The Month of Eight Countries: Croatia and Slovenia

This is the fourth story in a mini-series called The Month of Eight Countries, which is about the countries Bruno and I are visiting this month as part of our 4,000km overland transit between Turkey and France. The previous instalments of the series were on Bulgaria, Serbia, and Bosnia and Herzegovina.

High-Season in Croatia

We’d just crossed the border from Bosnia into Croatia when we saw them. Asian tourists spilling out of massive busses. Retired couples seated comfortably inside luxurious camping cars. Hand-painted “rooms available” signs along the road.

We knew this would happen eventually. With every kilometer we’d driven, we’d mentally prepared ourselves. We’d half-expected to see it sooner. Yet, none of that stopped me from being taken aback by the tourism onslaught that is Europe in the summer. My brief brush with mass tourism in Cappadocia, Turkey – and even my full-on run-in at Ephesus – had nothing on this.

We were in Plitvice Lakes National Park, a place that evidently everyone had heard of but me. The park protects a series of pristine turquoise lakes whose water tumbles down from one to the next in a series of waterfalls. The color of the water, mixed with the greys and reds of the rock and the green of the dense, almost-tropical, forest, is absolutely mesmerizing.

What isn’t, is sharing the waterfalls with thousands of other tourists.

Plitvice Lakes National Park is well-designed to maximize one’s aesthetic appreciation of the park. Hilltop viewpoints give a bird’s eye view of the scenery. Wooden boardwalks line the edges of the lakes for close-up views of the falls. There’s even a boat that can take you across the largest lake for a view from the water.

But the boardwalks are very narrow, and we often found ourselves at a complete standstill as people going the other way tried to squeeze past us or stop for a quick glimpse of photo of what we’d all come to see. We also had to wait at the viewpoints for that unadulterated view, and felt pressured not to linger because of all the people waiting behind us.

As we hiked around the lakes, I imagined what it would have been like to experience this same place without the crowds. While I appreciated the dragonflies floating gracefully around me and the croak of frogs hidden in patches of pussy willows and under lily pads, I know for sure that the experience would have been much more profound had we been alone. The feeling of exploring a slice of wilderness, of communion with nature, was impossible to evoke.

Still, we made the most of the day. Maps at the park entrances recommend certain itineraries, which involve a combination of boat, walk, and train in order to see parts or all of the lakes. We chose the longest itinerary (which takes about 5-6 hours and includes about 8km of walking), and we opted to do it backwards. The idea was that we wouldn’t be following behind the same groups of people the entire day, and we certainly hoped it might mean that we’d encounter fewer crowds. The decision may have helped us to get a few moments – and a few shots – alone, but it’s hard to say. I can say that, as the day progressed, the crowds thickened, and we were both thankful for our early start.

That evening, like the last, we returned to the parking lot behind a hotel that had allowed us to spend the night for free, with the unspoken understanding that we would dine in their restaurant (we were happy to abide, in this case, as their pizza and regional beer were delicious!). This bargain was to prove commonplace throughout both Croatia and Slovenia, and would be one we’d take up frequently. As we traveled further North-East through the Balkans, campsites were becoming increasingly expensive and busy. I was struggling with the idea of paying between $30-50 to park on a piece of grass, squeezed between other camping cars, with a busy road right behind us.

The day after our second pizza, however, we decided to splurge on the modern campsite nearby and spend the day catching up on laundry and internet, things that are difficult or impossible with the free-parking-eat-at-restaurant bargain. Plus, it was the third anniversary of our fateful encounter on the beach of Mozambique, so it seemed as good a reason as any to splurge.

It’s funny how every time we put a pile of money into our accommodation, we are disappointed. In Port Sudan, right before leaving Africa after three years, we’d indulged in a two-night stay at a five-star hotel (well, it once was) for Bruno’s birthday, and neither of us had slept a wink. Here we were at our most expensive campsite ever and we couldn’t find a piece of flat grass to park on, the internet only worked at the [very faraway] reception, and it rained all over my laundry on the line! We managed a nice-enough anniversary dinner together when the rain dissipated, but give me pizza, beer and a free parking space any day!

Croatia is most famous for its breathtaking, ultra-long coastline. Before starting our Balkan transit, we’d made the decision to purposely avoid the coast. Bruno, as a European, knew what Europe can be like in the summer, especially the coast. As such, we’d opted to visit Bosnia’s central hills and towns rather than Croatia’s nearby coast. But as we consulted our map from the crappy expensive campsite, we saw that heading to the coast would shave a few kilometers off our transit. It wouldn’t hurt to smell a bit of salt air for a day or two.

By the time we started winding our way down the hills, one in five cars was a camping car. Campsite signs popped up every kilometer or two, and we tried visiting a few. They were all cramped trailer park villages, and most charging double what we’d paid for our special anniversary night. Since the weather wasn’t cooperating (the wind almost blew me into the water when I stopped to take a photo) and we’d internalized our lesson about the inverse ratio between accommodation price and satisfaction, we drove on.

Eventually we found a “trailer park village” stuck between the coast and the road that was at least in our price range (in fact, the lady told us we were so friendly that we could stay for free, even though we’d never asked!). Our experience on the Croatian Coast would be limited to a blistery drive along the coastline, a ride through Rijeka, Croatia’s largest port town, and breakfast on the Adriatic Sea with a view of sailboats and charming coastal villages illuminated up by the morning light. At least I caught a little glimpse of Croatia’s infamy, I figure.

A Very Brief Trip to Slovenia

We could have passed between Croatia and Italy through a tiny, 30km-long chunk of Slovenia. We could have been in and out in an hour. We were, after all, on a limited-time transit through France. But I couldn’t very well step into a country I’d never been to before and not at least see something! (Plus, Slovenia would be my final new country of the trip, and indeed for the next several months.) I read that eastern Slovenia had an abundance of caves (more than 10,000, and several hundred more being discovered each year), and with only the slightest detour, we could visit one.

We avoided Postojna, Slovenia’s most famous caves because of the 5km train ride through the caves, and chose the Škocjan Caves, a UNESCO world heritage site that many travelers cite as their favorite experience in Slovenia. When we arrived at the caves, though, we almost turned right around and continued on to Italy. The price, the crowds, the fact that you had to join a guided tour, the fact that you couldn’t take photos – this wasn’t at all the type of experience that Bruno and I seek in our travels.

Yet, for the second time in only a few days, we swallowed our flight-response and continued on. And, just like in Pitvice Lakes (in fact, perhaps even more so), I’m happy we did.

Škocjan Caves were that type of bizarre beauty that you can’t stop looking at. Layers of white rock cascade down in mushroom-like formations. Stalactites and stalagmites reach toward each other, sometimes forming columns and other times forming strange structures whose shadows reminded me of monsters.

This was, by far, the largest cave I’ve ever seen. The Reka River heads underground through a tunnel and into this cave before re-emerging above ground several kilometers later. The cave network is long, with a series of chambers – some tiny and claustrophobic and others so massive I kept picturing Harry Potter’s fight with the obelisk – that go deeper and deeper underground (more than 100m at its deepest).

The tour had its plusses and minuses. Our guide was a passionate spelunker who pointed out the stalagmite (or is it stalactite, I can never remember!) that looks like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, showed us old walking trails, and told us about the admittedly fascinating history of cave discovery. Yet, we were still walking from point to point with twenty-plus people. We couldn’t linger as we wanted to, and the beginning of the cave (the best part, in my opinion) was a mad rush to catch up with the crowd. Bruno managed to sneak a few surreptitious photos here and there, but the guide had her eye on us pretty closely.

I’m happy we visited Škocjan Caves, but both of us had had enough of the mass tourism of the region. The camping cars were getting to us. The campsites were getting to us. The cost and approach to tourism was getting to us.

We would spend a single night in Slovenia, and only four in Croatia. We had time for more, but this region at this time of year was simply not our cup of tea. We had a better idea of what to do with our extra days… but that, dear readers, is a story for another blog.