We've been singing the Balkans' praises since first having kicked around Dubrovnik, in the not too distant past (And this after swearing them off a few more distant years ago due to a tumultuous, drama driven relationship Chris had when a particular Serbian firebrand got a hold of him. Maybe that's bad form, but if so, so is this…she's still riding her broom somewhere in Florida if you're interested. Blame not the Balkans for that one. We jest, nothing but love here at No Far Horizons).
Travel to the Balkans seems to begin and end with Croatia insofar as everyone's heard of it. It's got the distinction of generally drawing first blood in tourism in the region…Game of Thrones certainly didn't hurt its marketability.
Bosnia tops many a list for its beauty too but that's another story for another time (as good a reason as any to tease one of our coming attractions, Mostar).
We'd like to offer up a side dish for any wishing to add another Balkan stop to their Croatian adventure. And the good news, it's just next door. Having visited a few times, it's our mindset that Slovenia sets the Balkan standard.
If Slovenia is the Balkans' crown jewel, Lake Bled is Slovenia's.
And it's best viewed in the Fall (in a way though, a substantial portion of the Earth is). The 30 minute drive from the capital Ljubljana (Lube-Lee-Yana. And listen no, NO, that's neither a command nor a disgusting deviant kink. This article is about Cathedrals so that's as far as I'll go…you smut gremlin you) is crested with mountains and yet flat, and allows a meditative space to become enraptured, but without the trouser filling fear that accompanies drives through many of the narrow jiggly jangly mountain passes the rest of the Balkans have to offer (the drive from Dubrovnik to Mostar…t'was a leetle beet harrowing!). The drive from Slano to Dubrovnik by bus was the same. Bus made it scarier for its lack of control…and seat belts.
The other hand to those, however, is the drive from Jože Pučnik Airport to the Lake. It's tame and allows the perfect amount of time to become enraptured by and beholden to the Alps (the Julian kind), without a fear you're going to slip off the side. You could, for its straight-ness, catnap while driving and still have achieved safe passage to Bled centre.
Don't try that.
Hunger til Fed
We drive through the miniature town, angling downward. The lake emerges from between the trees, and swiftly, arranging a weakness in my knees. There's a sense the road will toss you right in.
Which wouldn't be horrible. The lake's waters are the turqois-y-est you'll find North & West of Barbados. It's because of the Karst (that's how those of us who trend towards pretentious say limestone) that it gets its colour (so rich I've added an extra “u”). Purification at its finest, baptized in Bled.
But first, food!
We wander into what will become (on our first visit) a remarkable pizza parlor (that's what we call ‘em in the US) near which you can park and where we'd suggest breaking some bread. We order a coupla Quattro Formaggis, some Vino Rosso and they arrive lickety-split. It should be no surprise that this is one of the best wood-fired pizzas we've ever eaten. Italy is a scant hour and a half away. We'd rate it as divine, as if the Hay-Zeus (Crust-os) himself was tossing the dough.
We rate it as such out of literary thematic necessity.
The path around the lake can be caught in front of the restaurant, (or just about any of the restaurants) it's why we're here. We begin the obliquely shaped walk around, which, I've been told will take around 90ish minutes (nearly 4 miles, 6 KM). The season's waning sun is bright yet allowing room for the chill of a strengthening Autumn. The recipe for a sublime day.
Now The Service Can Begin
The focus naturally shifts heavenward. The enormity of creation around Lake Bled awes, and we are lucky enough to be at its center.
(Do you mind accompanying while I attempt some descriptive prose? Don't name call or hold it over my head later, you'll understand if you've been and I have to get you here with our shadows somehow. Stand back…)
It's hard to walk this path and be unmoved. Rain prefaced our arrival as we jump through sporadic puddles, all traces of foreboding clouds having disappeared for the moment. The breeze flutters through the thousands of coloured trees spires, climbing towards snowcapped mountaintops and back again, pulling leaves down around us in punctuated flurries as we walk, pirouetting to their slow deaths and carpeting our trail (listen, if anything inspires sexy talk like this, it's the fall and the fireworks nature lights off in Autumn, please pardon our lingering on living art…we'll be through in a moment. It's our obligation to always tip performers and the-ah nature, she-ah don't-ah accept-ah no cash-ah). The ones that still cling reflect the wane of a sun in Equinox, the light refracting through the radiance of oranges, plums and fissured lemony limes. The valley shines with the lustre and animation of stained glass windows, all swinging through the breeze in melody.
It bears mentioning that Vanessa, being the Sci-fi geek she is, comments that it's like being in the middle of a valley of nature's animated Harry Potter paintings.
We have walked in many cities on many continents (6 of the 7). And what humans have crafted, most of it we've crafted well.
But G-Damn, Mother Nature. She just does it better. Can't commend that sass queen enough. I'm not trying to take anything away from what Home Sapien's hands have accomplished (in all their opposable thumbed glory), from Pyramids in the sand to Castles in Bran, from Chinese Walls to Indian Ma-hals….but whether it's horseback riding on a Baleriac island, climbing volcanic Mt. Teide in Spain (and walking amongst huge lava stones while descending) or watching dolphins manoeuvre through the Milford Sound, the Queen Mother edges our sorry arses out each time.
She = Unbeatable, Us = zero point zero, conversation closed. Whine as much as you want about losing and I'll hang there with ya, we're wearing the same jersey and we'll weep over many beers. But it's the stark reality.
And that's what this journey has been about. Nature (or what's pulling the strings behind her) wins. She makes us feel as though we can rest safely.
Lake Bled Castle overlooks from the hilltop above, standing protective of her pristine kingdom. We round the path below her, full of fellow congregants, our eyes bouncing back and forth from forest to mountains to hilltop castle to lake, lost in the beauty of mountainous sky, crested with fall's harmony.
She draws them into her own canvas, capturing tranquility atop the glistening chop of her water, stirred up by the boats pottering guests to and from The Lady on the Lake, the cozy church resting peacefully in her bosom. Depicting both emotions and perceptions vs. the realism of anything above her rippling surface.
Is she jealous or conducting an imitation of their song?
This provides an impressionistic disorientation not dissimilar to a twisty hall of optically blending mirrors, as the mirrors dance in spontaneity.
It's like a fun house designed by Van Gogh. Lake Bled holds the spirit of something (anything) bigger than self, the force pulling us here to communion.
Towards unity.
(Apologies but this type of talk may continue to creep in, I'll keep trying to pay her justice, not saying I'll come within a country mile of succeeding)
Stepping Feet
We arrive to the backside of the lake, halfway around. Seeking a meditative space, we trail off to the right in order to find some solitude, and find ourselves on a trek upwards, tiny on the face of Ojstrica, one of Bled's smaller mountainous forested chapels. Its rocky path slants steeply, vaulting upwards. The sky is just able to poke through the treetops above, buttressed by the countless number of oaks, maples, beeches and firs lining our path. We climb the uneven path beneath, bathed in the minty fresh breath of a glistening afternoon.
Twenty or so minutes later, we've reached the peak and stare into the infinite reflections the painting of Bled offers. This vantage point offers a new experience. We've taken flight and are soaring above it, having reached the altitudinal viewpoint of the castle in the sky on the bluffs across from it, no longer above us, the church island having become miniature below.
A raincloud shrouds a distant mountain, far enough away to be of little threat, miles of sunshine stand sentry between us. It's disorienting enough to make us wonder whether the cobalt sky is reflecting the lake or vice versa, it's accentuated from this height. Surveying the heavens and all that lie beneath, the miles toward the horizon seem ours. This view, for a few moments, becomes our elevated altar. The small tin of the church bell calls.
Which brings us back to reflection. Mother Nature (or the one tugging the strings above her) is easily overlooked in our lives, ain't she? This walk is the worship of either.
Or both (and that would be ok to any of our purists out there, better to have more at the party with the understanding that they're arm in arm most of the time).
We're watching them marry from the front row.
Lake Bled collects some of nature's most spectacular instruments, providing vast spaces to orchestrate together. Each voice explodes gloriously skyward, an elegant concert.
These moments and this nature awaken a keen desire of wishing to bottle and spirit them home.
Thereupon I Linger
It's on our descent that the birdsong floats down from nests above, decorating our reverie. According to the in touch with the elements accommodations at the Garden Village Bled, where they take glamping to a new level and in whose luxurious tent we are staying, these were the rich and varied voices of warblers and thrushes. These songs combined with the gentle breeze chiming around us and the soft, percussive sweeping of our feet through leaf stacks, produced a pleasant hymn of the forest that has played for centuries as bands of humans have flowed amongst the forests. Nature's choir fills the silence. It's worth a few moments' delay.
Couples pass by in intermittent patches, acknowledgments and friendly nods exchanged as they scale the path to experience Bled's Basilica. Leaves fall from the limbs. We rejoin the other's circling the path around the lake, adherents in search of the power of Bled's wordless sermon.
Passing through a small stone tunnel and few abandoned mansions (which leaves us confused as to who could possibly abandon such a palatial home on such a beautiful lake) We arrive back to the car and make our way to check in at our tent at Garden Village Bled, easy to miss for its being obscured from roads and crowds.
Clinking two wine glasses together, we immerse ourselves into a private hot tub outside of our spacious two floored tent, on this starry night staring into space as far away lights poke through dusk's canvas. The stillness broken only by the trickle of the brook traveling by, on its long journey from alps to lake.
Almost home.
Let's Not Forget These Early Days
Dawn stirs, summoning us to gather once more. We hike back toward's Bled's vaulted ceiling. The morning choir reminds us of why we chose to rise, sweeping sleep from our souls and watch the sunrise (souls filling up). The curtain draws back on a grey dome morning revealing shadowed mountains, standing stoically high above, their familiar reflections within the pearl lake below. What's been seen, reborn, viewed under new light.
Monet's raison d'être, nature's own impressionism.
Oh, Everyday
Communion elevates if we show it in. These little strings of memory breathe light into lives that accompany us back home to morning commutes, back to lives spent on and off train platforms, back to subways, back to being sandwiched between strangers on buses and back to inching through traffic, parking ourselves in front of workstations decorated with freshly uploaded desktop images captured on those walks around the lake.
Nature on a computer though, nothing natural about it.
Makes us wonder why we decided to return. It's from where we came and each time we go, it's like having arrived back home.
Thankfully a little goes a long way.
So reads the gospel of Lake Bled.
Lyric Count: 11
