We dragged ourselves out of bed, surprisingly early, for breakfast. En route, we found some computers with an internet connection. The day before we left, I found myself in a Roundel office with Mariam, under the desk of our friend Danny, rooting around in his belongings for his black shoes, so he didn’t have to wear brown ones when we went to the opera in Munich the next week (that’s right – the opera. Coming soon…). This first morning in Slovenia, I had received an email from Danny.
“So Kathleen you've probably already left, but I was thinking that in addition to my shoes, you might bring me my little bag of aspirin--I am running a little low. Thanks.” Grrr.
Breakfast – mmm. Baloney (we think, and is indeterminability not one of the defining characteristics of luncheon meat, if that’s not an oxymoron?), cheese and doughy bread. Muesli that turned the milk chocolately… weird. The kiwi and banana squash (and whose idea was that?) was bright green and had the appearance of a radioactive waste product.
Wander… wander… bus tickets (kept returning to the same woman with more questions and for toilet tokens)
Then we found ice cream! Great gelato. I had yoghurt and cherry. We hadn’t been in the country twelve hours, and had barely finished breakfast, but it seemed like a good idea.
I went into the train station to try to find some water, and stumbled into the tourist information, returning with armfuls of leaflets tailormade for each of our interests. Am clearly taking after my mother.
We had discussed how antisocial the heat made us all feel, so sure enough, having got on the bus, we all sat separately. It was a relatively empty bus – should not have been a problem. Once we were moving I looked over and saw that poor Alissa was now accompanied by a small, very orange (shirted) man. That’s her problem – she’s too personable. On the bus – oooh, air conditioning! While getting her to check that my carefully reapplied sun cream was rubbed in, I said to Narges – “Hey, we’re world travellers!”
“Don’t you love it?” she replied.
Suddenly… mountains!
Slovenia is very interesting, and laid back. There are wide boulevards that can cope with far more traffic than they seem to have, it has a Eastern European language that is accented like Italian, the landscape leaving Ljubljana had the steep wooded hills of Perthshire, the cliffs of Stirling, the high stoney valleys of Patagonia, with just a touch of China’s younger hills. Then we left the city into a lush, flat plain of cornfields! But then we see a church with a Baroque steeple before a scene that is unmistakeably alpine. Love Slovenia. Love it!
There are a lot of roadside shrines. At least, I hoped they were shrines and not memorials.
Everyone seems to cycle here. There are lots of cycle paths, cyclists on all the roads. I can see why. They are allowed on all the pedestrian areas, and it’s certainly better than walking everywhere in this heat. Ugh.
The music on the bus radio ranged from polka to swing to what really, really sounded like a Welsh male voice choir. And why not? Then there was some Latin-sounding Slovenian language music. Ooh, catchy.
Off through the regional centre of Kranj – taking many photos, with varying success. The cameras came out at the first sign of the picturesque town centre on the hill opposite. I maintain I was inspired by Narges who had hers out first, though she caught me looking guilty while holding mine. “I think we just downgraded from world traveller to tourist,” I admitted.
Stopped to wonder how Slovenians feel about living in a place of such natural beauty and splendour. Then I remembered where I’m from. Ah. I began to catch on.
A few more miles and we would be in Austria! Was reflecting upon this, gazing down at a spectacular wooded gorge, of which we couldn’t see the bottom for the overlapping trees, when I realised we weren’t moving. At the end of the bridge were roadworks. Oy!
Later… much later… we had our first sighting of the last town before our turnoff to Bled, then the bus took a sharp and unexpected detour off the road and down what appeared to be the access road for a road building project. And a dead end. Then we careened down a gravelling path, a steep downward track to the left of the “stop” barrier, under a diminutive underpass (everybody breathe in), and rejoin the main road, a detour from which appeared to be totally unnecessary.
Narges and I spent must of this exchanging concerned looks, and assumed everyone else would be too, but when we looked around while heading towards what appeared to be a precipice, none of the other passengers were batting an eyelid. Alissa was reading the guidebook. Ah well. I was enjoying the Slovenian roads, and this is an unrivalled insight into Slovenia’s most exciting industry. Gift horse, mouth, etc.
We had discussed how antisocial the heat made us all feel, so sure enough, having got on the bus, we all sat separately. It was a relatively empty bus – should not have been a problem. Once we were moving I looked over and saw that poor Alissa was now accompanied by a small, very orange (shirted) man. That’s her problem – she’s too personable. On the bus – oooh, air conditioning! While getting her to check that my carefully reapplied sun cream was rubbed in, I said to Narges – “Hey, we’re world travellers!”
“Don’t you love it?” she replied.
Suddenly… mountains!
Slovenia is very interesting, and laid back. There are wide boulevards that can cope with far more traffic than they seem to have, it has a Eastern European language that is accented like Italian, the landscape leaving Ljubljana had the steep wooded hills of Perthshire, the cliffs of Stirling, the high stoney valleys of Patagonia, with just a touch of China’s younger hills. Then we left the city into a lush, flat plain of cornfields! But then we see a church with a Baroque steeple before a scene that is unmistakeably alpine. Love Slovenia. Love it!There are a lot of roadside shrines. At least, I hoped they were shrines and not memorials.
Everyone seems to cycle here. There are lots of cycle paths, cyclists on all the roads. I can see why. They are allowed on all the pedestrian areas, and it’s certainly better than walking everywhere in this heat. Ugh.
The music on the bus radio ranged from polka to swing to what really, really sounded like a Welsh male voice choir. And why not? Then there was some Latin-sounding Slovenian language music. Ooh, catchy.
Off through the regional centre of Kranj – taking many photos, with varying success. The cameras came out at the first sign of the picturesque town centre on the hill opposite. I maintain I was inspired by Narges who had hers out first, though she caught me looking guilty while holding mine. “I think we just downgraded from world traveller to tourist,” I admitted.
Stopped to wonder how Slovenians feel about living in a place of such natural beauty and splendour. Then I remembered where I’m from. Ah. I began to catch on.
A few more miles and we would be in Austria! Was reflecting upon this, gazing down at a spectacular wooded gorge, of which we couldn’t see the bottom for the overlapping trees, when I realised we weren’t moving. At the end of the bridge were roadworks. Oy!
Later… much later… we had our first sighting of the last town before our turnoff to Bled, then the bus took a sharp and unexpected detour off the road and down what appeared to be the access road for a road building project. And a dead end. Then we careened down a gravelling path, a steep downward track to the left of the “stop” barrier, under a diminutive underpass (everybody breathe in), and rejoin the main road, a detour from which appeared to be totally unnecessary.
Narges and I spent must of this exchanging concerned looks, and assumed everyone else would be too, but when we looked around while heading towards what appeared to be a precipice, none of the other passengers were batting an eyelid. Alissa was reading the guidebook. Ah well. I was enjoying the Slovenian roads, and this is an unrivalled insight into Slovenia’s most exciting industry. Gift horse, mouth, etc.
We arrived in Bled – couldn’t quite see the lake, but we though downhill was a safe bet. Spotted a gift shop en route – strictly essentials, of course. I needed a bottle of water – it amused me that it said “Voda Voda” – Slovenian for “Water Water” – on it. At fifty cents, it must be the cheapest European tourist trap bottle of water ever! Also made my first postcard purchases of the trip (though I will admit that I have yet to post some of them).
We walked down to the lake – ooh, they’re not kidding about it being pretty – and found the gondolas that run out to the island. Took many pictures of the gondolas, the view, ourselves, each other and ducks in various exciting combinations. Narges pointed out that the big rock seemed made for that castle.
We walked down to the lake – ooh, they’re not kidding about it being pretty – and found the gondolas that run out to the island. Took many pictures of the gondolas, the view, ourselves, each other and ducks in various exciting combinations. Narges pointed out that the big rock seemed made for that castle.
Decided we couldn’t wait for lunch till after the island trip, so went on a food search. Sadly, the first couple of attempts produced only ice cream and alcohol, so we searched on. Several places served decent, reasonably priced dinner menus, but all we wanted was a sandwich! Then we found sandwiches that were tasty – mine was cheese, cream cheese, prosciutto and olive spread for €1.90 – could it be that Bled is perhaps not the tourist money pit it is made out to be? After lunch – and some exceptionally clean public toilets – we headed back to the lake and cheerfully hopped on a boat for the island, and waited. And waited. We had to wait for ten people so he could go. The three who had got on the boat with us eventually decided to try another day, so we were left to watch the ducks and fish in the remarkably clear turquoise water.
A guy in another boat was sleeping, in the absence of customers.
Alissa decided he had the right idea.
We heard that there was a tour group of 25 coming, so at least two of the boats would depart soon. However, the promised 15 mins passed and still no sign. But lo! A steady, if slightly pathetic, stream of tourists began to arrive – then we had ten! Moving Alissa from one side to another (and who could ask for a higher calling than “ballast”?), we departed, our boat driver (as Alissa called him – we mocked, but what does one call the head bloke who rows a gondola – and let me apologise now for these parentheses? I suppose he might be called a “gondolier,” but that merely highlights the ridiculousness of the title) yelling, “Barka! To the island?” and “Last chance!” to anyone who seemed tourist like.
We heard that there was a tour group of 25 coming, so at least two of the boats would depart soon. However, the promised 15 mins passed and still no sign. But lo! A steady, if slightly pathetic, stream of tourists began to arrive – then we had ten! Moving Alissa from one side to another (and who could ask for a higher calling than “ballast”?), we departed, our boat driver (as Alissa called him – we mocked, but what does one call the head bloke who rows a gondola – and let me apologise now for these parentheses? I suppose he might be called a “gondolier,” but that merely highlights the ridiculousness of the title) yelling, “Barka! To the island?” and “Last chance!” to anyone who seemed tourist like.
A few took him up on the offer, and as Narges considerately moved across the boat next to me, we collided with a spiky bush which took her place. Lucky escape!
The island approached.
Were the people on our boat speaking Swiss German? They sounded like they were stringing random syllables and identifiable German words together in a definite Scottish accent.
We proceeded, narrowly avoiding a swimmer, to the island. Hoping to make the most of our short, allocated time – 30 mins – we ascended the steep steps to the church.
We proceeded, narrowly avoiding a swimmer, to the island. Hoping to make the most of our short, allocated time – 30 mins – we ascended the steep steps to the church.
Tourists much? ;)
Once up there, we goggled at the view some more, then began to descend.
It’s very pretty. Once we got up there (a task that made me realise I needed some more Voda Voda) it was well worth the steps up. Modern frescoes adorned the interior, built in 1905, and it is probably one of my favourite churches ever.
We made our way back to the bus, Narges mentioning that she wished there were some fruit trees handy.
I had wondered how, in a language without any fixed accented syllables, you knew how to pronounce things, or if there is some kind of de facto stress pattern that creeps in. On the bus back, the driver acted like he didn’t know what a little girl sent ahead to ask for tickets was saying when asking for Kranj. She said “Kran” with a barely distinguishable “j” at the end. He eventually, after parental intervention, sort of grumpily said, “Oh, Kran-ye!” Now, I got first time, and I know about eight words of Slovenian. I recognised him as one of those belligerent and self-satisfied adults I would never have wanted to come across again, and it put me on edge. But then he did the same thing to multiple people. Eventuallty, we reached Kranj, and he pronounced it loudly and precisely… startling, when you’re sitting right behind him.
On the bus back, somewhere in the Julian Alps, we were stuck behind an old Renault Clio – the incarnation prior to mine – whose driving skills made me wonder if the national badge “SLO” wasn’t missing an ironic “W”.
On the way back,we stopped at a pavement café and attempted to decipher the menu. We discovered again that Czech is a very useful language, as Alissa managed the drinks, but had no clue about local specialities – luckily a personable young man with very spiky hair and glasses (in case any Rentheads wonder what happened to Mark) materialized to explain.
Then came my personality crisis. Mid-meal and mid-sentence, Narges blanked over my identity. “I’ve forgotten her name.” Great. Just great.
Then the personable young man popped up again. “So where are you from?” Pause. That’s a complicated question bearing in mind that my travel companions have lived in about forty-two countries. Alissa came up with an acceptable answer.
“We live in Scotland.” He clapped his hands together.
“Ah! England!” and disappeared.
“How did that make you feel?” Alissa asked me.
“I’m over it,” I moped. “I’m still stuck on Narges forgetting my name.”
One banana split and conversation about Tony Blair later (no, I didn’t start it), we were ready for bed.
Walking back, I suggested that the synchronized echoes of our weary feet were like a death march, but was immediately overruled as too Scottish and pessimistic. We decided to be Charlie’s Angels instead.
In the middle of the night, I sat up and WHACKED my head off the underside of Narges’s bed. Ow. I decided to sleep with my feet under there subsequently. Play nice, Marjeta and Tomasz.
The steep white staircase was beautiful, but too much for a bathmophobe like myself. I quickly found a side platform, then some crumbling but short staircases with a handrail – somewhat bug-encrusted – much more to my liking. Down via a pavilion with a pretty Marian altar, from whence I spotted Narges, surrounded by sunbathing swimmers, dangling her feet off a jetty.
I shed my boots and socks and joined her for a few minutes, watching the Lake Bled minnow synchronised swimming team around our feet, until we had to rejoin our gondola.
Alissa slipped on the way, and I expressed concern that she not fall in and be eaten by fish – I thought sensitively. She showed me the scary-looking catfish that she had noticed while she was being all intrepid and we were cooling off… Eek.
On the way back across the lake, Alissa said that she loved Bled (as we all did) and that she should bring Matt there for their fifth anniversary next year. Scouting for attractive hotels by the lake, she then proceeded, in a very “I’ll have that one” kind of way, to ask the boat-driver (sorry), “What’s the name of that hotel?”
“Ah,” he said. “That’s the Villa Bled. It used to be Tito’s residence.”
And if that’s not an alarming insight into Alissa’s character I don’t know what is.
All day we had been ogling the Church of St Martin on the hill.
On the way back across the lake, Alissa said that she loved Bled (as we all did) and that she should bring Matt there for their fifth anniversary next year. Scouting for attractive hotels by the lake, she then proceeded, in a very “I’ll have that one” kind of way, to ask the boat-driver (sorry), “What’s the name of that hotel?”
“Ah,” he said. “That’s the Villa Bled. It used to be Tito’s residence.”
And if that’s not an alarming insight into Alissa’s character I don’t know what is.
All day we had been ogling the Church of St Martin on the hill.
It’s very pretty. Once we got up there (a task that made me realise I needed some more Voda Voda) it was well worth the steps up. Modern frescoes adorned the interior, built in 1905, and it is probably one of my favourite churches ever.
We made our way back to the bus, Narges mentioning that she wished there were some fruit trees handy.I had wondered how, in a language without any fixed accented syllables, you knew how to pronounce things, or if there is some kind of de facto stress pattern that creeps in. On the bus back, the driver acted like he didn’t know what a little girl sent ahead to ask for tickets was saying when asking for Kranj. She said “Kran” with a barely distinguishable “j” at the end. He eventually, after parental intervention, sort of grumpily said, “Oh, Kran-ye!” Now, I got first time, and I know about eight words of Slovenian. I recognised him as one of those belligerent and self-satisfied adults I would never have wanted to come across again, and it put me on edge. But then he did the same thing to multiple people. Eventuallty, we reached Kranj, and he pronounced it loudly and precisely… startling, when you’re sitting right behind him.
On the bus back, somewhere in the Julian Alps, we were stuck behind an old Renault Clio – the incarnation prior to mine – whose driving skills made me wonder if the national badge “SLO” wasn’t missing an ironic “W”.
On the way back,we stopped at a pavement café and attempted to decipher the menu. We discovered again that Czech is a very useful language, as Alissa managed the drinks, but had no clue about local specialities – luckily a personable young man with very spiky hair and glasses (in case any Rentheads wonder what happened to Mark) materialized to explain.
Then came my personality crisis. Mid-meal and mid-sentence, Narges blanked over my identity. “I’ve forgotten her name.” Great. Just great.
Then the personable young man popped up again. “So where are you from?” Pause. That’s a complicated question bearing in mind that my travel companions have lived in about forty-two countries. Alissa came up with an acceptable answer.
“We live in Scotland.” He clapped his hands together.
“Ah! England!” and disappeared.
“How did that make you feel?” Alissa asked me.
“I’m over it,” I moped. “I’m still stuck on Narges forgetting my name.”
Narges branched out and had two flatbreads sandwiching a great big beefburger-looking thing. It came with a variety of brightly coloured sauces – we all tried the red one (crushed red pepper) as Narges got her own version, the hottest they had. She claimed it wasn’t hot, which Alissa later confirmed, but you must forgive my initial skepticism as Narges’s tastebuds aren’t like other people’s – she devoured the accompanying hot chilli in one crunch. Alissa and I had burek – a sort of bread-y thing with meat filling.
One banana split and conversation about Tony Blair later (no, I didn’t start it), we were ready for bed.Walking back, I suggested that the synchronized echoes of our weary feet were like a death march, but was immediately overruled as too Scottish and pessimistic. We decided to be Charlie’s Angels instead.
In the middle of the night, I sat up and WHACKED my head off the underside of Narges’s bed. Ow. I decided to sleep with my feet under there subsequently. Play nice, Marjeta and Tomasz.
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