For the fifth time in an hour, Vili Črv, a former member of the Slovenian Olympic cross-country ski team and sometime hiking guide in Slovenia’s Triglav National Park, apologizes for the weather. As if the low clouds and mist are within his control. “If it were clear,” he tells me, “you would be able to see the Alps.”
“What about those?” I ask, pointing to a range of snow-capped peaks. They look impressive to me.
Črv shakes his head. If it were sunny, I’d be able to spot Mount Triglav, which, although a relatively modest 9,396 feet, is so dear to residents of this Central European country that it is featured on the flag. But it isn’t sunny: My nine days on the 167-mile Juliana Trail, a loop that takes travelers along the edge of the park and the foothills of the Julian Alps in the northwestern part of the country, fall smack in the middle of soggy spring.
I could feel badly about this, as črv does, but why? The low, flat sky creates a kind of intimacy, a coziness that forces me to look at what’s close—the beech leaves fluorescent against the pewter horizon, the reds and blues of a painted wayside shrine. A moss-covered wooden waterwheel whirls faster in the wetness. A yellow-spotted fire salamander, typically seen only at night, peers up at me from the woodland floor. Best of all, on this first day of my trip, I have the trail to myself.
The same is true when I arrive in Kranjska. I am the only diner at Kosobrin, a homey log-cabin restaurant and guesthouse, so Miha Samotorčan, 27, who owns Kosobrin with his mother Mojca, acts as my personal chef. He seats me by the fire and brings a charcuterie assortment on a wooden cutting board. There are slices of his own cured sausages; mild, sweet cheese made by a friend; dried figs, pear jam, and freeze-dried raspberries, all from last summer’s harvest; plus a basket of homemade bread. He follows up with pork shoulder draped over coarsely chopped, sautéed potatoes. He then insists I try two desserts: a cheese dumpling, the dough rolled thin enough to see through, and strudel filled with local blueberries. In this case, I’m delighted to exceed my limits.
