Part Three – Ukanc : Days 7-10

The Middle of Nowhere

When we were planning out trip, Patrick mentioned that he wanted to get some snowboarding in. He'd been really into the sport before he moved to Georgia and was looking forward to the opportunity to snowboard on some real mountains. I've got no interest in snowboarding and although I went skiing once and loved it, I felt like the risk of the alpine sports were too great to justify the rewards. I didn't want a second of bad judgment on the slopes to ruin my first full camogie season.

I did, however, feel that the rewards of horseback riding justified the risks. After researching the opportunities for snowboarding and horseback riding, I felt that the little town of Ukanc on Lake Bohinj offered Patrick and I the best opportunities for pursuing our activities. I also felt like since we'd be staying there for 4 nights, an apartment was the best lodging choice.

So we set out on the bus for the little town of Ukanc. I wasn’t even 100% sure that the town even existed. When I'd gone the day before we left to buy out bus tickets, I had an email from the apartment with the address. I told the ticket seller I wanted to go to Ukanc. She said there was no such place. I showed her the address:

Ukanc 85
Bohinj Jezero
Slovenia

She said "Oh, Bohinj Jezero" and sold me tickets there. I told her that my understanding was that the bus stopped at a hotel in Ukanc but she insisted I wanted Bohinj Jezero. I was so unnerved by this insistence that she couldn't sell me a ticket to where I wanted to go that I stopped into the tourist information centre in Ljubljana. Sadly, my good pal David wasn't working, but the woman there told me that maybe I could then get a local bus to Ukanc. She hadn't heard of the town either.

I don't like not knowing exactly where I'm going, so on the fine Tuesday morning when the Number 7 bus to Bohinj Jezero showed up, I asked the driver as he was helping us put out rucksacks into the belly of his bus:

Me: Do you go to Ukanc?
Driver: Ukanc? No. No Ukanc.
I looked at Patrick, eyes wide, panic starting to gnaw away at me.
Driver: Oh, oh, Ukanc! Yes! Yes Ukanc. Hotel Zlatarog. Last stop. Ukanc.

Then he laughed ruefully and shook his head at his own silliness in forgetting that his bus goes in fact go to Ukanc.

I already had enough anxiety about Ukanc before all of this bus nonsense started. When I booked our stay at the apartment I never received a confirmation from the proprietor that our booking had been successfully processed. So a week before the trip, I spent about 3 days trying to ring them without success. I finally emailed the proprietor and received a short email back, which essentially said "Your booking is good. I am in Switzerland. Will be back before your visit." I also emailed from Ljubljana to get clarification on where we were supposed to go and what time we'd be arriving because I had a vision of us arriving to a ghost town of an apartment building.

The bus trip was pleasant. The land got more and more rugged. We passed through Bled and saw the lake and the castle. We saw mountains, streams, trees, and lots of snow. In Ribčev Laz, the bus driver tried to turf us off the bus at Hotel Jezero. I guess he decided it wasn't worth arguing over one stop on the route.

It took about 15 minutes of driving on a curvy road through a deep dark forest to get from Ribčev Laz to Ukanc. We were dropped off in front of Hotel Zlatarog (the Golden Goat) and then walked the 100 meters to Alpik, where we were met by the cleaner. We got a note from the proprietor (had to go to Ljubljana urgently) and keys to apartment 1-A, which was perfect. It was on the first (i.e. second) floor of a lodge-like building. The apartment itself covered two floors with the bathroom, kitchen area and sitting room on the first floor and the bedroom upstairs. It was all wooden beams, white walls, and hardwood floors with functional yet comfortable furniture. The bathroom was fantastic – clean and marble with under-floor heating. I loved that bathroom, especially after 3 nights of roughing it in the jailhouse. We also had a porch with a great view of the mountains. (And all this for less per night than our cell cost – not bad, huh?)



Our first order of business, after unpacking our rucksacks, was to head into town to get provisions. When I say town, I mean Ribčev Laz. Ukanc is just barely a town. It has the hotel, a restaurant (which was closed for the off-season) and that's about it. I'm a bit surprised by this, since it's only 700 meters from Vogel, but it's also kind of nice to be in the wilderness.

It's kind of nice, but then, it's also kind of not. I have an incredibly conflicted relationship with the countryside. I start to get a little panicky when the land stretches between outposts of civilisation. I picture home invasion without the ability to save myself by running to the neighbour's house or to a public place. It's a completely irrational and unreasonable fear. I'm not afraid of nature, of wildlife, of weather. I'm afraid I'm going to be staying in the cabin that some crazed drifter with an axe decided would be just great to terrorize. I am always afraid of baddies. Always. Especially in the middle of nowhere.

Patrick and I walked the three and half miles to Ribčev Laz and I was feeling incredibly isolated and depressed. I was upset with myself for picking such isolated lodging. I had anxiety about how I was going to get myself to Studor, which was another 3 or 4 miles from Ribčev Laz. I saw days of isolation and fear stretched out in front of me.

I should also mention, at this point, how desperately I was missing Peter. He's spent the last week in February in Chicago, arriving back to Dublin the day I was leaving for Venice. I picked him up at the airport at 8 am and he dropped me off at the airport at 1 pm that very same day.

Missing Peter was a curse, but it was also a bit of a blessing. It made time pass much more slowly. The six days that I'd been gone felt like 6 weeks. I knew if I'd been taking this trip with Peter, the time would have flown and the trip would have felt like it had been 2 days instead of 2 weeks. That's the funny thing about time.

Back in Ribčev Laz, Patrick and I toured the Mercator grocery store with our list, hoping to assemble the right supplies to cook dinner for 4 nights. I'd brought some recipes for chili and lasagna, since they're easy-to-make comfort food that would really hit the spot after a day spent out in the cold. A great idea, to cook, but a difficult one to execute when you have no idea what the boxes and tins say. Sometimes, I'd get lucky and recognize the pictures on the tins. A kidney bean looks like a kidney bean in any language. Other times, I'd have to guess. This was especially true in the dairy aisle. I just grabbed, hoping that since the opaque container felt like it could contain ricotta cheese that it would contain ricotta cheese.

Patrick was a real trouper regarding the provisions. He'd brought his rucksack and was more than willing to haul everything 3.5 miles on his back. I was less interested in trudging back through the deep dark forest. We managed to catch the ski bus to Vogel and then walk back to the apartment.

Patrick was wrecked and just wanted to hang out, but I knew I might not get another chance to check out Vogel. Anyone can buy a ticket to the cable car that takes you up the mountain. I bought a ticket and then went up. It's a wild ride – it feels like you're just hanging on nothing with the ground dropping out from underneath you. Probably not that much fun if you're afraid of heights, but the views from the top are worth a little fright.



I also rang Mr. Robi at Ranch Mrcina to arrange for a horse ride the next day. I'd been pouring over his online brochure of routes, trying to determine which one I'd take. In the end, the snowiest winter in recent memory made the decision for me. The snow was so deep on the trails that there was only one ride on offer – a one-hour trek. Mr. Robi was greatly apologetic for this, asked me how much riding experience I had, and then arranged to meet at the ranch at 11 am the next morning.

At the Gallops

As I mentioned, I had a lot of anxiety about how I was going to get to the horse place. I'd checked out the bus schedule and I was pretty sure I could get a bus to Ribčev Laz every hour on the .40 but, given my experiences with Dublin bus, I tend to distrust bus schedules and doubt bus stops. I didn't fancy trekking 3.5 miles through the deep dark forest either.

The morning was beautiful though – an ice blue sky without a single cloud, a happy shimmering sun, crisp mountain air, clear views for miles. The weather has a great impact on my emotional outlook. Nothing bad could happen on such a splendid day – sure I'd get to the horse place, no trouble at all.

The bus arrived promptly at 8.40 and I was in Ribčev Laz before 9. I walked into the next town, Stara Fužina and knew I was going to be hopelessly early if I continued on, so I turned back. I meandered my way back to Ribčev Laz and checked out their "Internet Centre", which turned out to be a single PC on the bar at a pizzeria.

After checking my email and reading a bit of news, I walked back to Stara Fužina- and then on to Studor. Helpful signs labeled "Icelandic horses" guided my way. The fact that Ranch Mrcina had Icelandics was a major selling point for me. Ever since I'd seen them tolting their way around the arena at Danada's Fall Festival, I'd been obsessed with them. Finally, a chance to ride one and see what all the fuss was about.

Even with my time-killing in the Internet Centre, I still was 20 minutes early for my appointment. Mr. Robi was a lot younger than I expected, maybe 27. I honestly didn't know if Mr. Robi is his first name or last name, but since an email sent to me from the hotel referred to him as Mr. Robi, that's what I called him.

He didn't have the horses ready, so I offered to help him out. I groomed my horse, Geeta, a ridiculously tall Lipizzaner. She was beautiful and very gentle, but not an Icelandic horse so I couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. I groomed her and then Mr. Robi tacked her up I had to climb on a fence to get on her back, since her shoulder was higher than my head and I haven't quite mastered the art of ground-mounting.

We headed off along the paved road and then on a gravel road. We chatted occasionally, but were mostly quiet. When we got onto a small gravel path, Mr. Robi turned around and said "Now we go a little faster." His Icelandic tolted and my Lipizzanner trotted. It was a grand day out and a great way to enjoy the scenery. After a bit of trotting, Mr. Robi turned around and said "Now, we gallop!" and off we galloped. Geeta was fast and I'm not the most experienced of gallopers. I'll take a good canter over a gallop most days. The only small mishap in the galloping was when Mr. Robi's horse kicked up a gigantic iceball that hit me square in the eye. That was a little painful and galloping blind isn't something I'd ever been prepared for, but I survived.

At some point, Mr. Robi pulled his horse back to a walk and Geeta followed suit. We walked along the gravel path and then Mr. Robi turned his horse off the path and into a field of snow. For some reason, Geeta didn't want to walk exactly behind Mr. Robi's horse and she kept drifting off the left of the path. The snow was deep, but it was dense enough to support the horses' weight. With each step, they were only sinking maybe three or four inches. Until Geeta found more loosely packed snow and she sank right to her belly.

Since she was finding it difficult to step through the snow, she started trying to jump out of the snow. But she didn't have much momentum going, so it was a very bumpy process. It felt like bucking, only without malice. I shifted my weight over her shoulder and tried to stay still but not rigid, moving with her as much possible. I did fine although I lost my left stirrup on her last jump, so I don't know how much longer I would have been able to hang on had she not worked herself back into the safer snow. Shortly after this episode, Mr. Robi decided we would turn around and find a different way to complete the ride.

We crossed a stream and walked up near a small ski area. Geeta was walking next to Mr. Robi's horse, so I was asking him questions about his stable and his horses. I was trying to ascertain why he'd given me a Lipizzaner. I'm not complaining – Geeta was great and an original iteration of the trip had us going to Lipica, the home of the Lipizzaners, so that I could ride one. But I'd had my little heart set on an Icelandic.

I asked him how he chooses his horses and by that I meant for each rider. He thought I was asking in general and said that he'd wanted a whole stable of Lipizzaners, but they require experienced riders. Plus, Slovenians like to do things as a family and having a kid on a Lipizzaner isn't really practical. Icelandics cater to beginners and are perfect for children, which is why he selected them. As Patrick said later, Mr. Robi gave me the Cadillac of horses and all I wanted was the VW Polo.

When we were headed back toward the stables, Mr. Robi asked me if I'd like another gallop. I thought about it and the voice in my head told me galloping when pointing homeward is always a bad idea. But my stupid mouth said "Sure!" Off we went, much faster than the time before. I didn’t take any ice to the eye though. But this time, when Mr. Robi pulled up his horse, my horse thundered on. I was tightening my reins and trying to sit on her mouth and use my inner strength. I tried a nice loud "Whoa!" but guess who didn't speak English. I could see an icy slope up ahead and tried one last tightening of the reins and it worked. I was very relieved.

The rest of the ride was very calm and if Mr. Robi thought I was an amateur, he didn't let on to me. When we got back to the stable, I asked him if we could do the same ride the next day, but this time, I'd like to ride an Icelandic. He agreed and we arranged to meet again at 11.

I walked back to Ribčev Laz picked up some groceries in the Mercator, bought stamps in the post office, and then caught the bus to Ukanc. I spent the afternoon making lasagna, reading, and watching German television. I thought that except for missing Peter, I could get used to this sort of life.

Patrick got home around 5.30 and was thrilled to have a hot dinner cooking in the oven. He'd had a fantastic time snowboarding and was looking forward to the same-again the next day. He reported that the snow in Vogel was fantastic, the views were amazing, and the people were nice.

I've Ridden an Icelandic, Now I Can Die Happy

When we woke up the next day, Vogel was missing. You just couldn't see it at all for the clouds. The weather on the ground was okay – not as good as the day before though. It was partly cloudy with brilliant bursts of sunshine and harsh blasts of cold wind.

Someone else was missing – the proprietor of our apartment. He'd never stopped by on the night we arrived, or the next day, to collect the payment. Patrick opened the door to go snowboarding and we found a note from the proprietor saying he had to leave urgently and that his "housewife" would stop by to collect the payment. I don't know if he meant his wife or his maid. We didn't know this woman's name or when she would arrive. We weren't yet worried about it, but it is frustrating when you want to pay someone and can't find them.

I'd learned a little bit from my previous travels. I still caught the 8.40 bus, but this time, I spent a full hour in the Internet Centre. I managed to arrive at the ranch only 10 minutes early and Mr. Robi was ready for me.

My horse was a white Icelandic whose name sounds like Fire-nola. She was nice and small and delightfully friendly. I don't have a decent picture of her because she kept stepping forward to check out the camera.




I was able to get on her back in one try - without resorting to the fence. She was remarkably calm, allowing me to hop on her back even though a dog was barking and lunging at her. They're great little stoics, .

Mr. Robi reminded me about the route and then apologized profusely about not being able to offer me a better ride. He also briefed me on how to ride Fire-nola. He told me that when we tolted, I should stay seated. (This is different than a trot, where you can post, or bounce, up and down in time with the trot.) He started to give me directions about the galloping, mentioning that Firenola was a very fast horse, much faster than the one he was riding. I told Mr. Robi that I thought I might like to just skip the galloping and get more time tolting. Over the night, I'd grown a little superstitious and didn't want to press my luck.

I was really looking forward to the tolting and when Mr. Robi turned and said "Now, we go faster" I could scarcely contain my excitement. I later texted Peter and told him that tolting was everything I'd dreamt of and more. It's a smooth, gentle motion, very easy to sit.

We had a couple of tolting interludes and spent the rest of the time walking leisurely. Fire-nola was a complete trail horse. She wasn't happy unless her nose was halfway up the lead horse's butt. She had great manners though and was a joy to ride.

When the ride was over, I thanked Mr. Robi even as he tried again to apologize for the limited time and selection. I told him that the horses were the highlight of my trip and that I couldn’t wait until I was able to return. He seemed surprised by my excessive praise, but he doesn't know that I would have been happy just to walk in circles in the paddock.

I repeated my routine of walking back to Ribčev Laz, shopping, and then getting the bus to Ukanc. I was thrilled to find an episode of CSI on Slovenian television. Slovenian TV was much better for us than the German TV. (There wasn't really cable – we got 2 Slovenian channels, 2 German channels, 1 music video channel, and 1 German channel that seemed to be a gambling channel. I have no idea.) German TV will dub non-German shows. Slovenian TV uses subtitles.

As I cooked chili for the evening meal, I watched CSI and then watched an ancient episode (circa 1998) of Rikki Lake. Not my ideal viewing material, but after a week without much English-language media, I was starved for something I could understand. The Slovenian channel was playing ads for "Pirates of the Caribbean" and next to the time, there was the word "jutri". I scoured my Slovenian phrasebook, hopeful that it meant soon or tonight but it turned out to mean "tomorrow" so Patrick and I planned to have a movie night on Friday.

Patrick got back from his snowboarding a bit early as he'd had to give it up as a bad job. The clouds obscuring the mountain weren't so much clouds as a full-on blizzard. Apparently, workers who'd spent most of their lives working on the mountain swore they'd never seen snow that bad. It was blowing and drifting and nearly impossible to see where you were going.

We spent the whole of Friday morning waiting for the proprietor's housewife to arrived. It was snowing something fierce outside – we probably got about 20 inches over the course of the day. Patrick wrote his postcards and I read The Bourne Identity. We also watched "Air Bud", which was in English but, as Patrick rightly observed, it really could be in any language and you would still understand it.

Someone arrived around noon, but disappeared before we could pay her. I rang the proprietor on his mobile and he assured me that she would arrive at 9 am sharp the following morning to collect the payment. We could only hope that was the case since we were going to be on the 10.40 bus for Bled.

We had a walk into town to use the Internet Center and to get popcorn for movie night. We also left some of Nana in Lake Bohinj. Since the lake was frozen in places, we weren't sure of the best delivery method. We put some of her ashes into snowballs and threw them into the lake, aiming for the unfrozen areas. Since Nana was a keen swimmer in her youth, it always feels right to leave her in water.

We had a low-key last night in Ukanc, leftovers for dinner followed by "Pirates of the Caribbean" and popcorn.