I FEEL sLOVEnia

          

 Slovenia’s new national slogan, which it is using to promote itself to tourists, is “I FEEL sLOVEnia.”  You see it everywhere:  on the official Slovenian website, on pamphlets and brochures in the tourist information offices, even on promotional tee shirts.  Feel the “love” in S-love-nia, baby.  And whoever came up with that catchy wordplay deserves a gold star.  You’d have to be pretty hard-hearted not to love this beautiful country in general, and its small coastal towns in particular.

            Slovenia shares a border with Italy to the west, Austria to the north, and Croatia to the east and south.  It’s a microcosm of Europe in a country the size of New Jersey.  It has the Julian Alps, gray jagged mountains topped with snow, even in May.  There are farm fields and forests alike, huge national parks where bears and lynxes still roam, and a capital city with a relaxed, coffee-bar vibe.  Then there’s the little 29 mile long coast along the Adriatic.  We are staying in Izola, a town on the coast that barely gets a mention in many of the guide books.   

            Izola feels very Italian, but with a twist.  It’s a fishing village that is also turning to tourism, and so far it has balanced the two.   When tourists come – which evidently they do in the summer – the town can be filled with Italians and other Slovenians.   Now, in May, the only people in town are the locals – and us.  The harbor is filled with boats.  The streets curve and wind their way, emerging along the water’s edge and then disappearing back again into the town.   The buildings are made of stone and bricks, and are stuccoed and painted in beautiful pastels:  lemon yellow, peach, lime green, pale blue.  Every building has wooden shutters, some a plain brown, others painted to match or complement the hues.

            Our house exchange apartment is located right off the little main street of town, in the old section.  It couldn’t be better located.  The street is lined with trees and flowers, and along it is a continual row of coffee shops, gelato vendors, and restaurants.  Our apartment is gorgeous: wooden floors, lots of windows, a big deck off the kitchen, interesting artwork, and two comfortable bedrooms perfect for us.  There is another apartment upstairs, and the outside of the building is freshly painted a deep peach.

            At dinner one night, at an outdoors restaurant along the marina, we heard the sound of men singing nearby.  There was a concert in a church just a few steps away from where we were eating, celebrating the end of WWII, and we could hear the all-male chorus singing marches and ballads.  As we left the restaurant, the concert ended and the singers came out, still high from the performance, and clumps of them strolled away.  One group in front of us started singing again, reprising a favorite ballad.  The men were all in their 50s, 60s or 70s, and were dressed as working men dress for a special occasion.  Their deep voices drifted down the dark street, and they piled into a streetside café, laughing and singing snippets of songs, to have a celebratory drink.  We walked slowly, enjoying their harmonies, the acapella beauty of men’s voices joined together.

            We took a long walk outside of town the next day, along the edge of the Adriatic and up into the hills above Izola.  Olive groves, vineyards and little farms cover the hillside.  Izola has excellent vineyards, we’ve discovered much to our pleasure!  A warm, blue-skied day brings out the colors of Izola, with its orange tile roofs and clustered houses running down to the marina and the sea, which is clear enough to see to the bottom, shifting in colors from radiant blue to deep purple to aquamarine.  In the distance we could see Italy, the overbearing neighbor that claimed Izola and the Istrian coast for its own for nearly 800 years.

            The other gem of the Slovenian coast is Piran, which we explored on a day trip yesterday, taking the city bus from Izola.  Piran claims the attention of tourbooks, and although we are now firmly Izola-boosters, we can see why.  Piran juts out on a promontory into the sea, the thumb of land covered with houses jumbled together along narrow streets.  It was a walled city, and portions of the wall, which was built in the 1450s, still remain.  Piran is dominated by a huge piazza in the middle, and overlooking it from a hill is the Cathedral and Bell Tower of St. George, dedicated to that dragon-slaying saint.  The narrow streets spin off the piazza in all directions.  We wandered the town all afternoon, stopping for lunch at a tiny back-street restaurant with a few tables lined up outside.  Then back into the streets, the buildings 4 or 5 stories high, painted in bright colors or with stucco peeling, revealing the brick and stones within.  Laundry hung from the windows along double-decker clothes lines.  The town was quiet.  We emerged from one twisting street, overhung with the houses and laundry and emerged, blinking from the glare, onto a big cement terrace abutting the sea.  Time for coffee by the Adriatic, then back into the warren of streets we plunged, this time headed for the cathedral.

            The cathedral sits above the city on a hill, resting on a stone wall that is at least 7 stories high that runs from hilltop to the sea.  From it we spy the medieval wall, zig-zagging up another hill to the remains of the fortifications that once guarded Piran from the Ottoman hordes.  We hiked up to the fortifications, following the wall, along a vertical incline.  From the top of the turrets you can look down onto the entire town of Piran and the cathedral, the uniform orange tiled roofs glinting, the blue Adriatic hugging the curves of the town.  I have found myself saying, “This is like Dubrovnik; this reminds me of Venice; this looks like an Italian street” but in truth, Piran and Izola are themselves:  part Italian, part Dalmatian coast, part eastern Europe, part just themselves.

            Back in Izola we listen to the Slovenians talking around us.  Children at the elementary school that is just behind the apartment yell at each other as they play outside.  We buy coffees and nod hello.  And we feel the sLOVE-nia.