CRF: Russia

"CRF" is not a crime show you've never heard of, it stands for "Cutting Room Floor." Below are some of our favorite pics that never made the blog. We figured we'd reminisce a little while we're home for a visit. (Back in Europe August 16th).
Udelnaya Fair in Saint Petersburg is one of the most photogenic places we've ever been. Everything there, inanimate and animate, was intriguing. At the time, we were bummed that picture taking was unwelcome - something we understood through the hints thrown at us by vendors with varying levels of adamancy. Even still, we managed to click more than we could use in our post about the market.
Most of our time in Russia was bleak (weather wise) and the majority of our memories are snow covered. At the market, some vendors packed snow into the shape of a table and threw their inventory right on top. Every now and then, you'd see a doll's head or antenna poking through some freshly fallen snow. None of it seemed to deter people from coming to sell, buy, swap and mingle. I suppose, it's silly to think that they wouldn't just be used to this sort of thing.
To get out to Udelnaya we took the metro, which was an experience in and of itself. Open since 1955, the Saint Petersburg underground is the 13th busiest in the world. More impressive than the volume is the depth. We boarded this escalator to go down to the train and kept going and going...and going... and going. Video screens provided some eye candy for your journey, along with the optical illusion of watching people move diagonally in the opposite direction. The stations in the city are particularly deep (the deepest is 105 meters below ground) because, during the Cold War, they were made to double as bomb shelters. That, combined with the Stalinist architecture and sheer size of the stations make the metro sort of mind blowing.
Above ground, it continued to snow. Our time in Russia was limited to Saint Petersburg, due to our Russian language class and, yet, we still don't feel like we have a real grasp on the city. The icy sidewalks, which women traversed in stilettos with remarkable skill, made it difficult to move around and cyrillic alphabet kept our noses in the books. It would be nice to revisit it defrosted.
Yes, we went to Russia in January knowing full well that it would be Russian in January. So, we really can't complain about the extreme cold or white landscape. We were there for the Russian Orthodox Christmas., which wasn't celebrated all that much but did keep the Christmas markets open a little longer. After some cozyness with our families at home, we arrived just in time for it - and since carols and hot alcohol (wine and beer) are perfect cures for the doldrums, we were happy for the holiday extension.
As soon as the day passed, the breakdown began. People pulled their struggling vehicles into the area which had been closed to traffic for weeks and loaded their trunks. The sheds were stripped of their wrapping paper and, just like that, the city resumed its regularly scheduled programming.
Once it was all cleared away, the all-year street vendors looked a little lonesome. Fewer people walked up to their crowded little windows for fruit or a pastry or a beer. They just shuffled by toward the nearest subway station - the holidays all packed up and put back in the attic until next year.
And then there were the pigeons.

Things Slovenian People Like

Serving food on wooden boards. When we ate out, we were inevitably served something if not everything on a wooden board. It looked pretty, made for great pictures and took away any potential for that awful sound your utensils make when grinding against a plate. They seemed especially logical when serving a slab of meat - a cutting board and a plate in one! I've seen this before, but never so much as in Slovenia.
Viticulture. Wine making has been going on longer in Slovenia than Germany, Spain or - gasp! - France. It's true. It actually predates any Roman influence. There are about 28,000 vineyards in this small country and they are very, very proud of their product. This photo was taken at a tourist office in Vipava, which had an adjacent wine shop and tasting room that was sleeker and more stylized than anything else we saw outside of Ljubljana. Our visit ended with a short informational/promotional video, which had some pretty groovy computer graphics. The wines are generally very good, mostly white and can't really be found outside of Slovenia, the countries directly surrounding and the United States, as less than 10% of it is exported. Driving through Primorska, Podravje and Posavje, vineyards are everywhere.
Outdoor activities. Well, this makes sense. The country is a veritable playground for paragliders, rafters, climbers and any other sort of outdoor sports enthusiast. The World Rowing Championship is happening on Lake Bled right about now. We saw t-bar lifts set up on hillsides in small towns and marked hiking trails just about everywhere.
Country kitsch. To be fair, we were most often in the country and the objects were rarely mass-produced. Still, outside of Ljubljana, seldom did we walk into an eatery without a sentimental bend toward traditional, folky aesthetic - without farm equipment or handicrafts strung up on the walls. It never felt disingenuous or gimmicky and was always quite pretty and comfortable, but you know. That hen above is filled with warm bread; brown under the right wing and white under the left. Beneath her are our napkins and utensils. I was hoping for a painted egg.
Hayracks. Whether they are simple drying racks like this or toplarji, the double-racked structure with storage spaces above that look like barn skeletons, hayracks are everywhere. Slovenians considered them a national icon and you'll spot small wooden models in souvenir shops.
Cockta. It's a Slovenian soft drink made out of all sorts of herbs, but mostly rose hip. I'd say it tastes sort of like a really lemon-y, sorta flat Dr. Pepper, but that's stretch. It definitely has its own flavor, which was the point back in the 1950s when it was developed to compete in the international soft drink market. You see a lot of younger people drink it, but it ostensibly holds a bigger place in the heart of older countrymen who remember it as one of the very first products to be marketed and advertised in a big way: posters, bottle design through market research, the work of Slovene Drapers and Olsons. It doesn't have caffeine or orthophosphoric acid. You know how they say you can remove rust or clean your car engine with cola? Well, that's the stuff that does it. So Cockta's probably a much safe ingestion choice.
Harmonika, which is actually Slovenian for Accordion. That confused us at first. We saw accordion shops all over the place and vintage ones decorating the halls of inns and restaurants. I can't tell you what the special significance is, I just know that they definitely seem to like them a lot.

Would You Eat Me?

The Slovenian taste for horseflesh might have a slightly unfair reputation for being voracious. The meat isn't on every menu and plate, as some guidebooks might have you believe, and it's not any more common here than it is in Switzerland. Still, horse is an animal that is both ridden and eaten in Slovenia, and travelers in the country shouldn't be surprised to encounter it.
One way to eat “žrebe” (or colt) is in burger form, from the fast-food-type place "Hot Horse," in Ljubljana. For four euros, you get a large, mostly tasteless patty in a huge, soft bun. They're kept in hot water, which might explain how flavorless they are and also how juicy the notoriously dry meat stays. There are also horse hotdogs (which Rebecca called "pony pooches") and some other options - including a veggy burger and soups.
When we were in Slovenia three years ago, Hot Horse was described as a "chain." Now, it seems that they are down to just one location. It's somewhat busy, with a crowd that skews towards the culinary-tourist set. They've also revamped their logo and graphics so that they're sleeker and more inoffensive seeming. Before, their sign featured a grinning, red, cartoon horse that was a little unappetizing.
At Špajza, a pretty, old innhouse restaurant in central Ljubljana, the house steak is žrebe. Served with a variety of sauces, it's usually cooked just a bit browner than rare. Horse meat is very lean (and healthy, supposedly), and can be tough if it's cooked too long. Venison is a good comparison, though more gamey. Špajza's special preparation, the night we went, was served with a woodberry sauce and some kind of dumpling. The steak was tender and tasty, and benefitted from the flavor of its garnishes. In the end, colt isn't a very flavorful meat.

Sunday in Ljubljana

Ljubljana (pronounced Loo-blee-on-uh) is a great little city. It’s pretty, it’s cosmopolitan, it’s accessible, it has personality to spare and it’s relatively off the tourist grid. In a lot of ways, it feels like a mix between Amsterdam and downtown Manhattan, but way more relaxed - and much smaller. People are stylish in a cool, comfortable ‘Eileen Fisher meets H&M with a healthy dose of Camper’ way. On a Sunday in the summertime, it’s impossible not to feel like you’ve been invited to a neighborhood party, one part garage sale, one part talent show.
The main draw on Sunday is the flea market, which is set up along one side of the Ljubljana River, which runs right through the city. It’s got your average cool-European-market oddities: coffee grinders, Soviet memorabilia, purses, postcards, dolls that are naked, limbless and otherwise defaced.
Other vendors sell artwork and handicrafts: paintings, etchings, jewelry, wooden bird whistles and puzzle cubes. Last time we were here, in October 2008, people browsed while munching on chestnuts in brown paper bags. This time, they held ice cream cones. I didn’t see many transactions occur, but that's probably not the point. It feels like culture and community are prioritized over commerce.
Absolutely everywhere, there is live music. Somehow, all of the street performers are positioned just perfectly enough to own a piece of the airwaves. As we walked just out of earshot of one, we began to hear another. At one point, though, opera music blasted out over everyone and everything. These four young women, who sounded as perfect as any recording, made their way down the river harmonizing. As they floated, crowds hushed and heads turned. It was really beautiful.
Away from the main, riverside stretch, the streets are quieter. Graffiti creeps into the scenery, covering the walls of closed boutiques and kebab shops. Quirky, dare I say “funky,” buildings pop up here and there, housing a museum or gallery or library. There are more fountains and statues than you can count - and cafes. So, so many cafes.
Of course, this is Slovenia, so there’s a castle looming above it all. The fortress is an odd place to visit, with super modern structures and a sleekness that takes away some of the charm. Ljubljana’s funny like that – you can be gazing at the old architecture and then stumble upon a plug-in station for electric cars. It’s like they’ve cherry-picked the very best parts of each century.
Just as we reached the commercial district and newer, uglier buildings rose up to create a whole new skyline in the distance, this tractor pulled up to a red light. No matter that the urban space is gorgeous or that 50% of the country’s population reside in cities, Slovenia is a country intrinsically tied to nature and signs of a rural way of life are never too far away.
When we returned to the Old Town after dark, the ‘block party’ was still going on. The perimeter of the river was aglow with table top votive candles. It felt like one big garden terrace. In fact, it’s really difficult to tell where one cafe ends and another begins, making identifying the proper waiter something of a challenge. The live music hadn’t completely ended, but had a bit more competition from radio beats emanating from empty bars. Why sit inside when you can sit outside? We thought about how awful it must be to live right on the water, with all the noise down below. But that’s the best part about Ljubljana, I think. The waterfront isn’t prime real estate as much as it is public space, open for all to enjoy. Especially on a Sunday in the summertime.

Halfway Up The Mountain

High up above the little town of Zreče, on a steep, mostly wooded slope, we stayed for three nights at Tourist Farm Arbajter. The valley below is filled with old watermills and log trucks; at the mountaintop, the Rogla ski resort was green and mostly empty. In between, the streams were rushing loudly and the meadows were almost sheer cliffs. The Arbajter family raises deer and sheep here, and let out some of their rooms to travelers. Konrad and Maritza, the farm's papa and mama figures, are among the most welcoming people we've met on the trip.
It's certainly a working farm, with scores of deer darting back and forth on the hillside and a few dozen sheep grazing slowly alongside them. We aren't entirely sure about the process, but it seems that the venison is harvested with a rifle. We talked at length with our hosts, but they didn't speak any English and our Slovene is limited to mispronunciations of numbers and the words for beer and wine. It's entirely possible that most of the information in this post is false or seriously misunderstood. We do know that Konrad is a hunting enthusiast and that he'd assembled an impressive collection of trophies. There were various stuffed cervidae (including four fawns), a badger, a few weasels and a smattering of squirrels.
Konrad also makes sausages, which were delicious. At breakfast, we were presented with venison and pork "salamis" and an herby deer paté. Also, eggs fried in cracklings and grease, cereal, farmer's cheese, local jam and a garlic-heavy lump of chopped lard. He had just built himself a new sausage-curing room, which he showed us and was very happy with. The salamis were earthy and mildly spiced, with a dark grain and tasty gaminess.
When we returned to the farm each evening, we were greeted with a small glass of "borovnica," the local blueberry schnapps. We aren't positive that Konrad and Maritza made it, but someone in the area certainly did. They had various solar-fermenting jars on their porch and tucked away in the pantry - pickled vegetables and cherry liquor, some fruit preserves and one container that looked like it contained capers.
It was a pleasure to sit down in the sunny dining room at breakfast and dinner. The kitchen was just through the door and we could always smell something cooking - the scent changed subtly as the day went on, from eggs and baking bread at breakfast to rosemary and garlic before dinner.
We were fed well, of course, and with proud flourishes. The dishes were typically hearty Slovene mountain food, with lots of meat and starch, mostly slow-cooked and tender. We shared with the Arbajters a love of "bučno olje," or pumpkin seed oil. They dressed their salads with it and mixed it with new cheese to make a green, salty paste for Maritza's bread. When we left, they gave us a bottle of the thick, nutty stuff that a friend had made.
The valley was clogged with mist when we arrived, and it wasn't until our second day that we could really grasp how beautiful the view was. Konrad stepped out onto the porch with me at dawn and pointed out the different towns that trickled down the cleft, and then where the hills of Croatia began, some twenty five miles away. They're proud of their place, and seemed to enjoy the wonder that visitors feel. It's the kind of place that one wants to bring other people to, to see and experience what's there. Taking our leave, we promised to bring our families someday.

Slovenian Food

The first word that comes to mind when thinking about Slovenian food is 'mushrooms.' They are absolutely everywhere, underfoot on hikes, garnishing most meat dishes. Most often, though, they are sitting pretty at the bottom of a soup bowl under the murky, grey surface of gobava juha. Mushroom soup in Slovenia isn't just slices of button mushrooms with a shitake thrown in here and there for exoticism. It's a veritable crash course in foraging, with each spoonful unearthing a plethora of funghi, all different shapes and sizes and flavors. Since every Slovenian meal begins with soup, gobova juha is pretty much a national menu fixture.
Most people describe the cuisine as 'meaty and hearty' and this applies to soup as well. If something is called a jota instead of a juha (soup), it will be thicker and more filling. This is a cabbage jota, which was a delicious chowder of sauerkraut. I was aware that smoked meat would be involved, but was surprised to find two whole pork ribs hanging out in the veggie bath. Merlin was happy to help me out with them, saying that they were smokey, cured perfection. I can say that it smelled like southern barbecue. Other common jotas involve barley, potatoes and/or radishes and are often referred to as "farmer's soup."
Now onto grains. First of all, yes, that country dijon colored gravy is mushroom. Honestly, if you're not a mushroom person, Slovenian food is just not for you. If you are - like I am - it's heaven. Buckwheat is very popular, showing up in breads, pastries, as groats (a.k.a kasha), as porridge with cracklings on top (Ajdovi Žganci) and in noodle form. This is ajdova krapi, crescent-shaped dumplings made of buckwheat flour and filled with cottage cheese or curd. It was much lighter than it looks, airier inside and less starchy outside than its dumpling sister, Pierogi. For the record: buckwheat is not related to wheat, is gluten free and is widely considered a healthy grain choice. That is, until you sprinkle it with pork trimmings.
Also in the 'lighter-than-it-looks' category is štruklji, Slovenian strudel. We've been served it alongside a number of dishes, here it is next to a big hunk of beef (with mushroom gravy, obviously). They are remarkably delicate and really, really tasty. The dough is stretched as thin as can be by the chef (as our host mother on the Arbijter tourist farm demonstrated to us one evening), then rolled over the filling of choice. Cottage cheese is almost always involved, but fruit, herbs or vegetables can definitely be added in. Then, the long roll is wrapped in cheese cloth, boiled and sliced to serve. The orange stuff on top is fried bread crumbs, which has dusted our other most common side dish: njoki (similar in every way, including pronunciation, to gnocchi). Mrs. Arbijter's njoki were big pillows that appeared to be baked. Strudel in the pot, gnocchi in the oven - you can see the influence of border countries Italy and Austria being given a Slovene twist.
A number of restaurants have been recommended to us as places to eat "enlightened Slovenian cuisine." As far as I can tell, this means that things are a little less lardy and vegetables play a larger part than the usual side salad or steamed cauliflower and broccoli. At Gostilna Lectar in Radovljica, this meant black radish dip served inside of a radish.
At Hotel Rakov Škocjan in Cerknica, it meant a slice of eggplant wrapped up around a spoonful of sweet cheese curd and sprinkled with almond and bučno olje (pumpkinseed oil). It felt so fancy in the middle of the woods, wearing hiking shoes and drinking draught wine. My trout and Merlin's venison, two very, very common Slovenian proteins, were especially delicious.
Oh, trout. It's particularly good in this country, especially around Lake Bohinj. Usually, it's served whole, fried or baked smothered in large amount of garlicky oil. Here, at Lectar, we ordered it smoked as a starter. Have I mentioned that Slovene portions are large? Well, they are, but that's not such a bad thing when you're talking about smoked trout. Unlike a lot of other pork and starch loving countries, fish is definitely given its due respect. Squid and shrimp make appearances on menus even far from the coast - probably because they hold up particularly well to freezing. Last time we were in Slovenia, we visited Piran on the country's small stretch of Adriatic coastline. I had the largest prawns I had seen or have seen since. This time around, though, it's been all postrv all the time.
No post about Slovenian food would be complete without a big shout out to the Styrian oil pumpkin. Since falling in love with pumpkinseed oil in Austria, we've been dying to get our hands on some more of it in Slovenia. These two countries produce large quantities of the oil, as well as the unique gourd from which they are made, in their Styrian regions (Štajerska in Slovenian). The pumpkins are green and orange with a pale yellow flesh and dark seeds. Those dark green roasted pumpkin seeds you buy at the store may very well be from Slovenia, as they are a big export. After a particularly filling meal, we were served cups of wine soaked fruit. Bučno we asked, thinking that the texture was squashy. Yep! Between this, the seeds and the oil, I really want to know if oil pumpkins can survive in Northeastern America. If so, I have a wonderful business idea...

Slovenian Churches

Every region in Europe has its own style of church. In some countries, the religious architecture can change from one valley to the next. What's interesting about Slovenian churches is their relatively uniform style - slender, compact spires and simply designed naves - and their number. There are over two thousand in this little country - on some hillsides, we've spotted as many as four.
There are many small village churches, sometimes at both ends of a hamlet. Interestingly, a large majority of the religious buildings are catholic, and the multitude generally doesn't reflect a denominational divide as much as it does the small size of the buildings. In other countries, larger cathedrals were constructed in many parishes, allowing higher numbers of worshipers in each congregation. Here, there are relatively few big chapels, and new churches were built to meet demand.
This shingle roofed church near Žička kartuzija monastery was impressive for its ornateness. The double cupola is more common in this northeastern region of Štajerska, where there's less of a monolithic culture of catholicism. Here, eastern influences from the rest of the former Yugoslavia and from the northern, Germanic countries have mixed more with the Romance architecture of the mediterranean west.
The further a Slovenian church is into the wilderness, the less likely it will have an ornate steeple roof. The onion shape easily gives way to Italianate, square edged spires. Often, these backwoods buildings are the prettiest and most appealing for their sunworn paint and crumbling, simple facades.
The church of Sv Janeza Krstnika, on the shore of Lake Bohinj, is said to be the most beautiful in Slovenia, with classic stylings and 15th century frescoes covering the interior walls. It's especially striking at dusk, when it's lit up and its reflection becomes almost perfect in the still water.

Bled and Bohinj

There are two beautiful lakes in the northeastern Gorenjska region of Slovenia. Lakes Bled and Bohinj are both bounded by forested mountains and high pastures. They’re separated only by about fifteen miles of valley, but feel worlds apart. Bohinj’s shores are an outdoor playground for paragliders and hikers, but are otherwise mostly deserted. Around Bled – which is blessed with this perfect crag castle and a much photographed island church – the holidaymakers and locals have more ostentatious tastes.
The waters of both Bled and Bohinj are a deep, aquamarine color that catches the light and seems murkier than it really is. Wooden boats dot the surfaces, rented out by the hour from stands on the shore. Both lakes are full of trout, which end up on area tables and menus.
Bled could be famous simply for its views and the castle, but there’s also a magnificent and unique centerpiece – Bled Island, which is an icon of Slovenian tourism and of the lake region in general. It’s topped by the striking Pilgrimage Church of the Assumption of Mary, built in 1465, whose bells chime the hour and echo softly over the water. On a walk around the lake’s perimeter, we watched the light change on the steeple and followed a swimmer’s progress as he made his slow way from the shore to the church staircase.
Bled is undoubtedly the tourist capital of Slovenia, and there are more German, Italian, French and American accents than Slovenian ones. It’s a glamorous place, in its own way, with the feel of an upscale ski town or an old seaside resort. While there are endless opportunities for hiking and climbing in the mountains around town, most people stay close to the shore and the shopping district, drinking and dining at the sleek bars and slowly parading their luxury cars along the main street. Tour buses come in for the afternoon. Large, stately hotels ring the water.
Not far away, Bohinj lies quiet and serene. Here, there are no castles or magnificent buildings (though the pretty churches of Sv Janeza Krstnika and Sv Duh have plenty of charm and history). Its beauty is hardly understated, though; with steep sides and pebbled coves, the lake has a natural grandeur that is breathtaking and refreshing. Its famous mists materialize early in the evening and lift late in the morning, burning off in long tendrils that hang in curls over the peaks.
While there are a few places to stay close to the shore, most of the tourism infrastructure is condensed into the little village of Ribčev Laz, at the eastern point of the lake. Most of the rest of the coast is protected as part of Triglav National Park, and the northern shore is entirely deserted. Pastures and cornfields stretch up a secondary valley in the direction of Stara Fužina, and its common to hear cowbells clanking around the lake as the Cika heifers graze amongst the trees.
There’s a pretty pathway that circumnavigates Bohinj, passing by a campsite and crossing over the Savica river on the western end. Three years ago, we walked it in the rain and felt a peaceful solitude. This time, it was sunnier and less muddy. These strange tubs – unused and inexplicable – confused us on both walks. They seem to be hooked up to piping, but are mostly full of leaves and gunk.
When we left Gorenjska, we were glad to get away from the tourists and slip back into the backwoods and unspoiled villages of Slovenia’s less traveled regions. It was sad to leave these two lakes behind, though. We’ve found ourselves missing the morning mists and beautiful trails – we regret not taking a boat out, not going for a swim, not lingering a little longer to take in the views from the peaks around.
One night we stopped at this Bohinj pier on our way home from dinner. The water was motionless and glassy and the lake was silent. From the bridge over the outlet, dozens of camera flashes flickered, but there were barely any other terrestrial lights. We lingered for a while until the mosquitos drove us away, taking in the quiet and promising ourselves that we’d come back here.