"courage, dear heart": The last time I saw Bled

The last time I saw Bled. Sixteen summers past. I was in love with two men.

Their names no longer matter.
(Okay, if pressed, I could probably recall- Philip and Martin).

It was all very dramatic- especially for a missions trip. Though, really, what's a good missions trip without some romantic intrigue? Can I get an "Amen"?

Unless, of course, you're married. In which case, I strongly advise against love triangles. Strongly.

I digress.

Slovenia is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful countries in Europe. Plus, *bonus* nobody knows about it. Or they presume it's still under Soviet control. So, you'd only visit if you like vodka or fascists. Or vodka-drinking fascists. Is there any other kind?

Anyhow, so I made reservations at Penzion Berc through the proprietor, Miha- nostalgic about my return pilgrimage, over a decade later.

I had presumed Miha was a woman. I was wrong.

Upon our arrival, we were ushered to our alpine lodgings by the dashing family patriarch, Miha, who was most definitely not a woman.

Aesthetics aside- Breakfast was a culinary feast with enough locally-sourced delicacies to satisfy even the crunchiest of farm-share types. And so, we ate our weight in fresh breads and pesticide-free fruit.

Lake Bled possesses fairy tale enchantment -complete with a thousand year old medieval castle, decorating the sky-scape. Then again, medieval castles in Europe are like Cracker Barrels along I-95 in the South. Everywhere.

And once you have been to one, you've sort of seen them all.

Still. There was a lot of damage to be undone by our carb-binging. Apparently, I am powerless in the face of fresh croissants.

So we hiked.
A lot.

The weather was perfectly sublime. And sunshine casts everything in a happier hue. Even a nap-less Colson. Small blessings.

Ljubljana, the storied capital of the infant country boasts river-side cafes, baroque architectural design and most importantly- Vigo -the best gelateria in Eastern Europe.

Without a shred of remorse- I devoured an entire waffle cone in front of my kids who had impulsively spent their gelato rations at some crappy, tourist-trap outside the famed Ljubljana castle. Which is not to be confused with the Lake Bled castle. (See what I mean- "Cracker Barrel.")

As Eowyn conceded, "We should have waited for Vigo." Gelato life lessons. Worth the euro every time.

Per Kincaid's request (and by request, I mean endless nagging), we took a "pletna" boat ride to the only island in land-locked Slovenia.

Naturally, it features an ancient church which Eowyn predicted, "Don't tell me. Let me guess. It's Catholic."

Yep. The Church of the Assumption does carry that papal ring. No hipster worship leader with an an ichthus tat there. Sorry, Eowyn.

Snow-capped Julian Alps framed the skies as we strolled around the lake that remains as unchanged as I am changed. Now, I have more men to love than I could have imagined. Plus, a spicy girl who keeps me humble. The last time I saw Bled. . . my cup was not this full.

Plus, I am sure Philip and Martin are very fat and very bald by now. Very sure.