“I said, hey, girl with one eye
Get your filthy fingers out of my pie
I said, hey, girl with one eye
I’ll cut your little heart out cause you made me cry”
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Categories
uphill
hiking is the perfect sport for slovenia. with so many mountains and hills, it’s a pleasure to get on your feet and explore them. trails are clearly marked and well maintained – but the main one, the slovenian mountain path, takes the cake. it crosses the whole country, from maribor in the east to ankaran in the coast, passing though all mountain ranges. plus, on all the mountain tops, there are stamps that you can collect in a special hiking passport!
so, all you need is to get a few friends, some comfy shoes and a gps, and walk walk walk until you get to the top of a hill. then sit, enjoy the view, have a little picnic, take photos, and collect the stamp! :)
very important: when you get home, don’t forget to check yourself for ticks…
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venice, in 2 shots
these were the only shots that survived my minolta’s broken speed shutter (horray for the holga’s lack of mechanical-things-that-might-go-wrong!). 10 minutes & 8 euros later, and he’s as good as new, the little bastard.
venice is a maze of intensity, the kind that leaves you with headaches from noticing all the details in every single facade. makes taking pictures a bit useless, ’cause you know it’s all been photographed before. you almost want to hate the city and yet… it’s irresistible. the tiny streets, the canals, even the swarms of tourists that practically drag you with them on a very worn out path. we’ll definitely go back for more someday.
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Zlatorog legend
“Zlatorog (a legendary white chamois buck) used to roam the then beautiful garden valley of Triglav with the White Ladies, good fairies who kept the mountain pastures green and helped humans whenever they found them in need.
Meanwhile, down in the Soca Valley near Trenta, a greedy plot was being hatched. It seemed that an innkeeper’s daughter had been given jewels by a wealthy Venetian merchant. The girl’s mother demanded that her daughter’s lover, a poor but skilled hunter, match the treasure with Zlatorog’s gold hidden under Mt Bogatin. If not, he was at least to bring back a bunch of Triglav ‘roses’ in mid-winter to prove his fidelity – an impossible task.
The young hunter, seething with jealousy, climbed the mountain in search of the chamois, figuring that if he we re to take even a piece of its golden horns, the treasure of Bogatin – and his beloved -would be his. At last the young man spotted Zlatorog, took aim and fired. It was a direct hit.
The blood gushing from Zlatorog’s wound melted the snow and up sprang a magical Triglav rose. The chamois nibbled on a few petals and – presto! – was instantly back on his feet. As the chamois leapt away, roses sprang up from under his hooves, luring the hunter onto higher and higher ground. But as they climbed, the sun caught Zlatorog’s shiny horns. The hunter was blinded, lost his footing and plunged into a gorge.
The once kind and trusting chamois was enraged that a mere mortal would treat him in such a manner. In his fury he gored his way through the Triglav Lakes Valley, leaving it much as it looks today. He left the area with the White Ladies, never to return.
And the fate of the others? The innkeeper’s daughter waited in vain for her lover to return home. As spring approached, the snow began to melt, swelling the Soca River. One day it brought her a sad gift: the body of her young swain, his lifeless hand still clutching a Triglav rose. As for the innkeeper’s rapacious wife, we know nothing.”
the best tale i could find of zlatorog, the chamois from the triglav mountains, from the earthen chivalry blog. the bohinj lake was mostly frozen on our visit, but even in a cold winter day, the beauty of the triglav national park is breathtaking.
the words are by hans mauritz, the co-organizer of le tour direct, on a fascinating 2006 article on the nytimes. he’s talking about jure robic, a slovenian super endurance athlete, who has a peculiar approach to the sport. he’s not physically stronger than other contestants, but he has the ability to push himself beyond the point of mental breakdown.
‘‘During race, I am going crazy, definitely,’’ he says, smiling in bemused despair. ‘‘I cannot explain why is that, but it is true.’’
The craziness is methodical, however, and Robic and his crew know its pattern by heart. Around Day 2 of a typical weeklong race, his speech goes staccato. By Day 3, he is belligerent and sometimes paranoid. His short-term memory vanishes, and he weeps uncontrollably. The last days are marked by hallucinations: bears, wolves and aliens prowl the roadside; asphalt cracks rearrange themselves into coded messages. Occasionally, Robic leaps from his bike to square off with shadowy figures that turn out to be mailboxes. In a 2004 race, he turned to see himself pursued by a howling band of black-bearded men on horseback.
‘‘Mujahedeen, shooting at me,’’ he explains. ‘‘So I ride faster.’’
they say he wins for the most fundamental of reasons: refusing to stop. long article, but definitely worth a read.
image by camera obscura.