Ljubljana is pretty and welcoming, perfect for walking through the old centre and relaxing on the river banks or in Park Tivoli. It won’t fascinate you with its majesty, but will grow on you in a matter of seconds. It’s hard to get away from its simple and modest charm, although I am biased – to me, it is the family I never got to choose, but love profoundly, because it was always there to imprison, gently bite or comfort me. It does it all well. One day is already enough, in two days you will know it as the inside of your own pocket and then… try to resist the temptation to just move there for good because it is oh so pleasant and comfortable. Or be like me and only come back when you need a bit of time off.
The city that will always, no matter how I try to escape it, be my home. The one I will always come back to, for a week or two or three. The one where I’ll notice the little things and the little people who have changed or haven’t.
The same men who sell newspapers from one café table to the other. The man with the homeless’ magazine at the same spot at the train station and the woman who still plays her saxophone a couple of ten meters before him. My favourite cinema still being as nice as ever, although some people left and others stayed. But then some shops in the centre closed and a few restaurants changed. Does it matter? Seeing how things go on and you get to notice them when they are already over.
How tourists are now reigning the main streets. How for the first time in your life you can hear more stolen phrases from foreign languages than from your own while you’re taking your ordinary stroll. So, they discovered our little precious stone, the cutest capital, so long forgotten in the shadows of the big ones? Are you pleased? Or, to be completely honest, does it annoy you? Our jewel transforming into just another one of the European metropolises. But does it really? Or is it all just the surface, under which you’d still be suffocating from the same old air?