Catch a Dream by the Tail

You can't chase a new dream without some amount of reflection on why you had to find a new one in the first place. You can't just move on without conducting a thorough autopsy on the old dream first. As excited as I was about seeing Europe and looking at real estate, I couldn't entirely shake the hit my confidence had taken during the past several years. While I looked bold and brave from the outside, on the inside, I was unsure of my ability to dream this dream, and even less sure of being able to withstand the blow of not realizing one again.

As I looked at one property after another, visited one war monument after another, stood in awe of one breathtaking view after another, I couldn't help but feel like I was in a dream rather than chasing one. What made me think that I could build a bed and breakfast in a foreign country when I couldn't even build a marriage on familiar ground? The beauty and excitement surrounding me in this part of Europe came in and out of focus as self-doubt and my financial reality crashed head-on with my dream. Was my do-over doomed?

The quiet serenity of the landscape, the long travel periods and my empty house in the States gave me ample time for thought; perhaps far too ample. As I struggled with attracting clients for my business and juggled my shrinking income in a worsening economic climate, I wondered how I would ever be able to survive anywhere in the world, let alone someplace where I lost money in the conversion from the U.S. Dollar to the Euro. When I returned from my first trip abroad, I had only two months left before I would need to have every worldly possession I owned and whatever dignity I had left packed and removed from the premises. The whole idea was emotionally overwhelming.

I faced a daily struggle with holding myself level -- keeping a realistic perspective on the occasional high hopes I felt while trying to stop myself from falling too deep into the depression that I had been battling for so long. I had to keep an even keel or risk being drowned. So, I prayed a lot. I also cried a lot. Mostly, I gave myself several "pep talks" in an effort to "keep my chin up" because "the game's not over" and "I still had time to win." Years after playing myriad sports, lessons learned from being a competitor were starting to pay off. In fact, my extremely competitive nature is probably what keeps me getting out of bed every morning and getting through yet another day. Well, that combined with the power of prayer and the most wonderful family and friends in the world.

I often wonder how people who are virtually alone in their lives ever survive. How do they move from one day to the next without the constant support from people who love them? While I felt completely and utterly lost and alone during the deepest moments of my depression, I always knew I wasn't really alone in this world. I chose to deal with my sadness on my own, not wanting to burden others with it. My depression was far too personal and I buried it like a toxic substance. But at the same time, the very presence of family and friends made my life bearable and gave me hope. It's true that you never really know who your friends are until you're at your most desperate. I found out just how many true friends I have. And family? Well, they say you can pick your friends but you're stuck with your family. I can say that I would pick my family to be my friends. How lucky I am.

A few years ago, I was discussing family with a friend who was an inspiration to me. She was a strong, independent woman who had been very successful in her professional life and a tremendous community leader. She had never married or had children. Now that she was getting older and had lost most of her vision, she was planning to move to another state to live with a nephew and his wife. Why there? She told me they were the only relatives she had left. I shook my head and stared off into the distance when she told me this, trying to wrap my brain around the concept. Besides having five brothers and sisters, I had tons of nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles and cousins. It would take the complete annihilation of the Earth to leave me without family who would take me in. How very lucky I am.

I have to admit that I never even came close to actually being homeless after my divorce. My Mom and Dad would have loved having me back home. Brothers and sisters offered me a roof over my head as did several of my incredibly generous friends. It was my world-traveler friend who made the winning offer because she has two houses and splits her time between them. I could live in the spare room at her house in town and since she spent much of her time at her farmhouse, we wouldn't drive each other crazy. She joked that she owed me at least that for introducing me to the Running Man in the first place saying, "I don't know if you'll thank me for that someday or kill me for it." I was grateful -- for the introduction and for the accommodations. 

Life is truly strange. I'd had mine all figured out, living in a huge, beautiful house and building a dream. All of the sudden, my life was split between a 10' x 20' storage unit and an even smaller guestroom where I was surrounded by boxes containing the sum total of my life. And I had nothing figured out except for the fact that you never really do have anything figured out.

I would spend the next few months completing that autopsy on my first dream before pronouncing it dead and burying it with my other toxic substances. And it would take every ounce of confidence I could muster to reach out and try to catch some new dream by the tail. But I was willing to try.

Soca

The Soca River winds its way down the western side of Slovenia from above Trenta in the Julian Alps south to Nova Gorica where it meanders across the border and into Italy. There, the Soca (pronounced "sew-chuh") is called the Isonzo. It has also been called "The Emerald River" because of its incredible color.

Running Man (RM) had described to me the beauty of the Soca many times, and his photos of the river verified it. But the only way to truly witness the Soca's exquisite magnificence is to see it in person. It was a clear, sunny day in Slovenia when I first laid eyes on it. I saw above me the blinding white snow-covered peaks of the Julian Alps standing against a flawless blue sky and at my feet, the crystal clear blue-green waters of the Soca tumbling over pristine white limestone. It was, perhaps, the most awe-inspiring sight I've ever seen, and one I couldn't survey without feeling touched by God.

The Soca is home to the rare marble trout, making it a favorite river for fly fishing. Its fast current and crashing whitewater near the top of the river attract kayakers. And it was the location for Disney's Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian.

Its awesome beauty inspired the Slovene poet and Catholic priest, Simon Gregorcic, who was born above this river and spent his life near its banks. His poem, Soci, which translates as To Soca, pays tribute to it. But during World War I, the river ran red with the blood of thousands of soldiers fighting on the Isonzo front in the Valley of Soca. More than a dozen battles between the Italian and Austro-Hungarian armies, the latter of which was aided by German forces, left up to one million dead. At the age of 18, after spending only a few months as a cub reporter with the Kansas City Star, Ernest Hemingway volunteered for the Red Cross and ended up as an ambulance driver on the Isonzo front. Six months before his arrival, in the Battle of Caporetto, more than 11,000 Italian soldiers were killed, another 20,000 injured and 270,000 taken prisoner by their foes. Hemingway himself was injured by shrapnel only two months after his arrival in 1918. His experience there, the stories he heard and his subsequent intensive research about the Battle of Caporetto inspired A Farewell to Arms. The bloody battles on the Isonzo front and a tribute to Hemingway are featured in Slovenia's Kobarid Museum.

Slovenia bears the marks of the Roman Empire and the scars of World War I. You can still see the stones that bordered the ancient Roman Road. On the mountainsides, you see the roads carved out of the rock by Russian prisoners of war. You also see everywhere the bunkers from which the Italians and Austro-Hungarians fired at each other from one peak to another. I won't get into the entire history of Slovenia which is complicated at best. But I will say that it's incredible that this tiny country kept its own language and culture throughout the centuries despite a revolving door of occupying armies and constantly moving borders. While they've been ruled by emperors and monarchs, the Slovene people themselves have always remained peasants -- strong and independent despite the hands that ruled them.

RM wanted me to see the source of the Soca River which, I found out, involved climbing up a long and winding, steep and narrow and sometimes treacherous path to an opening in the Julian Alps, out of which tumbles the river's magic waters. It is not surprising that this body of water has inspired poets, peasants and priests. I've been unable to find an English translation of Gregorcic's poem about the Soca but RM said he will help me translate it. My goal is to someday be able to read it in its original form while sitting in the sun on its white rocky shore.

There is an old story here about the creation of this tiny country. It's said that on the eighth day, God decided to give pieces of His creation to the various countries on the Earth. The Germans, Austrians, Hungarians, Italians and the Slovenes all showed up to get their land. But the larger countries kept pushing the Slovenes aside. When no one was left but them, God said said He'd already given everything away. But they persisted and so God told them He had only one very small piece of land left. He had planned to keep it for Himself to live in because it was the most beautiful place in the world but instead, gave it to the Slovenes.

On that day, looking up at the alps and down at the stones on the bottom of the Soca, I thought the story just might be true.

 

The House on the Hill

Of all of the houses I had seen online, there was one in Slovenia that seemed to be very promising. Running Man (RM) had actually visited the house with the real estate agent to see if it looked as good in reality as it appeared on my computer screen. The house was in Dolena Trebusa (dough-laynuh tray-boo-shuh) and it was in the process of being "renewed." That's the term used here when you basically take the house down to the stone walls and rebuild it from there. RM reported that while not everything looked quite as great as it seemed, the house had potential and was certainly worth seeing.

I had communicated with the agent via email and he'd gladly sent me more photos than those already posted on the site. I spent hours examining those photos, enlarging them to see small details. By the time I left the States, I had the house memorized. On my second day in Europe, I saw Trebusa, as we called it, up close and personal. We drove to the house, winding our way along a main road to a much higher elevation. RM told me to be ready and then, I spied it, towering above the road, looking just as it had in the photo. The driveway was angled in such a way that we had to drive past it, find a spot along the road to turn around, then hit the driveway going in the other direction. Not a great feature for a house or a B&B but we could work on that. 

Trebusa came with approximately 16 acres of land, including a tiny strip along the little river that ran on the opposite side of the road. Since the road dropped straight down 20 feet to the river, that wasn't much of a selling feature but you could say you owned a riverfront property. I had been intrigued by the amount of land that came with the property. But seeing it for myself, I knew the owner was just throwing it in for good measure. The house was built into the side of the wooded mountain and the land was so steep I had little hope for even a decent garden spot. But goats would thrive there. Cheese, anyone?

The farmhouse architecture was heavily influenced by the Austrians.You saw four floors from the front of the house, but by the time you reached the back, the only thing you could see was a flight of concrete stairs and a double set of doors leading into the attic. Near the house was a lovely but decrepit Slovenian hayrack. I would rebuild it with its sweeping views of forest and in it, put the outdoor kitchen and dining room. Well, that part of the property was perfect.

We started our tour inside the house through the attic. It was large and open with a skylight. The roof was brand new as were the stucco finish on the outside, the windows and walkways and the interior finishes. The attic would be where I would have to put my living space -- library/office, bedroom and bathroom. The extreme slope of the roof on both of the long sides of the room would make that challenging but, once again, doable.

A flight of alpine stairs -- two pine trees angled down to the lower floor with open steps that were wider on one side than the other, forcing you to place your feet in the correct alteration of left to right to move up or down them -- led down to the next floor. Here were three bedrooms and two bathrooms. That's right. Two bathrooms. In fact, this house had two full baths and one half bath and that was another reason I had taken such an interest in it. The master suite featured a spacious room with windows on two sides with great views, and a large en suite bathroom. At the bottom of the stairs was another good-sized full bath that would have to serve the other two bedrooms. Those, however, were tiny. It would be tough to fit a queen-size bed in the room with anything else but, yep, again, doable.

The stairs to the lower floor were enclosed and tiled. Two steps down took you to a landing and a door that led out to the upper terrace. It was tiled but not yet surrounded by anything to keep you from tumbling below. The wooded views were breathtaking and the air was fresh and clean. Back inside, you walked down to another landing. To the right was a small space for the laundry. To the left was the dining room. It was beautifully tiled with two glass doors that led out to the lower terrace, also tiled but unfinished. Off the dining room was the entry foyer and a tiny room. I had thought this was the unfinished kitchen but it was the size of a walk-in pantry.

"No, no," the agent said. "Here's the kitchenette." He pointed to the bare wall that ran perpendicular to the stairs. Leaving enough room to dismount the stairs and enter the room would allow enough space for a very small refrigerator, tiny stove and small single sink. That's it. I immediately started investigating the wall that separated the area from the little pantry. In my amateur estimation, that wall could come out and at least I could fit in a little storage and counter space. Little, very little.

Also off the dining room was a vestibule -- pretty much wasted square footage -- from which you entered the water closet as well as the day room (or half-bath and family room in our vernacular). The former was tiled and had new fixtures. The day room was open and bright with pine floors, ceilings and beams, and windows along two sides. I could see my guests here, enjoying the view, sipping a glass of wine, laughing about the day's events and commenting on the wonderful smells coming from my kitchen. Er, kitchenette.

I liked what I saw but would have to make some changes to accommodate a B&B. I had to admit that after seeing the ancient farmhouse the day before, Trebusa was a breath of fresh air in its state of remodel. It had a central heating system and two cisterns to collect water which, I was told, wouldn't be a problem at this altitude and hillside position. But there was a trade-off. While the forested views of Trebusa were gorgeous I longed for the vineyard views I had seen in Kojsko.
 
As we drove away, I started tearing down walls and building others in my mind. I could enclose the terrace off the dining room and some of the upper terrace to create a new dining room and stairs up to the guestrooms. That would leave me with the existing dining room and pantry for my kitchen and a set of "back stairs" I could use to access the laundry and the guestrooms.

I also decided the alpine stairs from the attic would need to be replaced with folding stairs that could hide away in the ceiling of that floor and under a strategically placed rug in the attic. I would just have to use the outside steps and enter the rest of the house through the front door when I had guests. But removing the stairs would give me privacy above and a little more open space below between the guestrooms.

My mind was filled with details, pictures, questions, answers, possibilities and more questions. I could make it work, but I would have to negotiate a lower purchase price and that would be tough. As someone who has built a house, I knew the owner had put more money into the renewal than the house was really worth. There was much left to finish of his remodel. Throw in all of the changes I would need to make to serve for a B&B and I was way over budget.

I really wanted this house, but I had more houses to see. Even more, I had Slovenia to see. I had to be patient and allow the fate that had somehow brought me here continue to move me. Surely, I would know the place when I saw it. I just had to be patient. 

The New World

The drive from Trieste, Italy to Podsabotin, Slovenia, took about 1-1/2 hours. Running Man (RM) had put on his professional guide hat and constantly pointed at buildings and monuments, mountains and rivers while rattling off an immense amount of history and facts about every single one of them as we sped along the motorway. My poor, tired brain was saturated by the time we reached the Goriska Brda region -- called by some the "Slovenia Tuscany." Here, RM had made reservations at a new bed and breakfast, "Stanfel." I really shouldn't call it a B&B because its actual designation is "tourist farm" which means they can serve meals there to people other than guests who stay in their rooms. I was already learning that "B&B" as I understood it in the States was not really applicable here.

RM introduced me to the owner who was a tall, quiet man who worked his vineyards, made wine, bread and marmalade, and ran his lodging and dining establishment. He was living my dream. Here, I could learn a few things. But I wouldn't learn them directly from the owner because he spoke no English; however, his girlfriend, who helped him run the B&B, spoke some English and, of course, RM would be with me to translate as well.

I couldn't wait to get to the room to wash my face, brush my teeth and take a shower. I was delighted that the room was bright, had two small balconies and a large armoire. My delight died when I entered the bathroom. In its entirety, the room was the size of the handicapped stall in a public restroom in the U.S. Good thing I'm a showerer and not a bather because there was no tub, just a shower the size of a large, very tall trashcan. The sink was small and shallow and you could bump your elbow on it when trying to seat yourself on the toilet. The only place to put anything in this tiny space was a little glass shelf above the sink. I couldn't even put anything on the toilet tank because it didn't have one -- just two large buttons in the wall that you pushed to flush. (Push the large one if you need a lot of water and the small one for just a little.) Fortunately, during his reconnaissance before my arrival, RM had recognized the lack of storage and purchased a tiny shelved cart on wheels that you could push between the toilet and the wall. And if you stood close enough to the opposite wall, in front of the sink, you could roll out the cart to access your items from the lower shelf. Thank goodness for RM's years of experience with American tourists!

Despite my cramped quarters, the hot water in the shower revived me. And if the water hadn't, the noise I made while showering would have. There were no shelves in the tiny shower so I had to stick all of my necessary items on the floor -- shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, shaving cream, razor. I repeatedly kicked them over, dropped them trying to put them back and banged my elbows against the glass walls so many times I lost count. I must have sounded like an elephant moving around in an empty peanut butter jar from the other side of the door. On a positive note, I dried off with a small but warm towel, hot off the wall radiator.

Now, RM had made arrangements for me to borrow a hair dryer from Stanfel during my time there so I hadn't brought one of my own. He'd also brought along a bag full of plug adapters and converters so I'd be able to use a curling iron or straightener from the States. Without going into further detail, I'll just tell you that for the duration of my two weeks in Europe, my hair was in a constant state of its natural curl....

I was learning a lot without asking any questions. In my B&B, the bathrooms would need to be large enough to accommodate some shelves, adequate space between the toilet and the sink and if not a tub-shower combination, at least a "normal-sized" shower. I would provide large towels and washcloths, the latter of which apparently aren't used in Europe. And I would offer a full range of electrical beauty utensils that don't require any converters or adapters. I started making mental notes.

I rushed to find something in my suitcase to put on. RM had already scheduled an appointment to look at a property and we were going to be late. We jumped back into the car and drove, winding our way through little villages with names I didn't even try to pronounce. Slovene is one of those languages that skimps on vowels. Well, they have all of the same vowels that English has; they just don't use them.

I was charmed by the old stone and stucco farmhouses and the narrow roadway between them in the villages. Even in February, the vineyards, pastures and woods were beautiful. When we arrived in the village of Kojsko, we drove slowly to the very end, unsure of exactly which house we were supposed to see. RM stopped the car and asked a villager walking down the street who pointed at a huge stone arch with wooden doors. We found a tiny space to park then walked through the gate. To our right were three people, an older man and a young couple. RM greeted them, we all introduced ourselves, and they continued to speak in Slovene. My inability to speak the language didn't matter because I was speechless. It wasn't caused by the fact that the huge old stone farmhouse was falling apart but by the view from the front of the house. It was incredible. I was looking at vineyards upon vineyards, rolling down hills to a valley. On one side was Slovenia and on the other, Italy. And when I looked into the distance, I could barely make out the Bay of Trieste.

My enchantment with the panorama wasn't even dampened by the state of the farmhouse. Like many I'd seen online, it had fallen into disrepair. Windows were missing, ceilings splintering and stucco crumbling. Still, I could see the potential. It was expensive potential but potential nonetheless. With the right amount of money, this could be spectacular.

As it turns out, the young couple didn't really want to sell the property they'd inherited. Like me, they dreamed of restoring it and putting in a B&B. Of course, they had no money and would be interested in some sort of partnership. That meant I wouldn't have to actually buy the property but that also meant sharing my dream and plans with complete strangers. Not exactly what I wanted to do but the property was positioned so perfectly that I would keep it on my list.

As we wound our way back out of the tiny village, my mind was racing with the possibilities and my pulse with the excitement of seeing my first property here. I pulled my passport from my wallet and paged through it, looking for the imprint the agent had stamped on it in Rome. And in the fading light of my first day in Europe, I peered closely at a barely legibly square of ink and smiled.