Sebastien Pocognoli’s first match in charge of Scotland ends in a goalless draw against Slovenia as they are made to rue several missed chances in Ljubljana.
If you love a pint after a long day of sightseeing then this city break is a must-visit for autumn. Its self-serve beer fountain means you can try beers from across the region for just a few Euros
The town is just 90 minutes from Ljubljana by train(Image: Getty Images/RooM RF)
After a long day of exploring a new destination, the highlight of a city break for many of us is sitting in the town square, enjoying a nice cold pint of local, reasonably-priced beer.
And if you visit a small, but charming Slovenian town, you can not only order a pint, but pour your own from a ‘beer fountain’ that offers a variety of local brews to sample.
Žalec in the Lower Savinja Valley is a town that’s beer-obsessed. Even its coat of arms features a beer hop. The region is known as the Valley of Green Gold, named for the color of hops as they ripen in the sun, and it has 150 years of beer-making experience.
Next to Žalec’s marketplace lies the Green Gold Fountain, a unique attraction composed of a variety of shiny silver beer taps. Visitors buy a small glass for €12, just over £10, which pays for the souvenir glass plus six 100ml tastings of various local beers. The cups come with a chip, which is scanned by the fountain, so you can serve yourself.
The fountain opened in March and is set to run through October, so visitors can make the most of the crisp autumn weather while they sample local beers. The 150-year anniversary means there will be a larger variety of ales this year, with 34 craft beers from 25 Slovenian breweries expected to be on tap.
Alex Dyer, a managing director at Ski Famille, highlighted the unusual spot. He said: “The fountain is memorable enough to be one part of the day without making beer the whole purpose of a family visit. I think parents will enjoy the stop more when younger travellers have something of their own to look forward to nearby, because that keeps the day balanced rather than leaving anyone waiting around.”
The town’s visitors can also follow an official tourist route called the Path from Hops to Beer, which is just over 3-miles long, taking in a Roman necropolis and caves along the way. Once you’re back in town, the Eco-Museum of Hop-Growing and Brewing Industry is an interactive way to learn about the town’s proud heritage.
Visitors from the UK can fly from London, Manchester, or Edinburgh to Slovenia’s capital, Ljubljana, which takes just two hours and 20 minutes, making it perfect for a short weekend break. EasyJet has flights in October to Ljubljana from £45.99 one-way.
Žalec is less than an hour from the capital by car, taking you down some seriously steep mountain roads and through the untouched Slovenian countryside. But a more relaxed alternative is the 90-minute train ride, which runs along the River Sava in parts, taking you past charming traditional villages as you head to beer country.
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‘Achtung! Staatsgrenze!” OK, the signpost marking the “state border” didn’t have exclamation marks but, with its no-nonsense Prussian font, it did feel quite shouty. The only thing was, no one on the Feistritzer Alm – a peaceful sweep of Alpine pasture at the meeting of Austria and Italy – was paying any attention to it at all.
Hikers hiked straight past. Mountain bikers used it to prop up their cycles. Cows grazed willy-nilly. And the patrons of the Schutzhütte Oisternig enjoyed their cold beers regardless of which country they were in. While official boundaries may have changed in these parts over the centuries, the magnificence of the mountains has not.
My husband and I had woken that morning in Austria, in the Carinthian village of Feistritz. After breakfast at the old Gasthof Alte Post, we’d bought a loaf from the bäckerei, climbed past the 15th-century church as its bells called worshippers for prayers and continued up through pine forest to these high Alpine meadows – and into Italy.
We were hiking the Alpe Adria, a long-distance trail jointly developed by Austria, Slovenia and Italy that runs from the foot of Grossglockner (Austria’s highest mountain at 3,798 metres) to the Adriatic coast. At 750km (466 miles), the full trail is too long for most people’s summer holidays. But a 135km (84 mile) loop – moderate-graded, doable in a week, with walking days of 15-24km (9-15 miles) – has been created where the three nations meet, to offer a multicultural taster. It’s an appealing idea; hikers love circuiting multiple countries – just look at the numbers crowding the Tour du Mont Blanc these days. While the Alpe Adria loop isn’t quite as dramatic as that, it does offer a much quieter alternative.
The writer near the Vratca Pass.
We started our journey by catching an early Eurostar to Amsterdam, where there was time for canals, beer and crispy bitterballen before boarding the Nightjet sleeper to Salzburg. In our adjoining capsule-like cabins, we watched the Netherlands segue into Germany, and woke at dawn to pasture, pines and peaks. On the final train from Salzburg to Villach, where we were beginning the loop, the Alps pressed closer, drawing us in.
Now, on the Feistritzer Alm, a day and a half into the walk, Austria was behind us (for the time being) and Italy beckoned, beautifully. Just around the hill from the Schutzhütte Oisternig sat the chapel of Our Lady of the Snows (or the Chiesa Madonna della Neve/Almkapelle Maria Schnee, depending on your linguistic preferences); beyond spread deep-green foothills and the jagged Julian Alps, sawing into a hot-blue sky.
From here, the rest of the day was all downhill, a drop through blessed shade and butterflies, on paths weaving through the pines and peeping out to the peaks, to end in the village of Valbruna, at the Valbruna Inn. We had a wonderful room, and spent time on our balcony, gazing past the geraniums to the sheer Jôf Fuart range, which reaches up to 2,666 metres.
We also spent time in the hotel’s Julius Kugy Library, a cosy den of books on alpinism, named after a writer-mountaineer legend. Born in 1858 to a Slovenian family in Gorizia – then part of the Austrian empire, now in Italy – Kugy is credited with opening up the Julian Alps. He never lost his reverence for nature, always encouraging others to explore with respect, curiosity and awe. I picked up one of his books and read from his introduction: “[This] tries to describe the mountains as a source of happiness, because such they were in my life.”
I couldn’t have agreed more and, with great happiness, we continued the next morning, following the Alpe Adria from Valbruna, across the Saisera River and up through fir and spruce to the Sanctuary of Monte Lussari, a ridge-top pilgrim church and hamlet, where the Virgin Mary is said to have appeared in 1360. I was less moved by the miracle, or the shops selling branded tote bags, liqueurs and slippers, than by the mountains scattered far and wide. We lingered to enjoy the view, then descended via alpenrose and ambling goats to Tarvisio, finding a different kind of happiness in the town’s gelaterias. Then, later that evening, we sat with cold beers on our balcony at the Hotel Nevada, watching as a storm crashed through, briefly erasing every mountain.
The village of Monte Lussari. Photograph: Marco Lissoni/Alamy
The next day brought more joy as the trail took us along the woodland-weaving Sentiero del Orso and then via a busy cycle path to the Fusine lakes. These twin glacial bowls are so arrestingly blue-green you’d think they’d been AI-ed if you weren’t standing right there. We found a quiet spot to picnic, listening to the whinnying of little grebes and staring beyond the dazzling water to the afternoon’s challenge via the rocks ahead: the haul up to Rifugio Zacchi.
The Alpe Adria loop usually ends each day in a valley bottom, where there are plenty of inns. But not tonight. Zacchi sits at 1,380 metres, tight-hugged by the intimidating peaks that mark the Slovenian border. After a muggy, magical ascent through forest to the refuge, I sat on the terrace, drinking a superb Aperol spritz, and stared at them, transfixed; a few booms of thunder rippled, just in case the power of nature had been in doubt.
The blue-green Fusine lakes. Photograph: Liubomir Paut-Fluerasu/Alamy
The food at Zacchi was excellent – venison ragù, chargrilled peppers, potato-pancake-like frico, made with local montasio cheese. Also excellent was the fact that, in a stroke of luck, we had a dorm to ourselves. We woke, refreshed and ready for the next border hop.
The most striking route would have been over the forbidding-looking Vratca Pass. The Alpe Adria took us there, for views east into Triglav national park, but didn’t cross. Instead, the trail backtracked down on the Italian side to follow a path through the verdant Sava Valley to the outdoorsy town of Kranjska Gora.
It was a pleasant entrance into Slovenia; however, our exit was spectacular. To get back to Austria the next day, we had to cross the Karavanke Alps and conquer the highest point of our route, the 1,842-metre Schwarzkogel. It was an unrelenting climb, at first amid pasture and shingle roofs, with sublime views to the Julian peaks, then deep in forest serenaded by thrushes, streams trickling to our side.
As we neared the top, we could see south across Slovenia’s surging summits, north across Carinthia’s electric-blue lakes and low hills. Squat white marker-stones began to appear too, strung along the ridge’s spine – an international border marked more casually than most front gardens. We slalomed between the posts, enjoying both the freedom of movement and the majesty of nature. For millennia the Alps have been physical and cultural barriers. The Alpe Adria is a bringing together; a source of mountain happiness.
The trip was provided by Walks Worldwide; the eight-day, self-guided Alpe Adria Tri-Country Trek is from £895 B&B. Accommodation in London was provided by Generator (rooms from £75, dorm beds from £11)
LJUBLIJANA: A chill has set in between much of Europe and Israel recently over its treatment of Palestinians, but the Alpine nation of Slovenia is bucking the trend.
Under nationalist Prime Minister Janez Jansa Slovenia is launching a diplomatic reset of its relationship with Israel, which will send its foreign minister to open its first embassy in Ljubljana on Wednesday.
It is an about-face from the policies of the previous centre-left government, which had been one of the EU’s most critical voices on Israel’s military offensive in Gaza, which it described as “genocide”.
And it comes a day after the United Kingdom and other European countries provoked Israeli fury by banning imports from settlements in the occupied West Bank — the latest move by European governments grappling with growing international condemnation of Israeli policies towards Palestinians.
But in Slovenia, Jansa – who took office for the fourth time earlier this year, and who is often at loggerheads with the European Union – has instead received Israeli accolades for defying the EU over the West Bank settlements.
“Thank you PM Jansa for your courage and clarity amidst EU hypocrisy,” Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu posted on X late last month, after Slovenia vetoed an EU statement condemning the settlements.
Under Jansa, Slovenia has also reversed its own ban on imports from the settlements, lifted its arms embargo on Israel and scrapped entry bans on Netanyahu and two of his ministers.
In his first official visit to the country, Israel’s top diplomat Gideon Saar will inaugurate the embassy Wednesday, with his ministry describing Jansa as a “friend of Israel”.
Jansa has said his government was “only normalising Slovenia’s foreign policy and fixing the damage” caused by liberal ex-prime minister Robert Golob.
“To fulfil its priority of improving the well-being of Slovenians, the government will carry out pragmatic policies,” Jansa said in another post earlier.
‘Instrument’
Not all Slovenians are on board, however.
A poll conducted by the daily newspaper Delo in June found that 56 percent of Slovenians opposed closer ties with Israel, while 14 percent supported them.
Several rights groups have announced protests against the embassy’s inauguration, which has also drawn sharp criticism from the opposition.
Golob’s party has described the new embassy as “a return of the favour” for Israel’s alleged support of Jansa during the March election.
The last days of campaigning ahead of the March 22 vote were overshadowed by claims of foreign interference, with authorities probing whether Israeli company Black Cube was behind secretly recorded videos alleging graft in Golob’s government.
Jansa – who faced accusations his party was linked to the videos – has admitted to having met a Black Cube official, but denied being behind the videos.
Daily Dnevnik’s columnist Darijan Kosir in a weekend commentary said Jansa was serving “as the US-Israel’s Trojan horse” in the EU, taking the place of Viktor Orban, Hungary’s long-time premier who lost April elections.
Former president Danilo Turk told AFP that Slovenia has “become an instrument of Israeli policy”.
“This is a very uncomfortable situation,” said Turk, an International Law professor at Ljubljana University.
The drive to Pedrovo is vertiginous, and each hairpin bend has me sending a silent prayer that we won’t meet a tractor coming the other way. When we near it, we abandon the car and continue on foot to the hamlet, a scattering of red-roofed, whitewashed houses high on the steep karst hillside. The air is warm and dry, scented with wild sage.
We follow a hand-painted sign to Čilčevi Farmstead. Descending stone steps to a lush garden, we find a shaded table set with fresh cheeses produced at the farm’s own dairy. Below, the valley stretches in both directions, a wide flat plain hemmed in by steep mountain slopes, with the Vipava River winding lazily through fields and vineyards.
Illustration: Guardian Graphics
If the Vipava valley gets a mention in a Slovenian guidebook, it’s usually as a wine region footnote. The area is an hour’s drive south-west of Ljubljana, meeting Italy at the cross-border city of Nova Gorica (called Gorizia on the Italian side). Most visitors skip it in favour of the Soča valley to the north, drawn to the turquoise river and opportunities for rafting on the rapids.
Vipava is a landscape shaped by a strong wind, the burja, which barrels down from the Alps, keeping the red earth arid, the trees bent low, and creating the perfect terrain for dry wines and dried meats. Tourism has traditionally been less of a focus, but I’m here with my family to meet local entrepreneurs and producers, to learn how this valley is building a genuine visitor experience that works for the community.
Part of the reason for the slow development of tourism has been the scarcity of accommodation, save a few nondescript business hotels and a handful of holiday cottages. One place that’s helping change that narrative is Wellba, a boutique guesthouse in the village of Planina, where an old abandoned farmstead has been converted into self-catering apartments and guest rooms by a local couple, working with traditional craftspeople and salvaged materials.
Marko and Tereza Kobal run the boutique Wellba hotel in Planina
Marko and Tereza Kobal grew up on this hillside and then worked in Ljubljana before deciding to return to build a family business, striving to create the kind of place they seek out when travelling. “People who travel want to experience something that is just the way it is, without embellishment, pretence, exaggeration – somewhere authentic,” says Marko. We enter Wellba through a traditional “black kitchen”, its walls darkened by generations of wood smoke. “When we came here the building needed work but it had a real soul. We want the building to stand for another 300 years, so we took the renovation slowly and carefully.”
Our light, spacious accommodation wears its history lightly, with plenty of space for playing card games and reading books on the balcony, with views of the neighbouring farmyard and the valley beyond. Next door, another tumble-down farm building will be converted and opened in 2027. The couple are also working on a boutique hotel in Vipava town in the valley below. The dream is for their children to run Wellba one day, forging their futures in this valley.
Across Vipava, similar small projects are emerging: small, family-run and developing slowly and thoughtfully. Tom Ločniškar and Borut Kokalj began Čilčevi Farmstead during the pandemic, having moved to Pedrovo and become interested in farming. “We started to keep animals. Now we have 150, which is too many animals for just a hobby,” laughs Tom.
Fresh cheeses at the Čilčevi Farmstead dairy in Pedrovo. Photograph: Ailsa Sheldon/The Guardian
He recalls the mad panic to source equipment before the lockdowns began. The pandemic also brought him his first customers, people who were out walking and keen to support local businesses. Tom and Borut keep local Istrska sheep and Drežnica goats, which graze on dry karst grasslands, changing pastures across this hillside every four days. Having tasted fresh cheese straight from the chill of the dairy, including creamy goat’s cheese with fenugreek and buttery mature sheep’s cheese, we walk uphill to meet the goats.
Tom says that in the early 1900s around 1,000 people lived in Pedrovo, but by the 1970s the permanent population had fallen to just two, and remained that low until the 1990s. “The village was almost abandoned because people moved to the cities,” he says. “It was the same in a lot of hill villages: life was hard and tractors didn’t work on steep slopes.” Today the population has risen to 20, with second homeowners roughly doubling that number in the holidays.
Elsewhere in the village, I meet Alenka and Mark Smerajc, who were one of the first families to return, raising three children and running a business here. Today they have two small holiday cottages in what were farm outbuildings and run a relaxed courtyard restaurant for guests, opening to the public at weekends and for holidays. “People wanted food,” shrugs Alenka, as her teenage children help bring out beautiful plates of handmade pasta with local cheese and wild herbs from the kitchen.
“In Vipava valley there was no tourism, so we got to decide how to build it,” says Jani Peljhan. That means GPS-guided cycling tours along roads too small to merit signposts, and experimenting with “wine trains”, carrying visitors from Nova Gorica to the vineyards with local winemakers on board to lead tasting sessions.
Jani’s company, Wajdušna, also offers hiking and paragliding, both gaining in popularity here. He meets us at Wellba with some e-bikes and we pedal through Ajdovščina to spot Roman ruins, and up to Vipavski Križ, famed for being one of the smallest towns in Slovenia, before zigzagging back up the other side of the valley through vineyards. The warmth of the afternoon and the steep hillsides makes me appreciate the “sport” mode on the bikes.
The region’s many narrow lanes are perfect for cycling trips. Photograph: Nejc Bole
In other regions, wine tourism often means visitor centres and branded experiences. In Vipava it still means sitting in someone’s kitchen. At Vina Lisjak in Zalošče, I eat at a little restaurant run by two brothers. “We opened the restaurant to show the wine,” says Peter Lisjak. “It’s all from our farm.” We eat generous platters of house dried meat, aged mountain cheeses, a fennel frittata and slow-cooked celeriac steaks with celery pesto and spinach. Dishes are served family style and there’s plenty of time for stories, with samples of delicious wine straight from the barrels in the cellar.
From Wellba, we walk across the village to Ferjančič vineyard, where seventh generation winemaker Matic Ferjančič talks us through his wines. His father developed the vineyard, going from five to 50,000 plants. “We work hard in the vineyard to make it easy in the cellar,” he says. As we chat, Matic keeps an ear to the baby monitor for the eighth generation sleeping upstairs.
Although many of my favourite restaurant experiences are the simple ones, Vipava valley cuisine can reach loftier heights. One night we smarten up the best we can and follow a winding road uphill to Zemono Manor, to eat at Gostilna Pri Lojzetu. Chef Tomaž Kavčič is known as a Slovenian slow food pioneer, and has earned a Michelin star for his playful dishes and proud use of local ingredients.
We eat delicate Vipava river trout with fermented apricots from the previous summer, and langoustine bisque from the coast. Traditional dishes such as jota, a sauerkraut and potato stew, are honoured on the menu, their humble roots celebrated not hidden. There are some theatrics, like a juniper plant producing flavoured vapour to complement a sorbet, but the restaurant atmosphere is friendly and relaxed. The server chats with my young stepson about his preferences, and brings him a generous bowl of gnocchi. It’s Kavčič’s night off so he sits with friends and a bottle of wine at the back of the restaurant, coming round all the tables frequently to chat.
Vipava may not remain overlooked for ever. But talking to the people building businesses here, there is little appetite for becoming the next famous wine destination. What they seem to want instead is something rarer and more interesting: tourism that helps a place thrive without changing what made it worth visiting in the first place.
