THE SLOVENIA CHRONICLES

TRIGLAV VISITS SLOVENIA AND

THE FOLKLORE GROUP MANDRAČ-TELMONT

PART THREE

By Bryen Lebar

Ankaran - Smoke and Snails

"What time are we supposed to be performing? It says eight o'clock on the schedule and its eight fifteen now," I said as I looked around the near empty patio.

"I don't know," replied Kristina. She looked back into the dining room at her already dressed dancers."Soon I hope because some folks are pretty hungry."

"Ya, we haven't eaten since one. Doesn't anyone believe in a timetable in this country?" My voice had a level of exasperation to it. We had experienced a number of delays in performance times over the past few days and found ourselves eating very late suppers.

"I know what you mean! You know what. I'm going to ask Sonja to get some snacks or something because I think its going to be sometime before we eat."

I nodded my head and then shrugged my shoulders in resignation.

"Well Lydia, shall we get another drink? How about you, Erma? Looks like we are here for a bit."

"Yes, well, I think they should feed us first if it's going to be so late," suggested Erma.

As we sat there thinking about food the manager of the hotel came by.

"Good evening. I hope everyone is fine. We are going to wait a little while so that you will have a bigger audience. We have a band that starts at nine and that's when the people start to arrive. The band will do a set and then your group can go on. Is that alright?"

What could we say but of course. He nodded and bowed slightly as he turned and left.

"What time is it now?" I asked.

"Quarter to nine," replied Lydia.

The band came on promptly at nine and after a few minutes of getting ready busted out into an energetic rendition of American rock and roll. Near the end of the first song a sudden and heavy stream of smoke came flooding from under the stage filling the dance floor with an iridescent fog. The kids in the crowd screamed with glee as they rushed onto the empty dance floor. The show ended with a full dance floor.

The manager was right. The band had brought a substantial audience. The patio was much fuller and as I looked back into the dining room I could see that a snack had been provided to the dancers. The world was getting back into some order.

The manager took the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen. I am pleased to welcome for your pleasure all the way from Canada the Triglav Dance Ensemble. They come from Winnipeg and they dance our Slovenian ethnic dances. It does my heart good to know that our mother culture is still practised so far away. Please welcome from Canada ...Triglav."

There was light applause as the group paraded out onto the dance floor. They had decided to incorporate the new Snail Dance into their program. At first the audience was polite but cool but soon started clapping in support during one of the faster numbers. And then came the Snail with its intricate weaving in and out and arms entwined over and under. The crowd cheered its approval as the manager jumped on the stage at the end of the performance.

"Super! Super! Super Fantasteek!" his voice charged with delight. The crowd continued its applause and cheering. "Thank you, thank you Triglav from Canada!"

The dancers bowed again.

"Please, please....ladies and gentlemen a superfantasteek performance!" his arms waving in encouragement.

The manager was obviously pleased and also a bit surprised by what he had seen. The group looked great.

It was going to take a few minutes to get our supper ready so some of the dancers joined some of our hosts on the dance floor to a local rendition of Country Roads. Soon the Snail came alive in the form of Slovenian line dancing. The lines formed, split, reformed, twisted in on itself and then out again. More and more people joined in on the slavic style conga line. The band played on, smoke billowed and the snail coiled and uncoiled itself over and over. Supper was ready and the band mercifully finished off the round. There was more cheering and hugging.

Yes, supper was late but sometimes a person needs a different kind of nourishment.

Malija

The mass in the tiny church has been over for more than an hour and the performance by the Slovenian dancers from Canada has just ended. She is old and dressed all in black and standing to watch this group dance since the end of mass has tired her out. Yet she stays until the end of the speeches and presentations, tired but not eager to leave. Malija does not get visitors like these often, if ever. And that makes today a special day.

At the end, the crowd slowly disperses from the makeshift square. The village is too small to have a real one and a parking lot doubles as a dance floor. While the group from Canada drifts down the hill to their waiting bus, her granddaughter takes her by the arm and gently helps the stooped body shuffle up a small hill to her lifelong home over looking the Adriatic. The old woman turns slightly and watches the dancers in their Prekmurski costumes board the bus. She smiles and says to her granddaughter. "Imagine. All this way to come to our little village to dance. Imagine."

She watches the bus pull away and Malija is once again as it was...

Hotel Krka

They sit at the bars and cafe outside the hotel. They sit and watch, sit and drink, sit and eat, sit and sit. They sit and wait for something to happen. Anything. We are what is happening today.

They are on holiday or on rehabilitation or on therapeutic rest. The hotel provides for all of this.

It comes from a time when every worker and their family had a right to have a holiday on the sea. And they had grown accustomed to it almost taking it for granted. But things were different now. It had become a luxury. Yet they still come, just not as many and for not as long,

There is a poster in the hotel lobby advertising our performance in front of the hotel by the fountain. A small crowd gathers creating a circle around the fountain.

The music starts and Triglav begins its 40 minute show. The little children in the crowd are clapping along with the music and smiling. Soon everyone is clapping.

"They are quite good, aren't they," says an older woman to her husband. "They are doing a good job holding on to their mother culture. Good for them! It won't hurt them."

I smile to myself when I hear their endorsement.

It is dusk by the time the show ends. Some of the audience stays behind to chat and find out more about this group from Canada. Others remain at the cafe and bar, sitting, waiting for the next thing to happen.

The Workshops

"Does anyone know where we are doing the workshop?"

It was barely past 8 am and there were a few bodies scattered around two long rectangular wooden tables. We had our own private dining room which had a wall separating us from the rest of the dining area and a set of large windows that looked upon a central courtyard. It was a pleasant enough view and quite airy.

"Kristina will know," was the answer. She was their teacher. She had to know or at least that was the expectation. It seems that the mechanics of student/teacher relationships are the same no matter what the age or activity. "The teacher is supposed to know everything," he continued with a laugh.

There was excitement and a little nervousness in the group. They weren't sure what to expect. They had heard stories that the Slovenian dance teacher was very strict and very demanding. Were they up to it? Or was this going to seem like punishment? There was a fair bit of discussion and laughter at the first breakfast.

"Hey people...rehearsal starts in ten minutes in the courtyard!" It was Kristina. She had eaten breakfast already and had met with Mojca Lapej to go over the morning practise. Kristina had been nervous about her language abilities since she had been told that our hosts and Mojca in particular spoke no English, so being prepared and well organized relieved some of the uncertainty and anxiety. She was hoping she could translate Mojca's instructions accurately. As it turned out communication was not a major problem.

The morning sun was already hot when everyone gathered in the courtyard. Shorts and runners was the costume of the day. After a brief introduction and a run through of the day's agenda Mojca introduced the first lesson as a clean up of sorts. The proper way to step while doing the dances, the subtle difference between a shuffle-shuffle and a hop-shuffle and other body postures essential to authentic expression.

The dialogue between the teachers and the group was smooth. Even those who were not Slovenian by birth soon recognized the repetitive instructions."Še enkrat!" barked Mojca. "Once more!" repeated Kristina. "Ya, ya, we know!" There was much laughter as they tried to mimic the language. It turned out that the dancers understood more Slovenian than they or their hosts had thought.

"Hands a little higher...that's right...good." Mojca stood in the middle as everyone danced around her, her eyes watching all things at all times. The routine is completed and she claps vigorously. "Very good...very good. You have learned a lot today and you have all worked very hard. I thank you. We will have a good week, I'm sure," Mojca concluded encouragingly.

Everyone applauded both in appreciation and relief. They had indeed worked hard and it was now the hottest part of the day. A good time to rest and get refreshed for the afternoon.

The small bar in the dorm courtyard was a good place to have a drink. The shade of the umbrellas provided some refuge from the sun and the convenience of a cold drink on a hot day was too much to pass by.

The week went by with a certain predictability. There would be workshops in the morning covering dance, song, costume and instrumentation. The afternoons were spent on excursions in the area and most evenings had performances in various towns around Koper.

As all good things, the week ended far too quickly. Much had been learned. But there was so much more to do that rather than the last day being the end of anything it was the beginning of a larger process.

"Well, Kristina. What did you learn?" I asked her on the flight home. She laughed a hearty laugh.

"Gosh, how do I sum up what I have experienced and learned," she said in a paused way. "I guess I've learned that there is a lot more to learn... but more importantly, I think, I learned that what I did know was not too far off track. That kind of reaffirmation was important to me. It gives me confidence." And then her eyes lit up. "And now I have all these new dances and some songs and new costumes, new music! Yep, looks like the work is just starting," she said with another laugh.

The Five Senses

Fragrant young cheese with grilled eggplant and dry pursciutto, cozy country restaurants, busy city cafeterias, greasy potatoes and greasier potatoes, hollow echoes of laughter, small whining engines, insect bites, sweet red berry liqueur, refreshing aquamarine sea, Italian architecture and Slovenian signs, cold winds, foamy waves crashing, pastel shades of yellow and orange and red in the harbour, wispy white clouds in a blue sky, white boats on blue/green water, hot and humid, cold beer, dried bacon and salami, red wine, white wine, more white but sweeter, another red with more zing, rolling eyes and rolling hills and ancient church steeples, pilgrim crowds and faces of faith, frescoes of fear, stone fortresses, fresh figs, vast vistas and green valleys, high mountain air, Triglav, rivers clear and sparkling, indescribably blue, wet mountain mist, winding corners, wedding wagon parades, red umbrellas, roasting pig and lamb, damp caves, slippery steps, hot coffee, fresh bread, home made soup, bells ringing, voices singing harmonies, accordions playing, chocolate and more chocolate, sweet pastry, words of greeting, words of goodbye, handshakes and hugs, bright smiling eyes and salty tears, hungry mouths, eyes and ears, eating up everything the town has to offer and even s of joy as they move by her and into the square.

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