Being young getting older

How can you beat having a birthday when the city throws a party? 

The party wasn’t just for me, of course. But Cecile and I celebrated my 68th on Saturday at Maslenica Ljubljana, a Slavic celebration of the end of winter - in this case - organized by the Russian ethnic community in Slovenia.

“Colorful” doesn’t even come close to describing the festival. I had only the vaguest comprehension of the words, but the traditional costumes spoke on their own. The stylized dancing told a story of waking the winter-groggy bear, keeping the witch from stealing the sun and celebrating the coming spring. (At least that’s the story without translation.)

Then there was the music. The adult choruses and soloists were very good, but the kids were amazing. Their voices rang out to fill the entire market plaza. I never fail to be impressed by cultures in which young children belt out songs with all their hearts. When I was in school, you couldn’t get a boy to do much more than mumble at the annual music “concert” for parents.

Oh, and the food. What’s a birthday without food? We began with strong expresso and a tiny cookie enjoyed in the sun at an outdoor café. A little later, we tried a giant Russian sort-of-hamburger right off the grill for lunch.

And then there was my “cake.” Slovenians have what they call a rolled dumpling that is unlike anything I have had. It is thin pastry (like soft filo dough) rolled with a type of soft cheese and then covered with sauce – in my case dark chocolate and orange. This was not light puffy stuff. It was so filling that, after splitting one serving, Cecile and I skipped our planned dinner out.

We didn’t need to worry about the calories though. While just enjoying our wandering tour of the old city, we put seven miles on our step counter.

And Sunday? A couple of good books, hot tea and noshing on cheese and Slovenian sausage. My kind of birthday weekend.