Saturday afternoon, we went to Kranj, just outside Ljubljana, to visit the Teran family. It was one of those “six degrees of separation” moments that make you wonder if “foreign” is really a word. Aleš and Nataša Teran have three bright and talented daughters – Manća, Kaja and Spela. Manča was an exchange student to Maryland, living with Scott and Susanne McLellan. Susanne’s parents, Gary and Nancy Franklin, are our friends and fellow dining group members at the Missouri United Methodist Church in Columbia. One good meal, like one good friend, leads to another, so (if you are still following me) here we were in the shadow of the Julian Alps enjoying an incredibly sumptuous repast.
Nataša had another commitment and Kaja had to study, but thanks to Sunday’s switch to European Summer Time (I know, I know. The U.S. made the DST spring-forward two weeks ago. Bear with me) we still had plenty of time to explore Lake Bled.
To pass anywhere close to Lake Bled without visiting it is a sin against Rick Steeves and the gods of tourism. Less than 55 kilometers (35 miles) and another world from Ljubljana, it is the mold from which fairytales are made.
Slovenians love to point out that they have the sunny side of the Alps, where Lake Bled shines brightest. Rulers from Empress Maria Theresa to Tito have guarded Lake Bled as their own bit of heaven and impressed their guests with it for nearly a thousand years. It must have been an exceedingly stunning surprise when it took a long carriage or sleigh ride up the sunny side of the Julian Alps from the capital and crested the mountain to view the lake.
Besides water so clear you can watch fish swim from the overhanging cliff, Bled is known for its unique human edifices. The imposing 11th century castle looms over the lake from a rocky perch that looks across the water to Tito’s square, modernistic retreat.
But what appears on the postcards and thousands of snapshots is the tiny island in the center, upon which sits the Pilgrimage Church of the Assumption of Mary.
Legend says an ancient Slavic temple to the goddess Živa stood on the island, but that early shrine was replaced by a Baroque church. You can hire wooden boats to row you to the island and ring the church bell – tradition says it will make your dream come true. Many couples also go to the island for a romantic wedding. And everyone – even if your new friends have stuffed you with a great meal – ends their walk around the lake with a precisely 7x7 cm square of Kremsnita, the cream cake that vies with the island church for Lake Bled fame.
A quick trip to Lake Bled and the majestic Julian Alps is everything one would expect from an Austrian Sound of Music vacation. But instead of trudging over the mountains to Switzerland, Cecile and I made our next getaway to Slovenia’s sunny southern exposure. More friends, more fine food and more adventure.
Don’t struggle trying to pronounce any of that. Slovenians are graciously adept at understanding American Mumble.
If Lake Bled is a stand-in for the high Austrian Alps, Goriška Brda substitutes well for the rolling hills of Tuscan Italy. Here large vineyards, green pastures and soaring pines make a crazy quilt vista dotted with Medieval villages and hilltop churches.
You don’t find stout half-timbered houses in black and white here. The buildings are plastered in a warm tan, the streets are both cobbled and ox-cart narrow and the best view is over the rim of a wine glass. Bled is a yodel. Goriška Brda is a soft song played on a lute.
Part of the wonder of our Sunday in the south was watching it through a child’s eyes. Maša found magic in every flower, statue or pond. And so did I. But as you have probably guessed by now, I find Slovenia’s magic high and low.
1 comment:
It sounds so amazing. Sorry I wasn't reading along with your trip.
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