To help you navigate our blog more easily - this link - https://wherenexthun.blogspot.com/2025/06/how-to-navigate-our-blog.html will take you to a summary page detailing all our blog posts. Clicking on a link will open that post in a new browser window. To return to the home current page just close the browser page and return to the post you were reading beforehand.
You can find the start of our posts about our Croatian adventure here: https://wherenexthun.blogspot.com/2026/02/a-motorhome-tour-down-to-croatia-and.html
Tuesday 9th September: Day eight – week TWO
Into the
Heart of Vintgar Gorge
Out of
Bryony by 07:30 and at the entrance to Vintgar Gorge by 08:10 - early enough
that the air still carried the hush of morning and traffic was light on the
back roads. Tickets were €15 each, and for the first time ever we left the
E-bikes locked up and unattended for more than a few minutes. Quite a
psychological barrier overcome at last! There’s plenty of space to secure them
to a sturdy wooden corral, but still… paranoia prevailed. I double-D-locked
them, threaded two cables through the frames, and added a bomb-proof
motorcycle chain for good measure. The Bosch batteries came with me in the
rucksack.
Entrance is
via pre-booked online tickets. You simply hold your QR code to the scanner at
exactly your allotted time, no earlier, and then you collect your safety
helmet. Not the most flattering of designs; Maggie likened hers to giving her
the head shape of Rimmer from Red Dwarf, and she wasn’t wrong.
So, is the
gorge worth the €15?
Yes. Emphatically.
We’re lucky
enough to live near a superb river gorge back home, and at first Vintgar felt
familiar - moss, rushing water, sheer rock - but then it transformed. The
wooden boardwalk clings to the narrow canyon walls like a ribbon, winding above
the Radovna River as it surges through the gorge. The water shifts between
jewel-bright, glistening, emerald and deep turquoise, so clear you could count
the individual gravel stones on the riverbed. Waterfalls spill into glassy
pools; moss-draped cliffs rise like ancient cathedral walls; and the sound of
the water becomes a constant, soothing roar - nature’s own symphony in ‘Dolby’
surround sound.
Fluvial
geomorphology fans would be in heaven here: plunge pools, rapids, scour holes,
potholes - textbook examples everywhere you look. Huge rainbow trout hover
almost motionless beneath the surface, suspended and camouflaged in time and
place; their presence only betrayed by the occasional flick of fin and tail to
keep position in the flow.
As we walk
the boardwalk, it feels at times, like stepping into a world carved by the
ancient gods: a secret, shadowed realm where sunlight filters through the cliff
top forest canopy and scatters across the canyon in golden fragments; casting
an enchanted ‘golden’ glow. The air is cool and clean, scented with pine, wet
stone, and the breath of the river. Reaching the Šum Waterfall at the far end
felt like completing a ‘landscape’ pilgrimage—rewarded immediately by a welcome
coffee at the tiny café beside it.
So, the
obvious question. How did this ethereal place come to be?
In short: fluvial power. A glacial dam burst in the last Ice Age, releasing
water and melt that carved this immense chasm with the precision of a medieval
sculptor’s chisel. A reminder of the astonishing forces that shape our world.
After our
coffee, we took the 4 km trail climbing the left-hand side of the gorge,
winding through quiet forests and eventually looping back to the entrance.
About five miles in total - strenuous in sections but deeply satisfying. From
there, it was a speedy downhill ride on the bikes, retracing yesterday’s route
in a joyful blur of spinning wheels and wind.
The
afternoon was a mellow contrast - just relaxing and planning our route down
through Croatia. It is time to say farewell to Lake Bled. It has been a
delightful stop. We could easily have lingered another day to explore more of
the cycling routes, but heavy rain is forecast for tomorrow and the next day,
so we’ll follow the instinct of swallows and head south. In fact, as I write
this, the first soft patter of raindrops taps on the roof, and tiny droplets
trace paths down the windows.
It’s hard to
believe this is only the start of week two. It feels like far longer since we
left the UK, just last Tuesday! Since then, we’ve stopped at Versailles,
crossed southern Germany and Austria, and spent three wonderful days by the
lake. We are feeling very chilled.
Camping
Bled? Pricey, yes, but absolutely worth it. Immaculate facilities, generous
pitches (ours especially), and perfect access to the lake and cycling routes. A
small minimarket at the entrance, a lovely café/restaurant, a lakeside beach
right outside, and pontoons just 100 metres away for sunbathing or swimming - it’s
a very easy place to love.
Not bad. Not
bad at all.
Costs
today: 30 euros for
Vintgar Gorge Campsite total costs –
142 euros
Wednesday 10th
September: Day nine – week two
Oh my, has
the weather broken? I haven’t seen deluges like this for quite some time. As we
moved off the ramps earlier it was like watching Niagara Falls from the comfort
of our cab seats – the water just cascaded off the roof. Does water collect on
all motorhome roofs or is it a peculiarity of Autosleeper Broadway vans? And,
it kept coming for a few minutes. How much water can one motorhome roof store
overnight?
Anyway, we
were away by 0745 after emptying waste water and Black waste at the site
entrance. And now we are sat in a McDonalds on the outskirts of Bled. We are
supposed to be in Lidl opposite but whilst our heads were going that way, our
feet and stomachs had other ideas and directions to follow.
And we are
SOOOOOO glad they did because we are in awe. We ordered our food at the normal
screens you find on entering McDonalds. The screen instructed us to take a
plastic table number with us to wherever we chose to sit. Five minutes later,
wait for it …… a robot …. yes, you read this correctly, ….. a robot, with a cat
like face and eyes that winked at you …. duly turned up at our table with two
trays – coffees and food. When we had offloaded it, it smiled, winked one eye,
basically said ‘have a nice day’ and then reversed itself 180 degrees and
headed off back towards the counter area.
Bewitched,
captivated and in awe. That just about sums up where we are at. Have we entered
some alternative reality? Have we time warped forward into the future? Is it
like a ‘Mr Ben’ scenario …. As you walk through the door ….?
Ok coffee;
ok-ish food. Ambiance, absolutely electrifying!
As we got up to leave, a group of teenage girls asked us if there was
any chance, we could give them a lift to school, as they had missed their bus.
All done in perfect English. We explained we only had two seat belts in our
motorhome. Either we look innocent and charming; or they felt we were an easy
con!
Lidl was
positively boring afterwards. Meanwhile the deluge has just carried on and this
part of Slovenia has issued flood warnings with their weather forecasts.
Back on the motorway and heading south, our
DarsGo tag starts double bleeping and flashing red, so we call in at the first
petrol station services. The guy at the desk, who studied at an English
University, checked the unit and concluded that someone had set the ‘low funds’
setting too high so the unit was warning us we had hit our ‘warning limit’. All
sorted and back on the road to our next stop at Bistra.
The
Technical Museum of Slovenia. What a find. Absolutely fascinating. But before
we get into that, opposite it, is a lovely little tavern/bar/café – great
coffees before you go into the museum.
Anyway, the
museum. The principal national museum dedicated to the preservation of the
country’s technical cultural heritage and promotion and explanation of the
country’s achievements in various fields from science to agriculture and
engineering to agroforestry. Genuinely
fascinating – we lost two hours in that museum. Most of the information boards
are in Slovenian but have English panels as well. As a woodworker, amateur boat
builder, I was fascinated by the woodworking, violin, forestry sections in particular.
Maggie found plenty of interest in the textiles area (as did I for that matter,
especially on hat making of all things). And some of the vintage cars – well
one or two were absolutely stunning. Ten
euros each and frankly well worth it. A
car park outside around 40m x 20 in size. Gravel, flat and free!
And so here
we are now at 1715. We are on a small gravel car park at the foot of a burned-out
ruined manor house – Grad Haasberg. I
found the site on S4S. It is about 10 minutes off the motorway and twenty
minutes north of the famous Postojna Caves complex. There is a little wooden hut café, open in
the afternoons and then a couple of houses. The car park slopes so you need
ramps although we haven’t bothered – the fridge seems to be working ok. I am
looking out onto green fields, somewhat soggy, and the extensive ruins of what
was once a manor house. Up the hill behind are old castle ruins dating from
1275 or thereabouts. The manor house caught fire at the end of WW2. It had been
occupied by the Italians and then the Germans. All the family’s possessions
were destroyed and the family abandoned it.
Anyway, it seems a peaceful spot and its free.
One of the things we are noticing is that motorhoming in Slovenia and Croatia seems to be very expensive. The average cost of a bottom end campsite seems to be 30 euros. A middle end seems to be 40 – 45. Free places are few and far between. Tonight, it seems we will be sharing this place with four other motorhomes of various types. I suspect they all have the same idea as us which is basically as follows: we stay here tonight; we depart early tomorrow morning and head to Postojna Caves where we try to bag one of the 24-hour motorhome parking sites early around 0830. We then do the combined caves and castle tour and stop the night there – 25 euros for the night. However, if you only park for the day – you would pay 12 euros. So, basically, by grabbing a 24-hour slot, we are in effect only paying 12 euros for the overnight. Friday morning, we then get moving towards Piran by 0800.
Well, that’s
the plan but as many a General is fond of saying ‘Plans go out the window on
contact with reality’. Plan B is we pay 12 euros for the day and then return
back to this site or find something similar further down towards Piran. I’m working on a plan C as I type!
Thick cloud
now hugs the valley sides; rivulets of water flow across the gravel and down
the little road. The sky is dark grey and rain continues to fall. As I look out
of the window, it reminds me of Wales! I like Slovenia.
Costs
today – DarsGo top
up 30 euros Museum 10 euros
Thursday
11th September: Day ten –
week two
Today we
head into the ‘underworld’!
It was a
quiet night at Haasberg Grad, a still, sleepy car park watched over by the
crumbling silhouette of the burnt out manor. Four motorhomes and two cars
shared the space, and all was peaceful… until 22:30, when a caravan arrived and
its owner decided the world needed to hear his portable generator for forty
long minutes. One of life’s considerate souls.
Still, the rest of the night passed undisturbed, and at dawn the silence was
broken only by schoolchildren gathering from 7 a.m., waiting for the bus that
does its morning pirouette at the upper end of the car park.
Our plan
from yesterday - go early, secure a space, reach the caves before the crowds - worked.
Mostly.
It was only a 20-minute journey from last night’s stop to the Postojna Caves
car park, with a quick morning coffee at the motorway services just before the
turn-off. We rolled into the motorhome area at 08:20 and immediately claimed
one of the last two remaining slots. €22 for 24 hours, including electricity,
fresh water, and both black and grey waste disposal. Not every space has a
hook-up, but fortune favoured us: we grabbed the final one in our row.
The site is screened by trees, though one side gets good sun through the day if you’re parked north–south. You will be cosy with your neighbours - close enough to shake hands through the windows if the mood took you. More on the site later.
We are here
because we are about to take a descent into a hidden kingdom. The Postojna
Caves are, simply put, magnificent - one of the finest cave systems we’ve
explored, and we’ve ticked off a fair few: UK, France, Iceland. Here, the
journey begins with an open-air train that whisks you straight into the belly
of the earth. “Exciting” depends on your perspective. My ancestors include
farmers, boat pilots and Great Western Railway folk; trains are woven into my
DNA, so I was in my element. Maggie, meanwhile, donned her long-suffering “this
is painful but I love him” expression. Secretly, though, I could see the spark
of enjoyment. No one resists these caves for long.
The little
train rattles into the belly of the earth, plunging us into a cathedral of
vast, echoing chambers, where stalagmites and stalactites rise and fall like
fallen chandeliers and melted candles. The cool, damp air wraps around us like a
cloak, pulling us deeper into this subterranean realm, part Tolkien, part
hidden kingdom, as though we’ve slipped through the crack between worlds.
Once we
disembarked, the enchantment only intensified.
These formations, crafted by nothing more than water, minerals and impossible
stretches of time, are almost sculptural in their precision. For millions of
years, drip by drip, they’ve grown into flutes, curtains, pipes, towers… a
stone forest frozen mid-song. A reminder that the earth moves at a tempo far
older and wiser than our own. Every drip of water distilling the secrets of a
million years of carboniferous limestone.
Oh, if you
can’t remember the difference between stalactites and stalagmites – here is an
old geography teacher’s trick - ’tites’ come down your legs and ‘mites’
crawl up them’. Defy you to ever forget it again!
Yes, the
train has a whisper of a Disney theme park ride to it, but embrace it. It’s
fun, and you really do see a great sweep of caverns and formations. The guided
walk that follows is excellent, though you move with a crowd of around 70,
ushered along by the gentle tide of humanity. Like being on a moving airport
walkway, except the walkway stays still and the people carry you forward.
And yes, the
formations are worth the gentle herding. Vast. Beautiful. Truly world-class
karst scenery. The added highlight was the small underground aquarium where
live proteus (or “olms”) can be seen - rare, delicate little creatures like
elongated, aquatic dragons. Extraordinarily rare. delicate and very unique.
The full tour takes around 90 minutes. Definitely get the audio guide.
Next, we
hopped on the shuttle bus up to Predjama Castle - €2 return. After experiencing
the journey, I wouldn’t take a motorhome up there. Narrow lanes, tight turns,
limited parking, and if you meet a coach, the laws of nature are simple: it
will not reverse. You will. And good luck with that!
Park at the bottom and let the shuttle do the climbing.
Was the
castle worth it? For me… questionable.
The location is spectacular - carved into a cliff face as though the mountain
itself decided to grow a fortress. But the interior felt cramped and
underwhelming. Sparse displays, limited interpretation, crowded rooms. Perhaps
I’ve been spoiled growing up in Wales, land of Caernarvon, Conwy and Harlech - castles
that set the global standard for medieval majesty.
Still,
Predjama has its charms. Once home to the renegade knight Erazem, it is steeped
in legends of secret tunnels and improbable escapes. Winding chambers and
echoing passageways hint at life centuries ago, and the surrounding cliffs and
forests lend the place an air of drama and myth. A castle grown from stone - an
idea more magical than its current furnishings.
Back at
base, the motorhome area outside the caves holds about 30 vans. Manoeuvring
becomes tricky when full - it’s a dead end, and some “muppets” have parked in
the small turning spot at the end (all of them of one particular nationality,
though I’ll spare the shaming). Anything over 8 m may struggle to turn if
someone is opposite. There are combined pillars for electricity, fresh water
and waste, but they’re not especially sanitary; personally, I wouldn’t fill my
fresh tank here.
Pitches
along the roadside can get noisy during the day. On entry you take a ticket,
and before leaving you pay at the machine in car park three, about 40 metres
away.
We ended the
afternoon with a 15-minute walk into town for a coffee. Not much to see there,
though the tiny tourist office hands out cycling and walking maps, and there’s
a small museum if you’re after more local history.
So final
thoughts - A good day - the caves were fun, fascinating and genuinely
impressive - well worth the detour. The castle… less so for me, though its
setting is extraordinary.
Costs
today: motorhome
stop off 25 euros; combined caves and castle ticket 42 euros each. Return on
shuttle bus 2 euros each
Friday
12th September: Day eleven – week two
It was a
quiet night up at the caves. We were away by 0745; once we had worked out how
to get the card to open the barrier. After paying, you have to put the
motorhome nose almost against the barrier and then insert the ticket; too far
from the barrier and it won’t rise. Good job everyone else was asleep – we must
have looked a right pair of muppets trying to work out why the barrier wouldn’t
go up!
It was only
a 30-minute run down the motorway to Koper, yet it felt like travelling through
an entire continent in miniature. We rolled out of Postojna’s cool uplands - 15°C,
the mountains still wrapped in soft, grey, early-morning blankets of cloud - and
began our descent. The alpine pastures and craggy cliffs slowly melted away,
giving rise to gentle, rounded hills dotted with olive groves and Mediterranean
scrub. The landscape shifted tone by tone, like someone sliding a finger across
a painter’s palette. And then, suddenly, there it was: the first tantalising
glimmer of the Adriatic, shimmering in shades of azure-green. By the time we
parked in Koper, just 50 minutes after setting off, the world had transformed
completely - and so had the temperature, now a sun-kissed 25°C.
I had spent
the previous night trying to find a car park which didn’t have a ‘no
motorhomes’ sign at its entrance. Eventually I found one – the P and R next to
the bus station and just outside the gates of the official city overnight
camper stop area which is gated. There are 10 spaces available and its 1 euro
an hour and you can pay at the machine or use the Easy Park app. Don’t bother
catching the bus into the town centre. It is an easy twenty-minute walk past
the shopping mall and McDonalds. Stretch your legs.
At first
glance, as you roll into Koper, it appears to be nothing more than an
industrial sprawl—vast port cranes, hulking warehouses, and an uninspiring
scatter of out-of-town malls. But step beyond that hard shell and the city
reveals itself like a pearl hidden inside a rough oyster. The old town is a
world apart: a labyrinth of medieval and Renaissance alleyways, sun-washed
courtyards, and quiet corners where history seems to permeate every stone and
brick.
The seafront
is charming, too - small marinas with assorted boats bobbing gently, a neat
fishing harbour humming with quiet purpose, and elegant old villas watching the
water with centuries-old patience. And then, suddenly, there it was: my first
true glimpse of the Adriatic. I had imagined it many times, but nothing
prepared me for its astonishing colour - a luminous, azure blue, calm as
polished glass. It felt almost unreal, like someone had turned the ‘colour
saturation’ dial up just for our arrival.
As we wandered, I found myself musing about what gives Koper its curious allure. There is an easy, relaxed rhythm to the place, a chilled charm woven through its narrow streets. This is Slovenia’s largest coastal town, after all - a rich tapestry of Venetian architecture, lively little squares, and a seafront that glows with maritime heritage. You can feel the layers of history - Venetian, Austrian, and Yugoslav. Tito Square, the Cathedral of the Assumption, the market stalls spilling out their colours, the friendly cafés inviting you to sit a while… everything whispers of lives lived by the sea.
And, of
course, the real magic lies in experiencing all of this with your best friend
and life partner. In moments like these, even the simplest street feels
enchanted. What’s not to love?
We do a quick
stop off at Decathlon, as Maggie has worn out the sole of her Meindl’s; sadly,
Columbia shoes don’t make the grade. So, her hunt continues. Afterwards, as we
walked back towards Bryony in the P and R car park, I notice something hanging
down from underneath her central area. A quick crawl under inspection and a
discovery that the freshwater tank heating mat is hanging down. Rapid deployment of duct tape. Another little
‘niggle’ with Autosleepers quality control. A perusal of our very early blog
posts will show that we have had several niggles – oven doors not closing; nonfunctioning
microwaves; trim falling off; leaks through aerial areas on the roof; to name
but a few.
Our next
stop for a few nights is Camp Lucija, perched just outside the charming coastal
town of Piran. We snagged a seaside pitch under the comforting shade of a pine,
just a row back from the lido area. And yes - it’s crowded. We are squeezed in
like sardines in a tin, ten feet from our neighbour on one side, four on the
other, and six feet to the rear. People stream past us constantly, using the
space between vans as a shortcut to sunbathing spots and the toilet block.
Music pulses from the bar just thirty feet away, a rhythmic heartbeat beneath
the scent of pine and salt air.
At any other
time, this might have felt oppressive - but here’s the twist: the
people-watching is priceless. Retired teachers that we are, decades of
decoding subtle gestures, micro-expressions, and body language suddenly become
a theatre of endless amusement. And the revelation? Most adults never quite
shed their teenage gestures - they just disguise them in “grown-up” clothing. I
swear, if only one of us had a flair for silly imitation voices, the harmless
fun we could have had would rival any comedy show.
The lido
itself is a delight: a deep, clear swimming area patrolled by a vigilant
lifeguard, with steps that plunge straight into the Adriatic’s serene blue. And
for cycling enthusiasts, the Velo 8 route threads right through the campsite,
promising adventures along the sparkling coastline. Our pitch is perfectly
level, and a water tap sits conveniently nearby to refill Bryony’s tanks. The
grey and black waste points? I’ve yet to locate them, but my hunch is one
lonely station sits 400 meters back toward reception along the site’s long,
narrow spine.
This
afternoon, we’ve indulged in a little domestic adventure: Mag tackled the
laundry while I gave Bryony’s interior a spring clean, transforming our little
motorhome into a gleaming sanctuary. I have a ‘lower’ threshold for ignoring
cleaning chores than Mag does!
We’ve
decided to pause here for a few days and simply breathe in the Adriatic
atmosphere. Tomorrow, a bus ride into Piran awaits; later, we hope to cycle
along the coast, and maybe even dip into the sea - back permitting, though it
remains temperamental.
And the
question on everyone’s mind: is this €50-per-night luxury worth it? Only
time—and a few more days immersed in the pine-scented, music-filled,
people-watching magic of Camp Lucija - will tell.
Costs
today 158 euros for
three nights at campsite
Saturday
13th September: Day twelve –
week two
Piran. A
town painted in pastel hues, where ochre and terracotta rooftops nestle
together and every alleyway winds its way with the promise of a secret waiting
to be discovered. This little gem, perched on a slender peninsula that juts
into the aquamarine Adriatic, feels like something from a dream. At its heart,
small marinas cradle a handful of fishing boats, each one a testament to the
town’s enduring connection to the sea. It's a place that beguiles us with its
charm - the landscape itself almost a work of art, meticulously crafted to
steal our breath away.
Tartinijev
Trg, the oval-shaped square that anchors the town, is where the heart of Piran
can be felt most keenly. Here, the tiny inner harbour glistens, its waters so
clear that even the scuttling spider crabs seem to move with a quiet laid back grace
beneath the surface (unlike their Cornish cousins I must say). Mussel-laden
painters hold their vintage wooden crafts to the quayside, boats creaking as
they wait for their next voyage. The square itself, with its elegant Baroque
fountain at its heart, is a haven of tranquillity, while high above, St.
George’s Cathedral and its neighbouring Baptistry cast their solemn gaze over
the town, guardians of Piran’s rich, layered history.
We arrived
in Piran around 10 a.m., having caught the 9:30 bus from Lucija, a mere
15-minute walk from our campsite. There was a moment of unexpected drama when
the bus driver closed the doors just as I was stepping off, trapping my arm at
the elbow, between them. For a brief instant, my eyes watered from the sudden
shock of pain, but luckily, the harm was only momentary, and soon I was back on
my feet, though with a slightly more cautious eye on the bus doors.
As is our
way, we wandered aimlessly, letting the town reveal its magic at its own pace.
Before we knew it, we had meandered for miles, losing ourselves in time and a
collection of charming scenes – such as the harpist busker outside the
Cathedral – a call-out to my Welsh heritage. Along the way, we stopped for a
coffee, but the real entertainment came from a hapless tour boat skipper, whose
carelessness turned into an impromptu spectacle. As he ventured too close to
the shore, his wake surged toward the sunbathers on the concrete lido, catching
them completely off guard. The one-meter-high wave swept over the stone
platform like a tiny tsunami, dragging people and belongings with it in a
chaotic splash. The reactions were as fiery as the Adriatic sun, and
understandably so - true inconsideration on the skipper’s part.
We strolled
back along the promenade to the bus station, feeling the soft sea breeze on our
faces as we reflected on the town’s rich tapestry of history. Piran has been
shaped by centuries of maritime trading, each chapter written under the
watchful eyes of different rulers. It was first settled by the Illyrians, and
later became a Roman outpost before flourishing in the Middle Ages under
Byzantine and Frankish rule. But it was in the 13th century, when Piran fell
under the control of the Venetian Republic, that the town truly found its
golden age. For more than 500 years, the Venetians left their indelible mark on
the town - narrow alleyways, elegant facades, and a deep connection to the sea
that persists to this day. After Venice's fall in 1797, Piran passed through
Austrian, Napoleonic, and Austro-Hungarian hands, before becoming part of Italy
after World War I. Following the turbulence of World War II, it joined
Yugoslavia, and finally, in 1991, became part of independent Slovenia.
Reading that
history is like turning the pages of a timeless epic. Each line speaks to the
endurance of a place that has withstood centuries of change. It’s a place where
the imprint of the sea is still felt in the salty air, where the legacy of the
salt trade lingers, and where the blending of Slavic, Romanic, and
Mediterranean cultures creates something utterly unique. It is, in every sense,
captivating.
Our
afternoon was spent cycling out to the salt pans, the flat, glittering fields
stretching endlessly toward the horizon. The air here is thick with the scent
of brine, the rhythm of the tides determining brine concentration and wildlife
distributions. After our ride, we couldn’t resist the pull of the nearby ice
cream kiosk - conveniently located just a few steps from our parked van. This
isn’t just any ice cream. It’s artisanal, crafted with love and care, and
utterly irresistible. How could we not indulge when the temptation is right
there, so close? It may be a good thing we’re leaving on Monday, otherwise, I’m
afraid we’d never leave!
The cost of
our adventure? Just 4 euros for the bus ride - an unbelievable bargain for a
journey into the heart of history, the soul of the sea, and the magic of Piran.
Costs today:
4 euros for the return bus fare.
Sunday
14th September: Day thirteen
– week two
Sunday; a
rainy morning. Only one thing for it then. A planning breakfast at bar
‘Takamaka’. A mere 20m behind us. Be rude not to. Breakfast - pancakes with chocolate...a
granola breakfast bowl. You already know who had what! Maggie is inching closer to getting that life
insurance money before I hit 67!
We are
trying to decide where to go next. Head south like swallows or stick around in
Istria for a bit, stopping at Pula.
The weather
improves, so we decide to cycle Velo 8 up to Izola. It follows the line of an
old narrow-gauge railway and is tarmac all the way and well sign posted. Good choice, for Izola proves to be rather
quaint. Another little port right at the heart of the town. We sat and watched
the world go by at a café and then cycled back through the olive groves, little
farmed plots and odd vineyards.
Our evening
stroll was out along the headland and around to Sunset bar; alas the loud
pounding music proved too much for me and so we retreated back to Takamaka. I
can’t keep up with the young’un’s any more – all that techno beat. Ugh! Anyway,
fries, onion rings, mojito and Twix Frappuccino. You can decide who had what
and who will collect the life insurance on her partner!
Sunset, from
the overwater deck of Takamaka was spectacular and, yep, we saw the ‘green
flash’!!
Monday
15th September: Day fourteen
– week two
Starting
mileage 26280
Monday dawns
with the promise of new adventures as we make our way south through Istria,
heading towards Pula. We know we are passing by countless beautiful places on
the way, but we have already fallen in love with the top end of Slovenian
Istria. The journey down the motorway is easy enough, a quiet, straightforward
route that takes just an hour and cost us 11 euros in tolls. But, as always,
it's the unexpected moments that truly colour our travels.
In Pula, we
make one of those small yet irritating mistakes - the kind that only seem to
happen when you're in a hurry. A miscalculation, entirely my fault. We find
ourselves pulling into the Pula Mall, hoping for a place to park the motorhome,
only to be met with chaos. A sea of cars, no spots for us, and a distinct lack
of happy Croatian faces. It’s a frustrating detour. We quickly move across the
road and so find solace in the quiet of a Decathlon parking lot, where we park
and retreat to a café next door for a ‘soothing’ coffee to regain our
composure. We manage to exit Decathlon with a pool noodle, a new bike drink
bottle and some new swimming shorts!
By the time
we arrive at Kamping Stoji at 13:15, the reception area is buzzing with
activity. The line is long, the air thick with anticipation as people check in.
This campsite is on the pricier side, but sometimes, a little indulgence is
worth it. We have booked a prime pitch, right on the seafront, and it is
everything we’d hoped for. The view is expansive, a beautiful inlet, shimmering
in the sunlight, where a waterski training school works its magic with wires
and gantries and a steady procession of willing candidates.
Our pitch is
almost level, tucked in behind hedges and a small fenced-off area, offering
both shade from the trees and an open expanse of sky above. The perfect place
for stargazing later. The campsite’s facilities block is unlike any we’ve ever
experienced - spotlessly clean, with showers so spacious and a constant flow of
hot water, ample hooks for all your belongings, and – surprise - piped piano
music playing softly in the background. It’s an unexpected touch, but somehow,
it makes everything feel a little more luxurious. Even the boss raises an
eyebrow in impressed approval.
Just outside
the gate, a bus to Pula arrives regularly, and will take us into the heart of
the town in about 15 minutes. Easy access to the city without the hassle of
parking - it is the perfect balance of being close to nature and the easy
access convenience to the city centre.
This
campsite, with its sprawling grounds, is large enough to offer a variety of
pitches, but I would say the most spectacular spots are at the far end of the
headland, where the land meets the sea with no shade, just an uninterrupted
view of the Adriatic. There, you could bask in the golden sunsets, and if
you’re lucky, witness a sky that truly blushes as the sun dips below the
horizon. Sunsets to die for.
And so here
we are, in the afternoon. I slipped into the warm waters below our pitch for a
swim. The sea was alive with schools of fish, darting here and there in
shimmering formations, and sea cucumbers engaged in slow-mo movement across the
sandy seabed. The water was gentle and inviting, free from the menace of sea
urchins, offering a peaceful escape.
And, just
before dinner, we wandered to the far end of the campsite, towards the
motorhomes parked along the headland, where we stumbled upon something
extraordinary - a tuna shoal feeding frenzy, just 40 meters from the rocky
shoreline. The sea was a cauldron of activity as huge tuna leaped from the
water, chasing baitfish in a breathtaking display of power and precision. The
surface of the water seemed to erupt as the fish leapt, the air thick with the
rush of energy. Raw, beautiful chaos. I couldn’t help but think of my little
boat, Arwen, back home in Plymouth Sound, where I'd witnessed a similar
spectacle with mighty Atlantic Bluefin Tuna - much larger than these - and the
waters frothing with porpoises chasing the tuna and Minke whales just swimming
about having fun. What a thrill it was to witness this again, this time from
the shores of Pula.
The evening
slipped into night, and I found myself alone under a sky full of stars, the
quiet only broken by the occasional rustle of the trees. I spent hours trying
to capture the Pacman Nebula through my telescope, but the midges - oh, how I
hate them - soon sent me running indoors. Two hours into the session, and my
staying power had finally succumbed to the relentless whining and biting.
Still, it was a good try.
Costs: 70 euros booking fee (which,
annoyingly, I didn’t see in the small print – serves me right; 120 euros for
three nights
Comments
Post a Comment
Hi, we always look forward to hearing your comments, tips and thoughts. Drop us a line or two below. Take care now. Steve and Maggie