Slapping Brda

Slow start to the day and to cut costs Mum is now frying eggs for breakfast. As we hadn’t seen anything remotely green or red for days frozen spinach smushed its way into the mix 🌱

After much deliberation and pulling over, reversing for cranky tractors we decided to brave the 3 hour trip south to the “must try” Brda wine region at the recommendation of our rafting guide, despite the inclement weather.

A quick slap to the face from Slap Vjdre’s waterfall spray was needed to wake us up from our morning stupor and a steep gradient hike reminded us of every muscle used the day before. Our reward: a very deep green waterhole caused by obviously lots of slaps.

Crossing the border to Italy seemed the quicker route and the border guards appeared more interested in their mobiles as we drove slowly though the border crossing. Eric got to show off his newfound Italian proficiency and ordered us burger+beer+coffee and I think made a friend. The rain was turning a bit slappish as we drove on.

The winery turned out to be a large round concrete Cold War-style concrete structure in a hive of activity and vehicles. Our fast talking broken English guide led us through giant concrete and steel vessels with proud stories of the local nobility’s invention of trellised grape growing 🤔 The cellar was very large, dark and mouldy and like a kidnapping scene from a James Bond movie. A round-spectacled, one glass-eyed, heavy set scientist with clipboard was expected at every dank turn. On we went through the underground tunnels until finally we were led into a bright, modern tasting room with lovely views and shining crystal glassware. Fresh breadsticks and olives and an encyclopedia info kit and note paper had been prepared and we were given an €18 euro credit card that slotted into machines in a self sip setup. The Rubela was very nice and light with steel, enamel and brick (?) not oak being the preferred method of winemaking.

A small Krosnian baker girl had been discovered by tribesman Manny and we shared and scoffed more pastries and an amazing kebab. Eric had to be returned to squish us in the backseat for the return trip home due to Rach’s ‘apparent’ carsick.

In the cold rain a call for soup was overruled by the hungry meat eating Neanderthals of our tribe so I sipped my soup alone, at my table for one at the Stiff Trout Cafe and grumpily tried not to overhear the Americans at adjoining tables loud and proud recantations. Youngest tribesman Bill lent some comfort and escort 🩷

Tomorrow it’s the very large caves and late afternoon exploration of Lujbljana our capital on offer.Read more