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.  

Thalssotherapy

As part of our eldest child´s visit, we planned a girl date to a new spa opened on the salt flats at Sečovlje. I have visited the salt flats themselves several times - it is one of my favourite nearby places. Right on the border with Croatia, they are otherworldly in their stark beauty. Cell phones and therefore my camera were banned at the spa, so I thought I would resurrect some photos of the salt pans taken by my friend on a visit ten years ago, which are much better than anything I could snap.

I agonized for a good while over whether to try a spa treatment because they began at around 30 euros, and, as I am on record as saying, communal nakedness makes me nervous. But my elder daughter was all for getting a salt scrub, so I booked one along with her. At least I would have moral support and I would actually find out if it was worth it (as my husband says, living here makes us feel obligated to know more about Slovenia than Slovenians).

Thalassotherapy, as I learned, apparently refers to the health benefits of the sea and its products, as well as being a fun word to add to your vocabulary. Slovenians are seriously into natural and alternative health treatments, and brine water and sea mud have been officially recognized by the Ministry of Health here as being natural healing products. In fact, you can even be prescribed a trip to a spa by a doctor, paid for by national health insurance. Personally, I always feel invigorated when I swim in the sea, but I was not convinced anything magical is going on outside my head. Maybe I was wrong, and I can feel vindicated for all those times my husband said I am insane for swimming in British (read: near freezing) waters.

The entrance fee got us access to the big salt water swimming pool and the Kniepp walking pools. The swimming pool was temperate and really salty and it was fun to be so buoyant. The walking pools were three long pools, each filled with a different size of stone, meant to be good for your feet. One was supposed to be a hot pool, but hadn´t heated up by the time we were there. You could pay extra to bathe in the brine pools (a by-product of the salt production here, denser than sea water and mineral rich).

After interminable days of hot weather, the morning started off cloudy with a threat of rain, and we ended up using our towels as blankets on the loungers and getting hot chocolate at the cafe. But the silence and the views across the salt pans more than compensated.

And so, it got around to treatment time. I roused elder daughter from her meditation on a stone, and we went to the front desk. A young man and women escorted us over to the treatment area, which was a series of open air cubicles. ˝I´m not having the guy do a salt rub,˝ I hissed out of the corner of my mouth to daughter, panic rising rapidly.

We arrived, and he handed us tiny packages with the words, ˝These are your thong underwear.˝ I am thinking, first, I should not be accepting thong undies from someone young enough to be my son, and secondly, that something more Mrs Slocombe would make me more comfortable. But I am in for the pennies, so I have to be in for the euros. Thankfully, he then left us to the ministrations of young women.

Those of you who watched the show know just what jokes I am avoiding right now :)

I sidled out of the changing room clutching my too small towel over as much of me as possible and tried not to look at the young couple staked out caked in mud as we made our way to our little booth with two beds - or at my smirking daughter who, she confessed later, was getting great enjoyment out of my discomfort. Then, at last, safely on a bed with a strategically placed sheet, I really did manage to close my eyes and enjoy the salt rub (a bit scratchy at times). Just as I had finally relaxed, the girl said ˝Okay, it´s done, time for a shower,˝ and pointed us to an open air shower right next to the mud people...

Emotional trauma aside, my skin really was much smoother afterwards, and the morning off mothering a toddler - with time to lie down and do nothing! - was regenerating. And that was way more than two minutes of bravery for introverted, inhibited me, so I get to pat myself heartily on the back. And never wear a disposable thong again.

Touristy stuff: Here are the websites for the Lepa Vida spa, the salt pans, and the salt pan products. I have already confessed to being frugal, so personally, I would plan a large part of a day here, and take advantage of the free entry to the salt pans that goes with the spa entrance fee instead of an expensive treatment. But if you enjoy communal near-nudity in the open air, slathered in mud and salt, then go ahead, you have found your people.