WALKING LJUBLJANA

So next day we ventured out, Lorraine intent on shopping in earnest so that, in addition to the four pairs of shoes that she’d packed (all necessary of course) she now added another two which hopefully should do her until our luggage eventually arrived.

                    

We wandered aimlessly after that, drifting south towards a park that appeared on our street guide and came upon an impressive looking opera house with semi-circular classical front.  Beyond that was a park whose featured statue was that of Valvasor, a 17^thC natural historian and fellow of the Royal Society in London, whose pioneering work on karst formations and 15 volumes (3532 pages – 528 illustrations) called the Glory of the Duchy of Carnolia is considered the main go-to book for old Slovenian history, made him something of a legend.  His life was epic, he’s considered Slovenia’s Renaissance man.  After travelling for 14 years and doing two stints fighting wars for Austria after his parents died, he tired of formal education, set up a printing enterprise and published so much it ultimately sent him broke, requiring his castle to be sold with its 10,000 books.

                              

It led us to the next building, the local museum where, fortunately, there was an exhibition of Chinese gold artefacts. To put it mildly, the quality of the historical items was absolutely superb.  Via a project she’s doing, Lorraine had been involved in gold work and so we both got immense pleasure out of noting the fine detail in these items.  There’s heaps of other stuff to see but we only touched a fraction on it, mainly tombstones dating from the first century to the Middle Ages but the outstanding piece was a bronze statue of some Roman in classic senatorial pose in a toga.  Once there were many bronze statues, they outnumbered marble but, of course, you can’t melt marble down when times are tough and so it is that there are hardly any Roman bronzes left these days.

                      

We moved out, down another street and saw a fine three story edifice topped by cupolas across the way, just as we fell into a conversation with a lady in uniform.  No sooner had we started conversing that she was shouted at and told to desist by someone inside the perimeter.  Apparently it’s the American Embassy and we all know what their security is like.

         

We walked away, down another block and there was another, less protected and more promising structure.  Its five domes and varied exterior beckoned us onwards into the Serbian Orthodox Church where we gazed in wonder at the frescoed interior of this 1936 icon.  It seems every available bit of wall and ceiling was painted and, from the roof hung an extraordinary chandelier, about the largest I’ve ever seen.

People came and went, some lit candles, others kissed something covered in glass, we mainly ogled because we’ve not had a great deal of experience with Orthodox Churches, certainly not of this quality.  A kindly multi-lingual gent tended the gift shop within and he garnered some of our money on a few touristy items as we were leaving.

                        

France Preseren

                             Jakov Bdar - Adam and Eve fleeing the Garden of Eden

Back out in the sunshine we made for the Triple Bridges, the centre point of Ljubljana, where eye-catching sculptures of distorted figures by noted sculptor Jakov Brdar seemed to pop up everywhere but, the ultimate meeting place is adorned with a more recognisable figure, that of Slovenia’s most famous poet France Preseren who stands facing the window of his much loved Julija Primic while beneath him are bas relief scenes from his poetry. Above him is a seated muse holding an olive branch.

                   

We wander past a piano accordion busker who takes umbrage at our taking pictures without offering money first and head further on to Zmajski most, a.k.a. the Dragon Bridge where the most photographed sculptures of all are four dragons.  Here the “selfies” are queueing to get a snap of themselves in front of someone’s interpretation of a dragon.  We are amused when a little girl on her knees leans down and kisses the glass walkway.

 

If you’re an Aussie though, you’ll be heading over to the funicular that takes you to the castle where, right near the base is a bronze of, wait for it, a kangaroo!  Its pouch doubles as a fountain which only serves to add to the allure.  Still can’t believe it.

 

We took time out to ride the rails to the top and, upon alighting, found we’d stumbled onto a wedding.  What was more karma was that the groom was an Aussie.  He was marrying a pom and I was eyeing off the food stuffs but decided not to do a dash and grab.

               

The most interesting part of the castle is a small historical museum but I have to rush through because Lorraine is getting tired.  The views are good but, as a castle, we’ve definitely seen better.

               

It’s time to descend the funicular and head for our digs, past the couple in lederhosen and a braless girl in a singlet with what seem like small horns wrapped in hair attached to her scalp.  It’s all too much, time to wait for another day.

  

 

The opera house

Near the Butchers Bridge

 

                                                               DOWN AND OUT

They rose majestically, swelling the hazy background with their bulbous shapes.  Some were tree covered, others stark, like castle walls and you suspected some were still unconquered.  This was just before we entered the tunnel, all six kilometres, three hundred and twenty seven point four metres of it.  We know this because our friendly and learned railway worker told us so, just one of the 34 tunnels we were to travel through.  It was just before he alighted at his home town of Podbrdo, yet another Slovenian town I’d never learn to pronounce.  I mean, how can you throw four consonants together like that and get a sensible sound?

                                                               Nova Gorica

He was an odd man, in the nicest possible way, and had started engaging us in conversation on the first leg of our journey from Ljubljana to Jesenice.  He was interested in cameras and explained his exotic collection of film cameras that he still found a use for, one of which had a bellows.  At one stage we moved to languages; I believe when I was trying to pronounce Jesenice.  It only took me seventeen goes to get a passable version uttered.  The last bit sounds like Nietzsche, another multiple consonant word I note.

                                                 

He explained that, in the English language, we go from singular to plural, whilst the Slav tongue goes from singular to double to plural, making it even more complicated.  I felt like saying if they stopped the weird array of consonants that would make it simpler at least.

Just before we reached Jesenice, the train stopped at Lesce Bled station, which is where Lorraine and I originally intended to alight to get to Lake Bled the day before, but ended up on a bus instead.

                                                

After changing trains at Jesenice, the first stop was Bled Jezero, high above Lake Bled on the opposite side with flashing glimpses of the gorgeous body of water below.  Also of note was the packed carpark and about 200 backpacker tents in the adjacent forest.  From here the route was the finest train trip, dollar for dollar, that I’ve ever been on.  When not in a tunnel, there was almost always a river on one side or the other, becoming an opalesque green the further south we plunged.  Villages came and went and we stopped at every one.  

                                 

The stops invariably had no platform; they’d be closed due to O.H. &S. issues in Australia but, here, they still alight down to rail level and have to walk across the tracks.  It was all so rustic and I loved every minute of it.

                                                   

                                                 No room for dodgy knees here

I was doing my level best to record the journey as the scenery flashed by, but photography from moving train windows is problematic at best and all the time you’re trying to gawk at the magnificence of it all.  Lorraine was also prompting me here and there and other times telling me about the great shot I’d just missed because I wasn’t on her side of the train.  Somewhere near Bohinjska Bistrica I caught a glimpse of the towering bare eastern end of the Dolomites and my heart skipped a beat, knowing I’d be up there next week.

   

On the opposite side Lorraine noted a creek bank that was full of sun bathing backpackers and all their gear.  Oh, to be young again!

Further down the line were the dams, evidently put in for hydro-electric schemes and, at one of them, a cute little paddle wheeler was giving tourists a ride to remember.  Here the waters were still and reflective and added to the beauty of the scenery.  At other stops it was apparent that timber was a going concern as hundreds of just cut logs lay beside the line ready for shipment to who knows where.

 

It was about the time the Austrian lady told us that the next stop was Nova Gorica and that we would cross the Solkan Bridge; at 220 metres, the second longest stone bridge in the world.  I would later be sorry that I hadn’t been paying more attention but it detracted little from the overall enjoyment of having had a true “Great Train Journey”.

 

Shot taken a couple of days later of Solkan Bridge

Now we were down off the mountains, into the foothills and would soon be out of Slovenia and into Italy.