As I negociated the acquisition of some bananas at Ljubljana’s central market, the old man of the stand got very excited, apparently because he felt there was other fruit that deserved my attention.
He was especially insistant on these round fruits the color of peaches yet also resembling a tomato. He kept pointing to them and pointing to me and saying “Spanja”.. to which I smiled and pointed to myself and said “Portugal” (since its so nearby to the fruit). He laughed and furthered the exchange by pointing to his own chest and proudly proclaiming: Bosnia… Bosnia!
And so it goes in this city which I like to think I’ve grown to understand just a tiny bit.
The neighborhood that I regret not having spent even more time in, is that surrounding the infamous prison-turned-hostel-turned-cultural center called “Celica”. Anyone with a creative bone in their body seems to gravititate towards it. On several nights these past few days, I’ve sat with a new friend who comes from Melbourne. In town for a improve-theater festival, which sounds very interesting and Im not just saying that because she’s likely reading this post.
Tonight we walked around the block from Celica and stumbled upon something that can’t be properly communicated through words. Some would call it, a squatter’s paradise, I think one swedish guy referred to it as a free area.. whatever you want to call it.. all I saw was wall to wall art, painted, sculpted, or just simply hanging from the walls of the buildings. It was so impressive and so fascinating I decided to save my pictures for the daylight. So as we head back to the train station tomorrow to make our way BACK to Venice (story on that tomorrow perhaps), there will be a brief photosession at this place just beyond the beloved Celica.
And while I’m strolling with a camera… other people like the King of Jordan are pointing out some pretty undeniable realities.