Seldom has the truism about geography being destiny rung truer than in Slovenia. This spring, as war broke out in Kosovo, 350 miles to the southeast, my wife and I were making our way to Ljubljana, the capital of what was once a republic in the former Yugoslavia. Although Ljubljana (pronounced "lyoob-lyah-na") wasn't at all touched by the ravages of war, the spirit of NATO was, one might say, in the air. During late-night strolls along the banks of the Ljubljanica River, we heard the dull roar of NATO bombers making their way from the nearby Aviano Air Base, in Italy, to targets in Serbia. Nobody seemed worried by the disruption; in fact, all eyes turned skyward and small smiles broke out on the faces of passers-by. The Slovenes' own armed struggle for freedom took place nearly a decade ago, but they are still wary of Yugoslav president Slobodan Milosevic and company.

Having won independence in 1991 and recognition from the European Community and the United Nations in 1992, Slovenia is now busily preparing itself for the ultimate acknowledgment of its postmodern cosmopolitanism: membership in NATO. Slovenes have always resisted being lumped together with their more tempestuous Balkan neighbors. Under Tito (the half-Slovene, half-Croat leader who held the former Yugoslavia together for 40 years), they prided themselves on being the most Western republic in a country that was, in turn, the freest and most Western part of the Eastern bloc. Unfortunately, Slovenia is still perceived as the northernmost region of the war-torn Balkans, a misconception that has resulted in a large number of cancellations by jittery European tourists. It didn't help when, for insurance purposes, Lloyd's of London declared the entire eastern Adriatic coastline—on which Slovenia has 28 miles of gorgeous resorts and beaches—a "war zone." The terrible irony is that Slovenia is probably the most peaceful country I've ever visited—a bucolic micro-paradise about the size of Connecticut, almost half covered by dense forests (where the Slovene partisans spent World War II hiding from the Nazis) and surrounded by snow-topped mountains that rival anything in Austria or Italy. weld studs Manufacturers Although I'd traveled all around Central Europe in the early nineties trying to divine the shape of the post-Communist era, I don't think I could even have found Ljubljana on a map. Then, as now, it was one of Europe's best-kept secrets: beautiful, friendly, inexpensive, and manageable—a bona fide city, with less attitude than Vienna, fewer crowds than Prague, and better food and nightlife than Budapest. If, as conventional wisdom has it, the Muse took up residence in Paris during the 1920's, New York in the 1950's, and Prague in the 1990's, I wouldn't be at all surprised if she makes Ljubljana her next home. Awash in history, Ljubljana conveys a marvelous sense of as-yet-untapped potential. Were I a young novelist looking for an inspirational setting in which to complete my masterpiece, this is where I'd go.