Saturday

Saturday

Ludwig (not sure how old)

I know this post says Saturday, but it could just as easily say Tuesday. The truth is Ludwig is the first person that I spoke to in Cerkno, or actually, he spoke to me. For some reason, the bus dropped me off in front of the pub instead of at the bus stop. I had emailed Klaus from Ljubljana saying I was on my way to Cerkno, but until that magic hotspot I managed to connect to ran out, I had had no answer. I had no phone, no Internet, and no idea where to go. The bus driver helped me get my stupidly large, rapidly dismembering rucksack out of the bus and drove on. And there I was. Right in front of the pub, in the middle of Cerkno, with nowhere to go, and only a phone number in case I got lost. But no phone (not even roaming –thank you very much 3 mobile, by the way), just a ‘no signal’ status on the top left corner of my phone. So I had been standing there from no more than 15 seconds (which felt rather slow in my too-tired-to-panic brain) when I heard a –So where did you come from?- coming from the pub. It was Ludwig. He was sitting outside of the pub, drinking a really appealing cold beer and looking at me like someone who sees an equeco (without the money notes) for the first time. I know it sounds like a ridiculous reference, but google it and you will find yourself re-enacting Ludwig’s face.

There are no words to express how amazingly grateful I was that he addressed me in English. I had a full list of words and phrases in Slovene, but my pronunciation had proven hopeless in Ljubljana, so I had little faith in my Slovene skills. Ludwig asked me what trail I was planning on walking. I said I was walking nowhere with all that luggage. I think my dry humour tinted with a hint of desperation may have charmed him. He asked me where I was going, I said I did not know, but hoped that he could or would help me. And he did. Sort of. He did not want to call the number I had without knowing who it belonged to. I thought it belonged to Mateja (from CMAK), but he did not know Mateja, and seemed incredulous that there was someone in the village unknown to him. So I said it’s ok I won’t bother you, I’ll just go find a payphone and call from there. Ludwig said –Well, then at least leave your rucksack here and take your small bag with you. I’ll look after it for you.- And despite my greatest efforts to hide it, my face said: Really? I grew up in South America and you really think I am stupid enough to leave my backpack with the first stranger I meet in a tiny village I’ve never been to? How stupid do I look?! And of course, Ludwig took it personally. He made a joke about me not trusting him (still not sure what he was expecting) and then pulled out his phone, dialled the number, spoke to someone and within 30 seconds said –Yes! They are coming for you!

When Klaus came to pick me up, he carried on talking to us. Said his son was a kind of artist in Ljubljana, that he would like to meet us. He offered any help he could. I said I was planning on interviewing people, and would love it if he came back for an interview. He said he had to go to Ljubljana for a couple of days, but that he would visit the village when he came back. I doubted he would. Luckily I was wrong.

Ludwig came by again on Thursday. We were all inside the caravan having breakfast. He said he could not stay long, but just wanted to check up on me. I asked him if I could interview him for the project. He said yes, but that he was in a hurry and would be back. This time I believed him.

He came back again on Saturday. We were sitting down to eat. Too polite to accept our food, I practically had to shove a bowl of bean soup down his throat. He chatted with all of us, and was getting ready to leave when I stopped him and asked him for my story. He said not now, I’ll come again another day. I was not falling for that again. I made him sit back down and started asking him questions.

As I said before, I am not sure exactly how old Ludwig is. He is originally from Ljubljana, but moved here to Cerkno around 40 years ago to work in the factory. I think he used to work in some sort of acquisitions department. I don’t think there was an acquisitions department back then though. Apparently there were a couple of managers in charge of this. One used to have a real job, which consisted on buying all the material supplies to make the heaters. That was Ludwig. The other manager’s job was to buy all the random stuff: From paper clips and staplers to toilet roll and mints for the vending machine. Needless to say, manager number 2 did not find his job too exiting and took up the daily challenge of making the perfect cup of coffee, reading the paper cover to cover without ever disrupting its creases, and dunking biscuits in the coffee for the exact amount of time, so that they would be nice and soft, but never fall apart. Manager number 2 was also an expert at getting his secretary to do his work. Ludwig witnessed this daily routine for 25 years, until manager number two retired and moved to Spain.

When Ludwig’s wife was 40, she developed breast cancer. It is clear that he loves his wife. He talks of her with admiration. He said that at the time they were quite scared. But that she was resolute that the disease would not kill her. She started taking care of herself, working a little less and enjoying life a little more. It has been 20 years since she’s been in remission. Nonetheless, their lives were changed forever. The taking care of herself also involves taking care of her family. Home allotments being a staple in rural Slovenia, their home orchard is not just a few fruit and veg, but contains a sample of every medicinal plant east of France, and is still growing. In fact, Ludwig has probably been able to stay here for this long because his wife has made a trip to the seaside to find weeds for face cream, meaning he’s home alone.

In Cerkno, Ludwig and his wife raised their two boys. Both of them have moved to Ljubljana now. One of them has a son. In order to spend more time with them now that they are retired, they move between their house in the outside of Cerkno (close to the Ski resort) to their flat in Ljubljana. And this is his life. When I ask him what he does to stay busy as a pensioner, he says he plays golf and plays with his son. He has a beautiful life. I point out that he’s lucky. He’s lucky to have such a comfortable life, such a happy family, and a wife who beat cancer. He smiles at me. He knows this.

He is about to leave again. I run to the caravan to get Benedicte’s doll. He says he’s going to the festival tonight, so would I please keep it for him. He say’s he’ll be back. This time Im not sure if I believe him.