Do you speak Slovenian?

We’re in shaky territory. The borders of this region have been slippery over the centuries…Romans, Gauls, Celts…empires have come and gone. The result is a blend of languages, cultures and styles. Plucking one identity isn’t an easy thing. As we check out from the Agriturismo, the desk clerk offers German and French before we settle on English. Aren’t we in Italy?
This time, Brett extracted a stopping point from the host farmer at our Agriturismo. He recommended a church with mosaics from the 3rd century- The Basilica of Aquileia. The guide states “With its 760 square meters the floor is the largest Paleo-Christian mosaic of the Western World.” The church was built just after the legalization of Christianity in 313…legend has it that St. Mark had come to the region to preach and baptize. He converted Hermagora, who followed him to Rome and returned to this area as Bishop of their first Christian community. He and his deacon, Fortunates, were jailed and converted their jailers. They went on to perform several miracles before their martyrdom. This church is dedicated to them.
I doubt my camera has gathered the immensity of these mosaics…all created with bits of polished colored stone. I think about the enthusiastic new Christians- retelling their Bible stories before they had Bibles. They incorporated many Pagan symbols to demonstrate the light of Christ overcoming the darkness. Their aim was to convert the existing cults. The center isle is consumed with a scene of the fishermen and the acrostic fish ICHTYS (Iesus Christos Theu Yos Soter, Jesus Christ Son of God the Savior).
In the Crypts, we’re treated to the Roman ruins originally on this site as well as faded frescos and, gulp, the relics of aforesaid St. Hermagora and Fortunates. We attempt to climb the bell tower, but it’s just another day in the world of random operating hours and they are closed.


We move on to Slovenia, but not without hitting the last Italian town for a pair of Italian shoes for DD6. It’s the equivalent of Payless, but…other shoe women with have to sympathize because I can not…she seems fulfilled.
I was really looking forward to the dramatic border crossing. Passport stamps, searched luggage and possible armed guards. No such luck. We drive into Slovenia as easily as Illinois to Wisconsin.
Our first rest stop is a bit shocking. We can’t read a thing. We can’t understand a word spoken. There is an attendant for the washroom with a sign. I can’t even say please or sorry. My English is returned with a polite smile and gesture toward the collection plate. Ummm- here’s a Euro, may I pee?
For once I am vindicated. Brett assured me again and again that English was common here. It’s not. He has broken his primary rule of travel and entered a country not knowing the polite words of the language. Neither of us can extract any hint of Slovenian. I had friends who spoke many languages- never Slovenian. We’re stuck.
We meet our hostess, a pediatrician at the Ljubljana hospital. She speaks English but we ask her, “Is it more polite to speak Slovenian?” She smiles and says “Yes, very much so.” Oh.
So we spend our first 2 hours in the apartment, cramming with guide books- having no clue about actual pronunciation. Brett ventures to the market and returns with “Hello, Thank you” and some groceries. It’s a start.