Leaving Hungary, entering Slovenia

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We leave Hungary and enter Slovenia. The crossing is uneventful and one questions if there has even been a crossing at all, but slowly the world is shifting around you. You have left many, many words behind, but you don’t yet realize it. The road to Ljubljana is thicker with traffic. There’s definitely the feeling that “Something is going on here”. We’re no longer lazing around in a timeless bath, waiting for nothing in particular to happen. Slovenians have a destination and you feel it pulsing through the traffic flow. We’re not talking Paris or New York traffic of course, where the pulse stops and one wonders if the patient is still alive, the constant temptation to actually just turn the car off and park it in the middle of the street, the reasoning going, “We’re not ever going to move again anyway. I’d be better off on foot”. No the highway to Ljubljana gently but firmly tells you that things are moving in Slovenia, not at a frantic pace, but moving all the same. One may question whether this is an illusion of course, having just left a country where things don’t stand still but certainly do not seem to be propelled by any dedicated energy. Remember, it’s all a question of drifting and floating in Hungary. We do not move by any intended action on our own, we wait for things to happen in Hungary. And strangely enough they do. Lots of things actually happen deep down inside. But I must get back to Slovenia, paces, and rhythms.

The moment in Slovenia, things change.

There are roads. And then there are roads.

Slovenia is a completely western country with western prices. The food at the rest stop was very good. I hadn’t had a good meal in a week, so this was important. The driving was easy with basically no rain. It’s raining now though, and that’s such a shame because the area is so beautiful. I got on one of the bikes immediately and took a tiny road down to a river and bridge. There were dirt roads in every direction. You could go wherever you wanted. And for the surroundings, you have the beautiful countryside, non-spoilt, with wooden log fences, and beyond, not too far, could almost touch them, well, you have the Alps, massive, imposing, present, reassuringly strong and stable. They almost cry out “I’m not moving.” “I’ve been here for thousands of years and I’m not moving, I’m not going anywhere. You can count on me.” They are decidedly massive rocks surging up into the sky.


About wilhelminatunnels

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