Today I had a strategy. My direct approach
of –Hello! My name is Francisca, would you like to tell me a story, was clearly
not working. So, encouraged by Drago’s kindness from yesterday (and the need to
pass on his cheese before temptation wins and we eat it alongside Monique’s
lovely bread), I devised a new strategy and set off again. This time I went to
a café and took with me some gels. My plan has always been to leave origami
cranes with the people I interview, so I decided to do some folding in the
café, and see if I attracted any attention. I did… sort of. It was not really
working, so I started talking to the barista, this is as far as I got.
Romana,
27
Romana is 27 and works at a café in Cerkno.
She is shy, very kind to the patrons, and clearly thinks Im a nutter that fell
off the back of some circus wagon. I order a coffee and try to drink it, fold
plastic cranes and take notes… all at once.
She is at work, so as pushy as I can be, I
try not to over do it. I ask her a few questions and she tells me a little
about herself. Sometimes a little can be a lot. It turns out that Romana is
also not from Cerkno. She lives in a village near by. A few years ago, she
moved to Ljubljana (Slovenia’s capital for those of you as ignorant as I was
before preparing for this trip) to study political science. I am constantly and
repeatedly impressed at how politically involved young people are here. Always
pleasantly surprised when talking to our hosts at C.M.A.K (a local Anarchist
youth centre). My stupid preconceptions of assuming that people living in rural
areas tend to be more narrow-minded than those who live in cities have crumbled
to the ground here in Slovenia. Politically active, highly educated and
open-minded, these young people have migrated back to their small villages
after life in Ljubljana has turned too expensive to sustain. Sometimes they
simply cannot get a job over there.
This was Romana’s case. After finishing
University, she could not find a job in her field, so she moved in with her
boyfriend in a village close to her own, got a job at a café in another nearby
village and is waiting. Sitting ducks until something better comes up. But will
it? Will she get the same opportunities as someone based in Ljubljana? Does
this sound familiar? It does to me. A little too familiar. Its incredible how
far away I am, how I’ve come from a tucked away corner of the world, into a
similar (yet completely different) pocket within mountains, via the UK, and its
all the same. Except that it is not. These people are not sitting around their
fires thinking another year has gone by and nothing changes, or despairing
because it gets consistently worse, or going into further education to avoid
the real world. They are active within their communities, constantly improving
them, and meanwhile educating themselves not only with books, but also with
experience, so that when opportunity calls, they will be waiting. In case it
doesn’t they will still be here, doing their work, creating a tolerant,
cohesive, educated community, at least until the last of the funding runs out.
The café is filling up. The overflow of
people due to the Jazz festival is not making this conversation easy for me or
Romana. Luckilly, a patron sitting next to me comes to her rescue. His name is
Dúsan.
Dúsan,
48
Dúsan also also looks at me like Im a
martian. It must be my behaviour, because I think today Im dressed quite
normal. He has been sitting at the bar, looking glum, but attentively listening
to my relentless questioning and as soon as he thinks Im done torturing Romana,
asks me what Im folding. I say it’s a
crane, but as usual, I forgot the steps. I pull out the cheat-sheet post-it
Tina gave me, and he laughs at me. –Are you sure you’ve done that before? You
can’t fold plastic! Here, let me show you, I can make a devil!- He asks Romana
for some paper and we carry on chatting and folding away.
Dúsan is originally from Cerkno. He has
lived here his entire life. I ask him what his job is, he says he does not have
one. He looks too young to be retired. Unwillingly my face goes into a
questioning expression (which I need to learn how to control), and he explains
to me that he is a winter worker. Because of its closeness to a ski resort,
many people in Cerkno only work seasonally. That’s the case with Dúsan. He
thinks he’s tricked me. Then he says –Ask me what I do in the resort.- I ask.
He says he is a ski instructor, with a big proud smile.
When I ask him for a story, he’s ready. He
says –Ask me how I learned to ski.- So I ask. Here is how it goes. Dúsan’s
birthday is on the 25 of December. Any child born that day will tell you how
annoying it is that when most kids get two presents a year, If your birthday is
at Christmastime, you will be lucky if people remember it enough to get you a
card that does not say Happy Christams on it. Dúsan picked this up pretty
quickly, by the time he was three he already new he would have to milk the day
as much as he could. So he sat down with his mum and asked her to write a
letter to Santa Claus for him. On the letter, he asked his mum to clearly state
that he only wanted one thing for Christmas and his birthday: skiing gear.
It was a really cold December and Dúsan had
seen kids sliding down the slopes at the resort and sledding on the town slopes
for over a month now. Enough was enough, he wanted in on the fun as well. Being
only three, he could not really specify in his letter what he meant by skiing
gear. He assumed that Santa, being from the North Pole and all, would know.
Well, it turned out that Santa relies quite a lot on his large belly for
insulation because he did not deem skiing clothes a necessary part of the gift.
This was not going to put little 3-year-old Dúsan off. Still wearing his pyjamas,
he put on the skis and threw himself down the slopes. He has the hugest grin
and the brightest eyes when he recalls this –I am an instructor, I can teach
how to ski anywhere. In Cerkno, in the Alps or even Chile. I learned how to do
it in my Pyjamas, and I didn’t even feel the cold.
He’s finished his devil. I like it, but
think it rather looks like a dog’s head. He says he can do better, and before I
ask if I can have it, he crumples it and throws it away. I finally finish my
second crane. I gave one to Romana and the other to Dúsan. Took their photo and
said goodbye. The café is packed now. I leave and return 5 minutes later to
look for other people. Neither Dúsan nor Romana are there any more.
Meet Romana and Dúsan
Benedicte
and the girls
Benedicte came by on Thursday eve. She
wandered in the village hoping to listen a little to the Jazz festival and see
whether or not it was worth buying a ticket. We offered her tea and started
talking. I told her about my project, and she said she would gladly sit down
and talk with me the next day. She was planning on bringing one of her students
so she could improve her English.
After I talked with Romana and Dúsan I met
Benedicte. She had two young girls with her. Because the girls were underage, I
will not post their names or photos. I will only say that they are cousins, 13
and 10 years old, and both study under Benedicte.
The
girls
As soon as I meet them I get a sense of
familiarity. I was a teenage girl relatively not too long ago. Also, I have
close friends who have teenage girls themselves, so this is definitely familiar.
However different our cultures might be, there is something very universal
about the early teenage years. Yes, you are moody at times and can be very mean
to your mum. But you also still have that endless curiosity that children have,
but combined with an eagerness characteristic of the years. They would swallow
the entire world in a minute if they could. The funny thing about kids is that
they are so used to absorbing everything, that as soon as you give them enough
rope, they will tell you all they know, and that’s exactly what the girls did.
I took turns interviewing them. First came
the eldest, mainly because she was more fluent in English. I asked her what she
liked. Magazines, the Disney Channel, normal stuff. She also loves dancing, and
giving Benedicte a sly look, learning
the piano. Benedicte being the girls’ piano teacher after all, deserved some
recognition. After this the girl grew a little quiet. She had clearly ran
through the introduction of herself and didn’t know quite well what to say. I
asked her what she wanted to do when she grew up. She said she didn’t know. She
had not thought of it. I immediately felt guilty. I wish I had that clarity
when I was younger. I wish I still didn’t care. It’s just such a wise thing to
say. Realise you’re enjoying your life and being happy with it without
overthinking it. No points for me on account of putting silly ideas into her
head –at least that’s what I thought.
While I was busy mentally reprimanding
myself, she says she really wants to be a dancer. I would never be a doctor, or
a teacher, so much hard work! But dancing, I said, that’s really tough, maybe
even tougher than becoming a teacher or a doctor. –I know, she says. But
walking into the dance studio never feels like hard work. It does not matter
how hard it actually is, or whether you get tired or not. I still enjoy every
step of the process.- Well, there’s nothing I can say to that. I’m in the same
boat. Its impressive how this undefined, completely naïve girl had suddenly
turned into a highly resolute one. Whether if in a few years time its still
dancing, or gardening, engineering, or even teaching. Judging by that resolute
face I’m sure she’ll do just fine.
The second cousin is younger, and takes my
request to heart. Do I want to hear stories about Cerkno? Well, she has plenty.
All of a sudden I find myself sitting in this booth in a café in the middle of
the village getting all the town gossip, and for some reason, the star of the
story is always a drunk.
She tells me the story about a drunk guy
who in the middle of mass stands, walks up to the altar, stands in front of the
priest and starts addressing the congregation until he is dragged out by fellow
(sober) parishioners. At another time,
their next-door neighbour was walking by the pub and got hit in the head with a
bottle flying from the inside. Another drunk man wanted to light a cigarette.
Without a lighter, the obvious option was to get a light from the churchyard
(Slovene churchyards have lit candles in them). This was clearly the best plan.
However, in the dead of night he failed to notice that a grave had been dug for
a funeral the next morning. He fell in and fell asleep in the cushy fresh dirt.
He was awakened the next morning by a whole party of mourners wanting to bury
their loved one in the drunkard’s soft new bed. -This does not mean we are all
drunkards here in Cerkno- my lovely 10-year-old reporter states. –Only that
misbehaving drunkards are often funny.- Fair enough, I won’t argue with that.
Same as her cousin, she enjoys regular girly
things, also plays the piano. But she knows what she wants to do. She wants to
be a nurse. At least she wanted to be a nurse, but earlier this year she went
into hospital for an operation. The girl on the bed next to her was rather a
difficult patient and quite tough on the nurses. Maybe nursing is not such a
good option after all. Maybe a journalist. But all the kids in her class want
to be journalists, and she doesn’t have the best grades, so that could be
tough. A performer. Yes, performing would be nice. Performing in musicals! That
way you get to sing and dance and act all at the same time! But then again…
Then again this could go on for quite some
time and they have to go to church. May in Slovenia is the month of Mary (or so
I gather) and it’s their turn to help the priest in tonight’s mass. The last thing she says before letting Benedicte
take her turn is that -There is one more really important thing you need to
know about Cerkno: Whenever you are having a bad day, there is always one
person who can make it all better. Who is always all positive, and that is
Benedicte.
Benedicte,
51
Benedicte is from Belguim. She was working
there when she met her husband. They were both travelling a lot at the time.
Eventually, they decided to settle down. Cerkno made sense, It was her
husband’s home town, after all. But Benedicte did not speak Slovene. Not a
word. And no job. She grew isolated. Its been years now.
She is fluent in the language and completely integrated in village life. But
she will always be an outsider. A driving force. She’s not here just to teach
the piano to kids. She teaches them about the world. A world so big that seems
miles away. A world where they can be hungry, and aspire to be whomever they
want to be. There’s no problem if you want to stay here in the village forever.
As long as you know what’s out there, and also that you can leave at any time.
Its funny, Benedicte seems to have quite a
mellow character. Calm, pensive, enjoys going for walks. Enjoys living close to
nature, especially the animals. Who apparently fight over her. A few years ago
she was walking in the hills. The cows were up, grazing. A friendly cow walks
up to her and she starts to pet it. Her husband decides it’s a photo-worthy
moment. But another cow disagrees. Evidently jealous of the attention that
friendly cow is getting, jealous cow decides she has to be the protagonist of
the photo. Just as Benedicte’s husband is pressing the shutter, in comes jealous
cow from behind and pushes Benedicte downhill. Benedicte rolls half the way
back down to Cerkno. Luckily the spring grass made it a cushy trip.
It’s getting late and the girls need to go.
I give Benedicte Drago’s cheese shavings and ask her and the girls to come by
after mass so I can give them their origami cranes. Benedicte looks touched by
the cheese. I explain it’s a simple gesture. I’m simply passing on a stranger’s
kindness. She and the girls show up a little later. I give them their cranes
and Benedicte pulls out a bar of chocolate and a doll. The doll was given to
her by her auntie who incidentally was a nun, and lived in Chile for a large
part of her life. Every time her auntie would come for a visit, he would bring
a present. This doll was one of them. I’m truly touched, so I explain to
Benedicte that the doll won’t stay with me, but that I will pass it on to
someone else. She says its ok. The doll will find its home. It’s such a special
gift that it won’t go on its own. I will saw in it a note telling its story,
and hopefully whomever gets her next will value her as much as we do.
As there are no photos of the girls, a photo
of the doll and one of the cranes…
