Casablanca casts a blanket

Casablanca casts a cloud on our second visit after 12 years.

The worry

Our second visit feels charged with a new sense of excitement. We have arrived on the Muslim New Year, a public holiday, and I can't help but wonder: will the shops and businesses be open, or will the city be unusually quiet today?

The Hurry

The morning begins with a small rush of urgency. At 7:30 a.m., I receive word from our friends: they will try to secure a taxi for our tour, and we are to meet them at the complex exit at 8:00 a.m. That gives us barely half an hour.

My leisurely shipboard routine is instantly abandoned. There is no time to linger over breakfast or enjoy a slow start to the day. I cut my morning preparations short, gulp down a bowl of cereal, gather my things, and hurry ashore. The adventure, it seems, has already begun.

The fuzzy

To our surprise, we can no longer walk into town from the port. The sprawling complex is impressive and beautifully designed. At the exit, a lone officer checks our passports—no stamps, no delays, no fuss.

The Flurry

We are not allowed to walk around the port, and taxis are not permitted inside. Instead, shuttle buses have been arranged to take passengers to UN Square, where the bus terminal and taxi stands are located.

Unable to find our friends at the port, we board one of the shuttle buses. The 15-minute ride takes us through parts of the city that seem familiar, yet we do not recognise the square where we arrive.

What we do recognise, however, are our friends waiting for us. Standing among the crowd and scanning the passengers as they alight from the bus, they are eagerly anticipating our arrival so that the tour can begin.

The dizzy

They have booked a cab through a man called Sayed for a six-hour tour of Rabat and Casablanca for US$160, which is thought to be a bargain. It's a comfortable Toyota sedan. Our friend confirms the itinerary and agreed rate with him, and he enthusiastically agrees.

The general understanding is that we would drive to Rabat first and explore Casablanca on the way back. The fellow vehemently disagrees. This is an important day, he insists, and we must visit the floating mosque first. Surely he knows best? So off we go to the mosque.

He does not encourage us to go inside. Our friends are not keen on walking the considerable distance within the compound anyway. After taking a few photographs, we pile back into the car.

Now he tells us that the lighthouse is just nearby and that we should see it before leaving for Rabat. It is difficult to argue with that.

The switch 

The driver stops beside a grey Mercedes-Benz, from which a good-looking man clad in traditional attire alights. It takes a few minutes before we realise that we are to transfer to this sleek, air-conditioned car. We are told to pay him the agreed fee in USD.

At one point, the new driver mentions Euros. We remind him that we will pay only in USD. Although we remain sceptical, we are grudgingly convinced to continue. Something feels fishy, but Sayed keeps trying very hard to persuade us that we have secured a good bargain: his taxi carries only a Casablanca licence, whereas Rashid, the new driver, is authorised to take us to Rabat. Besides, he speaks much better English. 

The fragile trust.

Despite our reservations, Rashid's demeanour slowly wins us over, though not entirely. He takes us close to the lighthouse, a landmark that highlights Casablanca's significance as Morocco's principal port. From there, we are treated to a splendid view of the corniche.

We then drive towards Rabat, surprised to find ourselves travelling through the longest tunnel in Morocco, part of which runs beneath the bay. Casablanca is so sprawling that it takes nearly 20 minutes just to pass through the city.

We enter the toll highway to Rabat, a journey of approximately one hour. Starting from the stadium and continuing to the corniche, while taking in the other major sights along the way, takes about four hours. We then rejoin the highway via a different route for the one-hour drive back to Casablanca.

The Fret Begins

By the time we reach Rabat, it is already 2:30 p.m. Our friend checks to make sure that our driver-cum-guide will be taking us to all the tourist sites in Casablanca that were not covered in the morning.

He assures us, though with some irritation, that he will be done by 4 p.m. Our friend reminds him that we have booked him until 6 p.m. Our local guide is clearly unhappy.

"There is little to see beyond that," he claims, and I silently agree, having been here before. But our friends have not.

It is a Muslim holiday, and he is not supposed to be working today. His boss had pleaded with him to take the assignment. Still, we remind him that a deal is a deal.

Presumably, he calls his boss and they have a serious discussion. He then calms down and completes his task without much fuss.

The sting 

When we get off, we pay him. However, he claims that we should be paying him in euros. He turns a deaf ear to our explanation that the previous driver had agreed to the amount. He then returns the USD 100 note, insisting that it is counterfeit, and demands payment in smaller denominations. None of us has enough small change to cover the fare. To make matters worse, he also demands additional payment.

Outnumbered? Environment? Situation?

Our friend somehow managed to pay him. I have yet to find out how he appeased him. The queue for the shuttle bus was already long, and the passengers returning to the ship were concerned that we were being ripped off.

Fortunately for us, Rashid did not follow us to the line. Did he sense the mood shifting? Was he trying to save face? We can only surmise.

Walvis Bay, Namibia Revisited

To our astonishment, the port has been given a remarkable facelift. The wharves look neat and modern, yet one thing is conspicuously absent: there is no customs or immigration building. Instead, every passenger is cleared onboard, just as I described in my previous blog.

A Curious and Captivating Display

As we gaze from the starboard side, an intriguing maritime ballet unfolds before us. A small harbour craft approaches and begins unhooking a long length of broad, heavy-duty rubber boom. As it is slowly towed through the water, the undulating chain resembles a giant sea dragon gliding across the harbour, each link leaving its own tiny wake behind it.

At first, I puzzle over its purpose. Why is this strange floating barrier being drawn around the ship and extended to the opposite side? The answer soon becomes clear: it is an oil-containment boom, deployed as a precautionary measure. Should any oily discharge accidentally escape from the vessel, it would be trapped within this enclosed area, protecting the surrounding waters.

But the real surprise lies beyond the boom. Along its outer edge drifts an extraordinary gathering of hundreds of brilliant orange jellyfish. Gently rising and falling with the swell, they seem to perform a synchronized underwater ballet, each pulsating to an invisible rhythm. Against the blue-green harbour, their glowing forms create a mesmerizing spectacle—nature providing its own impromptu performance .

Shuttled to the Dunes !?

Private taxi operators woo us with glossy maps and enticing pictures, promising trips to the dunes and Swakopmund. Many of our friends take these tours, but few know what to really expect. Some report spending two hours simply driving around, stopping occasionally for photographs. It is not even the season for flamingos.

We are surprised to discover that there is now a shuttle bus to the Dunes. Boarding requires some patience and planning, as there are only two buses shuttling back and forth. Passengers are also not allowed to queue along the side of the entrance because heavy port trucks frequently pass through the area.

Ten minutes later, we arrive at the Dunes—not the desert dunes we could have imagined, but a gleaming new shopping mall filled with international brands and equally international prices. After a brief look around, we board the shuttle and head straight back to the port.

Where are all the people?

It wouldn’t have been too far to walk, but the spanky new roads are worth a try. The bus carries us along palm-lined avenues, past horse-riding paddocks, a vast and immaculately kept cemetery, and row upon row of housing backed by rolling sand dunes. Amazingly, these are not cookie-cutter homes; each seems to possess its own personality, as though every house has a story to tell. How astonishing it is to witness the scale of the city’s growth.

Yet not a soul is in sight.

Most residences appear shuttered, their air-conditioning units wrapped in burlap like carefully preserved relics. Succulent plants spill from gardens and yards, thriving against all expectation in this harsh, sandy landscape. Then a huge road sign appears: “No Prowling!” The words spark immediate curiosity. What happened here to warrant such a warning? One imagines tales of wandering intruders, desert mischief, or encounters now lost to local memory. Perhaps the explanation is more mundane—the heat, the sandstorms, the occasional housebreaker—but the mystery lingers.

The silence itself feels extraordinary. Where is everyone? Sheltering indoors from the fierce climate? Away on holiday? Or is this simply the rhythm of life in a place shaped by extremes? The empty streets give the city an almost dreamlike quality, as though it has been carefully constructed and then paused in time. It feels less like travelling through a neighbourhood and more like passing through the set of an unfinished story, waiting for its characters to emerge and reveal what lies beneath the stillness.

The Risqué

At the port, we take a risky shortcut to what was once a quiet esplanade along the lagoon. Yet again, we are caught by surprise. The port area has transformed dramatically, with broad multi-lane roads sweeping towards the harbour and new developments tracing the natural curve of the bay.

The new esplanade is a sensory assault. Vendors crowd every available space, their carved wooden animals displayed on sheets spread across the pavement. Topless women call out to passers-by, inviting them to pose for photographs while browsing the colourful menagerie and other curiosities. The atmosphere is lively, provocative, and impossible to ignore.

As we weave our way through the bustle, children latch onto us, pleading for a dollar. One appears, then another, then three more. What do you do when one has been indulged and a growing entourage begins to shadow your every step? The attention is relentless, and for a moment it feels as though escape may be impossible.

Determined not to be swallowed by the crowd, we press on towards the yacht club, putting precious distance between ourselves and the throng. Only then do we begin to relax.

The reward is worth the effort. What was once little more than a handful of waterside shops and simple eateries has evolved into a vibrant waterfront destination. Gleaming new buildings house stylish restaurants, a lively bar, an art gallery, and a welcoming coffee shop, all sparkling in the tropical light and giving the area an energy that was unimaginable on our last visit.

And the risk

The trip has us crossing working railway lines, where the warning bells and steel rails make us instinctively glance both ways before hurrying across. Brand-new gigantic trucks and other vehicles stand in long, silent rows awaiting delivery inland, their sheer size and number lending the dock an imposing, almost unsettling feel. They have replaced the marble chunks that lined the waterfront 14 years ago, a reminder of how much this place has changed.

Walvis Bay: Namibia Visa Hoo Haa

Prelude to Namibia

A week prior to our arrival in Namibia, guests who do not have the required visa are asked to apply online. It is unbelievable how 100s have not got their visa in spite of guests being told long before embarkation to get the necessary documents. The ' meeting' discussed in my previous blog on Cape Town also covered this nuisance/ complacence. 

Since Covid many countries have insisted on electronic visas for a fee. Frequent cruisers  were too complacent to even not bother. Some genuinely tried  and tried but gave up on the unreceptive website and took their chances. DrInk and I tried for several weeks before boarding and got nowhere. The only website we could trust was that of the Singapore foreign ministry which expressly indicated a visa waiver for us. Nevertheless, since it will always be Namibia's call, it would be subject to change. But the Namibian government website remained unresponsive and all we could do was print out the page from the Singapore Government website for proof of exemption. 

The ship's officers suggest that those who do not have the visa apply online while we are at port in Cape Town. Once we leave we have seven sea days before Namibia and no chance to apply unless you pay to be connected to the ship's WiFi. Guests become grumpy and garrulous about the ship not taking the responsibility for a fee as was normal before all the political turmoil. Some kind folk  who have Internet access and a few knowledgeable officers apply for those who approach them. It is a very slow process with the website sometimes responding only after a few hours. At least, it is declared that guests who do not have visas can remain on board even though we are in Namibian waters.

Drink and I and a few other Asian Nationalities get the clear from the ship's officers. We let out a huge sigh of relief.

The Namibian authorities  board the ship as soon as we dock. A huge line of shore excursion and private excursion guests make a long line that could take hours to process. We calmly wait till the line shortens considerably. The officer tells us to fill out a form. It takes only a couple of mins. Couldn't we have been handed the forms earlier? 

Many learn too late that the officers would issue a visa  manually too.. 

Cape Town, South Africa: a cautionary tale

Berth rights

The day before our arrival in Cape Town we have an unusual  presentation at the Theatre that seats 800. We are to be briefed about immigration procedures at the upcoming port. What could be so complicated that it would require 45 mins to explain? It is all rather fishy and strange. Conspiracy theories abound. First we hear that we will not be docking at the passenger terminal for it was occupied! We have permission to dock at the container/cargo dock. A rather inconvenient proposition. It would be about a kilometre from the passenger terminal and most unsafe because of the heavy equipment operating there. Only the cruise terminal has immigration clearance facilities. 

Mobility and red tape

Now, how can it be made more conducive to the mostly elderly passengers? With great effort from the ship's officers the port has agreed to supply shuttle buses between the docks. Each shuttle bus would make a 20 min trip inclusive of  boarding and alighting time. The officers at the cruise terminal would need at least 4 hours to clear all 4000+ of us. How long can older folk wait in line? Solution:Get the immigration officers on board. One of the lounges will be prepared for them with seats and tables to place the necessary equipment. Passengers can line up in the comfort of the ship's corridors.

The air clears

Incredibly, it is announced later in the evening that the passenger pier is available. And that means as we get off the ship we will queue up at the cruise centre. The lines could be long and the waiting could be agonising. Besides, we haveo consider those who booked shore excursions. Then there are the independent travellers besides those who are disembarking. Those who have flights to catch risk missing their flights because of the delays. Priority goes to shore excursions. Next come the independent explorers who have to hope that the transport and guide they have booked will allow for the delay. The officers do their best to accommodate all their needs. 

As it happened

We arrive in Cape Town in dense fog with 0 visibility. Only the lighthouse  beam is visible. Fog horns are sounding frequently. The port is closed and so our pilot boat and tug boats are unavailable. Our ship idles for nearly an hour before the fog hesitantly and gradually lets up. The moment we can make out the sea the said boats arrive and guide us through a narrow passageway that requires meticulous navigating between jutting piers and docked container ships.

We couldn't have gotten into the breakwater without them. Instead of docking at 7:30 am we only do around 10:30, All well made plans could easily be thwarted. So, most of us stay put, having a relaxed breakfast, and then lunch, before it is announced that the priority guests have already been processed. We have ours processed at 2:00 pm. 

The day is now quite sunny and bright. It's all looking up for us. The cloud over Table Mountain clears in the afternoon.

Weathering the weather

The next morning is rather cloudy and there's heavy rain to boot. We sit it out. It clears a little after 9:00 am and then the day is bright and shiny again. But table Mountain is covered in clouds and cable car rides have been cancelled.

At departure we see that the breakwater is agitated. We are experiencing strong winds that make maneuvering a ship in a narrow channel highly dangerous. Waves dash against the pier. We have to reverse and then turn into the channel into the open sea. The wind is so strong that besides the normal pilot boat and two tug boats we need a third one to help nudge us away from collisions with the other moored ships. Finally we are out in the open sea.

Do's and don'ts

We have been warned repeatedly about unsafe drinking water,  advised to dress down to avoid being mugged, as well as to avoid lonely streets,and about capricious weather.

At least two more people on the streets, a well dressed and well spoken woman of Indian origin and a friendly traffic policeman have given us the same advice. 

The Cape of Good hope: Something to celebrate and respect

There have been many other times when cruise ships have had to miss Cape Town mostly because of the fog and strong winds. The ship wrecks of explorers from past centuries caught in the cross currents of the Indian Ocean and the Atlantic while rounding the continent at Cape of Good Hope have tales of courage to tell.

Chiangmai, Thailand: hazed and bedazzled

A continuation of my previous blog: Attuning and reconciliating: Chiangmai, Thailand

Why Chiangmai in particuler

We have visited Thailand several times. The first was a guided tour with a company that took care of flights, local transport, boarding and lodging. The result was a rather cursory look at tourist spots in Bangkok, Ayuthia from a distance ofva few kilometres, Chiangrai and the Golden Triangle where we met tribal folk growing hemp, and then travelled a little further to cook eggs in a hot water spring and watch a border crossing at a small foot bridge across the river on the Myanmar-Thai border.

In the next trip we take a train from Bangkok to Kanchanapuri where the bridge actoss the river Kwai is, have dinner on a barge while watching a laser light  enactment of a train across the bridge accompanied by sounds of war, and then a wax museum depicting the hardships of POWs. Then  it was a walk to neighbouring  Rathnapuri with its hundreds of stalls selling ratna (rubies). I wouldn't be able to spot a fake and I'm not interested in amassing precious stones and so all the sales gimmicks are wasted on my deaf ears.

The third time was with the grand children riding the overnight train from Johore Bharu, Malaysia,  to Bangkok.

We had not been to Chiangmai, the cultural and historic capital in northern Thailand.  and so we planned for Chiangmai, Luang Prabang (Laos), and then Hanoi(Vietnam) – a triangle of sorts. Why we had to forgo Laos and make changes to our plans is explained in a previous blog mentioned above.

Smothered 

We are already exhausted by the time we enter our apartment. What best to do then to nap! it's already dusk by the time we leave the apartment in search of a grocery store. But the heat is still stiflling. At least the little supermarket is air conditioned. The night market stalls are being set up in the dimly lit streets. The smog still envelopes everything. We are not waiting around. As soon as the purchase is done we seek the refuge of our temporary home. 

Vestiges of walls and moats

The exploration begins early the next morning right after a quick breakfast. The non-genuine wares of the street stalls have been put away. We cross a bridge across a canal and almost immediately we are at the moat, lined with shady flowering trees on both banks. Some parts of the moat are covered with lily pads. As the sun rises into a smoggy morning the silhouette of the gates lends a mystical aura. Ancient bridges cross the clean moats at strategic points. Lining one side of one of the moats seems to be a row of modern cafes and eateries. 

At the main gate sturdy bamboo poles are lying about in huge clutches. Work is going on to build a two storey scaffolding to be decorated for the festival of Songkran. The pigeons are having a grand time gawking at visitors slyly hoping to snatch tidbits.

The walled city

We make at least two trips into the old city within the walls. Everywhere we turn are temples. I wonder how many permutations and combinations there are in the type of material used, the traditional motifs, the layouts, etc. We decide to start with a massive structure that bears a resemblance to stupas, abeit a crumbling in places. We are there at day break but only see a very bleary eyed sun. A few men are sweeping the broad paved courtyards. In the centre is a 4 sided base with a sanctum on top of each side. Steps lead up to them but most are blocked off. Some restoration work is going on. But all is quiet and serene for now. A very tall ancient tree watches over the ‘relic’.

Another temple that takes our breath away has ornately decorated white towers. Golden parasols and small bells adorn the top of the tall tower as well as around the smaller towers . What a dance and song! Adding to that, but also contrasting the white, are the roofs of the monastery and halls tiled in red and green. 

Here there is a particular shrine out of bounds to females!

We walk by at least 20 more, each with an immaculate courtyard, a unique entrance – one lined by a dragon on each side, another hung with colourful lanterns, some with walls embossed with  mythical beings and heavenly abodes, and yet another with bonsai or flowering bushes. Sometimes we enter the prayer hall and marvel at the murals whether motifs or tales.

Another has golden chedis with carved elephants. No two temples look alike. 

The one that stuns me more than any other is the teak temple with its elaborate carvings that could easily have taking years to be chiseled and perfected under skilled craftsmen.

In the middle of the old town is a square where stand the Three King's of yore.

Aren't the hill temples a must see?

I call up my new-found friend at the airport to see if she could arrange a ride for us to visit the temples on the mountains surrounding Chiangmai while getting a glimpse of the lush countryside. Unfortunately no one is willing to take us for it is not the season. More importantly the smog not only obliterates views but also harms. 

An evening along the river

Another evening we decide to walk to the river and then walk along it towards the markets. Along the way we see how the old and new coexist. In the narrower streets. We see multi-story mansions and also lean-tos and humble shacks.

The river is clean but there is no way to walk along the banks on our side of the river because most of the property there is private, a few of them taken up by restaurants.

So we cross the river. Now there is an esplanade to walk along. We come upon the very first church built in Chiangmai, and some government buildings. Then we cross the river on another bridge back to our side of the city.

Markets galore

The street lights are already coming up. The rays struggle to cut through the haze. We are now at the large market in the commercial hub. Alongside the road are hundreds of flower stalls and a Chinese temple. The covered market, now nearly empty of people, is dimly penetrated by daylight but I can imagine how bustling it would have been earlier in the day. 

We are assuming that The Night Bazaar would be behind this structure. By night it would be bustling with stalls serving Thai cuisine and others selling local handicraft for Chiang Mai is well known for its vibrant markets and food scene. 

On yet another day,a walk to the other side of the Walled City takes us to what we believe is another bazaar. We have no idea what it looks like. The walk is quite strenous taking us through several narrow streets and along and acrossva canal. Lo and behold,we are at Jing Jai Farmer’s Market! We are lucky indeed for this weekly farmer’s market is open only every Saturday and Sunday from roughly 6:30 a.m. to 2 p.m! It is a gloriousfeast for the eyes whether the fresh produce, the food, the pastries or the unique crafts: no gimmicky trinkets or elephant pants here! After the temples this is the most attractive part of Chianmai.

There is even a free electric car ride through the whole market so shoppers loaded with purchases or have tired out may move about with ease.

Once done we board a shared tuk tuk to take us to the bus station from where we know our way ‘home’. We spy a mosque on the way and practically ride all around the moats!

Lost and lonely in the dark

The day before we leave Chiangmai I venture out alone to find the Hindu temple indicated on the map. I sort of checked the map and found the general direction. Most of the streets are familiar because we have traversed them several times. It is still dark when I leave. I'm alright until I leave the moat area. And then everything becomes blurry because the road names do not match that on the map and some street names are only indicated in Thai.

Caution and confusion

There is one particular chicken noodle shop that we have passed by several times and that becomes my land mark. Not wanting to get lost in the almost empty street, with trepidation i approach a young couple getting into a car near a now closed restaurant. They are in deep discussion. Luckily the man speaks English and I tell him where I want to go. I have been going in the right direction. He says it's way past the night bazaar and that it is a circuitous long route that may easily get me lost again. Then he says he is headed in that direction and he would drop me there in his car. 

Ripe for abduction 

Should I trust this well dressed well spoken man? Will I be robbed/abducted?

The woman gets into  the front passenger seat. Who is she? How is she related to him? They are in deep discussion while he drives. I'm not sure if I should take a photo of them.will I be insulting them? I have not taken a picture of the car from the outside. How safe am I? As the sun slowly rises it struggles to penetrate through the haze. I begin to make out the streets and the buildings and try to register them in my brains. The car stops and the gentleman tells me we are just opposite the temple! Yes we are ! I breathe a great sigh of relief trying not to make it so obvious. I probably exaggerated my exuberance at seeing the temple so as to hide my unfounded fears. 

The relief: the anti-climax

Thanking him profusely I enter the temple but it is not open yet. I hang around until it does. The prayer hall is upstairs. The priest is going about with the rites and rituals. Two asian men dressed in shorts, all white, walk in and offer prayers at each of the images the older one praying ardently while also explaining to the younger. All I can do is watch in amazement at their debotion and then turn my attention to the beautiful white ceramic idols adorned in bright silks and costume jewellery. The murals, the rugs, the tapestry and the pillars enhance the ambience.

All's well that ends well.

Noted in the passing;:

A red telephone booth with apparently no purpose at all

Webs of wiring. Like in most developing Asian countries masses of coiled electric wires dangle from posts.

Recycling at Jin Shan market where the public washrooms are well kept.

Buddha-like: a calm and contented couple

In the old city an aged pleasant Indian couple sit in front of their shop selling prayer souvenirs. They are of Indian origin but they speak only Thai and English. They have offerings of fruit and rice for the monks that will come by– a daily happening in predominantly Buddhist countries.

Digital nomads

The eastern area along the Ping River where we are housed is the commercial hub filled with markets an high end hotels.. We meet many digital nomads who live here due to its affordable cost of living, cozy cafés, and slower pace compared to Bangkok.

To be fact checked

Overall, Chiang Mai is a balance of history, nature, and modern comfort, making it popular with tourist and digital nomads. But they had better do something about the smog said to be caused by Thai industrialists who support coal burning power stations in neighboring Laos thet tend to be cheaper than those in Thailand.

Ljubljana, Slovenia: medieval and modern charm

Jubilantly at Lyoo-blyah-nah ( that is how it is pronounced)

On our way from Opatija, Croatia, to Maribor, Slovenia, we stop by Slovenia's capital, Ljubljana. The route has been green and mountainous until we arrive at the gardens in the city. It is a Sunday.  There's free parking. 

Ljubljana: Where Dragons Guard a City of Stories

After checking several times that the parking really is free, we finally cross the grounds toward a quiet street where a museum and church stand side by side, the river glimmering just beyond them. What begins as a simple walk quickly turns into a journey through centuries.

A City Between Past and Present

The streets bordering the park feel like a conversation between eras. Sleek glass and steel buildings rise beside colourful facades that still carry traces of the city’s past. Ljubljana is modern and elegant.

And then, almost without warning, the city shifts. The banks of the river that runs through the city, leads us straight into another century. A quiet fascination engulfs us.  We could have been in Austria!

Defined by Pedestrian only bridges

We are on the famous Triple Bridge – one of the links between Ljubljana’s modern heart and its medieval soul. This 20th century bridge connects the bustling modern city to the enchanting Old Town, where cobbled streets, Baroque churches, and riverside cafés automatically slow our wandering pace and draw our gaze. How thoughtful of the authorities to add oblique extensions to an existing stone arch bridge that would have otherwise turned into a bottleneck

Guarded by dragons

Dragons everywhere –a green one perching proudly on the iconic Nouveau style Dragon Bridge, guarding the city with wings outstretched and fierce expressions.

More dragons watch over the city from Ljubljana Castle, high on the hill above the old town. Not surprising that with so many legends woven into its streets the dragon appears on the city’s coat of arms.

Love and Legend

Beyond the Triple Bridge and Dragon Bridge is the whimsical Butcher’s Bridge, covered in countless love locks left behind by hopeful couples seeking eternal romance,  not with the originally intended roof.

The Ljubljanica River winds beneath them all, threading through the city before eventually joining the Danube on its journey to the Black Sea.

Drinking song elevated 

At the center of the old town is Prešeren Square, named after Slovenia’s national poet, whose poem,originally conceived as a drinking song, is now the country’s national anthem. True to the song the square hums with life: street musicians, cafés, markets, and the constant flow of people crossing the Triple Bridge.

Baroque and Austrian

Nearby stands the pink Franciscan Church of the Annunciation, while a short walk away sits Ljubljana Cathedral, also known as Saint Nicholas’ Church,standing beside the town hall, with its impressive Baroque interiors and bronze doors added during a papal visit in 1996. The courtyard in the town hall charms with its fountain and its old staircase reminiscent of the Titanic.

A City Best Explored Slowly

What makes Ljubljana unforgettable is not just its architecture or history, but its atmosphere. There is a softness to the city — relaxed riverside cafés, open-air markets, hidden courtyards, and streets that seem to invite wandering without destination.One moment we are admiring sleek modern design, the next we are standing beneath a medieval tower listening to church bells echo across the river.

Markets: old and new

Nearby the Square is Galerija Emporium, the first department store in Slovenia, built in the art du Mode French style. The old market and a modern  farmer’s market do a thriving business especially of local handicrafts.

Hilltop castle dominates

The 12th century  Ljubljana Castle rises above the city, offering sweeping views over the rooftops and the river below. The walk up takes us through Medieval buildings lining the cobblestoned windy path upward and a series of stairs. 

The museum

A quick peek into the museum with its Art Nouveau masterpieces and we are ready to leave the city, to explore yet another.

From Medieval Bones to Baroque Beauty

The Ljubljana region has been inhabited for over 6000 years. The capital is also the largest city in Slovenia. In 1985 it faced  a devastating earthquake. Much of the city was rebuilt in such a way as to retain its charm while becoming modern.

Ljubljana is not a city that overwhelms. Being compact and easily navigable it is easily explored on foot. It has a quiet charm.