I left Slovenia this morning, catching an train from Ljubljana to Budapest. Nine and a half hours in a carriage moving slowly through the mountains and plains of Slovenia and Hungary, in which apple trees and haystacks feature prominently, did nothing to shake my conviction that long train trips are Good For The Soul. I shared my compartment with a chatty Slovenian curtain saleswoman on her way to a trade show for an hour and then later in the day with a young Hungarian couple more interested in each other than me or the scenery. I read a very out of date New Yorker and a book of short stories by Lorrie Moore, Birds of America, bits of which I really loved. I also took several pleasurable snoozes. A good thing I do enjoy train trips as they are likely to feature prominently over the next few weeks.


Anyway, I bid farewell to Slovenia with a photo of the first Slovenian town I stayed in, Piran. Piran is located but an hour away from Trieste and is conspicuously scenic, being possessed of hundreds of boat moorings and many old churches. Alas, like many conspicuously scenic and indeed perhaps charming seaside towns, it is swarming with tourists. If you need proof that not all French and Italian people are tall, willowy, cultured, well-mannered, well-dressed and under-thirty, go to Piran.

I last glimpsed the sea in its Adriatic incarnation in Piran. I will next lay eyes and perhaps dip toes in the great briny either in Albania or the Ukraine. For now, I'm landlocked in Budapest and trying to work out how best to pun on my being in Hungary.