Coastal Slovenia - small but perfectly formed

I seem to have spent a lot of time talking about Slovenia recently. But, as I said in my last post, it is a country that gets under your skin. The last few weeks have been busy ones, with a work trip to Rome, a lot of networking, and a whole lots of shining up the CV. We have even gone as far as to start up our own teaching websites in order to best sell ourselves to the European market. We must get back there, and the closer to Slovenia the better.

So, why the obsession? We have been to beautiful places before and not had a desperate need to up sticks and move there. Rather than one big draw, it seems like there are a whole lots of small things that add up to something rather unique in Slovenia.

To get to Slovenia from Morocco we flew into Milan Bergamo and rented a car. It is about 400km along highways which should make it easier than it is. Driving in Italy, where everyone thinks they are a racing driver makes highways more stressful even than back home in Morocco. A four hour journey takes it out of you, especially when you get lost in Trieste's remarkably ugly industrial zone, in the dark, just 20 km away from your destination. Leaving the hulking shapes of factories and warehouses behind, it is calming to cross a barely noticeable border into Slovenia, where you are instantly in peaceful, rural surroundings and small spread-out, dimly-lit villages.

For our first night we were staying in Marezige, a tiny town in the hills overlooking the industrial port of Koper. Arriving late on a Sunday, very tired and somewhat irritable, we were dreading the prospect of having to make the inevitable journey down the hill and into Koper to find somewhere to eat. There was little sign of life in any of the villages we had passed through on the way up. We got to Marezige and passed a vineyard, instantly making things look more positive. Then, rounding a bend we came upon a small restaurant, twinkling with fairy lights and looking very much open.

For our first experience of Slovenian hospitality, we probably couldn't have done much better. We were met by a broadly smiling waitress who led us to a cosy table. We sipped cold beers while studying the enormous menu. European cuisine is always a pleasure after living in Morocco, but this menu was fabulous. Nick opted for the highly taboo ham cooked in red wine sauce, and I went for the lighter option of pork on pork with the mixed grill. 

 

Slovenia produces up to 90 million litres of wine a year, yet exports very little of it. Slovenians love wine and drink nearly all of it before it can leave the country. They sell it by the litre. We ordered a litre of white produced just down the road. This arrived with a free aperitif for me. This was not going to be a quick meal.

The food arrived. One thing I have learned from this trip, the Slovenians have big appetites. The portions are enormous. From main meals to cream cakes, you will not be finishing your plate. When in doubt share.

A whole lot of pork and a portion of profiteroles later, we were just about ready to roll ourselves down the hill to Casa Oasa where we were staying, but not before trying one of the many digestifs at the back of the menu. The aperitif had been lovely, so we had high hopes. If there is one thing I would recommend avoiding when visiting Slovenia, it is the tasting of random spirits. Instead, just spray a can of hairspray quite liberally into the air and then walk through the resulting cloud. This way you at least avoid the extreme chemical burn going all the way down to the stomach. We found we needed to leave quite quickly after that, so paid the remarkably cheap 40 Euro bill and stumbled home.

http://www.karjola.si/

http://www.casaoasa.com/

Taking a break from stumbling home.

  The next day started somewhat delicately. The hangover a lot bigger than we had intended. The plan for the day was to go and have brunch in Piran, Slovenia's prettiest town, before driving up the country to Lake Bled. Dating back to the Napoleonic Wars, Piran has a distinctly Venetian feel. Beautiful cobbled alleyways, colourful and ornate architecture, and a wonderful Café culture. However, unlike it's grander more touristy counterpart across the Adriatic, Piran has crystal clear water, is free from stagnant lagoon smells, and has coffee that doesn't cost 6 Euros. 
 

Hairspray spirits the night before aren't the most motivational ingredient to add to a day, so we explored a lot less than planned, and spent a large part of the morning eating. Just in case we didn't reach our P.I.G (pork intake goal) the day before, we started the day with a ham and cheese sandwich and coffee on the waterfront. We took a short walk along the promenade, round a church or two and then down a few narrow alleys. It was here that we stumbled across our next hidden gem of a restaurant.

Tempted by the seafood but still a little full, we decided to share the seafood platter for one, washed down with delicious grapefruit beer. When the food arrived I had to suppress a gasp of surprise and with a hint of panic at the bill, and confirmed what we had ordered. The 11 Euro seafood platter for one. This thing was enormous. Fried potatoes, fried fish, deep fried calamari rings, grilled calamari, and our personal favourite, and something of a revelation to us, calamari stuffed with cheese and ham. We shared one and were still unable to finish. Something a little unheard of when it comes to seafood. The couple on the next table ordered two, after having appetizers. I did mention people in Slovenia have big appetites.


 

Very full and somewhat over indulged, we had completed our coastal stage of the Slovenia trip. Now for the 173km journey that would take us from the bottom to the top of the small but beautiful country.

The Slovenian Dream

Slovenia. A country of warmth and hospitality. A country where the size of your host's smile is dwarfed only by that of the plates of food they are serving. A country of endless green forests and spectacular mountain vistas.

We have been waiting to visit Slovenia for a very long time. Six years ago Nick and I visited the small French village of Praz de Lys, and fell in love with the alpine life style. Small villages full of quaint chalets, and tiny bistros serving local wine. This was the life we wanted. Someday, somehow, we would make it happen. We would become the clichés; buy the run down shack in the hills, renovate it slowly and haphazardly, and find some way of scraping together a living. Heck, I might even have tried writing about it.

It was not long after, that some clever soul convinced us to go back to uni and get our teaching certificates. We had never really intended on becoming 'real' teachers, but with a quick search of available jobs showing us just how much we could make in the Middle East, we thought, 'this is it, this is our way to the chalet. Five years of working hard in the desert and we could be living the dream'.

The plan was simple. We would find that run down wreck of a home, for a fraction of what it was worth. We would do those haphazard renovations, that would cost us next to nothing as we would cunningly source our materials and skilfully do everything ourselves (even though we have no hint of such necessary skills). We would then open our doors to guests who would return year after year for our effortlessly warm hospitality, expert ski guiding skills and summer photography courses. Simple.

We searched high and low in the French Alps for that perfect place. We were nowhere near ready to buy anything, but it never hurts to look and dream. It quickly became apparent that all those run down wrecks in France had already been snapped up. That was not, after all, the place for us. The search expanded. Our search technique consisted of looking at Google images and real estate websites. It was this that lead us to the small central European country of Slovenia.

I defy anyone to Google Slovenia, and not want to live there. Don't take my word for it, go have a look. Stunning, isn't it? To top this off Slovenia does have lots of affordable properties. Affordable properties with all the mountain views and quaint features you could ask for. So this was it, we had a plan. Slovenia it was.

Now those who know us well, know that we do little without extensive research. We had never been to Slovenia, but this was a small issue. We would go at some point. However, while I have worked in hospitality a reasonable amount, we had very little understanding of how to run a hotel. To rectify this we started watching as many reality programs as we could. It soon became apparent that there are few jobs that are more demanding or likely to fail. Dependent on the seasons, and taking near constant work, the hours are long and the market fickle. Being teachers we are used to over three months' holiday a year, this was possibly more of a commitment than we were able for. As teaching became more enjoyable, and the long holidays more appreciated, it dawned on us that perhaps we would be better sticking with what we know, and instead of taking care of people when they go on holiday, we just get to go on more holidays and have people take care of us. The dream of a Slovenian chalet is still out there, just on a distinctly smaller scale.

So as you can understand, Slovenia had a lot to live up to during our visit last month. Six years of longing and anticipation. While I’ll save details for a later blog, I will happily share that it not just lived up to expectations, it surpassed them with ease. The outstanding food and wine, the colourful streets of Piran, and the hauntingly beautiful Lake Bohinj all added up to something rather special. Never have I left a place and so strongly felt I need to go back. This feeling being so strong that for a while all plans for our next holiday were put into jeopardy.

With all this in mind, we returned to Morocco, and after a little thought realized that holidays there are not quite enough. We do need to live there after all, or as close as we possibly can. The time has come to dust off that portfolio and spruce up the CV.

More Flying Fun and Games

So... fingers flexed, and it is time to start writing again. It's been a while since I put 'pen to paper' as the saying goes. Therefore to make this task a little less daunting I’m going to break our recent trip down into more manageable 'bite-size' pieces.

This year for our fall break, we had originally planned to do a tour of Northern Italy, stopping off at different International schools in the hope of making friends and potentially finding a job for next year. This idea morphed a little when we thought of maybe taking a day trip into Slovenia. There are just so many things to do there, that we decided to spend most of our time there.

The excitement started before we even left Morocco. Those of you reading this who used to frequent this blog regularly, will know that few journeys within or originating from Morocco, are without event. Whether it is driving to the shops or flying home, some eyebrow raising event is usually guaranteed to happen.

We have learnt, through repeated painful experiences, that when flying Ryanair into and out of Morocco, the 10 pounds for reserved seating is money well spent. The mad dash for the gate is worse here than I ever saw in Asia, So many sweet little old ladies have mercilessly perfected the art of negotiating the smallest of gaps, armed with the juxtaposed tools of the sharpest of elbows and a very innocent expression, to squeeze their way to the front.

This trip we were flying with Ryanair from Fez to Milan. It was early morning, but we had had our coffee, negotiated the passport control without incident, found a child-free section of the departure lounge, and had our reserved seating tickets. Having got up early, and made Shannon and Nate get up early on the first day of their holiday to drive us to the airport, we were then a bit dismayed that the flight seemed to be delayed without announcement. But no matter, this is all part of the holiday after all. When the boarding was announced, we shuffled our way forward to the 'Priority Boarding' line. This is always something of a rewarding experience, as the attendant patiently, then not so patiently explains to pushy people that they do not have priority and must join the back of the other queue. If you are a person who wouldn't pay for priority boarding then yes, we are those annoying people, the ones who get to go to the front of the queue. But after ten flights this year alone, we're done dealing with the annoying line jumpers.

Well, this time the joke was on us. The plane was delayed even further. When we were called to board it had not even landed. Instead we had to stand with the sun beating through the window, right onto the priority boarding line, wilting in the heat for almost an hour. When boarding time finally came, our line was ushered out and on to a bus. This is not usual practice, normally we walk, but we figured they just wanted to move us somewhere, due to the fact that we had been waiting so long. It became the airport version of a holding cell as we sat for another 5-10 minutes on the tarmac outside the gate. When the plane was finally emptied and our bus began to move off, the boarding gate was opened and everybody else was instructed to walk to the plane. This seemed a bit strange and worse, incredibly frustrating, as all on the bus realized that we seemed to be unable to go faster than about 6 miles an hour. The people walking also seemed to realize this, and all of a there began a sudden insane sprint to the plane. The racing business men, djellaba or high heel restricted women, and towed children was quite a sight to behold. The bus did make it to the plane first, but to everyone's further frustration the door remained closed and seeing their chance the sprinters increased pace.

While this farcical situation was annoying, none of this worried us too much, we did have reserved seating after all. But for those who had opted instead for Priority Boarding it was incredibly frustrating.

When we finally reached our seats, we breathed deep and tried to bring an illusion of calm upon us, after all, we were on holiday. We tried to ignore the overhead locker chaos, the increasingly irate instructions of the flight attendants, as they try to get people to find a seat, or actually secure that child instead of letting it climb over the chair in front. We even tried to ignore one flight attendant's mad dash up the aisle as the plane increased speed down the runway to instruct some deaf/ignorant person that they should really “SIT DOWN!”. We tried to ignore it and think of the holiday ahead, but as they dash past with an oxygen bottle you start to get a little distracted.

Just another day on the Ryanair Fez route.

We are lucky enough to be off to Rome for a week next Sunday. I wonder what surprises we'll get on the Fez Rome route.  

Thank you for checking....

Life has well and completely taken over.
Well, a bit of life and a lot of mental block. It seems that ideas are few and far between as life in Ifrane settles down and there are fewer local places to explore, and there are only so many times I can share my thoughts on local driving habits and extreme weather.
Maybe some day soon, when I am consistently winning the battle with my new students, maybe then, I'll put my writing hat back on. In the meantime, thank you for visiting.

The New Year...

Hi all, thanks for thaking the time to visit the blog. The new year has been busy with work and changing classroom programs. We are also saving for exciting holidays to come so haven't been off exploring too much.
Hopefully something worth sharing will happen soon.

Happy flying...

Flying Ryanair is never going to be anyone's greatest aviation experience. Famous for more bad than good reasons, it is most known as the airline that finds ways of charging for every small thing. At one point it looked like you'd have to 'pay to pee', thankfully someone somewhere saw sense. Europe's 'favourite''low cost airline is also reported to have once treated a man suffering from a heart attack with a sandwich, and then charged him for it. This is an airline with a very bad reputation, deservedly or not.

Believe it or not, despite first appearances, this is not a blog bashing Ryanair. Before living in Morocco I had only used the airline a handful of times, and it was okay. That is apart from one ridiculous occasion where a calamity of errors made our flight from Paris Beauvais look more like a Carry On film or some silly sketch with Benny Hill music as passengers from two unexplainedly late flights comically ran from gate to gate as teasing staff pretended to commence boarding.

Living now on the outskirts of Europe we have found ourselves regular customers of this airline we said would never again use. The Beauvais experience was not limited to the Benny Hill farce and it scarred us. However, with little choice available and repeated exposure to the experience, you find that while far from perfect, if you prepare yourself for it then the Ryanair experience is everything it promises to be. Cheap, quick and no frills air travel. That is, until you fly into Morocco. This is a stand alone experience which makes all other Ryanair routes look premier class.

Having lived in Thailand for six years and travelled a great deal around Asia, I am no stranger to budget airlines and have encountered many people for whom flying is a rarity and who are nervous or a little confused as to what to do. Saying that, in all the flights I took there, I have never seen chaos descend quite like I have seen in the last two years of travel here.

By chaos, we are not just talking about the frantic pre-boarding rush for the gate when the steady trickle to the line becomes one person too many and everyone decides that it is now or never to get in the line, or the distinctively 'long-legged' striding that people use in the fruitless attempt to carry you past a few people on the tarmac in a bid to get a better seat.

This chaos begins when people start queuing up to an hour before boarding. Not that the queue perturbs those who arrive late, they just push their way unquestioned past people, using age, illness or just the inability to look up and make eye contact with all the annoyed passengers around them as an excuse.

While the 'queue' develops it becomes noticeable that nearly every family has a child. This means that as a child free traveller you are left to stand there and pray that they don't invoke the 'children first' boarding rule. If they do you might as well go and sit back down and wait for the end of the line. That hour queuing? Wasted. Have I just found a reason to have children? Not a chance. It is airport travel and the extra stress it seems to bring every parent that has cemented our resolve on maintaining our 'child-free' status.

The stress of travelling with children didn't seem to bother the parents on our last flight to Fes. They opted instead for the 'low-impact' parenting. This entailed letting their children run wild between people and go behind the departure desk and down the stairs on their own while the departure staff were desperately trying to maintain a semblance of control and work out which child belonged to whom. While dealing with this they also had to organise the first twenty people in the queue who after an hour of standing there had obviously forgotten why they are there and misplaced their boarding passes and passports.

Once on the plane the fun of getting into a seat starts. For us we have one thought in mind. Emergency Exit Seats. On our last flight, after a lot of bargaining, we were told by an Eastern European flight steward that we could sit in our desired seats as long as no one else arrived having reserved them. As he stood by us protecting the seats he got increasingly annoyed at the attempts of passengers finding seats and spaces for bags and become increasingly blunt with people. As the plane filled, greater numbers of people attempted to sit in the 'reserved' emergency seats. At first he was quite polite, telling them simply 'no, they are reserved'. As the plane got fuller it became obvious no one had reserved the seats and he needed responsible people to sit there in case of an emergency. He began to ask select people if the spoke English. Usually just receiving little more than a grunt or a blank look in response he moved them on down the plane. With some people he didn't even ask, he just looked them up and down, shook his head, muttered something under his breath and moved them on. His frustration got the better of him and by the end he was saying 'English only in these seats' in a slightly aggressive manner. This would have sounded a lot better if he had just explained that he needed English speakers to explain the exit instructions to, instead he just ended up sounding incredibly racist.

As a nervous flyer I am the first to fasten my seat belt to circulation restricting, and to turn off all electronic equipment for fear of making the plane take control of itself and steer off the runway before we even leave the ground. No such fears for these fliers, some of whom I have seen stand up and receive calls during take off and landing no matter how many times instructed otherwise. On landing women are up and in the locker before the brakes are even eased off. One friend said that on their flight last month there was even a lone child wandering up and down the aisle during landing.

To top off our last flying experience, within moments of standing up to disembark, a fight broke out within arms reach of me. This was not just a heated discussion kind of argument, but an arm swinging and shoving argument. It was between two women so there was a lot of hair pulling and face slapping as well. For some reason this made it all more unacceptable. Apparently the fight broke out as the result of one of the ladies deciding she needed to get from her seat at the front to her bag stowed at the back, right at the point everyone stood up. Shoving her way down the plane she obviously bumped into the other lady who was probably as fed up with the lack of queuing courtesy as I was, and decided she would do everything in her power to stop her. These women had to be dragged off each other and the argument continued down the length of the plane.

What a welcome back to Morocco. Nothing like a little travel stress to make you appreciate getting home. Well, inside the safety of the apartment at least.