Pedjamski Grad - a castle clearly hiding a secret.....
Do you know where Georgia is? No, not Georgia US, but Georgia the satellite Russian state? Or Monrovia? I know that Georgia is a south western appendage to Russia and that it lies on the eastern side of one of the major Asian lakes or seas; could be The Black Sea, or The Caspian Sea – I’m not sure. I also know it was in the news in the last couple of years with one of its own provinces (Abkarsia, I think) being invaded by Russian troops in order to support the Province’s desire for independence – or so the Russians say. What about Macedonia? Or Albania (I hope you can see that the theme here is the ‘eeaah’ states)? Both of these have, I think, Adriatic coasts. The former was part of the erstwhile Yugoslavia, but, with that fact I’ve now run my European geography dry.
What about Slovenia? Good question. Those travellers with slightly more of a sense of adventure will have travelled through Slovenia, very briefly, in order to get to Croatia (now there’s an eeaah state that most of us have heard of, thank goodness), either onto the Istrian Peninsula or down to Split and then to Dubrovnik. The quality and colour of the Adriatic and, until recently, the low-keyness of the Croatian coast, has drawn gasps of delight from tourists from across the world since it was made more accessible after Croatia’s independence in 1991. And the beautiful walled seaside town of Dubrovnik reached all of us via the Six O’clock News as it took a good shelling during the latter stages of the Bosnian civil war. However to get to Croatia you have to pass through the narrow, inconveniently placed Slovenia, with most people not giving it a second thought.
We’d done the Istrian Peninsular previously (lovely in a barren sort of way) and wanted to dip our toes in the water, so to speak, without going too far south and into Croatia. So we decided, for no other reason than we could, we would make the effort to visit the Slovenian coast. This was an easy enough decision, but slightly more difficult to put into practice. Slovenia sits at the top right hand corner of the Adriatic and is speech-bubble shaped with the pointy bit of the bubble leading to, and just managing to touch, the Adriatic. As such it has just slightly more Mediterranean coastline than Austria: leaving aside inlets and promontories, about twenty kilometres in all.
But we had history with Slovenia. We had just fallen in love with Ljubljana and a couple of years previously had slipped across the top of the country, through the very tidy Julian Alps and onto Lake Bled (small, round emerald green lake, sitting in the mountains with a tiny church perched on an island in the middle of the lake – breathtaking), the hottest tourist location in the country. From our short stay we had given this small country, which is half the size of Switzerland, but with a population of only 2 million people, the thumbs up and were keen to find out more. So with a magnifying glass and driving slowly so we didn’t miss the less than obvious right hand turn, we headed south for the Slovenian coast.
On the way we stopped at Postjona, a small town in the foothills of Hrusiča Mountains. These mountains, an extension of the Julian Alps (which themselves are the right hand edge of the beautiful Italian Dolomites) are limestone based and, as a result, are very pointy and sharp, with deep ravines cuts by merciless rivers, who have evil siblings that attack the limestone from beneath, creating ragged caves and sinkholes. The surface is littered with untidy white boulders that, in among the dark pine forests, are half hidden under moss and lichen. It’s fairytale country and boasts some of the best caving in Europe as well as a good number of pixies and goblins. We camped close to the town and the site proved to be the only one we have ever stayed in which had its own cave system.
The next day we travelled further into the mountains to find Pedjamski Grad, a mountain castle built into the shear face of a hill and guarding the entrance to a massive cave. The castle seems to serve no purpose; it’s not perched high on a hill in a ‘look at me you peasants’ sort of way, nor does it have tactical views down the valley. Indeed you don’t see it until the last minute as you meander up a mountain road. But it is an extraordinary spectacle. This dullish white five storey edifice seems to have been plastered on the side of the hill, much as some muck might stick to a barn door. It is three sided to follow the
Pedjamski Grad - what a castle.....
concave shape of the rock and has regular tiny dark square windows, some of which have delightful yellow and black shutters. The grey tiled roofs are just tall enough not to hit the overhanging rock, and behind the main part of the building you get a glimpse of the cave entrance which the castle almost fills. If you dare you reach the castle’s front door via a narrow, climbing walkway. The valley falls off below the castle to deep green pastures and a small plateau with accompanying wooden stand where they still joust: in the summer for the tourists with balsa wood lances; in the winter with wrought iron ones to the death. I can’t imagine there are many other castles in the world that are so precariously built, and are so alluring but disquieting all at the same time. One feels that in the castle’s back garden (the cave) all sorts of unearthly rituals take place, only a few of which don’t include virgins…….we didn’t see many young women on our way up.
Still, without a care for the young folk of Pedjamski Grad, we were headed for the coast. We hit the right hand edge at Izola, which has a scruffy port, but a pleasant enough little town and marina. We had an ice-cream, couldn’t think of anything else that made us want to stay, so gave the Slovenian coast one more try and headed for the co-joined towns of Lucija and Piran, the latter getting good reviews in our Lonely Planet Eastern Europe guide, although the guide marked it up as a little overstated.
Wow. No – double wow. Let’s start with Lucija (because you can’t drive into Piran unless you hold a season ticket as it’s too gorgeous). Lucija, and technically Portorož (both of these towns seem to be pretty much the same place), follow the shores of a square shaped inlet. Here the bay only has room for gin palaces and sailing yachts, and on a summer’s weekend it is a wonderful spectacle. This is not Monte Carlo but there are hundreds of boats leaving the large marina: some are piddling little craft with fishermen and bashful day trippers; some are medium sized yachts and motorboats harbouring giggling families and serious sailors bent on circumnavigating the Mediterranean until it rains; some are huge, gleaming white and curvy super-yachts adorned with bikini clad beauties (the best chat up line in the world: “would you like to come and see my yacht?”) captained by overweight middle-aged men wearing big shorts and sporting a blue and white peaked cap with an appropriately large gold badge. Fabulous.
The town is brilliantly done. Set against a green hilly backdrop, it’s busy with hotels, casinos and beachfront restaurants (including a remarkably posh straw-roofed Thai massage café that has a wooden pier with massage beds floating above the sea). There’s no sand, but the front is concrete tile based at sea level (does that make it a huge salt water infinity pool?), inviting bathers with its attached grassed and sand filled areas, some of which are waiter served and deckchair strewn. You can promenade for about two miles all the way round, stepping over sunbathers as necessary, and always in sight of bobbing boats and never more than a finger raised distance of a pina colada. There’s music playing and shops selling appropriate attire – but it’s very tasteful and in no way over the top. We loved it and it probably got marked as our best ever touristy seaside town.
Go further round (still never an ‘excuse me waiter’ away from a cool beer) and you reach Piran. This small village sits on a finger of rock jutting out to sea and it has everything. I want to buy a townhouse with sea views there now and retire. The tiny harbour squeezes itself next to a slither of old houses that cling to the rock as you approach from the south. It is big enough to hold a couple of fishing boats, a few small yachts and a coastguard station and that’s it. Linked to the harbour, and filling the only flat area on the promentry, is the town’s square. Dedicated to a violinist named Tartini, this medium-sized white paved
Piran - the prettiest town on the Adriatic?
square is exquisite. Think St Mark’s Square, Venice (no really) but about a fifth of the size and you have it. It is bordered by different coloured three storey town houses (mostly now restaurants); some have windows with white shutters, some have tiny balconies and one corner house is deep red-fronted with Moorish style white window façades. There’s a wonderful plain Romanesque fronted chapel and a very proud gleaming white (so your eyes hurt) town hall, with a colonnaded front and bright red roof. The square is finished off with a very grand statue of the great, and getting more famous by the minute, Tartini (who apparently was particularly good at the violin because he had six digits on his left hand?).
The backstreets are narrow and appropriately old, and full of intriguing cut-off alleys that invite inspection; go up one and you can’t stop yourself entering a delightfully small white Romanesque cloister with central statue. A further chapel holds firm at the head of the prominentry and round the corner you can walk a few further yards (tripping over sunbathers who litter the narrow gap between the rocky sea and more restaurants) before you run out of path and hit boulders. My St Mark’s analogy continues with the accompanying hilltop church and its Venetian tower, which dominates the square below, and its fabulous views. From here you can easily make out the Italian coast and, if so inclined, look back towards the ugly (but necessary) port front of Trieste; look right and downwards and you have a mosaic of red and deep orange tiled Mediterranean roofs, all askew and looking dangerously fragile.
On our second day we cycled from the main church down the hill on a narrow but well paved footpath towards Trieste, and after just a few hundred metres stopped at Fiesa, a little village with its own bay and restaurant. It was a lovely day enhanced by a bevy of boats that had anchored up on this leeward side to encourage their owners to show off a little to us plebs as they lunched and bathed in style. On the way back, peering over the path’s edge to the rocks below, we uncovered Piran’s nudist beach. I could use the word ‘naturists’ here, but that would suggest that there was something modest about the way these people were displaying their wares. I’m not against the human form if done subtly or if the owners are drop-dead gorgeous, but here the sunbathers were clearly aiming to get an all-over tan with some working very hard on their white bits.
And it gets better – the coast, not the nudity. Go left from our campsite (Croatia bound – which is just three miles south from us) and you pop round a further outcrop and come across a more tired looking bay with salt flats and fishing boats. It’s authentic and relaxing with a small local restaurant and a smattering of villas. On top of the outcrop is a pine tree bounded park dedicated to a group of modern artists who display their fairly hefty sculptures among scores of ancient olive trees. The art is not that attractive, but the sense of serenity claimed by this small area with the very old intermingled with the new is a masterpiece of juxtaposition. And whilst the pines prevent breathtaking sea views, the enclosed feel adds coolness and quiet.
So in a distance of about eight miles we have everything: modern but grand seaside resort; exquisite old Mediterranean port; beautiful cove with restaurant; salt flats with small local fishing fleet. Just brilliant – a must go and see.
We hadn’t finished with Slovenia either. In our aim to start a slow meander home we headed towards the Soča Valley. This valley runs southwest to northeast in the top right corner of the country tracking the Italian border. It’s steep stuff with some very big, grey craggy mountains and, when allowed the space, cramped lush green valleys. It is unspoilt and rugged, but gets special mention because for parts of the river’s journey it has cut really deep narrow gorges into the limestone forming plunge pools and sparkling waterfalls. One fanatical camper we met said that to jump the twenty foot into one of the freezing pools was addictive – yeah, right…..
The Soča Valley - deep stuff.
To get into Austria you have to negotiate the twenty five hairpins up the Vršič pass, and a further twenty-five back down again. This route is not much wider than a track (hence we passed an unavoidable collision between a coach and a 4×4) and owes much of its origins to the Italian/Austro-Hungarian front during World War I. On the way down you pass a super little wooden Russian chapel that was built by Russian prisoners of war to honour their fallen as they slogged away to build and maintain the pass. From the north there’s also a huge hole in the side of the mountain that leads right to the other side; from the roadside below you can see blue sky beyond. It’s meant to resemble a monk or something, but to me it was just one of those fabulous freaks of nature.
So Slovenia scored highly for us. This year’s country slogan is “I feel Slovenia” and it rings true. Its only drawback is that it is a tad expensive. Other than that it has pretty much everything you could need. By the way, don’t tell anyone else about the glorious coastline – let’s keep it as our secret.
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