It was an impromptu trip, an escape hatch, the first flight out that didn’t cancel on me from Dubai. After half a dozen flight cancellations and more than a week of delays and witnessing a war breakout, I decided to make a holiday out of the adventure rather than merely transiting.
About twenty years ago, I picked up a book by Paulo Coelho – Veronica Never Dies, set in Ljubljana. I had never been out of India, found the name hard to pronounce, and simply assumed it was a fictional town. It’s been on my mind ever since I discovered otherwise. It’s amusing how life converges.
The sight of snow-capped mountains was the welcome party. Sweeping views of the town and beyond from the nearby fort on a hill were the buffet.
Pastel colored, weather-faded buildings brought back blended memories of Roman facades and the Venetian colors from the islands I saw ages ago.
For 3 weeks I was mostly indoors at cafes, restaurants and offices. But watching people lounge out on terraces created a welcome dissonance. Airplanes are curious teleportation devices.
And of course, had to stop for a moment to indulge in the local real-estate situation. I’d call it a passing hobby, but others may [correctly] diagnose it as a mild obsession.
A proper beer quenched the thirst that built over weeks of enforced sobriety. I could have used one when explosions were ringing.
The next day, I helped myself to a good cup of coffee while lounging on the many terraces.
Unexpectedly discovered a bridge over a quaint canal that filled me with a fusion of deja-vu’s – oriental feel on one side, a semi-brutalist design on the other.
My mind screamed “Paris” at first glimpse of the locks chained to the bridge.
It was the last hour before I had to leave and spent that time strolling around
and headed back to Amsterdam
