Last Updated on 28 January 2025 by Cycloscope
Bicycle touring from Caorle, Veneto, Italy to Karlovac in Croatia. Crossing Slovenia in a rush. A daily report. Caorle – San Giorgio di Nogaro
Since we are comfortably camping, we wake up late, around 9:30. It is already very hot, about 30 degrees, and there isn’t a breath of air. We pack our things leisurely. An Alpino asks us where we come from and tells us that as a young man, he was an amateur cyclist and that even now, at 76, he still rides 40-50 kilometers.
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Everyone always asks us where we come from; no one has ever asked where we are going. Maybe they think their home must be the destination, no matter what.
San Giorgio di Nogaro – Bosco Bazzoni
However, with the composure that distinguishes us, we are ready to depart at 12:00.
We discovered that the guy running the campsite knew about us—we had been in touch through the internet forum “Il Cicloviaggiatore.” What a coincidence! It definitely calls for a picture together.
He tries to explain a quiet route to us, but we get lost and end up riding about 40 km more than planned.
The road isn’t particularly remarkable, passing through fields, fields, and more fields. We share it with tractors resembling huge dinosaurs.
We arrive in the village of San Giorgio—ice cream and beer. Just outside the village, there’s a small grove where we sleep. It’s full of fireflies!
At about 10:00 am, we are cycling towards Monfalcone. Daniele still has strong pain in his knee. We stop, open the medicine bag, and find ants—not just a few, but an army of one hundred red and black ants crawling everywhere.
We still don’t understand why, instead of attacking the food, they preferred the Oki. Somehow, we managed to get rid of our uninvited traveling companions.
Next, we stopped at the local hospital, where they finally gave Daniele the miraculous injection. The pain disappeared like magic. God bless painkillers.
Up to Monfalcone, there wasn’t much to see—just fields and little else. However, the scenic route to Trieste was very nice. At the top, there was a small tunnel called “the tunnel of the horn.”
Every car passing through honked, as if it were mandatory. We don’t know why—if you know or find out, please tell us!
Finally, we reached the Trieste waterfront, with its iconic wind, and arrived at Piazza Unità d’Italia.
After a beer in the lovely square, we head toward the Slovenian border, and that’s where the hell begins—our first-ever climb. Somehow, we manage.
I never got off the bike, and with an average speed of 8.5 km/h (dropping to 5.5 at times), I reached the top. Happy! All the while a gentleman walked beside me at the same pace, giving me directions and expecting me to answer!
We’ve covered 70 km, with only four left to the border. It’s hard to leave Italy behind.
Just before the descent, we decide to pitch our tent in the woods along the road. It’s a beautiful grove, full of flowers and rich scents.
Daniele says there’s a forest sprite watching over us. I hope it’s a friendly one…
We eat just in time to avoid the downpour—perhaps thanks to the forest’s Totoro.
Thunder and lightning rage outside, and even inside the tent, we have to shout to hear each other. Hopefully, the weather will be better tomorrow.
Bosco Bazzoni – Divaci (Slo)
After the night storm, we woke up to beautiful sunshine. We set off toward the Slovenian border, just 4 km away, but the Président had an issue with the front brake. So, we detour to Bazovica to find a mechanic. It’s so hard to leave this damn Italy.
In the province of Trieste, everything is closed on Mondays—all day long. And, of course, today is Monday! Lucky us. They suggest trying Opčine, 10 kilometers further, but everything is closed there too.
Just as we decide to spend the day drinking Laško Pivo, a gentleman at the bar tells us there’s a repair shop open in Sežana, just across the Slovenian border.
Finally, we cross the border into Slovenia—marked only by a sign that looks like the Eurospin logo. Still, we’ve left Italy, and this trip finally feels like it’s beginning.
Apart from feeling like I’d be safer wearing a motorcycle helmet instead of a bicycle one, the scenery is lovely.
The first Slovenian town isn’t much to write home about, except for the bike shop where we fix the brake. Koga vs. Président: 1-0.
Slovenia is beautiful—full of greenery and serene woods, perfect for free camping. After dinner, we realize we’ve been watched the whole time by a wild boar.
Cycling into Croatia
Pri Divaci (Slo) – Soboli (Hr)
It’s raining, raining, raining. Thankfully, the tent holds up. Around 10:30, the rain seems to stop, so we leave. It’s 9°C—20 degrees less than yesterday.
We take the shortest road to Croatia, a scenically beautiful route with mountains on both sides. However, it’s very busy, full of curves, and with no shoulder for cyclists.
After about ten miles, we decide to stop for food. Daniele wants Slovenian specialties: most restaurants have a fireplace outside with a skewer roasting a pig.
Since I’m vegetarian, Daniele is basically forced to adapt—cooking two separate dinners on an alcohol stove would be too complicated.
We spot a place that catches our eye, slightly set back from the main road. The manager is friendly, but there’s no pig on a spit. Instead, there’s an endless menu, and everything looks delicious!
When I mention I’m vegetarian, he suggests “grilled vegetables,” as always. But thankfully, gnocchi with mushrooms and fried cheese are also vegetarian—and absolutely yummy!
Daniele settles for the house steak, wrapped in prosciutto. The meal was as big as the price was small—a great deal!
Croazia
Finally, we entered Croatia. It’s still cold outside, around 10°C.
Climb, climb, climb!
Passing through tiny villages doesn’t change the landscape much, but the style of homes and villages is noticeably different.
One such village is Lipa, a hamlet of a dozen houses where every corner bears reminders of the massacre of April 30, 1944, when Italian fascists burned the village to the ground, killing women and children in reprisal against local partisans.
A few more kilometers of climbing, and we arrive at another village—really just ten houses—where we find a small supermarket. Inside are a clerk, a man with a huge mustache and a beer in hand, and a third anonymous gentleman. They stare at us as though we’ve just landed on another planet.
After the climb, there’s a long descent that, unfortunately, seems to end far too quickly. To use a culinary metaphor, it takes hours to cook a good meal, and then in five minutes, it’s gone.
The woods are now behind us, and the area becomes more populated, leaving fewer camping options. At 8 pm, after nearly 70 km, we stop in a meadow, shaded by a few trees, just 50 meters from the road.
The wind is strong, making cooking a bit tricky. We rest, bracing ourselves for the real climb that awaits us tomorrow.
Soboli- Ravna Gora
Last night, there was a strong wind, waking us up several times—even filling us with a bit of fear. Tent test No. 2: success.
By about 9:30, we’re almost ready to go. We speed up a bit when we notice sleeping goats in the neighbor’s pasture. There are 24.5°C—perfect weather.
After just 200 meters, the climb begins: 900 meters of ascent over just a few kilometers. I end up walking some sections after realizing I’m going the same speed as when I’m on the bike.
Near the top, we stop at a bar where an elderly lady makes us a delicious cappuccino. She’s one of those sweet old ladies with smiling eyes—absolutely lovely.
After 20 km, we catch sight of the Lokvarsko Jezero. Sure, the climb is grueling, and when you’re doing it on a bike that weighs more than you do, your mind fills with every swear word you know—and you even invent a few new ones.
But then, when you reach the top, you see the distant sea and the tiny cars on the road you came from, so small and far away, and you’re happy. A happiness like when you’re a child, doing something with your legs for the first time—like riding a bike.
From a distance, but not too far, we spot ominous clouds rolling in. With just one kilometer left to the lake, we get caught in a nasty hailstorm. Total frostbite of hands and feet, with hailstones the size of walnuts!
I find a bus shelter—but only after the hailstorm ends. Because, of course, shelters are never in the right place at the right time.
As soon as we start again, it begins to rain. We stop for supplies in Delnice and enjoy the most deserved beer. And here’s the best part of the day (aside from the satisfaction of the climb).
The bar is run by a lady of indeterminate age, but she’s certainly stuck in the ’80s—bouffant hair, big bangs, and a denim jacket.
Croatian music is playing. The patrons are in their 50s and 60s, all drunk. They sing every song and know all the words. It’s 4 o’clock in the afternoon, not bad.
Just as we’re about to leave, the drunkest one starts speaking in Croatian, claiming that, according to him, it’s the most understandable language in the world.
Eventually, we figure out (mainly thanks to the less drunk ones) that he wants to give us the keys to his house in the “Shuma” (not sure how to spell it), the forest.
Daniele thought he was talking about Schumacher, and I was sure he was proposing a threesome. We politely decline, and eventually, he offers us a beer.
The climb wasn’t over yet. A few more ups and downs. Tonight, we take a room—it seems like a wise choice, considering that just two days ago it was snowing, and the thermometer was below zero!
Now, we sleep in a bed, and the room is as big as my house. Tomorrow, we’ll cycle to Karlovac, home of the legendary Karlovačko beer. Or so we think!
