This bag was hanging brightly on a rail and as I walked by, it said "Ena don't leave without me."
I'm in a city where I am struggling to pronounce its name. Ljubljana, Ljubljana, Ljubljana is the capital of Slovenia - today the centre of my world. Every time I go away, I try to find me a vintage oasis, so I can bring back a tangible memory.
My room is peppered with trinkets, bracelets, rings, cushions, pictures, something wee that always triggers something, so I never forget where I've been and how I've chosen to live.
The search for Vintage Divas in Gosposka Ulica 3 was easy. Acclimatizing to Slovenian culture isn't difficult instead it's a funny process. As a tourist I sort of demand to have all the attractions readily available when I'm ready, but in low season here, it's been a challenge that has just made us laugh every single day. The mere fact Vintage Divas was opened was a comfort and a surprise.
Inside happy lady greeted us. She wore excellent glittery docs that I would never wear but admire those who would. She was a helpful edgy burst of energy, telling us about the very best and the very bad clubs to dance in. We ignored her advice (stupid) and ended up in the worst place ever. Oh well lesson learned.
Anyway, the shop is way more modern than I thought it would be. Vintage places tend to have that worn in look, the pretending we don't care theme that covers the striped back walls or the rough edges that have been expensively scratched into new furniture.
Grey is my favourite colour, so I instantly liked Vintage Divas because my favourite wash of hew on the walls seemed to act like a canvass for everything else in the room to stand out and take its place.
Second hand clothes are carefully hung beside a long list of designers you will know. Zoe and I played guess how much this dress is and then gasped in amazement that someone out there one day would come into this store, buy the ugly yellow Moschino dress for €500 and feel delighted. Oh my. I bought my wee bag for a whole €9.
Under the fluffy hat, Zoe thought she'd found herself a perfect accessory to go with her corset for a captains ball that I'm not invited to. Instead looking at it made her realise she could make it herself.
I don't need another bag, but I convinced myself I needed one for sewing. I can throw away (sorry recycle) my pink plastic and transfer everything including my pin cushion into this beautiful Slovenian bright red bag. And then when I go to my next lesson, I'll pull my stuff out and I will smile inside.
Because I'm thinking it's my sewing bag but also my memory bag. It comes with happy times. It reminds me of days spent on foreign lands laughing my head off, living life in the moment, enjoying, not worrying. It reminds me of the people we stumbled upon and burning the candle at both ends. It triggers the monologue of conversation between strangers, people close and the ones that went on in my head. It takes me back to the wishes I forgot to make. Of the time spent rummaging through my stuff to find a euro, only to realise I said "plop" when my coin hit the water instead of whispering for what I hoped for.
It reminds me about a holiday I can't explain to others. When people ask me about my days in Slovenia, I say it was ok, I recount a few tales, but truly wish I could tell them about all the fragmented events that evolved into having a wonderful time. Only Zoe gets it because she was there and maybe that's what makes it so wicked. In a world where we share everything, maybe not sharing is a new found novelty that makes this extra special.
So for me, silly as it might sound, my/our Slovenian bubble is now symbolised in a very bright bright red bag that has found its own place amongst the other trinkets of life around my room.
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