I once quite liked coloured glass,  but today we went to Murano.

I wonder when the last good old fashioned sacking happened? A real sacking, not just a bombing followed by an invasion, but the real thing – pillaging, enslavement, and of course the sacking of the city –  the whole deal. Today we went to Padua – it’s probably right up there in the ‘Oh-oh it looks like we’re about to be sacked again!’ list.

According to the Wikipedia historians Padua was established by a Trojan prince, taken over by the Romans and was going along nicely for about a thousand years until 452ad. That year was sacking number one thanks to Atilla and his Huns – and this event really set the wrecking ball rolling.  Atilla’s destructive work was followed by a Byzantine sacking in 540, one by Lombardy in 613, the Maygars in 899, a massive fire that destroyed the place in 1174, and back to a sacking again by the Prussians in 1866.  In between all these events the city was invaded regularly and just changed hands without being totally destroyed.

The Padovans have to be some of the most resilient humans on earth,  or some of the stupidest. Every single time they simply started again from scratch, but only once in all that time did they think it might be a good idea to build some walls. Or moats. Or anything. The one attempt to build city walls was in 600, and it was actually quite successful because these ramparts kept the attacking Lombards out for 12 years.  After that particular invasion they didn’t bother too much with anything like a defensive system.   They must have just said – ‘What’s the point Fabio?   We’ re just going to get sacked again anyway.’  At least total destruction by fire in 1174 was a bit of a change.

Somewhere in all that they established one of the oldest universities in the world, a university that is the second oldest in Italy after Bologna . They gradually became industrialised, going from the poorest city in Northern Italy to one of the wealthiest, and managed to keep some of their buildings intact long enough for us to want to visit the place today.

We really enjoyed Padua.  It was great to wander around the city
and get a feel for the place.   It has the buzz of a wealthy, old university town.  It feels optimistic and vibrant. There are great produce markets and kilometres and kilometres of really interesting streets. Besides, they haven’t been properly sacked for about 150 years.  They’ve gotta be happy with that.

Enough history,  better let you go Farquar.

Spent a fair part of today speaking with and taking photos of the sellers of selfie poles.  Most got to Italy as illegal immigrants from Bangladesh or Sri Lanka and work illegally for organised criminals.

In fact I found most of these guys far more interesting than their customers – those who were so obsessed with taking their own photos.

This trip has defined some personal limits.  You know my feelings about equine roasts.   I was presented the challenge by a Mr Collision to provide for my vast reading public a selfie whilst wearing a mask and with a suitable landmark in the background.  I have discovered that the Cunnington-Smythes – even the Rosewood branch of that family – are bound by a sense of propriety and self respect that makes that challenge a Rialto Bridge too far.

Instead I shall search for some tasteful Murano glass nose plugs as a suitable souvenir to remind me of the ripeness of the canals in the City of Romance

Yours etc

Farley

This is always a very good thing to say:

‘Driver, take us to Italy! .’ 

My goodness Farquar,  the drivers here are challenging –  they insist on driving their cars on the other side.  Roundabouts from the front seat are particularly nerve wracking, even for a travelled Man of Empire like myself.  Had to pour myself a soothing Scotch the other evening,  such was my distress.  

The other thing I have noticed,  the children here learn to speak a second language at a very young age – devilishly clever tots also being able to speak Slovenian or some such tongue. I can hear them practising with their parents. And yet they refuse to converse with me in English. Shyness perhaps?

The best meal of the trip so far?  The farewell to Slovenia lunch was superb,  pheasant in a cranberry and chestnut sauce for me,  lamb back straps for the ladies.  The restaurant was a hundred years old,  and before that a private house going back another couple of centuries. I am enjoying eating foods that are not available in Toowoomba.  Having stated that,  foal still features heavily on some menus however it will remain untasted. There is no inconsistency here – man’s best friend (the loyal hound) was off limits when with the Hearndens in Beijing,  likewise cat in Hong Kong and just about everything in Ootycommund.

Venice is beautiful,  and fortunately being the slow season there are only 2,450,856 other tourists here.   My theory is that if the tourists left Venice would pop up a bit higher out of the water.  We all love the fact that the WHS and Risk Management Committee seem to have taken a cue from our childhoods. There are no warning signs,  no flashing hazard signals,  no disclaimers,  no angst.  If you fall into a canal you’re a bloody idiot and it’s your own fault. If a kid falls in, then it’s still your problem – you should have been looking after your own child. How did we get to our current state in Australia? Sigh…..

Perhaps the answer lies partly in the photos attached – the rise and rise of the age of self.  Selfie poles did not exist before this trip. Even the word is new,  as are the selfie-pole sellers.   Last time they were African,  now they’re illegal immigrants from Sri Lanka or Bangladesh. They’re organised, protected and exploited by corrupt locals,  but still manage to live better than they did in Dacca or Colombo.

We are still on the search for coffee,  still looking for a quiet place in the city,  but still enjoying the experience.

Ross

PS Anyone want a selfie-pole or a carnivale mask?  They are so cheap in this town!

The whole time I was at school I only knew one boy who had piano lessons –  Gordon.  He always said it was his Mum’s idea,  and we believed him because we needed him to play second row, plus he was quite a good kicker.  Gordie left school in Year 9 to work underground with his Dad at Oakleigh Collieries’ Number 2 pit.  He pretty much lost interest in the piano lessons after that,  though he kept playing footy.

Last night the four of us went to the New Year’s Day concert performed by the Slovenian Philharmonic Orchestra in Ljubljana’s Cultural Centre. It was wonderful.

One of the performers was a pianist,  who I’m guessing hadn’t worked in the mines,  but rather kept going with his lessons.  Catrina said he was good,  but I just became fixated on how big his jaw was and how much he looked like Buzz Lightyear in tux and tails. The tenor and the rest of the orchestra I enjoyed immensely.

Those who have had the pleasure of hearing me sing would know that I am completely bereft of any musical talent –  a gene that has been passed on fully to both kinder. You would also know that this doesn’t deter me in any way from making weird,  tuneless humming sounds and attempting to keep time with annoying hand and foot movements.  When transported by last night’s music I certainly relished the opportunity to make weird humming sounds and annoying tapping movements.

My poor music teacher at school – Miss Moneypenny (and yes that was her real name) would now be considered to be underperforming as some of her students did not produce desired outcomes!  My  musical abilities had nothing to do with her.  She was pretty shit though,  just the same.

I at least had enough insight to know not to clap unless Catrina and Margie did, and not to call out or go to the toilet during the slow bits. (A warning my children-  do not ever go to a classical music performance unless accompanied by someone who understands the genre. The rules are far too complicated.  I feel that Mother and I are now qualified to take you,  though Catrina or Margie may in fact be a better choice.)

To complete the evening? What else but a Slovenian Beatles cover band giving a free outdoor concert in one of the snow-covered squares on the walk home.

I said at intermission that even in my wildest dreams, as a lad in Rosewood I would never have imagined even the possibility that one day I might be listening to a Slovenian orchestra in Ljubljana.  In fact at school I couldn’t even imagine sitting down and listening to Gordie play something he had been practising on his Mum’s piano. 

As my dear friend Remington would say – life can be weird like that sometimes.

Farley and the Maestro from BEAUTIFUL Ljubljana
 

Again,  the lack of vowels doesn’t stop Slovenians from having a crack at writing the name of a town,  in this case Trieste. In fact Trst is the correct spelling according to Slovenes.   We went to Trieste and Kopor today.

Trieste is the capital of Antarctica,  and I don’t think any of us got a handle on the place. Kopor is the port for Slovenia and Austria (and Hungary and Southern Poland). It is far wealthier, warmer and interesting than Trieste.  Great place,  so much more interesting than its Italian neighbour.

In fact the best thing about Trieste, by far, is the way Slovenians spell it. Or Australians try to say it. 

Apart from that – pretty shit really

The mercury will dip to minus 17 today so the juju men tell us.  Brisk indeed. Just the day of a stroll up to the castle (or ‘Grad’  in local parlance – these are Slavic tribes after all.)

Ljubljana is a find. Admittedly 300000 residents and quite a number of others discovered it before our party of explorers,  but that doesn’t reduce the thrill.   Why has no one told me about this place? The old town sits between the Grad and the river.  There are a string of bridges across to the new town – by ‘new’, read 1500’s.

Much of Ljubljana was destroyed by an earthquake in the 1890’s,  so the entire rebuild was put in the hands of a single architect. This man had never been a student of the Clive Palmer Institute Good Taste, instead he belonged to the ‘beautiful city winding along both banks of a river,  with open spaces for pedestians’ school.  Not a dinosaur to be seen, no replicas of the Titanic anywhere – just parks,  promenades,  pubs and people.

Slovenia generally was untouched by the breakup of Yugoslavia. Their war with Belgrade lasted  just 10 days.  Slovenia was the first of the states to declare independence,  followed by Croatia and Bosnia the next day. The Yugoslav Army decided to attack Slovenia,  but to do so they had to cross Croatia.  Because the army consisted of troops from every state, including Slovenia and Croatia, there were massive defections along the way.  What was left of the Yugoslav army had a shocking time as soon as they crossed the Slovenian border. After 10 days they gave up and went home. The nation of Slovenia officially existed.

Our days have been spent wandering around this beautiful city and eating.  No Mr Ed sausages or foal fillets in green pepper sauce for us,  but there are game meat dishes and hearty stews aplenty,  along with everything Italian, Turkish and Slavic influenced. This is the part of the world where the Habsbergs,  the Ottomans and the Russian empires all collided for centuries.  The Austrians brought wine and wonderful pastries and the Turks brought coffee and seafood.  The Russians? They brought pickled cabbages to the Slovenian gastronomic table.

Can’t win ’em all.

When Rosewood State School restarted after the Christmas holidays in 1967 our class had swimming lessons on  Friday.  To the surprise of the entire boys cohort,  Kenny K got changed in a cubicle.  Two Fridays in a row in fact. Then the truth came out. To our amazement Kenny had grown pubic hairs over the holidays.

Kenny became famous in a Rosewood kind of way after that.  Subsequently we deferred to Kenny on all important matters  – girls,  really accurate information about sex,  even footy – such was his standing with the Year 6 boys.   He was,  of course,  the first to shave,  the first to have a girlfriend for more than a school week,  he even got an electric guitar for his birthday.  Kenny was a hairy, Rosewood God.  Slovenia is a bit like Rosewood in that respect..

When I researched famous Slovenians – this is my list:

1
2
3
4
5

There’s not much to go on.  Josef Broz Tito’s mother was probably Slovenian. Weird Al Yankovich has forebears that are Slovenian. And the Kransky sausage is Slovenian. That was pretty much it.   THEN in the Sochii Winter Olympics something amazing happened,  Slovenians got a dual gold medalist named Tina Maze  – gold medals in the Super G and the Women’s Downhill!

So my list of famous Slovenians now reads:

1  Tina Maze
2  Tina Maze
3  Tina Maze
4  Tina Maze
5  Tina Maze

Kenny was shaving up to his eyelids in Yr 9, but his bright flame of notoriety rapidly dimmed.  In fact very few people outside of Rosewood would have ever heard of him.  Slovenians have their own Kenny. And they didn’t  have to spy on her in the changing room to find themselves a hero. She achieved fame with her pants up and skis on.  Good on you Tina Maze,  I say.

The first snow.  And my goodness gracious me Remington ,  it has snowed.  We don’t get weather like this in the Antipodean isles.

Today we went by train from Zagreb to Ljubljana –  a trip very few from the Commonwealth deign to travel.   The trip takes 3hrs and is some of the most beautiful countryside I have ever seen.   It follows the River Mary (or some such) for most of the journey,  through the foothills of the Austrian Alps. I think this scenery compares more than favourably to that observed on the rattler between Rosewood and Grandchester, such is the majesty of the view!

Ljubljana is small, beautiful and cold. We dined out – but passed on the house specially (fillet of foal) out of deference to Meg.

I’m sure the foal fillet would have been tender,  but we all must draw the gastronomic line somewhere – mine I think is horse – even if it is served with a green pepper sauce.

To bed after a day of wonders

Farley

It doesn’t matter how you say it,  it isn’t correct.   The lady selling tickets won’t have a clue what town you’re talking about.   People on the street won’t have heard of the place.   But we got there,  and it was really quite beautiful.

Varazdin is a little town one and a half hours by bus from Zagreb. Driving into town it looked more like the headquarters for a number of concrete manufacturing businesses than somewhere to spend the day,  however the centre of the town is a pearl – baroque architecture no cars for 3 or 4 blocks in the centre.  Simply stunning.

Apart from the Webers’s home cooked meals,  lunch was one of the best meals I’ve had in Europe.  I had duck breast with barley,  Linda goulash and both dishes were exceptional.  The service throughout was excellent.   To finish we had coffee, and it was shit. The meal including the shit coffee,  sides etc – about $25 each. 

God bless you Varazdin,  or whatever your name is.