Anyway, during our trek through a number of countries in the former Yugoslavia last spring, George and I ended up in Slovenia, land of beehives, retro-y hay rack thingees (technical term), and lots of…medievalness. It’s truly quite delightful.
What was not delightful, however, was the fact that after 10 or so straight days basically glued to each other’s side (except for an afternoon in Dubrovnik when I jewelry shopped while George went to a war museum. Zzzzzzz….) we were starting to come a bit undone. A trek into Ljubljana, the colorful, charming Slovenian capital, seemed just the ticket.
Turns out that there’s a sickeningly sweet tradition that involves putting a lock with you and your partner’s name on it on the rails of the Butcher’s Bridge. Once you fasten the thing, you toss the key into the Ljubljanica, sealing your happy fate. Awww. Gross, right? Well, obviously, here comes George, fresh with his story and his little lock from the hardware store, the proprietor nice enough to give him one with three keys: one to chuck and one for each of us to keep. Note: It is impossible to be mad at George when he is filled with so much glee over these sorts of things. Also note: It is impossible to resist participating … his sheer delight in situations like this is just infectious.
The lock locked and the key tossed, we spent a delightful afternoon in the capital and had a lovely time for the duration of our stay in Slovenia, our manufactured drama resting quietly at the bottom of the river.