Bohinjska Bistrica, Slovenia

Bohinjska Bistrica, Slovenia - Day 134 and 135, Thursday and Friday June 27^th and 28^th

Thursday:

Two of our very best days.  It is because of these days that Camp Danica climbs to the top of my list for our whole Eurowander Adventure.

But what a bad mood to start a Thursday morning on.  Over the last few months, close together as we are, we all see how important mood is to ourselves and to each other.  A sunlit seascape, the finest meal; transformed into miserable tragedy.  A bare parking lot, a painful tummy but laughter and hope reigns.

On the road where stamina has such a premium sleep helps so much.  Last night was another late one.  This morning Taran awoke, petulant and demanding that I immediately change all his collected small change into sterling. This did not especially help my own morning mood.   I had warned him clearly on various and timely occasions that the coins and tiny denomination notes I suspected him to be hoarding needed to be spent in the country of issue.  Jo and I conscientiously spend all our change on petrol before leaving a country.  But Taran, our own newly minted numismatist, has been insisting that the coins were needed for his collection and despite my shopkeeper sensibilities has not wanted to change them for value.  But now – too late – he is suddenly of a mind to cash in!  The money is earmarked, we are told, for a silver pocket watch he saw in Istanbul and is planning to buy by email when he has the £150 saved.  He has, he sobs £30 of Turkish Lira, Serbian Dinar, Bulgarian Lev, Bosnian Marks and Croatian Kuna - in duplicated small denominations.  He tearfully claims total ignorance of my repeated cautions and regards this amount as rightfully his.  Balkan shrapnel - no thanks!  And £32 is a lot of petrol  money that he has, perhaps perfidiously, skimmed.  I hate any suspicion of dissembling in Taran so in an ill temper I explain he has lost his chance and that in fact it is we that have lost the £32 through his “collecting”.  This news goes down very badly. It is a crisis we spend the morning recovering from.  It is two full hours before anyone is talking and four hours before breakfast and schoolwork are done.

Of course it is all fine in the end – Jo works it out - £15 of the money is in larger denomination Kuna which was in fact his unspent pocket money and which she brilliantly suggests Taran offer at a commission free rate to Croatian registered campers at the site.  His hand is nearly bitten off!  And the small change is eventually acknowledged as an error and will be added to the coin collection as planned.  Which does not stop him over the next few days periodically counting and lamenting his valueless pennies in the back seat as we drive.  Taran is starting to notice money and its power.  There are more lessons for both of us.

But I left Jo to field the bad vibes and head off up the mountain on my bicycle.  It is all very alpine here and with trepidation and is it a masochistic thrill I set myself a climb to the village of Podjelje way up where.  I love a good mountain climb on the bike.  In the heat.  And dripping and grimacing I grind my way through 1200 or so vertical metres.  12 kilometres uphill only but it takes me over two hours. The narrow switchback road is virtually traffic free and first ascends along a tumbling stream before leaving the gorge to wind slowly up through forest and then flower strewn meadows. I pass grazing cows, and hay scything labourers and am passed in turn by the odd farmer waving encouragement from his tractor seat.  It is a kind of bliss.  I take a couple of breaks. 

I lie flat on my back in the clover, shaded by plum blossom, watching the odd cloud chase across the sky. 

And I exchange messages with Jo and Taran in a whimsical mood: both to impress and in apology for my earlier poor form.  

All is well. but I am climbing too hard to talk.

What a beautiful day it was to descend an alp in.  I find a way down to make a circle of the ride.  The breeze cools and dries and the valley; the meadows, river and lake unfurl before me. When I get back Jo and Taran are ready for a swim and we jump in the ice cold emerald stream at the bottom of the camp site.  There are other boys swimming too;  Jon from Ljubjiana, Ducek from the next door van and Dimitri from Russia. Taran and I tease them in to a game of Hotpot (our staple water ball game) and I am soon able to leave them all playing together.  

Dimitri is a little fat, a little uncomfortable and despite the other boys trying he leaves the game, cutting a lonely awkward figure in his wetsuit and goggles. When I had earlier asked him where he was from he had said “I am sorry. Russia” I wonder if he is experiencing anti-russian prejudice on his travels.  I have found little love of Russia on our travels but others will have a different perspective.

Jo and I are free to sit cooling in inch deep shallows as the sun goes down and the children play. 

Taran goes on to a long hot game of football after the swim with the same boys.

At the campsite I collapse exhausted (it was a long ride) and Jo prepares a pasta supper with a strangely sweet Bulgarian Paprika sauce bought bottled from a farmer the week before.  The smoked sheep cheese from the Kuterevo Bear Sanctuary was a disappointingly bland accompaniment. We all go to bed early and sleep long at last. 

Friday:

I had the intention to attempt a lyrical prose piece in memory of this fantastic holiday day.  Maybe even an epic poem. 

  

There was true beauty - see photos.  

Real exhilaration – wild swimming perfection, cable car to mountain top.  

Fellowship, exercise and adventure – Jo, Taran and mine bicycle circumnavigation of lake, 

Taran’s scream and fall.  

Poignancy – farewell dusky swim in Lake Bohinj and genuine boxfish moment.  

Evening football and friends for the youth contingent.  Fantastic pasta (Florentian Porcini and everything) for all and a healthy early night with a good old fashioned read to close the day. 

But as I write we are now 20 min from Oxford!  Who knows if I’ll get round to it…..