The Curse of Pula

“You know, in Romania, trees are really important. In some places, when a child is born, you still plant a tree. The two grow up together, like one being. If you want to propose marriage, you have to ask the tree too. If someone dies at sea they bury the tree instead.”

Some clean-up work from Bled: There was an animatronic bear with an accordion outside one of the gift shops. He swayed back and forth and soundlessly squeezed his instrument. He wore a funny “Gandalf hat” and Tyrolean costume. I took a little video and sang “Work Song” to get it out of my head. When I finished, a family of four came up, a mother with a young son and the father holding an infant in one of those chest slings.

Mutti gave the boy a 50-Euro coin and said to me, in English, “Now you will make better video.” He put the coin in the slot and the bear swayed faster. Some wild Balkan cover of “Take Me Home Country Roads” blasted out, and the family went nuts. They knew every word, and Mutti grabbed her son’s arms and made him do the Hully Gully. 

The dad softly took the infant’s arms and made it dance as well. I turned the camera toward them, and they stopped dancing. I left so they could Hully Gully in peace. The lesson is clear: “Keep it on the bear, kid. Keep it on the bear.” 

On the bus back, two Australian teens were gushing about poker and how much they love poker and how the poker scene in “Casino Royale” is amazing and how women are better at poker because they are better at lying and how you can make a lot of money at poker and how James Bond is amazing. 

I couldn’t tune it out, because the ear goes to a known language as the eye goes to light. I love the soft wash of foreign words while I read or sleep, but when I’m traveling, my English-starved ears lock right in on sounds I understand. I tried to read, but I couldn’t keep it on the bear. 

End Lake Bled flashback. 

  

The plan on this day had been for me to take a day-trip to Pula, a Croatian town on the tip of the Istrian Peninsula. Maybe two hours away. It has one of the largest standing Roman amphitheaters in the world and the ugliest statue of James Joyce ever sculpted. I am dying to see it. But some ancient curse has now thrice kept me from it. 

In the 90s, my brother and I wanted to see an industrial noise concert there but were too afraid of the buses. Tried to make up for it two years ago, and I was ON a bus TO PULA from Zagreb when a blizzard arose and the bus turned around. This really happened. Trying for a third time to get to Pula was a big part of this particular trip, to get Pula off my back, the great Unvisited City. 

But.. it was not to be. 

No buses were going there in anything considered reasonable time. There was a 7-hour bus that went all the way to Zagreb first and then took you to Pula. But then the only bus BACK left 30 minutes later. So, if I didn’t want to stay in Pula, I would have to be on a bus for 14 hours to see it for half of one hour. Such is the Curse of Pula, I considered it. 

Sara suggested I could just stay there and meet her in Piran (our next destination) but there was only a single bus over the weekend from Pula to Piran, and it left at an inconvenient time. There was a private car, but it wanted $280. So, no Pula. One day. Maybe on a trip that includes Venice. Or something. Or if I ever try Zagreb again. 

God. I’ve been two hours or less outside of it three times, and the reasons for missing it have been: fear, weather, and logistics. So, boo hoo, I’d have to spend the day in Ljubljana, one of the nicest, cleanest, most-interesting small capitals in all of Europe. We decided to have separate adventures this day. She went in search of tea and castles, and I went to a public market and to some old army barracks that have been taken over by punk artists. 

Once outside the marble streets of the city’s core, I got to some cool, gritty little alleys dotted with boutiques and cafes, then out to a more suburban-seeming area, then to the co-op masterplace the art-kids had commandeered. Big wooden spiders made out of junk, amazing benches made by welding wood planks to old machine parts. Just an awesome reclaiming of industrial junk. 

A bunch of kids were skating and a bunch of slightly older kids were passing out food from a cardboard box. Total commies! It was glorious to see. They ate their rice and beans from compostable paper plates; I half expected them to use spray paint as a condiment. 

It was comparable to the radar station back in Berlin, of course, but people can live in this one. I quite like all these abandoned military places being put to good use. Coffee for lunch and a nice walk back.

 The place in which we were staying was run by a sweet old grandmother, whose name was the Slovenian word for “Grandma.” Interesting curated art on her walls, mostly signed by the artist. She’s probably had an interesting life.. or been in the orbit of those who’ve had. Rested and wrote until Sara came back.

Such tea she’d had, such castles she’d seen! We compared pictures and napped.

Worked out our passage to Piran. Transport on the weekends can be dodgy (as Pula taught me) but Piran is in Solvenia, so no borders to cross, so a little bit easier (Pula is in Croatia). It looked like it would work. Booked a room. Went out to dinner.

This time it was a successful version of what the previous evening had promised. My theory was that if we ate someplace a street away from the riverside it would be better, because it would have to be to compete. 

Small sample size (one meal!) but the hypothesis held. 

Drank some insane local herbal thing that burned its name out of me after two sips. Some very fine house-made pasta and dumplings. An elderly couple from Texas or Oklahoma argued about the prosecco and how and when to tell their children from previous marriages that they were engaged. 

No nightcap. Just night. 

Dark walk across the river and through a delightful park with tall leafy trees. Home and sleep. 

In the morning, we would take a bus to the sea. 

But not to Pula. 

Never to Pula.