CRF: Ukraine

"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).

We were in Ukraine during the frustrating throes of springtime. The weather was warmer than it had been in the countries before, but not by much. The skies were bluer occasionally, but still threatening. We drove on muddy, washed out backroads in the Carpathians, up into deep snowpack and back down to the dry plains of the east. It was a beautiful and vast country, with scuffed edges and flashes of brilliant color.

The Ukrainian flag has two fields - a strip of gold beneath another of blue. It is said to be based on the colors of wheat under a cloudless sky, the simplicity evoking the great flatlands at the country's heart.
Near the fortress of Khotyn we had cups of bitter coffee in this cafe (and home). It was unheated, so we sat in our bundling layers and held our cups in mittened hands. The woman who sold us the coffee had a few blankets and embroidered shirts for sale. Her cat sat on our table and watched us.
A kind of shabby elegance mixed with soviet functionality gave Ukraine a beautiful aesthetic. Layers of history seemed to have decayed into a uniform state where ancient and new seemed equally rusty and appealing.
It felt like the broken and fertile landscape of spring, with chimneys and old antennae rising up from chipped paint like last fall's brown stalks from a bed of dead leaves. We felt that all of the country had just been released from winter's snow and was set to begin blooming.
In Ivano-Frankivsk, a city we liked quite a bit, we poked our cameras through the fence that surrounded this almost barren market. Dark figures moved amongst the flapping tarps of the stands, carrying things from place to place.
In the lower folds of the Carpathians, houses (and churches) were decorated with elaborate tinwork. It seemed that the style and pattern changed from valley to valley.
A book market in Lviv, were the vendors splayed their wares out beneath a statue of a man holding a huge tome. It was too cold to leaf through any of the books (or bother struggling with the cyrillic).
In the Carpathians we stayed at a ski area, but didn't ski. In a nearby town, another ski area was set up - people rented equipment out of the back of old army trucks.
We laughed when we saw this picture because we remembered laughing at the time - the chocolate bars arranged along the bottom of this display were bootleg versions of popular brands, their wrappers just slightly different from the real thing. It struck us as funny at the time; Ukraine is a country so committed to thriftiness and practicality that even the price of a bar of chocolate is worth undercutting.

CRF: Belarus

"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).
This is one of our most favorite photographs. It was taken on one of many long drives on one of many snow white days. The iconic Belarusian tractor is right there in the central image of our former Soviet winter. We were the only car on the road and took this photo in complete quiet aside from our idling engine.
Something we've noticed, looking back at pictures, is just how often this shade of blue popped up. Since it's the same color as the tractors, we wonder if there's just a surplus of this paint. When everything is state owned, it's not like you're going to get independent paint companies coming out with ones called Robin's Egg and Sky. Bright colors abounded, on fence posts and sides of houses, but none as often as this Belarusian blue.
We stayed in some interesting hotels and apartments. You need a visa to enter Belarus, so they don't get many casual visitors. So, when we saw a place to stay, we basically started unpacking (after handing in our passports to get registered with the government, of course). The restaurant attached to this hotel was all booked up for a wedding the night we stayed - and this bridal shop happened to be located right in the building. We were hoping to spot the bridal party, charm them all and swindle an invite to the party. No luck. Also on the premises, a beauty salon and barber shop, neither of which were open.
This was taken in Polotsk, our very first stop in Belarus and a wonderful first impression that shook off most of our nerves and readied us for more good times and lovely people to come. It also happens to be the geographical center of the European continent.
Since it's difficult to enter Belarus, it's hard to say "oh, the next time we're there..." So, we regret even more not stopping at this railway museum. Just down the road from Brest fortress, we spotted the large collection of locomotives. Apparently, many are still functional and are used in movies. It looked incredibly impressive and would have, no doubt, been a very fun time.
We visited a few more churches than we probably would have had the weather been nicer. In Novogrudok, we stayed in housing attached to a convent. A nice younger lady had to convince the also nice but skeptical older lady to let us stay in one room even though our last names were different and my hand was ringless.
Next door to that very nun hotel was this restaurant, recommended by both ladies, young and old. We were shown to this back room and dined on whatever they had. Sharing the small room with us was a party of eight who came in to pick at their food and sip their drinks periodically. Then, back out they would go. It gave us an opportunity to take a photo of their table, set like so many we'd seen before. It was very common to see a bottle of vodka and either soda or tomato juice on a dinner table like you'd normally see wine and water. Hopefully, whatever kept this group from sitting down from enjoying their meal all at once didn't involve any heavy machinery, because they definitely went through two bottles of each.
Here's that blue again. Belarusian roads were fantastic, especially compared to some of the others we'd recently driven on. However, they were very rarely plowed. It was amazing to see vans like this slip their way down streets like a zamboni gone haywire. Our Subaru Outback, outfitted with snow tires from Riga, far outshone the competition. Subaru did not pay us for that comment.

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.