ASK ten people in the street where Slovenia is. I just did and eight of them couldn’t exactly place it. Nor are they unusual; a certain U.S. president mixed it up with Slovakia, and the flag (another red white and blue tricolour) doesn’t help it stand out either.
And that’s a good reason to go there: few people know about this Wales-sized, beautiful country in the heart of Europe. For the record it’s south of Austria, touches the top right of Italy and has its own tiny bit of Adriatic coast, and borders Hungary in the west and Croatia in the south. And it has Alps.
The scenery is just superb, with national parks more storks than I’ve ever seen before (‘How many does it take to make one tub of margarine?’ quipped one wag). The people are welcoming and often English-speaking, the architecture often charming (onion-bulb churches arising from islands in lakes, alpine chalets in lush meadows, glorious rivers and mountains) and in small patches a bit Stalinist with towers blocks and smokestack industry (‘just like haeme, then!’ quipped a Scot in our group). The cuisine takes something from each of illustrious neighbours, but in fact is just Slovenian. This refusal to be pigeon-holed defines the whole country.
They are not Balkan, having somehow wrested themselves from communist Yugoslavia only in 1990; they are not western European; they are not Swiss or Austrian; they are not Mediterranean. They are Slovenian. Mind you, having won independence without as much bloodshed of their southern neighbours they pretty darn quick joined the EU and Nato to keep things that way.
The Romans, the Austrians, Yugoslavs, Napoleon, Nazis and Turks have all ruled here, usually very badly. Now the people are overjoyed to run it themselves, and they do it well.
In fact I did know where this country was because I drove down here as a Seventies hippie student, having more sense than money, in a girlfriend’s Morris Minor Traveller, with an ex-Army tent. I probably said then (in Austin Powers-style cringeworthy language): ‘Far out, man, this is more out of sight than Austria. Wow, babe, if only they’d dump the deeply square communism it’d be groovy come back.’ They have, it is.
So when one the world’s best and innovative rail touring companies, PTG, offered the first British-led tour of the country, I leapt at the chance.
The rail network is centred on the capital, Ljubljana, and has the merit of having no journey too long. A couple of hours in any direction and you hit the country’s edge.
The must-do rail journeys start with from Jesenice up in the north-west near the Austrian border to Nova Gorica on the Italian border on the west. This is as pretty a rail ride as anywhere in the world, with the turquoise rivers, crossing a mountain range, and the beautiful lakes of Bled and Bohinj near the route. Stunning bridges and sensational views abound. Also in the far south-west, the tortuous line to the country’s only port at Koper offers superb views on its radical height-losing horseshoe curve (or rather doesn’t at that precise moment, as will become clear). You first see the port in the shining sea below as if from an aircraft. You then spot far below in the valley, whose upper cliffs we are descending at an oblique angle, the line we will shortly be on. But how to reach it with a mountain wall blocking the end of the valley? We enter a horseshoe shaped tunnel and arrive on the lower level.
Another line absolutely not to be missed is the one in the north-east, from Maribor to Bleiburg in Austria, or at least as far as Dravograd. This follows the might Drava river in great curves upstream with constantly changing views.
Luckily the main line joining these two somewhat secondary single-track routes sweeps through mountains and forests, through Ljubljana and the picturesque city of Selje, passing through a majestic river gorge en route, and so is a cracker in itself.
PTG pioneer rail tours in new countries all the time: Bulgaria, Peru as well as their favourites such as Spain and Portugal. They ran two types of tours – the cultural ones, which take in the features such as castles, caves and cities, and the railfan ones, which this was. As I wanted to see the whole system in a week, it was ideal, but others might prefer the more relaxed pace of the cultural option and fewer odd branch lines.
Mind you, it did let me see the great British railfan in all his (or her – yes, honestly!) glorious eccentricity. There was jovial Glaswegian Dave who has a huge collection of railway hats. He always somehow manages to charm one out of the staff at every country he visits. So on our visit he got five – including somehow getting one in a five-minute halt over the border in Italy, hopping back to the train to cheers from the Brits on the train. ‘I know they surrender fast, but this is ridiculous,’ quipped one of the group. And how many Welshwomen have blagged a cab ride on the train from Cakovec, Croatia (where despite high security from the border crossing) up the isolated branch to Lendava? Answer: one. Vivacious blonde Marion was up there blowing the train’s horn and somehow getting by in a combination of languages. Welsh may not have been much use; I heard Spanish being tried at one point!
At every station the station master stood smiling outside in his red cap (the ones Dave hadn’t blagged yet) and waved us through; the stations themselves were spotless and often charming with blooming windowboxes and flowerbeds and Austrian architecture.
The whole trip was great, and the companions made it all the more enjoyable. But contemplating PTG’s special touring train (with a bar, bags of seats at big tables and big windows you could open to smell the pine forests and hear the chuckling mountain streams and bird songs as well as the clickety-clack of the old-fashioned track) and superbly enthusiastic Slovenian crew, also considering the luxury air-con double-decker bus which shadowed the whole trip, taking people to cultural side trips, carrying our luggage and transferring us and from the three and four-star hotels every night, I wondered if I had gone soft.
Remembering that youthful camping trip, when in an Alpine storm I awoke to see my boots floating out of the tent in the swirling floodwater that soaked my sleeping bag, I decided it was a question of yes, a bit more more money … but a lot more sense. Leave all the timetables, accommodation and language problems to PTG and just let the inspiring Slovenian countryside roll past. Marvellous.
# PTG tours are on 01235 768855 and www.ptg. com. Benedict le Vay’s latest book is Britain From The Rails published by Bradt at £17.99.
To Slovenia for rails
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