Gay Star News about PinkWeek14


The party, party, party that is Pink Week Slovenia

From Sound of Music panoramas to Kylie Minogue lip-syncs, Gay Star Travel brings you footage and fables from the first-ever Pink Week in Slovenia.

Slovenia? Er, where is it?

The capital is Ljubljana? Say that again. One more time? No, never heard of it.

Former Yugoslavia, you say? Right. What does that mean? Oh, really? But they’re not communist anymore? Are you sure?

Can you say Ljubljana again?

They’re in the EU? They use Euros?

Jeez, where have I been?

Thursday

My prior knowledge of Slovenia proved Rizla thin. Embarrassing, really. So, like a dim sponge, thirsty for knowledge, I flew to Ljubljana, Slovenia, to experience the jamboree that was Pink Week 2014. My driver from the airport was a no-nonsense, silver-haired hulk of a man.

‘The perfect bodyguard for when I’m rich and famous,’ I dreamed, as we sailed past emerald pine forests and snow-capped mountains. Asked for ONE thing he’d advise me to see, or do in Ljubljana, the driver fixed me with a steely stare and said in a deep rumble, ‘I’ll tell you THREE things to do in Ljubljana; party, PARTY and PARTY!’

At that moment, I guess you could say I fell in love with Slovenia and its people. I just KNEW we were going to get along fine. To highlight my driver’s philosophy, he drove me straight from the airport to an al fresco terrace party at the Park Hotel. There was even a roped off red carpet. It was 4pm.

It’s a struggle to maintain Hollywood glamour after stepping off an Easy Jet from soaking Stansted, but the driver’s hedonistic blessings were like blast of magical pixie dust, so we hit the party like Lindsay Lohan. The DJ spun an eclectic set and after a few honey liquor cocktails, I began to wonder whether we were in Ibiza, Athens or Slovenia.

Adding to the surreal scene was a performance from Berlin drag duo; Mataina Vagina and Kaspar Kamaeleon. As they belted out numbers, children frolicking in a nearby playground flocked to the hotel terrace, entranced by the saucy German cabaret. Soon the kids were dancing around the vaguely confused drag queens, who gamely incorporated them into the act. It was like Ru Pauls’ Drag Race Vs Supernanny.

‘Toddlers and drag queens are the FUTURE,’ I toasted, to nobody in particular, washing down gourmet pizza with a Cuba Libre.

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