22: Sevnica // Melania This, Melania That
The view from that castle // © WikiMedia Commons
Thick fog gave the Slovenian countryside a decidedly sinister hue, but in this country, even the sinister carries a certain grace. The train cycled through a roster of stations and landscapes that had become very familiar to me, the sleeping stations of Laze, Litija, Zagorje and others, my destination a more celebrated town off to the south-east. Today wasn’t about the industry of Central Slovenia, today was all about Melania Trump.
No, it wasn’t, it was actually about Sevnica,
A town of some 5,000 or so people on the left bank of the Sava, Sevnica is known for its castle, its puppets and its wine, for its grand history and for its years of influence in Slovenia’s national awakening, where Jurij Dalmatin preached and opened eyes to the wonders of the Slovene tongue. Sevnica’s castle probably wins out, with its spectacular setting and magnificent wine cellar, its exhibitions and its Neo-Renaissance furnishings. Sevnica Castle is one of the finest in Slovenia, which should give you a good idea as to how impressive it is.
I arrived in Sevnica on a foggy train from Ljubljana, although one could be forgiven that all trains leaving the capital on a Saturday morning come with protective fog. I was fully aware of the castle that I was traipsing towards but figured I might as well take my time and enjoy the centre of Sevnica before wandering aimlessly uphill in the roaring sun towards a mansion. The sun had come out by the time I got to Sevnica, by the way, it wasn’t some weird combination of fog and sun. That would be somewhat unsettling.
The whole scene was about as far from unsettling as you could get. I glanced lazily in the direction of what I presumed was a World War II memorial before stopping in a nearby cafe for an espresso, a sharp hit of caffeine before walking to the castle, a wake-me-up that was hopefully going to be accompanied by a short chat with a waiter about Sevnica and all its glory, about its castle, about its wine and about its history. I ordered the espresso and ensnared the chap, a somewhat distant-looking man who looked to be in his 40s but was almost certainly the same age as me. I asked him what Sevnica had to offer, mentioning my plan to walk up the castle. His reply was depressingly predictable.
“You must try Melania’s cake when you are at the castle. It is her favourite”.
I wasn’t interested in a woman who married a rich asshat, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that I had no choice in the matter. I asked what else there was to see in the heart of the town, and was crestfallen at what amounted to a shortlist of things that Melania had been involved with, nothing more interesting than “that is where Melania went to school’. I went to school, multiple schools actually. A John Bills-themed tour of Welshpool might actually be somewhat interesting. I wasn’t interested in Melania Trump.
Because why would I be? Step back and consider this entire concept. Go back through the 52 Places Slovenia archives and see the people celebrated in towns across the country. The poetry of Srečko Kosovel in Sežana, the incredible mathematical feats of Jurij Vega in Dol pri Ljubljani, the literally out of this world vision of Herman Potočnik in Vitanje, the nation-defining words of Ivan Cankar in Vrhnika, and the rest. Melania Trump is a genetically-blessed woman who married one of the worst examples of modernity in the world, a rich prick. If anything, we should be anti-celebrating her. Is that a thing? It should be a thing.
What is there to celebrate about marrying a shithead? Nothing. Literally nothing. Some people had the gall to absolve her of the behaviour of her husband over the last few years, too. Nonsense. She is complicit. My walk to the castle was seasoned with spite and lament.
A damn nice walk though, and then some. The lack of shade caused ripples of what would become pain to flash on the back of my neck and forearms, but the sharpness of the final stretch was tempered by the robust castle standing imposingly at the top of the hill. What’s a little sunburn when you’ve got something legitimately special standing in front of you?
Aware of the supposed majesty of Sevnica Castle’s fabled wine cellar, I ventured into the gift shop and information centre to see if it was possible to talk to someone in the town without having to hear the name of a woman with appalling taste in men. I wasn’t optimistic, but once again Slovenia proved me wrong, throwing forth a woman of immense integrity, ability and personality as to make me forget about the orange man entirely. She spoke six languages, was an accredited tour guide and she shared many of my complaints about the schoolyard behaviour of a Slovenian mega cave that will not be named. What’s more, she was to show me around the wine cellar.
Wine cellars don’t much more aesthetically impressive than the impeccably presented one at Sevnica Castle, and that includes the turnip caves of Bizeljsko and that part of the country. The main room is laid out in a circle, with local wines lit up around the sphere, tantalising bottles that appealed even to me, a hardened beer man with serious hick syndrome when it comes to the plonk. The combination of light and presentation made Sevnica’s wines look positively sparkling, albeit not sparkling wines. It was quite clearly the highlight of Sevnica and Sevnica Castle, no small feat when you consider this mansion’s picturesque position and the views out to the Sava.
Suitably refreshed and invigorated by the cellar and its history, I sat down with that view in front of me as a group of German cyclists settled down behind me, debating between them whether it was too early for beer. From my experience of German cyclists, the fact that they were debating that at all made them a healthier than most sort of group. With a limited timetable, I wasn’t able to even dip my toes into Sevnica’s other attractions, its other wine cellars, the old town, the railway museum and all the rest. I consoled myself with the knowledge that there would be other times, other opportunities. I ordered myself a coffee and allowed the view to wash over me, although my tranquillity was jolted out of sync by the cheerful inquisition of the waitress;
“Would you also like some cake? We only have the First Lady, it was Melania Trump’s favourite you know”.
Goddammit. There was more to Sevnica than Melania, I was sure of it. I ordered the cake, found it largely middling, and ventured back into the gift shop to buy some First Lady chocolate and a First Lady magnet. If you can’t beat them, join them.
