Slovenia is a small nation, in the alps running down to the sea. Tucked up between Austria, Italy, Croatia and Hungary, at various times it was part of each of them. Under Austria during the Habsburgs, part of Yugoslavia afterwards, and divided between Italy, Germany, Hungary and their puppets during the Second World War. After Yugoslavia collapsed, the land of karst and forests became independent for the first time.
The wealthiest socialist nation decided to gradually transition to market economics, a move characteristic of the wise, sensible governments that have run the country since the Second World War. This move allowed Slovenia to retain it’s industry and the development it enjoys to this day. Despite it’s natural beauty, the nation was an unknown to many Anglosphere tourists due to it’s small size and association with Eastern Europe. That was, until some Instagrammers went there, introducing a flood of tourists, including me.
I had heard of Slovenia before, but I had not known of the incredible natural beauty of the place. In fact, most people I know confused it with Slovakia, a problem so common that the embassies of the two nations in most capitals have a monthly exchange of misdirected mail.
Regrettably, I arrived by plane and drove around the country. On holiday, I try and go by train to reduce emissions. I stayed with family in an unheated mountain hut – fortunately one with a solar panel, so electricity wasn’t a problem. We arrived too late to do anything, but the next day we went on a walk and a swim around Lake Bohinj.
Lake Bohinj is a ribbon lake – one of the largest – in a distinctive karst landscape. Overlooked by striking mountains, the lake is fed by fresh spring water, making it clean and clear. After a trip to see a waterfall, lunch and the rest of the walk, we decided to call it a day.
Lake Bled is more popular to visit, thanks to the island in the middle and the ease of reaching it from Ljubljana. I would recommend avoiding the snack bars and restaurants of the lake, they are simply overpriced and tasteless – most likely due to all of the other people visiting. We visited by train, an unusually uncomfortable and overcrowded one – and a train wholly unrepresentative of the Slovenian system. (A Trainspotters guide will be made… someday.)
With crystal-clear rivers burrowing through dramatic canyons, verdant forests coating majestic peaks and bright blue lakes at the heart of sun-kissed mountains, Triglav National Park is quite simply incredible. Seeing the pink sun rising over the hills in the evening mist and seeing the stars fade into nothing in the light of another brilliantly sunny day is an experience that will never leave me.
From the other side of the hills, the Vrsic Pass. A scenic drive pirouetting up and down mountain passes on narrow twisting roads and down into the Soca Valley is the long way to Ljubliana, but an enticing one nonetheless.
It took a while, but we reached the capital. Ljubliana is a small city in the centre of the country. Most of the city was razed in 1905 by an earthquake, but rebuilt in the delightful Art Noveau-Seccessionist style. The result is a compact, yet charming and continually interesting city peaked by a castle.
Of course, much of the city was rebuilt more recently, but something of what Austrian writer Stefan Zweig called “The World of Yesterday” is preserved – an extravagant fantasy of a lost world of gentlemen, opulence and security that really pulls in the tourists.
In the nearly empty National Art Museum, I saw a number of impressionist paintings being held up as “a yearning for independence.” Being British, I am fortunately equipped with the tools to spot patriotism, rather than just dismissing this as ordinary nation-promoting rhetoric. As I wandered it’s palatial halls, I realised that I wished I was Slovenian. Free university, healthcare, a deeply impressive national park just forty minutes from the centre of the capital, beautiful buildings, a strong, sustainable economy, and a government and people accepting of most.
Of course, then I realised I didn’t know the first thing about the country beyond a rather shallow, luxurious four day impression of it, but I got the sense that Slovenes were really quite proud of what they had gotten away with. After all, if tiny, unimportant Slovenians had managed to build their own country, what else could they do?
Of course, there is always trouble in paradise. I went to see the National Railway Museum, and along the way, I saw the country’s main mosque. The construction of it had caused quite the scandal – apparently Slovenian figures such as Marine Le Pen exist as well, proving that it has “made it” as a European country that it’s nationalism conforms in the same way to it’s neighbours. The building was light, modern and a great deal more beautiful than it needed to be. Even if Qatar paid for it, I would rather that they spent their petrodollars on building beautiful communities. In a twist of irony, it was constructed next to Slovenia’s largest brewery.
The national railway museum contained more than just trains – explanations of how each successive country had tried to control Slovenia using railways. It also had some interesting 20th century technology, which I am quite partial to. One display of uniforms showed Austro-Hungarian ticket inspectors dressed up in bicorne hats and ceremonial swords like admirals.
This picked up Radio Droitwich.
The Railway museum also had a collection art painted by a train driver, much of which was intended to act as a historical record of events, but also as a beautiful reminder of the nation’s past.
In conclusion, Slovenia is not a country I will forget lightly. It seems to be one of the only nations where sensible, competent and compassionate governance has prevailed, or to put it another way – How have they got it right and we have got it all so very wrong?
I sat in the airport awaiting my plane home reflecting on this, when the sun began to set, and a glorious pink sky set over the petrichor scented taxiways and forests and hills. Even the worst part of the trip was absolutely wonderful. It seemed a perfect conclusion to a wonderful holiday.
Thanks for reading. S.
Oh, and….
Oh, way down south in the land of shitters, toilet hogs and fouling ‘gators, piss away, shit away, wipe away, Dixiland!