Citroen 2CV lovers gather in Slovenia to take the slow road | National

“You stop worrying and simply enjoy,” she said.

As head of the Slovenian parliament’s public relations office, Uglesic has more than 20 years’ experience working with politicians and managing events as the tiny former Yugoslav state transitioned into a fully fledged member of the European Union and NATO.

Preparing for retirement, Uglesic says she owes her mental well-being to her passion for the “Spacek”, or “little freak”.

That is what one journalist, bewildered by the car’s appearance, called the 2CV when it appeared in the Yugoslav market in the early 50s.

“When I get home from work and my husband asks me if I would go for a ride with our ‘Spacek’, I’m immediately for it! I put on my Citroen T-shirt, open the foldable roof and go for it,” Uglesic said.

The Citroen 2CV was launched in 1948 as the French carmaker Citroen’s answer to Germany’s Volkswagen Beetle. The 2CV stands for “deux chevaux” (two horses), a reference to its original horsepower.

Admired for its simplicity, utilitarian design and low-cost maintenance, more than five million 2CVs were built until 1990, when production stopped due to tougher emissions standards.

Uglesic is one of more than 300 volunteers who organised the 25th world meeting of 2CV friends at an airfield near the Postojna cave, around 50 kilometres (30 miles) south of the capital Ljubljana.

The previous gathering was in Switzerland in 2023.

“If you want to, you can repair it yourself thanks to the engine’s simplicity,” 55-year-old Italian Gabriele Salvoni told AFP.

He was sitting with friends, drinking a beer, eating popcorn and surrounded by four 2CVs in different colours. 

His group did the 400-kilometres-long trip to Postojna driving at 80 to 90 kilometres per hour, letting traditional Italian supercars shoot past them.

“This is a different world, we travel in peace, that is our way of living,” Salvoni said proudly, displaying tatoos on his chest representing two 2CVs with the names of his two children.

Their cars were parked in one of the many camping areas marked by organisers to leave space for more than 3,000 2CVs to parade around.

The vehicles came in many colours — some equipped with loudspeakers, others covered in rust, or in yellow with a giant duck on the roof.

“This car is a piece of art,” Uglesic said. “Many here take it as a white canvas on which you can paint whatever you like.”

As she spoke, a limousine-like 2CV, extended to double its usual length, passed by.

The camp appeared to be a series of parties happening at the same time but in perfect harmony.

From time to time, a column of cars formed to drive along the kilometre-plus main “road” separating two sides of the camp.

They sounded their horns as passers-by sang along to the music from their loudspeakers.

Many of the participants were not even born when 2CV production stopped.

“It was my dream for years,” 26-year-old freelance artist Jamie said as she sat with her 32-year-old boyfriend Mike under a tent hanging from her blue 2CV.

“I went to France and I fell in love with the car.”

Mike, who works in aircraft maintenance, is teaching her to repair it herself.

He admitted that, when it rained, their recently restored foldable roof “drips a little, but just on one side, but we don’t really mind”.

They drove from Hamburg in Germany, where highways have some of the fastest speed limits in the world. 

“I don’t mind being the slow one on the highway,” Jamie said. “I think it’s better to slow down. Maybe they should learn something from us: to chill a bit.”

Not far away, 16-year-old Aleksandar Dincic from Vranje in Serbia and his father were checking out a tent where 2CV spare parts were being sold.

“I adore these cars, they are very good and can easily be driven in the 21st century,” Dincic said.

And his father had promised him one for his 18th birthday, he added.

“It’s a car that you drive with pleasure,” he said with a smile.