The Land of Bees

There are a lot of bees in Slovenia. I'm not sure about the numbers, but I can see and hear them everywhere. Kranjic hives - the ones that look like card catalogs - can be spotted on the side of the road about as often as stop signs. Most of the time, they're on wheels, pulled into a sunny spot or a corner with particular bee promise. Sometimes, they're more permanent structures, resembling barns with a single wall painted in a colorful checked pattern.
The love affair between country and insect began in the 16th century when buckwheat was first planted in Alpine regions. Bees are fans of that grain, so they swarmed places like Carniola and soon became a huge part of the land's agriculture. Beekeeping hit its peak in the 18th and 19th centuries with honey and wax galore. Nowadays, pollen and propolis are bigger moneymakers, used as elixirs and in homeopathic medicine.
Naturally, we visited the Beekeeping Museum in the very pretty town of Radovljica to learn more. It turns out that apiculture hasn't just been important to Slovenians - Slovenians have been important to apiculture. The practice of keeping bees in drawers - or kranjic hives - is a Slovene invention. The development allowed keepers to remove honeycombs without destroying the hive. Previously, bees were kept in hollowed out logs or other whole structures. So, basically, it was like switching from a piggy bank to a cash register. Open, close, cha-ching, no hammer crash necessary.
There were some amazing old tools in the museum: hives, honey presses, queen bee carriers that looked like a wicker birdcage from a doll's house. A large part of the collection centered around Anton Jansa, "the father of modern beekeeping," who had the bright idea of smoking bees out of the hives to collect their honey along with other things and became a leading bee scholar. Pages from his most famous works were displayed and the science of it all was explained a highly understandable way.
He also helped develop the Carniolan Grey honeybee, Slovenia's other big contribution to apiculture. The species is considered hearty and near-perfect for honeymaking, and about a third of the 30,000 queen bees bred in Slovenia each year are exported. Here he is painted onto a hive board.
Painting the panjske končnice (front boards) of the hives were all the rage in the mid 18th century and is considered the most popular form of Slovenian folk art. Professional artists were hired to decorate the panels, first with scenes from the Old Testament in a 'baroque folk' style. The gallery of boards at the museum was amazing. Motifs graduated from biblical to slightly profane over time. Scenes depicting bee-covered Jesuses hanging out with pipe-smoking beekeepers were popular, as were thieving bears and horned devils. The landscapes were particularly beautiful.
We'd actually spotted this hive a day earlier and took its photo excitedly. The museum stressed that the painting as a serious artform died off and if any examples can be spotted nowadays, they are simply 'kitsch.' Well, kitschiness aside, we were pretty psyched to have found this little coloring book of a place. A few originals folk panels still exist around the country, protected as historic monuments, including Anton Janša's beehive in Breznica. We haven't visited, but it looks amazing.
The museum was really pretty awesome. There were a handful of incredible hives that looked just like sculptures. Two were fashioned into churches, there was a ten foot high wooden man in the hallway, but this figure was our favorite. He stood about six feet tall and had a discreet slot in his side. Other cool displays showcased the beekeeper's calendar, some fun facts about the little striped buggers themselves and a room with a queen bee soundtrack. It was amazing to listen to them screech and bleat in a chorus that sounded like bad ambient music. I will never be able to see a bee or a beehive (omnipresent in the countryside of this continent) and not think of Slovenia again.

"A bee is like a word; it has honey and a sting." - Slovenian proverb

"Bees?!?" - Gob Bluth

The Water Cave

Križna Jama is unlike any place we've ever been - it's beautiful and enchanting, but the experience is much more than just passages and caverns. It's a water cave - the longest in the world - and very difficult to visit. Navigating the deep lakes and streams, floating on still, glass-clear lakes and surrounded by utter silence, we slipped into a kind of trance.
There's an open, dry section near the entrance, where it's possible to take a one hour tour that culminates in a short boat ride. If you book in advance, it's possible to visit thirteen of the fifty lakes that stretch back along the current. This longer tour takes about four hours, and was more than worth the effort and time. Coming back along the route, the first few caverns seemed over-traveled and somewhat boring; after the wonders of the lakes, the earthen caves seemed like dirty holes, covered in footprints.
The way into the far reaches is dark and clean, without any electric lights and with barely any mark of humanity. Because these waterways are so special, the Slovene government has limited the number of visitors to four per day - on the day that we went, there would be only the two of us and Alojz Troha, our guide. In between the waters, we walked along carefully pointed out paths, where the rock was hard enough underfoot. In deeper pools and small puddles, crystals have formed over the millennia, which can be destroyed if touched or stepped on.
It's cold in the cave, with a constant air temperature of about 45° and colder water to slog through. In the dry section of Križna, visitors on the short tour are given galoshes and powerful flashlights. For the extended tour we wore jumpsuits and sweaters, rubber boots and three pairs of socks, helmets and bright headlights. Neither of us were cold, except for our feet - walking through near-freezing water between spells of sitting motionless in a boat was too much even with so much insulation. We lost feeling after about the first hour, and felt our toes for the first time after we'd already gotten in the car.
Most of the lakes are separated from one another only by a thin strip of stone or by a small hump of sandy rock. Alojz carried the boat over these obstacles and we walked, being very careful to step in the right place. When we were in the water, the gurgling of the small rapids often died away completely. The silence was punctuated only by the sluicing sound of Alojz's paddle, and by our own voices. Sometimes a drop from above made ripples on the surface, occasionally a spring made a faint gurgle as it surged up from below. Alojz has been coming into the caves since 1978 (he grew up in the nearby village and his family owns the woods surrounding Križna Jama), and he told us old stories about early explorers and the old times.
Alojz was excited about my camera and was enthusiastic about having me take pictures. A photographer himself, he had a number of vantage points already planned. He was fond of leaving me on a shore (usually a narrow ledge, half in the water) so that he could paddle out and give the photo some sense of scale. Also, he liked to push Rebecca out alone in the boat, telling her where to paddle and where the best places to pose were. Lighting was very difficult given the darkness. The three of us cooperated, shining our headlights in different directions, illuminating different parts of the wall and water. Before I left, he told me that I should come back with a tripod - "not to take as many pictures," he said, "but to take a few very good ones."
We saw a number of cave fauna as we went - little black moths on rocks, tiny shrimp and invertebrates in tiny pools, wormlike things making trails in shallow silt. One nearly transparent thing with a pellet of bat guano on it's back swam in strange figures in an eddy - Alojz became very animated about this and told us that we had struck the jackpot. Even though all of what we saw was tiny, its assortment was amazing. Križna Jama is the fourth most bio-diverse cave in the world, according to some estimates.

At one point, our guide rescued a small white thing from the water. "This is our mistake," he said. "The boat washes animals from the walls, where they wait for food in the water." He initially thought the little thing was dead, but then it moved in his hand. "Ah," he said, "it is not too late." He carefully deposited it on a low ledge beside the surface and we moved on.
The end of the tour is a giant, stalagmite and stalactite-filled hall where two currents converge in the darkness. We got out here and lingered for a little while, looking at the amazing dripstones and mineral curtains. It had taken us about three hours to make it to this point, though we had been moving slowly and stopping often. Here, we felt as though the world didn't exist beyond this chamber - the sun and the breeze ceased to be realities, like in the deepest corner of a dream. We stared at the dripping features while Alojz looked under rocks for centipedes.
The journey back took only an hour. We didn't stop and our guide paddled much faster. Emerging from the cave, I was surprised by something. The transition from dark to light wasn't especially striking - our headlights had been bright. The sense that suddenly became overstimulated was that of smell. The air inside the cave is sterile and still; the scent of woods and life was overwhelming as we walked out from the entrance. For a few moments, it seemed that I could smell an exact snapshot of Slovenian summer, but it was fleeting.

If you would like to go on the short tour, it costs 7€ and lasts about an hour. The longer tour costs 130€ per boat - the maximum number of people per day is (again) four. Advance booking is necessary: you can call 00-386-41-632-153, or e-mail at krizna_jama@yahoo.com. A one hour tour is possible without any advance booking, and leaves four or five times a day from the little shack near the entrance.

Back on the (Tourist) Farm

We’ve been here before. To Slovenia. It was three years ago, on a whim, after Merlin read something about it in a magazine. It was the first you're-going-where?-country for both of us and we returned home wondering why the heck more people don't go to Slovenia. You’ll have to forgive us if we wind up beginning or ending too many statements with “when we were here in 2008,” but it may happen often. Because as soon as we were about to embark on the country again, we were struck with the desire to recreate our original trip – or at least revisit the places we remembered best, like Tourist Farm Abram.
Agritourism is a big thing in Slovenia with over 300 properties registered as official tourist farms and rated with the apple system. Tourist Farm Abram has three apples (out of four) and is certified “eko” (European for ‘organic’). It has its own solar and wind powered generator. All of these things initially attracted us to Abram, but this time around we really only cared that it was a quirky place that we’d once spent two sort of strange nights, high up (920 meters above sea level) on the Nanos plateau, an extension of the Dinaric Alps. When Luke and Sarah decided to join us for our first couple of days in Slovenia, between a stay in Croatia and a return to Italy, we asked them what they were looking for. “I don’t know, to get somewhere away,” Luke replied. Well, don’t we know just the place!
Now, we couldn’t remember the farm’s name. So, we googled “tourist farm Slovenia bear” (this didn’t work – a map search on the Farm Tourism Association’s website did). You see, they have a bear. Her name is Mitka and she is a personality/gimmick/captive famous throughout Nanos. A café waitress in nearby Vipava exclaimed, “You’ve met our teddy bear!” The woman at the info center/vinoteka two doors down said she was mad at the Abrams about it and wanted to start a collection to free Mitka. She also told us that the family has trouble with Italian tourists who feed the bear on Sundays– and we went home to find a sign on the cage, written only in Italian, expressly stating not to feed the bear.
One thing is for sure, children love/love to stare at Mitka. Two families staying at the farm (this time around– in October 2008, we were alone) had five kids aged 5 – 12 between them. They only took their eyes off of Mitka to take their turn at the slide, conveniently set up near the cage, along with a swingset and seesaw. Tourist Farm Abram is definitely working a kid-friendly angle. Kids, large and small. Luke took his own turn on the slide, opting to go down face first on his stomach. Slowly. It was a trick even Mitka stopped his stir-crazy pacing to watch.
Other farm pets include chickens and goats, with varying degrees of productivity. They are little petting goats and one very funny billy. Last time we were here, there was a pig in a barn, of which we took a very blurry picture. (Oh, the days before blog-ready photos). The goat and the four neon orange lawn chairs were the only additions to the property we could spot. Otherwise, Tourist Farm Abram has remained unchanged. We recognized the older of two brothers who worked there and were on the constant lookout for a teenage girl who resembled the 12 year old who had excitedly shown us her dog and sliding skills.
It’s a twenty minute, steep drive up to the farm, which felt a lot better in our Subaru than it had in our Renault rental. Wending your way up the road, following signs that read "Abram," you are given breathtaking views of the Julian Alps, the forested humps below and its valley carpet. The Dolomites and both the Slovene and Italian coastlines are visible too, if only there were a safe spot to pull to the side of the road and look. Clusters of roofs, each punctuated by a steeple, spot the green landscape here and there. Toward the end of the drive, the trees on both sides of the road arch toward each other overhead, a breathtaking foliage tunnel in Autumn, when we first passed through.

Back then, Momma Abram was sick, so the kitchen was closed and we picnicked in our room. We bought our very first European condiment tube (mayonnaise at a store in Vipava), set it out on our windowsill to refrigerate overnight and found it fallen onto the family's balcony the next morning. We really hoped they didn't remember us as The Mayo Tubers. (I don't like being called a potato, ha!) This time, we got some Slovene home-cooking. The first night it was this platter of fried cheese and chicken cutlets along with mashed potatoes, creamed spinach, salad, vegetable soup and strudel. The second, it was beef brisket on gnocchi (some set aside with mushrooms, for me), salad, lentil soup and custard pie. In the country, indeed.

Castle Hunting: Grad Predjama

Slovenia isn't really known for anything, but if it were famous for something it might be for caves... or for castles. This tiny country has a fair number of the latter and a huge number of the former. It only makes sense that the two would be combined into one entity: the great Grad Predjama, in the southeast region of Notranjska. With an interesting history, a magnificent location and a very unique feature behind it, Predjama is one of the strangest and most fun fortresses we've visited. Above, the cavern behind the castle, which served both as a secret passageway and as a refuge during sieges.
The castle is built into the side of a cliff, which otherwise would seem like an indefensible position with easy attack points from above. In this case, though, the wall above Predjama is cantilevered out enough that the structure is almost entirely overhung by rock. This accounts for the narrow shape of the structure; in order to protect the walls from missiles launched from the top of the cliff, it was necessary to make the contour of the wall fit beneath the hollow. Interestingly, the roofs of Predjama rarely get wet because it is so well protected by the overhang.
The forward defenses are fairly standard, with high, strategically elevated walls and only one narrow point of entrance. Behind Predjama, though, is an entrance to the huge Postojna cave system, which stretches for miles through the karst of this region. A well guarded, little known passageway extends from the castle some fifteen miles to Vipava, a vineyard town to the north, and a source of much needed supplies. In 1483, the knight Erazem Lueger was besieged in the castle after he killed a relative of the Austrian emperor in a duel. The siege lasted for over a year, and the Austrian army was confounded by the fact that Erazem was able to supply his defending forces with fresh food for so long. At one point, in the spring of 1484, the knight sent a barrage of fresh cherries over the wall to taunt his attackers.
Another strategic advantage of the cave is the constant supply of fresh water that seeps from the stalactites in the rear chambers. The near constant flow made a well unnecessary and forced modern keepers of the castle to build a drainage system (visible above) to catch and remove the water from the cavern.
The original detachment bridge that spanned the gap to the approach path has long since been stoned up and made permanent, but the old chasm between castle and solid ground would have been very difficult to cross. In the later stages of the castle's defensive history, it became increasingly vulnerable to gunpowder ballistics, which could be arranged very easily across the valley from the walls. It's extraordinary that Predjama was able to survive mostly intact until the present, but that has more to do with diplomacy and obsolescence than modern effectiveness.
An overly-satisfying tavern with heavy food and a castle theme sits close by to the walls - our lunch was filling and presented to us on wooden boards, which was charming. It can be difficult to reach Predjama without one's own car - there are buses but they are sporadic and require many changes and a long walk. Despite being one of Slovenia's major tourist sights, the castle remains only somewhat touristy, with a smattering of visitors and a very rural setting. It's very much worth seeing though - this is a castle unlike any other that I know of, with more quirks and corners than many larger, more visited piles.

Things Croatian People Like

Tourism. It's an enormous part of the economy, accounting for 20% of their GDP. So, naturally, people are much more welcoming and accommodating than a lot of other overrun destinations. Still, hearing more German, from locals and tourists alike, than Serbo-Croatian was initially unsettling and I thought, "How am I going to know what Croatian people like if they're always catering to foreigners?"

Seeing old photos like these at the Tourism Museum in Opatija (which was, ironically, free) made me see it a different way. I realized that tourism has been such a huge part of their culture for such a long time that it's unfair to consider it artificial or inauthentic.
Tourist Brochures. I add this separately because we found it really amusing. We have never ever received a welcome packet at a border crossing before. It outlined various laws and cultural highlights in a full color, multi-page mock gossip rag. Very creative. At each campsite, guest apartment, museum, we were handed a glossy pile of paper. Wasteful, yes. Endearing, totally. Proof that they have a big tourism budget, absolutely.
Family-Style Meals. For the record: most of the meals didn't look like this one. I just figured you all might be sick of fins and gills. Croatians love to put a big plate of food in the center of the table for the diners to share, listing many "plates for two." When a lamb was done roasting on a spit, people that didn't even know each other when they sat down would dig in, all at once, to take a hunk of meat from the serving platter, piled high.

Konzum Supermarket Billboards. Konzum is Croatia's largest supermarket chain and billboards for the company are absolutely everywhere. Sometimes they said witty things like "Konzum. Croatian word for Grocery" other times they were accompanied by cardboard cut outs of farmers dotting roadside fields to emphasize the farm-to-store aspect of their K Plus brand. This banner, strung up on the side of a cliff on the way to Krk Island was the most impressive.
Squid. I've never seen so many people eating squid in my life. If three things were offered at a casual eatery, squid was one of them. When there was a large menu, about a third of all diners would still order squid. Most often, they were grilled, but stuffed and fried were other options.
Perma-Pong Tables. Croatian people seem to really like ping pong tables - and not the type that you can fold away when you're not feeling particularly pongy. I can't say that they like ping pong itself all that much - just these permanent tables. We never saw a single person play it, instead opting for badminton and a soccer/tennis hybrid.

Honorable Mentions

Water Shoes and Yoga Mats. After a day on most any Croatian beach, you'll really like these things, too. Both make it a lot more comfortable to walk around and lay on pebbled and/or concrete beaches. The water shoes have the extra bonus of protecting your feet from spiky sea urchins and pointy rocks on the water's bottom.

Naturism. There are more naturist (read: nudist) beaches and campsites here than anywhere either of us have been. It's hard to tell if this is something Croatians like or a market they've excelled in because Germans (their biggest tourism clients) really, really like being naked. Either way, in Croatia, clothing is pretty much optional. (Naturist sites do not require full nudity).

Ice. It's sold at gas stations, offered in bowls at restaurants, there was even an ice machine at our Cres Island campsite.

Multi-Lingual Welcome Signs. At the start of every new town, there would be a sign that read "Dobrodošli! Benvenuti! Willkommen! Welcome!" Part of the reason is that the speed limit changes when you enter a residential area and part is the tourist infrastructure. Still, they really really liked it.

Gypsy Kitchens: A Hrvatska Cookout

There's been a lot of eating out in Croatia - and a lot of squid. So, we thought it was time to cook for ourselves and our guests - but we just couldn't pull ourselves away from the little cephalopods. Utilizing the barbecue in the backyard of our rental apartment, we decided to grill up some squid and pair them with another Croatian staple, blitva (swiss chard). To put our own spin on things, we decided to stuff the squid with cous-cous and brighten up the blitva a little.
We bought our squid uncleaned from a surly lady at the Opatija fish market. She offered to clean them for us, but didn't seem enthusiastic about doing it, so we decided to give it a try ourselves. It's not a difficult process, but it can be messy and gooey - also, it takes a little while.
There are three things that need to be done when cleaning squid. First, remove the edible tentacles from the base. You can cut them off just below the eyes, or just above where they meet at the head. Make sure to push out the beak from inside the little ring of flesh. Second, pull the head and guts out from inside the tube of meat that hangs behind the eyes. This is also easy: just grab the eyes and pull everything from inside the body. A spoon helps here, to get the last of the gunk from the tip. Third, make an incision at the base of the back, and pull out the backbone. This is difficult to explain, but easy to feel. The backbone is a clear, quill-shaped thing that looks like a plastic leaf. It comes out easily, and is very fun to look at and ponder. Make sure to rinse the rest of the squid well and scrape off as many of the little bumps on the tentacles as you can.

If you buy your squid in America, it's unlikely that you'll have to deal with any of this.
After washing the squid very well, dry them off and toss them in a bowl with olive oil, lemon juice and a little salt, to flavor and tenderize them before cooking.

We grilled the squid over very hot coals for about three minutes per side, until the meat began to firm up and acquire a slight translucence. The skin, in contrast with the flesh underneath it, should char and darken - where it was once almost clear, it should become more solid looking while the body lightens and plumps a little. The cooked squid looks more like a champaign flute than a deflated balloon.
The stuffing could be anything: risotto, ham and cheese (very popular here - my brother Luke had it), rice, polenta... even regular stovetop stuffing, if you want. We used a spicy, saffron broth cous-cous, mostly because it was so easy and quick. We loaded the cooking liquid with olive oil, saffron, red pepper flakes, chili powder, parsley, garlic and sauteed onion.
Aside from cous-cous's fast cooking time, its texture really made it a nice fit. The best way to approach stuffing is: spoon the grain in with one hand and pack it in with the other. Use the thumb and middle finger of your non-spooning hand to pop the squid open just a little and the index finger to press your filling down. We pressed the bottom of the slippery things into the bottom of the pan to keep them upright as we worked. When we cut the protein on our plates, each ring was filled in with our cous-cous, making for a nice, complex, compact bite of food.

Blitva is a very traditional side dish here and we've had our fair share, which made us more excited to make it. Blitva is the Croatian word for swiss chard (or "mangold," as it is translated on many English menus), but really defines its most common preparation: swiss chard, potato, olive oil and garlic. Cooked down into more of a mash it makes a wonderful dairyless alternative to creamed spinach, but we were craving something a little fresher and lighter for our cookout. So, we used equal parts red potatoes (with skin) and carrot, red onion and forewent the garlic - as it was already incorporated into our main course.
The greens should be trimmed, but the leaves shouldn't be completely removed from their stem. It gives the final product a nice crunch and juicy bitterness. Cut them into strips and rinse well. The starches were cubed and boiled together until just tender. It's important to refrain from overcooking, as you want them to stand apart in the final dish as opposed to blend together. Strain, salt and set them aside to let cool. Then, coat the bottom of the pot or pan with olive oil and add in your swiss chard and red onion. Keep it on low heat and cover. Turn the chard over often to make sure the entirety of it steams uniformly enough and, when you have the consistency you want, add in your potato and carrots, salt, pepper and a spicy paprika. A few stirs and you're ready to take it off the heat and let cool. Everything you're working with will lose its color and really break down texture-wise if you overdo it. Better to err on the undercooked side.
It wouldn't be a true Hrvatska grill plate without čevapčiči, minced meat sausages, which look, smell and taste like breakfast sausages and were easily found at the grocery store. We grilled them as they came - a sheet of connected rods - and only cut them apart after cooking. Just today, we saw an English translation of čevapčiči that read "grilled Hamburger sticks," which is about right. The squid should be eaten before cooling down, it only gets chewier as it sits longer. As soon as our plates were filled, they were devoured. So, we apologize for not having a more artful shot.

Foodies Flock

Between the cities of Rijeka and Opatija - technically a part of the latter - is the small town of Volosko. It's an old fishing village which consists of not much more than a small harbor on the Preluka Bay and a few stairs leading steeply up to a cluster of labyrinthian streets. While it's apparently a primo windsurfing and sailing location, we heard about it because of its restaurant scene. "Foodies flock to Volosko," we were told via guide book.
People eat late here. So, we arrived at around 7:30 to find the daytime activities still in full swing. The scene felt much more local than Opatija, from where we'd walked. Merlin's brother, Luke, and Luke's girlfriend, Sarah, were in tow, having just met up with us after a whirlwind journey from Seattle to Switzerland to Italy to Croatia. We were feeling celebratory and indulgent and waited until the sun set a little to sit down for a nice meal and a bottle of wine (or two).
There are about five restaurants right on the water and then a few more tucked away into corners of town. Tables are set up just about everywhere they can be, coexisting with the non-restaurant-related motions of the harbor. It all feels very relaxed. While decor ranged from sleek to maritime to tavern, there was a general theme of fresh seafood, focused preparation and congenial service. At Plavi Podrum, on an indulgent whim, we decided to opt for the degustation menu. It didn't matter that our food was more dressed up than we were, a dollop of foam on my scallops and a heat-distressed tank top on me.
The village's fishing traditions can still be felt, not just tasted. Each time we walk over to Volosko, there are people with fishing rods. Lights twinkle at night, strung up on nets and boats are heavy with equipment. At Konoba Tramerka, we were shown a big plate of the day's catch. There was no menu aside from this display of ingredients and a quick run down of preparations. Everything was served family-style (which was apropos) and the meal was ordered one course at a time. This style of dining, choosing food as you move through the evening, reminded us of our time in Italy. As did the ricotta custard for dessert.
Sadly, we didn't take any pictures of our food. It's something we only realized the morning after each meal. You see, Volosko lulls you into a completely relaxed mood - like eating this well is just a normal part of your life. Kids sold seashells while their parents said hello to their neighbor, passing by on a motorcycle, between bites of seafood risotto. We were extra happy to have Luke and Sarah at our table, helping us to more truly relish in the good food/good friends atmosphere of dining a la Volosko.