Everything about Ljubljana seems small. The small capital of a small country, Slovenia, it has the population of Cork city and feels like a large provincial town.
Dominating the city is a huge rock on which sits Ljubljana Castle, under whose shadow and protection the city first developed in the 10th century. From here on a clear day you can see across Ljubljana (whose name means "beloved") to the three-peaked Mount Triglav. Along with its Slavic language, which is unintelligible to SerboCroat speakers, Triglav is central to Slovenian identity and even adorns the national flag. During the second World War, Slovene partisans wore distinct three-peaked caps symbolising it.
Hugging the castle rock in a tight embrace is the old town. Its narrow, cobblestone streets and 18th-century Hapsburg architecture make Ljubljana feel more Austrian than Slav, more Alpine than Balkan.
Slovenia, which borders Austria and Italy was always Yugoslavia's wealthiest republic. Since independence in 1991, its two million people have fixed their gaze firmly northwards, building a prosperous, flourishing democracy. The UN's 1998 Human Development Report described Slovenia as the most developed former Communist state, ahead of even the Czech Republic.
Few reminders remain in Ljubljana of the Communist past. Even memorials of Tito (who was half-Croat, half-Slovene, and died here in May 1980) have all but disappeared.
Genteel establishments
These days the city's young elite hang out in bars and cafes in the old town listening to jazz, pop or folk music (the Dubliners are very popular and visit Slovenia regularly). The clientele's affluence is reflected in these genteel establishments which are built in former cellars and caverns. There is little to remind you of their very different past, and their role in Yugoslavia's disintegration.
In 1980, Ljubljana burst on to the national stage when it became the centre for Yugoslav punk rock and the "capital of counter-culture". Slovenes had previously been considered too dull and prosperous to do anything rebellious. Groups with names like The Bastards and Stray Dogs held cramped, sweaty concerts in those same caverns, demanding "anarchy and liberty", attacking every taboo from socialism to Tito. One group, Laibach (the German name for Ljubljana), even dressed in Nazi uniforms and sang fascist lyrics.
Although the punks outraged public opinion across Yugoslavia, there was little official harassment of them. Unlike Czech or Polish punks, none were imprisoned. In reformist, liberal Slovenia, such action was unthinkable.
Although punk died out by 1985, it had accustomed Slovenes to the idea of opposition to the state. Many ex-punks joined the "new social movements" which campaigned on feminist, gay and environmental issues. Others drifted into the media. Some joined Mladina (Youth), the dull mouthpiece of Slovenia's young Communists, and changed it radically.
Journalistic standards
Mladina began campaigning against military corruption exposing generals who used conscripts to build villas on the Adriatic. After calling Yugoslavia's defence minister, Branko Mamula, "a merchant of death" for selling arms to Ethiopia, Mladina became the talk of Yugoslavia. The Guardian declared that its "journalistic standards would put most Western magazines to shame."
Its mix of satire and investigation enraged the federal government in Belgrade. In Yugoslavia the army was almost a sacred institution, and such criticism left the generals itching for revenge. Their chance came in May 1988 when Mladina published details of plans to impose martial law in Slovenia. Immediately three of its journalist and the Slovene army officer who leaked the plan were arrested.
However, the decision to try them in Serbo-Croat in a military court enraged Slovenes. Sentences of up to seven years further angered public opinion. (They served only one year and the journalists were allowed to continue working on the magazine during the day.) Rallies of up to 100,000 were held to support the "Ljubljana Four". Mladina's circulation soared to 80,000. When the army tried to ban it, it sold out.
"Slovene Spring"
The trial marked the beginning of the "Slovene Spring", the move towards independence, a reluctant option for many. "In 1989, I and most others would have opted for Yugoslavia," said Mladina's editor, Franci Zvarl, one of the four. "But then began Milosevic's attacks on Kosovo and on Slovenes in the army. It drove us out much faster."
Another of the four, Mladina's army expert Janez Janusa, became Slovenia's defence minister after his release and organised the nascent republic's defence against the Yugoslav army's botched attack in June 1991, a war Mladina covered from both sides.
Slovenian resistance stunned everyone. Never renowned for their martial valour, Slovenes had so few military heroes that Slovenian partisan brigades were named after poets.
Mladina's role during this period is widely acknowledged: copies are even displayed in Ljubljana's national museum. Yet after independence, circulation tumbled as new papers opened. Now each issue sells only 15,000 copies and the magazine can be difficult to find on the news-stands where it once took pride of place.
Mladina belonged to a certain time, explains its current deputy editor, Ali Zerdin: "Our scene was the former Yugoslavia. The situation then was different. We were the only weekly, independent journal and the stuff we were doing was new. Now daily papers and the TV news do what we did 10 years ago."
But Mladina still keeps digging for dirt. Recently it landed in court after an investigation into funding for one of the parties in the governing Liberal coalition. As one of its journalists once observed, Mladina is "a watchdog that barks and bites."