Magical Lake Bled: Myths and the mundane

Lake Bled was the first stop on a curated day tour from Ljubljana, Slovenia’s capital city. A little under 55 kilometers to the northwest, the don’t blink-or-you’ll-miss-it charming drive showcased alpine foothills and quaint hamlets until the stretch finally curved toward a emerald green waterform, which simply took our breaths away!

Absolutely captivated by its sheer presence, a travelling buddy voiced what everyone had in mind: “¡Precioso! Prettier than a postcard, hands down!” And mind you, this band of globetrotters are not easily impressed — yet this finally did it!

The fabled lake is an all-year, world-renowned desired scenic destination, its picturesque setting cannot even be more picture perfect: a small island with an imposing church, a clifftop castle, at the center of a glacial all-activity lake, framed by forested slopes.

Our can’t-miss-a-single-detail-in-the-explanation tour guide clued us in: the lake itself snaked a little over two kilometers in length and reached depths of approximately 30 meters — “clear enough to mirror the clouds.”

We initially opted to go around its parameters instead of across, and from the laidback amble unfolded a parade of diverse scenes. Families spread picnic blankets and mats under the trees for shade. Friends adjusted their weathered backpacks and dependable trekking poles. Swimmers who dared tested the cold ice water with brave shrieks. Competing kayaks and relaxing pletnas slipped past one another. The vibe was welcoming, gentle and communal, as though the lake facilitated the peace for all these hobbies and pastimes to harmoniously coexist together.

The island itself carried a bustle which remained light. We soon found out there were no sleeping quarters — no hotels or guest rooms at all. Nonetheless, it held spaces meant for gatherings: a coffee shop, two restaurants, a wine cellar and an event venue often used for weddings. It likewise had a chapel whose bell unintentionally stars in the lake’s best-known legend.

As if on perfect cue, in a hushed voice, our tour guide, who never missed an opportunity to share an anecdote, narrated the tale of a grieving widow whose husband was murdered. She gathered her valuables to create a bell for the island’s chapel. But sadly, upon transport, the crew and the bell sank into the lake’s depths.

She then sold off her remaining treasures and possessions to construct a new house of prayer on the isle. She then joined a convent and became a nun in Rome. When she passed away, the Pope dedicated a new bell in her honor, which now rests in the Church of the Mother of God on the Lake.

“To this day,” our highly knowledgeable guide continued, “on dark nights, one can still hear the bell toll from the deep lake.”

The utterly interesting tour took a much-needed break at Vila Bled, now a prestigious hotel, once the summer residence of Josip Broz Tito when the vast country of Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia still existed.

The property’s demure elegance and peaceful obstruction-free lawns echoed the lake’s composure — a reminder that even absolute power had once upon a time sought refuge in this landscape.

At their veranda, we had a generous slice of the popular local favorite cream cake. Each claimed a distinct balance of custard, cream and pastry — and most of all, every café presented their own versions and were convinced theirs alone was the original recipe! The soft dessert felt like the ideal representation of the area: a soft embrace in a range of mountains.

Between the myths of a sunken bell and the continuous celebratory rituals of picnics and paddles, the area commanded a sense of mystery interspersed with the mundane. As we enjoyed our sweet treat, we reiterated the earlier comment: prettier than a postcard. But more than that, it likewise served as a refuge for culture and customs of the region.