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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
30th September: Day twenty
eight – week five beginning
Cycling
Through Rural Croatia: A Journey into Timeless Tranquillity
We set off
this morning, winding our way through narrow, twisting lanes that seemed to
lead us deeper into the heart of rural Croatia. The landscape here is like a
living ‘landscape’ painting - a floodplain stretching between the ridges of
hills, dotted with hamlets perched along the sides like scattered gems.
Cattle and
sheep graze peacefully in rectangular plots of land, their presence a gentle
reminder of simpler times. The fields are covered in round hay bales wrapped in
nets - giant sleeping straw pillows, waiting to be carried off when winter
calls. Isolated hamlets where time seems to have slowed down. Derelict farm
buildings standing like forgotten sentinels - collapsed roofs, broken beams,
and rusting machinery hidden in dark, dusty corners.
The air was
thick with history, each abandoned tractor and forgotten oil drum telling
stories of a bygone era. These quiet relics, much like the land itself, seem
frozen in time - never likely to stir again.
But here
there is life here, too. Bright yellow sunflowers stand proudly, like sun
kissed welcoming sentries, at the entrances to newer homes. In the small
gardens, peppers, cabbages, tomatoes, and potatoes grow side by side. Neatly
trellised vines climb, reaching toward the sun. It’s a world where nature and
community are intertwined - where every corner tells the story of hard work,
tradition, and quiet pride.
As we stop
to consult google maps, an old farmer on an ancient tractor pulls up beside us.
He didn’t speak good English, but his gesture - inviting us to follow him,
because he knew we were lost - spoke volumes. After reassuring him we weren’t
and waving google maps on our phone at him - with a smile and a wave, his
rickety, rusted tractor juddered back to life, the once shiny red machine now a
weathered companion on his journey of life. He clattered off into the nearby
field, a picturesque scene worthy of a Constable painting.
The road
signs along the way warned us of bears, boars, and wolves – visual reminders
that this rural landscape is as wild as it is beautiful. Mountain bike routes
snake up the hillsides, where busy workers at larger farmyards rig heavy canvas
tarps over huge round bales, stacking them high in preparation for the coming
winter. The land itself and its inhabitants preparing for the colder months
ahead.
The little
town of Vrlika is where time slows down. After cycling through this idyllic
countryside, we reached this charming town perched high above the floodplain.
Its medieval fortress, abandoned yet regal, looms like a watchful guardian over
the valley below. From here, the view stretches for miles - an endless canvas
of green fields, winding rivers, and the hazy outlines of distant hills.
Voting two to zero against cycling up the steep hill to the fort, we found a local coffee spot, a small café where the rhythm of the day slowed down, just like the town itself. A group of regulars had gathered for their mid-morning coffee, exchanging stories with laughter, gestures, and banter. Their faces, weathered and nut-brown from years spent under the sun and wind, were a testament to lives spent working hard in this rugged land. The lines around their eyes and mouths told stories of love, loss, and laughter - of lives well-lived.
As the clock
ticked toward midday, families began to trickle onto the café terrace -
sunglasses on, wine glasses raised. The café, now bathed in the soft glow of
the emerging sun, became a place where time seemed to stretch, as they sat
together, sharing coffee, wine, and stories from days gone by. It was the
essence of the Mediterranean lifestyle: slow, savouring, and full of joy and
life. Meanwhile, Croatian flags fluttering proudly above shop doors, national
monuments, and buildings and there was a sense of peace in the air - a quiet
pride in the land, the people, and the history that has brought them here. It
was, to be truthful, a privilege just sitting there and taking it all in.
A Chance
Encounter with Ivan, the Policeman
Our chance
encounter with Ivan the Policeman was great fun. We didn’t literally run into
him on the bikes, so much as ‘discovered’ him on duty at a roundabout. It would
have been rude not to have stopped to say hello. Ivan was standing there, with
a friendly smile, so we introduced ourselves. It turns out the road was about
to close for a big professional cycle race passing through in a couple of
hours.
Maggie
quickly pointed out, that we weren’t part of the race and Ivan burst out
laughing, his hearty chuckle filling the air. It was a simple, quite funny
moment, but one of those small, unexpected joys that travel so often provides.
A reminder that even the most ordinary days hold surprises, connections, and a
bit of humour.
We’ve loved
our short stay at Kamping Peruca, tucked away in the hills, away from the
hustle of the coast. It’s the kind of place where the calm of the countryside
just washes over you. Tranquil, welcoming, and full of the kind of traditional
hospitality that you can’t quite put into words, a true reflection of rural
Croatia. The warm welcome we received here has made this spot feel like a
refuge - where time isn’t rushing by, where the days are still filled with the
sounds of nature, and the nights are cool and crisp. The stillness here feels
like the world slowing down for a moment, letting us catch our breath and
appreciate the simple beauty of life in this corner of the world.
Today wasn’t
about the big, dramatic moments - it was about the small, fleeting connections
that sometimes make our travels really special. The dusty old tractor that
hummed away in the field, the laughter of villagers exchanging stories over
coffee, the proud Croatian flags waving in the sun - these are the moments that
define our journey; reminding us that, sometimes, it’s the quiet, slow days
that end up being the most beautiful ones.
Wednesday
1st October: Day twenty nine
– week five
A Moonlit
Escape, the Mysterious Night and onward to Rovinj
We are off
by 7:50 a.m. today, a bit reluctant to leave Kamping Peruca behind. The place,
rustic as it is, has a charm that tugs at the heart. I keep glancing back as we
pull away from our tiny rural haven, but the road ahead promises fresh
adventures, and so onwards we go.
I’m a little
bleary-eyed this morning, but last night's stargazing still pulses vividly in
my mind. Let me paint the scene for you: it was a chilly night, crisp and
clear, with the vast cosmos and its infinite possibilities stretched above. The
only light came from the late-rising full moon -mysterious, ethereal and soft -
its glow casting silver beams through the forest. With my trusty
light-pollution filter, I wasn’t too worried about the moon’s interference
during my astrophotography session.
Set up just
beside the van, nestled on the edge of the woods, a mere 20 metres from the
looming shadows of the trees, the night was alive with sounds - the hoots of
tawny owls, the distant cracking branches as wild boars rummaged through the
underbrush, and the steady chorus of sheep dogs barking in the distance. Sounds
echoing across the hills like whispers of another world, the landscape itself
felt as if it was breathing, alive and watchful.
But then, a
shiver crept down my spine – a DNA warning handed down from ancient
forefathers. Something had shifted. Suddenly, the air felt different.
The owls had fallen silent, their haunting calls vanishing as though the very
forest held its breath. The wild boars, once so eager in their nocturnal
pursuit, now eerily still. The local sheep dogs, began to bark - furious,
frantic, their calls sharp and piercing. Something was afoot.
Between the
trees, I saw them - shadows. Sleek, fast-moving forms slipping through
the moonbeams. I held my breath. Wolves? A howl cut through the night like a
blade of ice, primal and spine-chilling. And terribly close. There was no
denying it now - the legends are true. Under a full moon, Wolves truly do
howl, and the sound pierced me to my core. It wasn’t just noise - it was a
sound that echoed in my bones, a reminder of something ancient, something
untamed, something primeval.
In what can
only be called the ‘quickest astrophotography kit pack-up in history’, I
fled the scene. The night’s stargazing cut short, and my record-setting exit
not going unnoticed. As I slid beneath the duvet, a sleepy voice whispered in
the dark, “Why are you back so early?”
“Wolves” I replied. “So, what are you doing back in here?”
came the playful unconcerned reply. “Get back out so I can get the life
insurance”. Words failed me - this is the second time this trip she has pulled this retort on me - so I just muttered and pulled the duvet tighter
around me. I did consider warming my cold feet on her warm ones – but that
would have been an instant death sentence. I’m brave – not stupid!
The road
ahead stretches long and far today - a big leap northwards - toward Rovinj,
where we will spend a few nights before continuing our journey through Poreč
and back to Slovenia. As we headed up Route 1, the landscape seemed to shift
once more. Knin, the sprawling town nestled in a vast bowl of limestone ridges,
unfolded before us - an industrial giant marked by the echoes of the past where
abandoned factories and utilitarian, communist-era apartment blocks stood like
ghosts of another time, reminders of a world that once was.
From Knin to
Gracac, along route 50, we drove through valleys that felt like secret worlds.
Towering escarpments loomed over us, their craggy peaks like ‘watchful’
sentinels over the earth below. In between, deep gorges whispered stories of
ancient forces and each curve of the road seemed to draw us deeper into the
heart of Croatia’s wild spirit.
We made a
brief stop in Ogulin, a small town with a big story to tell. There is a small
car park 400m down from a small castle, perched like a guardian over the Dobra
River canyon. Built in 1500, this fortress was a relic of a time when the
Ottomans ravaged the region, and the people sought shelter behind its walls.
The castle’s museum, though modest, told of battles fought and lives changed.
In one room, we found poignant photographs from the 1991-95 Croatian War of
Independence - images that brought the weight of history crashing into our
present. Google Translate helped us work out that the area around Ogulin played
a major role in preventing the Serb rebels from merging with occupied
territories elsewhere in the region.
And, I found
a treasure close to my heart - an exhibit on alpine mountaineering. An
opportunity to gently run my fingers over old, familiar climbing gear;
remembering a time when my limbs were a little less stiff and my brain a lot
more adventurous.
Don’t miss
the room devoted to the celebrated fairy tale author Ivana Brilic-Mazuranic
either. All the above and ethnology, archaeology and art exhibitions, for 1.5
euros each. Worth every cent.
After our
enriching visit to Ogulin, we made our way to Sabljaci Camper Stop, a serene
retreat by Lake Sabljaci. The weather had turned unexpectedly cold - grey
skies, biting winds, and a chill that made even the bravest of us bundle up in
thick coats. It was the first day we’d worn trousers and not shorts since
arriving, and I found myself huddled in a duvet jacket, feeling the cold sink
deep into my bones.
Still, the
campsite had its charms - neat, tidy, and welcoming. The pitches were
well-maintained and level, with each offering electric and water hook-ups. The
facilities were modern and clean, although only a few showers and toilets for
each sex; not many for a thirty-pitch site. The welcome schnapps from the owner
lifted Maggie’s spirits no end – she got mine as well; potent enough to singe
the edges of her insides by all accounts!
Though the
lake lay just a short walk away, few ventured out - it was too cold for
comfort. Under clear, sunny skies and night time open vistas of stars and
constellations, this place would be perfect for a couple of nights – walking,
exploring and stargazing! Gates get locked each night and a bonus – there is a
doggy shower down the bottom of the site along with gooseberries and
raspberries growing behind each pitch – free to overnighters!
The day had
been full - we had seen the layers of history, touched the past, and ventured
into the unknown. A great day.
Costs
today: fuel 52
euros. Museum 3 euros. Tolls 13 euros. Campsite 25 euros with ACSI card.
Thursday
2nd October: Day thirty –
week five
This
morning, we found ourselves at Plodines, a Croatian supermarket that has
quickly become our secret indulgence. It’s a world apart from Lidl in Croatia
(and where we shop back in the UK). It’s funny, the little things that mark the
passage of time, like the quiet ritual of grocery shopping that feels different
in each country. By 8:00 a.m., we were already navigating the aisles - two
early risers, hunting for sustenance in the heart of Ogulin.
The night
had been a calm one, but colder than we anticipated - the sort of chill that
whispers of winter's fast approach. I found myself reaching for the heater
switch in the early hours - an impulse born from the harsh cold outside that
was wrapping itself around ‘Bryony’ (our motorhome) like a creeping fog.
Winters in this part of Croatia must be harsh, a fact that becomes apparent
when we take in the view of the neatly stacked log piles that seem to adorn
every lawn and driveway. These piles, so perfectly symmetrical - are not mere
firewood, but wooden monuments to survival in a land where the seasons clearly
demand respect. Typically, a log pile might stand around 1.5m high, 5m in
length and 0.6m in width - neat and compact. Here, however, the logs are
giants, double the size of what we’ve found elsewhere. We even saw tree trunks,
lying across front lawns, waiting to be split. They take their winter fuel wood
supplies very seriously up here!
What also
struck us quickly, was the individuality of the houses. As we drove through the
suburbs, we saw no mass housing estate developments. No rows of identical
homes. Instead, each house had its own character, as if shaped by the hands of
a master artisan architect rather than a construction crew. A collection of
stories, each residence telling its own tale of history, culture, and pride. A
few common threads ran through them all - steep, sharply pitched roofs, with
iron brackets crisscrossing them like an intricate lattice, clearly designed to
hold the weight of snow during the harsh winters. And those window boxes,
overflowing with vibrant flowers, carrying the essence of the Croatian spirit:
colourful, proud, and welcoming.
As we
journeyed, we noticed the locals offering the fruits of their labour by the
roadside - pumpkins, sacks of potatoes, and massive bundles of cabbages. Huge,
hearty cabbages, the size of large footballs. We couldn’t help but smile,
wondering what it was about this part of Croatia that made such humble produce
seem like suddenly discovered treasures. And the maize, still standing tall and
unharvested, adding an unexpected dash of gold to the fields, bright yellow
cobs nestled in golden, blackened husk leaves, hinting at stories of the past
summer’s warmth.
But then, the unexpected arrived. We had just got onto the motorway when we hit a roadworks detour that tested our patience and nerves in ways we hadn’t yet prepared for. The traffic divided into two lanes, one running on the other carriageway. Somehow, and this remains a bone of contention between us as to whose responsibility it was not to make the navigation mistake, we managed to get into the wrong lane and so were diverted off the motorway onto narrow, winding roads, where we found ourselves navigating through villages where roads were more obstacle course than transport route. For miles, the one side of the road was torn up, leaving a trench - a 10-foot deep, 10-foot wide gash in the earth, a raw scar in the highway.
At times, I
felt like I was playing a high-stakes game of dodgems, trying to avoid
plummeting into the abyss, or colliding with gravel lorries and contractors’
trucks. There were three moments when I thought we might topple in, the edge of
the road so narrow that the rear of the van teetered precariously over the
chasm to the side of us. At one point, mounting the high pavement curb to avoid
the yawning gulf on the other side, a workman, his face drenched in sweat,
offered a shrug and a grin, his finger wagging in a silent gesture of “Phew,
that was close.” And close it was. I had the rear wheel 1” from the abyss and
the bike rack and half of Bryony’s rear end overhanging it. For much of the time, I’m sure Mag had her
eyes closed and fingers crossed!
What made
this situation worse was that where they had filled in the trench, it was rough
unpacked gravel and a nightmare to drive on, so we were, for the second time in
only a few days, forced to drive along the opposite carriageway; until a
vehicle heading along it in the right direction, forced us to slowly creep onto
the gravel section our side.
Stressful?
Not half it was!
This detour,
though stressful, brought with it a changing landscape. From the wintery
mountain interior, we were slowly descending toward the coast, and with each
mile, the environment shifted once more like a landscape painting evolving
before our eyes. We began in thick fleeces and duvet jackets, battling the
morning chill, and by the afternoon, we were shedding layers and feeling the
warmth of the sun on our skin, trading winter blues for summer hues. It was as
if we had stepped through a ‘Mr Ben’ door into a new world - a world where the
mountains came down to kiss the deep blue Adriatic sea.
As we drove
just above Rijeka, we marvelled at the monumental civil engineering works
taking place along the cliffsides. Drilling into the rock face, securing steel
bolts to hold up massive nets that would protect the motorway from falling
debris, engineers worked towering machines in plumes of thick choking dust,
winning renewed respect from us both.
We’ll never complain about the downsides to teaching again, after
witnessing what these civil engineers had to endure.
Finally,
after what seemed a never ending journey, we arrived in Rovinj, a town nestled
on the edge of the Adriatic. We had chosen our campsite - Kamping Porton - not
only for its proximity to the sea, just a stone’s throw away, but also for its
welcoming atmosphere. It was a perfect mix of the simple and the sublime, with
luxury chalets nestled among the motorhome pitches, where the sound of the
waves was a mere ten metres away. The staff greeted us with warmth, and the
facilities were clean, with plenty of hot water. And there was a highly prized
washing machine – the mundanities of life never go far away, do they?
Getting to
our pitch was an adventure in itself. The site, perched on a hill, required a
careful dance of manoeuvring and precision - like threading a needle, the steep
incline and narrow entry onto our pitch posing a challenge. We made it - just.
Still, I couldn’t help but worry about reversing out when we finally left -
with that tight space behind us and the next terrace wall running along one
side. That, as they say, is a problem for a few days’ time.
The
afternoon found us wandering into Rovinj, drawn by its promise of beauty and
history. The walk along the coast, past the old railway station, a boatyard,
and a tuna cannery, was a perfect introduction to the town’s charm. As we
wandered through its marble-paved streets, polished by the centuries of
footsteps that had passed before us, we discovered tiny art shops, hidden
boutiques, and café terraces overlooking the sea. The church at the top of the
hill loomed like a sentinel, guarding the town’s secrets, its bells calling us
to explore further.
There was a
sense of timelessness here - of a town that had lived, loved, and breathed
through centuries. And as the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting golden
hues over the water, it felt like the perfect end to another chapter of our
romantic adventure.
It has been
a great day – unfolding like a well – worn map, with unexpected detours,
breathtaking scenery and little interlude moments that remind us that life is
truly a journey.
Costs
today:
- Fuel: 52 euros
- Tolls: 23 euros
- Campsite: 30 euros per night
(four nights)
Friday
3rd October – Day Thirty-One, Week Five
One of
Those Easy Days
It felt
positively Arctic when we stepped outside this morning. A slight exaggeration,
perhaps - the temperature was a perfectly respectable 14°C and the sun was
shining - but the Bura wind had other ideas. It cut straight through us,
sharp and unapologetic, turning a mild day into something that felt much
colder. Think sunshine with teeth.
So, layered
up in double fleeces and long trousers, we set off on our bikes. The plan was a
gentle ride along the local cycle track, which follows an old railway line. And
when they say “old railway line”, they really mean it. In several places, the
original steel rails still poke through the gravel. Someone, at some point,
clearly thought, “That’ll do”, and simply tipped gravel straight over
the tracks. It felt a bit like cycling over buried history - the past never
quite out of sight beneath our wheels.
The scenery
started off well: beaches fading into olive groves, then long polytunnels
sheltering fruit and vegetables like white caterpillars stretched across the
land. After a while though, the route became rather samey. Long stretches boxed
in by hedges and trees meant the surrounding countryside mostly stayed hidden.
It was a bit like walking through a corridor when you know there’s a great view
just beyond the walls.
After about
five miles, we diverted into a village for coffee - a decision we never regret
- and eventually reached a tiny village around two miles further on. Coffee
consumed and legs sufficiently exercised, we decided to call it a day and
headed back.
Back at the
campsite, we dropped off the bikes and walked into Rovinj instead. Lunch, a
couple of drinks, some postcard shopping, and a gentle beachfront stroll
followed - the kind that requires no effort and no timetable. Eventually, we
wandered back to Bryony, our motorhome, feeling pleasantly unhurried.
As luck
would have it, there was a washing machine available - a rare treat on the road
- so laundry went on, Bryony got a quick interior tidy, and the rest of the
afternoon was spent exactly as it should be: reading, light route planning, and
doing very little else.
This is what
we call an easy day. No big miles, no grand sights - just the quiet joy
of motorhome life done right.
Costs
today: coffee stop
and lunch — €12 total.
Saturday
4th October – Day Thirty-Two, Week Five
Following
the Sun by Bike in Rovinj
“Go south,”
they say. “Follow the sun.”
So we did. On E-bikes.
Today’s
joint conclusion, arrived at, while pedalling along the coast, is that we’re
probably camped at the naff end of the bay - and that’s saying
something, because even the ‘naff’ end here is still rather lovely. That said,
once we reached the sprawling campsite on the far peninsula, our opinion
shifted slightly. Actually … we may have chosen our spot very well indeed.
If you’re
after postcard-perfect beaches, turquoise-green seas, pine forests, and views
dotted with tiny islands, then our advice is simple: cycle through Rovinj and
keep heading south along the coast. Pass the glossy marina area - you’ll know
it when you see it – marble and designer boutiques - and just keep going. What
follows are wide, flat gravel paths winding through fragrant pine forests,
leading to small stone beaches and rocky platforms that are perfect for
swimming from. It’s the sort of coastline that makes you slow down without even
realising it.
When it’s
time to stop, look out for the ‘Soul Food’ shack. A wonderfully
laid-back, California-style beach vibe transplanted into Croatia. Great music,
relaxed atmosphere, and cracking views over the water. Cash only - worth
knowing - and absolutely worth stopping because it’s just back off the beach
underneath wonderful tall pine trees.
Swimming,
however, was off the cards today. The Bura wind has arrived, bringing
cooler temperatures, thin high cloud, and a definite drop in UV levels. The sea
looked inviting, but only the brave (or foolish) were venturing in this
morning.
That said, I
could very happily embrace the chilled beach-shack life. Give me a beach with
gently lapping waves, warm clear water, reefs to snorkel over, and big open
skies at night for astrophotography, and I’m a contented man.
Later in the
afternoon, we strolled back along the seafront into Rovinj for ice-cream
sundaes and a bit of people-watching. Both slightly naughty. Both utterly
delicious.
Sunday
5th October – Day Thirty-Three, Week Five
Stormy
Motorhome Life Under the Pines in Rovinj
Ouch. What a
night.
High winds,
relentless rain, and an alarming flurry of pine cones raining down onto poor Bryony’s
roof like nature’s own percussion section. Lesson learned: parking a motorhome
under pine trees during a storm is not ideal. Atmospheric, yes. Sensible, no.
Morning
revealed the aftermath. A patchwork of four-inch-long twin pine needles was
plastered across the skylight, while the windscreen was partially buried
beneath thin branches, pine needles, and a scattering of small cones. The area
below the wipers - the “gutter”, as I’ve come to call it - was absolutely
chock-full of needles. Pine needles, it turns out, have a remarkable ability to
get everywhere.
And just to
add to the drama, it rained. All morning. Solid, determined rain.
At around
9am, I made a mercy dash to the local bakery kiosk on-site, battling the
weather for four croissants and two raspberry-and-chocolate muffins with
vanilla cream filling. Heroic stuff. That haul, combined with copious amounts
of caffeine, kept us going until around 3pm, when the clouds finally began to
break and the sun tentatively peeked out.
Freedom at
last.
We escaped
for a walk into Rovinj and back, purely to stretch our legs and remind
ourselves that fresh air still existed. On returning, the glamorous side of
motorhome life resumed: clearing out the engine bay, re-cleaning the
windscreen, topping up the water tank, and generally dealing with all the
unglamorous but necessary jobs that keep life on the road ticking along.
Thrilling
stuff. We could barely contain our excitement.
And then
there was the small matter of paying the ASFINAG Austrian toll invoice they’d
sent us. Complicated? Not half. What should have been a quick admin task turned
into a two-hour ordeal. At one point, we genuinely watched our lives slowly
peter away before our own eyes.
Next up:
figuring out how to return the Go-Box if we don’t pass back through Austria.
But that, as they say, is very much a mid-week problem.
Monday
6th October – Day Thirty-Four, Week Five
Motorhome
Stopover in Ljubljana: Park & Ride, Castles and Chaos
Start
mileage: 27,383
We were away
early and rolled into Ljubljana by 10am, feeling rather pleased with ourselves.
For visiting the city by motorhome, we used the Park and Ride facility at
Stanežiče, just northwest of the centre - a sensible, no-nonsense option
that ticks most of the right boxes.
The pitch
itself was flat, spacious, and cost just €11 for the night. Grey and
black waste disposal were good, and payment was straightforward via the
EasyPark app. On paper, it should also have had electric hook-up - in reality,
that was more of a suggestion than a guarantee. Of all the hook-up points
available, only three bollards were actually working… and all three were
already taken. So, gas it was for the night. Irritating, but manageable.
We skipped
the freshwater fill-up as the tap looked decidedly unloved, and instead headed
straight for the bus stop.
The bus
into Ljubljana city centre was refreshingly easy. A straight run, plenty of
stops, but only about 20 minutes inbound. Buses run every ten minutes in both
directions and cost just €1.50 each way - excellent value and very
motorhome-friendly.
The return
journey, however… was a different beast entirely.
We caught a
mid-afternoon bus and immediately hit gridlock. Absolute, full-blown chaos. In
30 minutes, we barely covered two kilometres. The bus was packed like a tin of
sardines, with barely anyone able to squeeze on at subsequent stops. The
culprit? Major engineering works on the outer ring roads. Once past the
ring-road junction, traffic flowed freely again - but by then the damage was
done. The return trip took almost 40 minutes, double the inbound time.
Once in the
city, though, Ljubljana quickly made up for it.
The place is
architecturally stunning - elegant, colourful, and effortlessly charming. We
wandered the main streets, soaking it all in, before catching the funicular up
to Ljubljana Castle. Coffee and chips followed in the bustling marketplace,
because balance is important.
Castle entry
was €19 each. Was it worth it? Sort of. There are a couple of museums, a
well-done presentation on the castle’s history, and a handful of bars and
restaurants. But the real showstopper is the view. From the tower, the city
spreads out below you like a map, and in the distance, snow-capped peaks rise
on the horizon. As a geographer, that view alone almost justified the ticket
price.
One thing we
noted: Ljubljana is very doable in a single day. You can see, eat, stroll, and
explore without feeling rushed - ideal when you’re touring by motorhome and
keeping an eye on miles and costs.
Back at the Park & Ride, the night was pleasantly peaceful. A few buses came and went, and there was some distant road noise, but nothing intrusive. We slept well.
Value for
money? It would have been absolutely spot-on if the electric hook-ups were
actually working. But they weren’t. Ho hum - that’s motorhome life.
Costs
today:
Castle
entry: €38 Park & Ride:
€11 Tolls: €21
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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