Blog of James David Williams

At the end of last week, I had some visitors. My parents decided to receive a debrief of my Slovenia trip in person, which I duly provided in the evenings after my workdays concluded. And while I still haven’t replaced the sheets on the guest bed, they are washed and everything is otherwise back to normal in my house. Whenever they come, I share a new restaurant or two with them. While the fact that I’ve lived here for several years now means there is a shrinking list of new places to take them, we did visit two on this trip. Both lean Italian, one focusing on handmade pastas and the other on pizzas. Both are also downtown institutions and went over well. Perhaps the only complaint was that we ordered too much at the pasta place; oh well, I ate all of mine.

Sunday was a bit crazy. After church, I drove to Charlotte for a baby shower. Then I drove home afterwards. The math is a little wince-inducing, four and a half hours on the road and only about two hours at the destination. I haven’t been to that many baby showers in my life, and will probably keep it that way, but this one was worth attending. The couple live in Atlanta and this was a rare chance to see them, especially as their world is about to change in a big and wonderful way. They were gone when I visited Atlanta a few months ago for the world cup semifinal so I grabbed this opportunity instead. The day was also a reminder if I needed one that I don’t ever want to have a lengthy commute again as that was way too much time in the car. It was a good thing I had the holiday on Monday to get myself mentally prepared for this shortened workweek. Now onto the rest of September and transitioning back into more sustained normal rhythms.

Settling back into normal routines has been almost seamless since I returned from my summer vacation. I had my normal return meal of Peruvian chicken for dinner. I made my normal trip to the farmer’s market on Saturday morning and then supplemented things with a run to the grocery store. I had my normal blueberry muffin and took my normal weekend walks. I even went to a baseball game on Saturday evening. There are things like washcloths and top sheets that I was perhaps a little too excited to get back to. The sweltering late summer heat and humidity, not so much.

Returning from Europe has always been easier on my circadian rhythms and sleep than going to Europe (I’ve found the opposite to be true when going to Asia). Mind you coming home lacks the excitement of going on a trip, but extending a day by a few hours after arriving back in the US in the afternoon is easier than starting a new day with effectively no net sleep during the previous night as happens when you arrive in Europe in the morning. Nonetheless, my wake time gradually adjusted at a rate of almost exactly one hour per night until I got back to my normal sleep cycle by about Sunday night/Monday morning. If anyone has any tricks to help speed that process up, feel free to send them my way.

This week, I’ve done several vacation things to the max. After I picked up a rental car, a little Renault Clio that beeps at me way too much, I left Ljubljana and headed north towards the Julian Alps. I stopped in the hamlet of Kamnik for a hillside lunch and then took a cable car up to Velika Planina. I spent a few hours walking around the alpine pastures in what turned out to be a mere appetizer of what was to come. Once I descended, I drove to my accommodation at the far end of Lake Bohinj,. After twisting and turning over mountain roads, I reached the lake just as the sun was beginning to set so I was able to take it in (though I must say that it was best in the early morning).

On my first day at Bohinj, I took it easy with a gentle morning stroll around the lake. Mind you, this took around four hours to complete, but it was still a gentle stroll. It was also a test run for my new day pack trip. Then there was some pesky work that had to be done, and I decided to splurge and do a big fancy tasting menu for dinner—many small courses, optional wine pairings, gentle music, the whole shebang. It was very good.

The next day was a marathon hike. I was out the door by around 6:30 for a half hour drive to the trailhead. Parking was a challenge so I didn’t actually hit the trail until about 7:20. As it turned out, that is also when I returned to the car 12 hours later.

The Seven Lakes Hike, is not supposed to take 12 hours (more like 9 to 11), but I suffered an equipment failure as my resoled boots delaminated on me and I took a more gingerly pace after that as the soles were held together by my shoelaces looped underneath them and I was in real trouble if those tore through on the jagged rocks underfoot. I don’t often get sentimental about things, but I am going to miss those boots. They finally gave out last year and I tried to get them repaired in advance of this trip, but to no avail. I just wish they’d failed on my test run the day prior instead so that I would have worn the new pair of hiking boots I brought in case something like this happened.

There is almost 1000 meters of elevation change in the hike, so you start in a mixed beech and spruce forest and ascend above the timberline for much of the day. There are huts offering food and drink spread along the different routes. The first such hut is about an hour in, still in a forest section although in a clearing with pasture and a lake. It was a nice place to have breakfast. Then the real hiking started. There wasn’t a payoff until several hours in and I reached the viewpoint above a double lake where there is another hut. Descending down to it on the route I took means holding onto steel cables to keep one’s footing and then walking/sliding down switchbacks of loose scree. I was above the timberline at that point and only on the descent did I come back into alpine meadow. The lakes are a blue green depending on how deep they are and if there is any vegetation under the water. Otherwise, they are so very clear. After lunch of a few apricots and sandwich meat (the contrast from the night before was almost laughable), I ascended further up the valley past several more lakes, each seemingly more beautiful than the last. What I currently recall as the second-to-last one was the prettiest of all. The trail went past it from above and on its right, meaning you get to look down on it from several angles. The sky above, without a cloud in it, was bluer than blue. And so was the water below, just a darker hue. From there, I kept pressing up the valley to a third hut/rest area to refill my water bottles and eat some more of my grocery store provisions.

The hardest part of the hike itself, by some margin, was after leaving that final hut and taking a route that crested a saddle high above the valley before winding its way back down to complete a great circle. That ascent, in full afternoon sun and over jagged rocks, was also the point at which my boots began to fail. It was very much in the type 2 fun category and not of the type 1 variety. From the crest of the saddle all the way down, it was more about completing the hike and keeping my shoes together than enjoyment. My legs were burning and the jagged scree had done its work on my feet, but I found a slower rhythm and treaded carefully to try to keep my midfoot where the shoelaces were looped from the worst of the sharp edges. Then I put one foot in front of the other and got on with it all the way back to the car, stopping only briefly at the hut where I’d breakfasted in the morning as that marked the completion of the great circle route I’d taken.

I followed up this hike with a rest day. Not that I do full rest days, mind you, but it was a rest day by my standards. I returned to the fancy restaurant where I’d eaten two days prior for an afternoon cooking class with the chef. I filleted a trout for the first time, made some panna cotta, received a metaphorical kick in the rear for not using my sous vide machine more in my home cooking, and talked with the chef about his own journey as he looked to be about my age and the restaurant is still new. It was actually the cooking class that had introduced me to the restaurant in the first place as that came up in my search for offbeat activities.

Then there was another travel day driving over a high mountain pass on a road built by POWs in World War One into the town of Bovec where I’m writing this post. The food here has been very mediocre. Yesterday was another big hike, 9 more hours on the trail, down the Soča Trail from the source of the river at the foot of the pass I’d crossed the day before back to my hotel in Bovec. The path was every bit as rocky as my walk had been in the Seven Lakes Valley, and that made it difficult to stay in a rhythm or to enjoy the views of the river without stopping. It also meant that my feet are very sore today also. The water is turquoise and reminds me of the water at some of the most beautiful beaches in the Caribbean. Of course the water in this river is much, much colder, but that was the color. In terms of absolute beauty, yesterday’s hike did not match the Seven Lakes hike. The best views were from the suspension bridges across the river and in the narrow gorge sections, but they were often very similar and the rest was up and down and over rocks and tree roots on repeat. In hindsight, doing a shorter section of the yesterday’s trail would have given me 90% of the payoff with much less effort. That said, it was more type 2 fun and I’m sure that I’ll look back on it all more fondly once my feet feel better.

It was only last night that I finally had my “I’m in Europe” meal of a lemon Fanta and a doner kebab. That was the closest place to eat and I didn’t feel like walking more than necessary. I’m now headed into a more relaxing week to finish my trip, starting with a few days on the shores of Lake Bled looking out over the most famous view this country has to offer.

For my summer vacation this year, I chose a marginally less obscure European destination than last year when I went to the Faroe Islands. This year I’m in Slovenia, the northernmost country on the Balkan peninsula. It is bordered by Italy, Austria, Hungary, and Croatia and has the varied topography you might expect from that mix of neighbors. Today is my last full day in the capital Ljubljana before I pick up a car and begin my travels to other regions. One of my tour guides described Ljubljana as a quiet city where it’s nice to raise a family. That description is apt, both as a positive and a negative.

The area was first populated thousands of years ago but none of their wooden structures survive. There are Roman walls, a couple of which are still in use as one side of a public courtyard. The medieval city sits on the other side of the river from the Roman settlement of Emona where there is a hill topped by the city’s castle. That is the old city, which expanded across the river once walls were knocked down and the city expanded. The newer buildings on the approaches to the city center are similar to what is seen in other parts of Europe—soulless apartment blocks and grocery stores with lots of glass and small parking lots. It seems that every region has its own flavor of contemporary architectural blah. The city’s architecture was also impacted by the Yugoslav period, but even though there are a few tall brutalist eyesores they are at least clustered together in one (very unpleasant) square and none of the buildings in the old city were bulldozed to make way for them. It also helps that this city was untouched by the many conflicts that affected the region during the twentieth century.

The buildings in the old town are in Viennese styles as this place was part of Hapsburg Austria for a few hundred years (interrupted by only a short Napoleonic interlude) up until the First World War. None has the majesty of the buildings that line the Ringstrasse, but the river here is much more central than the Danube is in Vienna. It’s hardly fair to compare this much smaller city to Vienna, but Vienna is the benchmark against which I compare the beauty of every city. There also aren’t the lovely cafes of Vienna here, or at least I haven’t managed to find them for those pesky work sessions that have intruded into my vacation mindset.

I’ve had a mix of restaurants, from fancy ones with white tablecloths to street stalls. Slovene food is a mix of styles, but the primary influences are from Austria to the north with its more subtle flavors than we would have in America where we tend to over-season everything. I’ve also had goulash, pasta, and cevapcici too so far, though, showing the mix of influences from other directions. I expect there will be less variety and more pork once I leave the capital, but I’ll continue to eat a mix of cheaper and more expensive places as I flit about.

The best part of the experience of Ljubljana may be that the old city is almost fully pedestrianized. Restaurants spill out into the streets, everything is quieter, and people are always milling about. I wish more places would take a page out of that book, Vienna included.

Last Thursday, I accelerated my normal weekly dinner out and took it during the week instead of on the weekend. I was tired of eating almost all of my meals alone and so reached out to a friend to see if I could bring dinner for us to eat together. Meeting his family out is a logistical challenge as they have two young children, but that’s less of an issue when I act as both the delivery drive and guest. It’s such a simple thing that I should have been doing it much sooner, but in the whole time they’ve been here this was only the second time I’d been over for dinner. We had my favorite Thai place, which I picked up downtown after I finished my work for the day.

The older child knows me and so he came to the door to greet me when I arrived. He couldn’t quite get the door open and his dad still had to come help him, but in fairness the door does stick. He almost always smiles when he sees me, and he did so this time too. We jumped straight into racing his toy cars around on the floor after I took off my shoes and set the food down. I hadn’t seen him in a few months, so he was a little taller. We talked about all of the fun things he’d been doing at his summer day camp. Then it was time for dinner.

I hadn’t seen the younger child for an even longer period of time. He looked completely different, much more like a little human now that he’s almost a year old. He didn’t manage to get much of his food into his mouth, but he sat in his highchair and smiled while the adults had a conversation about life and work and near future plans. The older child ate well until he decided he was done and then refused to eat more. He went back into the living room and played more with his cars before he came back for dessert. For that dessert, I introduced him to the wonderful treat that is mango sticky rice. He was a fan. 

Last weekend, a friend came to town on short notice. This meant scrambling to find activities. A highlight was a sketch comedy show on Friday evening hosted in the same little black box theater where I took improv classes some time ago. Did I understand all of the jokes? Absolutely not, and for the same reason why it’s a bad idea to rely on me during the pop culture portions of a trivia contest. Did I enjoy some laughs? You bet.

It also meant eating out more than normal. Though my favorite Thai place was out of commission due to some kitchen maintenance, overall I was satisfied that I offered my guest a sampling of the Durham food scene. Handmade pasta, seafood from the coast, Mediterranean-inspired spreads, Peruvian rotisserie chicken, and Carolina-style BBQ (even if he chose not to get the chopped pork) all featured. We also tried a mix of cocktail bars and taprooms, but the new spots we tried aren’t going to become regular destinations for me.

We capped off the weekend with a Sunday evening walk through Duke Gardens since my friend is a plant guy and a small time gardener. For some reason, he chose not to bring his phone and then got mad at himself for having left it in the car when he was unable to take pictures. It’s not like I’d told him that the gardens are impressive or anything. Maybe next time he’ll be a better listener. Oh well, it was funny for me. 

Last Wednesday, I wrote my weekly missive from a hotel room in Atlanta. I was waiting on my brother’s early morning flight to arrive and got in a little bit of work before the day’s events began. Thankfully, he had a much less eventful travel experience than I’d had the day before and arrived to the hotel by about 10:30. He deposited his things in the room and we set off for what turned out to be a brunch of chicken biscuits at a local spot nearby.

Given our experience from Seattle and how long it took to enter the stadium there (and the fact that we had nothing else planned for the day), we went ahead and got a ride towards the Georgia Dome after our late breakfast. Things were much smoother this time and we were in within just a few minutes. We waited in what turned out to be another interminable merchandise line, just like in Seattle, only this time they sold out of the match scarves right before our turn to purchase. At least they weren’t as nice as the US-Australia scarf that I have downstairs.

Our seats were in the rafters for this chance to see the great Lionel Messi. That meant riding escalators up and walking even more steps once we reached the top concourse. As we ascended, even though it was hours before kickoff, the chanting had started. It was all in Spanish and they were excited. This was a different sort of match emotionally than watching the US play. That was another level of emotion. I’ve been to both England and Argentina twice. I’ve spent more time in Argentina, and I have fond memories from both Buenos Aires and from the plains in the north around Cordoba. I don’t share that same fondness for London. My brother doesn’t share those experiences; he’s only been to England and that was only briefly. It meant I was more emotionally invested than he was, which again wasn’t the case when we watched the US play earlier in the summer.

Sitting next to us was a couple in Mexico jerseys holding a homemade sign that made clear they were rooting for England. That did not endear them to the predominantly Argentinian crowd around us, nor did the fact that they continued to hold the sign up even while the match was going on and they blocked the view of some of those behind them. Mercifully, they eventually gave up on their dream of being on the jumbotron. We went back to the concourse for some chicken tenders for lunch and then sat and ate while the stadium filled around us and the atmosphere built.

On television, announcers often say that being at an Argentina game is like being in Buenos Aires. I’ve been to a match at La Bombonera, the home of Boca Juniors, and I have to see that the comparison falls flat. This was a cavernous dome, everything was very clean, and there were no ribbons or tifos and only a few drums. This atmosphere was more sterile and corporate than would be the case in either La Bombonera or El Monumental (the two great stadiums of that city), amazing though the atmosphere was. One of the articles I read after the match said that both sets of fans tried to drown out the other nation’s national anthem (the Falklands/Malvinas are still a live issue), but only the Argentinians succeeded. The shrill whistle that is common throughout Latin America did the trick much more than the Anglo boos. The first half was tense and cagy. There were few chances for either team. Any time one of the English misplayed a pass, the crowd was quick to call them a burro (donkey). I found that funnier than I should have. Otherwise, my main memory of the first half was standing up and sitting down repeatedly. Then things exploded in the second half.

England scored on the break about ten minutes into the half. It was a sucker punch given the way Argentina had started the half, but then England choked. The Argentinian fans only got louder after England scored, and the team rode that momentum and laid siege to the English penalty area underneath our seats. England invited the pressure, both through their play and through their substitutions. After the goal, they had under 15% possession during the subsequent 40+ minutes. And Argentina heaped even more pressure with their own substitutions. The fans around us never wavered, never panicked. They knew that Argentina would score. They’d seen it over and over in recent years. That is a very different feeling to the one I had when the US conceded the first goal to Belgium. England retreated more and more, and eventually the levy broke. Messi found Enzo Fernandez at the top of box and on what was his third attempt from that range he finally put a shot on target and past the diving keeper. The place got even louder and the outcome was settled; it was just a matter of time. Sure enough, Messi found Lautaro Martinez somehow wide open just a few yards out and he headed home the second ten minutes later. The place exploded, and I was part of the yelling chorus. England sent on subs in desperation, but it was too late. They were out and Argentina were through.

After the final whistle, the Argentinians serenaded their team and Messi, their hero. They even kept going after the team left the field after over half an hour. The English were stunned, standing on the field for nearly twenty minutes before they sauntered into the tunnel. We stayed in our seats until all the players left the field. I wanted to feel the energy, passion, and love that the Argentinian fans have for their national team. It was a beautiful thing to take in.

Following the match, we walked all the way back to the hotel. We had to walk some distance to get away from the street closures and then decided just to keep walking. During the first mile of the walk, we were in the midst of an Albiceleste wave. We spoke English to each other, but other than us, a few street preachers, and one brave, idiotic, and probably drunk woman yelling at people saying they needed to go back to their own country, Spanish was the language of choice. We ate dinner in courses at different places in the food hall in Ponce City Market, which was near the hotel, and then we walked along the beltline for another couple of miles before getting a ride back to the hotel and wrapping up our day. It was only during that walk that my voice gave out, which was equally frustrating since I couldn’t talk with my brother and surprising as my voice had stayed with me through everything else. 

Yesterday I flew to Atlanta for a short not-work trip. Had I instead gotten in my car and driven in the other direction on I-40, eventually joining with I-85, I would have arrived at my hotel sooner. Of course, this would mean having driven for six hours, having to pay to park in Atlanta, and having to drive back tomorrow, but it still gives a sense of things. We boarded the plane for takeoff and everything was in order. Then during their final checks the pilots discovered an electrical failure of some kind. That meant we deplaned, and after turning everything off and back on again didn’t solve the problem we were forced to wait for a spare part that was delivered on the next flight coming in from Atlanta. The irony was not lost on me.

When we reboarded some three hours later, I was next to two different people than those who had been in my row earlier. Mind you, those people were also on the plane, just a few rows up. I don’t know where the new ones came from. Presumably, there were other flight delays and people were shuffled around. It was just odd. Then as we descended, the pilots aborted the approach and we climbed into the skies again as a downpour had temporarily inundated the runway. I just laughed. There was nothing else to do. We circled and landed on the next approach a few minutes later.

Since it was a Tuesday, I was able to keep my same dinner plans even if they were rather delayed. I don’t know if it was the delays, the air blowing directly down onto my table, or how loud the place was, but I wasn’t able to enjoy the food like I’d imagined. Alas, that’s not why I’m here. Today is.

We don’t take every official holiday. It’s part of the reality of running your own business. But I took off last Friday for the observed Fourth of July holiday. It was such a different sort of day that it offered a wonderful refresher even if it left me physically drained.

I set out on a long commute about the time the sun rose. Well, it would be more of a super-commute if anyone made it regularly as I drove nearly two hours to Pilot Mountain State Park. It is a distinctive stone pillar topped by trees now, the result of a mountain that has eroded much more slowly than its surroundings. You can see it for miles and miles.

With temperatures spiking above 100 degrees with some humidity thrown in, I limited activity to the morning. I did the same Saturday and Sunday as well. As a result, I took the lazy approach and drove to the top of the ridge instead of hiking up from the bottom. I chose this in order to get some diversity in my trail miles, but the trail along the Yadkin River in a different part of the park was a disappointment relative to the trails along the Eno closer to home.

Atop the ridge, there is first a short little trail to a promontory to observe the mountain. Then I walked along the trail at the base of the exposed rock. It isn’t a long trail, not quite a mile, but it is always imposing standing under a sheer rock face. The views looking out over the Yadkin Valley are really something too, even if the far vistas were shrouded even under clear blue skies. Once I completed the circuit, I extended the walk by walking down the ridge a little to an area where groups of people were climbing the rock face (you cannot climb the main mountain itself). I picked a few wild blackberries along the way and stopped to eat them in the shade amidst the cooing of pigeons nesting in the cliffs. Then I scrambled up a gully and connected with the main trail up to the top of the ridge and completed by little figure eight. I was off the mountain before eleven and then drove to the second part of the itinerary that proved less exciting.

I did not visit any of the wineries in the area on this trip, but I did stop for lunch at a good little diner in the town of Pilot Mountain for a nice country breakfast style meal. There are many more places to explore in this state, but I’m satisfied that I did this one justice.

For dinner on Friday, I treated myself to a fancy steakhouse dinner in Raleigh. I don’t normally travel that far for a solo meal, but there was a benefit with one of my credit cards that was about to expire and I didn’t want to let that happen. The drive was a nice reminder of why I rarely venture to Raleigh and why I want no part of a lengthy commute even if traffic in the Triangle is not nearly as bad as what it is in other metro areas. Some of that was on me for choosing a 6:00 reservation, but it was around ten minutes quicker on the way back.

When the waitress came to take my order, I ordered the bread service and a big steak. When she asked if I wanted an appetizer I told her that I was having dessert instead, drawing a half smile. For that dessert, I had a lemon ice cream sandwich concoction with some lemon sauce and a meringue as accoutrements. From the perspective of maximizing taste, that was a better decision than picking one of the appetizers. The bread was good, a local sourdough with some salted butter. I ate the whole portion, some of which I saved to accompany the main and serve as a sponge for the extra red wine jus that came with the steak. The steak itself came pre-cut but plated alone. It didn’t need more than that. It was glorious and I took my time and savored each bite.

The meal offered a stark contrast to the fancy-ish meal I had with my brother and sister-in-law in Seattle. That one was filled with shared plates and conversation. This one was just me in silent contemplation. There is a place for both, but on balance I find meals better with good company around.