Ljubljana

It was 9am. I'd overslept. My primary concern right now was to
simply get out of here and to the station. I took a brief shower and
left. There was no time for breakfast.
It was the same story every morning of this trip so far and today was
no exception. My inability to have five more minutes in bed once my
alarm goes off without it leading to an extra hour of blissful sleep,
and then a rush to get ready, is unbelievable.
As I walked away from the hotel in the blistering heat I saw the waiter
I'd met in Damiro's Italian restaurant last night and gave a
half-hearted reply to his wave. I was too preoccupied with my situation
to even consider going over to him and much too busy with my thoughts
to really acknowledge that I'd even seen him. But I don't even know
what my situation is! Again it is my paranoia of missing a train that I
don't even know exists that is overriding all. All I know is that I
want to head into the Alps in the northern half of Slovenia in the
direction of Bled. I know Bled doesn't have a station, but a town
nearby must surely have a train service from here.
Ljubljana station is around a mile from the hotel I spent the night in.
The walk with my heavy pack made it seem like ten and wasn't helped at
all by the late July sun unrelenting in its cloudless sky. I chose the
side of the tree-lined street that had most shade and walked as fast as
I could, past cafes and bars that were already filling up with the
regular faces of old men in their proud yet simple old-fashioned
clothing. They come to continue conversations over their observations
of the world, which they had started on their previous visit over a
glass of red wine. But it's too late to think of things like that now.
I overslept and now I have to miss observing people and places and
focus my concerns on imaginary trains that lay ahead of me. I tried to
focus my attention on more important things, such as whether I had
enough money and what exactly my plans for the day should be.

I reached Ljubljana station a little before 10am and entered the very
Eastern European looking main building. A huge clicking departures and
arrivals board hung above the crowd of travellers looking as lost as I
was. I had no time to try and converse with them. A quick scan of it
gave me no insight into where I should be and when, so I wandered
through a small door onto the platform past a guard standing tall for
effect.
The brightness of the sun blinded me again. I scanned over the five or
so island platforms across the tracks. A few trains lay quietly waiting
for their next load of passengers, collectively stirring the air into
the gentle noise of generators and engines. Everything seemed laid back
and quiet, but I couldn't relax just yet without knowing what time I
was to leave.
After scanning my map I knew where to go. I found a wall mounted
timetable and searched almost desperately for a train travelling to the
town of Lesce. I don't know why I acted desperate when I knew that
there would certainly be trains travelling there. It is the nearest
station town to Bled, and Bled is big on the travellers' trails this
year. I suspect that the desperation in my mind came from the thought
lingering in my head that I may have missed the only train of the day
in my body's bid to sleep longer. I could not find Lesce anywhere on
the timetable until I realised that each board was organised into
destination areas rather than a progressive list from morning to night.
The second board I looked at was full of trains passing through
Lesce-Bled station. Unfortunately the next one did not leave until
1pm.
I had well and truly lost a morning in my actions, however I decided to
see the positive side of the morning's rushed events and calmed my mind
down a little. At least I had time for breakfast now and time to catch
up on some reading. A small supermarket on the platform solved the
first problem. I bought bread, ham, chocolate and water for the price
of a chocolate bar back home. Then I settled down on a bench in the sun
to eat and do some reading.
I became lost in my book for what must have been an hour, blissfully
unaware of my surroundings even with rusty old trains passing by me
every so often with their noisy brakes and charging air of enthusiasm
brought on by the stream of efficiency sweeping through this country.
It was at this point that I paused to take a drink of water and to
observe my surroundings. A man was sat next to me looking around for
something interesting to do or see. He reminded me of a child who had
been told to sit quietly by his parents and was obediently doing so,
however he saw too many interesting things in the world around him that
he simply wanted to experience. As a compromise, all he could do was
smile appreciatively.
As I looked at my watch, the man looked around at me and noticed the
title of my book: Spanish Lessons. He looked up, smiled and started
mouthing words to me, using his hands to help him along. He was deaf
and dumb. I immediately became very conscious of the fact that I could
not speak the local language and had no way of telling this man so. I
blurted out a jumble of random English words, which would have confused
anyone, and he simply repeated himself undeterred. I decided to try and
decode his message and eventually understood that he was asking me if I
was Spanish. I laughed and told him no, still unused to the fact that
he had no chance of hearing me, let alone understanding me. The
universal sign of my shaking head seemed to answer his question. I
tried to explain that I was English, using my passport as a visual aid.
He understood and excitedly retrieved his passport from his bag to show
me. He was from Bosnia Hercegovina and explained through his broken
speech that he was travelling to Zagreb later that afternoon. His use
of hand signals to imply what he was trying to say was incredible. It
was not sign language, but simply gestures to accompany his words. I
was amazed how easy it was to understand him as he animatedly talked to
me. I still found it difficult to speak to him, but he seemed to
understand me just as well and over time it became easier. I told him I
could speak some German, which he knew fluently. He started to mouth
German words when he didn't know the English and before I knew it
another hour had passed. We exchanged lists of places we had visited
and told each other where we were going. He told me of the horrors his
country had faced over recent years and how terrible it was to live
there. We exchanged names, his was Simic.
All the while Simic smiled and looked excitedly around him at the
world. I understood more than ever that this man simply wanted to talk
to people and see the world around him. He knew more so than anyone,
what it was like to be unable to hear the collective sound of the train
engines or talk casually to the crowds of people waiting in the
station. He smiled at what he saw because he was grateful for it. He
enthusiastically talked to me because he was interested and knew it was
one of the little chances he had to interact with people.
I felt guilty when my time to leave came. We said our goodbyes as I
rose and walked towards the distant platform with my rusty old train
parked against it. It departed shortly after I boarded and we rolled
heavily towards the distant foothills of the Alps. As we did, I looked
out of the window and saw Simic sat on our bench happily looking left
to right with a broad smile on his face, not wanting to miss a single
thing. Maybe I didn't waste a morning.