Thursday Doors 23/9/21: Maribor

Two days before I returned to Tuscany from this year’s summer holidays in Slovenia, I took dad to his hometown Maribor for some maintenance. A certain bridge and swans looked so familiar.

This day provided material for three posts already: first there were Thursday Doors from the Betnava Castle where we also found Miss Tree 2021, and after that father took me see the Three Angels.

Then it was time for father’s maintenance and I took bestia along the Drava river of my childhood when grandma often took me on walks to feed the ducks.

We start with some modern doors and finish with a nice one near the car which I only noticed on return and completely missed when I first passed it some three hours earlier.

In the middle there is a story of a river, swans and a bridge as observed from his balcony above the river and regularly described on Facebook by journalist and writer Srečko Niedorfer, father’s departed friend. We were hoping to meet eventually but it didn’t come to that.

It took me a while to recognise the bridge. Maribor has many, and when a popular Serbian singer/songwriter Đorđe Balašević (also departed now due to Covid) had a concert here, on a raft on the Drava river, after the bombing of Serbia in 1999 he famously said: “Don’t let NATO see your bridges.” His hometown Novi Sad in the Pannonian plain of Vojvodina took many hits and lost all its bridges.

When I was standing on this bridge and bestia refused to cross it as he sometimes rebels if the ground is unstable, I had a look back and saw the swans swim underneath, and I saw the balconies above the river, and then I knew it. This was his bridge. He knew how to write, also about nothing else but the river, the fog, the birds. He loved life and he loved his Maribor and I was happy to be there.

I wonder what he thought about these ugly messages on the wall though. “Death to the people, freedom to fascism,” really? There is also one that declares the end of Slovenian right-swinging prime minister, so not all is black. I often say that the street always knows but in this case the street needs to have certain mouths smacked.

Welcome to Maribor, Slovenian second city, on a hot day in August. If you were with me, I’d tell you all this too, just in a lazy accent. Ask Crystal, who continues her and Pedro’s amazing account of their recent visit. Here is how they hiked to the Seven Triglav Lakes in the Julian Alps, on the other side of Slovenia.

In other news, our condominium is without water since a pipe broke. I just hope that the reservoir didn’t run dry because of the spill. Instead uncle, bestia and I are going on a road trip. Be well as well.

Oh, and since these are Thursday Doors, make sure not to miss a certain Canadian in my blogging memories at the end. Yes, three years ago Norm was on his way over for four fondly remembered days. Greetings from Italy and us.

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  A bar but it didn’t seem open.

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  A hairdresser.

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  The right hairdresser door.

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  Physiotherapy.

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  A snake or is it a dragon?

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  Here it is, a pedestrian bridge.

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  I saw this and immediately wished to cross the river.

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  Then I looked at this and wasn’t so keen any more, even though beds are better for breaking than hearts.

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  Especially since this ugly door said “Death to the people, freedom to fascism.”

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  The look to the right and the next bridge in the distance.

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  Together with the bridge.

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  Then I saw this and started to cross the bridge.

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  A look towards the city centre from the middle of the bridge where bestia started to rebel and I had to return.

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  I looked back and saw the balconies. It was then that it hit me.

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  Srečko had a good lookout. Here they come.

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  Srečko’s swan family!

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  “J. J., you’re done.” Janez Janša is Slovenian Prime Minister.

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  Almost Meksi, dad’s nickname. I anglicized it into Mexi.

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  Ahh, yes, like this. So much better without the scribbles.

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  The street had the last scribble and the last door.

For Thursday Doors challenge hosted by Dan at No Facilities

This day in my blogging history

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  2018: Emptiness.
  Where are you?
  When will you return? (Read on)

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  2019: 20 favourite photos from September 2018 when certain Canadians paid a visit