Sečovlje - a salacious experience

 Intimations of a second lockdown in Slovenia drove us off our backsides and into the open air while we could still do so - or at least without wearing masks while outdoors. We headed for a local nature reserve in Sečovlje (I think you pronounce it seh-chow-lee-ay), right on the border with Croatia, which co-exists with one of the few remaining salt pan works in the region. Since we moved back, I have been talking of another autumn walk here. I have fond memories of our several visits about a dozen years ago, and some spectacular photos courtesy of a friend with far better photographic skills than I. 

The last time I visited was to go to the summer open air spa in the middle of the salt pans, a traumatic experience involving disposable thong underwear. Quite the opposite this time. Convinced there was going to be a cold wind blasting across the open landscape this time of year, I stuffed hats, gloves and an extra layer of outerwear in my backpack. Apparently, I was wrong: by the time we paid the small entrance fee, we were so warm that we threw all the outer layers back in the car and set off sans coats.

First excitement for me was a profusion of Michaelmas daisies. I start to hanker after growing them every September - our school's Founder's Day was on Michaelmas, and we used to wear posies of Michaelmas daisies for the church service. This is all pure nostalgia - when I was a teenager, we thought it stupid and complained about wearing weeds. But anyhow, here they were at last, the first wild ones I had seen in Slovenia. But we were in a nature reserve, so was this a gift of Mother Nature or a test of my moral fibre?

They have now built a boardwalk across the water and parallel to the main path so walkers can avoid cyclists and the odd car (they are working on cutting down motor traffic through the park). Trauma occurred early on when Alcuin got two splinters from climbing the rail. We got one out, and I assured him the other would soak out in the bath, so he proceeded to stop about every six feet to lie down and dip his hand in the water (at least that was his excuse). Actually, he stopped about every six feet for something most of the walk - getting or handing back the map, asking for a snack, asking for a drink, handing back the snack... Ted just kept walking on and back, probably tripling his exercise.

An abandoned salt worker's home

So, the nerdy stuff that interests me at least: salt has been harvested here since about the year 800, and some of those centuries were pretty cut throat. When the Venetian Empire took control, coercing the towns in the Eastern Adriatic to sign a compulsory purchase agreement, they deliberately destroyed most of the nearby salt works to create a virtual monopoly. They periodically continued this policy, leaving the Sečovlje pans untouched to become the most important source of salt in the Venetian Empire. In the wake of its collapse, the Austrian Empire took over and formally declared salt a state monopoly in 1814. By the mid-twentieth century (and more political changes of hands), salt mines were seen as more profitable; the pans declined, and were bought up by a succession of small companies. In the 1990s, the process of declaring the wetlands a nature reserve began. The Sečovlje pans are one of the last in the Mediterranean area (nearby Štrunjan has some, but the area is currently closed to walkers).

The simple evaporation process has been largely unchanged for centuries. Sea water is filtered into a huge network of rectangular basins, pans, linked by a series of small canals that have a miniature lock and dam system to let water in and out. The salt is moved down from deeper to shallower pans until it has evaporated to the extent that the salt can be scraped out. A little rail network enables the harvesters to push the wagons of salt to the salt works where it is piled up to dry out. The most gourmet salt is the fleur de sel (flower salt), that forms as a crust on the evaporating sea water.

The canal/channel system

What draws me to the reserve is its bleak beauty, its vast flat lands stretching out to the sea. Here and there a mallard plods across the shallow water, leaving a trail of footprints in the brine-soaked clay. A little egret (the park's symbol) perches on a canal, to spread its wings and fly off with a cry as we approach (over 200 species of birds have been recorded here). Tiny red brine shrimp dart through the water beneath the shadows of salt flies. Patches of purple Michaelmas daisies and golden samphire flowers cling to the sides of the scrubland, visited by saline bees (I wonder what salt pan honey tastes like?). We were lucky to spot a shore crab, too, scuttling through the seaweed of the canal. 

Dry pans

Apart from the board walk, the basics have not changed since our first visit. A shop and gallery half way along the walk, a visitor centre at the end of the main path (updated of course), and a bar that I'm pretty sure was not there before. I spent generously in the little shop because of course although I pass their outlet in town about every day I never bother to go in - plus we are trying to put money into local businesses hurt by the epidemic.

A better bird photo courtesy of my friend, Martin

The little documentary at the visitor centre reminded or informed me of so many things we don't think about when we are sprinkling the white stuff onto our chips. It has been an element of religious rituals for eons. You might think of modern day pagans and witches using salt, but it's a valid sacrament in liturgical churches, too. Or do you remember throwing spilled salt over your shoulder into the devil's eye? Did you know we get the word 'salary' from the fact that Roman soldiers were sometimes paid in salt? Think, too, of salty language or salacious gossip. Perhaps we don't give salt enough respect nowadays.

I know the shadow is there, but I rarely get a photo of myself

I was glowing when I got home - literally, because I had caught the sun. I was not expecting that in October. And yes, small confession - we brought home some Michaelmas daisy seed heads. Then I found out that they are actually sea asters and like salty soil. So much for that.

Touristy stuff. The salt pans are about a twenty-minute drive from central Koper. They are in the middle of a little village, and there are places to eat close by, but I have not explored the area. Here is the website. I found that the Slovenian language version was more up-to-date than the English version, which still said the reserve was closed until further notice, so you might want to double check the original with a translation tool. At the time of writing, the museum and the road that leads to it (a walk on the other side of the reserve) were definitely closed. You can also explore the salt pans with the Nexto app, that covers several tourist areas in Slovenia. I'm not big into electronic tourist guides (I like to read and then experience the place), but others may love it. Take layers and sun cream - there can be a biting wind in the summer, and apparently, scorching weather in the autumn. And if you go in the summer, of course you can try out the Thalasso Spa, but be prepared to bare all.  

A Virgin experience: The Olive Oil Museum in Pula

Nothing gets us middle-aged folk out of a rut and onto the road like a visit from our adult (grad school) daughter. She had the Olive Oil museum on her to-see list since we spotted it about a year ago on a January visit to Pula (the only month it is closed). It was also scheduled to rain heavily the whole weekend, so an indoor pursuit was perfect.

The museum is pretty close to Pula's famous Roman amphitheatre, and clearly signposted. You can opt for a visit only, or add a regular or "gold" tasting experience at the end (which includes a "surprise" dessert). We chose gold, since it was our only stop for the day and we'd waited a year for this excitement.

The museum isn't large - really just an exhibition hall - but it's packed with information on the history and production of olive oil in the region over the past two thousand years. As far as I could make out, the audio guide isn't much more than the info on the boards, but I soon gave up on it, as usual - am I the only one who can't cope with simultaneously looking at and listening to information? However, the child's one kept the four year-old happy and practising his numbers.

So, onto interesting facts. When the Romans expanded down into the Istrian region, they quickly established olive growing. Did you know that they graded their olive oil? Or that for centuries, oil was separated by the process of pouring hot water on it, so that it would rise to the top and could be skimmed off? The best was from young, green olives and the worst, from damaged fruit, was used for lamps and given to slaves. Although villas were abandoned as the empire collapsed, olive oil kept its value as a local product, as witnessed by the legislation - and legal disputes - that abounded in the middle ages over growing rights. During the Venetian period, the new empire tried to restrict the passage of olive oil, to ensure it kept its share of the profit, so a smuggling route grew up via the Trieste region (which I presume took in Koper, where we live).

Istria is often overlooked as an olive-growing region, but it has been gaining a reputation for its high quality, often organic, oils. This is about the farthest north you can grow olives and it's claimed that makes them better. I'm not an olive expert, but chemical analysis of the health-giving properties (polyphenols) of olives just puts the Istrian varieties on top, with Spain a close second. Sorry, Greece.

After we perused the museum, our host took us into the tasting room. The first round (which is what you get with a basic tasting) consisted of two real extra virgin olive oils, plus a generic plastic bottle from the supermarket. We had a helpful vocabulary list up on a projector, though I don't know how I was supposed to identify artichoke or olive leaves. The first things we noticed about the single blend was that it smelled of grass - apparently that's a good thing. The surprise was swallowing it and getting a burning sensation in the back of the throat - also apparently a good thing.

Then on to the supermarket oil, plus the (non) virgin truth - most of the cheap extra virgin olive oil you buy is in fact just a small amount of the real thing, cut with the chemically-refined worst grade, which is called lampante, from the reference to the oil the Romans deemed only good enough for lamps (and slaves). I'd like to pretend I was instinctively gourmet, but I'm going to confess that if I hadn't just been educated about it, I might have thought the second one tasted like olive oil is 'supposed' to and that the first had something wrong with it. We also (okay, me) felt sort of guilty that only the day before, Ted had come home triumphant from a supermarket trip in Italy with a bargain five-litre plastic bottle of 'extra virgin' olive oil. Well, it's good or cooking.

You'll see from the photos that we got our oil in dishes, but for official tastings they come in little blue glass jars (there's one in front of the tray) so that the colour is masked.

Proceedings were briefly interrupted by Alcuin deciding to get down from the bar stool by just hopping off, and promptly hitting the ground. Luckily not hard enough to produce screams.

For the next round, our host introduced us to a selection of five oils, ranging from "grassy" to "bitter", and including blends and a local oil. Honestly, I could not pick a best. I think my olive-oil tasting muscles need honing.

Rounding it off was a special dessert, which consisted of the local fresh cheese (similar to ricotta), topped with creamed flower honey and a slice of dried fig. And the finishing touch was a few drops of olive oil of our choice. Pretty good.

We left with two bottles of good olive oil (plus a face cream), better educated on all the questions I have never asked on olive oil, and with a couple of new places on our to-visit list after reading all the info about the region -  plus the sun had come out, so I'd call that successful.

Sculpture by Josip Diminić

Touristy stuff. Here's the website for the museum. I had to look elsewhere for the actual hours, and called before we left to make sure. Like most things in Croatia, it's pretty cheap if you are used to UK/US prices - the gold tasting was 130 kunas per adult (about 18 euros/ 15 pounds/ 19 dollars). If you are taking a longer vacation, there are several sights in Pula (see this tourism site), plus some beaches a little away from the town that I have on local authority are nice. It's definitely a place on our standard visitors list.

Medieval Days 1: Kubed

The village of Kubed, within the municipality of Koper, and not too far from the more famous Hrastovlje, puts on a yearly medieval festival. It runs over two days, with evening games and entertainment Friday night, and a pilgrimage-style hike of the region Saturday morning (apparently with goulash thrown in), followed by festivities on the grounds of a ruined castle fortress. With our teenager away in the UK digging up the Dorset landscape, we had no extra help with the hurricane that is our four year-old, so we had to opt for one event that looked child-friendly. We went for Saturday afternoon.

Taking a chance on the thunder showers sweeping across the region (see photo above), we set off up the ubiquitous winding roads, forearmed against the satnav inevitably missing the crucial hairpin turn. When we got to Kubed (someone was there to direct parking, hurrah), we got to wind uphill again, but on foot this time. But we were rewarded with free shots of local liqueurs - except Ted declined because he thought he'd be facing insane drivers on the mountain road home responsible.

In a fun (and clever) marketing ploy, we had to exchange our euros for the festival currency, the cubidum. And we had to exchange that within minutes for a child who saw all the food stalls and decided he was starving.

Not much was going on yet, though it was past starting time. There was a ring with assorted 'medieval' weapons for children to kill each other with. Alcuin was itching to jump in the fray, but it was mostly monopolized by older children, and he couldn't understand why it wasn't a good idea to throw himself in the middle of no-holds-barred eight year-olds. Eventually, the small(ish) kids got to take over, and he had his time in the ring.

At last! Something happened: a bunch of cosplay people processed up and down the pathway. As you can see below, included in the procession were people in national costume, who proceeded to put on a little play for bystanders. From my amazing grasp of Slovene, I can tell you it was about eggs and sausages, and then they played the accordion.

After that, it was historical reenactment time: players hung out by the armoury and practice areas, interacting with anyone who wanted, with music and dancing. And medieval drinking, which they deserved for wearing all those clothes - and armour - in the heat. One fun addition to the festival was a full-size combined trebuchet and catapult. When they felt like it, the players livened proceedings by lobbing some (non destructive) ammunition at the castle wall.

This isn't a great picture, but you need to note the chairs, because they appear in the next post, too!

Someone rashly let Alcuin handle a bow twice as big as he is. I stood well back to take the photo.

Finally, much later than advertised, and just as we were about to give up and leave, the combat began. And, after the wait, it was pretty good - professional and well scripted. But we had been there too many hours: Alcuin had reached the end of his attention span, and it was time to head off before all was over, thankful that we had missed the thunderstorms, and wiser for the next visit.

Ted pronounced that it was the sort of thing that would be more fun if you went in a group, with a designated driver (i.e. not him). I have to say that worrying trying to outrun (outdrive) the storms also made it less of a good time for him. I'd like to participate in some of the other events as well, so maybe there will be an update post coming!

Postscript. On the way to the car, Alcuin tripped on the pavement. It was a seminal moment - his first bad fall on concrete. He wasn't badly injured, but he was so traumatized he refused to walk for the next 24 hours. I had to carry him everywhere. Honestly, he is the most single-minded child we have, and that is saying something.

Touristy stuff. The festival, Medieval Days in Kubed, runs around the beginning of July. Here's a link to this year's festival (still working at time of posting), and one to a tad of history about the place. I promise, it's far from the worst mountain road we have been on. It's Slovenia, so you might want to turn up a little later than advertised - that's what the locals in the know seemed to be doing. If you are dedicated to efficient tourism (don't have small children), you might also squeeze in the famous Dance of Death fresco at nearby Hrastovlje.

Škocjan Caves

After Saturday´s surfeit of wine and food, Sunday was more penitential. Following an early lunch (no wine), we took off for Škocjan (pronounced roughly shkots-yahn), around thirty minutes from Koper, notable for its cave complex and park. We´d visited a couple of times back in 2008 when we lived here, by ourselves and with family, but thought it was worth a revisit after ten years.

As soon as we arrived, our teen pointed out that her dad had taken her back there in 2015 on a  Slovenia/ Italy trip. Oh well, she likes geological formations. After a drink and ice cream, we gathered to wait for the guide. She turned up in the courtyard promptly at one, called, ˝Tour this way,˝ and set off at a brisk pace before we had time to get the toddler in the backpack, so it was a long, hot and hurried walk carrying him between us to the cave entrance where, thankfully, we got to recoup.

The caves are a a Unesco cultural and world heritage site, both for their geological significance and for the history of their exploration, which began in earnest in the early nineteenth century. The caves are natural, created by the Reka river, which sinks underground to flow for about 34 km before resurfacing in Italy. The whole area is known as the Karst, a vast limestone plateau that is ideal for cave formation- in fact, Slovenia is about 1/3 caves under its surface.

Over millennia, the river has created some of the biggest natural chambers ever discovered in Europe, as well as fascinating stalagmites and rimstone pools. It´s the sort of otherwordly scene you´d expect in a fantasy or sci fi film. A cave tour is pretty much part of a complete visit to Slovenia, and this is a good choice, not totally touristy, and interesting even if caves aren´t usually your thing.

Actually, I´ve had a lifelong phobia of caves. It´s about being stuck in the pitch dark with tonnes of rock over your head (that and being scared by the stone witch in Wookey Hole when I was very small). But we visited so many caves the last time we lived in Slovenia that I pretty much got over it. However, that was a decade ago, so I admit I had to fight a little panic as we entered and began the walk down the narrow passage to the point of no return.

The main tour is about 3 km and includes 700 steps, up and down. The guide stopped about four times to give an overview of the section we were about to tramp through. A little more information and more time to look (read:rest) would have been nice, but I suppose that was for the sake of the caves, not just business.

There´s a long part where you walk along a narrow path overlooking a gorge, with the river rushing far beneath you, and cross the sort of bridge on which Gandalf fought the Balrog. Interesting for my husband, with a toddler on his back and a fear of heights. He trudged along, hand on the rail a firm arm's length from the edge. ˝No wonder I forgot I´d been here three times,˝ he muttered. ˝I was staring at my feet the whole time.˝ The toddler, on the other hand, tried to push his sister over the edge. Apart from that one homicidal episode, he was pretty good, because riding in the backpack carrier is always exciting. After learning about how stalagmites and stalactites are formed from drops of water, he thought it was great fun to monitor the drips falling on our heads. All that proved too much stimulation, though, and he fell asleep before we reached the exit.

After 3 weeks of walking uphill, capped by a hike, this is about how I felt on Sunday.

At the end, the guide announced that there was the quick, easy way up via the lift, or the scenic 30-minute walk up past waterfalls. Since the cashier had confirmed the lift wasn´t working, and my husband had apparently lost some of his reason, he voted for the scenic tour. Honestly, it was more like an endurance course, but would have been lovely in cool weather not carrying a sleeping child. Time for more drinks and ice cream when we made it back - I think we more than walked off the calories. We´ll be returning to hike in the park another, cooler day.

So there you have it: a hike through an underground gorge when between us we are afraid of both heights and caves. Does that make us a) brave; b) foolish; c) cultural snobs; or d) compulsive nerds? I think it´s abcd.

Touristy stuff: The caves are open year-round for regular tours. Current times and prices on their website. It´s not for anyone who has trouble with mobility, and you´d do best to be ready to follow the guide before the appointed tour time (see above). The surrounding park (also hilly terrain) is free to visit and has suggested trails. The visitor centre has modest, but full amenities, including a restaurant and bar.

Hrastovlje

We hired a car over the long weekend, most importantly to visit our daughter´s new school over the border in Trieste, Italy, and to make some large purchases (hello, Ikea) but also to do a couple of touristy things.

On Saturday, myself, my husband and the three year-old headed off to Hrastovlje, a short, twenty-minute drive from Koper. It´s one of the little towns that dot the hills and mountains of Slovenia, distinct clusters of terracotta roofs among the green of the trees, usually punctuated with a church tower. If you´re interested, the rough pronunciation is Hras-toe-lee-ay (the v acts like a w if it comes before a consonant, excepting before r, and j is like y as in yak).

First stop was Gostilna Švab (pronounced Shvarb) for lunch. A gostilna is equivalent to an Italian trattoria, usually a country inn that serves home-style dishes. We began with half a litre of wine (of course – it´s cheaper than non-alcoholic drinks). Well, OK, not quite began for me because I had a free sample of wine at the supermarket in the morning. Living in Europe can be tough. We shared a salad, and the waiter brought out a loaf of very hot, crispy bread. I had ravioli with cheese and grilled mushrooms, and my husband had pork chops with potatoes and dried peas cooked with garlic and other spices, but we shared everything between the three of us. All of it was good - hearty, simple and satisfying. I managed to ask for an extra plate in Slovene, and the waiter told me ˝Bravo!˝ (they use a lot of Italian expressions here on the border with Italy). We rounded it off with coffee, which comes very strong in a tiny cup, ice cream for the toddler – and then the waiter brought us complementary drinks with the bill, blueberry liqueur for the adults and lemonade for our son.

Then it was a short walk up the road to the main tourist attraction, the Church of the Holy Trinity. It was built in the later fifteenth century, and, like many churches in the mountain villages, was not just a place of worship, but doubled as a fortified sanctuary against Turkish raids. Inside the little church are almost intact fifteenth century frescoes depicting the days of creation and the story of Adam and Eve, Christ´s passion, and, most notably, a fine example of a Dance of Death. Just what we needed to contemplate after all that gluttony and wine-drinking. Alcuin was very well-behaved while we examined the frescoes, and even momentarily excited when he thought he was going to see a painting of Jesus and his twelve opossums. But of course the real excitement was running around the courtyard looking out of every arrow hole, and piling up rocks. I wonder how many three year-olds helped fight off Turkish raiders over the centuries?

Note the man on the right trying to bribe Death!

It was a pretty hot afternoon, but my husband wanted to be sure he wasn´t under the effects of the lunchtime wine before he drove home, so we gamely walked around the outside of the fortifications, which seems to be a popular dog-walking place for the locals. Then we popped back to the church to buy a bottle of the local wine for sale (see the vineyards in the photo) – 4 euros for a bottle of mušcat, a dessert wine – because it´s important to support the local economy.

Home for as much of a rest as one can get with a manic three-year old, who thankfully went to bed early, leaving us to enjoy mušcat on our balcony.

Touristy info: Entrance fee to the church is three euros, and includes an audio presentation in several choices of language while you look around. It´s open during the most obvious visiting hours, but there´s a phone number posted on the gate to call if it´s shut. The menu at Gostilna Švab is in several languages, even if the English version is... interesting. But you´ll get the gist of it. The online menu is only in Slovene.