" Autumn comes early to the foot of the Slovenian Alps. Even before September, the abundant harvests are followed by a sudden poignant rain that lasts for days and brings down leaves in the lanes of the village. Now, in my fifties, I find myself wandering that direction every few years, reliving my first glimpse of the Slovenian countryside.
This is old country. Every autumn mellows it a little more, in aeternum, each beginning with the same three colors: a green landscape, two or three yellow leaves falling through a gray afternoon.
I suppose the Romans - who left their walls here and their gargantuan arenas to the west, on the coast - saw the same autumn and gave the same shiver. When my father's car swung through the gates of the oldest of Julian cities, I hugged myself.
For the first time, I had been struck by the excitement of the traveler who looks history in her subtle face. "

― Elizabeth Kostova , The Historian