I struggle with what to share from our Nepal travels. So many experiences flood my mind at once, and some of them just have to wait until we can share them with you in person… or until you decide you simply must travel to Nepal and have them yourselves. We highly support that decision, even if you don’t take the local bus while you’re there.

For now, we’ll spend a couple posts sharing with you some different aspects of our trek. With these, we hope to give you a sense of what and how we experienced the AC.

One of the more enchanting aspects of hiking the AC, especially in October, is the feeling of time travel we experienced by hiking through the seasons. In just a couple weeks we hiked from summer through fall to winter and back again. Imagine time standing still while you walk through 9 months of seasons in three weeks! It’s a beautiful feeling to experience while trekking and a beautiful theme for this trek.

Summer

We began our trek in the jungle. We know it was the jungle, because we saw a monkey. And because it was a warm and humid environment with the foliage to match. I say warm and not hot, because we’re currently in Thailand in a truly hot and humid environment, and hindsight being 20/20, Nepal was just not this hot. But, despite it only being warm and humid, and despite all of us having lived through a few exceedingly hot, humid east coast summers, we true Californians in our love of dry climates sweat a lot. And, grumbled quite a bit. Summer was an uncomfortable season to hike in. But the scenery made it all worthwhile. Lush green and yellow rice paddies lined the hillsides climbing almost to the tops of extremely steep slopes. A smattering of villages sprinkled among them. The paddies were not quite ready for reaping – about two weeks to harvest, Deepak, our guide, said. The trek kept us with almost continual views of this mind boggling scene. And when it wound, it wound us through small villages with locals sharing a cup of tea, tending to their animals, or doing laundry in an open basin or stream. We spent about five days in summer, before climbing into fall.

Fall

Fall began a bit unexpectedly for us. For some reason we all had expectations that the mountains would be largely barren and cold, already wintery most of the way – as if we’d be jumping from summer straight to winter. Silly us. You have to climb to that point, and in climbing, you must climb through fall. We first noticed fall as we climbed out of the jungle and into more deciduous forests. The air was cooler and drier, and the trees covering the slopes up here had begun yellowing in the first hints of fall. As we continued climbing, the deciduous forests gave way to pine forests, that in turn gave way to smaller, high altitude trees and shrubs. Of course the pines don’t offer much fall flavor, but by the time we’d climbed into the higher altitude shrubbery, the shrubs were wearing their most brilliant reds and golds of the season.

In fall, we saw changes in the fields too, as we watched the full harvest cycle – fascinating for those of us having never witnessed farming without modern machinery. Farmers were out reaping their crops by hand with scythes. Where the crops had been reaped, they were separating the shaft from the grain by taking bundles of the crop and beating them against the ground so the grains would fall off. They then sifted the grain on large round screens to clean it. On a few occasions we witnessed farmers using oxen to plow their cleared fields. The process was simple and captivating.

The beginning of fall also marked one of the Buddhist festivals that involve animal sacrifice. I imagine the festivals involve other, more commonly known activities as well. But, the animal sacrifice was what stood out in our minds. We arrived a bit late to the actual sacrifices but did witness part of the carving and dividing of a sacrificial bull. And, we followed its bagged head being carried up the mountain for a bit longer than one would want to hike behind a decapitated bull head. Upon telling a few trail friends of our bull head episode they recounted their tales from the previous day of hiking through “rivers of blood”. No thanks. A fascinating season to say the least.

Winter

When reading about the AC, one person remarked that you will be cold all the time. There’s a feeling of truth to that, even though we certainly were not cold all the time. But once you enter winter, you will only occasionally find a warm space to be in. Guesthouses are not heated. You will be creating your own warmth through clothing, food, and hot drinks. When you’re lucky, you’ll be able to sit in a warm dining commons for a couple hours each night. And, you’ll be lucky fewer nights than you’d think.

Those of us who enjoy climate controlled environments (like California), struggle with being in a really cold space for 11 days. But once again, the scenery is soooo worth the struggle. The pictures don’t do it justice, so I just won’t include them… Ha! Just kidding. Me? Leave out pictures? Never. But really, they can’t capture the magnanimity of the mountains around us: the feeling of trekking above 10,000 ft while peaks and ridge lines tower 10,0000-15,000 ft higher. You’ll have to don some sneakers and down suits and try it yourselves sometime.

The landscape was dry and barren with smaller and smaller shrubs giving way to sparse grasses. Any fields we passed were far past their harvest, and some farmers had already moved to lower elevations for winter. The continuous mountain views were stunning in a new way, in a more rugged, wild way than they are when the ground is covered in brilliant color. And during the coldest times, hiking is barely sufficient to keep warm.

6 hours after we crossed the highest pass (Thorong La, ~17,800 ft.), winter upped the ante with its first snow storm of the season. We were tucked safely in our guesthouse by that time, though still cold as it was one of our unlucky nights without heat sources in dining commons. It snowed through the next day at higher elevations, but we escaped the snow in the early afternoon, dropping once again into the brilliant colors of fall.

Really, I exaggerate a bit… not the winter part. That’s underplayed if anything. The fall colors part. A part of the valley we hiked through had some beautiful fall trees. But overall, even though the snow stopped, the air kept its chill, a stiff, biting wind picked up, and the scenery remained rugged. Beautiful, but rugged… for most of our descent.

Winter was with us most of the rest of our hike… long enough to outstay its welcome… long enough that we were overjoyed when we finally descended low enough to enjoy a nap in the sunshine… and long enough that we did a happy dance just to welcome summer once again.

Is it really possible that I’m writing this blog post about a bus ride? When I start writing, I often begin in the middle of a post with whatever comes to mind first, then add on, revise, etc. But, we spent a full month in Nepal, three weeks of it hiking everyday and seeing some of the most amazing scenery we’ve ever seen in our lives. So I surprised even myself when the first thing that came to mind was our time on the local buses! With that, I promise to tell you about the rest of our time as it was a truly spectacular experience. But, you’ll have to bear with me through a post on the bus rides first.

Of course, it’s not really fair to you that I jump from the entirety of our Istanbul experience to a bus ride in Nepal. I’m not exactly setting the scene nor the motivation. So, if you’re feeling that you’d like a bit more orientation to our Nepal travels, click here for an overview. It’s okay. I’ll wait.

Back? Oh good. Onto the bus! The local bus. The local bus just before Dashain, a major Nepali festival. The local bus during a major fuel crisis (and now a medical crisis as well).

To be honest, we were expecting it to be much worse than it was. Our wonderful guide, Deepak (more on him in a later post), wrangled us all seats on a bus, even after warning us that a bus might not be available at all for trekkers due to the fuel crisis. We sat towards the front, and the seats were cushioned!

Then the ride began. It began with Nepali music. Pop music. At full volume through bad speakers (Turkey’s call to prayer speakers were in fact Bose-y compared to these). Bless, bless, bless the earplugs we remembered to keep with us. We could actually enjoy some of the music with earplugs in. I for one definitely chair danced along to a few songs. And the accompanying music videos shown on a tiny screen at the front of the bus (still totally sexual in nature, but with women in low cut peasant dresses working the fields) nicely rounded out our en route entertainment.

As if we needed anything more entertaining than the ride and the views out our window. We rocked severely side to side over the dirt and rocks as we departed the bus station, a long line of buses just off the road, and found pavement. The initial drive through Kathmandu in the early morning light – did I mention this bus departed at 6:30 am – a city under construction, complete with monkeys climbing the walls. Our first views of beautiful hills covered in fields. The precipitous cliffs we careened around as we followed the winding road. The small towns we drove through. The other buses we passed, loaded to the giggles with people and goats. And, the religious menagerie lining the dashboard. These were all plenty entertaining enough. Of course, my anxiety about such rides goes up proportionally to the number of religious figurines lining the dashboard. Thankfully our driver seemed aware that his deities weren’t going to drive for him.

After only one hour, we stopped for a bathroom break. Really, a squatty potty break. Most of the potties are squatties here. Western toilets are still a bit of a luxury, though we did enjoy that luxury more than we thought. After another hour we stopped again – this time for a squatty potty and tea break! And, then we stopped a third time. We’re scientists, folks. We can recognize a pattern developing when we see one. We broke our rule of liquid deprivation and downed a good amount of water, ready to pee at the next break. Pattern broken. We didn’t stop again. For four hours. We were practically in tears getting off the bus.

Additionally, our bus left Kathmandu with all seats taken and a few people standing. As we made stops many many many more people got on. Clown car style. The bus looks much smaller than the number of people it can fit. Most were on their way to visit family in their home villages, all dressed quite nicely (for the festival, we’re assuming). One stop saw us loading up with not only more people but several 50 lbs bags of rice as well. Yay! rice bags = more seats for people! They were all very kind to us, chatting a bit in English when they could, and a little Nepali when they couldn’t. Not a single one seemed perturbed that foreigners were taking up seats (and on a different local bus ride later kindly gestured for us to take seats first when they became available). Of course, the number of butts and armpits in our faces (okay, Brian’s and Jenny’s faces as I was on the window side and mostly grateful for it) was, well, let’s just say we were nauseatingly ready to depart when we finally reached our stop, 7 hours after boarding.

Finally, there were the few super gross instances, which can’t go un-noted. I’m not sure which moment on our crazy bus ride was truly the more gross one, so I thought I’d leave it up to you to vote on. Was it

• the moment the carsick woman in the seat in front of us half hocked, half dry heaved out her bus window and I didn’t close mine fast enough so caught some of it in the face as it flew back in our window (btw, this poor woman – we felt deep sympathy for her – was hocking most of the ride, so I think statistically I was going to get hit by something at some point), or
• the moment Jenny and I both caught some random spray of liquid (again in the face) that immediately took on the odor of goat pee?

I claim it as no small miracle that we didn’t get sick from either episode. And, I can assuredly say that was the first time I’ve rubbed hand sanitizer all over my face.

So my advice for a truly cultural experience is this: take a local bus at least once in Nepal. Everyone will direct you to take the tourist bus (sometimes only marginally different from the local bus), but take the local bus. To understand the kindness of Nepali people, the craziness of the driving, the clown car nature of each bus, the extreme decibel level of the Nepali music screaming out of the speakers just above your head, and the truly entertaining accompanying music videos, take the local bus. You will hold your breath careening around every hairpin turn and be genuinely excited, and a little surprised, when your bus then rocks back into a fully upright position. The sky does in fact look bluer and the grass greener at the end of a Nepali bus ride. Oh yes, and take earplugs… and maybe some Dramamine.

We’re back! And by that I mean, back online… not back in the U.S. We’re still traveling! We’ve been a month in Nepal, most of it rural, without reliable internet. Prior to that we were in Turkey, and we have no excuses for not posting about that sooner except that we just didn’t. We are currently working to catch up on blog posts, and will have more out shortly. For now, enjoy our much belated post on Turkey!

Actually, even calling this a blog post on Turkey is a bit misleading. We had fully intended on seeing more of Turkey. However, the very beginning of our post-Istanbul travels around Turkey found me (Meghan) with some serious back pain. Thus, we made it to the middle of Turkey, Cappadoccia, an incredibly beautiful, interesting area, only to be largely bed ridden in a hostel the rest of our time (a very lovely hostel, I might add). So, Turkey goes onto a future travel list, and we’ll focus on the beautiful chaos of Istanbul for now.

And beautiful chaos is quite appropriate, as one t-shirt I saw in shop a window summed it up pretty perfectly – “Istanbul: you call it chaos. We call it home.” Experiencing this chaos wasn’t originally a bucket list item for us until we found ourselves, mouths hanging and eyes wide, wandering down Istiklal Street toward our hostel in an absolute sea of people… Times Square on New Year’s sea of people.

Pause. I jumped to Turkey skipping over the most amazing experience we never expected. I need to back up half a day to our experience actually flying in to Istanbul. Are you ready for this? No, probably not. Neither were we. Turkish Airlines, the carrier we flew to Istanbul simply because it was the cheapest option, included a full hot meal complete with beverage (alcohol or non!) on the flight! A two hour flight! I think we paid as much for the tickets as some airlines charge for their “meals.” AND, this was after they handed out a scrumptious hazelnut chocolate candy to everyone (and two to Brian… it pays to ask!). All this despite stepping onto a plane that may have been partially resuscitated from a Southwest graveyard.

The setup made the experience even better. First we smelled the food. Interesting, some people must have paid for a meal. Then we noticed the attendant was asking everyone if they wanted food. We steeled ourselves; we’re not paying extra for airplane food (budget travel and all). She turned to us, “chicken or vegetable?” Brian was quick with the question, “is this included?” And then we got a look – not a full facial expression, mind you – a slight twitch and a well composed gaze from behind the eyes that suggested we were being very childish and wasting time. All she said, though, was “Yeees,” drawn out slowly to reflect her annoyance. She smiled slightly at our shocked expressions as we were barely able to whisper, “one of each, please.” This is winning the budget travelers’ lottery, friends. You could not have served me a Michelin star meal that day that tasted better than my included nuked rice and veg and chocolate banana mousse. Spirits were high as we landed in Turkey.

Okay. Back on Istiklal Street in Istanbul, where you could make a very challenging “Where’s Westlander” trying to find our heads among the throngs despite my blond hair, we slowly wove our way toward the Galata bridge to find our hostel on the other side. The chaos itself was just as fascinating as the walk. The wide street, lined with shops mostly for tourists on both sides was completely filled with people walking (no motor traffic at the time), most of middle eastern descent and many in more traditional Muslim clothing. While their ethnicity and clothing was not unexpected, it presents the visual image of how truly in the minority we were. The joyous shock of free airplane food was completely replaced by the sheer culture shock of the moment, but we were happy to embrace it all. It turns out we landed in Istanbul on the first or second day of the Muslim, Eid holiday, a time when thousands of other tourists flock to Istanbul for vacation.

We slowly swam through the sea of people, taking it all in, and emerged at the bridge as the lights of the mosques were just coming on across the waters. It was our first expansive view, and it was entrancing. Mosques created for sultans dotted the hills, enormous and lit up in the evening light that reflected off the waters. It was a peaceful contrast to the throngs we’d been in. We followed the bridge and found our way to our hostel, settling in and climbing to our rooftop for a look just as the final evening call to prayer began sounding.

Ah, the call to prayer
I’m going to be quite frank here. The first time I heard the call the prayer, it was haunting, and I felt like I was in a movie in some foreign, mystical land. Each time it sounds it serves as a reminder to reflect, and we appreciated that, Brian especially. In fact, 5 times a day is not really overdoing it with the reminders in such a fast paced society (though the 4am call had us grappling for earplugs and wishing we could reflect further on the insides of our eyelids). But, by the third or fourth day, I wanted to gift Istanbul several sets of Bose speakers, and I found myself covering my ears to avoid the scratchy wailing resounding all around us. We hold a lot of reverence for this particular practice, but it could go for an upgraded sound system.

Exploring Istanbul
Istanbul is full of amazing historical sites, and if you’re tight on time, you can see a lot of them in about four days. We were grateful to be able to take a bit more time in Istanbul, spread out the sites, and enjoy our experiences in between as well. I don’t think we’d been quite so atune to slowing down in other countries we visited. Here, we were grateful to plan that time to allow us to experience different aspects of Turkish culture. And since Turkey presented our most foreign experience yet, we found the extra time very valuable here.

Culture
When you spend time around the tourist sites, you are faced with one facet of Turkish culture: the how-can-I-separate-you-from-your-money facet. While this facet exists around tourists sites all over the world, it was presented in a very specific way and much more in-your-face in Istanbul than anywhere else we’d been previously (hence my decision to even call it a facet of culture). “Yes please.” “Yes please.” “Yes please,” each hustler calls out from every restaurant and shop you pass attempting to get your patronage by practically pulling out a chair and sitting you in it. So tiresome is this frequent beckoning (does this work on anybody?!) that when Brian responded with, “Yes, please,” after being offered a sugar for his coffee one morning, I practically turned him to stone with my glare before realizing he was only being polite.

But Turkish culture and hospitality took on a completely different vibe in between the tourists hubs and surrounding areas. The strongest element of this we noticed was in how helpful everyone was. Turks will help you. Nope, don’t wave them away as you look at your map slightly confused. You don’t get a choice in the matter. They will help you. And if they can’t help you in your native tongue, they’ll help you in their’s. And if you still look confused as they rattle off instructions in Turkish, as most assuredly you will, someone around who speaks English will translate for you. And, if the small team of Turks who’ve assembled to try to help you can’t translate enough to be useful, someone will be chosen to escort you all the way to wherever it is you wanted to go… or hunt down another person to join the team to continue helping you. And you will be entirely endeared by their sincerity and friendliness, so overwhelming it is to have that kind of hospitality bestowed upon you. It was this helpfulness we met with, or at least observed, time and again throughout our stay in Turkey: Ali, our first hostel host spent a couple hours with travelers each day helping them plan their travels around Turkey; an older gentlemen paid our first bus fair before we were able to get a transport card and refused to accept payment back, while another made absolute certain we knew where to get off before departing himself; and a mall security officer walked us half a mile to a photo shop (nowhere near the mall) so we could get passport photos taken. We were truly touched by this good natured, hospitable spirit.

We also had one of our best new cultural travel experiences by spending a few days staying with a couchsurfer. Couchsurfing is a community of people who meet up with and host travelers from all over the world. We’d had a couple great couchsurfing experiences meeting up with people but had not stayed with anyone until Istanbul. Couchsurfing gave us an opportunity to spend more time with a local, have some great conversations, and learn more about neighborhoods and transportation than we would have otherwise. And we got along great with Suleyman, our host. He took us out a couple of nights for wonderful food and great conversation. He’s quite the gentle intellectual and taught us more about Turkish history than I ever paid attention to in school (and it was fascinating), as well as providing us a nice place to stay. We are truly grateful for these experiences and the wonderful people we meet and befriend.

Food!
And finally, I can’t end this post without sharing a couple of our experiences with Turkish food. Okay, this could probably be a separate blog post in itself, but I really will try to be quick about it. Turkish food. Yum!

Turkish breakfast is simply wonderful, full of energy providing balanced foods topped off with a giant basket of white bread and four different spreads… reminding me that Turkey is the place to go for delicious white bread. We didn’t expect it and were quite surprised by it… but, if you’re content eating your weight in amazing, fluffy, white bread, Turkey welcomes you.

Iskender kebab. This might be the single most delicious food we ate in Turkey. It’s simply kebab meat over some fabulous white flat bread, covered in a tomato sauce, and topped with the “duh! why wouldn’t you top all meats with this?” sauce – browned butter. Served next to yogurt and with a side of defibrillator, it’s simply amazing. If you feel like taking on a bit of homework and a heavy meal, try to find a Turkish restaurant serving this incredible feast. We recommend a diet of mostly salads on both sides of this meal.

And perhaps one of our favorite tourist experiences so far: our cooking class with Ouz (pronounced “ohs”). Ouz is awesome, and if you search Trip Advisor, you’ll find many many people who love him and his cooking class. The class begins with a trip through several older traditional market shops located just off our favorite touristy street, Istiklal. Ouz talks about Turkish food culture as we get handed samples of various fish, pickles, and turkish delight. Along the way, we pick up ingredients for the day (and snacks and gifts at non (or at least less) touristy prices). Then we walk to an apartment with a beautiful kitchen and large table set up for the class. Ouz talks through food culture, and we help chop and mix ingredients for five Turkish dishes. The class is not so intense of a cooking class, but a wonderful social experience in which we come away with a spectacular Turkish meal, lessons in cooking culture, and recipes to repeat these dishes at home (completely doable). A wonderful time with a great group of people, and we are excited to take on these recipes back in the states!

Who’s up for a Turkish feast?

About a week ago, we decided it was time to buy plane tickets to Istanbul. Turkey was one of the only places we had decided to visit before leaving the US. Now, it was just a matter of where the cheapest flights to Istanbul departed from. Turns out the answer was Venice. And I can’t lie, the chance to return to the beautiful city where I spent three months during college, this time with Meghan, was too enticing to pass up. So after an early bus ride from Ljubljana to Mestre, the city on the mainland just outside of Venice, and another bus ride to Piazza Roma in Venice proper, we found ourselves standing in front of Pizza Al Volo in Campo Santa Margherita…and the memories came flooding back.

In the summer and fall of 2002, after my junior year at UC San Diego, I traveled to Europe. I spent three months backpacking around a number of different countries, and three months living in Venice, a city I’ve had a mild obsession with ever since junior high. Despite the fact that Venice is mostly a city of tourists, by staying in an apartment, bartending in a pub, taking Venitian rowing lessons, developing daily routines, and making and spending time with close friends, I felt a little more like a local. The experience, overall, was one of the most transformative of my life at the time, and I cherish my memories from Venice.

I took a month-long Italian language course when I first arrived in Venice, and the majority of my close friendships were developed in this class. The language school was right next to Campo Santa Margherita, and virtually every day for lunch, we’d head to Pizza Al Volo for, what I remember as, the greatest pizza ever made. A big slice of thin, Italian pizza with the perfect ratio of sauce, cheese, and toppings would be re-heated in their pizza oven to crisp up the bottom to just the right level of crunch and chewiness. It was a must do, but it took me by surprise when Meghan and I had to request our slices be re-heated in the oven. And, the pizza itself, while still delicious, didn’t quite live up to what I remembered. Of course, it’s been 13 years of culinary adventures in the meantime, and perhaps my expectations were just a bit too high 🙂

Luckily, this was one of the only experiences that didn’t live up to my memories. From the narrow, winding streets with colorful laundry strung outside second floor windows, to the small dinghies tied up along the canals, to the glittering reflection of the “street” lights that come up out of the Grand Canal, Venice was as beautiful and romantic as I remember it. We took a late night Vaporetto (water bus) ride down the Grand Canal, and though the price-increase since 2002 was disappointing, the gorgeous views of the palaces and the magic of Venice at night was certainly still present in abundance. We also had a fun experience trying to find my favorite bridge in Venice. Unfortunately, I have no photo of the bridge, so all we had to go on was my very vague sense of where it might be and our memories of a painting of the bridge, that Lizzie, my amazing girlfriend while I was in Venice, painted for me. The painting is currently boxed up in a storage unit with all the rest of our stuff, but the following picture may be it. I particularly remember the light of the lantern reflecting off the canal under the bridge.

Meghan often jokes with/chides me about my lack of picture taking when traveling…and for good reason. During my six months in Europe in 2002, I think I took a total of 50 pictures. It’s not that I don’t want to take pictures, and I certainly enjoy having them and looking back at them later. My mind usually just doesn’t think about taking them. And given how bad my memory is for most things, it’s a shame I never got into the habit. So on our first day in Venice, we tried to right this wrong. What follows are the obligatory photos of me in front of 1) Pizza Al Volo, 2) the Irish pub where I worked, it changed names (and owners) in 2009, RIP Fiddler’s Elbow, and 3) the door to my old apartment near Campo San Stefano. 

The bartender at the Irish Pub remembered the old managers I had worked for, and kindly gave Meghan and I the employee discount on our drinks. It felt great to sit inside the pub and reminisce on what I still consider the best job I’ve ever had.

We also visited Olandese Volante, the bar where one of my good friends had worked with a hysterical cast of local characters that became one of our favorite watering holes. Unfortunately, I think the location, near a main tourist thoroughfare, may have been its undoing, and now it looks like just a tourist-trap restaurant without an Italian in sight (not even working there). Since this was Meghan’s first time in Venice, we joined the tourist parade and made the obligatory trip to St. Mark’s square. Meghan was blown away by the scope and grandeur of the square, and after seeing many of the enormous, ornate churches on this small, island city, one can’t help but be amazed at the wealth of the old Venetian empire.

Over the course of this one, long day, we retraced the memories from my three month stay 13 years ago. On our second day, we explored some unfamiliar areas to me via an excellent walking tour with a local guide. The tour highlights included learning some of the fascinating history of Venetian Gothic architecture, walking through some wonderful, un-touristy neighborhoods, and taking a 2-Euro traghetto/gondola ride across the Grand Canal (definitely the cheapest way to ride a gondola in Venice…of course, it’s only 70 cents for locals).

While another memorable pizza place (tastier than Pizza Al Volo) necessitated our attendance for dinner the first night, our second night Meghan was pretty set on trying black, squid-ink pasta: a first for both of us. It was a comedy of errors and a couple miles of walking trying to find a restaurant that served that dish, had a table available, and had decent online reviews. Hungry, tired, wet from rain, and having our fourth restaurant attempt foiled, we were almost resigned to getting a doner kebab, the ubiquitous fast-food in apparently all of central Europe. Finally, we passed a nice looking place with an open table and plopped down exhausted. We were very pleased with our experience: the squid-ink pasta was definitely one for the books. It tasted like nothing we had ever had before…and we loved it!

Overall, Venice was as amazing as I remember it, and the magical feeling of the city came back almost at once. I felt very blessed to be able to share these places and moments from my past with Meghan, making new memories along the way.

The story of our travels through Slovenia is really a story of desserts. We had planned on it being a story of hiking (with just a few desserts sprinkled in) as many people highly recommended we go to the Julian Alps. But the stormy weather showed us the error of our plans and thankfully pointed us to many sweet alternatives. We still haven’t seen the Julian Alps, so thick was the blanket of clouds covering them even as we stood at their base. But, Slovenia has proven to be our sweetest country yet.

Desserts began our first day in the mountain town of Bled where we padded our tummies with a good base layer of hiking food – the famous Bled cream cake (named after the town) and a chocolate hedgehog – before setting out to attempt a four day hut-to-hut trek through the mountains. Bad weather forced us to a cafe for beers on our way to the trail. Worse weather and the promise of more worse weather cancelled our hiking plans and kept us in Bled.

Thankfully, we got to do some walking in beautiful areas and visit an interesting museum devoted to beekeeping and another to traditional gingerbread making. And of course, in Slovenia all paths lead to dessert. Thus, we continued our confectionery indulgence with an enormous hot chocolate and chocolate crepes after our hike to a beautiful gorge, and Linhart cake and pineapple ice cream (served in a pineapple!) after our walk to the beekeeping museum. 

We were already anticipating desserts in Ljubljana as our guidebook actually mentioned a few places worth exploring. Tour guides on our food tour and city tour (two of the best tours we’ve had so far on our travels) both recommended their favorite ice cream shops, adding to our list. Ljubljana delights were tasted while meandering along the beautiful riverfront walk, exploring the vast outdoor market, or sipping cappuccinos at a chic cafe. Cakes, cookies, ice cream, and chocolates gave us a wonderful taste of the city’s sweets. Of course, between those tastes were other wonderful dishes and doses of Slovenian history and culture as well.

It is all good and well to sample a country’s sweets, but a few pieces of cake and a couple ice cream cones don’t really necessitate theming a whole blog post. A whole festival devoted to sweets, however, does. The highlight of our sweet Slovenia extravaganza – and, I might add, the event around which we planned all our time in Slovenia – was a day trip to the coastal town of Koper where the weekend festivities focused around the Sweet Istria festival. Doesn’t that sound enticing? Actually, we were quite skeptical. Very few people seemed to know about this festival. Even the tourist information office in Ljubljana reacted with, “Well, I got some email flier about it. I don’t really know.” Hmm. We decided to go for a day anyway, because how could we pass up a festival whose program specifically included a “Land of Chocolate?” We kept our expectations low, like, glorified elementary school bake sale low.

And, perhaps partly due to our expectations of finding a handful of booths operated by 5th graders, we were blown away by what we actually found. There were 500 sweets presented for tasting from over 100 vendor tents (all run by the well over 10 years old crowd) winding along the streets and covering a few town squares along the coast. The organizers recommended 8 tasting tickets per person (at 50 cents each, with each taste costing 1-2 tickets). We found 12 to be a more optimal amount, though 8 would probably be plenty if you were already planning a visit to the diabetes testing tent (no joke).

Tastes were described as 1-2 bites of a sweet. But, I’ve never been able to eat an entire dulce de leche filled croissant or seven heavenly fried donut holes in one or two bites. These were not tastes, friends; these were full desserts. A taste was what you were given if you weren’t sure you wanted to spend a coupon on something, and the vendor was certain that you should. Additionally, you could buy a larger portion of something for a few euros. After sampling several delicious desserts, we bought sweet pizza for lunch. In our defense, we initially thought the pizza was one of the few savory items around. Ha! Live and learn.

Sweets workshops (we took the chocolate tasting one even though it was delivered in Slovenian), a kids program, street performers, and a stage for bands rounded out the festivities. Epic dessert festival, friends. Epic.

Of course, I have to admit, now, as we come to the end of our clearly epic sweet Slovenia extravaganza, that our favorite find was not sweet at all, though it was used in a few desserts (and they were delicious). Our favorite new taste was pumpkin seed oil. Go. Find some… probably at Whole Foods. Try using it as a replacement for olive oil for dipping bread, or in a salad dressing. We loved its distinct, nutty flavor and vowed to include it in our list of future pantry essentials. Slovenia may be the land of sweets, but it is dripping with pumpkin seed oil, and we loved every drop!