Where To?

Chapter 7

I slicked my hair up and out with grape-scented pomade I got in Munich. Only the Lord knows how I'll be able to live without the smell of classy wine on my tresses when I've run out of this Holy Grail product. I realized I should have either not gotten attached to this international pomade, or just have settled with my old English brand pomade. Now I get why girls always get refills of their makeup. It was only ten minutes before 4, before Clair and I have to leave for tonight's plans.

"We clean up pretty well, don't you think?" Clair spun in her toes when she saw ourselves on the reflective surface of the elevator down the lobby.

"Hey, are you sure about those heels? We'll be walking around at one point, just to let you know." I pointed at her heels. Although they looked sturdy, I doubt heels were ever comfortable to walk in.

"These are, like, my walking heels. Don't sweat it, Jill."

We wound around the same street where black taxis line up along the sideway. The driver greeted us with the similar Slovene 'zdravo' and then asking where we were headed, in English. I assumed the taxi drivers had firsthand experience of the English language given their occupation. Clair and I shared a look of approval, nodding our heads in unison.

She asked me whether the place we were headed needed a reservation beforehand, or if it was fine dining, both of which I replied no to. I told her it was chill, but we'd be getting a nice view while we're there. She hummed in thought, and then stared out the window as the taxi drove downwards. At least, downwards in Google Maps.

"Well, here we are. Wine by the river, Jakob Franc."

"I thought you said this wasn't fine dining."

"Just because wine is classy doesn't mean we're doing fine dining."

"We'll see."

Her heels didn't make those clanking sounds, I noticed. She walked over the wooden plank tiles and her steps weren't as noisy as the guests who walked out of the winery who wore higher, heavier-looking footwear. I wanted to get a look at that wine shelf inside before stepping out with Clair onto the outdoor seating where you could see River Ljubljanica. Clair looked pleased with the view, until we both saw the menu.

Full Slovene.

It was pretty safe to say Clair and I had put our dinner at stake playing Russian roulette with the menu. The server brought us a platter of bacon strips with halves of hard boiled eggs, sausage slices with bread on the side, and steak. Not bad. Clair was pretty scared that she'd be digging into something that wasn't what she thought it was. Exempli gratia, the "steak" I ordered turned out to be lung fillet. I ate a lung. The rest of the night, Clair carefully licked the sausage slices just to check if what she was eating was real sausage and not, like, donkey innards. I doubt they'd have donkey meat, but the lung fillet made me think twice about what they had.

"I thought you'd know what food would be around Europe by now! Tell me this isn't a walrus or something!" Her forehead scrunched in distress but her mouth curved into laughter. I'm pretty sure I looked the same.

"I do, it just so happens I can't read Slovene. This could just be a normal Salisbury steak to me unless I read it straight from the menu that it is, in fact, lung fillet." I gesticulated with my fork, stabbing this lung meat and forcing it into my palate. It tasted pretty fine, rich and full even. It just so happened to be lung meat.

Clair chewed slowly, her eyes everywhere else but her plate, trying her tongue with what real sausages taste like. She gave in and just stomached whatever she was eating even if it tasted like legit sausages to me.

After getting halfway into the bacon platter, I proposed a drink: In preparation of our future trip to Italy, I looked up an Italian-born wine that made its way across Europe and beyond, with every country offering their own variation to the bottle.

"Rebula vino, prosim." I said to a server, to which he responded with a 'ja, gospod,' before heading inside. I could see him approach the wine shelf, his finger scanning the bottles.

Clair asked me about what I just said, and for the first time in the entirety of our trip, I explained.

"Prosim, please. Vino, wine. I asked for Rebula wine."

"And what'd he say to you?"

"Ja, yes. Gospod, sir. Yes, sir." I forked a bacon strip into my mouth.

Clair gave me a small applause, impressed about my conversational Slovene. But in all honesty, I only recently reviewed Slovene for tonight. She smiled at the server as he presented the bottle on our table, carefully showing us the restaurant name on the wrapping. Our glasses filled with wine, golden flickers capturing the light from the setting sun.

Clair held her glass up the horizon, trying to match the color of the wine with bright warm yellow of the sky. She held it up in front of me, proposing a toast to beautiful Ljubljana. Everywhere else is more beautiful than Ljubljana if you stayed in Slovenia longer, I told her. She pouted again. There were rivers open for rafting, lakes that reflected more colors than Ljubljanica, caves and mountains at the outer ends of the country.

She exhaled deeply, taking a sip of her wine.

"What's this wine called again?"

"Stek-lenicoooo ... belo vino, Rebula." I gestured to the bottle, holding it with both hands the way the server did earlier. She stifled a laugh, trying to down her drink before it could exit the way it came in.

I'm pretty sure I just said 'bottle,' and 'wine,' but Clair's not going to nag me about Slovenian grammar anyway. I brushed off invisible dirt off my shoulder feeling smug. She shook her head no, curling her lip into a silly face.

Still pretty.

I poured us some more wine until

"Oh hey, I'm good. I don't think I want any more." Clair was covering her mouth with a hand.

"What? Are you sure?" My eyes widened; Clair didn't turn down drinks. She laughed at how ridiculous she says I acted, hinting it could be the wine.

"I'm sober, Clair. I'm sure you are too, have another glass."

"It's good, right?"

"Yeah!"

"I should bring a bottle home. Unless they don't let me through customs."

"I'll bring some home for you."

A smile spread to her cheeks, a rosy tint on them. I don't know if she had that on the entire time, or if she was just feeling the wine. Or she was legitimately blushing. I filled her glass just to see.

She kept her eyes on me as she lifted the drink to her lips, the grin still lingering as she sipped. I told her not to look at me like unless she plans to look up Slovenia travel spots while drunk inside a cab. Which we won't be taking at any time of the night, I reminded her. She nodded, a little hum of affirmation echoing onto her wine glass.

A warmth spread around my face. Part of me says it's returning the grin back to this smiley blonde in front of me, another part of me urges it's just the wine. Golden hair and white wine.