Lake Bled, Julian Alps and Kobarid

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This was an amazing couple of days driving trough the Julian Alps to Lake Bled, then on to Kobarid. The rainy, cool day gave a somber mood to the mountain lake watched over by Castle Bled built, like all fortress in this area, on the highest, most nonpenetrable rock they could find. On the way up the wet, cobbled path from the parking lot, I couldn't help but wonder how anyone could have made it daily wearing wooden shoes on your feet and a load of food or fuel on your back. Then it hit me: was this a 'strenuous day or a 'moderate day?' If moderate, I'm in big trouble.

Our driver took all around the lake shore and Sasha pointed out the fancy hotels - one was once the private retreat of Hungary's Tito before the fall of that Communist power. Some of us opted for a boat ride on the hand crafted Pletna boats - keel free, flat-bottomed boats piloted by fellows who've done this for generations back. We reached the island and made our way to the island (Blesjeski Otok - would believe the only island in Slovenia?) The church at the top - a church or a castle, these are the choices - The Church of the Assumption of the Lady of the Lake (or something like that) is traditionally reached by a groom carrying his bride up the ninety-nine steps from the dock. Also, you will receive good luck if you can ring the tower bell by pulling the rope one time. I tried neither. Feats if strength and/or idiocy are no longer in my repertoire, if ever. We climbed, we photoed, we rode back to shore. After lunch which had to include a Lake Bled cake - creme, custard and flaky pastry - a Napoleon without chocolate.

We boarded our bus and headed further through the mountains to Kobarid where we saw where the most fierce mountian fighting of WWI (or any other to date) occurred. Hemingway, an ambulance driver for the French in that war came through Kobarid and found the perfect setting for 'A Farewell to Arms.' The museum in Kobarid dedicated to this war and these men (and women) who spent two years fighting in the most impossible conditions are not distinguished between winners or losers, but are are equally celebrated.

The road through this pass that follows the Soca River was built by the Russian POWs over a two year period and it's estimated that as many as 10,000 prisoners, guards and others died in the effort. It's the very same road our bus took - 50 switchback turns - over the mountain. Most of the individual cobbles from the time still remain.

On our way to Motovun, we veered off the trail a bit to drive by the Lipizzaner (the ones that turn pure white as they age) horse farm. You kids look up these horses on google to save me from having to explain. The other side of the road was a golf course, but I was so amazed to see the stallions, I missed the other altogether. Andrea and I saw them during a rehearsal performance in Vienna in 1973.

Let me know if the photos don't have enough explanation. Sometimes, I'm so tired when I get to this I don't know what I'm saying.

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