CRF: The Best of Slovenia

"CRF" is not a crime show you've never heard of, it stands for "Cutting Room Floor." It's been more than a year since we returned from Europe, and we've started to get seriously nostalgic.  To give us all an extra travel fix, we're posting some of our favorite photos that never made it onto the blog.  Here are our favorite unpublished memories and pictures of Slovenia - truly one of our favorite countries.

Slovenia held a special place in our heart years before this trip and we were a little worried about tarnishing it.  You see,  it was the first "weird" place we had ever travelled together.  Our former trips included the post-collegiate trifecta of France, India and Amsterdam.  One of us had read an article about Slovenia in a magazine and the idea of the place stuck (along with Lake Baikal in Siberia, which seemed a little less doable).  We went, in 2006, without knowing how to pronounce the name of its capital and came back its biggest ambassadors, dubbing it "The Vermont of Europe" and encouraging everyone we knew to visit.

It was both more "European" than we'd expected (what does that word mean anyway?) and quirkier than we could have imagined (a doormouse museum?).  It felt like a discovery, a magical place.  One day we were driving through foliage that could rival New England, the next we were eating shellfish on a blip of Mediterranean coast.  There were gorges and caves, castles, horse burgers.  Our farm stay had a pet bear, the capital had parking spots dedicated to electric cars ("way back" in 2006) and a Sunday flea market that finally served up that slice of Slav we were expecting.  Revisiting the country, after traveling to places even further afield, we worried it would feel…. predictable.  Or, dare I say, average.  And then, this happened...

The water caves of Križna Jama are special.  They really are.  They are that solitary, unknowable, ancient thing that lurks at the edges of human existence.  There are human remains in the entryway that date back ten millennia.  One travels for hours by headlight, in blowup rafts, past the oldest of earth's rocky bones.  There are creatures there, in those depths, that exist literally nowhere else in the universe.  No more than eight people a day are allowed in.  All of this, accessed through a rock in the deep Slovenian forest.  By some wonderful twist of fate, our guide was a photographer himself and the photos he prompted us to take are some of our favorites of the trip, inextricably linked to the memory of snapping them.
When we're asked that inevitable question - "what country did you like best?" - we have no idea what to say.  Phrased: "what was the most memorable experience you had?" the answer would be easier.  Križna Jama is the experience we call up when we mean "unbelievable."

The Slovenian karst is full of caves - there's the theme-park-like Postojnska jama and the outlandish cave-castle of Grad Predjama, with hundreds of other caverns in between - but there is none to match the grandeur of Škocjanske jame.  We've been twice, but photos aren't allowed in the main caverns, so we never blogged about it.  This is a picture of the exit, which actually feels small at the end of the tour.  Notice the full-grown trees being dwarfed by the archway.

The main cavern in Škocjanske jame is so large that standing inside, with the lights off, feels like standing outside on a dark night.  You can hear a river flowing, a hundred feet below the walkway.  You feel damp cave-breezes and gusts.  It's the largest enclosed space you can imagine.  A friend brought along on our second visit was nervous.  "I'm claustrophobic," she explained, logically reasoning that this would make spelunking unpleasant.  Škocjanske jame conjures the exact opposite feeling.  All you feel is the expanse, your own smallness.  You feel anything but trapped.  You feel like you're on the edge of something that is somehow even bigger.  

At the very top of Rogla Ski Resort, in the Zreče region, we came across this funny group of schoolchildren filing onto a down-slope chairlift.  Even though it was midsummer, it was cold and blustery in the Julian Alps.
We had hiked up from the endearing, bizarre deer farm that we were staying at, Tourist Farm Arbajter.  Our hosts cooked us venison dinners and gave us homemade borovnica (blueberry schnapps).  We loved it there and promised to return with our family one day.

Slovenia's glamor spot is lake Bled.  It's the Slovenian stuff of postcards.  The rolley-bags outnumber backpacks and footwear gets noticeably less clunky.  It's easy to see how one could be content dropping in on Bled and being whisked back away without ever setting foot in the more rugged landscape surrounding it.  Retirees rent rowboats by the hour.  Young, fashionable people sunbathe on the grassy shores.
Slovenia is very much a tale of two lakes, Bled and Bohinj.  Both are beautiful, but we actually prefer Bohinj, nearby, which has zero luxury hotels.

At some point in our trip, we began taking photos of local candy.  It's the little things.  These were a cross between Necco wafers and hole-less life savers.  We just liked the packaging, really.

We considered doing a post about the unusual and emblematic Slovenian roofed hayracks (called toplarji), but never got all the pictures we wanted.  Here's an old toplar surrounded by modern digging equipment.  It's not easy to find prime examples of the old Slovene way of life, because the country doesn't dwell on its past.  History in Slovenia has been relegated to the national parks, culinary tradition, a few quaint castles and their excellent museums.  Everyone looks forward.

Despite its diminutive size, Ljubljana (pronounced "loob-lee-yah-na") easily feels the most modern of the former Yugoslavian capitals.  It's demeanor mirrors the national spirit: lighthearted, friendly, unpretentious.
Slovenia was the first republic to gain independence from post-Tito Yugoslavia, and there wasn't much violence during the breakaway.  Compared to Bosnia, Kosovo, Serbia or even Croatia, the country has few scars and better memories.
We love this red picture of a tiny, communist-era Zastava (nicknamed "Fičo" in Slovenia and "Fikjo" in Macedonia, where we posted about them) against a high-tech construction site. About a block from here, we saw a tractor pulling bales of hay through downtown Ljubljana.

Like Slovenian food, Slovenian wine is pretty basic.  It's also cheap, tasty and plentiful.  For a while, we were working on a vini-post that didn't get finished.  It was going to be about the vineyards of the Vipava and Štájerska regions, but we never got the cornerstone picture or experience that a good piece needs.  It was still fun to try.
We took this picture at a  courtyard "vinotok" in the colorful wine town of Slovenska Konjice. Underripe grapes hung from an arbor over our heads.  If it had been September instead of July, we probably would have had a great, boozy post.

We're still crazy about Slovenia.  Comparing it objectively to its neighbors, it might seem a little boring.  It has nothing to rival the history and cuisine of Italy.  It's mountains aren't as impressive as Austria's.  Ljubljana doesn't hold a candle to Hungary's Budapest, and it's tiny bit of coast is barely a blip next to Croatia's sprawling seafront.
But Slovenia has a bit of everything, and also possesses maybe the most pleasant vibe of any European country.  It's always at the top of our list of recommendations - especially because of all those caves
To see all our posts from Slovenia, just click here.
To see all the Cutting Room Floor posts, with great pictures from the other 49 countries, just click here.

Things Slovenian People Like

Serving food on wooden boards. When we ate out, we were inevitably served something if not everything on a wooden board. It looked pretty, made for great pictures and took away any potential for that awful sound your utensils make when grinding against a plate. They seemed especially logical when serving a slab of meat - a cutting board and a plate in one! I've seen this before, but never so much as in Slovenia.
Viticulture. Wine making has been going on longer in Slovenia than Germany, Spain or - gasp! - France. It's true. It actually predates any Roman influence. There are about 28,000 vineyards in this small country and they are very, very proud of their product. This photo was taken at a tourist office in Vipava, which had an adjacent wine shop and tasting room that was sleeker and more stylized than anything else we saw outside of Ljubljana. Our visit ended with a short informational/promotional video, which had some pretty groovy computer graphics. The wines are generally very good, mostly white and can't really be found outside of Slovenia, the countries directly surrounding and the United States, as less than 10% of it is exported. Driving through Primorska, Podravje and Posavje, vineyards are everywhere.
Outdoor activities. Well, this makes sense. The country is a veritable playground for paragliders, rafters, climbers and any other sort of outdoor sports enthusiast. The World Rowing Championship is happening on Lake Bled right about now. We saw t-bar lifts set up on hillsides in small towns and marked hiking trails just about everywhere.
Country kitsch. To be fair, we were most often in the country and the objects were rarely mass-produced. Still, outside of Ljubljana, seldom did we walk into an eatery without a sentimental bend toward traditional, folky aesthetic - without farm equipment or handicrafts strung up on the walls. It never felt disingenuous or gimmicky and was always quite pretty and comfortable, but you know. That hen above is filled with warm bread; brown under the right wing and white under the left. Beneath her are our napkins and utensils. I was hoping for a painted egg.
Hayracks. Whether they are simple drying racks like this or toplarji, the double-racked structure with storage spaces above that look like barn skeletons, hayracks are everywhere. Slovenians considered them a national icon and you'll spot small wooden models in souvenir shops.
Cockta. It's a Slovenian soft drink made out of all sorts of herbs, but mostly rose hip. I'd say it tastes sort of like a really lemon-y, sorta flat Dr. Pepper, but that's stretch. It definitely has its own flavor, which was the point back in the 1950s when it was developed to compete in the international soft drink market. You see a lot of younger people drink it, but it ostensibly holds a bigger place in the heart of older countrymen who remember it as one of the very first products to be marketed and advertised in a big way: posters, bottle design through market research, the work of Slovene Drapers and Olsons. It doesn't have caffeine or orthophosphoric acid. You know how they say you can remove rust or clean your car engine with cola? Well, that's the stuff that does it. So Cockta's probably a much safe ingestion choice.
Harmonika, which is actually Slovenian for Accordion. That confused us at first. We saw accordion shops all over the place and vintage ones decorating the halls of inns and restaurants. I can't tell you what the special significance is, I just know that they definitely seem to like them a lot.

Would You Eat Me?

The Slovenian taste for horseflesh might have a slightly unfair reputation for being voracious. The meat isn't on every menu and plate, as some guidebooks might have you believe, and it's not any more common here than it is in Switzerland. Still, horse is an animal that is both ridden and eaten in Slovenia, and travelers in the country shouldn't be surprised to encounter it.
One way to eat “žrebe” (or colt) is in burger form, from the fast-food-type place "Hot Horse," in Ljubljana. For four euros, you get a large, mostly tasteless patty in a huge, soft bun. They're kept in hot water, which might explain how flavorless they are and also how juicy the notoriously dry meat stays. There are also horse hotdogs (which Rebecca called "pony pooches") and some other options - including a veggy burger and soups.
When we were in Slovenia three years ago, Hot Horse was described as a "chain." Now, it seems that they are down to just one location. It's somewhat busy, with a crowd that skews towards the culinary-tourist set. They've also revamped their logo and graphics so that they're sleeker and more inoffensive seeming. Before, their sign featured a grinning, red, cartoon horse that was a little unappetizing.
At Špajza, a pretty, old innhouse restaurant in central Ljubljana, the house steak is žrebe. Served with a variety of sauces, it's usually cooked just a bit browner than rare. Horse meat is very lean (and healthy, supposedly), and can be tough if it's cooked too long. Venison is a good comparison, though more gamey. Špajza's special preparation, the night we went, was served with a woodberry sauce and some kind of dumpling. The steak was tender and tasty, and benefitted from the flavor of its garnishes. In the end, colt isn't a very flavorful meat.

Sunday in Ljubljana

Ljubljana (pronounced Loo-blee-on-uh) is a great little city. It’s pretty, it’s cosmopolitan, it’s accessible, it has personality to spare and it’s relatively off the tourist grid. In a lot of ways, it feels like a mix between Amsterdam and downtown Manhattan, but way more relaxed - and much smaller. People are stylish in a cool, comfortable ‘Eileen Fisher meets H&M with a healthy dose of Camper’ way. On a Sunday in the summertime, it’s impossible not to feel like you’ve been invited to a neighborhood party, one part garage sale, one part talent show.
The main draw on Sunday is the flea market, which is set up along one side of the Ljubljana River, which runs right through the city. It’s got your average cool-European-market oddities: coffee grinders, Soviet memorabilia, purses, postcards, dolls that are naked, limbless and otherwise defaced.
Other vendors sell artwork and handicrafts: paintings, etchings, jewelry, wooden bird whistles and puzzle cubes. Last time we were here, in October 2008, people browsed while munching on chestnuts in brown paper bags. This time, they held ice cream cones. I didn’t see many transactions occur, but that's probably not the point. It feels like culture and community are prioritized over commerce.
Absolutely everywhere, there is live music. Somehow, all of the street performers are positioned just perfectly enough to own a piece of the airwaves. As we walked just out of earshot of one, we began to hear another. At one point, though, opera music blasted out over everyone and everything. These four young women, who sounded as perfect as any recording, made their way down the river harmonizing. As they floated, crowds hushed and heads turned. It was really beautiful.
Away from the main, riverside stretch, the streets are quieter. Graffiti creeps into the scenery, covering the walls of closed boutiques and kebab shops. Quirky, dare I say “funky,” buildings pop up here and there, housing a museum or gallery or library. There are more fountains and statues than you can count - and cafes. So, so many cafes.
Of course, this is Slovenia, so there’s a castle looming above it all. The fortress is an odd place to visit, with super modern structures and a sleekness that takes away some of the charm. Ljubljana’s funny like that – you can be gazing at the old architecture and then stumble upon a plug-in station for electric cars. It’s like they’ve cherry-picked the very best parts of each century.
Just as we reached the commercial district and newer, uglier buildings rose up to create a whole new skyline in the distance, this tractor pulled up to a red light. No matter that the urban space is gorgeous or that 50% of the country’s population reside in cities, Slovenia is a country intrinsically tied to nature and signs of a rural way of life are never too far away.
When we returned to the Old Town after dark, the ‘block party’ was still going on. The perimeter of the river was aglow with table top votive candles. It felt like one big garden terrace. In fact, it’s really difficult to tell where one cafe ends and another begins, making identifying the proper waiter something of a challenge. The live music hadn’t completely ended, but had a bit more competition from radio beats emanating from empty bars. Why sit inside when you can sit outside? We thought about how awful it must be to live right on the water, with all the noise down below. But that’s the best part about Ljubljana, I think. The waterfront isn’t prime real estate as much as it is public space, open for all to enjoy. Especially on a Sunday in the summertime.

Halfway Up The Mountain

High up above the little town of Zreče, on a steep, mostly wooded slope, we stayed for three nights at Tourist Farm Arbajter. The valley below is filled with old watermills and log trucks; at the mountaintop, the Rogla ski resort was green and mostly empty. In between, the streams were rushing loudly and the meadows were almost sheer cliffs. The Arbajter family raises deer and sheep here, and let out some of their rooms to travelers. Konrad and Maritza, the farm's papa and mama figures, are among the most welcoming people we've met on the trip.
It's certainly a working farm, with scores of deer darting back and forth on the hillside and a few dozen sheep grazing slowly alongside them. We aren't entirely sure about the process, but it seems that the venison is harvested with a rifle. We talked at length with our hosts, but they didn't speak any English and our Slovene is limited to mispronunciations of numbers and the words for beer and wine. It's entirely possible that most of the information in this post is false or seriously misunderstood. We do know that Konrad is a hunting enthusiast and that he'd assembled an impressive collection of trophies. There were various stuffed cervidae (including four fawns), a badger, a few weasels and a smattering of squirrels.
Konrad also makes sausages, which were delicious. At breakfast, we were presented with venison and pork "salamis" and an herby deer paté. Also, eggs fried in cracklings and grease, cereal, farmer's cheese, local jam and a garlic-heavy lump of chopped lard. He had just built himself a new sausage-curing room, which he showed us and was very happy with. The salamis were earthy and mildly spiced, with a dark grain and tasty gaminess.
When we returned to the farm each evening, we were greeted with a small glass of "borovnica," the local blueberry schnapps. We aren't positive that Konrad and Maritza made it, but someone in the area certainly did. They had various solar-fermenting jars on their porch and tucked away in the pantry - pickled vegetables and cherry liquor, some fruit preserves and one container that looked like it contained capers.
It was a pleasure to sit down in the sunny dining room at breakfast and dinner. The kitchen was just through the door and we could always smell something cooking - the scent changed subtly as the day went on, from eggs and baking bread at breakfast to rosemary and garlic before dinner.
We were fed well, of course, and with proud flourishes. The dishes were typically hearty Slovene mountain food, with lots of meat and starch, mostly slow-cooked and tender. We shared with the Arbajters a love of "bučno olje," or pumpkin seed oil. They dressed their salads with it and mixed it with new cheese to make a green, salty paste for Maritza's bread. When we left, they gave us a bottle of the thick, nutty stuff that a friend had made.
The valley was clogged with mist when we arrived, and it wasn't until our second day that we could really grasp how beautiful the view was. Konrad stepped out onto the porch with me at dawn and pointed out the different towns that trickled down the cleft, and then where the hills of Croatia began, some twenty five miles away. They're proud of their place, and seemed to enjoy the wonder that visitors feel. It's the kind of place that one wants to bring other people to, to see and experience what's there. Taking our leave, we promised to bring our families someday.

Slovenian Food

The first word that comes to mind when thinking about Slovenian food is 'mushrooms.' They are absolutely everywhere, underfoot on hikes, garnishing most meat dishes. Most often, though, they are sitting pretty at the bottom of a soup bowl under the murky, grey surface of gobava juha. Mushroom soup in Slovenia isn't just slices of button mushrooms with a shitake thrown in here and there for exoticism. It's a veritable crash course in foraging, with each spoonful unearthing a plethora of funghi, all different shapes and sizes and flavors. Since every Slovenian meal begins with soup, gobova juha is pretty much a national menu fixture.
Most people describe the cuisine as 'meaty and hearty' and this applies to soup as well. If something is called a jota instead of a juha (soup), it will be thicker and more filling. This is a cabbage jota, which was a delicious chowder of sauerkraut. I was aware that smoked meat would be involved, but was surprised to find two whole pork ribs hanging out in the veggie bath. Merlin was happy to help me out with them, saying that they were smokey, cured perfection. I can say that it smelled like southern barbecue. Other common jotas involve barley, potatoes and/or radishes and are often referred to as "farmer's soup."
Now onto grains. First of all, yes, that country dijon colored gravy is mushroom. Honestly, if you're not a mushroom person, Slovenian food is just not for you. If you are - like I am - it's heaven. Buckwheat is very popular, showing up in breads, pastries, as groats (a.k.a kasha), as porridge with cracklings on top (Ajdovi Žganci) and in noodle form. This is ajdova krapi, crescent-shaped dumplings made of buckwheat flour and filled with cottage cheese or curd. It was much lighter than it looks, airier inside and less starchy outside than its dumpling sister, Pierogi. For the record: buckwheat is not related to wheat, is gluten free and is widely considered a healthy grain choice. That is, until you sprinkle it with pork trimmings.
Also in the 'lighter-than-it-looks' category is štruklji, Slovenian strudel. We've been served it alongside a number of dishes, here it is next to a big hunk of beef (with mushroom gravy, obviously). They are remarkably delicate and really, really tasty. The dough is stretched as thin as can be by the chef (as our host mother on the Arbijter tourist farm demonstrated to us one evening), then rolled over the filling of choice. Cottage cheese is almost always involved, but fruit, herbs or vegetables can definitely be added in. Then, the long roll is wrapped in cheese cloth, boiled and sliced to serve. The orange stuff on top is fried bread crumbs, which has dusted our other most common side dish: njoki (similar in every way, including pronunciation, to gnocchi). Mrs. Arbijter's njoki were big pillows that appeared to be baked. Strudel in the pot, gnocchi in the oven - you can see the influence of border countries Italy and Austria being given a Slovene twist.
A number of restaurants have been recommended to us as places to eat "enlightened Slovenian cuisine." As far as I can tell, this means that things are a little less lardy and vegetables play a larger part than the usual side salad or steamed cauliflower and broccoli. At Gostilna Lectar in Radovljica, this meant black radish dip served inside of a radish.
At Hotel Rakov Škocjan in Cerknica, it meant a slice of eggplant wrapped up around a spoonful of sweet cheese curd and sprinkled with almond and bučno olje (pumpkinseed oil). It felt so fancy in the middle of the woods, wearing hiking shoes and drinking draught wine. My trout and Merlin's venison, two very, very common Slovenian proteins, were especially delicious.
Oh, trout. It's particularly good in this country, especially around Lake Bohinj. Usually, it's served whole, fried or baked smothered in large amount of garlicky oil. Here, at Lectar, we ordered it smoked as a starter. Have I mentioned that Slovene portions are large? Well, they are, but that's not such a bad thing when you're talking about smoked trout. Unlike a lot of other pork and starch loving countries, fish is definitely given its due respect. Squid and shrimp make appearances on menus even far from the coast - probably because they hold up particularly well to freezing. Last time we were in Slovenia, we visited Piran on the country's small stretch of Adriatic coastline. I had the largest prawns I had seen or have seen since. This time around, though, it's been all postrv all the time.
No post about Slovenian food would be complete without a big shout out to the Styrian oil pumpkin. Since falling in love with pumpkinseed oil in Austria, we've been dying to get our hands on some more of it in Slovenia. These two countries produce large quantities of the oil, as well as the unique gourd from which they are made, in their Styrian regions (Štajerska in Slovenian). The pumpkins are green and orange with a pale yellow flesh and dark seeds. Those dark green roasted pumpkin seeds you buy at the store may very well be from Slovenia, as they are a big export. After a particularly filling meal, we were served cups of wine soaked fruit. Bučno we asked, thinking that the texture was squashy. Yep! Between this, the seeds and the oil, I really want to know if oil pumpkins can survive in Northeastern America. If so, I have a wonderful business idea...

Slovenian Churches

Every region in Europe has its own style of church. In some countries, the religious architecture can change from one valley to the next. What's interesting about Slovenian churches is their relatively uniform style - slender, compact spires and simply designed naves - and their number. There are over two thousand in this little country - on some hillsides, we've spotted as many as four.
There are many small village churches, sometimes at both ends of a hamlet. Interestingly, a large majority of the religious buildings are catholic, and the multitude generally doesn't reflect a denominational divide as much as it does the small size of the buildings. In other countries, larger cathedrals were constructed in many parishes, allowing higher numbers of worshipers in each congregation. Here, there are relatively few big chapels, and new churches were built to meet demand.
This shingle roofed church near Žička kartuzija monastery was impressive for its ornateness. The double cupola is more common in this northeastern region of Štajerska, where there's less of a monolithic culture of catholicism. Here, eastern influences from the rest of the former Yugoslavia and from the northern, Germanic countries have mixed more with the Romance architecture of the mediterranean west.
The further a Slovenian church is into the wilderness, the less likely it will have an ornate steeple roof. The onion shape easily gives way to Italianate, square edged spires. Often, these backwoods buildings are the prettiest and most appealing for their sunworn paint and crumbling, simple facades.
The church of Sv Janeza Krstnika, on the shore of Lake Bohinj, is said to be the most beautiful in Slovenia, with classic stylings and 15th century frescoes covering the interior walls. It's especially striking at dusk, when it's lit up and its reflection becomes almost perfect in the still water.