In the 15th century, when the Adriatic town of Piran belonged to Venice and La Serenissima ruled the seas, a beautiful house went up on the harbour with triple-lancet windows, arabesque stone carvings and a balcony that seemed created for the sole purpose of serenading the most beautiful girl in town. The story goes that a wealthy Venetian merchant who made frequent visits to Piran — at a time when it bustled with trade from its saltworks and silks and spices from the Orient — fell in love with a local beauty and built her the house next to the town’s loggia. The lovers fell victim to the envious gossip of the townsfolk, to the young woman’s great distress. To cheer her up, the merchant carved a stone relief between windows of the edifice with a standing lion pawing at the inscription: “lassa pur dir” — Let them talk. Lassa pur dir, the velvety phrase in Venetian dialect, visible on the house today, can only be said with a sigh on one’s breath. And it captures the romance, elegance and above all shrug-of-the-shoulders nonchalance of a town that has the original charm of Venice (without its crowds and price-gouging) along with some of the most pristine beaches of the Mediterranean. Piran is the jewel of the 50km stretch of Slovenian coast, nestled in the Gulf of Trieste on the northern edge of the diamond-shaped Istrian peninsula. It may seem surprising that Slovenia even has a coast, and that’s one reason why its emerald waters, plunging cliffs and Venetian outcrops built on narrow headlands have been able to hide in plain sight in the middle of Europe. East of Piran, following a coastline of craggy beaches, juts another Venetian town built on a cape — Izola — with a scruffier, fisherman’s feel. To the south is Portorož, the riviera resort, with its grand Kempinski Palace hotel and seafront promenade with jetties that are perfect for summer splashes (along with some forgettable 1980s-style hotels and casinos). The coast is not without blemishes, yet compared to overdevelopment on the Italian side of the border and socialist-era eyesores deeper south into Croatia, Slovenia has mostly managed to get things right. And it could not be more conveniently located. The Slovene riviera is a morning’s drive from Milan and Vienna, and half an hour from Trieste, which has regular flights from London. In the summer, there are direct two-hour ferries from Venice.
Piran has been my home for the past year. I moved here to be a freelance writer after two decades as a foreign correspondent in Asia and Europe, seeking an attractive and affordable place for writing that was also conveniently located for reporting missions around Europe. There’s no question I found what I was looking for. What I was not expecting was that this would be a year of endless surprises and discovery, in which every week has been an adventure exploring coastal cliffs and the wild Istrian hinterlands on a mountain bike or in a pair of running shoes. One need not stray far to find surprises in Piran. Even in the port, the waters are so crystal-clear you will spot sea bream and needlefish darting among the fishing boats; divers plunge right off Piran’s Cape Madona tip to explore a reef squirming with seahorses and exotic fish. On a clear day — after Bora winds have lashed the coast — you will be treated to the unforgettable sight of the Dolomites and Julian Alps rising above the Gulf of Trieste. But the charms of the Slovenian coast truly open up on treks along nature trails that fan out through pine and cypress woodlands hugging the craggy seafront from the Piran headland. *** Weeks after my arrival in Piran last year, I chanced upon a hidden beach a few miles to the east of the town. I took my mountain bike out on a bright late-spring morning up a steep medieval alley to the spot where the church meets the Venetian town walls, and through an opening to a stone path that follows a rock face plunging down to swirling emerald waters. It led through olive groves and along rugged dirt paths to the Strunjan Nature Reserve. I proceeded down a narrow crescent strand that hugs the visible side of Strunjan promontory, the Adriatic’s highest sedimentary cliff. At the far end of the rocky beach, I discovered it had been colonised by the local nudists. There was an old man with domed head and pot belly who ripened on a great boulder, developing a rich copper colour, eyes half-closed with feline bliss as he let everything majestically hang out — in that natural setting, he seemed a creature of myth, an Old Man of the Sea from legendary times. As I plotted my escape, I noticed breaches in the pine thicket that formed a natural wall to the strand and decided to see where they led.
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Inside, it was wonderfully cool and there was a network of tracks that looked like they might be footpaths, and I began to climb. The ascent was sharp and at points the track narrowed to a half-foot in width, hindered by serpentine tree roots, but eventually it widened and levelled. It was an enchanted world of dappled light. The woodlands soon gave way to an arid, pebbly walk that afforded vertiginous views of open sea, and then it came into sight. In the distance, shielded from the view of any shore, a crescent beach, with waters of astonishing limpid blue, spread out at the foot of a mighty wall of rock. Even from the faraway vantage point it was clear there were no bathers. I wondered how (or if) I could get to the bottom of a cliff I later heard described as a “living sculpture” for the way its soft stones change appearance as they are eaten by Bora winds. As the path grew rougher and dipped, I came upon dirt steps — and a sign saying “Falling Rocks. Proceed at Own Risk”. They zigzagged down the cliffside ablaze with gorse and other wildflowers, about a 150 steps in all, and then I was there — alone in an Adriatic paradise. The crystalline waters of the rocky beach were embedded with boulders that had tumbled long ago from the living sculpture — perfect observation posts for black cormorants to scout prey and fish to hide from their predatory gaze. I began swimming, diving among the rocks, and found an underwater universe of luminous fish — painted comber, red-mouthed goby — darting all around me. Then, tired, I hoisted myself up on one of the great rocks planted in the sea, and sat peering into the eyes of a cormorant doing the same thing on a nearby rock.
The richness of Piran’s outdoor activities is bound to make one hungry, and that’s a good thing, because its waters are alive with some of the tastiest fish in the Mediterranean. Slovenia has a salutary obsession with the environment — the Legatum Institute, a London think-tank, last year ranked it world number one in environmental protection — and that means its seas are the friendliest of habitats for aquatic life, especially since Slovenes are also scrupulous to avoid over-fishing. Food-finicky Italians drive over the border expressly to enjoy the sweetest branzino, sea-bream and turbot, simply roasted al forno with potatoes and Istrian courgettes. Slovenia’s rocky shore line — short but with countless inlets — provides ideal conditions for molluscs and crustaceans, with scampi (best eaten raw), native muscioli that open like jewel-boxes — and dondoli clams rather poetically called tartufi di mare, or sea truffles. One outstanding hidden spot to enjoy these treasures of the sea is Ribic restaurant, along a cycling trail on the way to Piran’s fascinating salt-pans (which produce some of the finest fleur de sel). Ribic has a rustic terrace where you sit under the shade of a great olive tree, as a hedge of wildflowers lets in a blissful sea breeze. Go for their sea bass carpaccio, topped by tiny slivers of strawberry, and their specialty of tuna steak with grilled goat’s cheese and honey — which may sound like a clash of strong flavours but works perfectly. The Sečovlje salt-pans, with their ethereal shimmer and 272 bird species, are a perfect pairing with a meal at Ribic — for they also have an outstanding salt-therapy spa called Lepa Vida, where you can go to digest your lunch (or work up an appetite). Such charms make for friendly people, and the best thing about Piran is the welcoming and relaxed local community. Strike up a conversation with the fishermen on the marina and — if you’re renting a holiday apartment or a villa in the lush surrounding hills — take home a freshly caught sea bass direct from their boat. This is also a community of culture, and on summer evenings the whole town comes together to enjoy open-air classical music concerts on the elegant Piazza Tartini. In a region not always known for its tolerance, the community has elected (and re-elected) a mayor from Ghana, and people go about here doing as they please. One indelible memory is of a woman stripped down to the waist, performing yoga right on the seafront promenade — oblivious to the throngs of couples on their evening passeggiata. She glowed in the sunset next to Piran’s famous mermaid statue, and looked very much like its stone turned flesh. As long as you do no harm (to others and especially the environment), you are free to do as you like in Piran. And if people don’t like it, lassa pur dir. Details Hotel Piran, right on the seafront has doubles from about €150. The Palace Hotel in Portorož that hosted Sophia Loren and other Hollywood stars when Piran was a centre of Slovenian cinema, has doubles from €250. Piran holds cultural events throughout the summer (see culture.si), including outdoor concerts during the Tartini Festival (August 17 to September 14). Cycling enthusiasts should explore the Parenzana trail that follows the Istrian coast and winds through its hinterlands, see portoroz.si
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