After a big day of exploring Slovenia’s lovely Lake Bled, I decided to have a quiet one today. Nah, that’s a load of shit, I walked over 30km and checked out two of the most incredible places a fella could ever hope to visit. Unfortunately, Scarlett Johansson’s vagina wasn’t one of them.
Vintgar Gorge is about four kilometres north of Bled township, and there is apparently is a bus that goes to it, but I wasn’t able to find it. So, like a drunk who spent his last five bucks on another schooner, I decided to walk it, and the journey wasn’t too bad. It took me through fields and traditional Slovenian villages, before finally spitting me out at the gorge.
Vintgar is stunning. A series of rickety-looking wooden walkways take visitors through deep canyons, while incredibly clear water rushes underneath. Lush vegetation thrives on the edges of cliffs in a world of almost unbelievable beauty. It feels rustic and wild, and it wasn’t hard to imagine myself as some sort of long-haired Indiana Jones, exploring some incredible land for the first time.
Well, except for the fact that there were pensioners everywhere. Seriously, hundreds of the old bastards infest the Vintgar Gorge, complaining about haemorrhoids, asking what time dinner is, and pushing their little walkers along the walkways. I was stopped six times to help fogies change the ringtones on their phones and was asked three times what an internet is. Dad, if you’re reading this, and want to head to Vintgar, you’ll find plenty of people to talk to about listening to the wireless, and how good Errol Flynn was as an actor.
Crowds aside, Vintgar is an awesome place and comes highly recommended. If you don’t reckon it’s grouse you need your head read, because it’s bloody tops. In fact, Vitgar is considered the second-most-beautiful gorge in the world, after ‘Gorgeous’ Gorge Rose.
A trip to Vintgar fills up about half a day, and I thought about spending the rest getting drunk and trying to impress Slovenian chickie babes with my kangaroo impressions, but a lazy arvo wasn’t on the cards. Instead, I walked back to Bled (we’re up to 11km already, in case you’re not keeping count) and then hopped on a bus out to Lake Bohinj, which takes about 45 minutes. Like Lake Bled, Bohinj is as pretty as memories of a lost love, but it’s also almost completely undeveloped and really quiet. I didn’t see even one Chinese bloke with a camera while I was there.
The lake is absolutely stunning, with a sheer mountains rising out of the water on both sides. It’s a lot bigger than Bled, and the track around it probably runs for 18km or so. A trot around the water is a real adventure, but totally worth it due to the kick-arse views. Don’t try to walk around it all if you’re a salad dodger, though, or you’ll probably have a bastard heartie.
At the western end of the lake is the Vogel ski resort, where all sorts of people in funny-coloured outfits slide down snow on little bits of wood. It’s not winter at the moment, though, so nobody’s doing that, but the cable car to the top of the mountain (1500m) runs all year round, so I wasn’t going to miss out on the chance to take a ride on it.
It’s a tranquil and awe-inspiring ride that provides a few minutes for careful reflection on life. Actually, that’s not quite true, because the little bloke who runs the cable car was blasting songs by Eminem and other angry rappers as we climbed to the top. He was furiously shouting about ‘fucking up yo bitch’ and stuff like that, which went some way towards destroying the ambience of the ride. When I stepped out at the top, I was relieved that he didn’t headbutt me.
The cable car rises 1000m in less than five minutes, and it’s like a different planet at the top. There’s still plenty of snow up there and it’s bloody cold, but at this time of year it’s basically deserted. It’s eerie seeing restaurants sitting empty and frozen, while chairlifts swing silently, waiting for the next ski season.
The weather wasn’t great, so the view from the top of Vogel wasn’t as spectacular as it could’ve been, and it wasn’t long before I was back on the Rap Express, dodging “fucks” and “niggaz.” Not actual niggaz – there aren’t a whole lot of them in Slovenia – I mean angry words spat by Slovenia’s answer to Slim Shady. From there, it was another 10km back to the bus stop, by which point my feet were aching more than a hooker’s smoo when the Harlem Globetrotters are in town.
All up, I walked 32km, but if you’re worried about me getting all skinny and gay-looking, don’t. I recharged my batteries by smashing a large kebab pizza (yes, that exists!), a massive bowl of hot chips, and three pints of beer when I finally made it back to Bled. If I’d been there with a pretty lady, she would’ve called me a fat cunt and gone to bed with her back turned to me. I wasn’t that lucky, though, so I just had a wank and called it a night.