Mythology series

 13 sets of four are almost ready, with old stories and folklore characters of my region ...

 Back in the capital for a few days, though hiding mostly, chilling. It's harvest season, so everyone is edgy and I didn't want to share the burden, getting blamed for all kinds of things I had no control over. I just fled and promised to return Saturday, when the brunt of the picking is supposed to occur. The picking is fine, I actually enjoy it. It's the chaos surrounding the grapes themselves that exhaust me. We told mum not to waste all her energy on making food for 150 people, when only six of us are going to be there, and she agreed to just grab some ready-made catering plates and make some easy dessert. Yet, two days later, she was going on and on about how she needs help preparing over a dozen dishes, roasts and dough-wrapped tenderloins and five complicated desserts and all kinds of snacks, favours and drinks. She told me to stop bitching, because this is one of the few joys she has in her life. Meanwhile, as G and R and I were picking the early crates on Tuesday, my sister decided to re-paint the dog house. 

So, yea. I just fled. Fuck 'em. 

G housebound me a bit, as the city is scheduled for another riot, following up on the last Wednesday's protests against the mandatory vaccinations and the idiotic rules regarding it. Those rules were up for about a day - needing the proof to get gas and whatnot.. But yesterday a new rule came into effect, putting g and I back on the spot: suddenly it is no longer good enough to get one dose if you've already had the virus - now we need two and are forced to get tested on our own expense for the next three weeks. 

The best part is, that the medical side of the legislation-makers is slightly confused about whose idea this is supposed to be. Not theirs. The politicians say it is. Nobody is giving the people any answers on what the fuck is going on. I can tell everyone is fed up with this bullshit, because nobody is checking my proof code, when I go shopping, even though I show it to everyone. Everyone just hates this shit. 

I am tempted to join the riots and puke on someone in charge. I imagine they are watching from a balcony and think it's funny. 

Vaccine-related burnt thumb and absolutely no magnetic powers at all

So the other day G was backed into a corner regarding a vaccination - one week we were cleared to have our 'already had it' statements worthy for nine months, if not a year, and a day later the government realised that's no way to treat all the shots they've bought and are unable to force into people, so they voided the clearance and declared nobody can even go to a gas station without the pass. Personally, I wouldn't give a flying f** about gas stations and nail salons, but the General is a postal officer and would have to literally pay to get tested every two days just to be able to come to work. So he asked what I think and said he's thinking about calling his doctor on Wednesday and I said, fuck it, just ask which vaccine they shoot and we can do it right now. 

For now, I am just cranky, nervous and my arm is sore. But I am also savagely paranoid. Example, my thumb really hurts and I kept googling why would my thumb be so sensitive due to the vaccine. Only later did it occur to me that I handle a burning tea candle five times a night and maybe, just maybe, I burn myself a wee little every time, hm? 

Anyway, despite our high antibodies count and political disgust, so far we're okay. It's been 24 hours. 24 more and unless we die, we should be free to travel a bit again. 

Oo, I have a total urge to go to some fancy store and flash my permit like a badge. Like I'm a fucking Jew during Holocaust, forced to carry permission papers, to fit into daylight society. Fucked up. 

On the plus side, Texas just allowed for anyone above 21 to conceal carry, whether they have a permit or not, and banned abortion; and a friend of mine is a negotiator for EU and is flying back to Kabul to try and help. So my grievances feel a bit tasteless. I keep thinking if my dad lasted just three months longer, he'd be alive today. Had he not gotten infected - in a hospital, at an infections ward - in December, he'd be able to get the vaccine in March. Eh, my brain is buzzing again. 

Some pickies from the Bloska trip: I will post more and explain in more detail, promise. Pinky promise.

Our first 'active' trip - I booked G and I for a four-day driving excursion around a part of the country we're not all too familiar with: as Slovenija is shaped like a chicken, the western 'leg' is a part we know the least about. So, the plan was to just throw ourselves into a schedule we were neither told too much about nor needed to know. Poor General was planning on skipping the last day and complained half the trip, but in truth, he was loving it. It was really cute. Good food, good tempo, a ton of new info to sound smart about. 

The trip was scheduled around old forlorn bunkers and tunnels, old castles and village churches, caves, museums and so on. Our guide was a chatty old gentleman - the group was just six people - and he could talk about almost anything you asked him. The sort of job I would be born to do, if I enjoyed humans. 

These are the pics of a sight each. There will be more, as I took tons. 

I think this is my best one of the whole trip, an expedition into a cave

Aw, Star seller.

Got a star seller badge, even though I am not 100% flawless across the boards. How happy Karens of the world will be, knowing that now more than ever shitty reviews will force sellers into offering free stuff just to make people happy. I have 70 pages of reviews, meaning almost 700 of them, and four of them are not 5-stars, and it's still not good enough. And I cannot for the life of me remember when I failed to reply to a customer, to warrant a 97% response rate. But, you know. One can always do better, if there is corporations to be made richer. 

Got. Stung. By. A. Bee. On. My. VAHOOHAA

After two and a half years of our apiary carreers, finally, a bee got me. It was the perfect storm: I wasn't wearing pants I should be wearing, we were just going to feed them, not open them, and my job was just to pass things; one of the newest hives is evil and aggressive as fuck, and I did the very thing you are never supposed to do - close your limbs without checking. There was a bee right on my crotch and PANG. Like a cigarette burn, right on the most tender skin in the fold between the thigh and the cunt. Not to mention I started sweating instantly and the rest came at me like I was covered in honey. But on the plus side, we can now be sure I am not allergic. (A wild wasp almost blew me up like a balloon animal once.)

Au. 

Day 4

Took a pinch to figure out this whole town is wifi covered. But no biggie - blueberry cheesecake and cold coffee instead of lunch, as I wait for another downpour, thinking.

This is a lovely vacation, but so far it is my least favourite of all we've ever been to - last year the weather was almost worse and yet the room was so much nicer and the huge TV kept the General entertained while I grabbed the car and drove around the hilltops and explored the lakes and belleviews. We had another hike in the rain, from the Planica ski-jumping site to the Tamar cottage. We left the wallet in the car, so no pie and coffee there, which I compensated later by going to get some ... dunno the English word, if even there is one, but it was two sweet, cooked dough with filling thingies, with toppings - excellent alternative. The General thus earned not one but two BJs, and has barricaded himself in the room for the rest of the day, again. He is not as happy with rainy hikes as I am.

While we were out, the cleaning lady either oversaw or ignored our 'do not disturb' sign, or she was just really into inertia and couldn't live with herself by leaving a room unattended for three days - she vacuumed and changed the TOWEL (we had nine, we only used up one, as I have my own for the hairy bits, which I am used to and prefer), and changed our entire bed - even understood that I only used the linens to cover myself, because the duvet is literally too heavy - dunno what it is made of, but the weight of it distresses me. I have, though, taken a photo of the sleeping General, as he lay asleep, hugging the duvet and boxing himself in with pillows: he was like a blazing white rectangular snail with his hairy brown butt sticking out. I could eat that creature instead of a pie, he's so cute.  

.. Ah, I can see the rain coming in. Few more minutes ...

Anyhoo. Tamar is the third of these magical thin glacial valleys coming down from Triglav - the glacier carved a tub 14.000 or so years ago, and then the brittle white rock from the jagged rims around it kept crumbling, until it turned the valley V-shaped in the cross-section, with boulders, rocks and gravel packing the bottom and the river rushing underneath. It's less than an hour of a hike up to the cottage and after that, you need climbing gear, because the walls are nigh vertical all around. The last time I was here was around 15 years ago in the middle of winter, everything was completely foggy and white and my army buddy and I hiked alone through untouched snow - it took us almost three hours, the snow being easily thigh high. Plenty of routes branch out from the cottage checkpoint, though, and for those who enjoy that sort of thing, it must be the perfect enchanted kingdom. 

There was supposed to be a WWII bomber that crashed into these walls, of which only some kind of a pump remained. I don't remember specifically, but I think I saw photos of this B52 in the war museum few years back, how people tore it to bits to the very last screw: even the poor ill fortunate crew's parachutes were taken by the local women to make umbrellas, underwear and all kinds of tough-cloth related improvisations.

Since we had nothing in our pockets, I didn't bother going in to get the stamp. If I was allowed to grab the car, I'd spend this afternoon driving around all the places we passed, collecting the stamps for the leaflet that encourages you to visit all those places. I love cottage stamps, I'm just really inconsistent collecting them.  

... hm ... The nimbus diverted. I think I'll go grab the macro and hike up the cute little lake again. See ya!

Day 3

Today's destination was Vrsic - a mountain pass between the Russian road and Soca valley and Trenta - it's a 1600m pass, accessible by busses, when accessible. It's a pass that has the most fun anytime anyone tries to take it by force. It's windy and in fould weather, catastrophic. Peaks around it may appear humbke and fuzzy, but again - if you try to force it, you're f**. There are a range of cottages and stops on the way, and a lovely tiny chappel made entirely of wood, in the Russian Orthodox style, dedicated to the dead prisoners of war from WWI, who were kept here to build the road and got killed by an avalanche. I don't know the details, because these things upset me. But the churchling and the tiny park before it are truly lovely, so either someone felt very bad or someone really loved these people and was heartbroken not to get them home. There's a small separate grave to an 'Unknown Russian guy'. Dunno what he did to deserve separation. Don't want to find out.

Two post-adolescent girls serving drinks in the cottage where I tried to get us something were a challenge - so distracted by two flirting Checz offering them home-made slivovica (plum moonshine), it took one five minutes to make me cocoa, which, no, does not come in a glass, yes, it can be served in a mug, and yes, it is made with hot milk. Cute kids, but after a few shots of flirtation from cute boys, holy cow.  Who knew getting cocoa was such a challenge. It reminded me of that time I was in the habit of ordering MIXED pancakes (usually when they are offered, they are either chocolate, with walnut paste, or marmalade in these parts). And pancakes are tricky - some people are stingy as fuck serving them, you get two thin tiny dead flaps of tasteless dough with store-bought jam and that's it. Horrific. But, they can come as an almost religious experience. And some would not bat an eye, just bring me three different ones, others would just stop, mortified. 'What do you mean -mixed? How ... how would we charge for that?' Hm, charge the most expensive version and be done with it? Anyway, I stopped bothering people with my avantgarde fickleness. When I am on vacation, I am determined to enjoy anything they serve me.

* For anyone interested, as someone who is an Olympic champion of eating pancakes, I have a very well-developed criticism muscle when it comes to love put in a serving. It pisses me off when someone makes them as if they were garbage with chocolate on top. The best ones I have ever eaten, and on which all of which I make myself are based, were made by an unknown chef in a forgotten-name hotel on a December eve, where my army group went to have dinner. A shitty situation, I hated those people, and because I don't drink I never "relaxed", but whoever heard of my request for MIXED, went to town. They were: one large, not too thick, pizza-wide base (homegrown eggs, too, which make the dough golden as opposed to white), smeared with Nutella, folded twice, walnut paste and apricot jam (sour, yummy!) as toppings aside, ice-cream, whipped cream and butterflied slices of apples, peaches and pears, knife-thin, aside. Sprinkle of almond shavings and a pinch of cinnamon on the whipped cream.

Royalty.

The food in this hotel hasn't been the best, except for pizza, which finally I submitted to - and it was an excellent pizza: with blue cheese, sour cream, deer prosciutto and truffle paste toppings, on a base margarita with excellent crust. (I love the crust the most.)

While rolling around under the electric fence, something stung me. G had some burns, too, like he touched a poisonous plant, but there are not supposed