Religions of the World

A Balkans Road Trip Part 4: Slovenia – A Day Trip from Ljubljana to Lake Bled

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Enchanting photographs of Lake Bled and the Church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary on its island pulled us into the countryside like a magnet, its attraction drawing us away from Ljubljana to visit the iconic pilgrimage site that’s become a symbol of the natural beauty that awaits visitors to Slovenia.

Via the E61 toll road from Ljubljana, Lake Bled is an easy and quick day trip from Ljubljana, but we chose a route through the foothills of the Julian Alps, an immense area that stretches to the northwest from Skofja, a charming town with medieval roots.

Škofja Loka, the “Bishop’s Meadow,” was founded on the hillside above the confluence of Selška and Poljanska Sora rivers, by a 973 AD land grant to the Bishops of Freising from the German king and Holy Roman emperor, Otto II. By the mid-1200s it was busy walled market town with Skofja Loka Castle towering over it.

The town has persisted through a turbulent history; having survived a devasting 1511 earthquake, and after fires in 1690 and 1698, it rose from its destruction like a phoenix. The picture image of the town today stems from this last rebuilding and the removal of town’s ramparts in 1768.

In Selška Sora’s new town we had coffee at the Art Café and sat outside on its porch, even though it was a chilly day, to enjoy the ambience of the town. Across the street from the cafe was a small memorial park Aleja zasluženih, the Alley of the Deserving. It featured a row of unique artistic busts portraying influential notable people of the area.

Driving across the countryside, every hilltop we saw seemed to be crowned with a small church, which is not surprising considering Slovenia has nearly 2,900 of them. Twenty-four-hundred of them are still actively used, but many of the older churches in rural areas have congregations of fewer than fifty, some even smaller than twenty. With fewer priests nowadays Sunday services are rotated between communities. Our backroads route from Selška Sora to Lake Bled through the area’s foothills was designed to see several of these old chapels in the countryside.

Steep switchback roads climbed into forests which opened to rippling pasturelands as far as the eye could see in the tiny hamlet of Jamnik., on a ridge before a backdrop of the distant Karavanke Mountain range, was the Church of St. Primož and Felicijan which stands quietly as if in reverence, placed upon a ridge; the distant Karavanke mountains, a massive range that forms a natural boundary between Slovenia and Austria, create a backdrop for this lovely church.

It’s a beautiful setting on the Jelovica Plateau which local folk refer to as the “Balcony above Gorenjska,” the name of the surrounding region. First mentioned in the 15th century, the church was named for Saints Primus and Felician, two brothers and early Christian converts who were martyred by beheading in Rome by the decree ofEmperor Diocletianaround 286 AD. It is said that the church holds their relics and has become a pilgrimage site, and in “Slovenian folklore and religious tradition, these saints are often viewed as “guardians” of the landscape. Their hilltop sanctuary serving as a beacon during turbulent times, including the Turkish invasions, reinforcing their role as symbols of Slovenian faith and cultural identity against external threats.”

Regrettably, beauty doesn’t exclude tragedy and several clandestine mass graves from the end of World War II are located near Skofja Loka. They were the work of Josip Tito’s communist partisans who targeted groups due to their ethnicity, or were members of the Slovene Home Guard, an anti-communists force, civilians marked as “class enemies,”[or victims of political purges. Sadly, across Slovenia, 750 of these secret burial sites, concealed by various communist regimes from 1945 to 1990, have been located by the Commission on Concealed Mass Graves in Slovenia, since the country’s 1991 independence.

The road crested and then began a long twisting descent to Kropa, a picturesque village nestled at the head of a lush green valley. During the Medieval Era the village was a prosperous center for the hand forging of nails, which were sold all across Europe. Every July the village hosts an Iron Forging Festival, where folks can watch blacksmiths demonstrate their ancient crafts.

Driving down the hill through the center of Bled, the Church of the Mother of God on the Lake appears perfectly placed in the center of a waterscape surrounded by the foothills of the Julian Alps. Even though we’ve seen thousands of pictures of this iconic setting over the years, nothing replaces the appreciation of this glorious location better than standing on the shoreline and gazing across the glacial waters for ourselves. The scene was visually stunning.

We drove to the far side of the lake where there was a paid parking lot near two restaurants on the lakefront. Then walked back along the road and a section of boardwalk to a panoramic viewpoint. Licensed oarsmen, called pletnars, stood on the stern of their traditional flat-bottomed wooden boats and rowed their passengers, with twin oars, gondola style across the lake to the island. Bled Castle commanded a cliff face on the horizon. A 6 km (3.75 mi) road circles the lakefront, and past where we parked is seasonally closed to allow folks to walk along this narrower section and enjoy the scenery without having to be concerned about cars.

There are many beautiful landscapes around the world – the luck of nature perhaps, or are they perhaps the hand of divine intervention? Which leads me to wonder, when the first pagan temple was constructed on the island in Lake Bled, did the builders appreciate the beauty of the setting, or was the hard-to-reach setting chosen to create a symbol of faith that required effort to reach, reflecting devotion and commitment? Archeological evidence suggests that the island first hosted pagan rituals during the Bronze Age. Later with Slavic migration into the area during the 7th century AD, a temple dedicated to Ziva, the pagan goddess of life and fertility, was established. During the 8th century the local population converted to Christianity and built the island’s first church dedicated to the birth of Mary atop the ruins of the pagan temple. Renovations to the original church followed in the 15th and 17th centuries, when its famous “wishing bell tower,” and staircase was built. Today, the island remains a symbol of fertility and love; it is a popular wedding spot where grooms traditionally carry their brides up the 99 stone steps to the church for good luck.

After walking along the lake we drove to Caffe Peglez’n, where we were lucky to find metered parking nearby. We chose this café for lunch specifically to try its Blejska kremšnita, Bled cream cake, which combines delicious layers of custard and whipped cream between a crisp crust dusted with powdered sugar.  Theirs is reputed to be the best in Slovenia. We were not disappointed.

Afterwards we finished our day trip at Bled Castle, Slovenia’s oldest fortress, built in 1011. Located high on a rocky promontory, it has a commanding view of the lake from its terrace, and an interesting museum that highlights Slovenia’s history and culture.

Here is an island circled round by waves,
In our days it's a pilgrim shrine to Mary;
Against the background stand the snowcapped giants
And fields that spread before them;
Castle Bled Reveals still greater beauties to the left.
The hillocks on the right conceal each other.
Carniola does not have a prettier scene
Than this one: it is truly heaven's twin

A verse from Slovenia’s famous poet France Prešeren’s epic 1836 poem, The Baptism on the Savica.

Lake Bled was a phenomenal destination, and in hindsight I wished we had spent 2 nights there to fully experience the mood of the lake as the light changed throughout the day.

Till next time,

Craig & Donna

Driving Through the Baltics: Part 11 – Lake Peipus or Old Believers, Onions, and Honey

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Gently undulating farmlands soon flanked the road as we departed Tartu for a day trip to the Old Believers villages that dot the southern shoreline of Lake Peipus, Estonia’s largest lake which creates part of the country’s border with Russia. The villages are also part of the Onion Route, a 30km (19mi) tourist drive that promotes the area’s culture and “Estonia’s most celebrated onions, the Peipsi sibul, a golden variety known for their long storage life and flavor,” which the Old Believers have cultivated in the sandy soil of the region for several centuries.

The group’s name stems from a schism with the Russian Orthodox Church in the 17th century, in which they did not abide with the reforms Orthodox clergy patriarchates were initiating, and wow, wow, wow regarded the reforms which curled the beards of its elders, “as a corruption of their faith which was heralding the End of Days, and as such the Russian church and state were servants of the Antichrist.” Their dissent wasn’t allowed, and during The Russian Orthodox Synod of 1666-1667 the church and Tsar Alexis sanctioned their persecution. The group’s oppression was so severe that some ardent followers self-immolated in the ultimate act of protest. Thousands of Old Believers chose to escape their persecution and fled across Lake Peipus for refuge, and established a series of farming and fishing communities, in then Swedish-controlled Estonia, in which they prided themselves on their self-sufficiency.

We passed more farm tractors than cars that morning, but it was still a surprise when a large John Deere tractor pulled up alongside us in the gas station to refuel. Varnja is the southernmost village and the gateway to outdoor activities in the Peipsiveere Nature Reserve, which protects the fish and wildlife of the Emajõgi delta.

It’s a beautiful area, and was nearly deserted mid-week at the beginning of October. Fishing was once a viable livelihood, but only a few boats go out nowadays. Instead, some folks have converted them into niche rentals, like the owners of Mesi Tare who have creatively repurposed several small boats into maritime bungalows, both floating and permanently beached.

There wasn’t a soul about in the village, only an idle tractor in front of a barn with bundles of onions hanging from its rafters, or a plume of smoke from a chimney, and the lone dog sunning obliviously in the middle of the lane. Winter preparations were underway with large free-standing globe shaped piles of freshly split wood stacked along the lane or piled in cords neatly along the sides of houses.

As we left the hamlet and headed north on Kesk Tn, the main road connecting all the settlements along the lake, we stopped at Varnja’s Old Believers Prayer House, a red brick structure built between 1928 and 1930, and the nearby Issanda Templisseviimise, the town’s youngest Old Believers chapel constructed in 2015.

As we headed farther north, long narrow inlets, like the fingers on our hands, stretched from the roadside into the lake. Baskets, bowls and buckets of apples were in front of homes with backyard orchards that had what is commonly called in Estonia, “the apple flood.” This abundance is shared with the community, and the apples are free. It’s a long-standing tradition that reflects a spirit of sharing and generosity within Estonian culture. Occasionally, an abandoned stork’s nest crowned a telephone pole along the road, their yearly winter migration to southern Africa had already started in August.

We turned off the main road at every sign that pointed to the way to a kirk, church. The Kasepää Old Believers Church and Cemetery were particularly interesting.  The current 1862 sanctuary sits atop the foundation of a building that is thought to be the site of one of the group’s earliest churches after their exodus from Russia. Graves in the cemetery were marked with the traditional three horizontal-bar Orthodox cross. The configuration dates from the 6th century in which the Top Bar represents the inscription ordered by Pontius Pilate, The Middle Bar, the main beam where Christ’s hands were nailed, and Bottom Slanted Bar symbolizes the footrest and its slant reflects the fate of the two thieves crucified alongside Jesus – upward towards the repentant thief (St. Dismas) and downward towards the unrepentant one.

In Kolkja, a village first mentioned in historical records of 1592, we climbed the Vaatetorn bird-watching tower for an expansive view across the marshes and 3,555km2 (1,373 sq mi) Lake Peipus. The 219km (136mi) long lake has an average width of 82km (51mi), and is surprisingly very shallow, with an average depth of 7m (23ft). At its northern end the lake feeds into the Narva River between the Estonian border city of Narva and the Russian city of Ivangorod into the Gulf of Finland. Ice fishing is a popular winter activity on the lake which typically stays frozen from November to March. Small ice flows remain on the northern part of the lake until early May. Though with the recent climate change folks living along Lake Peipus have noticed a shortening of the ice season.

Afterwards, we stopped at Suur-Kolkja Vanausuliste Palvemaja, an Old Believers house of worship that was constructed in 1883, and its cemetery which was down the lane.

As we left the village an enterprising older woman, with a babushka covering her head, was unloading bags of onions, loaves of bread, and jars of jam from the trunk of a taxi and arranging them on a foldable card table she had already set up along the road. We had assumed the area was nearly deserted, but maybe there was an end-of-day rush hour as people returned home from work.

Although several museums, cafes and restaurants were shown on Google Maps, they were only open on the weekends during shoulder season. Our search for coffee took us to the larger town of Alatskivi, where we were able to satisfy our “drive a little, then café,” philosophy with a good lunch at Kivi kõrts, a bright eclectically decorated tavern, including a restroom decorated in a quirky theme.

We drove farther to Kallaste, a still larger village on the shore of Lake Peipus, but were discouraged from investigating the town in depth by the number of roadwork closures that hindered our travel.

On our return route to Tartu we passed through Alatskivi again and purchased honey from an automated vending machine near beehives in front of a local beekeeper’s home. We enjoy the simplest of things and found this combination of ancient practice and modern technology delightful. The machine even accepted credit cards.

At the roundabout in town, we circled twice to figure out how to reach the town’s library, which had a large wooden sculpture of two hands, with fingers carved from tree trunks, protruding from the ground in front of the building.

Earlier, the server at the tavern suggested we visit Alatskivi Castle,an old Baltic German feudal estate with vast land holdings, that was first mentioned in the historical records of the early 1600s. In 1885 Baron Arved von Nolcken, a widely traveled aristocrat, purchased the estate and reconstructed the old manor house in a Scottish baronial style, that is said to closely resemble Balmoral Castle, which he had recently visited. The von Nolcken family lived in the manor house for twenty years before they left for Germany with all their possessions, including the manor’s silk wallpaper, at the beginning of the Estonian Peasant Revolution in 1905. During the Soviet occupation of Estonia the lands of the estate were a state-controlled collective farm, and the castle was used as school, cinema, and library. Today, after extensive renovations the manor features a fine-dining restaurantand 4 suites available for booking directly through the castle, along with offering  a ceramic studio and workshop in the cellar. There is also a wax museum featuring figures of the manor’s servants; a butler, lady’s maid, cook, baker, groomsman, stable hands, and laundry maid are just a few of the various trades depicted. The exterior of the castle is totally white, and during the winter, with snow on the ground, must shine brilliantly on a sunny day. Or vanish totally from view during an Estonian tuiskav lumi, a blizzard. We wondered – if the walls of the castle could speak, what tales would they tell?

We had a great time exploring the cultures and complex histories of Estonia, Latvia, and regrettably only a small part of Lithuania during our three week-long road trip through these fascinating Baltic countries.

Till next time,

Craig & Donna

Omo Valley Part 6 – The Arbore, Grasslands & Flamingos

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Leaving the Buska Lodge, we turned east to cross the rugged Humu Range. Our eventual destination in three days’ time was Addis Ababa, but today we had one last tribe to visit: the Arbore tribe, whose ancestral homeland extends to the Weito River and Lake Chew Bahir.

Not far from the lodge, the compacted dirt road deteriorated into a rock-strewn obstacle course, the result of a recent rockslide caused by torrential rains earlier in August.  We coined the phrase “rattled tourist syndrome” here – after a couple of hours on this road, we felt like we had suffered brain damage!  Rounding a bend, we got our first glimpse of Lake Chew in the distance, before the road descended to a dry riverbed which we followed out of a canyon to the flood plain along the western shore of the lake.

When the shallow lake is full, its water covers an area 40 miles long by 15 miles wide and extends into northern Kenya.  It’s been drying up slowly for more than a century, and today it is mostly a papyrus-filled marshland. Its fertile shoreland is now farmed, and the papyrus reeds are cut from it by the Arbore to construct their huts.  Plots of land along the lake are redistributed yearly by the elders of the tribe, so no one family always has the best parcel.  

A short while later, under a threatening gray sky, we entered a small village. Here and there, women were involved in daily chores. Off to the side some children were tasked with rounding up a few young goats scampering about, while the married women of the village were attending to various chores in front of their huts.

The young, unmarried women of the clan were recognizable by the black cloth, a symbol of virginity, they draped over their shaven heads to protect themselves from the sun. Cattle-centric like most of the Omo Valley tribes the Arbore, which means land of the bulls, add a new dimension to it with the men joining the names of their favorite cows to their wives’ names. 

The Arbore are well respected by the surrounding tribes, the result of an ancient enduring legend in which the tribe defeated the devil in a battle.  Consequently, they have a centuries’ old “don’t mess with us” reputation that ensures a peaceful coexistence with their neighbors and fosters inter-tribal marriages and sharing of grazing lands when there are droughts.  

With the onslaught of the expected rain we were invited into a tribeswoman’s hut.  It was larger than some made by other tribes, with a second room where two small children were asleep on goat skins.  The front was roomy enough to shelter three of us and five villagers, sitting and standing, from the downpour outside.  It was a dark but dry enclosure. The colorful beads the women wore were illuminated by the only light source, the short entryway to the hut.

There are not any convenient alternate routes between points in the Omo Valley which meant we backtracked on roads previously driven as we worked our way towards Konso and Arba Minch.  We arrived late in the day to the Paradise Lodge, and the view from their terrace was spectacular as the sunny sky brightened the verdant jungle that separated Lake Abaya from Lake Chamo in the distance.

“The next time you come, we will go to the Bridge of God. It’s on the peak of that mountain that separates the two lakes.  There is a wonderful track through the jungle that takes you there,” our guide promised.

In the morning we set north to Lake Awassa, and the route was humming with activity. Folks walking, charcoal and dried chili vendors, tuk-tuks, donkey carts, herds of cattle and buses all jostled peacefully for space on this artery of commerce.

Before spending the night in Awassa, we detoured into the Senkele Wildlife Sanctuary, a 13,000-acre reserve established to protect a herd of 700 Swayne’s hartebeests, an endangered antelope. 

At the ranger station we parked our truck next to a large acacia tree, where to our delight a colony of weaver birds were frantically darting to and fro, constructing their intricate hanging nests. 

The guide drove us deep into the surrounding grasslands until he spotted a herd, and then encouraged us to walk across the plain with him.  Just exiting the vehicle made a huge difference in our appreciation of this gently rolling, beautiful landscape. 

The air was fresh, and an earthy aroma rose from the ground.  Farther down the track the ranger turned a blind eye to a young herder quickly moving some cattle through the reserve.  And to everyone’s surprise we spotted a rare Ethiopian wolf, which was stealthily shadowing a dik-dik.

Our destination the next morning was the Hawassa fish market, next to Amora Gedel, the smallest national park in Ethiopia. The market is a daily open-air event where fishermen paddle anything that floats, in order to eke out a living from the over-fished lake and its dwindling stock of tilapia, catfish, and Nile perch.

It was a colorful, chaotic affair as the fishermen gutted and filleted the freshly caught fish on the ground as soon as the nets were emptied.  It attracted a huge number of birds ready to swoop in to scavenge the scraps when the activity died down. 

There were a large number of ugly marabou storks, with their peculiar scaly heads, but we also saw hamerkop, ibis, pelicans and cormorants waiting patiently.   Ringing the parking lot, there were food shacks that prepared fried fish and a fish soup that is popular locally for breakfast.

Afterwards we headed to Abidjatta-Shalla National Park, which is known for its two large alkaline lakes surrounded by hot springs and flocks of flamingos, as well as a vast variety of bird life that favors the encompassing savanna.  We hired a ranger at the main gate and followed him along an unmarked path through the open woodland.

Soon we spotted a go away bird, warthogs and our favorite blue-eared glossy starlings.  Farther on we crept slowly up to a dominant male ostrich watching over a small flock. Our guide wanted us to go home with spectacular photos, so he instructed my wife to give him her camera, and to approach the large ostrich.

“It will be good photo,” he said in his broken English. “Closer, closer, closer.” My wife eyed the massive claws and muscular legs of the beast, and uncomfortably crept closer to the ostrich than she thought wise to do, the guide motioning her on all the while. “Stop!” the guide suddenly whisper-screeched and began snapping. He was right – they were pretty dramatic photos. Seconds later the ostriches were spooked by an unexpected antelope bounding through, and trotted off.

Back in the truck, our ranger guided us across the park to the shore of Shala Lake where we observed lesser flamingos feeding on cyanobacteria, abundant in the lakes’ alkaline water. 

After cresting a small ridge, we were overlooking a hot spring that bubbled up through the earth in a gully several hundred yards from the lake shore.  Surprisingly, there was a good size makeshift camp around it, supporting folks doing laundry and cooking food in the hot water.  Farther downstream people were bathing in ever cooler pools before the water emptied into the lake.

After soaking our feet in a suitable pool, it was time to return to Addis Ababa for our own day of laundry and rest before the next part of our Ethiopian journey, the rock churches of Lalibela.

Till next time, Craig & Donna