Why Croatia?

The most frequently asked question I get about my Croatian vacation is, "Why Croatia?"

At a Kagan workshop, I was "shoulder" partner with Donna Bronzan, colleague, and the topic for sharing was to describe a place you would love to go. I told about New York having never been but imagining what I might like to see there. Then Donna began describing the Dalmatian Coast. My first thought went to a place with short-haired black spotted dogs. As she described its beauty and culture, I was enchanted. She mentioned that indeed her and husband were planning a summer trip ... so I invited myself.

When I got home, I mentioned it to Petey. She envisioned a third-world country, "It this a missionary trip with some church?"

"No, it's a 'regular' place in Europe. It's the coast of Croatia." I replied.

"Where is it?" she asked.

My head tilted like a Dalmatian might, "Not sure ... let's check our world map." We proceeded to the spare bedroom in our house where I had pasted a world-map mural on the wall ... copyright 1992. We began searching for Croatia. It wasn't there. And thus began a new research topic for Petey & I with the first purchase the newest edition of Rick Steves' travel book.

The quickest way I describe the location of Croatia is, "Italy is shaped like a boot. The back of the boot is the Adriatic Sea. On the other shore of that sea is Croatia." Then I add in a smart-alec tone, "It's been on the map since B.C. but the names have changed."

2 Pay Toilets are a Pushover

Traveling in a foreign land I have come to expect a problem every now and then. What I didn’t expect on our Croatia trip was that my first challenge would come long before boarding our plane.

I had a Starbucks “tall” in my bladder dying to be recycled so I dashed into the Vons market near Santa Clarita. Quickly scanning the large signs against the back walls I read, Deli, Bakery, Produce, Dairy … nothing spelled relief. Ah, there to the left the familiar girl in skirt, boy in pants icon. As I reached out to push the door I was blocked by a coin operated handle. What? Pay toilets in America? I started to get peed … literally. With legs tightly crossed dancing on my tip-toes like a hyper boy without his Ritalin, I dug deep into my left pocket hoping to retrieve the magic coin that would unlock this evil barrier denying my happiness. Just then, Petey passed me toward her designated comfort zone. She, much more observant than I, read the sign posted on the door, “no coin needed.” She pushed the door and entered her space. I took her lead … when it doubt, push … ahhhh.

2 England Ties

Our layover at Heathrow was five hours. The airport is massive, spread out. We boarded a super fast shuttle from one terminal to the next then jumped on a single-decker white bus for a 15 minute drive to another terminal. The airport is nicely laid out with plenty of good signage directing our paths though “following the crowds” is my preferred means weaving the human maze. We were “processed” in 30 minutes then found our way to the shopping mall inside Terminal 1. Twenty-five duty-free shops lined both sides of long narrow mall with pubs and lounge seats striped down the middle. We plopped ourselves across four open lounge seats, donned the eye covering we got form British Airways, and took a nap. After the long 10 hour flight, the horizontal position was heaven … sweet dreams.

My nap ended with a loud roar. I snapped to an upright position. Still groggy, I peeled off the eye shades and scanned the mall to determine who I should be mad at for interrupting my beauty sleep. A very large crowd had gathered adjacent to my make-shift bed and swarmed around a 50 inch plasma TV engrossed in a World Cup Soccer quarterfinal game. Germany had just scored and the crowd went nuts. Great game.

Leaving Petey to guard the bags, I walked up and down the mall to window shop. In a noveltz store I couldn,t resist a car magazing sporting the newest Alfa Spider on the cover with a lead story about why Alfa lovers are still in love with Alfa … great souvenir for Russ. My $10 bill was converted taken and English Pounds returned for change. A little further down the mall my eye was turned by a tie rack. A huge sale sign pointed to a collection of ties in the theme of England soccer. The Brits love their soccer but now scorn their poorly performing team since they could only tie the US team and eventually dropped out of the Cup. As a symbolic gesture for this hatred, the ties were marked at “throw away” prices. I picked up a $30 tie for less than $3. The lovely cashier requested 1.65 pound but I only had change in my pocket for 1.5 pound. She took it then pinched her nose with one hand while gingerly handing the tie over the with her other like it was a smelly sock. Ya gotta love the passion the Brits have for soccer.

3 The Bronzan Connection

At gate 52 we connected with the Bronzan’s who had taken a later flight. It was good to see them. Dave looked great, rare’n to go in spite of surviving a recent root canal. “Love the hat Dave.” Speaking of roots, David has strong ties to Croatia, half Croatian on his father’s side with multiple trips under his belt. Donna, his wife and my colleague, is also an experienced traveler to the Adriatic. She carries a bright smile that lights up a room and in this case the Croatian Air boarding area. Donna does a great Croatian accent and can spell most Croatian towns. She carried the heavy lifting of planning the flights and the general itinerary. She emailed the group plans and potential excursions whose detail would have put a tour guide to shame. Petey and I feel blessed to be traveling next to their experienced wing.

Croatia Air took us to Zagreb airport where we picked up our Sixt rental car, a silver 4-passenger, diesel fuel, manual transmission, Opel Vectra … zoom, zoom. We quickly named her Opel. Uncertain of my insurance coverage, I opted for the extra $48 “just-in-case-you’re-an-idiot-driver” package that covered all harm that may come to Opel or all harm that I may inflict on others while driving a foreign car on foreign roads. It was 8:30 PM, the setting sun in the distant sky created an orange glow over the mountain range to the west. Outside the terminal we took a deep breath. Croatian air, warm, pleasant, it smelled fresh … we were standing on new ground.

3 Detour in the Dark

I asked the Sixt clerk directions to our hotel about 15 miles into the city. The man at the counter rattled off a sequence of rights, lefts, lights, under the pass, over the pass, first-turn comments with long Russian-sounding names sprinkled in. Petey noticed my glazed eyes and poignantly asked, “Did you get that?” I wanted to say yes because I’m a college educated, experienced male driver … I sheepishly admitted that he lost me at the part about where to find the parking lot. “Can I get a map?” I asked. He went to the back office and returned with a “Disneyland” map, the kind that has all the relevant landmarks but is not exactly drawn to scale.

We stuffed our luggage into Opel, jumped into the 4-passenger cloth seats and set sail. David rode shotgun with our Disneyland map in hand, Donna my second co-pilot kept a sharp eye on signs and Petey my third co-pilot read the Rick Steves book as we exited the airport toward the Zagreb, the Croatian capital and largest city where 1 out of 6 Croatians live. The stick-shift was fun, responsive handling, good pep. We came to our first traffic light … I stalled trying to start in third gear … sorry Opel. At that point, I had exhausted my short term memory of the clerk’s direction and turned to my three co-pilots for navigation tips. Using the Disneyland map as our main reference, we took an exit toward the direction of our hotel but we were deceived. The exit bent left and led us in the opposite direction onto an expressway. Now keep in mind that my night vision is poor. I squinted for an exit to turn around but all I could make out were the large neon signs across the expressway telling me that I was approaching a toll gate … not that I knew what a toll gate looked like … but the red taillights of cars in front of me were piling up and we were pointed toward a one-way toll booth lane. I stopped in the road before committing to the lane. I quickly scanned the situation and put Opel in reverse as my three co-pilots were simultaneously shouted advice. I panicked. A white politja (police) car caught my eye so I reversed my reverse and entered the tool booth lane.

To the toll man I admitted my plight, “I didn’t mean to enter the toll road; I’m lost; where is my hotel?” Though sympathetic, the man admonished me for not pulling into the parking area before getting into the pay lane. I thought, “What parking area? It’s dark, I’m old and I didn’t see any parking area.” He gave me my two options: “Back up, jump curb, maybe that high,” he measured with his hands about 8 inches apart, “or go toll road 22 kilo-meters, turn round, pay toll.” On one hand, I did purchase extra insurance but poor Opel; I would hate to damage the car on day 1. On the other hand, we were US dollar rich and Kuna poor. Little did I know that the next day I would become an expert at curb jumping.

Another gruff looking toll man stepped in and got my attention. He pointed toward the toll road and barked, “Rules!” I grabbed a toll ticket and drove ahead. We were now heading away from the city in the opposite direction of our hotel. At the critical 22 km mark I missed the turn because … I missed the turn! Petey asked with great hindsight, “Didn’t you keep track on the odometer?”

“I missed the turn! OK!” I replied calmly.

Now let’s say you’re driving from Visalia to Goshen? If you miss the Betty Drive exit on Hwy 99 you have to drive all the way to Traver before you can turn around to backtrack to the Betty Drive exit. That was me … I just missed Betty Drive and now I’m on my way to Karlovac … perhaps. Thirty minutes later we reach the next toll, paid to get off, turned around, drove 30 minutes back through the other toll, paid again to get off. We were right back where we started. After a few more “asking for directions” stops and we were securely tucked into our “Hotel I” beds by 24:00 Croatian time.

4 Snake Hose

“Hotel I” was the name of our Zagreb accommodations. They had a good buffet breakfast with a nice assortment of meats, cheeses, yogurt, fruits, beverages, and desserts. Dessert for breakfast? Why not. They were a welcome treat. They didn’t have wireless access but did have an Internet closet … two desktops hard-wired. I got an early start on my posts but struggled with a keyboard that swapped the “Y” and “Z” key and had me hunting for the @ and apostrophe keys.

Petey made bathtub-fun with the shower. In the morning, she was the first in. Not long after I heard a screech from the bathroom. I guessed a Croatian spider and rushed in … slowly. No spider. She just watered down the ceiling with the hand nozzle. Most showers we used in Croatia had a flexible hand nozzle you attach to a holder about eye level. It takes the place of the traditional shower-head. It’s a simple device really. In our shower, the holder was broken but Petey didn’t know that until she pulled the shower knob to divert the water from the tub spigot to the hand nozzle. She got a blast in the face then the hose flew off the holder and started spraying everywhere. It was like one of those backyard water snakes you used to play with as a kid. The nozzle was flailing around while Petey was trying to catch it with one eye closed from the initial squirt. She finally reached the valve and turned off the water. "Wasn't that fun!"

4 David's Birthday on the 4th of July

Sunday morning, Independence Day back home and Dave’s birthday in Zagreb, the drive to downtown was simple now that we had daylight, a good map, some sleep and three “road tested” navigators. This capital city is a hum of activity; the town is a mix of old rundown Communist 5-6 story buildings and newly constructed high rises. The “Centar” or downtown area is historic. I love the circle-dot icon on the road signs pointing the way to downtown. We followed a self-guided tour enjoying the majesty of an enormous 100-year old Neo-Gothic cathedral called “the cathedral,” the bustling market place where Petey knocked over a stack of nectarines, the joyous worship singing in the famous St. Catherine’s Church and St. Mark’s Church that sports the fancy tile roof with a coat of arms of Croatia and the city seal of Zagreb. Next to St. Mark’s is the parliament buildings which are stately but concrete heavy, nothing green, not one flower, not one tree, not even a weed.

An educational tour of the Naive Art Museum enriched our understanding of peasant life under communists rule. These artists were untrained and yet their work took Paris by storm. They painted mostly on glass because it was cheap and easy. They painted in a figurative way rather than the trendy abstract style. Down the street I climbed the 100-stair Burglars’ Tower to get a commanding panoramic view of the city and just in time to see a citizen fire the old cannon that once guarded the city. The cannon fires each day at noon to commemorate the 15th-century victory over the besieging Ottomans. Dave, Donna, and Petey were resting just below the cannon wall when its loud bang echoed toward the city. Petey hit the deck assuming some catastrophe was soon to come … sorry honey, just me.

I love walking through foreign streets listening to the unique sounds and the different languages. The “upper town” of Zagreb is a mix of locals and international tourists. The locals were busy in their routines shopping in the market, selling homemade wares and traveling the public system. The tourists pick through the popup sidewalk souvenir stands around Jelicič Square or browsing the little shops that line the narrow bending streets. On a Sunday, people are relaxed, chatty, comfortable. The place feels safe. Graffiti however, old graffiti marks many walls. It stains the splendor of the city which seems old and rundown because of it. On our self-guided tour we wandered off the beaten path into a homeless park. All the elements of a growing democracy are at hand … the good and the bad.

4 Parking in Croatia

Before leaving the famous town center we negotiated our way past our first parking challenge. This test was an underground garage located below a small mini-mart gas station. The garage had no spaces designated for compact cars … because it’s assumed that every car IS a compact car. Hummers need not enter. Note to self: take the ticket, don’t leave the ticket in the car. Then validate the ticket at a designated ticket machine just before leaving. Then use the validated ticket to escape the garage or face the stupid-tourist looks from a long line of angry drivers blocked by our idling car pinned against the horizontal white and red rail while we search for an attendant to validate our ticket … perhaps.

4 Navigation Upgrade

Our next venture was to walk the childhood steps of the last ruler of Yugoslavia, Krumovec the birthplace of Josip Broz, Tito as his friends called him. Marsal Tito (1892-1980) went from peasant to national ruler. He wielded power over the Republic of Yugoslavia and returned a long period of prosperity and peace in the region’s long troubled past. Three decades after his death, Tito remains beloved by many of his former subjects even though his deeds of torture and execution are well documented. Though a true socialist would distribute wealth among the people, Tito seemed immune to the idea as he owned over 40 high-value estates throughout the land.

Steves comments that Zagreb streets are poorly labeled … understatement. After a few doubtful turns through the crowded downtown area we thought it wise to ask for directions so we over so that Dave could search for a map. It was a perfect place to jump the curb so I pulled a hard right and rammed Opel up a curb just to see if I could and to say that I did. Open did just fine. No map was found so we pulled into a small mini-mart gas station … indeed the very same mini-mart/garage we had just escaped four turns ago. Seeing no parking near the market, I pulled next to a fuel pump. Dave popped inside to upgrade our navigation system with a better map then out of nowhere two beautiful girls surrounded Opel to wash her windshield. I pictured Tijuana where young locals surround your car, pour water on the window and beg for money. My image was wrong. These girls were exercising service … it was their gift to us. We struck up a conversation. The older one, 20, wanted to be an actress in Hollywood. She recently competed in a talent search contest but wasn’t selected. Wisely, she entered college and had just completed her first year, a journalism major; “I study 3 years then 2 years.” College was expensive she commented, about $1,100 per year. The other girl just graduated from high school. She was lucky. Croatia had just announced a special “every qualifying high school graduate receives a free year of college” program as an incentive to draw more students into college. Only 7% of Croatian citizens are college graduates. She would study economics, “4 years then 1 year.” Both girls seemed happy, filled with hope for their future.

4 Raising Tito

The Tito birthplace museum, a village, is about half the size of Mooney’s Grove Park, restored to detail the customs and lifestyle of the period. For me, reading about an important historical figure reveals a small part of the story. Walking through the village where Tito grew up added a deeper dimension to his persona and inspired me to learn more. The typical layout of a home includes an entryway that serves multiple functions like hanging up wet winter clothes, dining, or milling flour from wheat with a hand-grinder. Just beyond the entryway is the kitchen (8 x 8) with ovens on each side. To the left and right of the entryway are the two bedrooms (8 x 8) that utilize the backend of the kitchen stoves as heaters. The roof is thatched straw. The thick walls built with cinder block and finished in white stucco provide good insulation during the cold snowy winter (Sierra) and hot humid summers (Atlanta). When a son gets married, the wife brings a dowry and a second floor is added so the new couple can live in the same home. We toured a blacksmith shop, a leather tool and dye workshop (Dave bought a nice leather belt for his birthday), and an assortment of other buildings that gave me a firsthand account of Tito’s humble roots.

4 Life in the Hood

The large hotel in Zagreb we stayed at and large arena nearby draws an affluent crowd but surrounding the area stands a collection of 6-story apartment buildings for the working class. Petey and I walked the neighborhood in the evening. Most of the high-rise buildings are old, shabby, Russian style apartments with sheet metal siding you would more likely find covering industrial warehouses. A bar, restaurant, hair shop, and other utility stores composed the bottom floor. The evening was warm. Men sat at tables outside the bar smoking, enjoying a beer, chatting about life in Croatia I suppose. Three or four apartments surround a courtyard the size of a school playground. Petey and I sat on a bench and watched the microcosm of Croatian families in the routines of life. In one sand-filled area the younger children played on swings and a jungle gym. In a small brown grass area the upper grade kids pushed a soccer ball around or chased each other in a game of tag. Shouts of laughter and play-talk filled the air much like you would see during an elementary school recess. Across the dusty courtyard was a set of benches where teenagers stood or sat; they got quiet when a gang of rougher older kids passed by. Young families with babies in strollers sauntered through courtyard or stood and watched. Mothers supervised through the upper floor apartment windows, shouting out exhortations. I was enthralled analyzing this picture of normal, I presume typical, Croatian family life.

Close by a cluster of apartments was the neighborhood school, a two-story Bulshivic-style building. Peeking through the windows we saw a typical classroom setup, but older décor with windows to the ceiling. No technology to speak of. At the backend of the school yard was a 10 foot high grass mound with a door cutout on one side … a bomb shelter. Indeed this school was 30 miles from the frontlines during the 1991 conflict. An old Roman Catholic Church anchored the neighborhood. Adjacent to the Russian style buildings were a newer set of clean high-rise apartments painted in white with bright orange and green trim, a stark contrast to the older section. We learned that these newer units were too expensive for the average worker; most were vacant. Next to the hotel was an abandoned golf driving range and some nicely lit clay tennis courts well used by older men and young teens. Our stroll ended … an engaging slice of Zagreb living.

5 Autobahn to Slovenia

The next morning we bid farewell to Zagreb and pointed Opel north toward Slovenia, a three-hour drive on the most modern, smoothest, cleanest, fastest highway system I’ve ever driven. Croatians love the tunnels. During our travels we must have passed through a dozen of them. One was over 5 miles one. In 6th gear Opel cruised at 150 KPH without breaking a sweat. I got the hang of autobahn driving after a few days. The key is to stay in the "slow" lane and reserve the "fast" lane for passing. Opel has a turn-signal feature that blinks the signal three times then automatically shuts off.

Dave and Donna kept us in stitches with family stories about raising two sons. Petey and I could relate. Dave has a library of travel logs he shared. He is also a walking encyclopedia of movies. The guy is the pop culture king. He knows actors and key lines from many movies. Several times in our journey he spit out a movie line that fit our situation perfectly. Donna kept our passage true with clear Croatian pronunciation and spellings of each upcoming exit. She has the Baltic accent down pat. Petey kept us informed with dramatic readings from the Rick Steves’ book about our upcoming sights. The trip (about the same distance as Visalia to Sacramento) went by quickly. Up next Ljubljana (lyoob-lyee-AH-nah), the capital of Slovenia.

Ljubljana is a charming town built around a meandering river (Ljubljanic River) once the trade route between the Mediterranean (60 miles west) and the Black Sea. Toss a “bottle message” in the river and it can float to the Danube and eventually be read in Russia. The ancient town was batted around by Greeks then Romans then overrun by Huns then Habsburg emperors and resettled by Slavs. During Napoleon’s reign Ljubljana was made capital of his Illyrian Provinces where culture flourished. The charming town reminded me of Salzburg, Petey’s favorite foreign town. As host to a major university, the town is filled with youth. We spent our afternoon in the downtown area which is compact with Old World cobblestone narrow lanes and beautiful pastel flavored buildings that pack shops on the ground floor and office space, pensions and apartments on the upper floors.

5 Handwriting

Parking again proved a challenge. The streets entering downtown Ljubljana were packed with both cars and people. We gravitated to the first parking sign we found, which turned out to be an underground garage with an automatic rollup door. I felt like Batman entering his cave. A hidden door rolled up as we approached then closed behind us. I shimmied Opel into a slender space next to a Beamer. “Let’s see, do I leave the parking ticket in the car to validate on the way out or do I take the ticket with me hoping I don’t lose it and validate on the way out?” The new challenge now was finding our way back to the hidden lot after wandering three miles in backstreet mazes and unpronounceable multi-syllable street names with too many consonants and too few vowels … if a street name was even posted. Dave, an experienced traveler, pulled out a ballpoint pen and wrote the name of the street on his hand so he could show it to a local in case we got lost. Taking pictures of landmarks also proved useful: an old church steeple, a tall brick smoke stack, the winding river, a condominium shaped like a ski-jump, a green goblin painted on a wall … Rick Steves calls it “street art.” I call it graffiti.

5 The Heart of Lublijana

As we entered the dense downtown area of Lublijana, we were greeted by a colorful flea market filled with make-shift booths selling everything from fruits to meats to toys to shoes ... European women love their shoes. We exchanged USD for EUR at a local bank. In Croatia we used Kuna currency but since Slovenia was the first Slavic country to join the European Union they now use Euros. With the dollar weak at the time, we figured about $1.40 per EUR. We walked along the Ljubljanica River that was lined with souvenir stands displaying handcrafted wares. The river runs through the town with multiple pedestrian crossing points. One such point is the Preseren Square with three bridges that span the river. It's commonly referred to as the triple bridge. In this a statue of France Preseren (Slovenia’s greatest poet and influential thinker) stands prominently watching over the city ... but wait, his eyes are point to an interesting statue across the square ... a lovely lady, a lovely naked lady at that. Indeed the rumors flew of his scandalous affair with this beautiful creature who was only 10 years old when they first met. Historic towns like Lublijana are filled with wonderful tales that a well versed guide can reveal. Perhaps on our next visit.

Crossing back over the triple bridge we were entertained by a live Mariachi band. It was peculiar to see a Mexican Mariachi band playing in this Baltic capital. The horns section was terrific and the voice blend was wonderful. Further down we marveled at the 10-foot “Athens of the North” cone fountain. I wanted to throw a coin into the fountain for a wish so I reached into my pocket and pulled out a batch of coins. Being the cheap person that I am, I was confused at which coins were valuable and which was I could waste on a wanton wish. I passed.

Further down, David pointed out the "coffee pass-through" of the Monastery. Centuries ago, a narrow rail was installed between adjacent buildings connecting windows on the second floor. Monks would pass coffee along the rail from one building to the other. Just beyond the monastery was St. Nicolas Cathedral. We stood in front of a remarkable door the framed the entrance to this 18th-century Romanesque church. The church was dedicated to the patron saint of fishermen and protector against floods. The door was dedicated to Pope John Paul II’s visit in 1996. He was the first Slavic Pontiff. Like many European Cathedrals, St. Nicolas in Lublijan is stunning. Detailed, colorful fresco paintings on the ceiling look down upon bright ornate altars. For me, I take this expression to be a deep devotion to God, a reverence to God. There is a fine line between worshiping the Creator and worshiping the creation. It comes down to the heart. True worship is defined by what's in the heart, not what's on the hearth.

5 Natasha and the Secret Passage

Guarding the town of Ljubljana is an ancient castle sitting high upon the mountain. Built in 1766, it called our attention, "Come visit me!" Dave and Donna opted for the funicular, an electric trolley car that scales the steep 60-degree slope to the castle door. Petey and I opted to find a hidden trail that leads to the back of the castle. With our trusty Steves’ book in hand, we set out to find this secret passage. Not more than a block down a shop-lined alley we happened upon a group of four American tourists. They were on the same quest, finding the holy passage to the castle. They were gathered around a map like a football huddle. Every now and then a head would lift up like a periscope, scan for a landmark, then draw back down pointing at the city map. Petey and I looked at each other and laughed ... been there. Just then, a young girl spotted us and asked, “Where you going?”

Petey replied, “We read there is a secret passage up to the back of the castle.”

“I am going that way; let me show you.” said the olive skinned girl.

Her name was Natasha. She grew up in Slovenia. “It’s shaped like a chicken,” she said, “I grew up by the neck.”

Like most post-teens, she was entering the workforce where jobs were few. The older folks weren’t retiring early and the economy was stagnant with 15% unemployment. She was passing through Ljubljana looking for work in a hotel. Her English was good. She told us she had just spent her senior year in Alabama. “I did fantastic in English class,” she boasted.

The hike up the secret path was a steep 16% grade switchback paved path. It took us through a canopy of birch trees then up a long flight of stone stairs to the base of the castle. From this vantage the castle was enormous. Natasha led us to the main entrance and gave us a quick orientation of the “must sees.” The conversation then turned to her recent misfortune of having just lost a $2,000 camera, stolen at a friend’s party. I sensed we were being played so we abruptly expressed our sorrow at her loss, thanked her kindly, wished her well then turned toward the first “must see.”

5 Extreme Castle Makeover

The 1970 castle makeover was well done. The exhibits were clearly marked, easy to find and informative. The add-on gift shops and restaurant were modern in appearance yet blended nicely into the old castle walls. The 92-step tower yielded stunning panoramic views of Downtown Ljubljana. I got some fantastic shots including one of Donna and me made possible using the self-timer and my trusty miniature tripod. The tower makeover included a double helix staircase so people on the way up didn’t bump into people on the way down. We strolled through the Gothic chapel donning the coat of arms of St. George, the dragon slayer. In another passage, I spotted a small unmarked opening perhaps for "personnel only" … I couldn’t resist. The unmarked path led to a hallway enclosed by glass on one side protecting the original castle walls. I could hear some strange echo sounds just ahead, like something you might hear in a cave. The hallway led to a narrow wooden plank stretched over a dark deep hole. I inched across it like a seasoned tightrope walker. The path forked left-right and appeared to loop around a large rock. I went left, slowly, listening intently to this peaceful echoing sound. The hewn walls were lined with strange white tubes lit up like glow sticks jetting out of the rock. It reminded me of Superman's home in the Arctic, "The Fortress of Solitude." As the path turned to the right, the sound suddenly grew louder with deep base tones vibrating the chamber. My heart raced, I stopped … “I’m in trouble.” The sound grew louder. In the words of Elmer Fudd, I told myself, “be very, very still.” Man, I was freaked. Soon, the sound cycled back to the calm echo and I realized it was just a yet-to-be-open exhibit. The path looped back and I rejoined the group still a bit shaken from the eerie passage.

From the top of the tower, I could see the exact location of our Bat-cave parking garage. There’s the steeple, the brick smoke stack, the ski-jump condominium … finding the garage on foot might prove challenging. If only I could watch Dave weave the streets like a rat in a maze and radio him to turn left, right or climb a fence. No need. We were experienced travelers. We successfully re-traced our steps; yep, the name of the street was still written on Dave’s hand matched our street. For 10 EUR we were back on the autobahn on our way to beautiful Lake Bled.

5 An Enchanting Lake

Perhaps Bled is to Slovenia as Lake Tahoe is to California … but smaller and if you can believe it, a brighter shade of blue. Rental cabins, zimmers, condos, a campground and a casino surrounded the lake. I don’t say this lightly but Bled is the most beautiful lake I have ever seen. It’s about the size of Lake Kaweah shaped as a teardrop. In the morning and evening the fresh water shines like glass. One side of the lake is framed by a 200-foot rock cliff rising over the lake as a natural guardian. Atop the guardian cliff mounts a large castle. It’s a spectacular sight to look across the lake at this enormous granite wall rising from its shore and see the outline of a grand castle the size of your thumb poised on top. Beyond the cliff off in a distance is snow-covered Mount Triglav acting as a glorious backdrop. But wait, there’s more. On the fat part of the tear sits a small island the size of the combined Valley Oak playing fields. On the island stands a tall onion-steeple church built in the 17th century. A wide marble stairway connects the blue lake shore to the church compound. I counted 100 steps. Surrounding this picturesque lake is a walking/biking path. We rented bikes and circled the lake. I drained my camera battery … every 50 feet was a photo-op … breathtaking.

That night, we dined lakeside as the sun patiently lowered itself behind Lake Bled. Every 5 minutes we turned to see another color, another angle of God’s glorious creativity, His glorious creation. And what meal in Bled would be complete without the country’s most sought-after dessert? “Two orders of kremsnita please” (a frosted, flaky, cream cake) ... Sweet!

The next day we hopped in Janik’s pletna (traditional wooden barge operated by one oarsman). For 12 EUR each he glided us to the island church where I attempted to carry Petey up the marble stairway as any good bridegroom traditionally does. I made the lift … no steps, just the lift. On our way down the steps Petey flirted with a Speedo clad local who was draped over the stone rail. He was sunbathing. "Hey buddy, don’t you have enough wrinkles?" Before Janik ferried us back, Donna and I toured the little chapel. We took turns tugging on the rope to ring the “make-a-wish” chapel bells that echoed across the lake. "What did you wish for Donna?"

5 Bedding in Bled

We entered Lake Bled without accommodations hoping to find a good value zimmer using Rick Steves’ advice. A zimmer or sobe or pension is like a “bed and breakfast.” Large family-owned homes have been remodeled to convert space into bedrooms and shared bathrooms. Prices are usually cheaper than hotels. In zimmers you also get acquainted with the local folk. These conversations are rich with banter about their heritage, their hopes and dreams for their country. We parked in the center of a neighborhood filled with zimmers and fanned out to try our luck. I hit a hotel where an international polio conference was being held … I didn’t know polio was still an important medical issue. I asked the young male registration clerk for his best price. He said, “I give you bargain at 150 ERU per room.” Way too expensive. Steves’ suggestions were sound regarding value and quality but there was no room at the inn. A “No Vacancy” neon sign would have helped. David plans to market this idea on a return visit. A little further down the lake we stopped at another complex. Dave and Petey went bargain hunting while Donna and I stayed in the car reading materials about the lake. They returned with a steal, $102 ERUs for a charming two bedroom, one bath unit … and here’s the kicker … free wireless Internet! Breakfast was not included but we passed plenty of bakeries in the neighborhood.

5 Obscene Santa Claus

Bled was hosting a month long music festival in July so later that evening Donna and I attended a concert. The hall was the size of Rotary Theater. A couple hundred locals and visitors enjoyed a selection of contemporary and classical pieces performed by a 20-piece ensemble of mandolins, guitars, bass and drum. The theme to Jesus Christ Superstar was a crowd pleaser. Midway through the concert the back curtain rose to bring forward a brass section. Slavs love live performances. The applause was loud and enthusiastic after each piece. The audience begged for encores … four of them. The stout colorful conductor hammed it up. He was beaming. As the crowd filed out of the auditorium, we walked past a collection of “art” hanging on the wall. Each piece was an animated wooden box with a pull string at the bottom. Pull the string and some piece within the scene moved. For example, a girl in a rowboat waves her arm, a dove flaps its wings, a cheery Santa Clause obscenely flashes his red coat revealing his private member (oh my gosh), a green olive falls between a woman’s billowing bust (hide the kids). A Champagne, cheese, and grape reception topped the evening.

6 Hobnobbing with Tito

Before leaving Bled, we stopped in at Tito’s old Bled villa. A white Cadillac was parked out front with plates that said, “FRANK.” The villa is a 5-star resort now and probably a 5-star home back in the day with several floors, lots of guest rooms, indoor and outdoor dining, private boathouse. We sipped a coke high atop a private terrace overlooking the lake imagining what life must have been like for the wealthy socialist. Without permission we wandered through the villa’s concert hall where a Ljubljana music professor was practicing for a performance that night. He seems startled to see unauthorized “guests” but then warmed to the idea of another audience.

Just beyond the Villa we sought adventure racing down the summer luge run that replaces the winter ski slope. The traditional chairlift takes you up the mountain where you straddle a yellow luge mounted on a steel rail. The luge is equipped with a breaking system to control your speed down the rail that snakes back and forth to the bottom of the mountain. We might have reached speeds in excess of 100 miles per hour though we have no official pictures to prove it.

6 Castle on the Cliff

Bled Castle was our last call. It sits atop a sheer granite cliff rising 130’ from the lake. It is an incredible site to behold from the shore. As we drove to the parking lot at the base of the castle, it started to rain. The steep climb from the parking lot across the moat and up to the castle door would have been difficult even without wet pavement. With water on the worn steps the trek very treacherous. The 1000-year-old castle is typical of most castles with courtyards, a chapel, a wine cellar, but the views of Lake Bled from the castle walls are breathtaking. The snow-capped Julian Alps were visible in the distance. From a castle window I could see a newly constructed 6-lane track. Dave was impressed. I took a lovely picture of Petey getting her nose picked by a lifelike mannequin. Next stop the romantic seaside town of Opatija in the Croatian province of Istria.