SLOVENIA!!!!

Over a week since last time, so I'll try to keep it all short!

But first, a joke. This one is about Russia's favorite ethnic whipping boy, the Chukchi people, a small, obscure Siberian tribe:

At a meeting of the Soviet Writers' Union, a group of Russian writers are conversing with their Chukcha colleague.
"Have you ever read Tolstoy?"
"No."
"Have you ever read Dostoevsky?"
"No."
"How about Chekhov?"
"No."
"Well then... what about Pushkin?"
"No. Chukcha-- no reader. Chukcha-- writer!"

And the Brown Count thus far: 16.

Biggest thing since last post-- went to Slovenia to hit up Jan and the Dins! Jan, for the unenlightened, is my Slovenian blockmate at the Harv, and since I have been to three of the countries surrounding his homeland (Austria, Italy, Croatia), I figured I had to make it there at some point. Moreover, Jan arranged a World Tour stop there for this year's Din and Tonics, of which, of course, I am an erstwhile member. Since I am the connection, and because I don't like missing out on this kind of fun, I had to go.

Now, before I go any further, a note to you T4 types who went to Europe but decided Slovenia was not worth the time or money: you are FOOLS. Slovenia is AWESOME. Why? I will get there, I will get there.

My adventure started on Thursday, when I packed very economically, since more than half the space in my backpack was taken up by my Dins gear-- tails, shoes, etc. I left home in the afternoon for my 8 PM flight, first via metro to Belorusskiy Vokzal (i.e. train station), and then via express train (with AC!) to Sheremetyevo airport, where I saw not one, not two, but three people who looked exactly like Rowan Atkinson.

I flew Czech Airlines to Prague, and then onward to Ljubljana. Czech Airlines prides itself on being the best airline in Eastern Europe. I think they need to think a bit bigger. Still, they still beat the shit out of American carriers in that they actually served dinner on a 2.5 hour flight. I was delighted when I heard the flight attendants announce this, only to be horrified when I realized the cuisine was, indeed, Czech. When the pork chops, dumplings, and sauerkraut arrived on my little tray, I was too hungry to be repulsed, and ate the dumplings and sauerkraut not already soaked in dead pig juice. Luckily, we got some bread and cheese on the side, so not all was lost.

Speaking of flight attendant announcements, the plane ride from Moscow to Prague was when I realized just how stupid the Czech language sounds to anyone who speaks Russian. The fool of an announcer guy on the plane could not have had a thicker accent, and the sorry mess he made of English was dwarfed by his pronunciation of Russian, which was terrifying. I once thought Czech was elegant-- it certainly looks elegant when written, and the gorgeousness that is Prague itself no doubt exerted no small influence on my psyche when I was there. But I mean really, if Dr. Steve Brule had his own language, it would be Czech.

In Prague I had a grand total of 40 minutes to change planes, so I literally ran through the (miraculously empty) airport, and was the only person in the customs line at the time. I then boarded the plane to Ljubljana, which was a tiny propeller outfit that looked as if it had been manufactured before the invention of TV. I sat next to an Dutchman who lived in southern Austria, who spent the entire hour-long plane ride complaining about how much he hated lawyers.

I arrived in the absolutely diminutive Ljubljana airport at 11 at night (or 1 AM in Moscow). Jan's dad and brother drove me home in what must be the only Chrysler in Slovenia (well I guess not, since Jan's mother works for a company that imports Chryslers... I must say, sounds like an uphill battle). Jan wasn't even there yet, because he was, in his turn, visiting a friend in Uzbekistan. Jan's family is absolutely lovely, and they were so happy to have me there (or at least they pretended really, really well. Jan, which is true?). He lives in a sweet Socialist-era apartment in the Bežigrad area of Ljubljana (his mom has lived there since age 12). Judging by the amount of space the apartment had compared to our Moscow place, Tito cared a lot more for his people than Khrushchev did. Yay benevolent dictators!

When Jan arrived from Uzbekistan (with 30 Uzbek hats... I got one too!), we immediately went to Jan's second home, i.e. Plavi Bar, which is across the street from Jan's place. It's not so much a bar as it is a cafe that also serves alcohol, and I got to meet, among others, the main waiter at Plavi, a cool Albanian dude known as Daši. I cashed in on the joy occasioned by Jan and Daši's happy reunion; the latter gave us both free drinks (I had cappuccino). Then Jan and I went strolling through the streets of Ljubljana. At first, it seemed like a modest mid-sized Central European city. But then we got to the center, and oh, how lovely! A beautiful little square, named for Slovenia's national poet, France Prešeren, some lovely bridges over the Ljubljanica river, lots of narrow medieval streets with Austro-Hungarian classical and baroque architecture, which were overflowing with outdoor cafes and restaurant tables. I was in old Europe again! A land of touristic happiness! Ease and relaxation! Gelato! Pizza! Vegetable markets! Gelato! A castle on a hill! Did I mention the gelato!

It was now that I began to regret not having a camera, a situation which I finally remedied the next day (pictures to follow!). But until then, Jan and I went to an outdoor place and watched the Netherlands crush Brazil over some Union and Laško, the two (yes, only two) brands of Slovene beer. Frankly, they taste pretty identical. We then went home and had pasta (with fresh veggies! joy!), which was like heaven after weeks of cabbage cutlets and packaged potato-mushroom balls, while watching Germany beat the living daylights out of those poor tragic fools, the Argentines. It was sad, pathetic even.

The next day was frankly largely the same, with more wandering of the center. This time we went to the castle, which is pretty cool, and from which you can see basically half of tiny Slovenia. Since Slovenia has only 2 million people, other Yugoslavs like to joke when they meet a Slovene, "you're a Slovene? But then who's guarding the border!" Hyuk hyuk hyuk. But I did buy the camera (AA-battery powered, ghetto).

Also, I forgot to mention that the day before, I had gone with Jan's dad (a real joker, by the way. Example: he said "we will now go to a traditional Slovene restaurant. Maybe you have heard of it." It was McDonalds) to pick up some fliers advertising the Dins! We had these ready when the Dins showed up at 9 PM that night, which, I must say, was a really joyful reunion. It was pretty awesome seeing everybody in their sweaty, unwashed World Tour glory, and even more awesome feeling their sweaty, unwashed glory while hugging them. The Dins stayed, for the most part, in wonderful little boutique hotels in Ljubljana's city center, except for Rashid and Sam Galler, who stayed in a hostel a little ways away.

Fact: Jan and I had visited this hostel, which was in an old Art-Nouveau kind of building, and were greeted by the owner, who apologized that the place was dirty because "I am hung over. It will look better in an hour."

We went out that night to a bar called Pr. Skelet, whose chief decoration is-- you guessed it!-- fake skeletons all over the place. This place is, appropriately, in a basement, and even more appropriately, the bathrooms are hidden behind secret revolving bookcases. But best of all, they gave you two drinks for the price of one. Naaaice!

The gigs were great-- in the morning, on the steps of Ljubljana City Hall, and in the evening, in a club/ theater in the town of Celje-- but best of all was being/ singing with the motley crew that is the Dins again. The deal was pretty awesome for me: I got my pick of solos, basically, and I was not considered obnoxious; on the contrary, everybody was like "I want a picture with Aseem!" You see Dins, this is why I'm not coming back. Being an alum is SO much better than being the real thing. Freshmen Dins: don't get any ideas. Come back to the group next year, or uncle Aseem will eat you.

But yes, for a day, I felt like I was back on the world tour circuit: playing Euchre in trains, watching Alpine scenery go by, free sit-down Italian dinner, ordering as much as possible because it was free, the smell of putrid tailcoats, etc. It was wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, and all too easy to believe I'd be there on tour with them for the rest of the summer. But it was not to be: upon our return to Ljubljana that night, I bade a sad goodbye to the young enthusiasts and slept my for three pre-plane hours. It was unspeakably fantastic of Jan's parents to wake me at 4 AM, feed me breakfast, and drive me to the airport.

Coming back to the vastness and rudeness of Moscow (by Aeroflot, no less-- although it's really a very ordinary airline, with a color scheme in the plane not unlike that of a youth hostel), alone, Janless, Dinless-- that was particularly disappointing. The rest of the (sickeningly hot) day I sat at home, did nothing, and felt lazy, irritable, and lonely. Naturally, the Russians have a word for exactly this feeling: тоска, or "toska," which means, well, exactly that-- when you're bored and slightly depressed. To add insult to injury, dinner was cabbage cutlets-- a rude blow after the gorgonzola-spinach ravioli of the previous night.

But since then, I have made some interesting acquaintances. Last night, I watched Spain-Germany (suck it, krauts) with E.S. from Stanford, but more importantly, with a Muscovite friend of a Harvard guy who did my program two years ago. Serge, Marino from Harvard's friend, brought his friend Ivan too, and we went to a cheap little bar close to Red Square. Marino had informed me of Serge's legendary beer-drinking capacity, and he did not exaggerate. We each drank FIVE beers. FIVE. It was mildly disgusting. But I survived.

Then today, I met another friend of Marino's: a dude named Dima, who is much older, but who is more awesome for it. We met at a bar near Chistye Prudy station, a pretty swanky place, so consequently I ordered next to nothing. We (me, Dima, his girlfriend, another friend) talked for a long time about American's stereotypes about Russia, and vice versa. Russians seem to think that Americans are poorly educated, boorish, fat, and are very bad at geography. Regretfully, I confirmed that this is all basically true. They also seem to think that we are outgoing and are good talkers, which is not exactly true. Substitute "loud-mouthed" for "good talker," and that seems to be more accurate.

Anyway-- all for now. Pictures to follow!

P.S. If you want to follow the Dins on their whirlwind adventure: http://dinstour.blogspot.com