Delicious Expeditions

European spas—they’re not like American spas. They’re more like sanatoriums, where staff dressed in white whisper softly and serious health treatments take precedence over beauty.

My first experience was in Italy, outside of Siena. I had had a particularly stressful week with The Entitled–a group of family (their family, not mine) and friends who refused to believe that Italy was no longer a country of peasants, and that said peasants, including myself, were suppose to cater to their every whim…at no additional cost.

Even though I hadn’t met anyone in the group before agreeing to host their tour, I had heard some of the names, seen one on TV and had read about another in HOLA!, the Spanish speaking equivalent of People magazine. But even with this important information, I was still not prepared for what I would encounter. Neither were the two women I was working with. In order to relieve the stress, Katy began chain smoking again after a 20-year hiatus, Sonia repeatedly chanted Madonna!! swirling her cigarette in the air, and I alternated between chomping on Advil and Xanax. The week ended with a multimillionaire pounding his fist on the dinner table—in a very elegant restaurant—demanding the car (or in this case, minibus) be brought around immediately. He was ready to go, even though the majority of people were still eating. That’s when I started to drink—white wine, red wine, limoncello, grappa. Whatever was available…It didn’t matter, I just needed to dull the memory of that man’s existence.

No, not the multimillionaire, but…

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On my last trip to Slovenia, I spent the night in jail—not that I did anything wrong, because I didn’t. My only crime was knowing nothing about European basketball. More specifically, that the championship play-offs would take place in Ljubljana the night of my arrival. When I went to book a hotel, the few available places only offered astronomical rates–a rare occurrence in one of the last reasonably priced capitals on the continent.

Puzzled, I contacted a friend, who, beaming with nationalistic pride, explained how Ljubljana would soon become the center of the European universe…if only for a few days. Then, he suggested I stay in the local prison. I must admit I was immediately taken with the idea. I’ve slept in former palaces and in convents, bedded down in airports, and even slumbered in a pristine field in the Alps…that is, until I was awakened by a rapidly oncoming herd of equally pristine cows. But a jailhouse? That would be a first.

Ljubljana and its river

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She was following me–around the tiny island in the middle of Lake Bled, a picture perfect spot in northern Slovenia, close to the Austrian border.

“I design all my own clothes,” She said, stopping to pose and point to her bell bottom capris and baggy blue blazer with mismatched buttons. When she turned to give me a rear view, I scurried along. She followed.

“I like Ellen DeGeneres. Do you like Ellen DeGeneres? I thought about marrying her, but decided she was too skinny.”

Lake Bled, Slovenia

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