There are only so many national faces, which conceals the fact that there are just so many faces, period. My fellowship contact was kind enough to invite me to an event this afternoon, which stretched into an afternoon wandering about the old town, recommendations for desserts that must be tried (sweet gibonica?!), and finishing with a very late lunch of a Slovene sausage. What distracted me from all of this kindness was that my contact looked just like my boss at a certain tech website in my ad sales days, and her daughter looked just like the fellow English teacher who lived in the town neighboring mine to the south when I was teaching in Japan. This was very distracting.
I have meetings set up for the remainder of the week, a noise show tomorrow night, and a guided trip through Radio Študent on Friday morning. This dispatch is short, but there are too many fine details to make generally relevant, and the hour is later than it really ought to be.
France Prešeren, Slovene national poet, bemused before Ljubljana’s Triple Bridge.