Going pear-shaped.

There hasn’t been much of a lull in my summer, leaving me with little time to finish the Slovenian Chronicles. When I’m not working, riding, or running, I’m getting sidetracked by inconsequential mysteries, such as a pile of pears.

Exhibit A:

Without a single pear tree nearby and the nearest source of pears being the supermarket at the other end of the parking lot, I had to wonder how this pile of pears came to be. It’s been consuming me. Do we have a pear stealing whore in our midst? What’s the story here?

And…

Exhibit B:

I’ve also been reading an actual story. Ed, who has been anxiously awaiting my recaps of our time in Slovenia, clearly did not think through the consequences of suggesting such a riveting read.

Wavewalker is a true tale about a couple who refused to let parenthood hold them back from achieving their bizarre dream of following Captain Cook’s third voyage around the world. Oddly specific. Although the kids came along, they ditched the family dog in England. To pursue this adventure, they sold nearly everything they owned to buy a 23m-long wooden schooner, which became their home for the next decade.

A year into their voyage, while sailing the southern Indian Ocean, 50-foot waves driven by hurricane-force winds pinballed the family around in the boat’s cabin. The vessel almost sank, and the author, then just 7 years old, suffered a fractured skull. Despite this close call, Captain Papa’s resilience was praised by the press, and the journey was celebrated by the public and media.

Captain Papa didn’t even know how to swim!

Secondhand rage towards the author’s parents aside, I’m really enjoying the book. What can I say? Boat stories float my boat.

You know what else involves boats? Lake Bled.

We arrived in scenic Bled on July 7th. The lake was bustling with tourists, both in boats and ashore. If I were to use the word breathtaking to describe the place, it would be because it was surrounded by people puffing on cigarettes, tainting the fresh air. Clearly, I was already cranky before I’d even arrived, and this was made worse by the fact that I hadn’t taken a proper shit since landing in Slovenia.

Unlike in North America, the purported public restrooms aren’t exactly for the public; sometimes not even for paying customers. On my 2012 trip that included Belgium, I was appalled to find that I was expected to leave a few Euros in a tray just inside the ladies’ restroom, even though I’d already paid to enter the citadel of Dinant. Since nobody was monitoring this tray, I ignored it and walked into a stall. Upon exiting the stall, the restroom attendant had returned and started scolding me for sneaking in a whiz. I just shrugged: what was I supposed to do? Un-pee? What was she going to do? Sic a security guard on me? Launch me over the walls via a trebuchet (which was something they actually had access to)?

I should have challenged her to an arm wrestling match.

Back to Slovenia (and the year 2026): without any free public restrooms to be found around Lake Bled, Fatema and I searched local businesses for a pay-to-use toilet. We found one in a large restaurant, with a fancy card-operated turnstile in place of a crotchety woman with a coin tray. It was a 1.50€ gamble for a shit I may or may not take. At least the restaurant’s WiFi signal worked inside the washroom stalls.

This isn’t even my main gripe with how Slovenia manages waste disposal. Bled was the first place I noticed something was amiss about the way Slovenians deal with trash. There were containers for cans, bottles, and organic waste, none of which seemed suitable for the string of floss I’d wanted to dispose of.

A few days later, at a campsite in Kobarid, there was a bin suitable for the disposal of floss: general waste. Food packaging and compost receptacles were also available within the bin corral; only this time I was looking to get rid of an aluminum can. From our arrival until July 16th—our last day in Slovenia—whenever I needed to dispose of something, the appropriate bin was always unavailable. I took this personally.

We initially planned to do our first night of camping in Slovenia in Bled, except the campsite was full. Fatema found us a guesthouse located just within the town limits of Bled, 4km uphill from the lake.

After the trip, Hannah, Ed, and I debated which climb in Slovenia we thought was hardest. Looking back, it had to be that 4km for me. Even Ed admitted later that he saw the look of defeat in my eyes and considered the possibility that I was too ill to continue the trip.

The reward was a gorgeous alpine lodge. The British trio might disagree with me on the hardest climb, but I am certain that the vote for the best lodging of the trip would be unanimous for this one:

Its large terrace did not provide us with a view of the lake; however, this was the view:

Look at the stunning absence of people.

Here’s a shocking fact about Slovenia that none of us knew about until after arriving: the country has a population of just 2.11 million.

Even the Greater Vancouver Regional District has about a million more people. London, UK, has a population of 9.1 million. Tokyo proper has 14.1 million. I think this is in part what made the throng of tourists around Lake Bled more jarring.

I woke up the following morning still feeling quite congested. I was relieved to learn that the group had conferred while I was asleep and decided to bump up one of the rest days we had planned for later in the week. I’d have been happy to spend the whole day lounging around the guesthouse, reading my admittedly boring book, Dune Messiah (the second book in the Dune series). Sadly, we couldn’t spend a second night here, as the guesthouse was fully booked until September, so we got the boot at 11am.

Day 3: 1km and 5m of elevation gain.

We moved from the Slavic dreamhouse to a less private guest house, Hiša 1907, which was slightly closer to town.

Before the trip, when Ed shared the route he’d drawn up for us in our WhatsApp group chat, my main concern was how well I would manage the descents on some of the hilly gravel sections. The others were more intimidated by some of the big climb days. While I would have gladly accepted a more ambitious route, I also saw upsides to these planned rest days. Any restlessness on my end could be remedied with a run.

Fatema opted to ride out to Lake Bohinj, Lake Bled’s more tranquil counterpart, while I laced up my running shoes for a stroll around town with Ed and Hannah. After lunch, they suggested taking a boat across the lake back to our guesthouse. For someone who loves the idea of boats, I sure don’t find myself itching to be in one all that often. Nevertheless, I thought it would be nice for them to have some time away from me. Walking back to the guesthouse also meant that I could stop by Mercator to pick up bags of apricots and prunes.

I was already in bed before any of the three had returned and had missed out on the discussion about the next day’s plan.

Day 4: 86km and 1639m of elevation gain.

I woke up at 7:30am as usual to find everyone already in their cycling clothes and just about all packed up.

Alright, I thought, I just need to eat, and then it won’t take me long to get myself and all my gear on my bike.

As I sat down on the terrace to have my breakfast, Ed announced, “We’re going in five minutes. You can catch up with us.”

Huh?! Theoretically, I was physically capable of catching up with the group. Logistically, I was ill-prepared to find my way to Kranjska Gora where the big climb began. I hadn’t downloaded any of the routes to my Garmin unit (Edge 1030) as it’s been on the brink of bricking for a while. My unit won’t sync with my phone and often shuts off mid-ride. Its battery life is half of what it was in its glory days, and using it for navigation (ironically, the reason I got the unit to begin with) drains it even faster.

Despite all that, I should have downloaded the routes while in London by plugging it into Ed’s computer. It would have been useful in case of an emergency, such as if we were to get separated or I were to wake up late. Like, at 7:30am.

I was flabbergasted at how casual everyone seemed to be about ditching me while I was still in my pajamas. At that point, Fatema was already gone, and Hannah was about to roll out, leaving Ed to deal with me. I was not happy. Sure, I wouldn’t have withered and died of exposure in Bled because my friends left without me. I could have definitely figured something out, but not in five minutes!

I don’t know if Ed was pleased to see that I’d learned enough BSL to have a mini meltdown, but it was enough to inspire him to stay behind and escort me to Kranjska Gora. By 8:45am, we were on our not-so-merry way out of Bled. It wasn’t long before the mood lightened: the beauty of our surroundings had purged the dark clouds from my mind.

…to be continued.