The Land of Caves and Dragons- Postojna and Ljubljana

Since I’ve been blessed with the dubious gift of easily memorizing random and often useless data, I never had any trouble ingratiating myself with my geography teachers, who would let out the occasional satisfied sigh as I soldiered through the copper mines of central Romania, the capitals of lesser known states of Oceania or the many many headwaters of the Amazon river.  In the long run, the only actual benefit that I am aware of is that I used to score extremely highly at all sorts of obscure geography quizzes which proliferated on Facebook a few years ago.

And, perhaps, a fascination with the karstic landscape. The karst was a big favourite with our elementary school geography teacher, who would spend endless, and to most of my colleagues, excruciatingly boring hours delving into the many manifestations of the karst. I was however smitten- in the arid world of altitudes and longitudes, the karst was a fairy tale with magic spells such as polje, dolina or ponor. (That might also be the beginning of my love for Slavic languages, but that is another story altogether.)

I was therefore somewhat comforted to find that the karst is very much real, and not very distant- the name of these formations comes from the Karst limestone plateau sprawling over the border of Slovenia and Italy. However, the internationally used denomination is the German one (the plateau is known as Carso in Italian and Kras in Slovenian) due either to the fact that when the karst started to be studied the territory belonged to the Habsburg Empire or just because science is simply more authoritative in German.

While a lot of karstic formations might not be overly inspiring to the uninitiated, the superstars of the landscape are the caves, with the Postojna cave system, measuring 24,120 metres, taking the palm. These days the cave functions as a clockwork perfect system of touristic entertainment: after a rather severe looking cashier hands you the ticket, you are ushered through a complex system of restaurants and souvenir shops to the entry of the caves, where tours start sharp on the hour. Once released from the dark underbelly of the earth, you may indulge in the pleasures of a decidedly canteen-ish restaurant- but strictly between 12 and 3, those lacking in discipline are left to chewing nuts and biscuits amongst the stalactites.

The efficiency is hardly surprising- the caves were a touristic attraction from the 19^th century, with rails being laid in 1872, electricity being introduced in 1884 and several VIPs of the era, among them Emperor Francis I and Archduke Ferdinand, being given the grand tour of the premises. Today the tour lasts an hour and a half, with about 1.5 kilometres done on foot, and another 3.5 by train. Guides speaking several languages are provided for each group, lest some inquisitive visitor potter away into the eternal darkness. Besides admiring the eerie landscape, one can also get acquainted with the so called human fish, though they are actually salamanders whose official name is olm or proteus. The human fish moniker was given to them due to their white skin, similar to that of Caucasian humans, a result of their prolongued inhabitation of lightless places.

The village of Postojna is only a short drive away from Slovenia’s capital, Ljubljana, which is a pretty understated affair compared to other European capitals and also suffers from the proximity of so many tantalizing attractions- it’s therefore safe to say that most people visiting the country will add the city to their tour as a side note. Which is a pity, because in Ljubljana be dragons- not particularly large or fierce ones, but dragons nevertheless.

How the city got its dragons is a slightly contentious subject: one pretty convoluted legend has it that Jason and the Argonauts slayed a mythical creature in the marshes around present day Ljubljana during their quest for the Golden Fleece, while more down to earth versions connect the dragon to Saint George, the patron of the citadel’s chapel. Be it as it may, the city centre now sports a dragon bridge arching over the waters of the Ljubljanica, which, alongside a handful of other notable buildings and churches forms the scenic core of Slovenia’s capital. Prešeren Square sports a pleasantly candy pink cathedral and the Art Nouveau building of Galerija Emporium, where you can satisfy your possible high end retail therapy needs, though I personally prefer simply staring at the entrance, because it’s a thing of beauty and costs considerably less than some designer bag in which you can hardly squeeze a lipstick and half your phone.

Secession fiends have their needs catered to by Miklošičeva street, which sets off straight from the Emporium building, while roaming around the banks of the Ljubljanica you will often meet the works of the country’s most famous architect, Jože Plečnik, such as the Fish Market or the Cobblers’ and the Triple bridges. The river side is also dotted with cafés, which had a decidedly outdoorsy Mediterranean vibe even on a rainy October evening while Stari Trg, connecting the centre to the castle, has several exciting shops of which we will naturally highlight the beer store, Za popen't, where one can purchase a varied array of local craft beers- on a touching note, they qualify as local everything coming from the space of the former Yugoslavia.

Most travelers have probably encountered castles far more exciting than the one in Ljubljana, but yet again one has to be impressed by the marketing flair of Slovenians: every bit of the building is nicely touched up and used for some purpose, even if it’s an odd exhibition or a Puppet Museum- though, frankly, the Puppet Museum is far more interesting than initially thought and I would warmly recommend it to anyone- bar perhaps some of the scarier dolls. According to our informative booklet (Slovenians also love those and have them ready in several languages at most touristic attractions), on a clear day you can see about a third of Slovenia from the castle’s tower. However, our day happened to be a rainy and foggy one, which was only half a pity, because there’s an unexpected charm in mist rolling over the yellow and crimson hills embracing autumnal Ljubljana and that’s somehow befitting the entire city as well- you start liking it when you least expect it. 

Land of the Ridiculously Pretty: Bled and Bohinj

The search is finally over. I have now identified the easiest and in all likelihood most enjoyable job in the world: working for the Slovenian tourist board. Your typical day probably starts with idling into office to look at about ten dozens of equally stunning nature shots and finally choosing one while being well aware that it doesn’t really matter. The near perfect shot of the crystal clear glacial rivulet might be a tad near perfecter than the stunning view of the snowy valley, but that’s just nuances, and you know it. People will just keep coming back no matter what you do, so you might as well indulge in some fluffy cream cake and hope that next week they’ll send you on a field trip just to make sure everything’s still as picture perfect as last month. And needless to say it will be. So, confident of a job well done, you will wander back into your office and for a second ponder a more challenging life, like, let’s say switching to the tourist board of The Gambia and then dismissing the thought with a content smile. 

Taking this into account it really doesn’t matter all that much where in particular you start exploring Slovenia, but let’s say Bled Lake is a fine option. It’s probably safe to say that traveling around Slovenia is best done by car: the country is crossed north to south by a comfy highway, but the meandering mountain roads are also in good shape, so there’s no danger in taking the scenic route, except that perhaps you’ll stop ridiculously often to take in one stunning sight after another. 

Bled itself is a short distance from the capital and the airport serving it, named after politician Jože Pučnik, whose name is eerily similar to that of one of the three people who seem ubiquitous around the tiny country, architect Jože Plečnik, of whom more will be said when we get to Ljubljana. The other two are Romantic poet France Prešeren and, in a rather odd twist, reigning ski jumping world cup holder Peter Prevc. I usually considered my interest in ski jumping one of my more marginal undertakings, but it came extremely handy in Slovenia where people  would suddenly become evidently more friendly when I had a good word to spare about Peter.

The lake and its small island welcome you right by the main road, in a rare case of a touristic attraction which looks every bit as good as the postcard. The sight is often complemented by the tolling bells of the island’s church, which apparently bring good luck and are thus industriously harassed by the visitors, who can reach the island by taking one of the nicely decorated boats going by the name of pletna. Another typical Bled sight is a furiously approaching swan, though I must confess to finding swans kind of overrated: they’re nothing but mean geese with a superiority complex and I am therefore much more pleased to encounter a raft of ducks peacefully pottering about the lake. 

For those thirsty for a view to remember, Bled castle towers over the surroundings and can be reached both by car or on foot- walkers and runners are spoiled anyways, as the there is a continous track around the lake, dotted with places of interest such as the Bled rowing club, the alma mater of numerous world champions, and several scenic villas, among them the one which served as the summer retreat of Marshal Tito. The castle’s ten euro entry fee would be well justified by the vista alone, but as a bonus you also get to investigate a rather interesting exhibition about the area’s history and are treated to the usual array of souvenir shops plus a restaurant. 

There are plenty of options for accommodation both in Bled and in the nearby villages- we can warmly recommend Hotel Lukanc nestled in the tantalizingly picturesque village of Selo pri Bledu, only five minutes’ drive from the lake. When it comes to food, Slovenia excels by not excelling at anything- located at the meeting point of Balkan, Mediterranean and Germanic cuisine, it offers a fair range of dishes from all three without any particular highlights. Bled itself is famed for a version of the central European Cremeschnitte, pioneered by Serbian-Hungarian pastry chef Ištvan Lukačević, locally known as kremna rezina- the cake can be found on the menu of most Slovenian restaurants, but the ‘original’ edition is the one served at Hotel Park on the lake’s shore. 

For those who feel that one crystal clear Alpine lake is simply not enough, Lake Bohinj is located a mere twenty kilometres from Bled and comes accompanied by the Savica waterfall, which lies at the source of the Sava Bohinjka, one of the Slovenian headwaters of the Sava which will continue its sleepy flow for another 990 kilometres, meeting the Danube at Belgrade. (Here comes useful knowledge: the Sava is the Danube’s third longest tributary, after the Tisza and the Prut.)  To gain access to the falls, you must purchase a 3 euro ticket and then walk for about 20 minutes along a well maintained path. Once there, you might enjoy the rumble of waters while indulging in some poetry helpfully added to your guide- you guessed right, the verses were penned by none other than Prešeren, who often felt poetically inclined in the Bled area. You can’t really blame him though, the prettiness of the surroundings gets to you even if you’re an incurable Surrealist or perhaps a cynic, therefore one shudders to think what it did to an impressionable Romantic mind.

Once done with the reverie, you might consider the next steps of the journey- since a trip on the meandering mountain road connecting Bohinj to Nova Gorica seemed a great idea, and so did popping over to Italy for a quick inspection of Trieste, that is exactly what we did, and the results will be rendered public in the next installment of the travel diary.