WORDS & PICTURES: Abi Prowse
As I step out of the car, my lungs fill with the crispness of fresh mountain air. The narrow streets of Kobarid are deserted, the soft pink houses standing vigil in the warm spring sun. Aside from a faint tinkle, which echoes from the surrounding hills – goats, or cows, roaming glacially through ample fields – we are the only signs of life. There is a stillness here which I have never experienced before; it is peaceful, not eerie, the silence friendly, not menacing. Up here, in the mountains of Slovenia, you are suspended from reality, thrust abruptly into the backdrop of a landscape painting, bursting with countless shades of blue and vivid green. These thoughts, as I absorb my quaint yet striking surroundings, form my first impression of Slovenia.
My two friends and I begin to wander along the main street of this compact town, our soft footsteps interrupting the quiet as we head east, where the buildings begin to wind downwards, toward the Soča river, before eventually dropping away, leaving only nature ahead of us. The chocolate-box houses are neat, lined up obediently along the softly-bending road; their wooden balconies and teal shutters are the stuff of fairytales. Although a short drive from our shared apartment in Italy, Kobarid is a far cry from the hum of daily life, the stresses of the everyday. With each step further into the mountains, we all three seem to cast a weight from our shoulders, our footfall growing lighter as we near the tangle of forests for which Kobarid is so well-known. Mountains rise from the horizon, their peaks and troughs fading into clarity through the early-morning haze, until we find ourselves at the base of the Krn, with its signature rocky facade. I glance upwards, marvelling at the looming mound, reminded of just how insignificant we really are in the face of such compelling beauty.
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High above the mighty Soča river, which tears its way through the valley, navigating sharp bends and jagged rocks, we begin our hike. From the safety of the elegant, carved stone bridge, we are so far removed from the electric blue of the water below us that its roar is a distant hum, like that of a large bumblebee on a summer day. We float here, dangling somewhere between river and mountain, as we hug the rocky surface which guides us north. On this bright March day, as spring is just beginning to rouse itself from slumber, the sun protrudes at intervals through the still-bare branches of the forest. The infinite blueness of sky and river are interrupted only by a hazy, craggy mountain, which draws a distinct line between the two. Continuing along this path, we gaze up, down, and around us in awe; never before have we experienced such peace within such a colossal setting.
Veering right from the well-trodden path, we venture into the dense forest, in search of the elusive Slap Kozjak waterfall. Thrust abruptly from the bright, open panoramas of the valley, we tread our way through thick undergrowth and moist greenery, as a J.R.R. Tolkein novel seems to take shape before us. A stream of crisp, clear water bubbles past us, dodging the glossy white stones which are interspersed across the forest floor. We continue, picking our way along the overgrown path in the direction of a faint murmuring sound; a wide, sun-dappled clearing appears, then, its floor an expanse of crystalline mountain water, as shallow as it is wide. Haphazardly-constructed stepping stones mark the way, punctuated by a series of stacked wooden walkways, seemingly leading to nowhere. Moving carefully, laughing as we indelicately splash our way along the labyrinthine pathways, the droning sounds draws closer; we clamber up onto a thin, wood-slatted walkway, built to encircle a smooth, slate-grey cliff face.
As we round the corner, we see it: Slap Kozjak waterfall, nestled into its shaded, rocky cove. From our vantage point on the rickety wooden walkway, we gaze up at this majestic force of nature, its deafening roar echoing from the rough surfaces of the cove. We gather our courage, clambering down to the collection of rocks which protrude from the cerulean waters of the pool, enjoying the sensation of the icy spray on our skin. We almost forget our mission here, abandoning ourselves and our hike to the pull of the water. I feel both comforted and intimidated: can nature really contain so much power, yet so much beauty, within this one cove?
Tearing ourselves begrudgingly from the fantastical, otherworldly charm of Slap Kozjak, we continue our hike, retracing our steps through the shallow stream and along the well-trodden path beneath the trees, emerging once more above the majestic Soča. A bridge, somewhat fragile in appearance, constructed of wooden slats and framed by thin railings, guides us across the width of the river and over to the western bank, where we find ourselves craning our necks to absorb the next leg of our journey. Our spirits still high – albeit a little fatigued – we begin the steep ascent towards Tonocov Grad, conversing and singing to distract ourselves from the ache of our muscles and the burning of our lungs.
As the path begins to hairbend through knots of trees, I spot the remains of what may once have been a light stone barn, perched atop a stretch of grass. We realise, with glee, that this is the top of our climb. We have reached the peak of these mountains in Slovenia, and are rewarded with an endless view across the valley. The Slovenian countryside dips and swells, villages and towns scattered almost carelessly across the valley floor. Through the morning haze, we can just make out the silhouette of a mountain range, protectively shielding the churches and houses of Slovenia’s hilltop communities within its embrace.
We take a moment, here, seated side-by-side upon a fallen log, to take in our surroundings. Just a few short hours ago, we had woken up among the Saturday-morning throngs of our home town, only to find ourselves sitting atop the mountains of Slovenia later that very day. We are at peace, the three of us inexplicably bound by our shared experience, oblivious to the fact that this moment would become something we would reminisce over together for years to come, our friendship remaining intrinsically entwined even as our futures fork into different directions. That day, we were merely three friends, adventuring across the boundaries of our daily lives, and marvelling at the wonder of nature.
