Why Choose Lake Bled in Slovenia?
Imagine ...
A place nestles in the Alps, a place boasting a lake charmed by wooded shores and alpine foothills. A castle clutches to an unscalable white cliff, embraced by a thick, impenetrable forest, watching over a shining lake, rippled only by a pair of gliding swans or perhaps grey slips of fish curving their streams through the water's surface. A melody of green, composed by the surrounding woods and copses, lulls the scene, except in the brief autumn when reds and golds display a fiery spectacular before raining down into the mellow sedation. Wild flowers of every colour emanate soft scents, and when they are gone under the winter snow, pine-infused air speaks of the trees that embrace the lake shores and adjoining hills. At the head and toe of the valley the Radovna and Sava rivers curl and churn easy routes through all of this, tumbling from above and winding beyond Bled and the small villages and hamlets that perch on the rivers' deep blue-green gorges and valleys. The perpetual rumble of the pounding torrents and the hourly tolls of numerous church bells are the only sounds to breach the quiet and calming lull of Bled's environs. Feel the refreshing breezes as they spill from the mountains and wrap around the verdant valley bowl, pure as the meadows and glaciers from which they swoop. Walk through the old town, tucked under the castle cliff and follow the narrow street that leads down from the church. Small houses, measured with dark wood and balconies heaving with pink and red geraniums in summer, delineate the edges of the street. In the cold months the aromas of coffee, hot wild mushroom soup and wood smoke blend and swirl from the houses in warm contrast to the quiet rain or silent snow. Where the willows weep into the water gondoliers wait for passengers. You step on board the rocking vessel and the quiet gondolier pushes it gently away from the bank, from the willows and grassy park. Gently, quietly the gondola glides you through the water towards the small island, it's pink and white-grey church slowly becoming more visible, you can make out the dark cornerstones. You arrive on the island, the gondola rocks as you depart, but will wait for you. You climb the pale stone steps of the ascent to the small buildings. You push the heavy church door and step in to the cool chasm, clad with gold and dark frescoes which you take a few moments to decipher. You are invited to chime the bell that rings pristinely through the air, reverberating a deep chime around the valley. You leave the church and take a seat at one of the tables in the cool courtyard where you indulge in kamilcni caj. Soothed, you walk back down to the water's edge you look out to the parent shores of the lake and are calmed by the view, the relentlessly green foothills, the white scree slopes scaling not so distant mountain slopes, and the dark and glimmering outlines of a small houses nestling in the foothills. When you disembark you follow the path around the lake, past a languid, mossy fountain and up the steps into the town. Coffee bars whirl with aromas of fresh coffee and cream. People arrive. They have already tasted Bled and are back for more. They may head for a building wound with coloured ivy, or the white functionality of the shopping centre with its small square and terraces of shops and cafes. Some may head up into the old town and nestle in a gostilna, or sit on a villa patio to eat hot raspberries with ice cream while absorbing the view: the lake, the island the castle, the woods, hills and mountains. It is dusk. What remains of natural light clings to a blue-pink halo edging high clouds. Lamps begin to ignite and softly glow in the pale half-light. The cool breeze occasionally billows into a soft wind. The lake shimmers every shade of grey and white, flexing the mirrored images that have floated day long on its surface. The evening has tumbled from the mountains and the inky night is swiftly ushered in. The bird song fades. People are gathering in conversing, laughing throngs. You wander down to the lake again and see a display of candles floating on the water, a glowing, flickering blanket of soft light. Fireworks explode over the castle lighting up the mountains as a backdrop for coloured showers. Then calmness abounds, again. Wherever or however you imagine this place to be it is your own; if you want to really experience it, visit Bled. This description of Lake Bled was written by Sarah Knowles of Manchester who lived in Bled for several years.
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