Bled : A Long Way Round (again)

Today we plan to take it easy, mindful of tomorrow’s long trip to Venice. We start a very long drawn out wander around the lake, clockwise this time to give a slightly different perspective!

This means we do the least attractive part of the walk first. A little hard I admit as there really isn’t an ugly side, just one that’s a might too populated and the traffic encroaches a little too much. Still there are plenty of grand buildings to admire with some in good condition and others frankly falling down.

We spend the rest of the day ... swimming in turquoise water marvelling at the incredible view of mountains in the distance.

As we pass some of the more exclusive hotels we are accosted by local artists wanting to sell their wares. These are pinned up to the handy railings for us to admire. Now I realise many of these artists repeat the same image over and over again, probably in their sleep. But I don’t want to see all the duplicates on display; I want the artist to have the good grace to wait until I’ve been gone for five minutes before replacing it. Mind you I suppose there really is only one image to paint – the church on the lake.

That brings me to our last major target this trip; a visit to this little gem, glistening in its turquoise water. We find a boat almost full, in the village on the far side of the lake. So we hop aboard and off we glide.

It is a really relaxing way of travelling, gently skimming over the water with nothing but the noise of the double oars. These gondolas are a far more elegant cousin of those in Venice. They are wider and unpainted with a canopy to protect us from the sun. There are no brass decorations or tacky red velvet heart shaped cushions. But the oarsmen have a similar technique to those of Venice; standing at the stern and using the full weight of their body to push against the oars, which never leave the water.

We are sharing the gondola with a wealthy Australian couple who have employed their own local guide to show them around. We get the benefit of her knowledge as well for free. Apparently every other year the gondoliers get a busman’s holiday. One year the Venetians’ come to Bled to row, and another the Bledonians’ (just made that up I’m afraid) go to Venice.

It seems to take a while to glide over to the lake and time seems to stand still. However after a text book landing, time kicks back in instantly, as we only have 30 minutes until we have to be back on board again. Firstly we have to climb an enormous flight of steps up to the church itself. This takes some doing as it’s already heating up. But spare a thought for prospective grooms who have to carry their bride to the top. I wonder how many change their mind halfway up.

After paying the obligatory landing fee we wander into the pretty little church, stuffed full of Baroque decoration; all golden frilly bits. In the centre is a single rope for ringing the bell. I expected stern warnings forbidding visitors from doing this but to my amazement it’s okay. You can ring it three times and kids aren’t allowed to swing on it. Apparently when rung you should make a prayer to the Virgin Mary, which will be granted if you are earnest enough. I don’t bother with that but do have a go. Of course Y won’t tell me what she wished for.

Afterwards we wonder round the small building next to the church, which is currently home to some small art exhibits. One is a collection of crib scenes, made out of different materials like papier-mâché and gingerbread (no I’m not kidding this time). Upstairs are a rather spooky collection of figurines dressed in national costume. Most of these look lovely but they evidently struggled with Great Britain. We do recognise a Welsh lady, but although the hat is okay, the rest of it looked wrong. Oddly they hadn’t gone for a Scotsman in a kilt which I would have thought fitted the bill. What about a Morris Dancer? The really worrying thing about all the figures is that none had faces (wasn’t there a Dr Who episode like that?). Still perhaps the sculptor can do all the complex costumes, just not facial features.

All too soon our time was up and we slowly descend the steps back to the waiting gondola, waking our oarsman from his nap; can they really make enough money from this at just €12 per person? Gently we float back to the shore and pay our fare. I suppose there isn’t much chance of us leaving without paying.

Back on dry land we carry on walking until we reach the furthest part of the lake from Bled. There is a campsite here and more importantly swimming facilities. This is why we’ve come today; we are going to be really brave and take a dip in the water.

Of course it’s a hot sunny day so we don’t have it all to ourselves. There are already lots of people fighting for space on the grassy bank. However we do manage to stake our claim to a little bit of shade by the waters edge. This turns out to be a rather awkward spot, too close to the nearby showers and within splashing distance of children climbing in and out.

To begin with we both just sit there rather nervously, but finally I decide to bite the bullet and get on with it. As I gingerly step into the water it’s a bit of a shock to find I’m straight up to my knee, but in fact it is a very gradual gradient and much less of a shock to the system. In fact the water is fantastic, warmer than the Mediterranean in fact. Pretty soon I’m swimming along, trying to work out why I’m finding it so hard to stand up again.

Because the lake is quite pebbly I had taken some waterproof shoes with me. What I didn’t realise was that they were quite so buoyant. I soon discovered that you can’t swim properly in them and end up tossing them back onto the shore. However they are quite useful for climbing in and out of the water.

We spend the rest of the day alternatively reading in the shade or swimming in turquoise water marvelling at the incredible view of mountains in the distance. It’s a fantastic experience watching fish swimming past us – I wish I had a snorkel and mask like some of the kids around us.

When the shade does move over we find ourselves sitting in the baking sun. I sit there for as long as I can stand it before I have to put a t-shirt back on and we make our move on a vacant spot under a tree. Typically as we get there as someone else is eyeing it up. We just throw down our towels – this is no time to play nice.

Finally when we’ve had enough we carry on round the corner to the rowing club for an early dinner. We were so impressed with our squid we thought they were worth a second go and they definitely deliver. I have a perfectly cooked rare steak in a mushroom sauce – real seps no less. Y’s comes with a rather tasty looking red pepper sauce and she is equally impressed.

We don’t rush off after dinner, we sit watching the local teenagers splashing about, diving off the jetties, messing about on scooters or just generally trying to impress the opposite sex. It’s definitely the hip place to go if you’re an adolescent and certainly beats sitting around in shopping centres.

It’s about this time that I started to realise that my back was sore. A quick visit to the restroom confirmed my suspicions. My poor back was sunburnt. Annoyingly I hardly ever sit in the sun and always use sun cream. Unfortunately there are just some bits I cannot reach. A useless excuse I know but the damage is done now.

As we sit commiserating about our respective burns (I wasn’t the only one), groups of young athletic types start carrying their rowing boats (the Olympic style ones which probably have a far more exciting name) to the water. It’s the first time we’ve ever seen them going out for a practice. Most seem to be either 1 or 2 man boats, not the great big ones used by Oxford or Cambridge.

We head off, completing our newest, slowest record for a circuit of the lakes, dodging all modes of transport; mopeds, scooters, roller blades and bikes. The latter are usually ridden at a leisurely pace, but one Tour de France wannabe, heads straight at us at full speed. I step out the way while Y adopts the bunny in the headlights approach, jumping for the verge when she realises he really isn’t going to detour round her!

Considering what an eventful day we’ve had we are both quiet tired and spend the rest of the evening sitting on the balcony, sipping tea and reading that little bit more. When I do go to bed I soak the back of my t-shirt which keeps my back wonderfully cool as I drift off to sleep.