Friday, August 28, 2009

Ljubljana, Slovenia

I've just come to in a hot, airless room, with a couple of Spaniards and a Jap.

I'm in the very charming city of Ljubljana. Martin and I arrived yesterday to boiling 31 deg temperatures at an International airport that reminded me of a 1950s aerodrome (we walked through customs directly into a dozen people facing us in a small room, otherwise known as the arrivals hall.)

There's a touch of Eastern Europe about it - unsurprisingly - having spotted as the coach tore us into town a tractor kicking up dust down a dirt track as we passed crumbling monasteries, but that's been about the extent of the stereotype.

The city, a town really, will be doomed to fall under the braying, mooning belch of British stags before long, although it's not massively cheap so it may survive that yet.

Ljub appears to be in the final throes of a cute arts festival, meaning last night was spent walking alongside their tiny town river with their outdoor cafes and occasional tango displays. We'd sojourned at one such bar for a Union beer, surrounded by attractive young women who'd dare not look at us in case they'd turned to fucking stone. A shame really, as I'd packed for the first time my filthy rucksack full of smart ironed shirts. I had thought that this was a maturity on my part, a growing the fuck up to look smart for once, when in fact all that had happened, I'd realised as swaggering, tanned teenbollocks sauntered past in their shorts and polo shirts, was I'd hit 35 and cannonballed violently into pathetic middle age.

Mart and I went on to an intriguing bar full of (literal) skeletons to take advantage of their BOGOF cocktails. Ironically, around the time I was bemoaning to him that I'll never have sex again as I gain weight and turn more fugly, we'd somehow become ensconced in conversation with the two charming Slovene ladies sat next to us. This resumed for a good couple of hours until, unsurprisingly, and following that familiar experience of two women giggling among themselves in their own language for 10 minutes, they quickly upped and left.

Up until then, the night had looked rather promising. The town is suffused with attractive young women and requsite bars... and then we got a kebab and it all went wrong. We went up to a bar stroke club accessible via a streetside elavator, and it was rammed full of generic blokes in t-shirts. The girl sat next to us who I'd spent a good 20 minutes plucking up the courage to speak to looked utterly horrified when I did so. And by that point, we'd grown utterly exhausted.

Cue bed, 5 lousy hours sleep, and a hangover that hasn't quite kicked in.

I'm starting to think that bars are vapid, soulless places, and not the greatest of places to engage in meaningful discourse with the opposite gender.

Particularly if you're me.

COMING SOON: Culture, edifying perambulations in parks, all that bullshit...

10 comments:

The Unbearable Banishment said...

Bars ARE vapid, soulless places! That's what makes them so great! Do you know what ISN'T vapid and soulless? Church.

sas said...

one thing i know for true: at our age you are SO fucking unlikely to meet a potential someone at a bar. you may as well turn to god. it can't hurt to pray.

daisyfae said...

"bars are vapid, soulless places"

ummm..... D'uh! never had much luck meeting anyone of utility in bars - either friendships, relationships or the occasional zipless fuck. never goes well...

Quote said...

Is this still going?

Excellent.

i am not your freud said...

"I'm starting to think that bars are vapid, soulless places, and not the greatest of places to engage in meaningful discourse with the opposite gender."

yeah it also took me a while to figure that out.

fwengebola said...

UB - Yes, but vapid; vapid!!! I've also done three solid nights of drinking and I've pretty much covered the full gamut of zero soul. The irony is that I'll do it all again somewhere else in a couple of days, but not today. It is Sunday, after all.
SAS - No, it can't hurt to pray in the slightest, but I'd argue that it's not a particularly constructive use of time.
Besides, I'm not looking for The One in a bar. I'm looking for A One in a bar. That would be nice, just for once in my damn life.
DF - You may not have met anyone of utility in a bar, but you've met someone, right??
I'd like that chance. That would be sweet.
Ah, who am I kidding?
Quote - Yes, it would appear that I still have nothing better to do. Are you now married?
IANYF - But I'm 35. I have no excuse for just realising that.
I am in Zagreb. It makes Vienna look like a colossal party town.

ess jay said...

"and then we got a kebab and it all went wrong"

there is a great ozzie novel/play/movie, that youll never see, based on a similar premise: He Died with a Felafel in His Hand

digressica said...

Bars are awful places. Everywhere. In any town. In any country. Fact.

luna said...

Err...in that case have you tried the eastern european catalogue of mail order brides?
Surely Albania's your target?

fwengebola said...

essjay ~ I really wanna see that. Oddly, the Spanish title on your link reads a little like 'maricon', which is an offensive Spanish word for a rather camp man.
Dig ~ And they got awfuller on the trip...
Luna ~ I'm lonely, not desperate. Gimme another few years for that to kick in.