Budapest and beyond...

Another year gone and Living Out London welcomes 2009 curled up on my couch, bundled in winter woollies, complete with Boyfriend’s socks and (appropriated) hotel slippers. Oh so chic.

And no, I’m not recovering from a big night of partying and fireworks. It’s just that it’s only 2°C outside and our little street in Wandsworth is clouded in fog. Days like these call for couches and hot tea.

But I have been busy. A fortnight ago I said farewell to my kidlets (after swapping Christmas presents and even scoring an end-of-year bonus) and packed my bag headed for Hungary. The plan: two days in Budapest followed by two nights in Ljubljana, and then meeting up with the parentals (currently living the quiet life in Puče, near the Slovenian coastal town of Portorož) for a European Christmas with a few days in Dubrovnik to cap off the silly season.

Boyfriend had scheduled a work trip starting the week before in Hungary, with other meetings in Croatia and Austria, only to be stuck in Budapest for four days thanks to a Hungarian railway strike. He’d managed to catch a bus to Vienna on the Thursday for an early morning Friday meeting, so when I arrived – laden with over 26 kilos of luggage (most of which were books for my mother, who had run out of reading material) – he was still in Austria enjoying a Weiner schnitzel.

Although he’d given me ample instructions for catching a bus, a train and a metro to our hostel, I chose, unsurprisingly, the more direct airport shuttle – for an entirely reasonable 12 euros. Alone, and seemingly bringing London’s rain with me, I took shelter for a few hours in a smoky café (smoking in restaurants having yet to be banned throughout most of Eastern Europe) and then decided to hide away in the local cinema to enjoy some Coen brothers humour and George Clooney/Brad Pitt action in Burn After Reading.

The next day, reunited, we took on a city bus tour, yet another funicular – up to Buda Castle – enjoyed meaty goulash, plenty of pastries and sorted out our means of travel from Budpest to Ljubljana; the union workers on their eleventh day of striking. A trip to the Christmas markets and a bag of honeycomb later and it was time to call it a night.

Sunday started at 5am, stumbling down the stairway of The 11th Hour Cinema Hostel at 6am to catch the metro to the main bus station. Twelve hours, a bus and three trains later, we arrived into Slovenia’s capital, Ljubljana. Ironically I’m the proud owner of a Slovenian passport (thanks to Mumma, and brilliant for working in the EU), even though my mastering of the language is limited to a few pleasantries and the singing of an old folk song, Jaz Sem Mala Roža (I am a small Flower) which my grandmother taught me when I was six years old.

Ljubljana is a small but lovely city, with an Old Town paved with cobbled stone pathways, a traditional fresh food market, stone bridges guarded by dragons and even a castle atop a tree-covered hill. While fog drowned out the city lights it added a certain romance to our two day expedition, with mulled wine and hot chocolate as thick as yogurt keeping us warm (mulled wine for the Boy, hot chocolate for me!).

In the early afternoon on Tuesday, my two excited parents met their baby and her Boyfriend, ready to take us back to their little home in Puče, a stone cottage rented from one of mum's oldest friends. Mumma had rustled up Cyprus pine and flowering ivy to fashion a wreath with gold coloured wire and purple bows, to celebrate our arrival and even converted a single bed into a double with the aid of two chairs, a plank of wood and loads of fluffy blankets so as not to force a separation between her baby and her Boy. Cosy and warm, with a log fire and an endless supply of parma ham, cheese and local wine, we planned our Christmas day feast from the start.

Just like Jamie Oliver we stuffed a goose, braised red cabbage and roasted winter vegetables for the perfect, gluttonous feast. Topped off with a Christmas cake brought all the way from London – and a homemade custard that was more error than trial – our tummies were full to bursting. Games of Scrabble – while Boyfriend caught up on reading – ensured my family's competivive needs were met: Assistant two, Mum three, Dad nil, while a couple of morning jogs with Dad and Boyfriend along the gorgeous Tuscan-like countryside balanced out our copious eating.

On Saturday we bundled ourselves into my parent's Renault, ready for a nine hour drive through Croatia, headed for Dubrovnik. The first signs of snow flurries occured shortly after 'take off' with a full blown snow storm taking hold only an hour into the journey. Weighted by the bodies of four indulgent Christmas eaters, our suitcases and Mumma's array of sweets and nibbles (including much of the leftover goose), our poor little Renault took a beating as it powered through most of the journey at a startling 140kms per hour. Arriving in Dubrovnik just after 4.30pm, The Pearl of the Adriatic was already in darkness.

Exhausted from the drive – and needing some alone time – Boyfriend and I wandered down into the walled city. What we saw was pure magic. Shiny stone paths, worn-slippery from over a thousand years of footsteps, old buildings and churches ablaze with fairy lights, a massive Christmas tree covered in baubles the size of our heads and glistening views of the Adriatic glimpsed through archways leading off to the fishing docks.

Over the next three days we walked in and around the walls – admiring the views and marvelling at the still evident signs of bombs and gunfire from the 1991-92 Serbo-Croatian War of Independence. Dubrovnik is a stunning city. You can just imagine how amazing and busy it must get in summer when the brilliant blue water is warm enough to swim in; but travelling there in winter allows for an appreciation of every nook and cranny.

Mumma and Pappa set off early on the last day, back to Puče, while Boyfriend and I took in more of the town – it's pastries and dried figs. And while our journey home was uneventful, even landing ahead of schedule and sneaking Boyfriend in through the EU passport line with me, we arrived home knackered. At 25 and 30 years of age we are well aware we've aged before our time. And while Boyfriend prefers to spend his last days off experiementing in the kitchen, I'm pining for games of Scrabble with my Mumma and Pappa. So welcome, 2009.