Passing of a local legend

 A bonafide character that I met to record his oral history died here in Columbia last week.

Bill Wulff built it.

If “it” is in Boone County, there is a good chance that statement is true. For decades, Wulff and his brothers Al, Martin and Doc were the premier builders in Mid-Missouri. They built hundreds of houses, dozens of commercial buildings, much of Whiteman Air Force Base, a lakeside resort with its own airport – and the Boone County History and Culture Center.

Born in 1931 near Fort Leonard Wood, he worked his family farm (at one time with the help of German prisoners of war) and later became a police officer in Columbia. He found that police work wouldn’t support his wife and child, so became a brick mason and eventually a developer of masonry buildings. Ever the entrepreneur, he opened his own lumber company and brick plant to supply his construction projects. He and his brother, Doc, built hundreds of houses and commercial buildings in Columbia.

He traded a house in Columbia for land on the then-undeveloped Lake of the Ozarks, buying or trading for neighboring land until he had a half-mile of lakeshore. He built the popular Wulff Harbor Resort there, but roads to the lake were so poor that he built his own airport for easier access.

Drawing on his police experience, he organized an auxiliary force for the Columbia Police Department that for years supplemented the stretched-thin paid force.

My favorite story, however, was how he surreptitiously moved a giant bell from the dome of the Boone County Courthouse to the lawn in front.  The bell didn't fit the plan for the remodeling of the courthouse and there was no money in the budget to move it. Bill took that as a challenge, so sneaked into the courthouse with friends one night to used chains and brute force to snatch the bell.  Getting it down entailed muscling it over a wall and into an elevator and sliding it across the courthouse's main floor. By dawn, they had it installed on the lawn. County officials arrived later that morning to a puzzling surprise.

Wulff and his wife, Helen, also liked to travel. Helen particularly like history and genealogy but was dismayed that Columbia did not have a museum like so many other towns across the  country had. That led to a fund drive and many nights and weekends constructing the museum’s home in Nifong Park.

Today, four flags and a bronze monument in front of the museum commemorate Wulff’s lifetime of work.

Bill died Aug. 7, 2020 at Boone Hospital in Columbia.  He was here for 89 fascinating years.

COVID: Out of fear comes joy

It’s odd how a threat to your life can bring out the best in your life.

I took the outbreak of the COVID-19 pandemic very seriously. I’m 69 and have the usual health challenges that come with age, putting me right in the crosshairs of the virus. But the 2 ½ months that we isolated together turned out to be one of the best experiences of my life.

It all started simply enough. In March, we drove from our home in Columbia, MO, to Knoxville for a week of classic “grandparent duty.” The daycare center where Fletcher and Cordelia spend weekdays was closed for Spring Break. Cecile and I jumped at the chance to sub-in so Garrett and Brittany could continue to work.

The world went to hell just as we arrived.  By midweek, health officials had issued “stay-at-home” or “self-isolation” advisories as the toll from coronavirus mounted worldwide. Garrett and Brittany could work from upstairs if we could ride herd on the kids downstairs.

We also found ourselves in a bit of role reversal. Son Garrett was now the protective father, “grounding” Mom and Dad to make sure we did not come anywhere near disease carriers. No more trips to the store or gatherings with neighbors.

But we had plenty to keep us busy. I developed a new appreciation for young parents and teachers. Little kids are not only bursting with energy, but they are so fascinating that I willingly let them monopolize my attention.

Cora was just six months old – barely able to roll over, not quite recognizing our faces and not even attempting to talk beyond a gurgle. Fletcher was coming up on his third birthday – intensely curious, insistent that he do it his way and ravenous for stories, songs and books.

What magic those 2 ½ months worked. It’s hard to notice when we are a busy parents, but as grandparents we get to capture what we didn’t really see as our own kids blossomed. Other than a dash home for warm-weather clothes, we spent our time in Knoxville closer to our grandchildren than would otherwise be possible.

Day-by-day, Cora expanded her world. In what seemed only minutes, she grew from infant to toddler.

She loved for me to hold her up to the front window, first just enjoying just the light but later delighting at birds in the yard or dogwalkers on the sidewalk. She went from just a cute little smile to locking her eyes on mine, brightening into a soul-warming smile and waving her tiny hands in excitement. Is there any greater reward for your life than seeing a part of yourself beaming back to you?

I delighted in her quest for mobility. I cheered her on like a championship team as she scooted to her knees and shakily edged toward me. Later I secretly took all the credit when she pulled herself up the side of her playpen and then toddled forward holding my finger for balance. When she tired of it, she rewarded me by falling asleep on my stomach while I lay smiling on the sofa.

You naturally love your grandson, but Fletcher became my best buddy. A high point of my day was to escort him on a walk around the neighborhood. He taught me to literally stop and smell the roses as we trekked at glacial speed. Every stick and rock was a discovery, every leaf a piece of art. It might take an hour to walk around the block but I gladly gave up the vigorous exercise for the Zen of a little boy’s pace.

He excitedly explained his world in a constant stream that I half understood but fully appreciated. It was our own secret when I let him pee in the bushes or made his snack of “mud and sticks” (peanut butter and pretzels). I watched him put his imagination into LEGO constructions. I sang the ABC song more times than I ever did as a child to time our frequent hand scrubs. He hugged me. A lot.

Having four adults constantly in the same house could have been a disaster. But it wasn’t.  It was family.

You might imagine a daughter-in-law resenting the intrusion of a strange old man in her house, but Brittany welcomed me into her life. We grew closer as each day passed and I more and more appreciated how strong and bright she is. We are so lucky that she joined our family.

There were years when Garrett and I simply grated on each other’s nerve, as fathers and sons often do. But our mutual isolation drew us together more than since he was the little boy in the house. We had long talks and worked on projects together. I saw first-hand what a brilliant engineer he is. He pleasantly surprised me in the kitchen, making us with meals both delicious and healthy. The boy shared his life as a man. He is my son. 

As much as I missed my own bed and the comfortable nooks of my own home, my heart ached as we backed out of the driveway to head home once the daycare reopened. A vicious disease the turned our lives upside-down had given me the joy of a lifetime.

Fear? No. Gratitude.

Slovenia – Epilogue

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?

Saying farewell

It’s hard to say goodbye to colleagues. It’s harder still to say farewell to friends.

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.

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.

Just leave me on this hilltop

As he promised, it was incredible.

One of the many serendipitous joys of my life as a professor was meeting Dejan Gajšek. When I started my innovation project on virtual reality a few years ago, I quickly found that the storage and distribution of large 360° video and still images on our own computer servers was not at all practical. Dejan was the marketing director of VIAR360, a startup company focused on providing just that service to VR publishers.

VIAR360 is a Slovenian company that had sent Dejan to Seattle to develop the U.S. market. Typical of Slovenians, he and the rest of the company were helpful to a fault – no mean trick considering how unreasonable the demands of journalists can be. With their help, we astounded our peers by streamlining what was once a days-long editing process to the point that my VR reporters had 360° images on the Columbia Missourian website within an hour of a news event.

I was so pleased that when I took a vacation to the Pacific Northwest, I made a point of going to coffee with Dejan in downtown Seattle. And as I’ve come to expect of his countrymen, he made of point of saying “You’ll have to come visit us. I want to show you my country.”

And last weekend he did. “Be prepared,” he said. “I promise this will be incredible.”

Dejan grew up near Celje, the third largest city in Slovenia, tucked between low mountains and rich valleys. It is famous, in part, because in the Celje Counts planted castles on those peaks like Sam Walton scattered Walmarts through the Midwest.

So Dejan, of course, guided us through the main Celje Castle and the fairytale streets of Old Celje. The city also hosts several museums, including the best display of an actual Roman road I have seen (including when in Rome).

But, he assured us, the best was still to come. He took us on a winding drive through the countryside near Celje, then up and up a mountain road to his parent’s “weekend house”near the tiny village of Javorje (“Maple”).

I think I now know the exhilaration that led Peter Mayle to his Year in Provence. The hilltop view as we drove up to the tall but compact yellow house was spectacular from any angle. Nothing, however, matched the panorama of mountains and valley behind the house, where a small vineyard clung to a steep hillside.

Down among those gnarled 400 vines, Joze and Milena Gajšek were pruning off the old growth and tying leaders to the wires to support next season’s bounty. Dejan’s dad works for a large titanium processing firm and his mom is a mathematics teacher, but weekends and holidays find them lovingly tending vines, picking grapes and crafting fine white wine in their cellar room.

There is the work we must do to live, then there is the work we live to do.

After a tour of the wine-making room, we retired to the patio. Milena laid out a bounty of smoked meats, fine cheeses, breads and fruits. Joze brought pitchers of his finest wine. Dejan provided translations when the four of us stumbled for words.

We didn't always need those translations. We shared our pride in our children, our love for our homes, our lives at or near retirement, the special joy that comes from making things with your own hands. Thousands of miles, centuries of tradition and the tongue-twisting of unfamiliar languages separated us, but age, experience and the simple trials of life spoke volumes in our eyes. On that special hilltop, there were no borders, no bounds.

  

Dejan’s talent at technology marketing has taken him to several countries – and he’ll likely try more – but I’ve never seen a young man so comfortable and proud as he was as he shared his little part of Slovenia with us.

We watched the sun go down over the mountains, snuggled into warm comforters for the night and watched light dance into the valleys the next morning. I kept finding myself back on that patio, soaking up the magic of the hilltop. Dejan lived up to his promise.

I would have happily just stayed there, but that is not the fate of a traveler. We drove back down the mountain past farms, vineyards and villages to Slovenia’s second largest city, Maribor. More medieval majesty, more fine food and a peek at the world’s oldest grape vine (picked with pride for 400 years).

And then the train back through the river valley to Ljubljana, our apartment home-away-from-home and preparation for Monday’s class.

Thankfully, the mind navigates where feet can no longer tread. When life next requires me to pause for a deep breath, I know where I can go.

A little hilltop in Slovenia.

Translation: “This tastes great”

It only took a moment, but suddenly it is spring in Slovenia.

Cecile once had me convinced that Earth is a cube, rather than a ball. When we lived in the far northern latitudes, winter lingered unbearably. Then in what seemed an instant, Nature rolled out the sunshine, flowers and smiles – we had rotated over the edge of the cube.

I’m sure my scientist friends would go crazy at just the mention of another fake news theory, but it certainly appeared that the weather went over the edge this week. The Spring Equinox took Ljubljana from wet and gray to warm and sunny overnight.

It was not just the flowers that bloomed. You could see spring on the faces and coatless shoulders of people everywhere.

The ancient Brits were so excited about this annual change that they built Stonehenge. The wise folks in Ljubljana passed on the backbreaking stonework and opted instead for the diet-breaking Open Kitchen. Each Friday until the world dulls again in October, great cooks, fine restaurants and simple purveyors of good food pack the market square in the old city center with booths offering an astounding variety of food.

We are not just talking about Slovenian traditional dishes here – though there were plenty of those. The fare ranged from Slavic to Mexican to Thai and beyond. The double adventure for us was that most of the posted menus were in Slovenian, so we let our noses and taste buds do the translations.

Friday was never so tasty. I tried my first horse meat burger (a Central European staple that tastes a whole lot like a beef burger), Cecile tried the roast pig with kraut and potatoes,  and we both gorged ourselves on an odd-looking concoction of scrambled crepes topped with chocolate and berry sauce.

You really had to be there to see and appreciate that last dish. A muscular young man poured batter into enormous frying pans, let the mixture set and then chopped, stirred and tossed it until it looked like a big plate of small dumplings. It was rich, heavy and a true waistline expander.
Good food, good people, good memories. Open Kitchen was our perfect segue to our next Slovenian adventure – a trip to the wine country.

Captions: With the hungry crowd; The horse burger' Scrambling giant crepes.

Fulbright impact

One of the delights of the Fulbright program is that you get to experience the reach it has into the academic world.

Thursday I attended an event where Dr. Sonja Merljak Zdovc released her new media literacy book for Slovenian children. She spent 2001-02 as a Fulbright scholar at Mizzou, then went back to finish her Ph.D. She now is a well-known newspaper columnist and edits Časoris, an online publication that provides news, entertainment, and cultural information for students and their teachers.

She and I arrived at the University of Missouri the same year -- although I came the summer of 2001 and she arrived at one of America's most chaotic days: 9-11. She has fond memories of the school and the professors who helped her launch a stellar career, especially Jacqui Banaszynski and Don Ranly.

Meeting her was clear evidence that Senator Fulbright's idea works -- both knowledge and peace grow when you let scholars share their lives in person instead of just pondering faceless names in a text.

History, theirs and ours

I love the historical aspects of tourism. It is hard for me to pass a museum, old edifice or monument without stopping. I’m the guy who irritates his children by holding up the whole family while I read every word of the historical marker.

But the history I enjoy most in my travels is the history that comes from experiencing the places and people we visit.

Cecile and I recently had a guided tour of the current exhibit at the Museum of the Press in Ljubljana. The exhibit - which coincides with the 60th anniversary of the national newspaper Delo -  displays a remarkable collection of newspaper front pages that reflect key events in recent history.  The front pages from the decades appealed  to my love of history. I could follow the headlines of the history of Slovenia from the Austro-Hungarian Empire through the socialist era as part of a cobbled-together Yugoslavia and on to modern independence as a small but intriguing country.

Because the exhibit's focus is international, I also rediscovered newspapers from the U.S. and beyond that I know well and stories that were part of my life both as a journalist and a citizen.

The joy of joys in our tour, however, was our reunion with the man who assembled the collection: Ali Žerdin.

In the U.S., we'd say Ali Žerdin and Tadeja Jelovšek are one of the power couples of Slovenia. Both have Ph.D.s and both are well-known in their professional circles. Tadeja is an appeals court judge, currently on special assignment directing the Slovenian Judicial Training Center, which offers continuing education for the country’s judges, prosecutors and court officials. Ali is an author, pundit and the well-known editor of the Saturday political and cultural special section of Delo, Slovenia’s leading newspaper. My students here are far more impressed that I know Ali than they are of any American journalistic notoriety I tried to brag upon.


But to us, they are just two of the most generous people you could call “friends.” We met Ali and Tadeja through her sister, Urska Jelovšek Lenart, who at the time was a student advisor at the University of Missouri School of Journalism. Urska introduced us to the you’ve-got-to-experience-it to-believe-it Slovenian tradition of all-out hospitality. We stayed with her parents when we visited in 2012, had an eager and knowledgeable tour guide in her brother, Martin, and of course quickly connected with Tadeja and Ali.

It was Ali who in turn introduced me to Marko Milosavljević at the University of Ljubljana’s journalism program, which - seven years later - led to my Fulbright fellowship here.

Ali and Tadeja came to our Columbia home during a visit to her sister, but you would think a friendship with minimal contact over thousands of miles and many years would be awkward. It isn’t. We recognized each other’s smiles, were equally excited by the fresh produce at the market and were eager to engage in the children-food-shopping banter of people who are comfortable with each other.

That’s exactly what I look for when I travel. I truly love ancient hunks of stone and cobbled streets from another era. But it is the people with whom we build our own histories who make travel, as Mark Twain said, “fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.”

Cheer like a dragon

There are many things that need translation when you are abroad. Nothing, however, is more universal than the emotional joy of a sports fan.

Cecile and I got great midfield tickets to football – aka soccer – rivalry match of Olympija Ljubljana versus Maribor. These are the two top teams in the country, representing the two largest cities. You have to keep in mind that the whole country of Slovenia has a smaller population than Chicago - but then - a White Sox-Cubs game packs a lot of emotion into the stands.

I’ve never quite understood Americans who think soccer is boring. Even a game with low points (this ended in a scoreless tie), the action is constant – much like a hockey match. The clock in soccer is real. It drives me crazy that the last five minutes of an American football game can take a half hour. In soccer the ref can add a few minutes to make up for injury delays on the field, but basically after 90 minutes it's over. There are no time outs, no stopping the clock for a television break, and no pause to reset the chains.

And there are no cheerleaders, officially. But just look to the seats at the goal ends to find the fans who really take their sport seriously.

Olympija Ljubljana has the Green Dragons, named for both the team colors and the mascot of their city. On the other side of the field was Viole Maribor, named for the purple jerseys of their players.

These are the “ultras,” fans so fanatical that police in riot gear station themselves nearby. Each group has loud drums, choreographed cheers, banners and fireworks. Well, maybe not “fireworks” but flaming flares that let you know with no uncertainty that these fans are enthusiastic. They also fill the entire stadium with lingering smoke that neither fans nor players seem to mind.

Fast action on the field

Meanwhile in the “regular” stands, fans are only less enthusiastic by degree. It didn’t matter that my Slovene is limited to a handful of pleasantries, I knew exactly when a favorite player got the ball or how deep was the disappointment when a shot narrowly missed the net. Within minutes, Cecile and I could chant “O-lym-pija” like natives.

And, of course, we did.

Caption: With the fans; The Green Dragon cheering section (left) literally erupts; Fast action on the field.

Smok’n, the Slovenian way

Barbecue in Slovenia? Oh yes. And even the purists would cheer.

Cecile and I were looking for a culinary adventure the other night and saw a notice for Kralj Zara BBQ Restaurant just off Kongresni Trg in old Ljubljana.   Coming from an area where arguments about the nuances of Kansas City versus St. Louis versus Memphis barbecue can go on forever, we just had to give it a try.

This was the first time we have eaten barbecue off of a white linen tablecloth. Kralj Zara is an elegant restaurant in the old European style, with a couple of tech nods to modernity, like a large wine cooler and a glass-fronted meat aging cabinet filled with darkened rib-eyes and house-made sausages.

Our waiter was a pro – honestly friendly, gracious with our lack of local knowledge and ever-ready to make our meal more pleasant. And like all Slovenian wait staff, he wasn't angling for a tip.

Barbecue here is much like what the competitive barbecue teams prepare in Missouri. It’s house-smoked meats that need no sauce. We had a platter of baby ribs, baby pork leg, and brisket with incredible pickled apple slices. On the side we had coleslaw (of course!) and truffle French fries. Washed down with German lager.

It was a meat-lover’s heaven. I told Cecile she could just leave me at the table for a few days. I could hang around until it was time to go back for a mess of Buckingham’s finest.

Float my boat and bring on spring

I’m still wearing a jacket, but I know spring is near. The crocuses are blooming in Ljubljana’s Tivoli Park, you can see the forest peeking out of the snow on the mountains, and St. Gregory has cast his light upon the water.

Slovenia constantly delights me with a stream of holidays and festivals that intrigued the American mind. But I have to say that I may take St. Gregory’s Day Eve home with me.

In a world way, way before LEDs, winter was an especially tough time for craft workers. You couldn’t just flip a switch to keep yourself from hammering your thumb while cobbling shoes or catching your beard in the loom. The best you could hope for when winter darkened the skies well before dinner time was to work by the flickering light of a dim candle. You prayed (literally) for the world to turn a notch so the sun once again beamed through your workshop window.

However, back in the 3-digit era (540 – 604 AD, to be precise), calendars and clocks didn’t hang on every wall and it was tough to know when you could really expect spring. St. Gregory knew how to get his people out of the winter doldrums, however.

Sometime about March 20, he threw his light into the water and declared that folks could open their shades once again. His feast day was the first day of spring until another Gregory, the 14th century pope, totally screwed up the calendar and shoved his predecessor’s feast day back to March 12.

Slovenians are doggedly determined to keep little things like a papal decree from ruining their traditions. Remember, this is a country of just 2 million souls that has retained its own language and culture for a thousand years despite being ruled by every bully state to sweep through Europe.

So on the evening of March 11, children all over Slovenia drag their parents down to an appropriate body of water, carrying with them little houses or boats they made of paper, sticks, foam or whatever. Each little house is adorned with small candles and set sail into the waters to bring the light of spring back to their country. Cecile and I went to the Grand Canal in Ljubljana just as the sun was dimming the elegant spire of Trnovo Church. Hundreds of families were making their way to the shore of the canal to launch their little houses.

Of course, it didn’t go quite like a fairy tale. Some of the “houses” were stunning, others were fast food containers and and even and egg carton. Some were bundles of twigs with neither up nor down. Then (remember Pinewood Derby for Boy Scouts?) there were the architectural masterpieces “made” by the kids of very talented parents. But all had candles alight.

We watched a parent lean way over the water to help gently place the glowing vessel in the water, only to find there is a reason boats are supposed to be heavy on the bottom, not the top. My favorite was the little guy who was handed a Dad-crafted masterpiece – then just tossed it out into the middle of the canal like a Labrador’s tennis ball.

Not to worry. It was an evening to remember. Even the least of these lights had meaning in both Slovenian tradition and American observation. The days will be longer again! Flowers will bloom! I can leave that darned jacket at home!

Thanks, St. Gregory.