Blood in Bled

 

It was time for a short break between two big events - my husband finishing edits of a textbook for Cambridge University Press (Graph Theory - I know you're rushing to preorder it right now), and the 8th European Congress of Mathematics, for which we are both committee members. The rest of Slovenia was heading south for our region, so we went north to the area around Bled.

First stop, Radovljica (Rad-OW-leet-za). We visited the bee museum in this little town about a dozen years ago, and it was apparently such a seminal event that neither of our older children could recall the trip. With the museum renovated, and several years of beekeeping now under his belt, Ted wanted to revisit. Plus, we have a new British friend who retired to this region, so it was a chance to spend some time together.

After a little satnav trauma due to closed roads in Radovljica, we met up with Chloe, who conducted us to the old town and her favourite restaurant, Lectar, where she was greeted with hugs by the staff. A consequence of Covid is that their large staff has been reduced, and the family members are playing many different roles. Yet, we had personal service and a wonderful experience.

We had lunch in the courtyard looking down across the hills - and a pretty good lunch it was, beginning with an aperitif distilled from 15 herbs by the matriarch of the business. I am not a fan of spirits at all, but this was truly delicious. Home-brewed elderflower cordial complemented the main course. For me buckwheat pasta stuffed with what they call "young cheese", sort of a ricotta, with a mushroom sauce made from locally grown mushrooms. Alcuin made good inroads into beef noodle soup, and Ted had goulash. No, I didn't take a photo of my meal. Part way through, our waiter evolved into a musician and joined the restaurant owner to entertain us with a polka and traditional music. 

 

Here's our gingerbread that made it home - more on that below...

After lunch, we went down to the basement and their gingerbread kitchen/museum, where they make the traditional 'lect' honeybread or gingerbread ornaments. Our waiter changed hats again to give us a little historical and practical presentation. Apparently, the tradition dates from the late middle ages - the sentiment, we were told, is that the iced gingerbread represents love that will last forever, decorating your home, or within your heart if you eat it. A different take on all-consuming love. Mindful of Covid-19 losses, we cheerfully went overboard and bought a bagful.

On our way out, we were stopped by the staff for one more serenade in Chloe's honour - a lively rendition of 'Ain't No Cure for the Summertime Blues' with electric guitar and bass.

Second on the list for Radovljica was the bee, or apicultural, museum, which I think had moved from the last time we were there. It's upstairs in the town hall, along with the municipal museum. The exhibits are lively and well-presented, in Slovene and English, with a mix of information on the lives and ecology of bees, and the history of beekeeping and the beekeeping industry in Slovenia. Did you know that the Slovenian Carniolan bee is prized across the world for its docile nature? We actually had this breed in our hives in Mississippi! Slovenia is also famous for its painted beehive panels (see the gingerbread one above), and of course the museum has a good collection of these, along with the totem-like wooden figures carved to protect the hives. Also fascinating are the teeny-tiny bee cages for transporting queens.

Also of interest to me, tying in with our trip to Milan, I learned the legend that, while in his cradle, Saint Ambrose was visited by a swarm of bees who settled on his face without stinging him, leaving only a drop of honey on his lips, a sign of his later gift for smooth talking. Perhaps that explains how he intimidated the Emperor Theodosius. 'Ambrosia', as well as being the food of the gods, is the word for the mixture of nectar and pollen fed by worker bees to the larvae.

 The other reason for our visiting in early summer is that there's an observation hive in the museum, with a glass tunnel for the bees to go in and out. It's surprising to see the swarm (high) above your head as you enter! Another friend of Chloe's had worked on painting some of the bee hive panels for the museum.

Alcuin got a little bored after a while - but I think partly he was tired, and partly he wanted to get out and have an ice cream. I would not fault the museum for his ennui; there's a good mix of media and hands-on exhibits to entertain younger visitors. Eventually he got his wish, and we took ice cream to a beautiful lookout spot across the Sava River valley and Julian alps, which you reach by going down the street alongside the pharmacy and alchemy museum.

And that was just our literal and metaphorical taste of Radovljica. The tiny and pretty old town square is packed with several museums, an art gallery, and a newly opening studio of a local ceramicist to name only the few points I saw. I definitely plan to come back again. Maybe soon, as it's quiet without the tourists. It would make a good day trip if you are in Bled or Ljubljana and want to get away from these more touristy places. I also decided that if we turned up again, we should have badges with "Friends of Chloe" emblazoned on them.

Off to find our AirBnB next, in, Selo pri Bled, warned in advance by Chloe that the roads were narrow, and of course, uphill. At least there was only one road through the town, so finding the Airbnb was easy (review below). We were greeted by the American half of a young American-Slovene couple (you find us English-speaking people in the oddest places!). 

Middle child took a bite of gingerbread and pronounced it rock hard, so I gave Alcuin a glass of milk to devour his - I guess love is fleeting for the young. Only afterwards did I have the curiosity to check the label, to find that it stated, 'Not a food item. Made from non harmful natural ingredients.'  Oops.

After down time, we felt we should make something of the evening while waiting to see if Alcuin was going to vomit from his 'non-harmful' gingerbread, and took the short walk down to the Sava Bohinjka river. The village was quiet and beautiful, but I imagine it would be swarming with visitors in a normal summer, as basically every house seemed to offer holiday accommodation. Being summer, the glacial melt had turned the water a beautiful teal blue. And it was ice cold, at least according to our children. A lovely end to a fun day.

Bled

If you talk to anyone that knows about Slovenia, the chances are, they will mention Bled, which is perhaps the best known tourist resort. Nestled among the Julian alps, it boasts an iconic glacial lake, complete with a tiny island topped with a church. So, as we are not typical tourists, we made a lightning strike on the city the next day, for a lake trip and lunch. With the combination of a warm day, a young child, and a bad shoulder (Ted), we decided to pay extra to be rowed across to the island. Once there, our frugal natures came back to haunt us, and we decided not to fork out the 12 euros apiece to go into the church and ring the bell (a tourist tradition). Ted and Blue had already done this, and I wasn't going to pay up for Alcuin to spend five minutes in there before demanding to get an ice cream. Perhaps this was the moment we were doomed to be struck down for not supporting God's house. 

The exact version of what happened next differs depending on which family member you ask, but if anyone else wants their say, they can get their own blog. After (pretty good) ice creams in lieu of the church visit, we decided to walk around the tiny island before it was time to meet the boat again. The path runs along the bottom of a steep hill, and of course Alcuin kept clambering up despite my continued warnings that it was dangerous. 

When the rest of the family got involved in spotting giant carp, I separated from them to complete the circuit (which was honestly about 5 minutes). I rejoined them just in time to discover Alcuin sitting up on the slope, and screaming. The boat was about to leave, and, yes, admittedly, we parents started fussing at him to come down by himself. He wasn't budging. 'There's blood!' he yelled. We old folks let the sibling leap to the rescue, and together we persuaded a screaming child to let us wash out the wound, which looked, indeed, to be a bad scratch from a thorn or something. Of course we had no plasters, and he wouldn't listen to orders to clamp down on a tissue, so it was a fraught trip back.

Back on shore, Ted headed off for first aid supplies while I checked Alcuin's hand again. 'That was a bad thorn scratch,' I said. 'Oh no,' he said, 'it was sharp metal.' Cue retroactive heart attack and extra pouring on of water. Thank goodness, his vaccination record had been checked a couple of weeks before and we knew he was up to date on tetanus. Ted returned with two boxes of plasters so that his highness could have his pick. Was food poisoning or blood poisoning going to carry him off? The trip was getting interesting.

Vintgar Gorge

Once again, the satnav came up trumps - in taking us down the tiny road as opposed to along the motorway. But hurrah, we got to the gorge, where the Radovna river cuts its way through the hills. I find this a little mind-boggling, and probably a stretch of the truth, but the literature claims that the gorge was undiscovered until 1891. Now, there is a walkway and bridges covering a 1600 metre, currently one-way, hike. Pacified with a makeshift sling for his injured hand, Alcuin was ready to go.

If you ever studied late eighteenth century literature, you'll be familiar with the popularity of the "sublime" - the quality, especially of a natural phenomenon, that produces overwhelming emotions, often tinged with fear as well as awe. Well, this would have had those poets drooling because it was, indeed, sublime. Down inside the steep V of the gorge, skirting the sheer outcrops of rock, brushing past swathes of trees and wildflowers that had made a hold on the rock face, the deafening backdrop of surging water, whitewater foaming over the jagged river bed or pausing here and there in a glacial blue pool carved out in a corner of the ravine. The noise got too much for Alcuin at times, but he was also determined to parade along in his sling, so his sibling had to literally lend a hand to block an ear. At points you could even feel the cold air pushing up from the water's surface.

Of course, Alcuin eventually started up with the "When are we going to get back to the car?" questions, which I evaded. Not the time to tell him that he wasn't going to magically end up back in the car park at the other end. 

I don't usually fall prey to tourist traps, but the cafe at the end of the gorge was more than welcome, and necessary before the second half of the hike. And Blue and I agreed that by the end we were actually zoning out amid the onslaught of impressiveness. 

There was a shorter (45 minute) and longer (hour or so) route back to the car. The shorter route began with 200 steps and warnings not to go near the edge, beware of falling rocks, etc., and the longer one promised good views, so, with the earlier bloodbath in mind, we opted for the longer route. If you are tired out, and not frugal, you could climb the steps and get a taxi back to the car park for about 7 euros per person.

Of course, we still had to climb out of the gorge, so the trail began with an uphill path through forest to the church of Saint Katerina in Hom. Alcuin led the way at first, fortified by a PJ Masks ice cream of dubious blue hue, but he and I were soon lagging behind, reminding me once again that I'll never climb Mount Triglav. We turned from woods into the countryside at the church, and yes, the views were indeed impressive, looking down across the villages and up into the Julian Alps. Apparently it was also a good vantage point to spot invading Turks, as the church bell was an early warning system.

Alcuin demonstrated that he had not learned his lesson at Bled by insisting on walking the tiny track further up the slope, and of course took a tumble. Luckily the thick and soft ferns stopped him rolling all the way down the hillside.

It took way more than an hour, and quite a bit of carrying Alcuin on our backs, but we made it round to the beginning. All in all, we were more than four hours, so I'd say he was a trooper. This time, Ted figured out how to drive back via the motorway, only to be foiled by a diversion due, I think, to a fire we saw from the hill top. We fell back into the apartment early evening, tired out but feeling virtuous.

Dino Park

Sunday morning, as a  reward for going along with our plans, and for still being alive, we took Alcuin to Dino Park on the way home. Used to post-Covid, sparsely attended tourist attractions, it was a shock to see the queue of parents and small children and the cars piling up along the roadside. Alcuin was beside himself with excitement which, of course, burned out in less than 30 minutes. Thank goodness we got a discount on entry. The models are fun, with informative signs in Slovenian and English. But for some reason, there are other, random, prehistoric and early-history exhibits stuck in. It was like,  'Hey, we've got a space over here, let's put in something else. What's really old? Stonehenge, everyone loves Stonehenge. And what about some of those giant heads from Easter Island?'

"Where in history are we now?"

Of course, there is a park and cafe at the end, and Alcuin was keen to queue up for the zipline, even with one hand encased in plasters. Away he whizzed, hitting the end with such force he was flung off. Sometimes I feel that little boys should come with a warning attached. 

A last hurrah was stopping at Ljubljana on the way back for lunch. I want to give a shout out to the restaurant, Namaste, because the waitress remembered that she had forgotten to add a garlic nan to our take away order the previous week, and, of course, made it up to us. (Yes, we happened to be there last week, too. Maybe we like curry a lot.)

That evening, I asked Alcuin what his favourite part of the trip was, and he declared, "Giant carp, Dino Park and curry!" And staying alive, I silently added.

And P.S., the cut healed quickly and cleanly in a few days, but he certainly milked it. Until the following weekend, when he stepped on a bee...

Touristy stuff

Here's the official site for Radovljica, the Museum of Apiculture, and Lectar restaurant, hotel, and gingerbread museum.  Bled sites are ubiquitous, but here is the official portal. The lake is more beautiful in the summer, according to middle child who went with their sister a couple of winters ago. The website for Vintgar Gorge, part of Triglav National Park is here. The route is well signposted and it has a car park. If you have to go, here is the site for Dino Park. I'd avoid a weekend, or arrive early, but it's a good tool for bribing a younger child.

Airbnb review. We stayed in the Red Apartment in Apartmaji manglc, Selo pri Bled. It had two bedrooms (twin and bunk beds) plus a sofa bed. Plenty of room for a short stay. It was clean, bright and modern, and had the three main things I like in an Airbnb - plenty of towels and bedding, and a well-stocked kitchen - plus an essential washing machine. The hosts were friendly and easy to get hold of. It's well placed for several hikes, and a shortish trek (twenty minutes for adult walkers) into Bled if you want to leave the car where it is. The village itself is quiet and pretty, but has no businesses apart from tourist accommodation, which seems to be largely the whole village. We would stay there again, but I would plan for less driving, unless tiny country roads are your thing.

Koper's hidden sanctuary: Škocjan Nature Reserve

 This is technically a post of two parts, months apart because of the pandemic.

To be honest, I never knew about the wetlands reserve on the edge of Koper until a neighbour sang its praises. That is, I had heard the name, but confused it with the park area around the Škocjan caves, which is in a different municipality. Ted had heard of it, but never been in all his years coming to Koper. So, confined to our municipalities by lockdown, it seemed a perfect outing.

Signs of spring

Seemed. The first time, we walked through a sort of annex to the park, then traipsed to the main reserve to find it closed. I was flabbergasted - people can't walk safely in the open air? Then it became a bit of an obsession to follow the lockdown zones and restrictions to see when it would open. In February, we went into the orange zone, and hurrah, the reserve was open - but the first week, Ted had to work all weekend. The second, our son brought a horrible cold back from school and gave it to me. The third - our region was pushed into the red again and the park was closed. Fourth for the win!! 

To backtrack. For reasons I am not sure about, there is a shortish walk near the main shopping centre area of town that is part of the designated reserve, and we visited that back in October 2020. I'd never noticed it, though apparently my teenager knew all about it and had taken her little brother there unbeknownst to us. If you are going for the shopping/nature combo, or only some of the family can stomach shopping, I guess it's a nice outing. The layout is the same as the main walk, including a lookout tower, so I'll save descriptions for below.

The view from the short path

This past weekend was a coldish spring day in our shady town centre, but it turned out to be bright and sunny out at the reserve. There is a small car park, for maybe 20 or so cars. The visitor centre was, of course, closed. 

Near the entrance is a playground, and animal pen, which had one horse in it, though the reserve usually hosts several horses and native cattle. I suppose they were safely elsewhere for the winter/ Covid situation. The horse was pretty friendly - it gave me a horsey kiss then tried to eat my coat. There is apparently horse riding for children at certain times of the year.

Insect hotel near the entrance to the park

The wetlands are basically a lagoon, formed over the past century as the island of Koper was gradually joined to the mainland. It has enjoyed protected status since the late 1990s. According to their website, it is at various times home to around 60% of all bird species spotted in Slovenia, a nesting area for dozens of species, and a key stop on migratory routes. Apart from this, it harbours a host of insects and amphibians, and many mammals, small and large, from the Etruscan shrew to roe deer.

I have to admit, this is not a nature reserve as I am used to it. There is one, gravelled, circular walk around the perimeter, and most of the time you can't actually see over the embankment or through the reeds and rushes to the reserve area. Instead there are lookout points with information at frequent intervals. There is also an enticing observation tower which was still closed because of Covid restrictions. I assume all this is to encourage and protect the wildlife, particularly any nesting or migrating birds. 

(An aside: This is not a complaint about Covid measures in Koper or Slovenia in general, because I know the situation is similar in countries the world over. But why, in a time of health crisis, local and national governments are not prioritising opportunities to boost our physical and mental health, I do not know.)

It's far from barren, though. The perimeter is bounded by ditches and ponds (freshwater, from river channels), and planted with native species, which are labelled for identification (in Slovene, Italian, English, and Latin for the botanists). In our edge-of-the-Mediterranean climate, tadpoles had already become froglets, and Alcuin had the joy of trying to poke frogs with an endless supply of dried reeds. (Don't worry, we did not let him torment any frog for more than a few moments.) My nature spotting skills are not what they were in my youth, but among the species we identified were fritillary butterflies, damsel flies, coots, reed buntings, little egrets, and swans of course (resident here in Koper, you can even spot them off the coast).

The observation stations have clear information (in Slovene, Italian and English), which made the closed visitor centre redundant, at least when a child is in tow. Bright, illustrated field guides, scientific information and children's activities, not to mention welcome benches, invite you to stop and learn. It's strange to look out over the peaceful wetlands and see in the distance the multicoloured walls of shipping containers piled up at the port.

It took us 1 1/2 - 2 hours to meander around with a small child, during which, the same jogger lapped us five times. I would not go there in the summer - I imagine the lack of shade and probable swarms of mosquitoes would make it miserable, but it was very pleasant on the lion's end of March. We will definitely be back, and I'd like to bring my bird-expert Dad there. Sticks and water are pretty much all a small child needs for an afternoon's entertainment.

Note the port in the background

Touristy stuff: Here is the website, which they seem to keep up to date (and which, yes, I should have consulted the first time we tried to go). If you are feeling very fit, you can take a long walk there from the town centre, which we did the first time, but not the second. The path is all gravel, so I don't know how accessible it would be to wheelchairs.

The Three Good Old Men: Slovenian Christmas

 Slovenian children are particularly lucky in the Christmas period, because they get visits from not one but three "good old men" bearing gifts. Of course, books could be, and are, devoted to each, but here's my summary, with my favourite facts. (I wrote a quick Grandfather Frost blog last year, but didn't have time for more. I guess 2020 cleared my calendar.) The usual festivities will be quieter this year, but the three good old men will not be abandoning children in Slovenia - or anywhere in the world.

Is this a rap battle for supremacy? (Credit: dnevnik.si)

December 6: Saint Nicholas Day

One of my favourite days in Advent, celebrating one of the most-beloved saints. The original Saint Nicholas was a third/fourth-century bishop of Myra. Legend says he came into the bishopric very early, hence the tradition of selecting a boy bishop in some places on this day. His main association with gifts comes from the legend that he secretly saved three poor sisters from being forced into prostitution (the cleaner versions say he helped them get husbands) by secretly dropping coins into their stockings hung up to air at night, to provide them with dowries. For this, he is the patron saint of prostitutes. He also reputedly came to literal blows with Arian at the Council of Nicea over the latter's heresy - not quite the jolly old elf of modern times. 

In Slovenia, he is known as Miklavž and appears in his bishop's robes. In parades around the country, he is often followed by angels who help to give out gifts - and by devils ready to scare the bad children. Back at home, Slovenian children follow the tradition of leaving out a shoe, or maybe a stocking, for the saint. In return they get small gifts of chocolate and dried fruits. I can only imagine the reaction of most American and British children on getting dried fruit for Christmas. Actually, no, I can really imagine it, which is why our remaining little one gets chocolate and a mini panettone. We picked up this tradition before coming to Slovenia as part of our Advent observance, and it's a lovely precursor to Christmas.

Ok, this is from our trip to Zagreb, but it's a favourite memory - this St Nicholas was roaming the streets spreading good cheer and gifts. I won't forget his kindness towards the mentally disabled young adult behind him

Last year, I took Alcuin down to the old salt warehouse in Koper to greet the saint, but it turned out that there was such a long programme prior to his arrival that we had to give up, as it was beyond a small child's patience. This year, we are still in a strict lockdown and it was bucketing with rain most of the day, but he was happy tucked up at home with the above, plus a bonus Christmas book.

December 25: Father Christmas/ Santa Claus

A relatively later comer, the gift-giver of the Anglo world has managed to sandwich himself between two more traditional figures on the calendar. According to friends, celebrating December 25th, and Saint Nicholas' Day for that matter, were not encouraged during the Tito regime. For this reason, while Saint Nicholas has been welcomed back to this culturally Catholic country,  the more protestant, and commercial, Father Christmas/ Santa Claus tradition has not gained the traction it has elsewhere. I recall that the first time we lived here, nearly twelve years ago, there wasn't a hint of Christmas stuff in the shops until we were into December. Not quite the case now, but still not a frantic period. The 25th is a religious holiday, and the 26th is Independence and Unity Day, less family days than public holidays. Here in Koper, you'll find people thronging the streets and cafes, or skating on the winter rink. Father Christmas is known as Božiček here (božič is the word for Christmas). He is still the main gift-giver in our family, of course.

December 31: Grandfather Frost

The origins of this ancient figure of winter are many and tangled, but he was promoted during the times of communism as an alternative to the Christian saints. His names include Father Frost, Grandfather Winter, and Grandfather Snow. In Slovenia, he is known as Dedek Mraz (Grandfather Frost). He is associated with slavic pagan figures, and his identity has morphed and merged over time. He is alternatively, and simultaneously, Morozko, a Russian spirit or wizard of winter, a hero or smith who chains water with his iron frosts, a being who kidnaps children for ransom, as happy to freeze bad children to death as to reward good ones. At one point recharacterized as demonic by the Orthodox Church, he was eventually adopted as a propaganda figure by the old Soviet empire, by which path he made it to Slovenia. However, by the time the Yugoslavs decided to abolish Christmas, they had also split from the Soviets, so Father Frost had to be Slovenised.

Leaner than fat old Santa and tougher than heretic-punching Saint Nicholas, here Dedek Mraz appears in a leather coat and a hat made from dormouse fur. He is said to live under Mt Triglav, the country's highest mountain, from whence he emerges at the end of the year to bestow presents from a traditional Slovenian woven basket. In the capital of Ljubljana, he rides through the streets in the last days of December, in a carriage drawn by Lipizzaner horses.

In saner times, we have enjoyed attending the little Dedek Mraz celebration the University puts on for children earlier in December, but that of course has not happened this year. I don't know if Father Frost will visit us, as I always give a final gift on the last day of Christmas anyway (Epiphany, January 6).

A nice summary from the Slovenian perspective can be found at Total Slovenian News, where you can also find an account summary of how Dedek Mraz came to be. Merry Christmas! Vesel Božič!

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 taste of the east: Maribor, Ptuj, Pohorje

Thank goodness we got organised enough to book a short break for January - because 4/5 of us were laid low with the flu over Christmas. We went back and forth on the choice of vacation: snow would be fun, but we didn't want to end up stuck in a cabin in some remote village in pouring rain, so maybe a city break was more sensible - but snow would still be fun...  We ended up picking the Maribor - Ptuj area where we could get a city break and were near to a ski resort (Maribor is Slovenia's second-largest city).

(This review is a slightly conflated version, because we bounced back and forth between the various locations.)

First excitement was taking the advice of a Slovenian friend and stopping at Trojane for lunch on the way. It's famous for its krofi, the Slovenian version of doughnuts. Undaunted by the reviewer complaint on Google that the doughnuts were "too big", we stopped at the bakery's gostilna, which is pretty much like an American diner. Ted and I chose the lunch menu, because how much food could you get for around 11 euros? Turns out, about enough for a hippo. Guess I should get on Google and complain about that. Soup, salad, bread, an enormous dinner plate, and dessert: not fancy, but good, plain, home cooking. Alcuin cut to the chase and ordered a chocolate iced, vanilla cream-stuffed krof (singular for krofi) about as big as his face (but tucked into my food as well). We had to give up and take dessert to go (plus extra krofi). To be honest, krofi are not quite to my taste, but other family members like them.

Second excitement was finding the AirBnb apartment in the dark (after perusing Maribor). We made it easily to what we thought was the village (Slovenja vas) and started looking for the road - except Every. Single. Street off the main road was named Slovenja vas. A phone call brought our kind hosts to our rescue, who jumped into their car and led us to the right place.

In the light of day, the explanation was clear: Slovenja vas is the equivalent of a housing estate/subdivision, with homes on small numbered roads leading off the one main road. Oh, and also, there was a clear sign at the turn for the apartment.

In the morning, fuelled with a big breakfast, we grabbed many layers of clothing and set out for Pohorje. Our eldest had been enthusiastically touting a "family ski holiday" for months. I, on the other hand, had visions of getting cold and wet in our amateur snow clothing and a broken leg at the end. We managed to beat her down to sledding for a first trip. So, on to the hire shop, where a very nice young man explained the options, rented us a very cheap sled to go with the plastic kiddie sled we had bought our son, and sent us forth.

There has actually been very little snow in Pohorje for two years, but they are maintaining slopes with snow machines. It's pretty weird to look up the mountain and see one long strip of snow punctuating the green. Also weirdly, I was the only one with actual sledding experience, albeit I hadn't been on a sled for 35 years, you know, back when there were real winters in England, and you walked to school in three feet of snow, uphill both ways.

I have to say I did pretty well for a middle-aged lady, and I was even having - gasp - fun. Ted, on the other hand, decided that his shoes weren't up to the slippery slope and just watched all the small children happily wiping out. After a little hesitation, Alcuin got really into it. All was going well until one time I was walking back up the slope, and some lady with a toddler went out of control on the ice generated by the snow machine. She hit me so fast I didn't even know what had happened until I face planted in the packed snow. Ow, that hurt. A lot. Thank goodness, there was plenty of snow and ice on hand to put on my face. And, I even went down the slope again. Shock, I suppose. Strangely, this did not make Ted change his mind and try sledding.

On the way back to the car, we asked Alcuin if sledding was fun. "It was SUPER fun!" he cried.

So, score for Pohorje. Ptuj, in the afternoon, was not such an immediate hit. But it did confirm what we discovered on our last early January outing, namely that everything but main tourist attractions tend to shut down after Christmas. We'd planned a little classical excitement, visiting a temple to Mithras and locating Roman monuments in Ptuj, but the shrine was closed (and enclosed so we couldn't even walk around it), and the monument was covered up for the winter. But the tourist office was open so we went in and asked what we could do. The guide suggested the castle. We'd originally dismissed the idea given our experience of cold, empty, small-town castles, but it turned out that Ptuj is an exception, and that the castle is also the museum, housing some important collections for Slovenia. It was also an easy walk up from town - so much easier than our usual hair-raising drives up tiny, cobbled hills.

Since this was our last-minute option, we didn't do the place justice in the short time we had before it closed, plus it isn't really full of things to keep children interested. At least, not compared to a morning of sledding. (Our retrospective opinion was that we should have gone to the thermal baths for the afternoon and saved the castle for another time, but live and learn.)

Korant

The museum includes a colourful exhibition of carnival costumes, with lots of information about the various Lenten/spring time traditions and parades. Ptuj is famous for its Korants, men dressed up in weird and somewhat scary masks representing demons who chase away the winter and dispense good luck or curses around villages, according to their reception. They certainly scared Alcuin, so maybe my plan to return for carnival time this year is on hold. Other collections include Roman artifacts, the armoury, and a national instrument collection (that we didn't get to but should have), which contains one of the oldest instruments found in Slovenia, a rare Roman flute.

We'd scouted out Maribor on our arrival, but went back with intent on our last morning. Intent specifically being a wine tasting at the Old Vine House, hot on the success of our olive oil tasting. Said house shelters the official world's oldest grape vine (around 400 years), growing against the wall outside. We didn't get to taste that wine, of course - you can only get your hands on a small bottle if you happen to be a visiting pope or president. But we did get to taste several regional wines, guided by a young, enthusiastic, and very well-informed host. We decided we would not be appreciative enough to shell out for a tasting of top wines, so we chose the middle package - four set wines and one of our choice, for under 8 euros a head, which I think is pretty good value. We also learned some interesting wine facts, such as the reason Slovenia mostly makes white wines is simply that it was decided by some powers-that-be that this should be its focus. Also, ice wine is so expensive here because they only make it the "proper" way, letting grapes freeze on the vine (and the right conditions haven't happened for several years), whereas lots of those Canadian ice wines are made by "cheating" and putting the grapes in the freezer.

So there is our whirlwind tour. My nose still hurts a little as I write this, a week and a half later. Sneezing is... interesting. I don't think I broke it, but heck, what do my looks matter anyway at this stage of life?

Touristy stuff: So, again, the moral is that if you want to be a tourist here just after Christmas, stick to the main attractions, winter sports, or a major city break. Thermal baths are another favourite option of mine, and I'm a little sad we didn't make it to the ones near Ptuj. Ah well, another time. Websites are not always clear about whether attractions are closed, but here are a few sites: for Maribor (also covers Pohorje), the Old Vine House, Ptuj, Ptuj castle, and Trojane. Apparently there can be a long wait at the Trojane restaurant if you go at more of a tourist time. This is the site for our Airbnb. It's a holiday apartment rather than a family home. It was spotless, warm, and comfortable, and we would stay there again.
And watch where you're going when climbing a ski slope.

Lipica: All the pretty horses

Posting has been sporadic, because the bulk of our 'adventures' this year have been in the realm of buying/selling/renovating houses, and when I've had the odd day out, I wanted to just enjoy time off rather than be in potential blog post mode (that requires me to think about photos, which I'm not good at). But - we got our first guests - my parents! The predicted week of rain happily (mostly) dissipated, and we discovered that "everything shuts for the holidays" actually doesn't include major tourist attractions, which meant we could peg Reformation Day (October 31) to finally visit the Lipica stud farm, which I've been intending to do since we first lived here 11 years ago.

This is a terrible photo of me, but the horse's expression says it all.

Our first excitement was blithely following the satnav, which decided the quickest route involved a dog leg through a corner of Italy. Since not everyone in the car had documents with them, we held our breath that we didn't get stopped at the border. This is called living on the edge (of the country).

A short, police-free, while later, we reached the beginning of picture-perfect pastures: thick green grass, shade trees, white fences - and, tantalisingly further from the road, a few white horses. Yes, several of the adults among us were pretty excited. A free guided tour was about to start when we entered the farm proper. I hadn't planned for us to take one, but we are glad we did. We shared the English-language tour with only one other British couple, and our guide, Katya, was clear, informative, and obviously deeply committed to her work at the farm. I soon learned all sorts of horsey things I had never bothered to think about, such as that dressage originated as a way of training horses to be extremely responsive to their riders in order to aid them in battle (I just thought it was dancing with horses). So, without trying to bore you, here is some of my newly-acquired wisdom.

First, a potted history - the website has tons more fascinating information, these are just my random favourite bits. Lipica is the oldest continually operating stud farm in Europe, dating from the 16th century. The area used to be the summer residence of the Archbishop of Trieste, and was named after the linden tree (sometimes called a lime tree) growing in his courtyard, so Lipizzaner horses are, I suppose, something like "linden horses". (There used to be a road leading out of the residence straight to Trieste. Very convenient for His Grace.) The farm was established by the Hapsburgs, Archduke Charles to be exact, in the 1580s. Lipizzaner horses were originally bred by crossing the tough native horses with Spanish horses. Four of the breeding lines of today's horses are descended from those established in the 18th century by the husband of the Empress Maria Theresa. (The more famous riding school in Vienna now has its own stud farm, but its horses are descended from here in Slovenia.)

The stud farm and herd have endured some harsh times, fleeing for safety during the Napoleonic wars, evacuated by train during World War I, kidnapped by Germans in World War II, and saved in a military operation by General Patton in 1945. It survived the ups and downs of post-war eastern Europe by the skin of its teeth until, in 1996, it became a public institution of the Republic of Slovenia. The whole area is now a region of special protection. Sounds like the stuff of movies - and apparently there is one, produced by Disney way back in 1963: Miracle of the White Stallions.

But back to the horses. First, did you know that white horses aren't born white? I mean, all you horsey people probably did (and yes, I know they aren't technically white, but bear with me, it's easier). They get paler with age  - a few stay dark. Whatever their colour, it sounds like they have a fun life here. The foals get to spend six months playing out in the extensive pastures with their mothers, then they are separated for training, the most important part of which, I gather, is bonding the horses to humans.

We got to visit the stables, where the horses have their pedigrees and names on display at their stalls. Brothers and sisters were stabled side-by-side. Horses arriving back from exercise greeted their friends, and were greeted back. ("They all know each other," our guide said.) Even if we hadn't seen the affection between the horses and our guide, you could tell how well loved they were by how friendly they were to we strangers. Even Alcuin petted them, and he's usually a little nervous around horses, being as they are about fifty times bigger than he is.

From there, we went to the older part of the farm, where, after giving us a final dose of history (see above), our guide left us in the original stables to explore the environs. From there we visited the chapel of Saint Anthony, and the museum, where we got as close to horse riding as we dared. And the shop, where my mother got a cup to pair with her one from the Spanish riding school in Vienna. There were a few other sights around the farm that we didn't get to see  - it was getting colder, and we wanted a good seat (and some shelter) at the arena for the show.

The show was themed, "The Story of Lipica", and began with horses running riderless around the ring to symbolise the beginnings of their relationship with humans, then went on to illustrate the bonds that have grown between them with training, dressage, and carriage riding. I think those horses can dance better than I can.

Afterwards, I asked Alcuin which bit of the show he liked the best. "The horses," he said. Fair enough.

We exited the arena to find the main thoroughfare cordoned off - we were right on time to see the mares and foals galloping back from their pastures to the stable. I positioned the camera and took photos without looking through the lens, because it was too good to miss in person. Just beautiful. A perfect end to the visit.

But man, once the sun went down, it got cold fast. Time to get back to balmy Koper. And we were very glad of a wonderful day out, because we got home to all sorts of traumas involving the scaffolding on and by our house (maybe that's another post!).

Touristy stuff: The Lipica website is pretty comprehensive (not always the case with Slovenian sites, I've found). At first glance, it looks a little pricey compared to other attractions in the region - 22 euros per adult in the high season, just under 20 in the winter, but that includes a free tour, access to all the grounds, and a 30-minute show (plus your car park fee back). I'd recommend taking the guided tour, and picking a day with a show if possible because it's only a few euros extra than the tour-only price (there is also an in-between option that lets you see a training session). Out of season is cheaper (but with fewer show days available) - wrap up warm against that karst wind! We did not pay extra for a carriage ride or horse riding lessons, though our guide pushed the carriage ride option. There is also a cave nearby, Vilenica, but we didn't get to include that in this visit - however, I'm sure we'll be back with more guests.

Medieval Days 2: Celje Castle

I tagged along (in a semi-official capacity) to the annual maths workshop in Rogla again this July. Here's last year's post. I didn't write an update because, with no elder children to serve as babysitters, my experience was not as hedonistic or adventurous as last time. (Basically I took the four year-old swimming every morning and read chick lit while he was passed out in the afternoon.)

Anyhow... on the way back we decided to stop off at Celje Grad (Celje Castle), with Ted's American PhD student in tow. The Counts of Celje rose to power during the medieval period. In an effort to free themselves from subordination to the Hapsburgs, they forged an alliance with Hungary, which propelled them onto the scene of medieval European politics and helped them rise to the rank of Princes of the Holy Roman Empire. Unfortunately, their line petered out soon after and ended with the assassination of the last heir in 1456. Their castle in Celje was abandoned in the 18th century.

Photo credit: www.celje.si

We visited a castle they owned in Croatia, Veliki Tabor, at the end of our Krapina holiday, but I never got around to writing about that visit. It was interesting to note that both castles claimed to be the site of the infamous, tragic legend of an heir to Celje, Frederick, and his low-born love, Veronika. I think that's worth a blog post in itself, but in summary, Frederick's father, Herman II, not too much of a nice guy by all accounts, forced his son to marry dynastically. Frederick fell in love with a non-noble woman,Veronika, and abandoned his wife. Herman demanded a reconciliation, but mysteriously (or not, ahem), Frederick's wife was found assassinated the morning after, and the two lovers went on the run. The irate father eventually captured them, had Veronika drowned, and threw Frederick into a tower for several years of solitary confinement.

Barbara became Queen of Hungary, Bohemia and the Holy Roman Empire

The infamous Herman

The castle claims to be the largest (by area) in Slovenia. I don't know if that is true, but the visit was pretty much castle tour plus bonus thigh workout, climbing hills, ramparts and towers, surrounded by wonderful views. They seem to have rotating, often interactive, exhibits, so not everything was open (including, sadly, the virtual reality combat zone).

Yes, I am looking red, a result of my "forest bathing" experience in Rogla

A tour of our tour: The museum tower recreated castle rooms, complete with costumed mannequins: the armoury, a scribe's room, and a solar (lord and lady's living room). "Look," said our son, "there's a dead monk... and there's a dead princess."

Dead monk hard at work

"Frederick's Tower" was the supposed place of imprisonment for the disobedient son - where, according to accounts he almost starved to death and/or went insane. It posed a less serious dilemma for us: climb to the top first for the panoramic view, or down to the dungeon for the exhibition of torture instruments? We decided the tougher part was the climb, so that first, egged on our way by curiously computer-generated images of Veronika and Frederick. And then down to the torture chamber, which I went round swiftly, with the lightest of explanations to Alcuin. "Look at those funny hats people had to wear if they were bad!" Apparently this sort of torture was going on into the 18th century, which shocked me. I only took one photo, for the blog, because it turns my stomach if I think too much about what those devices actually inflicted on people (the wheel, the rack, the iron maiden... you get it).

Just...ouch

In a grassy, thankfully shady, inner ward to the side of the castle gate, there was a small medieval encampment, part of their living history programme, where we enjoyed our picnic. Whereas the players at Kubed waited for us to step into their world, the people here were aggressively interactive, almost leaping on us to drag us into the medieval spirit. There was a chance to dress up, handle weapons and armour, practise archery, check out cooking and camping, play an outsize game of skittles, or experience the tamer punishments of the stocks.

That's an unfortunate shaft of sunlight falling on Ted's head - not a bald spot

A stop at the somewhat ironically-named Veronika cafe - feeling thirsty, anyone? - rounded out the visit (plus a visit to the toilets, which curiously looked more like a modern art installation than a loo). Apparently, the Counts of Celje owned more than twenty castles in Slovenia alone, so I suspect we will be bumping into them again.


Touristy stuff. Good value. The entrance price for all four of us was about the same as one ticket for a National Trust or English Heritage property, plus we got credit for the cafe, which had normal (i.e. not tourist) prices. Plus, there were detailed, free guidebooks. During the summer, there are various events such as tournaments and concerts (with a major medieval event towards the end of August), and you can also book extras such as guided tours or a medieval feast. The website is not very good, though. Here is some basic info via the Celje tourist site, and their facebook page. We would have explored downtown, too (Celje is the third largest city in Slovenia), but it was a very hot day, and we knew it would be miserable traipsing around surrounded by concrete. We definitely plan to go back.