Wide panoramas and the sparkling Adriatic: cycling through western Slovenia | Slovenia holidays
WOn a wooded slope overlooking the Slovenian town of Kobarid, we meet Leon. It’s our bike ride to start and we’re fiddling with seat positions and checking tire pressures when he shows up. “Leave the wheels there,” he says. “You should see something.”
The footpath leads through the pines to a labyrinth of old fortifications: trenches, tunnels, shooting ranges and viewpoints. “It was the first world war front between the Italians and Austria-Hungary,” Leon tells me and Jan, my cycling guide. It turns out that Leon is part of an organization that looks after the history of that war and has developed a long-distance footpath, The path of peacewhich connects historical cities.
From the top of the hill behind the fortifications, a vast panorama opens up. Looking south, the land descends through intricate valleys filled with vineyards and forested ridges, all the way to Trieste and the sparkling Adriatic Sea. To our left are the limestone ridges that cut into the forests of Croatia, and to the right is the coast that disappears in the mist, above which rise the jagged peaks of the Italian Dolomites. Behind us are the snow-covered Julian Alps and Austria.
Leon points there, to the north, back to the Soča valley. “My family came from one village down there—through many generations. However…” He holds up four fingers and counts them off, “Grandfather was born in Austria-Hungary, father in Germany, me in Yugoslavia and my son in Slovenia.” It’s a great reminder that our 200km journey down to the coast along the Slovenian-Italian border, a path whose beauty comes with a checkered past. I realize that this ride will be a tour of European culture, history and politics, a tour made all the more poignant by recent events.
Eager to get started, we hop on our bikes and head down the hill; a long, beautiful hop through ancient forests and peaceful villages. The road, devoid of traffic, is littered with fallen pine cones and sweet chestnuts, while tough alpine villages are barricaded behind large, well-constructed log stacks. As we descend, the houses soon take on a softer Mediterranean look. Vines shade the terraces, and the trees are full of persimmons and lemons. Over the next three days, we pass ancient villages with castle ruins, stopping everywhere to sample a delicious array of local delicacies. As it turns out, the trail is also a culinary treat.
We dive into Italy, cross the line that is invisible due to the magic of the European Union, but when we are about to pass the empty customs station between Gorica and Nova Gorica, Jan stops. Right in front of us is the railway bridge, then Slovenia. Behind is Italy. Jan points to a high-rise building in the distance. “This is a Schempeter hospital. In June 1991, I was a nine-year-old child with meningitis and my bed was on the top floor overlooking this border post.’
On the morning of June 28, Jan heard gunfire and looked out of his bedroom window to see tanks and soldiers moving around the customs station where we were now standing. “Slovenian independence forces fought against the Yugoslav National Army right there on the border with Italy.”
In fact, he witnessed the decisive battle of the 10-day Slovenian War of Independence. Two Russian-made T-55 tanks were shot down and three others captured. It was a small war by modern standards, but extremely important for Slovenia.
We cycle on and thoroughly enjoy our superhuman ability to weave between Italy and Slovenia, putting together what scheming warlords have dismantled for centuries. The land becomes bountiful and fertile, the cities a blend of ancient architecture with elegant modern flourishes. We stop and chat with an elderly man while picking mushrooms, stop by a stonemason’s yard and an organic winery, whose proud owner shows us his stunning cellar: three levels cut into karst limestone and filled with 2,000-liter barrels of his best wines. So as not to cause offense, we agree to sit down and eat generous portions prosciutto, air-dried ham and washed it down with several samples of their wines, all from indigenous grapes: ribs, green, malvasia and Terran.
Food and drink on this journey reflect the geographical diversity as we descend from the snow-capped peaks towards the sea. The first night in Kobarid, at House Polonka I ate pure mountain food, including freak, a kind of rösti, made from Tolminac cheese from high mountain pastures. It is not surprising that the owner Valther Kramar is married to Ana Roš, a world-famous chef Franko’s house, a Michelin-starred restaurant also in Kobarid, which also uses only local produce. Through the kilometers we spin and spin through all the culinary layers: from high mountain cheeses to cherries, mushrooms, olive oil and oranges.
The reputation of great food is not new. In Štanjelo, we chat with locals: Uroš and Petra, born in nearby villages. “We just have the perfect climate for growing great ingredients,” says Petra. “In the 1930s, rich Italians drove here from Trieste to eat.”
This civilized tradition, however, was soon destroyed, as was Uroš’s family. “When the war started, German soldiers came here to hunt down partisans. My great-grandfather hid in a well, but was taken away and never seen again. We learned that he died in the Dachau concentration camp only in the 1960s. My grandfather, then 13 years old, was also taken away, but he reappeared after the war. He was conscripted as slave labor on a Bavarian farm. Looking at the peaceful hills around the village, it is hard to imagine this cruelty and violence.
On the last day, a long descent through persimmon groves brings us to our last culinary zone: seafood. We park our bikes and eat fish on the harbor wall in Izola, a town with nice shady side streets. This is just an appetizer for our final destination, Piran, a colorful labyrinth of shady alleys and courtyards that wind around a small harbor.
Over the centuries, this city has been Roman, Venetian, Byzantine, Austro-Hungarian and Napoleonic French. It was both communist and fascist. But it has survived them all, retaining the feel of a coastal port that rubs shoulders with everyone. In the main square is a statue of Giuseppe Tartini, the violinist who is said to have sold his soul to Satan in exchange for the Sonata in G minor. I think it’s better than all those devilish empires that marched in here, dragging behind them their boring divisions of barbed wire and borders.
We eat mountains of seafood, pour cold beer, and I swear I will never leave Piran. I accidentally headed back to the UK the next day, but I hope to rectify that mistake soon.
This trip is a guarantee Slovenian tourist organization. Slovenian hiking and cycling a specialist Visit Good Place organizes several cycling trips, including a seven-day Alpe-Adriatic route from €1,230 (based on two people sharing, includes breakfast, luggage transport, navigation package and 24/7 support). Holiday extras assistance with UK transport and hotels