Lovely Slovenia, as you might have read in my last post, got off to a slow start but quickly became the underdog favorite of our travels thus far. It will most likely win my vote for the "Best little country emerging from years of Commie oppression with no real desire to make it big in the new EU landscape" award. Get the party clothes ready, folks. The scenery, the people, the natural beauty, the food, the beer, the black wine, the endless backroads, the Medieval castles, the turquoise rivers, heck, it all rocked here...even the rental car that came without hubcaps. It rocked, too. This is a long post but this country deserves it. If I weren't on a mission to broaden my horizons in every which way, I'd still be hanging out in Slovenia as I type this.
Despite wandering around Ljubljana for over an hour in a seemingly hopeless pursuit of a hotel or pension that wouldn't break the bank (Maribor revisited?), we finally found an overpriced two-star joint in a sad-looking 12-story concrete high rise, dropped off the bags, and headed out for some fun (finally!). We hit a riverside cafe, met some locals with two cute huskies, shared dog training stories, and...yeah, you guessed it...beer. We settled in to Slovenia with open minds and decided to give this tiny country another fighting chance. It surpassed our greatest expectations and then some.
We easily covered in a day the capital city that no one can pronounce, and our extra night there we spent lounging at a yummy retro cafe indulging in pretty decent Mexican food (although we got gouged on the bottled water) and great ice cream. The dreary hotel/hostel proved to be quite hip and comfy: free Internet in the lobby, a good hearty breakfast, clean sheets, and all the German "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" episodes that a game show freak like me could ask for. (To our surprise, I was actually able to get a few of the answers right...pretty amazing since I don't even speak German.) We spent the second night in the hostel portion for a fraction of the cost, and ironically it proved nicer than the hotel. Go figure; too bad they were sold out of hostel rooms our first night there. We drank extra cappucinos and ate double portions at breakfast to make up for the difference.
Working off tips my London-based, Paris-days girlfriend Kathy had given us from her recent vacation here, we tracked down a rental car--despite it being the national May Day holiday--and headed out to the country for some R&R. (Yes, even travelers like us on hiatus from reality for a year need some now and then.) We stopped off in Škofja Loka to check out their Medieval castle; wandered upon some locals roasting a whole pig at a mountaintop cafe; endured a harrowing-but-worth-the-anxiety skinny mountain road that meandered through small villages and passed an insane ridgetop chapel (check out the pic, it says it all); drove past endless hayracks and cows; and puttered through the countryside to our desintation in Bled.
Kathy had recommended the Pension Berc at Lake Bled, and we knew when we pulled into the place that it would be heaven. We were greated by cheerful Miha, who runs the place with his dad and brother, who also run the hotel across the street. An uncle turned the family farm next door into a four-star that's gorgeous, and the entire family compound just really delights. Miha gave us one of the best rooms in the place (I know, because I checked them all out one day when the maid was making her rounds), and we ended up extending our stay after just one day in town because we smelled a good time coming. Our sniffers were right on the money.
We sped off quickly after arrival on the free bikes Miha makes available and began our ride around the lake. You really have to pinch yourself in this place to know you're not living in some fairy tale. This gem sports the imposing Julian Alps as a northern backdrop; boasts a hilltop castle AND an enchanting church poised on an island mid-lake, complete with overpriced "gondolas" to shuttle you back and forth (we didn't indulge);
and is surrounded by massive Triglav National Park, which David and I agreed could give Yosemite a run for its money (hopefuly John Muir's not turning in his grave right now). We had a tough time focusing on the road and I almost drove my bike into the curb several times, not to mention traffic (if you could call a few cars and one tour bus traffic). It was simply stunning! We stopped at the Restaurant Mlino at Miha's suggestion for a late lunch...yep, more beer, schnitzel, and fries...then reboarded the bikes to finish the lakeside loop and burn off those calories.
The beer buzz helped us navigate the plethora of people out enjoying the holiday. I say that jokingly, because we didn't really think there were
that many people out and about, although Miha commented next morning at breakfast, "Hey, what about all the people in town, eh? Pretty crowded." Coming from the big city, we had a good chuckle, but over the next few days, we laughed even more loudly, because the place was virtually deserted...and I mean that in a good way. Totally mellow, just the way we like it.
On day two we drove a half-hour west into Triglav to hike around Lake Bohinj. Just when you think it can't get any better, it does. This place was even more deserted, more chill, and more stunning than Bled in certain ways. We parked the car near one end of the lake and set out to hike the flat trail that runs the circumference. We encountered few people, and only Slovenians at that. Everyone kept greating us with the colloquial "dan," which pleased us to no end because it meant we passed for locals. We try hard not to stand out like ugly Americans.
The scenery was impressive and the hike a joy. We took a snack/drawing/puzzle break at the far end of the lake and marveled for almost two hours at the impressive mountains looming around us on three sides. The skies were pretty grey but occasional bursts of sunshine offered great photo ops, and the rain actually made the place even more mystical. A great dinner back in Bled finished off a superb day in Bohinj, and we even managed to stumble upon a less-glorified version of an ice cream sundae for dessert (good thing we'd hiked 10+ kilometers that day).
Day three was less successful on some accounts but fun nonetheless. We drove just five kilometers to the Vintgar Gorge, an amazing canyon with a raised boardwalk built into the sides of the rocks. We wandered deep into the place with nothing but the chirping of birds and the rushing of river to accompany us. On the way out we heard the jingling of cow bells and watched a heard of bovines take a water break just a few feet from our car (on the other side of the river, mind you).
We then headed for Pokluja Soteske, a nearby hidden hiking gem Miha had told us about. "Few tourists go there or even know about this place." That was all we needed to hear. We missed the turnoff but easily found our way back, puttered through the little village, and ended up at the end of the paved road. Braving dirt and rocks for the last kilometer or so, we arrived at a deserted parking area for the trailhead, which was interestingly filled with quite a few hewn trees. As David suited up in the daypack, I noticed a large sign next to the trail that said "closed" in quite a few languages, including English. Hmmm...not sure why this place would be closed, and seeing as Miha said it was so cool, we decided to venture in a bit to check it out. Maybe they'd just forgotten to take the sign down after the winter snows. Or maybe not.
It didn't take long before the whirring of chain saws greeted us in the not-so-distant distance, and we looked up to see a rather large pile of fallen trees just up the hill to our right. Then the real alarm bell rang...the sound of another tree falling, again in the not-so-distant distance. We ran. Luckily the car wasn't too far away. But the experience rattled my nerves, and I had an icky rest of the day. Our efforts to find another hiking trail proved fruitless, so we returned to the lake but I just wasn't up for heading back into the woods. We resorted to my ultimate comfort--cute little animals--and spent the end of the day watching ducklings catch bugs and feeding weeds to cute goats at the campground near the lake. This helped calm me down a bit, but I couldn't help feeling like I'd just escaped a very dangerous situation. Many days later I told David that it would have been the ultimate irony to be killed from a falling tree in peaceful Slovenia before we'd even made it to the dangerous streets of Nairobi or the teetering heights of the Himalayas.
We were greeted by rain on our last day, thus our plans to bike ride morphed into some chill time doing puzzles on our patio, a soggy hike up to the castle, a cozy late lunch at an okay pension, a killer hot chocolate you could eat with a fork, and a taste of the famous local cake at an awesome bakery. We narrowly escaped danger yet again when I wandered onto a neighbor's property to investigate a loud mooing coming from a conspicuous barn in the middle of a residential neighborhood, only to be chased down the driveway by a mad border collie that was fast as lightening. David said we were quite close to having a piece of our legs chomped out, and as much as I was falling in love with Slovenia, I knew we didn't want to have to extend our stay another 26 days to endure a painful course of rabies treatments that the SF health department nurse had warned us about. (You're right, Pam, we should just stay away from foreign dogs we don't know. Easier said than done for me.)
Planning to spend our last night in Italian-inspired Piran nestled along Slovenia's tiny little coast, we decided to extend our rental car an extra day after Miha tipped us off to a great little guesthouse in the middle of the Karst region. Know for its black "teran" wine and endless rolling hills covered in grapevines, the place sounded like Napa and seemed like a great stopover on our way to Piran. It didn't disappoint us, nor did the long drive there. We sadly said goodbye to Miha and his girlfriend and vowed to return to Pension Berc one day. We took the long way around and tackled the insane Vrsic Pass, Slovenia's highest mountain road at 4,800 feet. It twisted and turned through the alps via ridiculous switchbacks, and at times our little Opel corsa felt like it wouldn't make it to the summit. But it chugged along like the little engine that could and carried us safely to amazing scenery all day, despite the grey skies and heavy rains at times. We dropped down into a beautiful valley reminiscent of Kauai's Na Pali Coast (I kid you not, this country defies logic at every turn), meandered along a river the color of deep turquoise, and rose over the hills into the Karst region covered in grapes.
We arrived in little Sepulje late in the day and were the only English-speaking tourists in the village (if you could call it that). We got a great room at the guesthouse and settled in for some cribbage and a taste of the famous black stuff. At 70 cents (Euro) a glass, we imbibed in quite a few and discovered the best drinking deal of the trip so far (in a Euro-based country, that is). Shortly before dinner, we witnessed one of the most magical things I've ever seen in my life. Taking advantage of a break in the rain (and needing to walk off the pre-dinner wine to prepare for the during-dinner drinking), we wandered out from the pension along a backroad through the grapevines. The sun shone all around us, and I looked up to see a full rainbow stretching from church to church in neighboring villages. We both stood there in amazement and I cried. It was beautiful.
Despite enduring a busload of Austrian tourists at dinner and a funky shower, the Sepulje place proved a great experience and we left all the better for having made the stop. On our way to Piran the next day, we enjoyed endless sunshine, a quick stop to view the famous horses at Lipica, and a speedy shortcut through Italy on our way to the Slovenian coast. After getting lost on the cobblestone backroads into the village and realizing there had to be another way to the main square and the other hotel Kathy had recommended, we finally made our way down the
hill but ended up roomless as the place was a bit out of our budget. When the hotel desk guy told us we'd be hard-pressed to find anything under 100 Euro ($130!) and suggested we bail on the coast and head inland to less-touristed places, we almost gave up but decided to drive up the hill to some "Zimmer" signs we'd seen on our way in. Locals often rent rooms out of their homes at pretty decent prices. Turns out we were in luck: a cute little lady that could have been my grandma's twin managed to squeeze out enough English, German, and Italian to tell us we could have a room for just 40 Euro. She showed us the place and it was adorable, complete with our own little terrace and chairs overlooking the Adriatic in the distance. We pulled into her driveway, dropped off our bags, hiked back into town, ate a great dinner, watched an awesome sunset, and wondered if we hadn't taken a wrong turn and ended up at Italy's Cinque Terre. Little Piran is a seaside gem with a big heart. It's a bit touristy but still worth a look, and we really enjoyed it.
Our drive back to Ljubljana the next day was quick and uneventful. We reluctantly dropped off the car and resorted once again to hoofing it with our bags like the rest of the
real backpackers out there. Upon arrival at the train station, our hopes for a fast exit were dashed when we learned the next train to Zagreb, Croatia, didn't depart for another three hours. What to do? We hoofed it back to Adria Airlines' office in the chance of getting a flight directly to Dubrovnik. No such luck. So we fell back on our old habits, found a great cafe with our favorite beer, and bought some cheap eats at a local market.
Over the coarse of the next few hours, and with the help of a noontime beer buzz, we made the difficult decision to bail on the Croatian coast due to lack of time and instead focus on getting to Budapest from Zagreb. From there we could leisurely explore Hungary and have more time left over to roam around Istanbul and the Greek Islands. Not a bad plan, although we were hesitant to skip the Dalmatians, as we'd heard wonderful things. But we'd also just spent eight incredible days in sleepy Slovenia, and we knew that Croatia's coastline was littered with too many European tourists seeking sunshine and great beaches. We didn't need to find ourselves lost and annoyed among them. So Zagreb it was! On the train there, I watched Slovenia slip away from the train window as I sucked in my last few breaths of fresh mountain air. I knew it wouldn't be my last visit; I was surely coming back to this place.
It's amazing how the farther east you go (with the exception of Turkey and Greece), the more downhill go the trains, the standards of cleanliness, the frequency of smiles, the ease of getting around, and up, up, up goes the chain smoking coupled with bad 80s rock and worse 80s fashion. Good thing we didn't attempt Romania or Bulgaria, but what we saw of eastern Europe did not disappoint. 
Croatia's capital is a curious mix: crumbling apartment structures riddled with graffiti teeter next to pristine Austro-Hungarian architecture; deserted dark streets open up to vibrant cafe scenes; the serene old town with its intricately decorated churches looms over fascist-styled boxy buildings and bustling trams. We had a really nice time during our short two days in Zagreb and agreed it was worth the stopover, despite there being anything really monumental to report. A nice local guy at an accommodation agency hooked us up with a super small studio for the right price on a quiet street smack dab in the middle of the action. The city and its people were good to us. 
Croatia's cozy little capital. Lament aside, the first order of business was finding displaced Sluggi a home. I braved five lanes of traffic in a Hungarian roundabout and jaywalked in front of a sea of 50s-era buses to a patch of greenery perched above the Keleti train station metro stop. At that point, Sluggi wasn't looking too good and I fought to move his almost lifeless body onto a leaf. Dejected at the thought that we'd failed in our mission to safely transport the little guy, I jaywalked back to meet David for the ride to Moskva Square, where we'd catch a bus for the 1/2-hour ride to the burbs, where we'd decided to hole up for four nights at a four-star we splurged on thanks to a great Internet deal David had found. Turns out life movin east ain't all that bad.
We took in the major monuments, visited the historic city of Ezthergom (home to Hungary's largest cathedral), hiked to the high hilltop citadel of Visegrad overlooking the Danube bend (look closely, you'll see me waving at left), took a slow boat several hours back to Budapest on the aforementioned famous river, and soaked for an afternoon in the famous Szecheny baths (awesome!). After four nights in the four-star digs, we reluctantly downgraded to a studio apartment in a bullet-riddled building in the Jewish quarter to save some dinero. It was cosy enough, with a great location and killer price, not to mention cheap Internet around the corner. 
Having learned the ropes the hard way, we returned the next day for the trip to Pecs and made a successful journey south for a wonderful afternoon (David's birthday, no less!). In the midst of touring a spectacular old church, we experienced a huge thunder- and windstorm that was magical as long as we stayed inside. After braving the rain, we tracked down a great cafe meal in town and witnessed a beautiful sunset on the way back.
