changing their color from green to yellow, grasses smelled of hay, sky was blue as blue it could be. I felt pure joy seeing all that beauty. And when I reached that grassy slope, I felt an urge to call my mom and ask her, when we were going to visit the grandparents next day. But the mobile phone went dead after I had asked my first question. Empty battery…

And then there was only silence. Only me, the mountains and all that was there. Today I think this was the moment when my granddad said farewell to me. He passed away just at about that time. Later I realized that it was 63th anniversary of his marriage exactly on that day. What a day to say goodbye!

So, another story ended and I keep wondering what comes next. I ask for some happiness.

P.s.: I wrote all this (on Wednesday) to keep it as a memory somewhere there in this space. On the photo above it is me with my grandparents more than 10 years ago. It is a print of a photo, I don’t know where the original is. It was probably lost when I moved seven years ago.

Lake dwelling

4500 years ago there was a lake where I live now. Almost in a city center (today this is near river Ljubljanica, the place is called Špica), vivacious dwelling on sticks was built on shore of a shallow lake and river coming down the nearest hill, today called Golovec. There was a sandy beach near this dwelling and supposedly the inhabitants came to this place from Croatia, searching for copper. I visited this place on Saturday. Archaeologists are daily digging up lots of broken ceramics and other interesting pieces of tools which inhabitants of that time used. It was amazing to see how sophisticated and beautiful some pieces were. The news for me was also that those people had large fields with different kinds of grains and with flax which was used for fabric. This lake dwelling was later deserted, most probably because people moved on to another site abundant with copper. So, after all we are probably not the descendants of those people... but who knows?

Karma for today: Start to think in a positive way and you will experience an upturn in future.