Coming from the island isolation of Great Britain, life on the European mainland is an international treat.
Add to this Slovenia’s petite landmass, and ‘popping in’ to Italy for a quick pizza, or Austria for an afternoon hike is quite the norm here.
All of these things give rise to a very ‘European’ feeling in Slovenia. Unlike in the UK, where our island mentality has bred an ‘us and them’ attiude (see: Brexit), here you feel part of Europe.
In the UK, a foreign holiday ultimately means flying (or ferry). In Slovenia, an hour in the car will take you into a neighbouring country. Dropping down to Croatia for some coastline is a regular Slovene habit, and Hungary’s western border is easily within reach for a day trip.
Last weekend was Easter or ‘Velika Noč’ which translates as ‘The Great Night’. Easter is a big family affair here and I spent it visiting my girlfriend’s family in Austria, where it was a great night indeed. A feast of traditional ham, eggs and horseradish, followed by much wine, beer and various shots of hard-to-pronounce spirits.
The following day we hopped the boarder to Italy, hiking into the glorious Julian Alps, followed by a trip to a local pizzeria. A little over an hour’s journey after, and we were back in Ljubljana. Three countries; one day.
Slovenia was never part of the USSR. Indeed, by all accounts, Marshall Tito, Yugoslavia’s leader, was quite the thorn in the side of the Russians, who tried to assassinate him on more than one occasion.
It’s a common mistake that I often hear, but Jeremy – someone in your position really should have done your homework better.
Geographically too, Slovenia occupies a European sweetspot; a Mediterranean country, with high Alps, yet small enough to make day trips to the neighbours.
With Brexit looming, the advantages of a borderless Europe are ever more apparent to me, and the possibility of losing freedom to travel or work in other EU countries all the more painful.
Until then, I will continue to relish Slovenia’s central European location, where you’re never more than an hour’s car ride from adventure in another nation.
Making schnapps in Slovenia is a winter affair. My car thermometer read -11c as I pulled up at the small farm, somewhere in the distant hinterlands of Koroška.
Ever since I was offered a small glass of the clear, strong, homemade spirit by my neighbour Jaka eleven years ago, I had been keen to see the schnapps making process for myself. Finally, a decade later, that day had come.
I was joining Viktor, Marina and their two (now adult) children – Ana and Martin – (as well as their rather long dog – Robbie), in a nine-hour moonshine making mission.
The day began a little after 9am with a spot of breakfast, which of course included a shot of schnapps, along with tasty cold cuts from the farm, finished off with dark, black Turkish coffee.
The younger contingent of the cooking team – Ana and Martin – spoke excellent English so I was able to explore quite deeply into their lives and the process of the cook. But there were numerous periods throughout the day, where I was with only Viktor or Marina (or Robbie), which provided me with ample opportunity to practise my caveman Slovene.
Let’s Cook! Stage 1
In Slovenia, you don’t ‘make’ schnapps, you ‘cook’ schnapps (kuhati šnopc). And my hosts had been cooking for the last 10 days straight. The 2018 autumn had produced a particulary fruitful harvest, which meant they had weeks of mash to get through.
Although back in autumn, during Making Schnapps Part 1, I had been plucking plums, today it was a batch of pear schnapps we were making. The mash had been sitting in a barrel fermenting through the winter. Now it was time to cook.
Upon stepping into the barn where the cook was taking place, I was hit by the sweet scent of pear. The first part of the cook was filling the 100 litre still with pear mash. The steel and copper contraption was 40 years old Viktor told me, manufactured by a then Yugoslavian company that no longer existed.
A wood fire was then lit below the copper cauldron, and we sat around the still, enjoying the heat and waiting. Viktor instructed me to feed the fire to ensure it burned hot and fast. A wheelbarrow of well-aged pine fuelled the burn, which popped and spat as it roared in the belly of the still.
It took around an hour for the first drops of distillate to appear. For those who have forgotten their school chemistry lessons, let’s recap. Distillation is the process of separating (in this case) ethanol, from a mixture of liquids.
The process works because alcohol has a lower boiling point than water. This means as the mash heats up, alcohol starts evaporating out of the mixture first. The vapour travels up the copper pipe and then down into the cooling coils of the still. These are kept cold by being immersed in a barrel of water, which was kept cool by pumping the water out through a pipe that sat in the snow, before returning back to the barrel.
The cold sides of the coil cause the alcohol vapour to condense into a liquid again, and this then comes dripping out of the condenser pipe and is collected.
The first cook produces something Victor called Meka Rakija.
“In Serbia – they drink it like this. But it is not yet schnapps. It is Meka Rakija. In Slovenia – we make schnapps.”
I was keen to sample the cloudy white liquid and found it to be very palatable. It had a sweet flavour with a tasty note of pear. I requested to capture some of this nectar and was duly given a 500ml Pepsi bottle which I filled. I later measured the alcohol content and found it to be a healthy 30%.
We kept the fire crackling, and as the mash came up to temperature, the flow of the distillate increased, filling several buckets which were then pooled with previous batches.
Before commencing the more delicate second cook – the still was emptied of its now alcohol-less mash, and given a thorough clean-down. I asked Viktor what happened to the steaming barrels of spent pear, wondering if perhaps the pigs would enjoy it. Apparently not. The animals won’t eat it so it ends up in a big compost in the forest.
We retired back to the house for lunch before starting the second cook. A hearty meal of beef goulash and polenta was served. When I asked Marina – the lady of the house – if I could help with anything in the kitchen, she expressed surprise, explaining that men are rarely seen in that part of the house.
Back to the now gleaming copper still, Viktor filled it with the proceeds of previous first cooks. The second cook is a much more careful and controlled stage. Ana and Marina showed me how to keep the fire small but as consistent as possible, burning just one or two small split logs at a time.
We sat in the welcome heat of the still, patiently waiting for the first drops to appear. I am always keen to hear Slovenians’ opinions of life before independence. Do they miss Yugoslavia? Was life better then? Or has independence been good for the people? Viktor’s answer was typical to what I often hear:
“Everyone in the country had a job then; everyone had enough. But then there were many situations where they had five people doing a job that one person could do.
Also – because Yugoslavia strictly controlled imports, it was hard to get certain products that weren’t manufactured inside the country. For example, we had to go to Austria just to get washing detergent and you were supposed to pay import duty if you brought it back into Yugoslavia.
I think Slovenia is better now.”
After a good hour, the first drops of liquid began to appear. Completely clear and colourless, Viktor explained that this was very strong, and for ‘external use only’. In other words – not for drinking.
Here the language barrier here proved to be too much and I was unsure as to whether it was methanol (a much more toxic member of the alcohol family which can cause permanent blindness by destroying the optic nerve if drunk even in small quantities), or just very strong ethanol (common drinking alcohol).
I noted that the first litre of the distillate was collected, bottled and measured (85% alc) but no futher testing was carried out on the rest of the batch. The only test performed was Viktor throwing a shot glass full on to the fire. Apparently, the ferocity of the ensuing flames, allowed him to gauge the alcohol make-up of the liquid.
I assume that even if the rest of the distillate contains some methanol, when mixed with the entire batch, it’s not at a dangerous level. At least that’s what I hope, else my optic nerves are going to get destroyed.
It’s All About The Angle of Dangle
After the first litre of this potentially-optic-nerve-destroying liquid had been taken, Ana explained that we had to keep the spirit flowing from the still, at a low, steady rate. And this was gauged by the angle at which the liquid ran from the pipe.
“The stream should fall exactly vertically” she explained.
At first I was unsure how it could not fall vertically, but as the fire died down, I could see how the steam started to bend back under the pipe. And when more fuel was added, there was an initial spurt where the stream arced away from the pipe. I played with the fuel, trying to keep the perfect stream as instructed.
Following a round of homemade pancakes, my hosts seemed satisfied that I was now a capable enough cook to keep the operation running. They duly left me to keep the fires burning, whilst they disappeared to milk the cows.
At first I felt like Jesse from Breaking Bad when Walter White leaves him to cook his first batch of meth on his own. A pang of responsibly hit me. After all, this was part of their commercial farm operation. This cook was money. Was I going to mess the whole thing up and ruin the entire batch? Would Viktor (aka The Slovenian Heisenberg) ‘disappear’ me?
I paid close attention to what I had learned; keep the flow coming gently. Stop when the liquid becomes milky. Don’t drink it all. As each 10 litre bucket came off, I measured the alcohol content, then added it to the main barrel. Each tier was lower in alcohol than the previous one; 75%, 65%, 40%, 30%. But when mixed together, the overall batch was still well over 60%.
Saying that, we were using an alcoholmeter for the readings. This is a calibrated instrument that looks a bit like a thermometer and is designed to measure the amount of ethanol in a liquid, containing only ethanol and water. As there are numerous other products produced by the distillation process (methanol, oils and higher alcohols) I don’t think the readings we took could be completely accurate but did provide an approximate figure.
As the cook entered its dying stages, Heisenberg returned and instructed me to feed up the fire up again. Squeezing out as much ethanol from the cook was the goal, and that required a roaring fire for the last few litres. For the final hour of the cook, we entered diminishing returns. More heat was required to get what was a weaker and weaker distillate, until finally, the output became a cloudy liquid. The cook was over.
It was after 7pm when I placed the fruits of my labour into my car. Heisenberg seemed satisfied with the cook and had kindly given me two litres of pear schnapps, diluted down to 50% alcohol. It had been an interesting experience. I had learned much and acquired a new appreciation for the hours and energy that went into this fiery liquid, which is to Slovenia, what tea is to Britain; dolled out at any hour to guests.
Finally, 12 years after my first taste of Slovenian schnapps, I had joined the cook. And na zdravje to that.
It came late this year, but winter has finally arrived at Breg House. To celebrate the glorious Premier Snow – last weekend, I popped on my skis and went for a little ride near the house. The snow was calf deep, and I was sorry to get to the bottom of Breg Piste, and then have to de-ski and walk back up again. But as I did, I noticed something strange in the snow: caterpillars.
There were dozens of them, up on top of the snow. At first, I thought they were dead – but upon closer inspection, I found them to be very much alive and kicking.
Green ones, brown ones, speckled ones. How did they get there? What are they doing? It had been unseasonably warm the previous day, and I wonder if they had prematurely been roused, fooled into thinking spring had arrived?
I suspect the future is not bright for the Slovenian snow caterpillars of Breg House. With snow on the ground and temperatures set to fall to -8c, they may not find the food they are looking for.
If there are any caterpillar experts reading – please do add an explanation in the comments below.
I’ll point out that when it comes to Slovenia, a) this list is far shorter than the best things list, b) most points are not unique to Slovenia, and c) this list presents somewhat of a ‘first world problems’ line-up, in that if these are the worst aspects of living in Slovenia, then overall – things are pretty good.
And of course, this is just my personal experience of life in Slovenia. Please add your own thoughts and experiences in the comments.
1. Slovene Grammar Destroys Neurones
As someone trying to learn Slovene but unfamiliar with the family of Slavic tongues, there are several concepts which exist in the Slovenian language which are quite head-twisting for me. Though Slovenes are quick to cite the ‘dual plural’ as being the foreigner-proof aspect of their language – for me it’s the declensions (skloni) which I find most frustrating.
This ongoing mental tripwire is what I call the ‘Slovene Skloni Matrix’; a giant table of word-ending modifications which intersects six cases, three genders, two types of plural and a single type of singular, (not to mention the different endings for adjectives and nouns), that must be memorised and applied in order to end your words correctly, depending on the context.
In Slovene, even proper nouns are modified, thus my name can be: Sam, Sama, Samu, Samom, etc – depending on what’s being said.
I acknowledge that if I spent more time actually learning the grammar rules, rather than complaining about them, it probably wouldn’t be on this list.
2. Death Wish Drivers: Blind-Corner Road-Hoggers
Too many Slovenian drivers have a terrible
habit of straying from their lane on blind corners. Every time I drive to Breg,
at least once during my journey (and normally several times), I will come around
a corner to find an oncoming Slovenian driver with at least 50% of their car on
my side of the road, forcing me to take evasive action. This also triggers my ire
in the form of a lengthy horn blast and some ‘Get the hell over!’ gesturing.
With this dangerous habit so common here,
it’s little surprise to me that Slovenia is ranked in the bottom third of EU
countries when it comes to road safety and has more than double the road deaths
per million inhabitants, compared to the UK.
It’s a strange and somewhat sad situation
here, that Slovenians seem to have an unusually high frequency of neighbourly
feuds and disputes; apparently, neighbourly envy is deep seated.
There’s a well-known Slovene saying which
illustrates this trait:
Naj sosedu crkne krava, če je že sami nimamo.
It translates as:
‘May the neighbour’s cow die, if we don’t have one.’
The longer version of the story goes
something like this: there were three neighbours, each owning a cow. One day, the
cow of the first neighbour dies. This makes the other two very happy. Then the
cow of the second neighbour dies. This makes the last neighbour even happier
still – neither of his neighbours has a cow, yet he still does!
But then he realises that his now cow-less
neighbours will come begging for milk, so he then wishes for his own cow to die
too, so that he doesn’t have to give them anything.
The rather sad meaning of the story is that Slovenians would rather see their own cow die, before having to share anything with their neighbours.
Now, I must point out that most of my neighbours have been very generous and very sharing. Despite hearing several stories from Slovenian friends and colleagues about their neighbourly problems, I took the whole ‘hate thy neighbour’ trait, as an exaggeration.
That was until I myself started having my own problems with one of my neighbours, which now makes the cow story sound quite accurate. Though my dispute involves neither dead cows nor any calls for milk, I have personally experienced the unfortunate depths to which neighbourly relations can fall, over the silliest and smallest things.
I’ll again say that all my other neighbours have been lovey, helpful and pleasant people, but if this really is as common as I’m led to believe from my Slovene friends, then for me it’s the most (and perhaps only) ugly side of Slovenia that I’ve so far experienced, in what is otherwise a very pleasant place.
4. Service Culture: Not Very Proactive
As with much of the rest of continental
Europe, table service is the norm here and going to the bar (like in the UK) is
generally not the done thing. This is good. I like not having to waste my time
queuing, waving a tenner at the bartender hoping he’s going to serve me next
rather than the guy who just barged in front of me.
However, in more than half of the places I go to, I find that although the table service upon first seating yourself is quite prompt, follow up attention is much less so. Normally you need to flag down the server, rather than getting a proactive ‘Would you like another drink/something else/ the bill?’ attentiveness.
I reiterate, there are some places with great service but there’s definitely room for improvement in the many of cafes and bars I’ve visited.
5. Unreliable Tradesmen: No shows and Radio Silence
It’s not unique to Slovenia by any stretch,
but I’ve found it even more difficult than the UK to get tradesmen here to
actually turn up when they say they’re going to turn up. I’ve had numerous
dealings with various trades over the years, and more often then not, they have
not appeared when they said they would.
This has been especially frustrating when I have driven two hours to Koroška on the agreed date just to meet with a tradesman, only for a no show, then radio silence, with my calls and texts going unanswered.
This has led to my default position being to expect them not to appear at the agreed time and date, and the acceptance that things always take longer than I want and require more pestering than I’m used to.
So – there it is. I suspect this list might change over the years; some things may improve (my grasp of Slovene grammar for example!) and new items may appear. I make no complaints about life overall here – but there’s always room for improvment.
I’ve been visiting Slovenia since 2007 and living here since 2017. Slovenia is the sixth country and on one of three continents I have lived, so I have some perspective on life in other parts of the world.
In the interest of balance, I also wrote a ‘5 Worst Things About Living In Slovenia’ article too. That was however, a considerably shorter piece, and one that is vastly outweighed by the positive aspects of life here.
1. Natural Splendour: Slovenia Is Extremely Good Looking
I have lived in Europe, North America and Asia (see: For Fukui’s Sake: Two Years in Rural Japan), yet no country I have visited is as consistently beautiful as Slovenia. It’s the type of beauty that constantly punches me in the face and demands my attention.
And it’s not just a handful of hotspots either. Yes, Lake Bled and the old centre of Ljubljana and Piran are the pretty pin-ups of the country, but almost everywhere, from the spikey mountains of the Julian Alps, to the vineyards of the south, to the terracotta towns of the coast, to the villages of the Slovenian hinterlands, makes my heart go boom.
Triple tone aquamarine in Lake Bohinj
2. Weather: It Has A Great Climate
For me, Slovenia has an almost perfect climate. If you like snow, you’ll enjoy Slovenia’s proper, cold, snowy winters. There are ski areas dotted all around the country including Krvavec which is just 30 mins from Ljubljana, plus many more a little further afield.
Slovenian summers are hot, meaning lazy days cooling off on the coast or by one of the lakes or aquamarine rivers. Spring and autumn are ideal inbetweeners; warm days, and crisp evenings. Plus Slovenia gets some really good, heavy thunderstorms, and everyone loves a good storm – right?
Yellow Canoe on blue Bled
3. Lingo: The Level Of English Is Amazingly High
Most Slovenians of a certain age speak English as a second language to a level only rivalled by Scandinavians. Indeed, it would not be possible for me to work for a Slovenian company, were it not for my colleagues’ impressive ability to speak English so fluently.
This is however, a double-edged sword; if you’re trying to learn Slovenian, (which I am), practice at speaking the language on a day-to-day basis can be in short supply. In fact, many Slovenians are tri-lingual, often having a working knowledge of German or Italian in addition to English and their mother tongue.
4. Location: It Has A Great Central Position In Europe
Slovenia prefers to be deemed to be in ‘central’ rather than ‘eastern’ Europe and for good reason. Geographically, it’s much further west than many might realise, bordering Italy and Austria, as well as Hungary and Croatia.
Ljubljana is only 2.5 hours from Venice, 3.5h from Vienna and 2hrs from Zagreb. Politically and culturally too, Slovenia seems to have more in common with western Europe than the (former) eastern bloc, and is modern, developed and advanced.
5. Crime: It’s Super Safe
Though not completely non-existent, crime rates are very low in Slovenia. It’s a country where kids still play in the streets without parental-fear, you can walk most anywhere at any time of day, and people often leave their cars unlocked when in the shops. Statistically, murder rates in Slovenia are the lowest in the EU.
6. The Great Outdoors: It’s Clean And Green
Slovenia has done well to preserve much of its natural beauty and most of the population are respectful of their environment. Litter levels are low and recycling provision is high, and it’s ranked the 3rd most forested country in the Europe. Slovenes love the great outdoors and spend plenty of time hiking, skiing, kayaking, paragliding, rock climbing etc etc.
On a more day-to-day basis, I have been particularly impressed with Ljubljana’s provision of bike lanes. Almost all major roads, and many minor ones, have a designated bike lane, and many even have a bike lane completely separated from the road. This is vastly superior to what I’m used to in the UK and enables me to cycle around much of Ljubljana, without having to worry about getting run down by a car, and encourages the population to use their bike.
7. Tech Jobs: Slovenia is a Blockchain Hotspot
There are lots of interesting start-ups and several established tech companies in Slovenia. A high level of developer talent, combined with a high level of English and a pedigree of programming has led to a petite, yet healthy tech-scene. Some Slovenians have historically sought employment in Germany, the UK or elsewhere, but the growth of Slovenia’s tech scene (especially blockchain and ‘crypto’) is also drawing foreigners to move here.
8. Rural Traditions Remain Alive
In contrast to #7, sometimes living in Slovenia feels like a welcome step back in time. Many things that UK hipsters deem ‘artisanal’ or ‘craft’ and pay big bucks for back home, are just part of everyday life here.
I do wonder however, if the next generation of Slovenian teenagers will continue with such a way of life, when it’s often easier, cheaper and quicker to buy such supplies from the local supermarket, rather than spend two days butchering a pig and making your own sausages, or tending your vineyard every weekend .
I once joined my friends Rok and Ivo at their dad’s wine cottage during the grape harvest. They complained bitterly that they had to put in a huge amount of work throughout the year in order to make wine which was inferior and in the end, more expensive, than what they could buy in the supermarket.
Though I could see their point, I love this aspect to life here, and I hope Slovenes will keep it alive for a long time to come.
Slovenians on the whole enjoy a high quality of life and there seems to be, overall, a good level of equality across the country. Saying this, I have found that Slovenians are a little over-obsessed with salaries.
I often hear them complain that salaries in Switzerland, or Germany or the UK are so much higher than in Slovenia. Whilst it’s true that the average salaries are higher in those countries, I feel Slovenes sometimes overlook the much higher living costs of those countries, and are therefore missing the bigger picture: the actual quality of life in their own country.
Beach time, mountain skiing, great weather, good quality food and great wine, a clean, green and safe country, are all aspects of Slovenian life accessible to the average Slovene, which can’t be said for the UK.
Do you agree with my list? What do you like about living in Slovenia?
Ever since my neighbour Jaka, (God rest his Slovenian soul) plied me with his homemade Slivovka – the clear, strong spirit that is plum šnopc (or schnapps) some 10 years ago, I had been eager to join the making of it.
I remember my first visits to my neighbours, when Jaka would dole out the stuff regardless of the hour. Despite the somewhat ‘interesting’ flavour, me being British and therefore legally bound by British etiquette and politeness, I would of course finish the entire glass and remark how delicious Jaka’s šnopc was.
My contorted face clearly didn’t betray my true feelings, and encouraged by my apparent fondness for the spirit and pleased that he had found such a fan of his creation, each time I finished my glass, Jaka would immediately refill it. My protests had no effect and I would be once again faced with the prospect of draining another draught.
I eventually learned that in order to not become drunk on šnopc before midday, I had to fight my British instinct to politely drink all that had been poured, and risk potential offence to my host by leaving my glass at least half full.
Many Slovenes make their own šnopc and I have quite a supply
Since then I have been the lucky recipient of various bottles of homemade šnopc from various Slovene friends, and I have now developed quite a taste for the stuff. Alongside my whiskey collection, I have various bottles of homemade šnopc, including one of Štefka’s 2015 vintages – a fine year.
Unlike in the UK, where the distilling of alcohol without a license is highly illegal, resulting in heavy fines and prison time, in Slovenia it’s permitted and popular, especially in the countryside.
After a decade of drinking it, this weekend, in the Kingdom of Breg, I was finally able to get involved with the making of this most Slovenian spirit.
Purple carpets of Slive (plums) at Breg
Šnaps Team: Assemble!
I sat at the little table outside the house, where I was given – a small glass of schnapps (of course!). It was a clever move by Ančka – the Kingdom of Breg’s matriarch; a little taste of what was to come, if I put in the hard work. And Stage 1 of making Slovenian schnapps is to harvest the raw materials.
The one and only ingredient required for the most popular variety of schnapps is slive – plums. By design, The Kingdom of Breg is rich in this asset; successive generations of residents have planted and maintained a significant orchard of plum trees, the oldest of which are now around 100 years old.
The process started with each tree undergoing a thorough shakedown with a hooked pole. This relieved the branches of their burden and created a purple plum carpet beneath each of the 50 or so trees.
Bojan carrries out a plum tree shakedown
After a quick tutorial on quality control from Štefka, regarding which plums were v redu (OK) to collect, and which were to be rejected, I began to fill my bucket with the purple fruits. Once all our buckets were full, I was tasked with transporting the fruits via wheelbarrow, to the schnapps making HQ – Štefka’s barn – where the contents of each bucket was poured into a large, plastic barrel.
There was no washing of the fruit. Alongside our purple gold, each barrel contained a ‘seasoning’ of grass blades, stalks, the odd leaf, earth, an ant or two and the occasional spider. Once a barrel was full, it was simply sealed and left to liquefy and ferment. Nothing more was added. I appreciated the simplicity of the recipe, and it is probably a reason why making schnapps is so popular in Slovenia.
Future Šnopc: 100% plum (may contain trace amounts of ant, stalk and spider)
Whilst the procedure is simple, the work itself is more taxing than I expected. With thousands of plums to pluck from the ground and dozens of full buckets to be hauled up hilly terrain, it was hard on the back. Štefka alluded to this as we gathered plum after plum, hunched over with bent backs, and she exclaimed:
“Šnopc is expensive!”
I had to agree. For the first couple of hours, I was having great fun in my plum-picking bubble, but by the end of the day, my back was stiff, my body aching, and I was looking forward to the end.
Ančka: matriach of the Kingdom of Breg
Of course, the day was punctuated with numerous pauza – breaks in which I sat with the rest of the work crew: Štefka, her mother and matriarch Ančka, and two more of their friends, and was offered beer, cake, salami, bread as well as a lunch of potato salad, boiled eggs and sausage.
During these breaks I ascertained that each 300 litre barrel of plums would eventually produce about six litres of schnapps. The strange thing is, that neither Štefka, nor Ančka drink the stuff. However, it seems to be a good currency here in the Slovene Hinterlands and therefore a valuable asset to stockpile.
Now the hard work of the plum harvest is done, we must wait until January by which time the plums should have fermented nicely and we’ll be ready for stage 2 of the process; the distillation.
Some might see dež – which means ‘rain’, as an unwelcome addition to my A-Ž of reasons for living in Slovenia. Indeed, I have noted the Slovenian tolerance for any weather other than completely clear and sunny, is markedly different to my own.
On numerous occasions I have heard Slovenian friends curse the ‘terrible’ conditions (ie not 100% blue sky and sun) which by English or Scottish standards, are really quite pleasant.
Clouds move in front of the mountains, during a rainy day on the Ljubljana outskirts
Interestingly, the data almost hides this fact. Ljubljana, my current home, receives double the annual rainfall of my former home, Edinburgh. Certainly, Slovenia’s lush greenery must in part be attributed to dež. But despite the volume of rain which falls here, Ljubljana’s climate is far more to my taste. The rain is more intense and less frequent than that of the UK’s. And the fact that Ljubljana also receives more than double the sunshine, and far less of the incessant wind (which even after 10 years of Edinburgh life, forever annoyed me) seals the deal for me.
Cloud and mist fill the valley below Breg House in Koroška
From my point of view, Slovenia’s dež is very welcome. Sometimes it comes in the form of short, violent storms, almost tropical in nature. Other times, it’s less dramatic; a day of soft rainfall that blankets the entire landscape. However the dež arrives, I relish a rainy day. Granted, it’s an inconvenience when it comes to my commute, (my preferred mode of transport being a bike), but aside from that, there’s something very pleasurable about rainfall.
It’s a Velux window rather than a pot of gold that sits under a Slovene rainbow.
Dež always brings with it a different mood; a certain quietness to the land. There’s a feeling of calm and tranquillity that accompanies the water falling from above. I love to sit on my balcony and watch the plumes of clouds drift in front of the nearby mountains, forming new scenes each minute.
Then there’s the noise. Even if you are a dež detester, surely you can not deny that there are few sounds more comforting than the hiss of rain falling outside?
Rain at Breg House
And let us not forget rain’s other pleasure; the delectable smell of the land; the earth, the fields, the pine-fresh forests. The rains bring it all out of the ground and into the air for us to deeply inhale.
Rainy days are also when The Kingdom of Breg House is at its best. Watching the fire dance inside, whilst the rain falls outside, with a whiskey in hand, is surely one of life’s greatest pleasures.
Early morning storm over Lake Bled
So let’s raise a glass for dež, probably the most unliked and underappreciated form of weather for most, but for me, a time to be enjoyed rather than endured.
At first glance, you’d be forgiven for thinking that Japan and Slovenia have absolutely nothing in common. After all, on the surface, the two nations appear very different.
Japan is an Asian island nation, Slovenia a European continental country. Japan is an ancient land of 127 million people; Slovenia a new born, with just 2 million inhabitants. Japanese culture is a subject of global fascination, Slovenian culture is unknown to most of the world.
However, having myself lived in rural Japan, as well as Slovenia, I have discovered a surprising number of similarities between these two great countries.
The most obvious similarity between Slovenia and Japan is the natural landscape. Both countries are blessed with green, mountainous terrain, interspersed with flat field-land. Looking out from my balcony in Ljubljana, I gaze upon a landscape of green fields, woodland and mountains.
Kids, bikes and mountains, Kamisho, Fukui, Japan
Roaming the roads around Fukui, Japan
View from my balcony, Ono, Fukui, Japan
Rices paddies and mountains, Fukui, Japan
It’s very much like the view from my balcony in the small town of Ono, Fukui. Whilst Japan’s crop of choice is rice, and Slovenia’s is wheat, barley or corn, the scenery is very simlar. Indeed, two friends who also lived in Fukui – Colin and Chris – recently visited and both independently commented that the landscape in Slovenia ‘could be Japan’.
Forests and moutnains, Ljubljana outskirts
Journey to Peca, (pic: Benito Aramadno)
Snowcapped mountains, edge of Ljubljana
View from balcony, Ljubljana, Slovenia
View from balcony, Ljubljana, Slovenia
Fellow former Fukui-ites – Colin and Chris – agree that parts of Slovenia ‘could be Japan’
Japanese and Slovene as languages, share nothing in common. They have no grammatical or structural similarities and knowing one will not help you in any way to learn the other. But there are traits that the two tongues share.
Firstly, both Japanese and Slovene are thought to be foreigner-proof by the locals. Both nationalities remark how difficult their native tongue is for foreigners to learn and are therefore both surprised and pleased when foreigners attempt to speak it.
Indeed, the Japanese believe that only those possessing Japanese DNA are equipped to speak nihongo. Uttering the simplest phrase in Japanese – for example ‘Watashi wa Igirisujin desu’ (I am English) – will undoubtedly trigger the ‘Ehhh! Nihongo jouzu!‘ (Wow! Your Japanese is excellent!) response.
The owner of a café in Bohinj once waived my coffee bill, simply because I asked for it in Slovene. It’s a show of respect that someone takes time to learn another’s language, especially when that language is not easy to learn, and this effort does not go unnoticed by the Japanese or the Slovenes.
Though Japan stretches over several climatic zones from sub-tropical Okinawa, to sub-arctic Hokkaido, I spent my two years living in Ono, Fukui, which is half way down the main island of Honshu, and the climate there is very similar to that of Slovenia’s.
Both countries have four, very defined seasons; cold, crisp winters with oodles of snow (ideal for snow-lovers such as myself), a pleasantly warm spring season; hot, sunny summers (though Japan’s is more humid), and a beautiful autumn with spectacular colour changes in the mountain forests.
And both have big, warm, tropical-esque rain storms, after which the scent of the earth is divine.
Autumn colours, Jezersko, Slovenia
Winter scene from my balcony, Ono, Fukui, Japan
Winter scene from my balcony, Ljubljana, Slovenia
A Love of Slippers
Most people know of Japan’s strict ‘slippers only, when indoors’ policy, which is well documented. Indeed, even in schools, kids and teachers must leave their outdoor shoes at the door, and switch to slippers for class. But I was surprised to find that Slovenia has a very similar custom. Just like in Japan, every Slovenian home has a stash of slippers at the door for guests, and walking into a home in your outdoor shoes is most certainly a faux pas.
Copati (slipper) shop, as seen in Ljubljana, Slovenia
A Love of Gardens
Both the Japanese and the Slovenes seem to take immaculate care of their gardens. Although in Japan where space is far more limited lawns are rare, plants, trees and bonsai are kept perfectly pruned, watered and even trussed up come winter to protect them from the heavy snowfalls. In Slovenia, grass is kept neatly cut, flower boxes perfectly arranged, and vegetable patches weeded and watered. Both nations seem to have a deep connection with their plants and the love of tending for them.
Typical house and garden in rural Japan (Fukui)
Bonsai garden, Fukui, Japan
Winter protection for trees, Fukui, Japan
Winter protection for trees, Fukui, Japan
Winter protection for trees, Fukui, Japan
A Fever for Festivals
Japan and Slovenia both love a festival. Slovenia has the saying ‘a festival for every village’ and I think the same could be said for Japan. Neither nation needs much excuse to dress up, play music and parade, and even the smallest towns have found something to celebrate.
Japan has the Sapporo Yuki Matsuri (snow festival); Slovenia has its Snow Castle Festival in Črna na Koroškem. Japan has its Festival of the Steel Phallus, Slovenia has its own fertility festivities in the form of the Kurant Festival. Japan has numerous sake festivals, Slovenia has numerous wine festivals. The list goes on…
Japanese sake festival
Pride in Regional Dishes
Both Slovenia and Japan have great pride in certain foods that come from certain regions of their countries. Despite being a relatively tiny country, Slovenia boasts numerous specialities that hail from certain areas, and there is strong regional identity, for example Jota from Istria or Kranjska klobasa, a sausage that has caused political fighting as Slovenia and its neighbours – Croatia and Austria – battle over it.
Klobasa (sausage) as served by my lovely neighbours in Koroška, Slovenia
Similarly, Japan has built a whole industry around food tourism, and almost everywhere, from whole prefectures right down to the smallest villages, has at least one special dish that it claims is completely unique to the area. Thus people will travel a long way to sample the firefly quid of Toyama prefecture or the Ishikari nabe of Hokkaido.
Echos of Rural Japan
With so many similarities between my experiences of rural Japan and Slovenia, it’s really no co-incidence that I was drawn here. My two years living in rural Japan were deeply formative; I was struck by its rural beauty. I loved living life outdoors, roaming mountains, paddling rivers, exploring lakes, trying to learn a new language, and feeling like everyday was an adventure into the unknown.
Exploring deserted lake, Fukui, Japan
View from my balcony, Ono, Fukui, Japan
When my time in Japan came to an end and I returned to live in the UK for the next ten years, I could never quite get Fukui out of my system. I was always searching for a life like that again.
When I sit outside on a hot summer evening, look out over the layers of mountains, and listen to the crickets chirp, I hear echos of rural Japan.
Early morning mountain mist, Ono, Fukui, Japan
Afternoon haze, Mount Peca, Koroška, Slovenia (pic: Benito Aramando)
It took me 11 years to make it a reality, but I think I finally found what I was looking for, here in Slovenia.
Slovenian ants have mounted a full-scale invasion of The Kingdom of Breg House in an attempt to annex the kitchen.
Following weeks of increasing tension around the border area where the Slovenian Army of Carpenter Ants had upped military patrols, they have now crossed sovereign lines in to The Kingdom of Breg and proceeded to set up bases within the territory of Breg House, in an attempt to annex parts of the building.
An Slovenian ant prepares for the invasion of Breg House
Carpenter ants are one of the larger species of ant, with some ranks measuring up to 2.5cm in length. They are also equipped with significant mandibles and armed with formic acid spray.
The King of the Democratic People’s Republic of The Kingdom of Breg House (DPRKBH), who is also Head of the Military, Foreign Secretary and the Economic Minister (and who once scored 11 holes-in-one in his first ever game of golf) has taken a hard-line against the ants, issuing the following statement:
“I find ants fascinating. In fact, of all wildlife documentaries, I like ant ones the best. However, this is an attack on The Democratic People’s Republic of The Kingdom Of Breg House’s sovereign soil and it will be met with the total annihilation of the foreign imperialist ant invaders.”
Spoils of war: A member of the Slovenian Ant Army shows off a hammer that was captured by his platoon during the two-day conflict.
Journalists on the front line reported a scene of total destruction following two days of heavy fighting which has left several, if not quite a few, ants dead. Chemical weapons were reported to have been deployed by both sides; the Slovenian Ant Army launched formic acid attacks, whilst The Kingdom of Breg deployed booby-trapped food supplies, crystalline poisons and water, to repel the invaders.
At least one ant was taken prisoner and held for interrogation. However, in an uncharacteristic act of compassion not seen since the start of the conflict, The Kingdom of Breg later released the captive, unharmed.
Photos showing off a captured ant held in Gwantanimo Bay. The POW was later released unharmed.
Photos showing off a captured ant held in Gwantanimo Bay. The POW was later released unharmed.
Photos showing off a captured ant held in Gwantanimo Bay. The POW was later released unharmed.
This is not the first time ants have invaded another’s space. The Slovenian Ant Army have been known to move beyond their borders in the past; their population has rapidly expanded in recent weeks, and the ants have pushed into new territories as they seek more resource to support their rapidly industrialising nation.
For now, peace has returned to Breg House, with the ants retreating and both sides reaching an uneasy ceasefire. However, the border remains a flash point, and fighting could erupt again at any time.
The King of the People’s Democratic Republic of Breg House has insisted they will not take up arms, unless provoked:
“Here in the DPRKBH we have enjoyed many years of peace with our formic friends and we would never launch any attack outside of our own borders. We hope the ants will now keep their side of the peace treaty, having experienced the terrible fury of The Kingdom of Breg House. But if the ants attempt to invade our territory again, we will not hesitate to repel them using the maximum force necessary to keep Breg House free of imperialist insects.”
Today we reach the first exotic letter of the Slovenian alphabet; the letter Č. Pronounced “ch”, like “ch” in “church”, there were a few contenders for Č.
I am a fan of Čevapčiči – the Balkan dish of grilled, minced meat shaped into sausages (but without a sausage skin).
Čebela (bee) would also have been a worthy choice; Slovenia is bee mad, and you see hives (called ‘bee houses’) painted bright colours or with traditional folk art, all over the country. But rather than those more obvious choices, I am instead going for Črno Zrno, Ljubljana’s most interesting coffee bar.
Črno Zrno (pic: Črno Zrno)
Črno Zrno translates as ‘Black Bean’. I first became aware of Črno Zrno from Noah Charney, an American who has settled here and is a long time Slovenophile and prolific author (check out his excellent book: Slovenology). Situated in the old town, on a cobbled street that curls up and around the castle, Črno Zrno is the creation of the Colombian, Alexander Niño Ruiz.
I describe Alex as a coffee scientist. He carefully weighs out his ingredients using an electronic scale and uses glassware that could come from a lab. He imports beans from his native country, then has them roasted in Slovenia to create his own, unique flavours which he loves to share with his customers.
Alex keeps his menu simple but is constantly experimenting with blends and brews. My personal favourite is his delicious cold brew which he serves in wine glasses, but you can also get ‘pour over’ coffee as well as espressos.
My personal fave: cold brew (pic: Črno Zrno)
His coffee is okusno (delicious) but it’s not just the beans that keep people coming back to Črno Zrno; it’s Alex himself and the very space he has created. An architect by trade, he has turned what could almost be just a passageway, into a stylish and welcoming place. The vaulted ceiling and colourful tiles draw you in to his stage, where he performs his coffee making ‘displays’.
Črno Zrno sits on a cobbled street in Ljubljana’s old town
He enthusiastically explains where each coffee is grown, referring to a map of his homeland that sits on the wall, allowing him to educate his customers on the geographical diversity of Colombia and the characteristics each region imparts on the flavour of the beans. Alex has visions of how he will evolve his business; he already sells his own bagged beans and various coffee-making hardware. He’s done coffee pairing with local resturants, and there are more ideas to follow, he says.
Alexander Niño Ruiz – Colombian coffee scientist and creator of Črno Zrno – Ljubljana’s most interesting coffee bar (pic: Črno Zrno)
There’s something about Alex’s warm personality and Latino cheek that draws a certain patron. A meeting place for both the exotic expats of Ljubljana and homegrown locals alike, it’s so small that you inevitably end up talking to whoever else is there. And this, combined with Alex’s knowledge and passion for the coffee he serves, makes Črno Zrno a very regular stop for me.
When I first arrived in Ljubljana, I was looking for somewhere friendly and homely. A place where I might meet an interesting mix of people and enjoy something delicious and unique. I found all those things at Črno Zrno.
Don’t be fooled by its petite nature. Physically it may be small but Črno Zrno punches well above its weight and is a huge asset to Ljubljana’s coffee and social scene, and somewhere I will keep going back to, again and again.