Slovenian lake where magic still happens...
Walking around Lake Bled, I half-expect to hear Snow White croon to woodland creatures. The air smells like green candyfloss and the grass is splattered with flowers. A pair of swans glide across the wake of a boat oared by a man standing gondolier-fashion. I knew Bled, in Slovenia, would be lovely (it regularly tops lists of the most beautiful places in the world), but I hadn’t expected it to be quite so disney-esque.
Castle peering down from the top of a craggy cliff? yup. An island supposedly created by grouchy mountain fairies? Of course. A church with a bell that grants wishes? Absolutely.
Arnold Rikli is credited with turning Bled into a tourist fairy tale. He arrived in 1852 a sick fellow but the lake’s clean air and clear waters swiftly perked him up. Keen to cash in on the miracle cure, he turned Bled into a health camp.
Wealthy guests endured a strict regime of bathing in the lake, sunbathing and hiking, all carried out naked — allegedly for maximum exposure to the sun.
TOdAy, it’s perfect for a healthy yet less stringent (and fully clothed) break: walk, run, or cycle around the lake or up into the mountains; rent a row-boat (complete with picnic) or swim. I choose to walk around the lake — the path is clearly signed, level and in places takes you over the water itself.
The full circuit takes about two hours, but I keep stopping as every other minute there’s an Instagram-worthy view.
At one end, Bled Castle glowers from its crag; at the other you hear the periodic ringing of the bell from the church perched atop a tiny steep island.
Slovenia nudges up against Austria and Italy. That means great pasta, pizza and risotto — and good cakes, coffee and wine.
Bled is nothing if not obliging. The people are friendly (even the rubbish collector smiles and nods as I walk past).
The flight to Ljubljana is painless (a twitch over two hours from London) and the lake is just 40 minutes from the airport.
I stay at the Best Western Premier Hotel Lovec. It’s no princess’s castle, but the staff act like a tag-team of fairy godmothers, organising trips and recommending (pretty magical) treatments at the small spa.
They even have their own, modern-day Rikli in the form of Zenko domancic, an avuncular Croatian who runs regular ‘biotherapy’ sessions and is credited with nigh-on miraculous healing powers.
I wait patiently for my own miracle (offering up a painful shoulder injury), but, alas, it’s not to be. Never mind. A return trip will be an ideal tonic.