Everyone Has A Story

I believe everyone has a story. A story that you’re proud of or that says something about who you are. It might be a story of adventure, of pushing yourself to your physical or emotional limits, or it could be a simple story of finding beauty somewhere unexpected.

I thought I’d share one of my stories. I’d love to hear yours!

View from the train.

View from the train

I spent the summer of 2006 volunteering in Budapest, Hungary. While I was there, and already terribly homesick, my grandpa passed away. His mom, my great grandma, was originally from Slovenia and we still had family living there. In honor of my grandpa, I decided to hop on a train and travel to Ljubljana (the capital of Slovenia), visit our extended family, and bring back a lily for his grave.

This remains to be one of the most adventurous things I’ve ever done and is a memory I’ll always cherish.

The train ride from Budapest to Ljubljana was 9 hours. That’s right, 9 hours alone on a train with my face pressed against the window since I couldn’t understand the station announcements over the loud speaker. 9 hours spent weaving through foreign countries to meet family I’d only ever heard about, trusting that they’d be there to greet me.

Downtown Ljubljana.

Downtown Ljubljana

I held my breath as the train pulled into the station, but I needn’t have worried. My family contact, Tatjana, was there waiting for me with a big smile on her face.

I had the most amazing time touring Ljubljana, a picturesque city with cobblestone streets and pedestrian bridges that zigzag over the Ljubljanica river. There was a castle, the Ljubljanski Grad, on top of a hill that had a breathtaking view of the entire city.

The food was amazing, more Italian than I’d imagined: delicious seafood, fresh garden vegetables, and gelato. Lots and lots of sweet, creamy gelato.

Atop the castle.

Atop the castle

But the best part was meeting family. To see people living on the other side of the world who had my eyes and shared my mom’s maiden name. I went to visit the family farm in a town just outside of Ljubljana called Ig (pronounced ‘eek’). My grandpa’s cousins were there and had made me a feast, complete with (rather strong) homemade fruit brandy. I got to walk around the village and even saw the church where my great grandma was baptized.

It was an amazing experience. So much so that when I left, I wasn’t homesick anymore.

 

What I’m reading: Requiem in La Paz by Jonna Gjevre

What I’m listening to: Tycho — Awake

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