CROATIAN ISTRIA: THE LAND OF CATS AND TRUFFLES
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| Motovun and the sea of clouds |
The heat had not yet subsided when we arrived in Valica, a hamlet with posh houses, probably as a result from the proximity of the sea. Valica is at the top of a hill amidst a typical rural Istrian setting of vineyards and olive groves. We had booked a room at the Vera Bed and Breakfast, a place known for the quality of its traditional food. It was 3.30pm when we rang the bell of the garden, soon to be welcomed by the house dog. After a little while, Vera's daughter came to open the gate and let us in apologizing for the presence of the dog. She took us to our room which had a south facing balcony overlooking the garden.
At dinner, downstairs, the veranda was full with foreign dinners coming back from their day at the beach. A lady told us that the cove of Kanegra was definitely worth going. But that wasn't on our former train tracks route, so we wouldn't go. It was the time, mid September, when campings started closing but this year regulars wanted to extend their stay because the weather was still fine. I chose, among the house specialties, homemade pasta called pljukanci with game stew and some refošk, the house red wine. The food was definitely worth the trip.
The next morning I chatted with Vera who was sneezing badly and had red eyes. I asked her whether she was allergic to something. She said that ambrosia, a plant in full bloom at the moment was causing her sneezing, besides she said she was allergic to pollen, cats and her husband!
We met two German cyclists in a wood after passing near the hilltop village of Buje. They were taking a break under pine trees. The pair was retired and made daily cycling tours along the Parenzana. They told us about the things we would see, the tunnels and bridges that had been built to help the train overcome the hilly terrain.
And no, they weren't not riding e-bikes. The day before, a group of e-bikers had looked at them and wondered why the pair was still cycling "retro", meaning without battery. We had a good laugh.
They added that they preferred Grožnjan, our next stop, to Motovun, the one after, because it felt less touristic. Grožjnan, a village dubbed "the town of the artists" as a result of an influx of artists to the village in 1960s. History is never far in Istria.
Croatian Istria was under Venetian rule between the 15th century and the end of the 18th, then came Napoleonic domination in the early 19th century before the Austrians took hold of it for a century until the end of World War I. After that, it remained within the footprint of Yugoslavia until the creation of Croatia.
Grožjnan was within the part of Istria that was allocated to Yugoslavia in 1954, while the zone around Trieste and Muggia was given to Italy. This caused the emigration of two third of the population to Italy leaving this former roman-walled stronghold nearly empty. However in the 1960s, Aleksandar Rukavina, a graphic artist, fell in love with the place and attracted many fellow artists from other parts of Yugoslavia to rehabilitate deserted houses they obtained from the government for next to nothing. A new Grožjnan was born, one that now feels like a giant gallery cast in stones from another age and which attracts tourist buses everyday. That said, we were extremely happy to find the shade of chestnut trees and Erdinger-branded umbrellas while sipping a coffee and sparkling water at the terrace of one of the two restaurants in the village, the one called Bastia. Our table was tended with a white table cloth. The owner told us that he came to Grožjnan in 1965 and most of the artists had come in the 1970s. He was still looking amazingly fit and good humoured for his age! We would come back for dinner! The menu offered traditional Istrian food. Omelette with truffles, pasta with game stew, etc... Truffles come in white (during the summer) and black (all year round). They are very commonly found in the valley of the Mirna.
Music is also big in Grožjnan with a jazz festival (Jazz is back) and the presence of a masterclass organized by Jeunesses Musicales International.
The village is a maze of cobbled streets going up and down according to the slope of the hill from which we saw a sea of clouds filling up the Mirna valley beneath us the next morning. We walked in that sunny morning along an easy path looking at the cloud bed dissolve as the temperature rose.
The hills felt very Mediterranean. Bushes were dense where they hadn't been not turned into plantations. Pine trees contributed the perfume of resin and oaks shade for the locally celebrated truffles and ceps. There was a cousin of thyme displaying white flowers and many other aromatic plants.
We gradually walked down to the level of the river, crossing the village of Livade which advertised with a giant billboard above the road to Motovun for the Zigante's truffle days. A man from the Zigante family is reported in the Guinness book of records to have discovered the biggest truffle ever weighing 1.3 KG. The region is also known for its truffle safaris, taking guests hunting truffles with a dog (one could as well use a pig but a dog on a leash is handier).
Motovun was up there in front of us, perched on a hill a hundred meters above the river that flowed past rapidly, almost in a straight line across the plain. We had been warned that it would take us a while to reach to hilltop because the old road was being redone. Instead we took a gravel path going around the hill, which generated a thick cloud of dust every time a vehicle drove by. After a few of them, we decided to take a small track we saw marked on the GPS. It is always a gamble to take small paths because they can easily be overgrown with thorns and force one to retreat. But this time, we were lucky.
An old lion, so old that it has been turned to stone and become part of the outer city gate, was looking severe and mighty with his wings deployed over whoever came to the city. This lion is Venetian, from the times during which Istria was under the umbrella of the Doge of Venice.
At dinner, downstairs, the veranda was full with foreign dinners coming back from their day at the beach. A lady told us that the cove of Kanegra was definitely worth going. But that wasn't on our former train tracks route, so we wouldn't go. It was the time, mid September, when campings started closing but this year regulars wanted to extend their stay because the weather was still fine. I chose, among the house specialties, homemade pasta called pljukanci with game stew and some refošk, the house red wine. The food was definitely worth the trip.
The next morning I chatted with Vera who was sneezing badly and had red eyes. I asked her whether she was allergic to something. She said that ambrosia, a plant in full bloom at the moment was causing her sneezing, besides she said she was allergic to pollen, cats and her husband!
We met two German cyclists in a wood after passing near the hilltop village of Buje. They were taking a break under pine trees. The pair was retired and made daily cycling tours along the Parenzana. They told us about the things we would see, the tunnels and bridges that had been built to help the train overcome the hilly terrain.
And no, they weren't not riding e-bikes. The day before, a group of e-bikers had looked at them and wondered why the pair was still cycling "retro", meaning without battery. We had a good laugh.
They added that they preferred Grožnjan, our next stop, to Motovun, the one after, because it felt less touristic. Grožjnan, a village dubbed "the town of the artists" as a result of an influx of artists to the village in 1960s. History is never far in Istria.
Croatian Istria was under Venetian rule between the 15th century and the end of the 18th, then came Napoleonic domination in the early 19th century before the Austrians took hold of it for a century until the end of World War I. After that, it remained within the footprint of Yugoslavia until the creation of Croatia.
Grožjnan was within the part of Istria that was allocated to Yugoslavia in 1954, while the zone around Trieste and Muggia was given to Italy. This caused the emigration of two third of the population to Italy leaving this former roman-walled stronghold nearly empty. However in the 1960s, Aleksandar Rukavina, a graphic artist, fell in love with the place and attracted many fellow artists from other parts of Yugoslavia to rehabilitate deserted houses they obtained from the government for next to nothing. A new Grožjnan was born, one that now feels like a giant gallery cast in stones from another age and which attracts tourist buses everyday. That said, we were extremely happy to find the shade of chestnut trees and Erdinger-branded umbrellas while sipping a coffee and sparkling water at the terrace of one of the two restaurants in the village, the one called Bastia. Our table was tended with a white table cloth. The owner told us that he came to Grožjnan in 1965 and most of the artists had come in the 1970s. He was still looking amazingly fit and good humoured for his age! We would come back for dinner! The menu offered traditional Istrian food. Omelette with truffles, pasta with game stew, etc... Truffles come in white (during the summer) and black (all year round). They are very commonly found in the valley of the Mirna.
Music is also big in Grožjnan with a jazz festival (Jazz is back) and the presence of a masterclass organized by Jeunesses Musicales International.
The village is a maze of cobbled streets going up and down according to the slope of the hill from which we saw a sea of clouds filling up the Mirna valley beneath us the next morning. We walked in that sunny morning along an easy path looking at the cloud bed dissolve as the temperature rose.
The hills felt very Mediterranean. Bushes were dense where they hadn't been not turned into plantations. Pine trees contributed the perfume of resin and oaks shade for the locally celebrated truffles and ceps. There was a cousin of thyme displaying white flowers and many other aromatic plants.
We gradually walked down to the level of the river, crossing the village of Livade which advertised with a giant billboard above the road to Motovun for the Zigante's truffle days. A man from the Zigante family is reported in the Guinness book of records to have discovered the biggest truffle ever weighing 1.3 KG. The region is also known for its truffle safaris, taking guests hunting truffles with a dog (one could as well use a pig but a dog on a leash is handier).
Motovun was up there in front of us, perched on a hill a hundred meters above the river that flowed past rapidly, almost in a straight line across the plain. We had been warned that it would take us a while to reach to hilltop because the old road was being redone. Instead we took a gravel path going around the hill, which generated a thick cloud of dust every time a vehicle drove by. After a few of them, we decided to take a small track we saw marked on the GPS. It is always a gamble to take small paths because they can easily be overgrown with thorns and force one to retreat. But this time, we were lucky.
An old lion, so old that it has been turned to stone and become part of the outer city gate, was looking severe and mighty with his wings deployed over whoever came to the city. This lion is Venetian, from the times during which Istria was under the umbrella of the Doge of Venice.
Unlike their petrified cousin, cats are still very much alive. And Istrian cats haven't changed the way they chase Istrian rats and mouse. Under the protecting eye of the old lion they are appreciated by the local population. Many are fed on the street, where they live, in exchange for the communal hunting services they render. Around feeding time, cats will pop-up out of nowhere with their eyes wide open to spot if one is bringing food. After a few seconds, if one doesn't look like a real food bearer, they will disappear, disdainful for the time wasted, as fast as they appeared.
Motovun offers a brilliant view over the Mirna valley, from different angles, in particular from the fortified upper town built on the hilltop and from which a 360 degree surveillance could be performed. Upon leaving the main square one passes through a gate adorned with a smiling winged lion sticking out its tongue.
A steep passage under the gate opens on the Ulica Jaokima Rakovca, a street that comes from the southern part of the hill where houses have gradually been built on the steep slope as the town expanded. The street continues as it passes through the northern gate. Beyond this gate there is another part of town, full of touristic shops selling Istrian specialties, olive oil, dry sausage, ham and a large range of food products with truffles.
The terraces of a couple of restaurants located between the two gates right along the fortification offer a dizzying view on the western part of the valley, as if one would be on a plane. Every morning, clouds of mist surround the village that appears to be floating like an island on a woolly sea.
We decided to quit the Parenzana track and move further East towards Rijeka. I had felt some frustration growing in me with this cycling track. Sure we were crossing an interesting area but the walk from one place to the next had not really been breathtaking. There had been too much asphalt, too many ways which are best designed for vehicles. We therefore settled for a journey that we thought would be doable in daily walking intervals. We did our planning with a mix of GPS maps and printed maps. Sometimes we would use stretches of marked walking tracks. We just had to hope that the smaller paths would be well maintained. We left Motovun in the early morning through the road under construction which was much shorter than the initial track we had used and walked on to Livade. From there we needed to climb the northern slope of the Mirna valley. Somehow we managed thanks to the GPS to find our way and I was really thankful that we hadn't got bothered by too many thorns. I felt alive again from this small adventure through the bushes going upward from one abandoned hamlet to the next. We connected with the road, lined-up with young olive trees, that led to Oprtalj, an old fortified village set amid orchards and groves. At the entrance, a signboard from a local wine producer advertised his products with a long-blond-haired lady sitting in mini-skirt on a bar stool, a glass of wine in hand, smiling at the on-looker in an inviting "come and let's toast together" way. The implicit promise was that the two hundred meters to the shop was the distance that separated one from some kind of paradise. Inside the still partly-uninhabited old village, cats dozed in the sun. Young ones played together on the stairs in front of the church, thrilled by the different levels that made it more fun to jump on each other. The main square was large and empty, we could hear the noise of a radio coming out of a house where lunch preparations were being made.
We left the village for a forestry path whose grass was still wet with dew. It got our shoes wet in "due" course. We joined the legendary Via Dinarica, which used to be an old pedestrian route but is today hard to find in places and not really well maintained and very unequal in its level difficulty. That was a change from the Parenzana. The only challenge was that some passages were more appropriate for goats than for wanderers with backpacks.
We discovered Buzet from afar, shining on its hilltop. We made a voluntary stop in the first supermarket we could find to buy drinks as we had exhausted our water supplies for some time. The day had been long and going up and down. We stayed in a nice hotel next to the main gate of the city, the Vela Vrata hotel, which means the great door in Croatian. It had a swimming pool that had been fitted in an adjoining town-house to the hotel. It was a strange feeling to look through the windows of what could have been a living room but was in fact a swimming pool. The main square was named after Tito, Tito Trg.
The next day was meant to be a shorter walk, following some narrow gorge where zip-lines, steel cables, had been laid from one rock to the next above the water for people to glide suspended to a harness. Once out of the gorge, we navigated through the woods until the hill on which Hum is overlooking the area. The legend says that Hum was built by Giants. We had our picnic on a bench under chestnut trees, right outside of the city gate.
Hum was fortified in the 11th century. It is said to be the world smallest town, with administrative functions. The clock tower and the church are placed on a vantage point overlooking the small cobbled town square on one side and the hills to the West. The entrance of the city is made through a stone porch closed by metal doors, each one adorned with a half bull head as a handle so that when the doors are closed, the full head shows.
Hum is a Gaglolitic site, meaning a town that was using the gaglolitic alphabet, which was the first designed to transcribe slavic languages. It was invented by two Byzantine monks, Cyril and Methodius, who were sent to Moravia in the 9th century AD by the emperor Michael III to spread Christianity to the west Slavs. The purpose was to avail translations of liturgical books in Slavic languages that had sounds not available in Latin and Greek alphabet.
Hum might be the world smallest town but it has at least one restaurant, the humska konoba. This was quite handy for dinner as it served decent Istrian cuisine (we had maize soup with other vegetables and speck but also sausages and sauerkraut) as well as mistletoe house schnapps. That was enough to enjoy a starry sky.
We left Hum the next morning under a cloudy sky. Our destination was the Učka national park which includes Vojak, Istria's summit at 1400 meters above sea level. The clouds persisted throughout the day and turned into fog as we reached the altitude of 700 meters. This was a fantastic and freezing experience to walk in the middle of the forest with trees appearing or disappearing from one minute to the next.
Polkon is located on the edge of the plateau that abruptly drops into the Adriatic on the East side of Istria. From there one has a view over Rijeka and the mountains North of it as well as of the islands of Krk and Cres. Right down by the seaside starts the region of Kvarner. It encompasses the Croatian coast and the islands of Krk, Čres, Loşinj and Rab.
We entered the cosy mountain inn of Polkon and found a group of four Italians arguing with the barman over the price of a bottle of wine which they found outrageous. There might have been a misunderstanding as the waiter seemed to have given an erroneous price initially. But now the bottle was empty, so what could be done?. Lessons learned, the Italians drank beer later at dinner. The restaurant was specialising in bear meat. Bear sausage and bear stew was on the menu but we didn't try. The manager was telling us that the meat came from other national parks in Croatia.
Motovun offers a brilliant view over the Mirna valley, from different angles, in particular from the fortified upper town built on the hilltop and from which a 360 degree surveillance could be performed. Upon leaving the main square one passes through a gate adorned with a smiling winged lion sticking out its tongue.
A steep passage under the gate opens on the Ulica Jaokima Rakovca, a street that comes from the southern part of the hill where houses have gradually been built on the steep slope as the town expanded. The street continues as it passes through the northern gate. Beyond this gate there is another part of town, full of touristic shops selling Istrian specialties, olive oil, dry sausage, ham and a large range of food products with truffles.
The terraces of a couple of restaurants located between the two gates right along the fortification offer a dizzying view on the western part of the valley, as if one would be on a plane. Every morning, clouds of mist surround the village that appears to be floating like an island on a woolly sea.
We decided to quit the Parenzana track and move further East towards Rijeka. I had felt some frustration growing in me with this cycling track. Sure we were crossing an interesting area but the walk from one place to the next had not really been breathtaking. There had been too much asphalt, too many ways which are best designed for vehicles. We therefore settled for a journey that we thought would be doable in daily walking intervals. We did our planning with a mix of GPS maps and printed maps. Sometimes we would use stretches of marked walking tracks. We just had to hope that the smaller paths would be well maintained. We left Motovun in the early morning through the road under construction which was much shorter than the initial track we had used and walked on to Livade. From there we needed to climb the northern slope of the Mirna valley. Somehow we managed thanks to the GPS to find our way and I was really thankful that we hadn't got bothered by too many thorns. I felt alive again from this small adventure through the bushes going upward from one abandoned hamlet to the next. We connected with the road, lined-up with young olive trees, that led to Oprtalj, an old fortified village set amid orchards and groves. At the entrance, a signboard from a local wine producer advertised his products with a long-blond-haired lady sitting in mini-skirt on a bar stool, a glass of wine in hand, smiling at the on-looker in an inviting "come and let's toast together" way. The implicit promise was that the two hundred meters to the shop was the distance that separated one from some kind of paradise. Inside the still partly-uninhabited old village, cats dozed in the sun. Young ones played together on the stairs in front of the church, thrilled by the different levels that made it more fun to jump on each other. The main square was large and empty, we could hear the noise of a radio coming out of a house where lunch preparations were being made.
We left the village for a forestry path whose grass was still wet with dew. It got our shoes wet in "due" course. We joined the legendary Via Dinarica, which used to be an old pedestrian route but is today hard to find in places and not really well maintained and very unequal in its level difficulty. That was a change from the Parenzana. The only challenge was that some passages were more appropriate for goats than for wanderers with backpacks.
We discovered Buzet from afar, shining on its hilltop. We made a voluntary stop in the first supermarket we could find to buy drinks as we had exhausted our water supplies for some time. The day had been long and going up and down. We stayed in a nice hotel next to the main gate of the city, the Vela Vrata hotel, which means the great door in Croatian. It had a swimming pool that had been fitted in an adjoining town-house to the hotel. It was a strange feeling to look through the windows of what could have been a living room but was in fact a swimming pool. The main square was named after Tito, Tito Trg.
The next day was meant to be a shorter walk, following some narrow gorge where zip-lines, steel cables, had been laid from one rock to the next above the water for people to glide suspended to a harness. Once out of the gorge, we navigated through the woods until the hill on which Hum is overlooking the area. The legend says that Hum was built by Giants. We had our picnic on a bench under chestnut trees, right outside of the city gate.
Hum was fortified in the 11th century. It is said to be the world smallest town, with administrative functions. The clock tower and the church are placed on a vantage point overlooking the small cobbled town square on one side and the hills to the West. The entrance of the city is made through a stone porch closed by metal doors, each one adorned with a half bull head as a handle so that when the doors are closed, the full head shows.
Hum is a Gaglolitic site, meaning a town that was using the gaglolitic alphabet, which was the first designed to transcribe slavic languages. It was invented by two Byzantine monks, Cyril and Methodius, who were sent to Moravia in the 9th century AD by the emperor Michael III to spread Christianity to the west Slavs. The purpose was to avail translations of liturgical books in Slavic languages that had sounds not available in Latin and Greek alphabet.
Hum might be the world smallest town but it has at least one restaurant, the humska konoba. This was quite handy for dinner as it served decent Istrian cuisine (we had maize soup with other vegetables and speck but also sausages and sauerkraut) as well as mistletoe house schnapps. That was enough to enjoy a starry sky.
We left Hum the next morning under a cloudy sky. Our destination was the Učka national park which includes Vojak, Istria's summit at 1400 meters above sea level. The clouds persisted throughout the day and turned into fog as we reached the altitude of 700 meters. This was a fantastic and freezing experience to walk in the middle of the forest with trees appearing or disappearing from one minute to the next.
Polkon is located on the edge of the plateau that abruptly drops into the Adriatic on the East side of Istria. From there one has a view over Rijeka and the mountains North of it as well as of the islands of Krk and Cres. Right down by the seaside starts the region of Kvarner. It encompasses the Croatian coast and the islands of Krk, Čres, Loşinj and Rab.
We entered the cosy mountain inn of Polkon and found a group of four Italians arguing with the barman over the price of a bottle of wine which they found outrageous. There might have been a misunderstanding as the waiter seemed to have given an erroneous price initially. But now the bottle was empty, so what could be done?. Lessons learned, the Italians drank beer later at dinner. The restaurant was specialising in bear meat. Bear sausage and bear stew was on the menu but we didn't try. The manager was telling us that the meat came from other national parks in Croatia.
The weather was already misty the next morning when we finished our breakfast. The promise of an unforgettable panoramic view at the Vojac remained unfulfilled since the visibility didn't exceed ten to fifty meters. It is only when we reached the altitude of seven or eight hundred meters that the mist disappeared, still enveloping the summit. That weather didn't seem to affect the mood of hikers who came up all the way in trail outfit or simply with ordinary clothes together with dogs of different sizes, who relished the foggy weather because it smelled just as good as another day and they could enjoy some freedom of movement.
The descent to Lovran was steep and slippery, first through birches then oaks and progressively pine trees. Mosquitoes appeared in the last two hundred meters above sea level which boosted me. The sea was immense in front of our eyes. Bye bye Istria. Hello Kvarner.
Lovran is one of the towns nested at the foothill of Učka mountains that developed rapidly as a seaside destination in the 19th century when Austrians ruled over what is now Croatia. Many palaces were built during that period all the way to Rijeka. We forgot about the mountains and our attention turned to the sea. The sun decided us for a swim in the rather chilly water. We swam perhaps a quarter of an hour enjoying the beautiful light of the sky that was reflected by the water.
The next morning, the early morning was rather gloomy. The thunder could be heard rumbling above the nearby hills. Heavy rain started shortly after breakfast. A storm had made its way to the coast. The hotel receptionist was confident that the sun would be back by noon latest, or so said the maritime weather app he trusted very much. We considered taking the bus to Rijeka and bought tickets at a nearby shop for what we would coin "force majeure".
The descent to Lovran was steep and slippery, first through birches then oaks and progressively pine trees. Mosquitoes appeared in the last two hundred meters above sea level which boosted me. The sea was immense in front of our eyes. Bye bye Istria. Hello Kvarner.
Lovran is one of the towns nested at the foothill of Učka mountains that developed rapidly as a seaside destination in the 19th century when Austrians ruled over what is now Croatia. Many palaces were built during that period all the way to Rijeka. We forgot about the mountains and our attention turned to the sea. The sun decided us for a swim in the rather chilly water. We swam perhaps a quarter of an hour enjoying the beautiful light of the sky that was reflected by the water.
The next morning, the early morning was rather gloomy. The thunder could be heard rumbling above the nearby hills. Heavy rain started shortly after breakfast. A storm had made its way to the coast. The hotel receptionist was confident that the sun would be back by noon latest, or so said the maritime weather app he trusted very much. We considered taking the bus to Rijeka and bought tickets at a nearby shop for what we would coin "force majeure".
We were waiting at the bus stop, fully exposed to the rain, under our green dromedary rain capes when I saw a patch of blue sky appear in the direction of our destination. I therefore thought that the rain might ease soon. We gave up waiting and walked as initially planned along the Lungomare, a twelve kilometers promenade from Lovran to Opatija and Vološko. The app of the receptionist had accurately forecasted the end of the rain. The sky remained agitated making the view on the islands all the more enticing when a few rays of sun filtered through the clouds. We had a toilet-stop coffee, for one needs coin to use public toilets along the coast.
In Opatija, the sun imposed itself with a chilly wind from the North, a baby Bora, putting some serious shine on the colourful facades of stucco-adorned palaces. The coast has seen quite a lot of transformation since the beautiful palaces of the past centuries. Concrete resorts and fields of umbrellas have been built to accommodate the recent frenzy for beach holidays. The promenade was now quite busy but no one wanted to get too near the water except a man a little later who was visibly a regular. He left his clothes on a small bench and went straight into the water despite the waves. The sea was actually quite agitated and the wind blew cold.
This time we had reached the end of Lungomare in Vološko. Rijeka wasn't far anymore.
In Opatija, the sun imposed itself with a chilly wind from the North, a baby Bora, putting some serious shine on the colourful facades of stucco-adorned palaces. The coast has seen quite a lot of transformation since the beautiful palaces of the past centuries. Concrete resorts and fields of umbrellas have been built to accommodate the recent frenzy for beach holidays. The promenade was now quite busy but no one wanted to get too near the water except a man a little later who was visibly a regular. He left his clothes on a small bench and went straight into the water despite the waves. The sea was actually quite agitated and the wind blew cold.
This time we had reached the end of Lungomare in Vološko. Rijeka wasn't far anymore.
Images:
1/ Motovun and the sea of clouds
2/ Humska Konoba, the restaurant of Hum
3/ Učka forest in the mist
4/ the promenade in Lovran
5/ Lungomare |
| Humska Konoba, the restaurant of Hum |
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| Učka forest in the mist |
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| the promenade in Lovran |
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| lungomare |
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