SLO(w)-roasted lamb

Having survived the mother of all traffic jams in/around Ljubljana , we arrived at Grand Hotel St. Bernardin on Saturday afternoon. I immediately headed for the beach and got down to roasting my eerily white flesh a darker shade of beige. Well, actually, I did get a tan which is rather impressive for my standard. Unfortunately, I'd only packed one book so on day two was reduced to listening in on other people's conversations when not shuffling through my IPod playlist or averting my eyes from the unsightly drooping FF boobs of my deck chair neighbour. I eventually bought two Slovenian magazines, wishing I'd taken a dictionary with me. Speaking of which - I surprised myself by actually addressing the natives in their mother tongue and occasionally engaging in something remotely resembling a rudimentary conversation. Well, don't get too excited, it was along the lines of Do you sell stamps as well? and Can I pay in Euro, please? But still. I was particulary pleased that they didn't answer back in English or German... St. Bernardin, where we stayed, is halfway between Portorož proper and Piran. I'd last visited Piran with my parents almost two decades ago when we spent a night there on our way back from a holiday in Mali Losinj, Croatia. It was still as picturesque as I remembered it:
We drove home via Italy on Tuesday, stopping in Koper which neither Mum nor I had been to before. For some reason, I tend to be rather prejudiced when I hear "seaport" and only think of cranes and containers. I know that this is stupid as I've been to that other seaport, Trieste, a mere stone's sthrough away from Koper, several times and it never evoked ugly industrial images in the first place, rather intrinsically Austrian wishful thinking about back when "we" had access to the sea. In any case, Koper has a beautiful main square which was allegedly modelled upon St. Mark's Square in Venice. I did see cranes and containers too and learnt from my guide-book that all cars produced in the Far East which are intended for the central European market arrive at the port of Koper, which means that Flocki, my trusty Toyota, must have breathed in the Istrian air at some stage as well.