A Driving Tour of Slovenia
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A Driving Tour of Slovenia

With its award-winning wines, Adriatic coastline, and thermal spas, Slovenia, the richest of the former Yugoslav republics, is coming into its own.

It's 7 p.m. as we drive into Ljubljana, and the light is
beginning to fade. Italianate buildings are painted in
Easter-egg shades—butter, mauve, coral. Families
stroll along the Ljubljanica River eating gelato; students
sit in cafés smoking. Somewhere, a cellist is
rehearsing a Bach suite. I peer up at the city's medieval
castle. Have we stumbled into a fairy tale?

In fact, my boyfriend, Michael, and I are in Slovenia. The
small Alpine nation—east of Italy and north of
Croatia—first seduced us last fall. Now we've
returned for a five-day drive: from Ljubljana, the capital,
to the coast, then north along the Italian border (an
up-and-coming wine region) to the Julian Alps.


Slovenian art has been pushing boundaries since at least
the 1980's with the avant-garde collective Neue Slowenische
Kunst. Since then, the country has continued to turn out
provocative artists with international reputations. Before
we start our drive, we stop by Ljubljana's Museum of Modern
Art, where I'm absorbed by Gabrijel Stupica's Modernist
collages and Zoran Mušic's ghoulish etchings of

On the A1 highway, which heads southwest from Ljubljana to
the Adriatic coast, we pass green fields, cows, and an
occasional barn. As we climb the hill toward Trieste, the
fertile landscape gives way to rocky cliffs topped with
evergreens. This is the province of Notranjska, home to one
of the largest cave systems in the world, the 12-mile-long
Pos­tojnska Jama. But we bypass the caves in favor of a
detour to Hrastovlje to see the Church of the Holy Trinity,
a rare example of southern Romanesque architecture that
contains a series of Gothic frescoes.

The village of Hrastovlje (population 145) is not easy to
find. Like dedicated pilgrims, you must have faith. We turn
off the highway just after the 7,158-foot-long Crni Kal
bridge and careen down twisting roads, past heather-covered
hills and lush pine forests, for 10 long miles.

Inside the church, a local woman switches on an
English-language tape that takes us through the frescoes.
Painted in the late 1400's by Johannes de Castuo, the
pictures served as a Biblia pauperum—they taught
illiterate parishioners the stories of the Bible.
Eventually we are drawn to the spectacular danse macabre.
Twelve skeletons merrily escort a sampling of
humanity—from a naked child and a beggar to a queen
and a pope—to an open coffin.

Afterward we drive past the industrial towns of Izola and
Koper, then on to Portorož, Slovenia's Atlantic City.
We've come not to gamble but to take the waters, at the
Thermae Palace Spa and Thalassotherapy Center, known for
its sea cures: salt water, mud, and mineral baths.

At dusk, we walk to Piran, an ancient town—filled
with 13th-century architecture—that juts out into the
Adriatic. By the time we reach its marble-paved plaza,
Tartinijev Trg (Square), the sun has already set. Kids
scramble around, kicking a soccer ball. We stop at
Restaurant Neptun for a simple meal of fish, shrimp
risotto, and sautéed spinach. I ask the owner's
teenage son what Piran means. "Pirate," he says.
"You can still find shipwrecks out there, just off the


In the
morning, while Michael is being pummeled by jets of sea
water, I have a "fango pack." The local Istrian loam is
rich in microalgae and plankton, and is said to be able to
heal a variety of ailments, from rheumatic disease to skin
rashes. I'm only hoping for a glowing complexion. A young
Slovenian therapist leads me to my own room and tells me to
undress. Just as I'm about to ask her what that plastic
pipe jutting from the ceiling is for, she turns a valve,
and a torrent of hot, viscous mud spurts from it. Fango
plumbing! She catches the mud in a basin and pours it over
the treatment table. "Lie down!" she orders. It's still
hot, so I flinch. "Your first time?" she asks.
When the mud has cooled a bit, I let myself sink into it.
Then, she slathers my entire front and wraps me in a cocoon
of plastic wrap. I'm left to marinate for 20 minutes.

It would take a week to sample all of the treatments
here—and many guests do just that. But we want to
make it to the Lipizzan stud farm by 2 P.M.

Before World War I, when Slovenia was part of the
Austro-Hungarian empire, the horses bred in Lipica were
used by Austria's Spanish Riding school. We arrive in time
for a half-hour dressage performance, during which the
best-trained stallions prance around to a disco version of
Flight of the Bumblebee. The studs weave past one
another, meet in the center of the field, and then spiral
out diagonally, doing a sideways skip. In one pas de deux,
two stallions execute a rhythmical canter called
changement (a flying change) and then pirouette. We
clap in awe, but wonder how the poor animals can put up
with the techno-ballet Muzak.

The drive north from Lipica to the hilltop town of Stanjel
takes us through the limestone-rich Karst region, up
hairpin turns, past wineries, farms, and
blink-and-you-miss-them villages. Stanjel, perched high
above the plateau, is one of these. There's nothing to do
here except gape at the 360-degree views from the Fabiani
Path, named for the architect (and former Stanjel mayor)
Max Fabiani. Stanjel is so small that we feel as though
we're trespassing.

By the time we reach the outskirts of Ajdovšcina,
we're starving. I've been looking forward to returning to
Gostišce Pri Lojzetu ever since we ate at the
restaurant last October. We take our zlata penina (sparkling white wine) to the portico, which has views of
the surrounding hills. But we're soon lured back to our
table by the scent of freshly baked bread, which we dip in
an addictive horseradish sauce. Next comes buttery tuna
sashimi from Croatia, followed by goose prosciutto
air-dried for 14 days and smoked with herbs. It's sprinkled
with shaved white truffles (gathered from a local forest)
and served over a silky purée of potatoes. We skip
the soup course and move directly on to asparagus risotto
with nettles and "natural nuts of the season."

Before we order dessert, I ask our waiter how far it is to
Gorizia, the Italian town where we plan to spend the night.

"Twenty minutes," he says. "Where are you staying?"

"Palazzo Lantieri," I reply.

"Ah! Lantieri! This was once his hunting lodge!" he says,
gesturing to the restaurant, also known as Castle Zemono.
Without realizing it, we've devoted our entire evening to a
15th-century Austro-Hungarian count.


"Sugar is not
natural!" says Aleš (pronounced "Alesh") Kristancic,
the force behind Movia, Slovenia's oldest privately run
winery. "If I use sugar, I take the character out." We're
sitting on the terrace of Aleš's house, overlooking
Slovenia's Brda Hills and Italy's Friuli–Venezia
Giulia region. He's just opened a bottle of
puro—a sparkling pink Pinot that won't be
released until next year. We've already tasted a fruity
sivi pinot (Pinot Grigio), a crisp Sauvignon Blanc,
and turno, a fruity blend of three white Pinots. I'm
starting to feel dizzy. Fortunately, we won't be driving
anywhere; the Kristancics have invited us to stay in one of
their spare bedrooms.

Movia is one of Slovenia's best-known wineries, and with
good reason. The Kristancics have been harvesting the same
vines since 1820, and Aleš has continued his
family's tradition of allowing the grapes to ferment
naturally, without introducing sulfites or sugar. Sulfites
are added at the bottling stage, but only in small amounts.
Aleš and his wife, Vesna, have just returned from a
two-week marketing trip to the United States, and as
Aleš opens a 1998 bottle of Veliko Rosso (Big Red),
he ticks off his favorite restaurants in New York's
Meatpacking District, several of which now offer his wines.
Aleš's fan club is growing: Thomas Keller and Mario
Batali serve Movia at their restaurants; Alain Ducasse, who
has visited the vineyard twice, has a few vintage bottles
in his personal cellar.

Out on the terrace, we're joined by Franc and Lubi Strgar,
two of Aleš's oldest friends. The couple emigrated
to the States in the fifties and now splits their time
between Lake Bled and Scottsdale, Arizona. Franc had a
successful career as a structural engineer in the Midwest.
In Slovenia, he likes to drive a Cadillac with Minnesota


The next morning,
we set out on one of the most spectacular drives of our
trip. From the Brda Hills wine route, we head north,
tracing the electric-turquoise Soca River. In the
distance—but growing closer with each mile—are
the craggy peaks of the Julian Alps. Despite Aleš's
insistence that we go canyoning in the Soca, we forge past
the ­adventure-sport town of Bovec and enter Triglav
National Park. Ten minutes later, we're ascending the
5,285-foot-high Vršic Pass (pronounced
"Ver-shitz"—a word I employ as a curse each time
Michael hugs a hairpin turn). There are 50 switchbacks (25
on either side), and plenty of oncoming traffic.

Our reward is Lake Bohinj, Lake Bled's wilder and less
touristy sibling. Because it's located in Triglav, Bohinj
is protected from development. On the north shore, there
are stone steps leading to a rocky clearing. I wade in and
gaze up at the mountains, which are reflected in the glassy


After a short hike
to Slap Savica, the 240-foot waterfall that feeds Lake
Bohinj, we press on to Bled. We take a gondola to tiny,
tear-shaped Bled Island and each ring the bell in the
little Baroque church. Later, from the castle, we have a
bird's-eye view of the lake, ringed by snow-capped
mountains. I'm suddenly reminded of something Franc Strgar
told me. Now that Slovenia is a member of the ­European
Union, its government has begun encouraging high school
graduates to work abroad for a few years. "But," Franc
said, chuckling, "none of them want to leave Slovenia." I
don't blame them.


Hotel Mons

Slovenia's first design hotel. 55 Pot za Brdom, Ljubljana;
386-1/470-2700; www.hotel.mons.si; DOUBLES FROM $184.

Grand Hotel Palace

43 Obala, Portoro&2;; 386-5/696-9001;
www.hoteli-palace.si.; DOUBLES FROM $240.

Palazzo Lantieri

A three-room B&B with an art collection that includes
works by Mario Merz, Yannis Kounellis, and Günther
Förg. Gorizia, Italy; 39-048/153-3284;
www.palazzo-lantieri.com; DOUBLES FROM $150.

Hotel Vila Bled

26 Cesta Svobode, Bled; 386-4/579-1500; www.vila-bled.com;


Gostilna As

5A Copova, Ljubljana; 386-1/425-8822; www.gostilnaas.si;

Restaurant Neptun

7 &1;upanciceva, Piran; 386-5/673-4111; DINNER FOR TWO $80.

Gostišce Pri Lojzetu

Dvorec Zemono, outside of Ajdovšcina;
386-5/368-7007; DINNER FOR TWO $120.


Moderna Galerija

14 Tomšiceva, Ljubljana;
386-1/241-6808; www.mg-lj.si.

Church of the Holy Trinity

To make sure the church is open, call Rinter Rozana at
386-3/143-2231. Hrastovlje.

Škocjan Caves

Slovenia has over 7,000 caves; these are the most
magnificent—with waterfalls and natural bridges.
Škocjan; www.park-skocjanske-jame.si.

Kobilarna Lipica Stud Farm

Lipica; 386-5/739-1580; www.lipica.org.

Movia Winery

Contact Aleš or Vesna Kristancic to set up a wine
tasting and a tour of the cellar. If you're a true wine
connoisseur, they'll invite you to stay over. 18 Ceglo,
Dobrovo; 386-5/ 395-9510; www.movia.si.


National Car Rental

Book on their site for a 20 percent discount.

Slovenian Tourist Board



Poetry by Toma&2; Šalamun; Slovenia and the Slovenes: A Small State and the New Europe by James Gow and
Cathie Carmichael.

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