This is being posted a bit late, but Rob kindly produced the necessary photo accompaniment!
Here's a reason to be grateful for the Italian budget crisis. With half the faculty at the University of Bologna on strike to protest a controversial law that would slash funding for the universities, I found myself at the beginning of October with no classes to go to, and an unexpected last week of extended summer vacation. I had been getting itchy feet from staying in one place, and this was the perfect opportunity to take a longer trip. Slovenia was less of a random choice than it might appear. The only surprise is that more people don't go: its easily accesible by train from Italy, yet has a completely different language, a beautiful landscape and an intriguing culture.
My friend Rob and I started with an afternoon train to Trieste. The upper part of the Adriatic is so tranquil that the clear blue water meets the edge of the land without any barrier. Its possible to sit in the main piazza with the Baroque town hall behind you, and dangle your feet in the ocean a mere step down. A few minutes walk from our hostel, Castello Miramare, built as a honeymoon getaway for the Hapsburg emperor, is now a charming, slightly overgrown, public park. I felt like I had wandered into a
Maxfield Parish Painting, or maybe just
Enchanted April.
There is no direct connection from Trieste to Slovenia, so the plan was to take Italian trains as far as Gorizia, cross into Slovenia, and then pick up another train that would take us into the Julian Alps. The divided town of Gorizia/Nova Gorica was a Cold War frontier (Winston Churchill famously said that the Iron Curtain stretched across Europe, "from Danzig to Trieste"), as well as the site of one of the most brutal battles of World War I. There are few things that give me more hope for progress, considering that history, than crossing today's border. With Slovenia's ascension to the European Union, all that divides the nations is unobtrusive line on the pavement - no guards, no fence, not even a sign. It's more noticeable when you cross from Maine into New Hampshire, and I can't help thinking that somewhere, Kant is smiling.
The train journey was the most beautiful trip I have ever taken, maybe even surpassing driving over the Himalayas. The sun was shining on the sea, we stopped at idyllic towns with tiny old stations, mountains shaped like gum drops and a turquoise-green river winding alongside. Arriving in Lake Bled, I picked an apple right off the tree as we walked to our campsite by the lakeshore. I was glad to be staying in Bled at the end of the season, since we got all the conveniences of the small resort town, without any of the crowds.
In the morning, mists hid the mountains and the swans gliding on the glass-like surface of the lake. We bought still-warm cheese pastries from a bakery, and climbed to the cliff-top castle for a view of the surrounding valleys as the sun come out. In the afternoon we took row boat out to the picturesque church on the little island in the middle of the lake. In my third boating adventure of the summer, I'm proud to say I rowed more successfully than I punted in Cambridge (and certainly in a more trustworthy boat than the inflatable lotka that almost sank in the middle of Lake Varzob in Tajikistan).
A three hour bus ride got us to Ljubljana. Our lodging in the capital was Celica, a former jail converted into a hip hostel, where the rooms are "cells" that still have bars. Celica is in the middle of Metalkova, a bizarre alternative-living compound. After independence and the fall of the communist regime, a bunch of artists moved in to the area and transformed the Soviet-style buildings into graffiti masterpieces and a variety of semi-secret clubs and bars.
Ljubljana has a compact old center, with cafes lining both sides of the river, and a castle on a hill in the middle of town. We had a lovely time exploring the side streets, drinking coffee and eating Sacher torte, and visiting the underground market. We found lunch at a Bosnian restaurant; an old house filled with Balkan knickknacks, where the only thing on the menu was sausage with butter and raw onion and delicious bread. In the afternoon, another three hour bus ride got us to Piran, the prettiest town on Slovenia's sliver of a coastline. I climbed to the church with my watercolors and tried to paint the view over the red roofs to the sail boats on the blue-gray sea. In the morning I ignored the damp weather, and went swimming. I have a reputation to uphold after all - for someone used to Maine, the Mediterranean is warm even in October.
As we were informed in Ljubljana, there are two Latvian beers, and they are both made by the same brewery. Whether you prefer Lasko or Union is a matter of some consequence, apparently, but having tried both, I'm a firmly in the Lasko camp. It goes perfectly with a basket of fried calamari, while we had a late lunch and watched a scuba diving lesson.
Unfortunately, our lunch was a bit too late, and caused us to miss the local Piran shuttle bus. In a "for the want of a nail..." scenario, that meant we lost the regional bus, so that we missed our third connection into Italy. After an extra hour and a half waiting in Trieste, and a bizarre 10 PM to midnight jaunt through Venice, we finally caught the night train to Bologna, arriving at 3 AM, exhausted, but immensely pleased with ourselves, and still completely in love with Slovenia.
