The Country That Loves Bees - Test 2

C1 Advanced · Gapped Text · C1 Advanced Trainer 2, Cambridge University Press

You are going to read an article about beekeeping in Slovenia. Six paragraphs have been removed from the article. Choose from the paragraphs A–G the one which fits each gap (1–6). There is one extra paragraph which you do not need to use.

The country that loves bees

20 kilometres north-east of the capital, in the village of Lukovica, the focus on bees is more scientific than decorative. This is where the headquarters of the Slovenian Beekeepers’ Association has its laboratory for testing the quality of independent producers’ honey. The association is also an impressive advocate for bees, as an official explains when I visit: in 2017, it managed to persuade the United Nations to launch World Bee Day as a way of raising awareness internationally of the importance of bees for ecosystems.

Lie down on it, and you can peer through glass and watch the bees as they buzz in and out. Ten minutes gazing at these tireless creatures as they flit in and out of their base has an almost hypnotically calming effect.

‘I was sceptical about whether you could put hives at this height,’ he muses. ‘But it didn’t take long before it became my best site, in terms of honey. The bees don’t actually seem to struggle to reach this elevation.’

Slovenian beehives look different from the hives I’m familiar with, however. They are smaller, bees enter via narrow grooves at the front, and the frames are removed horizontally and from behind. This, apparently, is less stressful for bees and less likely to result in stings for keepers.

Its busy residents are unmoved as I do so. ‘Every bee has a specific role,’ their keeper tells me. ‘Some are collectors, others are guard dogs or kindergarten nurses.’ Their importance, he stresses, cannot be underestimated. ‘Bees are under threat. If bees are not here, then there is less pollination, and less food … and then starvation. It’s that simple.’

It takes the form of a pair of short beehives. A cloud of bees shakes and shimmers in front of the access slits into the hives. This causes the stocky man next to me to smile.

Such feelings are not unusual in Slovenia, where there are around 90,000 beekeepers in a population of just two million. Much of the country is forested, and bees thrive there. It even has a distinct strain of the insect – Carniolan bees, which are valued for their non-aggressive nature and team ethic.

Going under the title ‘President of the Urban Beekeeping Association’, Gorazd Trusnovec is particularly proud of these twin outposts of his empire – which stretches to 24 hives, noted to keen beekeepers across the city. He installed them here last year, despite certain doubts he had about the idea.

In fact, they’ve been the basis of a sweet deal. The hotel gets to serve its own honey while Trusnovec has an experimental location for his business. It’s not hugely profitable, but he says that ‘Working with bees brings me peace of mind. My grandmother had a hive. The smell of honey extraction was incredible. I forgot it for 10 years – then it came back to me, this aroma from my childhood. I started to look at raising bees in the city. And now I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.’

This national affection flickers at the pretty heart of Ljubljana. It is visible on Medarska Ulica – ‘Honeysellers Street’. Admittedly, this thin lane is no longer devoted to the honey business, but the adjacent square of Pogačarjev Trg has stalls selling jars and bottles of gold-amber. The honey theme can be seen in other parts of the capital too: on the early 20th century Mestna Hranilnica bank building, there is a wrought-iron canopy featuring a bee, and at the National Museum, a bee motif floats over the entrance.

Less global in ambition, but another great champion of bees, is Blaz Ambrozic. He has turned his farm into a temple to bees, giving tours and advice to would-be beekeepers, as well as to visitors who want to buy his honey. He throws me a net-veil protector hat as soon as I arrive, so that I can stand closer to his main hive – and even encourages me to place tentative fingers inside.

The rather pessimistic mood lifts as he starts to tell me about his venture into ‘apitherapy’. Across Slovenia, beekeepers have recently been modifying their hives to make them more interactive. In Ambrozic’s case, he has expanded his largest hive into an L-shape, with a padded bed in the added corner.

Some have taken this concept of the bee as a purveyor of relaxation even further. I later stay in the picture-book town of Mozirje, where a quartet of holiday chalets can be rented. Looking out through the window of one, I see wildflowers swaying in the breeze. It is difficult to say whether bees or tourists will appreciate this panorama more – but both can surely draw inspiration from it.

The door opens and we emerge onto the flat roof. It is a sparse, unfurnished space. To the north-west are mountains, still slightly frosted in the late spring sunshine. Below, bathed in the same glow, is Ljubljana, the capital of Slovenia, with the River Ljubljanica running through its centre. And there, in a corner, is the hotel’s current use for its upper level. ___ Going under the title ‘President of the Urban Beekeeping Association’, Gorazd Trusnovec is particularly proud of these twin outposts of his empire – which stretches to 24 hives, noted to keen beekeepers across the city. He installed them here last year, despite certain doubts he had about the idea. ___ In fact, they’ve been the basis of a sweet deal. The hotel gets to serve its own honey while Trusnovec has an experimental location for his business. It’s not hugely profitable, but he says that ‘Working with bees brings me peace of mind. My grandmother had a hive. The smell of honey extraction was incredible. I forgot it for 10 years – then it came back to me, this aroma from my childhood. I started to look at raising bees in the city. And now I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.’ ___ This national affection flickers at the pretty heart of Ljubljana. It is visible on Medarska Ulica – ‘Honeysellers Street’. Admittedly, this thin lane is no longer devoted to the honey business, but the adjacent square of Pogačarjev Trg has stalls selling jars and bottles of gold-amber. The honey theme can be seen in other parts of the capital too: on the early 20th century Mestna Hranilnica bank building, there is a wrought-iron canopy featuring a bee, and at the National Museum, a bee motif floats over the entrance. ___ Less global in ambition, but another great champion of bees, is Blaz Ambrozic. He has turned his farm into a temple to bees, giving tours and advice to would-be beekeepers, as well as to visitors who want to buy his honey. He throws me a net-veil protector hat as soon as I arrive, so that I can stand closer to his main hive – and even encourages me to place tentative fingers inside. ___ The rather pessimistic mood lifts as he starts to tell me about his venture into ‘apitherapy’. Across Slovenia, beekeepers have recently been modifying their hives to make them more interactive. In Ambrozic’s case, he has expanded his largest hive into an L-shape, with a padded bed in the added corner. ___ Some have taken this concept of the bee as a purveyor of relaxation even further. I later stay in the picture-book town of Mozirje, where a quartet of holiday chalets can be rented. Looking out through the window of one, I see wildflowers swaying in the breeze. It is difficult to say whether bees or tourists will appreciate this panorama more – but both can surely draw inspiration from it.

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