20: Ptuj // A Wander Through Slovenia’s Oldest Town
A picture perfect snap of Ptuj // © RMH Foto / shutterstock
The fog was thick outside the city, either a bad omen or another case of Slovenia’s obsession with fog. I’ve no real truck with fog, it can often add a memorable layer to visiting a city for the first time (as I found in Brčko), but I was hoping that my morning in Ptuj wouldn’t be tempered by thick swathes of tiny water droplets.
Yes, you read that right; Ptuj. PTUJ. I only wish it was pronounced PUH-TUDGE, but it is more like PUH-TOO-EE. Can’t win them all. One award that the city does win is the ‘oldest city in Slovenia’ award.
Ptuj is old, as old as it gets in this country, but its people seem young and sprightly. A significant number of youthful couples are pushing prams carrying newborns, a fresh generation of Ptujici who will continue the history of the city into the future, unless they all swan off to Ljubljana, Budapest, Vienna or wherever. I plonked down in a cafe in the square, as busy as any Ljubljana cafe on a Saturday morning, where the same young couples took a break from pushing their kids around.
A 1930s postcard of Ptuj // © WikiMedia Commons
The children weren’t overly fond of this though. One fat child was particularly vexed, taking it upon himself to shriek at 15-second intervals, a short sharp burst that sounded like glass breaking backwards. His parents looked exhausted, because of course they did. The father took it upon himself to carry the shrieking baby around, moving over to the city theatre where a man stood turning the wheel and producing some traditional folk sounds. The baby continued shrieking. Is this what heroin is like? A contradictive cacophony of saccharine sweet melodies and bellows from hell? Off in the distance, another baby started crying.
Eager to escape the hellish screams of the newborn, I wandered from square to square, down Ptuj’s tiny streets, taking in the surprisingly varied collection of colourful buildings. Pink with bronze frames, mustard with lime frames, greying-white with intricate black patterns, lilac with forest green shutters. It all made for gorgeous scenery, a monument to individual taste and desire.
I stopped at the Dominican Monastery, a demented accompaniment to Ljubljana’s pink church. Established in 1230, it was the first Dominican monastery on Slovenian soil, beginning a long history of solitude, fire, renovation, neglect and reimagination, the typical lifespan of a Dominican monastery. It was terribly suppressed in the 18th century, being taken over and developed into a military hospital, before being restored to its famous form in the 20th century.
My steps took me up to the castle, a 12th-century fortress constructed as a defence against the Hungarians. It eventually fell into the hands of a Scot by the name of Walter Leslie, a career man of war who played a key role in the assassination of Albrecht Wenzel Eusebius von Wallenstein, or Wallenstein to you and I, although you’ll have to buy Via The Left Bank of the ‘90s for his story. The view of Ptuj from the castle was every bit as magnificent as it should have been, a glistening panorama of red roofs and all the history you could hope for, although it also laid bare just how easy it was for plagues to spread.
From the castle I sauntered down Grajska Ulica towards the tourist information centre, where the terrifying sight of the Kurent stood in the window, resting ahead of next year’s carnival. These sheepskin-clad beasts are debauchery and excess in its most fearful form, celebrators of hope who take centre stage in the fight against winter, chasing it away in a cacophony of lambskin and bells. I found the fat child scarier, truth be told, but you wouldn’t want to meet one of these hairy buggers on Grajska Ulica.
Faced with many direction options I procrastinated in front of the Orpheus monument, the oldest preserved public monument in the entire country, although it is somewhat overshadowed by the City Tower. Constructed in the 16th century, the tower is a treasure-trove of curiosities, starting with the three clock faces on its four sides. Why not four? Well, the people of Ptuj decided against putting one on the side facing the castle, a protest against the castle owner’s refusal to pay their share for its building. A close look revealed Medusa, eliciting a minor fear of turning to stone on an increasingly warm Saturday morning. Onwards I walked, down Slomškova Ulica, passing pivnicas and wine bars as the Saturday market sputtered to a close. Two right turns later, I was back on the town square, the gorgeous 20th century City Hall providing needed shadow in the face of the determined sun. The child was still screaming.
Ptuj is old. Older than anywhere else in Slovenia old. The sort of old that puts it at the top of all lists titled ‘Oldest in Slovenia’. The Celts settled way back when (as in way back when), and it was afforded city status as early as 69AD when your humble fabulous was still 1916 years away from making his debut on the planet. Things got better from there, and Ptuj (or Colonia Ulpia Traiana Poetovia, to be exact) soon grew into a military and commercial centre with more people living there than do so today, although the fires, diseases, invasions and more fires of history stifled its progress, meaning it never again made it to the heights of those early times.
Not to worry though, because the ‘Oldest Town in Slovenia’ will always be just that. I sat in front of the City Hall, free of the screaming child (the family had left, for the record) and happy to soak in centuries of history, although it is somewhat difficult to do so with that stupid watermelon sugar high song blaring in the background. My brain was becoming Korent in vision, desperate to scare away the blighting influences of the modern world in favour of tradition, history and culture.
