For six weeks in Slovenia I taught, but what did I learn? After a week of recovering from travel and reorienting myself to life in the United States let me ponder this fascinating country.
In an odd sort of way, Missouri and Slovenia share a status with the rest of the world. Missouri is a “fly-over state,” largely ignored by the news media focused on the two coasts and our fellow citizens who, frankly, find us a bit boring.
Slovenia has a 1,000 year history of being walked over, ridden over and flown over by almost every great power in Europe. It is a quick passageway from the Aegean to Central Europe that by tradition even Jason and the Argonauts used. Few Americans could point to it on a map.
But though it is hard to tell a Missourian from an Iowan, Slovenians stand alone. No matter who tramped through or ruled over them, the residents of this small country have maintained their own distinct language and culture for a millennium.
Let me put that in Missouri context. At 7,827 square miles and with 2 million people, Slovenia is a bit smaller than the St. Louis Metropolitan Statistical Area (8,458 square miles, 2.6 million people). Imagine that although the Spanish, French, Germans, Confederates and Yankees have had their day in St. Louis, folks there still spoke the Cahokian tribal language.
Language aside, it is the less definable distinctness of Slovenians that most fascinated me about their country. Except for the tiny cups of coffee, most Americans would find it easy to live in Slovenia. Almost everyone speaks English, you recognize the brand names on the grocery shelf and you can even get barbecue in downtown Ljubljana.
But you always know that something is different:
· Slovenians have a much different attitude toward life. While Americans seem largely driven by money, Slovenians seldom fantasize about becoming a billionaire. As my host Marko Milosavljević explained, Slovenians choose an “as is” culture rather than an “upward and onward” culture. The goal of most Slovenians, many told me, is to live comfortably and enjoy their country’s spectacular beauty. That probably accounts for the aura of calmness that visitors soon pick up on.
· They pay somewhat higher taxes, but use them to amplify that lifestyle. Healthcare is provided, college is free. The education system is considered one of the best in the EU. The roads are well maintained and parks are everywhere. And the whole country is remarkably clean.
· Laid back, but certainly not lazy. Slovenians are big-time joggers, ride bikes everywhere and never saw a hill they didn’t want to climb. I didn’t see nearly as many overweight people as I see on any U.S. street corner.
· We may have Starbuck’s, but Slovenia has a true coffee culture. Any work break, meeting of friendsor simply time to get your head straight means a stop at any of the multitude of coffee bars always within an easy walk. Coffee there is not a huge and expensive mug of Joe, but some variation on a shot of expresso served in a tiny cup. For about a euro (a bit over $1), you can sip your expresso and often munch a bonus cookie while you ponder that pleasant lifestyle.
· No tipping. Wait staff get a fair wage and diners pay the price on the menu.
· Slovenians use TV to become multi-lingual. While English lessons start in elementary school, Slovenians swear by their other source of education. With such a small population, Slovenian television must count on programming from other countries. However, those shows in English, Serbian, Italian, etc. are never dubbed. Viewers hear the American cops on CSI banter in English – but see the translation on subtitles. Hearing native speakers night after night reinforces the English lessons from school.
· Books are everywhere. Despite having fewer readers than most American cities, Ljubljana is chock-a-block with bookstores offering titles in Slovenian. The government subsidizes the book industry to make sure Slovenians always have a printed source of their ancient language.
· Slovenian food is a fusion of the surrounding Slavic, Austrian and Italian cultures – heavy dumplings but also al dente pasta, hearty lager but Tuscan-style wine. And they seem to like culinary surprises. Our favorite was pizza with brie cheese, black caviar and red salmon roe.
· Distance is relative. From the capital Ljubljana, you can drive anywhere in Slovenia in about two hours. But that’s not just two hours between towns, it’s to different environments. One side is towering Alps, another rolling wine country, a third the bright beaches of the Adriatic -- with castles are on all sides. And with the European Union’s open borders, another country is just a tank of gas away.
The tourism folks have adopted a catchy logo for this pleasant land: sLOVEnia. I like it. What’s not to love?
The Clyde is a river in Scotland, but in Welsh the name means "heard from afar" or one with a loud voice. Not a bad fit for a retired newsman and journalism professor. Clyde Bentley
Friday, April 19, 2019
Tuesday, April 09, 2019
Saying farewell
We will board an airplane in the early hours of Wednesday to return home after six weeks in Slovenia. The Fulbright Specialist Program gave me so many gifts: The chance to renew my love of teaching, the chance to serve where I know I'm needed, the chance to explore a truly remarkable country and culture…
… And the chance to meet people who will forever be in my heart.
The Fulbright Program inserts professors from U.S. universities into the academic lives of colleges and universities around the world. My opportunity was to work at the University of Ljubljana, the flagship university in Slovenia.
The students were incredible. Bright, as journalists should be, but also talented. We are often frustrated trying to help the public make sense of 50 sort-of united states. They will go into a profession where news comes in dozens of languages and even more cultures.
The University of Missouri, from which I retired in 2017, counts its journalism professors by the score. The University of Ljubljana counts them on one hand. While other professors in the Fakulteta za družbene vede teach the linguistics and literacy theory and knowledge courses, the professional aspects of journalism are taught by four very competent, very collegial and very busy professors. Jernej Amon Prodnik chairs the department and teaches both the introductory reporting class and journalism history. Igor Vorbič is the video journalism specialist and also oversees the streaming news program. Melita Poler Kovačič teaches the crucial ethics classes. Marko Milosavljević is the lead in teaching reporting and editing. And of course, they all cover for each other while also teaching graduate classes and performing important academic research.
Knowledgeable, supportive, enthusiastic … none of those adequately describe this crew of journalist-scholars. Even "colleagues" falls short. They are a great group of folks to be around.
And there were so many others who helped us live here rather than just visit. Ali Zerdan, the editor, and Tadeja Jelovšek, the judge. Technologist Dejan Gajšek and his wine-making parents. Literacy campaigner Sonja Merljak. Tech writer Lenart Kucic. Sound guru Martin Jelovšek, and Maša Kolenbrand, my university paperwork guide. And, of course, all the folks at the U.S. Embassy – Jean Leady, Brian Street and Ivanka Ponikvar.
But Marko, oh Marko. As my host and mentor, you made this month-and-a-half a true lifetime event. Marko trusted me with his students, which is an honor no professor treats lightly. But he also quickly became my friend. We shared endless little cups of Slovenian espresso talking shop, but he also shared his family. I can’t adequately tell you how much Cecile and I enjoyed being with Maja and little Maša. Of course, what grandfather wouldn’t lose his heart to a beautiful 4-year-old who doesn’t care at all that you can’t understand what she is saying?
Places. That’s what we usually associate with our travels. Slovenia provided no end of beautiful photos to fill my scrapbook. But this trip was really about people. And what people I met! Old Senator Fulbright would be proud. Face-to-face travel makes memories – and peace.
Thursday, April 04, 2019
The highs and the lows
I’ve joked to friends that Slovenia is a Readers Digest version of Europe – turn a page and you have the landscape of another country. We put that notion to the test this weekend by spending Saturday in the majestic Alps and Sunday in the lowland wine country.
Saturday afternoon, we went to Kranj, just outside Ljubljana, to visit the Teran family. It was one of those “six degrees of separation” moments that make you wonder if “foreign” is really a word. Aleš and Nataša Teran have three bright and talented daughters – Manća, Kaja and Spela. Manča was an exchange student to Maryland, living with Scott and Susanne McLellan. Susanne’s parents, Gary and Nancy Franklin, are our friends and fellow dining group members at the Missouri United Methodist Church in Columbia. One good meal, like one good friend, leads to another, so (if you are still following me) here we were in the shadow of the Julian Alps enjoying an incredibly sumptuous repast.
Nataša had another commitment and Kaja had to study, but thanks to Sunday’s switch to European Summer Time (I know, I know. The U.S. made the DST spring-forward two weeks ago. Bear with me) we still had plenty of time to explore Lake Bled.
To pass anywhere close to Lake Bled without visiting it is a sin against Rick Steeves and the gods of tourism. Less than 55 kilometers (35 miles) and another world from Ljubljana, it is the mold from which fairytales are made.
Slovenians love to point out that they have the sunny side of the Alps, where Lake Bled shines brightest. Rulers from Empress Maria Theresa to Tito have guarded Lake Bled as their own bit of heaven and impressed their guests with it for nearly a thousand years. It must have been an exceedingly stunning surprise when it took a long carriage or sleigh ride up the sunny side of the Julian Alps from the capital and crested the mountain to view the lake.
Besides water so clear you can watch fish swim from the overhanging cliff, Bled is known for its unique human edifices. The imposing 11th century castle looms over the lake from a rocky perch that looks across the water to Tito’s square, modernistic retreat.
But what appears on the postcards and thousands of snapshots is the tiny island in the center, upon which sits the Pilgrimage Church of the Assumption of Mary.
Legend says an ancient Slavic temple to the goddess Živa stood on the island, but that early shrine was replaced by a Baroque church. You can hire wooden boats to row you to the island and ring the church bell – tradition says it will make your dream come true. Many couples also go to the island for a romantic wedding. And everyone – even if your new friends have stuffed you with a great meal – ends their walk around the lake with a precisely 7x7 cm square of Kremsnita, the cream cake that vies with the island church for Lake Bled fame.
A quick trip to Lake Bled and the majestic Julian Alps is everything one would expect from an Austrian Sound of Music vacation. But instead of trudging over the mountains to Switzerland, Cecile and I made our next getaway to Slovenia’s sunny southern exposure. More friends, more fine food and more adventure.
Sunday morning we joined my university host Marko Milosavljevic, Maja and 4-year-old Maša for a quick drive to Goriška Brda.
Don’t struggle trying to pronounce any of that. Slovenians are graciously adept at understanding American Mumble.
If Lake Bled is a stand-in for the high Austrian Alps, Goriška Brda substitutes well for the rolling hills of Tuscan Italy. Here large vineyards, green pastures and soaring pines make a crazy quilt vista dotted with Medieval villages and hilltop churches.
You don’t find stout half-timbered houses in black and white here. The buildings are plastered in a warm tan, the streets are both cobbled and ox-cart narrow and the best view is over the rim of a wine glass. Bled is a yodel. Goriška Brda is a soft song played on a lute.
Part of the wonder of our Sunday in the south was watching it through a child’s eyes. Maša found magic in every flower, statue or pond. And so did I. But as you have probably guessed by now, I find Slovenia’s magic high and low.
Saturday afternoon, we went to Kranj, just outside Ljubljana, to visit the Teran family. It was one of those “six degrees of separation” moments that make you wonder if “foreign” is really a word. Aleš and Nataša Teran have three bright and talented daughters – Manća, Kaja and Spela. Manča was an exchange student to Maryland, living with Scott and Susanne McLellan. Susanne’s parents, Gary and Nancy Franklin, are our friends and fellow dining group members at the Missouri United Methodist Church in Columbia. One good meal, like one good friend, leads to another, so (if you are still following me) here we were in the shadow of the Julian Alps enjoying an incredibly sumptuous repast.
Nataša had another commitment and Kaja had to study, but thanks to Sunday’s switch to European Summer Time (I know, I know. The U.S. made the DST spring-forward two weeks ago. Bear with me) we still had plenty of time to explore Lake Bled.
To pass anywhere close to Lake Bled without visiting it is a sin against Rick Steeves and the gods of tourism. Less than 55 kilometers (35 miles) and another world from Ljubljana, it is the mold from which fairytales are made.
Slovenians love to point out that they have the sunny side of the Alps, where Lake Bled shines brightest. Rulers from Empress Maria Theresa to Tito have guarded Lake Bled as their own bit of heaven and impressed their guests with it for nearly a thousand years. It must have been an exceedingly stunning surprise when it took a long carriage or sleigh ride up the sunny side of the Julian Alps from the capital and crested the mountain to view the lake.
Besides water so clear you can watch fish swim from the overhanging cliff, Bled is known for its unique human edifices. The imposing 11th century castle looms over the lake from a rocky perch that looks across the water to Tito’s square, modernistic retreat.
But what appears on the postcards and thousands of snapshots is the tiny island in the center, upon which sits the Pilgrimage Church of the Assumption of Mary.
Legend says an ancient Slavic temple to the goddess Živa stood on the island, but that early shrine was replaced by a Baroque church. You can hire wooden boats to row you to the island and ring the church bell – tradition says it will make your dream come true. Many couples also go to the island for a romantic wedding. And everyone – even if your new friends have stuffed you with a great meal – ends their walk around the lake with a precisely 7x7 cm square of Kremsnita, the cream cake that vies with the island church for Lake Bled fame.
A quick trip to Lake Bled and the majestic Julian Alps is everything one would expect from an Austrian Sound of Music vacation. But instead of trudging over the mountains to Switzerland, Cecile and I made our next getaway to Slovenia’s sunny southern exposure. More friends, more fine food and more adventure.
Sunday morning we joined my university host Marko Milosavljevic, Maja and 4-year-old Maša for a quick drive to Goriška Brda.
Don’t struggle trying to pronounce any of that. Slovenians are graciously adept at understanding American Mumble.
If Lake Bled is a stand-in for the high Austrian Alps, Goriška Brda substitutes well for the rolling hills of Tuscan Italy. Here large vineyards, green pastures and soaring pines make a crazy quilt vista dotted with Medieval villages and hilltop churches.
You don’t find stout half-timbered houses in black and white here. The buildings are plastered in a warm tan, the streets are both cobbled and ox-cart narrow and the best view is over the rim of a wine glass. Bled is a yodel. Goriška Brda is a soft song played on a lute.
Part of the wonder of our Sunday in the south was watching it through a child’s eyes. Maša found magic in every flower, statue or pond. And so did I. But as you have probably guessed by now, I find Slovenia’s magic high and low.
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