The aromatic smoke of the last beedee rises and swirls, the first warm sunbeams playing with it like mischievous kittens. The dark, cold January is well behind us: the first flowers are just about to bloom, the birds are singing their hearts out … We try to look forward, to smell the spring on a smoky wind – yet there is one last winter tale to be told: the story of the most unique and rather incredible kite festival: the first Trans-Continental Indo-European International Night Kite Festival …
As the saying goes, if you don’t come to Gujarat, Gujarat comes to you.
This year we were, unfortunately, not invited to the International Kite Festival in Ahmedabad (though, judging by what we heard was happening there, perhaps fortunately – we might have started a fistfight … or worse). So we had to find a way to alleviate the symptoms of our collective withdrawal syndrome.
We did the spectacular little NIKF Izola with L’ubica and István and the Zmajoljupci crew, but we needed more – since, as Marczin says, we don’t really know how to January. Some people diet. Some people meditate. Some people despair and wait.
We, on the other hand, got ourselves a piece of Gujarat proper: one of Ahmedabad’s finest, a master kite flyer and a member of the illustrious JEEM Kite Team … Saud Turner himself!
The arrangements and the journey were difficult and convoluted, but he made it. And as soon as he stepped off the bus onto the sacred Slovenian soil – also known as the central bus station of Ljubljana – he looked… reflective. Possibly betrayed by geography. Definitely by the weather.
“Hey Saud, how’s it going?”
“Brrrrrr … brrrrrr … brrrrrr …”
It is very pleasant to arrive in hot and sunny Gujarat from grey and frozen Ljubljana. It is considerably less pleasant to leave hot and sunny Gujarat and experience the full weight of Central European January. It’s like a polite but firm slap in the face: no light, constant freezing drizzle, two degrees that feel like minus five. It’s cold. It’s dark. It’s wet. And there is no wind.
His first purchase? A pair of warm gloves.
“Saša, meet refrigerator. Refrigerator, Saša.”
– Gregor being an impeccable host
Even before Saud’s Slovenian adventure began, we went into full tourism-promotion mode. And more than that: having been overwhelmed time and again by the incredible hospitality we received in Ahmedabad, we felt morally obliged to return the favour. We wanted Saud to suffer here just like we did there: open doors and hearts, sumptuous food, unforgettable trips, great company, and dangerously good laughs.
And that took some serious planning.
Barbecue during a freezing rain? Check.
The famous kremšnita – a cream cake – at equally famous Bled? Check. We even drove through the rain (did we mention it was January in Slovenia?) to Zatrnik ski center so Saud could touch actual snow. Real snow. The cold, white, slightly alarming kind.
Impeccably cute Piran, the pearl of the Adriatic, visited on the only non-rainy day at the Slovenian seaside? Check.
We were force-feeding Slovenia to poor Saud so much he briefly contemplated joining a monastery …
Briefly. For brother Saud, there was fun to be had!
“… and then we saw a dead body …”
“No, Saud – first we saw a dead body and then a car crash.”
“Oh, right … Later it was the obnoxious junkie …”
“Yeah. And at the fourth coffee the waitress fell …”
Ljubljana, city of dragons, was clearly determined to show our guest her very best face.
In over fifty years of living here, one maybe – maybe – encounters a single dead body on the incredibly safe streets of the Slovenian capital. It took Saud fifteen minutes. In tourism, efficiency is important.
Add a minor car crash (fine, a fender bender), an incoherent junkie too confused even to properly annoy us, and a waitress taking an unexpected dive, going down spectacularly with at least four pints of beers crashing all around – and Saud understandably needed a brief existential pause.
Luckily, a Rotary Club party at an exclusive nightclub was there to lift his spirits. Nothing says cultural exchange like a dress code and loud music.
And Saud got to drive home – for safety reasons …
Trips to Bled, Piran, and Novo mesto. Cultural walks through the Old Town of Ljubljana and a ride on the funicular up to the Castle …
Endless coffees out in the cold – those beedees are not going to smoke themselves – and long warm-ups by the fire.
Slovenian cuisine may be somewhat restrained in chili powder, but it is rich in history and hearty twists. Sea bass at Ivor’s. Turkey steaks in gorgonzola sauce at Gregor’s. Stuffed peppers, zucchinis, eggplants. A typical Slovenian barbecue (čevapčiči heroically burnt in freezing rain).
A typical Slovenian street food – burek, of course (incidentally, Slovenia’s greatest contribution to world cuisine is the ultimate Italian-Balkan fusion: pizza burek). And, naturally, a visit to a traditional restaurant serving the classic Sunday lunch: soup followed by fried chicken, as ordained by grandmothers.
And Saud taught us how to make proper Indian tea! With jaggery!
If love truly goes through the stomach, as the Slovenian saying claims, Saud is now a very lucky man. For dessert, we had fun, jokes, and even engaged in a few serious debates.
… and, of course, we had kites.
“For the millionth time – stop exaggerating!”
– the reader
Exaggerating? Us??? Never! We merely follow official definitions.
For instance: what is an International Kite Festival? Clearly, it is an event where at least two people from different countries (international) fly kites simultaneously (kite) while being observed by at least two uninvolved individuals (festival). The law is the law.
Thus, the moment the LED trilobite left the ground in a hesitant wind, we had an IKF. Hurrah! But, as Ivor astutely observed, this one was more than just international. Saud is not merely from a different country – he is from a different continent. Therefore: trans-continental!
“He’s from India, we are from Europe … so it’s Indo-European too!”
“And it’s night!”
And so we present you the first Trans-Continental Indo-European International Night Kite Festival – TCIEINKF Stožice 2026.
And please, don’t confuse enthusiasm with exaggeration … 😉
This is the thing.
A dinner with Mila, Sergeja, Saud, Gregor. A late-night debate with Gal, followed by driving aimlessly around the city for half an hour afterward (ok, it was a virtual city, and the drive lasted for hours). A stroll through the old town, sitting on the banks of a river that is not the Sabarmati, yet somehow connected to it by an invisible line. Coffee after coffee after coffee – three sugars for our Amdabadlija, please! – after coffee. A party at the most exclusive nightclub in town. The incessant rain. January.
Kites merely bind us together, as though our lives are stitched with a kite line stretching across continents.
Places are supposed to be real, and concepts like friendship are, well, concepts, ideas; the former exist in the rough Aristotelian world; the latter float somewhere in Platonic Elysium.
But it’s the other way around.
There is no Ljubljana, no Piran, no Bled, no Ahmedabad, no Mumbai, Jogja, Tunis, Spotorno, Satun, Berck …
The concepts are real. Friendship. Camaraderie. Love.
Thank you, Saud, for coming. We hope you took home at least a fraction of what you have brought us.
See you soon!
