Balancing Act

Little Slovenia is an increasingly popular destination, but the tourism board claims it will keep footfall to a minimum. Ronan O’Shea visits to find out how they plan to protect Slovenia from mass tourism.

For me, snow is something of a novelty, a rarity in my hometown. Arriving in Slovenia to discover it blanketed in the stuff, I’m already enthralled – and I’ve yet to get off the plane. I’ve come here to learn how the country plans to sustain such charm in the face of increasing visitors. It’s a battle many countries and destinations have lost, so I’m intrigued to find out how Slovenia will keep tourism at a boutique level.

After meeting my guide, Petra, I’m driven directly to Lake Bled, not far from the capital Ljubljana. It’s everything a picture postcard should be, with snow-capped mountains, pristine water, a medieval castle atop the hill and a tiny island in the middle of the lake with a church.

It’s this island we’re headed towards in a traditional pletna boat (not dissimilar to a gondola), only a few of which sail throughout the day, a purposefully sparse operation. The boatmen are descendants of a select few families from the nearby village of Mlino; a dictum dating back to Austro-Hungarian times protects the artisanal practices (and incomes) of local families. This is just one example of the Slovenian tourism board’s low-volume tourism model, which aims to make the country a ‘green, active, and healthy boutique destination for five-star experiences’.

In 2016, Ljubljana was named Europe’s Green Capital, which was successful in raising both the profile of the city and increasing environmental awareness. The tourism board now hope to extend this awareness of sustainable practices to the country at large. Slovenia is just shy of 8,000 square miles and Ljubljana has a population of 330,000. Overcrowding would be impractical and deleterious to the country’s picturesque landscapes and towns replete with beautiful cobblestone streets, narrow pathways and stunning architecture. A representative of the board tells me they have no interest in developing Slovenia as a ‘3S [sun, sand and sea] tourism destination’, but rather as an ‘exclusive boutique destination’.

Petra believes the board’s approach is ideal for high-end travellers and the country as a whole. “We are only two million people,” she says, as we near the icy shores of Lake Bled, a handful of pletna boats bobbing up and down on the water. “It would be madness to have hundreds of boats on the water at the same time. It would ruin everything.”

Having previously lived in Prague, the pretty centre of which suffers from overcrowding, I can see Petra’s point. When I first visited Bled seven years ago, it came as a welcome, tranquil respite from busy, industrial Milan, where I’d been studying. What made that last trip so memorable was the sense of calm I found there. By Slovenian standards, Bled is a tourism hotspot and rising boat numbers would threaten the very things that attract people in the first place: beautiful, unspoiled nature, the tranquillity and an escape from the city noise many of us experience daily.

Having ambled around Bled, we take the meandering mountain road towards Lake Bohinj. Bohinj loosely translates as ‘Gift from God’; the legend says God gave his loyal believers the lake as their own piece of paradise. Whatever the reality, it’s certainly a godly spot, the mountains resplendent in the winter sun, the water clear as glass. Here too, the low-volume, boutique appeal can be seen. While the winter season may partly explain the reduced number of visitors, Petra assures me that Bohinj stays quieter than Bled even at the height of summer – and the latter wasn’t exactly Times Square on New Year’s Eve.

Riding a cable car up the nearby mountain of Vogel, I witness the stunning vista for hundreds of miles in every direction, and once more, I appreciate the peacefulness of this country. The lift is small enough to preclude hordes of skiers from taking to the slopes each day, and those who do (I opt to watch from the restaurant with a local beer and a plate of gulaš) won’t hit much traffic. It’s ideal for anyone looking to escape more crowded Alpine resorts. I hear a number of English voices on the lift back down and many locals bring their children here for their first taste of powder.

The next day, I take a tour around Škocjan caves. With Europe’s largest known underground chamber, it’s a warren of stalactites, stalagmites, a rumbling river and vast expanses of darkness which leave me feeling like a character in The Lord of the Rings (one of the goodies, of course).

The journey from cave to coast takes less than two hours, and that afternoon we reach Portorož (‘Port of Roses’) and Piran, two closely connected towns on the Adriatic famed for their Venetian architecture.

While Petra relaxes in Kempinski Palace Portorož’s seawater pool, I take a stroll, lugging my camera (and heavy, boot-clad feet) up the hill to the Walls of Piran, parts of which date back to the 7th century. Italy’s Trieste lies in the distance. It’s hard to believe I awoke to the sight of snowy mountains just that morning.

Over dinner that evening, I discuss Slovenia’s low-volume approach to tourism in further detail with my hosts at Kempinski Palace. The hotel embodies Slovenia’s boutique style. Built in the final years of the Austro-Hungarian period, it was one of the most luxurious spa resorts in the empire, attracting the great and the good due to its healing salts, for which Piran is world-famous, and its beautiful seafront. Enticing a moneyed, discerning clientele remains of key importance, no more so than at Restaurant Sophia, named after Sophia Loren, who stayed at the hotel in the 1950s. With elegant decor and high ceilings, it’s the perfect place for an upscale meal, and the local sea bass (baked in that famous salt) is worth the trip alone.

From tranquil lakes to picturesque coastal towns, one of our last stops is the small village of Otočec, home to a 13th-century castle which has been a hotel for decades, welcoming guests from Nikita Khrushchev to Richard Burton and even a couple of James Bonds. With just 16 rooms, it’s everything I’ve come to expect from Slovenia: small, intimate and calming.

When I check my camera later, I realise some of my photos from yesterday haven’t turned out as I’d hoped. It’s a shame, but I’m also happy to have an excuse to come back. With Slovenia ever-increasing in popularity, it’s a relief to know that – if the tourism board achieves its aims – my next trip will be just as relaxing and crowd-free.