Even in the dead of winter, the city of Ljubljana (pronounced loob-ly-ahna) is picturesque. The grey skies didn't dampen the bright colours and whimsical patterns that gild the buildings or the crystalline blue-green of the city's main river. This river is crossed by several beautiful bridges including the Triple Bridge and Dragon Bridge, both of which are self-explanatory. A short walk out of town leads you into Tivoli park, where fleeting views of the city appear through the trees as you make your way along the winding paths. In the bleak depths of the forest the sounds of urbanisation are replaced with rustling leaves and quiet solemnity.
The second day brought a blizzard, covering the city in a thick white blanket. In the quiet of the park, I could hear the soft impact of the snow hitting my hood and the muted crunch of my shoes.
There is something magical about snow; despite being a perfectly natural phenomenon, it brings with it an otherworldly quality. Snow affects our entire sensory relationship with the world, transposing it into a subdued simulacrum of itself. Sounds are muted, colour becomes monochrome, the ground beneath your feet now soft and indistinct. I wandered through this ghostly reality in silent, reverent wonder.