The adventures never cease. Two coats and paint drenched ankles still aren't cutting it as the ceiling remains a faded brown. Time to wash up and wait for a better day and another can of paint. The beauty of second language paint instructions is that one never knows when paint is oil or water based. The joy of the oily version is of course that it does not wash off but rather around. First cleaning attempt results in white paint smeared mid way to the elbow, restaurant-kitchen-sink saturation, and kitchen help with dismayed tones wondering how the blazes I was to clean that mess up (the Polish version may not have included "blazes" but rather something remarkably less pleasant). In those first moments as she surveys the scene I have the distinct notion that somewhere large meat cleavers are being sharpened. Our turning point comes then in a swiftly reached moment of linguistic confusion. I quickly point out my limited understanding and inform her of my Irish origin. That then is the proverbial meal ticket as her tone and manner change to that of a hospitality minded bunny rabbit and she leaps to my aid. Three super high strength floor cleaners later (she dousing me with each) and we have achieved the removal of oily goodness from my epidermis while riduculous amounts remain on my tools and the sink. Round two with the help of cloth accessories succeeds in further sink and surrounding aesthetics destruction with only mild gains in brush cleanliness. In this moment the kitchen help informs me of family ties and sibling bonds and that in her family only she came away with a hot wired personality that required hideous excesses of constant movement while all the other peace driven sibs have "minds in heaven" (direct translation). She procures for me then a small bar of soap made entirely of what seemed fat, presumably from a humpback, and follows it up with the three aforementioned floor cleaners and the new addition of grotesquely scalding water. This achieves remarkable results though still leaves the tools in their paint saturated state. I cannot accept this discrepency and decide to soldier on. I am discovered five minutes later by kitchen help this time with paint beyond the elbows and further sink destruction. Never it seems did my rescuer's patience grow thin and it can only be assumed that my Irish heritage was interpreted to imply minimal brain function. The rapidity of her words continues and in one last gargantuan dousing of cleaners and buckets worth of skin removing water some semblence of order is restored to the kitchen, my skin has the sheen of a bright new babes, and my tools appear slightly renewed. I gave the cursory nod to my potato peeling accomplice as well as a heartfelt thank you and retired from my white paint madness in restaurant basement in Hel adventure.

But now all of that gibberish is hardly what the reader has come to lay eyes upon. I have yet said nothing of Slovenia or of Italy or of the joys of traveling with my Warsaw chums. The highlights of that voyage as all others lay in the people with whom it was shared. I remember the feeling of relief after four months hopping around the world, how wonderful it was to share the journey with treasured friends. Then in Slovenia what joy it gave me to be able to share my friendships there with them. We had as our lodgings a spot amidst tall mountains and long valleys and it was beautiful green flowing rivers that lined our ways. Some will remember the name Blaz from last year's hiking adventure atop Slovenia's tallest peak and it was his family to whom we owe our gratitude in having had such a wonderful spot to lay our heads this year. There was no end to the hospitality extended to us there from foods to friendships to wines to barbeques to homemade-beers to games of volleyball and the offerings of their garden to be used at our discretion. There is surely no way to experience a place like to be among and with its people. We explored the mountains, we leaped from treacherous wooden diving boards to emerald green rivers, we explored coasts in Italy and Slovenia bordering warm blue waters, sat playing Rummikub while fat raindrops danced upon the roof of our shelter, lay in hammocks provided by our gracious host and slept to the tune of wind whispering through the plum trees, spent hours reddening our forearms to volleyball bliss, dreamed of which historic town or city to explore in the time needed to take us there, and we spent hours in conversation and in feasting and at times in prayer.

A cherry atop that heavily iced cake was my return to the city that since maiden visit has captured my awe. Venice for me is one like no other where one wishes themself to be lost among the winding streets and overwhelmingly historic nature of the surroundings. Its cafes, its shops, its bustling canals and its hectic plazas were as ever a welcome assault to my senses. A moment atop the Rialto bridge and of taking in the action of the Grand Canal and one feels as though a time long past is being witnessed in much of the splendor that it once held. If any regret is to be had it was only the necessity of spending only a single day in that place. One cannot help but leave feeling that one has only begun to know it and that surely many further days might be spent amidst its charm. Moving on I further remember the sadly few moments with my student friends who graced my days last year with such frequency. Those who had remained in Ljubliana during the summer break had only my final afternoon and evening in Slovenia to be shared together. I got to the city by means of my first alone hitchhiking (autostop here) experience. Luckily Slovenia is bred for such a venture and I had only to wait five minutes for a first ride and five more for the one that took me to my destination. The second included conversation, a quick stop for a cappucino that was purchased for me and ended with being given means for the bus and a drop off at the station. I then spent those last precious hours there in non stop conversation from three in the afternoon until two in the morning and despite the short duration I am glad for every moment. Glad to have finished off the time as I had spent it many times before making crepes in the student housing and then gorging on obscene amounts of the outpourings in the company of friends. While I was there experiencing the gorge fest my Polish chums had returned to our favorite new cafe overlooking the mountains in Most na Soci and being given huge amounts of free ice cream by the waiter that never was with us without a smile and attempts to learn the Polish language. 'Twas a vacation not to be missed and not to be forgotten.

Now to pictures. There are plenty up there and the majority explain themselves but I should tell a little. Album one starts after night one in Austria and continues through the first days at our lodgings to wandering the streets of Venice. The river pictured being doven into was minutes from where we stayed through narrow country roads. Album two begins with our visit to a nearby waterfall park continues to our visit of Sistiano on the Italian coast and ends with collecting water at the mountain stream next to our spot. Album three displays some of Slovenia's finest from its coast and historic Piran to the north with lakes Bohinj and Bled for the eyes to feast upon. To get to those lakes in the mountains we made use of the AutoVlak, a train that takes cars quickly through tunnels and mountains to the north. That fellow is me sitting in the window of our car while the train chugged along and having my breathtaken by the views, the speed, and the ventures through long pitch dark tunnels, one of which was six kilometres in length. Last but not least Album 4 starts off with the cafe in Most na Soci and the waiter who was so kind to us and continues to our short trip to Padua which sadly began and ended during siesta time therefore making the city seem dead. The album finishes with a return trip to Sistiano where we swam and jumped before heavy rains and lightning began.