Ljubljana has one of the youngest, coolest, friendliest, best looking and most fashionable populations I have encountered. Everyone here seems to have been raised or born in the warm light of post-communism. But unlike some former eastern bloc countries, Slovenia is prosperous and forward-thinking. The Hapsburg-era buildings sparkle in the sunlight, and at night in the lights reflected off the Ljubljanica River.
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It's dusk, that magical transition from blue sky to black night. With a rumbling gurgle from the engine and a bellow from the helmsman, a dhonis pauses where I stand at the end of a jetty, just long enough for me to leap aboard and join its crew of fisherman for a night's catch. It's an ancient scene, one which plays out every night, here in the middle of the Indian Ocean.
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The coastal walk - just follow the acorn signs - led past tropical gardens with palm trees, Agapanthus and giant fuschia, past houses with boats in the driveway, and down a narrow, rocky path to the beach. I slipped off my sandals and sank my toes into squeaky-clean, fine golden sand as I walked to the Atlantic shoreline - nothing but ocean to the horizon and the gulls for company. The turquoise-blue-fading-to-clear-lapis colored water licked around my ankles, teasing me to go further. Walking along the beach at Carbis Bay, under an impossibly blue sky last summer, I could only smile in disbelief that I was still on mainland Britain. Welcome to St. Ives and the Cornish Riviera.
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