Saturday, 26 July 2025

Fifty Year Together (2): Celebrating at The Angel at Hetton

Continued from Part 1....

The Restaurant, the Angel at Hetton


North Yorkshire
The Angel Inn at Hetton first opened its doors to the public in the 15th century and has been serving food and drink ever since. Its latest incarnation started in September 2018 with the arrival of chef-patron Michael Wignall, his wife Johanna and their team. Wignall had previously been executive head chef at Gidley Hall in Devon.

He has ambitious plans for the Angel, the big first step, winning a Michelin star, being achieved in October 2019. He describes his style as casual and contemporary and his food as being modern, technical and meaningful which he explains as every element brings flavour or texture, enticing diners to experience new combinations and ingredients. (Phrases in italics come from angelhetton,co,uk.)

I am bemused by the repeated use of the word ‘casual’ on the website. There is nothing casual about the way Michael Wigmore designs, cooks and presents each dish. Lynne and I do not eat casually, we take small flavour-packed mouthfuls and taste, discuss and savour. There is nothing casual about the large, well-trained waiting staff who glide purposefully between the tables. But, when we need to talk to them, the conversation is informal. No one wants or expects obsequious Victorian servants, or supercilious butlers. Perhaps the word they wanted was informal rather than casual.

Our Dinner

The Angel offers a choice of five or seven course tasting menus. Twenty years ago we might have chosen seven, but even with tiny courses that is now too much, so we went for five.

The Angel menu

Numerate readers will observe that the 5-course menu has nine courses. The Wagyu and Cheese, options we eschewed, are the missing courses from the 7-course menu, allowing an upgrade, should the diner feel peckish. Bread is never considered a ‘course’ and Snacks are what more formal/less casual menus would call canapés, so not a course either.

Snacks

Baron Bigod is a Brie-like cheese made on the Suffolk/Norfolk boundary. I know no finer cheese and I have written about it in both Suffolk and Norfolk. A bonus point for top quality ingredients but sadly turning Baron Bigod into a mousse dimmed its unique subtleties. The tuile was clever, but the Alsace bacon perched on it rather overwhelmed the mousse.

Baron Bigod mousse and tuiles

Parfait. A chicken liver parfait in a boat of puffed rice, was as soft and lovely as a parfait gets.

Chicken Liver Parfait

Chawanmushi. The first of several Japanese touches. Lynne and I have been privileged to eat our way over the last two decades from Malacca up through every country in mainland East Asia to Beijing in the North. Sadly, we have never visited Japan, and as Japanese flavours are becoming ever more popular, I am playing catch-up. Chawanmushi is a custard made from dashi, sake and eggs. This was a lovely little pot of a totally new flavours. I really enjoyed it.

Chawanmushi

The snacks accompanied our pre-dinner G&T where we were introduced to the Hooting Owl Distillery in York. Among their many products are four gins named for the four corners of the county. I had West Yorkshire, with all the cumin and turmeric of a Bradford curry, Lynne had South Yorkshire, based on liquorice and enough mint and rosemary to grace a Barnsley chop. We live in an age when artisan gin distilleries hide round every corner and behind every bush. Even the finest distilleries must struggle for exposure amid a tsunami of mediocrity. Hooting Owl should surf that tsunami; gin does not get any better than this.

Tomato

Textures of tomato, the subheading says, and here are tomatoes, some normal, some with skin off, some semi dried. Ricotta and basil are mentioned and clearly visible – they are welcome as old friends, of the tomato. XO, so as far as I know, is a Chinese sauce involving dried scallops and shrimps, Jinhua ham, garlic chilli and shallots. I did not recognise it here. There is seaweed, a Wigmore trademark, and I thought the waiter mentioned a white Japanese tomato with yuzu. I ate a tomato that seemed to be struggling awkwardly with citrus but I thought it was red.

Tomatoes, The Angel at Hetton

Lynne liked the elements, but could not see how they came together, I was just a little confused. What a shame we started with what we thought was by far the weakest course.

Wine. Etna Rosato, Pietradolce.
The sommelier was a bright and cheerful young woman, who took on the impossible task of finding a wine to compliment a dish of tomatoes with apparent enthusiasm. Michele Faro’s 11ha vineyard is on the side of Mt Etna 700+m up the mountain. He uses the local Nerello Mascalase grape and some of his vines have been producing for 120 years. His rosato is exceptional. Minerality and acidity come from the volcanic soil, while the vines generate a range of fruit flavours, with strawberry dominating. We could not find the redcurrant and cranberry mentioned by the sommelier, but we did find an orangey citrus note. I enjoy a good, dry rosé, and this was a very good dry rosé indeed.

Bread

Bread is never counted as a course but there comes a point in all such meals when somebody comes along and plonks down a basket of high-quality bread at a moment when you really have no use for it. Michael Wigmore , however, makes a laudable attempt to make sense of this interlude. Hokkaido milk bread is a light, fluffy bread in a shape suitable for tearing and sharing. With it came Ampersand butter, a traditionally made, batch churned cultured butter produced near Banbury, and a couple of dips. Colonnata lardo is a speciality of the Tuscan village of Colonnata. It is pork fatback cured for 6 months with layers of sea salt, garlic, rosemary, sage, pepper, and other local herbs/spices. Semi-liquid bacon is my best attempt at a description. The other dip was the rather more familiar taramasalata.

Bread, The Angel at Hetton

Not Wine. Poiré Granite, Eric Bordelet, Normandy
Our sommelier’s pick for this was not a wine but a sparkling poiré, or perry, in English. I rarely drink cider, and I had never previously tasted perry. Poiré Granit (referencing the local geology) is made by former sommelier Eric Bordelet in Normandy. It is made, we were told, in a way that more resembles champagne than cider. The retail cost is also reminiscent of (cheaper) champagne but unfortunately, the taste is not, and neither of us really liked it. Probably my first and last glass of perry.

Cod

This small, squat, white cylinder in the middle of its huge plate looked so lonely I felt sorry for it.

Cod, the Angel at Hetton

Then I unpacked it, removing the kombu, a variety of kelp very popular in Japan, and shifting the strips of cuttlefish to one side. Beneath it, balancing on the cod were two small, transparent circles of what I took to be potato, was this a homage to cod and chips?

I nibbled the kombu; it was all right. I nibbled the cuttlefish; the thin strips were remarkably tender. Lynne orders cuttlefish whenever it appears on a menu, but I am deterred by its resemblance to a bloated, yolkless boiled egg. The flavour is stronger than squid and it tastes more of the sea, but these strips were about texture not flavour.

Cod unpacked, The Angel at Hetton

The dark blobs were, presumably, smoked pike roe. There is no way of transferring the blob and its flavour to your mouth with a standard knife and fork. Michael Wigmore might aim for ‘casual’ but leaning forward and licking the plate would probably be a step too far.

The cod itself was remarkable. Surprisingly solid, but with flakes sliding across each other as if lubricated. The flavour was deep and intense; I never knew the humble cod could taste so sumptuous. I keep a list of platonic ideals, the food that has reached perfection. This makes the list, it is the cod that God would eat (if God a) exists, b) eats and c) likes cod.) Oddly I already have cod on my list, the product of a fish and chip shop in Reykjavik that was so fresh it was almost fluffy, so pristine it had to be eaten swiftly and in its entirety. There is room for both, apart from being cod, and being perfect, they have nothing in common.

Wine Rioja Blanco, Viñedos del Contino, Rioja Alavesa
I am old enough to remember when Rioja blanco spent years in oak barrels and the wines were stiff with oak. I rather liked them, but they went out of fashion and Rioja became all fruit flavours and crispness, often too thin and acid for me. Now a leading producer has put some oak back. The young sommelier was quick to note the oak was only to add structure and texture not oaky flavours, before admitting a hint of smoke and toast. I thought it struck a fine balance between oak and fruit, and was an inspired choice, few whites possess the structure to take on the dense flavoured cod.

Quail

Like the cod, the quail gave us a new view of an old favourite. In Portugal Lynne always buys and cooks quails, though our quail eating started long ago in France where they serve it guts and all. This quail breast was more tender, more moist and fuller flavoured than any I have met before. Onto the list it goes.

Quail

The carefully arranged accompaniments included:

Cotechino, an Italian sausage usually made of pork, but here made of quail. It was rich, savoury and subtly spiced.
Boudin Blanc, literally ‘white pudding.’ A ‘Full English’ breakfast usually includes black pudding, a sausage made from pigs’ blood, fat, cereal and spices. A ‘Full Irish’ can offer both local local black pudding and white pudding which is largely the same but without the blood. The French versions are similar but minus the cereal. They are softer, not a breakfast food, but more like paté. Michael Wigmore’s was very delicate in flavour.
Three tiny girolles that punched above their weight – I could have managed five!
Jerusalem artichoke ‘chip’ that supported my belief that there is little it can do that is not done better by a potato.

Wine. Pinot Noir, Winnica Turnau, Zachodniopomorske.
The sommelier seemed delighted to have sourced a Polish Pinot Noir. Winnica Turnau started planting in 2010 and today has 37ha making it Poland’s largest winery. Vivino display some comments, generally positive, though one remarks that it is overpriced. It apparently retails at around £30 a bottle. I am delighted to have tasted my first ever Polish wine, but sadly Lynne and I both felt it was borderline unpleasant. In retrospect we should have sent it back, but lacking experience of Polish wine, it had all gone before we were certain.

Peach

This was a very pretty dessert sitting in a delicate shortcrust pastry cup with baked white chocolate on the base and a peach sorbet on the top. I had to look up namelaka. It is a glossy, stabilized ganache made from white chocolate, milk, cream, and gelatine. So that is more white chocolate. balanced with fruit and flowers and a crumb beneath the sorbet. It is all very sweet and lovely.

Peach

Wine.“Kika” Chenin Blanc, Miles Mossop, Stellenbosch
Chenin Blanc is not generally considered a grape for the finest wines, either in South Africa or beside the Loire, but it is susceptible to ‘noble rot’ if left on the vine long enough. The grapes then shrivel, losing water but not sugar or flavour. Vinifying such intensely sweet grapes makes enough alcohol to kill off the yeast before it has consumed all the sugar, leaving sweet, or in this case, intensely sweet wine, balanced by the Chenin Blanc's high acidity. With a flowery aroma and a palate of honey and ginger, it is beguiling and even sweeter than the dessert it was paired with. Miles Mossop names his wine after family members, predictably his sweetest wine is named “Kika” after his youngest daughter.

Malt

The leading player in this act is the small brown truncated cone resembling a mini-Christmas pudding but tasting more like malt loaf – an almost forgotten memory. The menu also mentions dulce de leche; from Argentina (or Uruguay), it is a sweet, caramel-like spread made by slowly heating milk and sugar until it thickens and turns a rich golden-brown. I presume this forms the brown lines on the plate. Pearl barley also gets a mention, but where it was is a mystery. There was also salsify sticks, a vegetable I had not expected in a dessert, but they fitted well. I also noted a piece of pear, and a blob of something cool and dairy.

Malt

The menu also references Styrofoam, an inedible plastic used in packaging. I presume this is a reference to the pleasant crunchy stuff surrounding the main players and is a joke, of sorts. I may seem a little confused by parts of this dish, but we had been at the table for the best of three hours and drunk six glasses of wine (or perry) - not large glasses, but not small either. It was a pleasant end to the evening, not as sweet as the first dessert and not too demanding to eat (though describing it is another matter).

Wine. Anthemis, UWC Samos
The other way to make a sweet wine is to dump the must into alcohol of some sort, usually brandy, and so halt the fermentation before the yeast gets to the grape sugar. Anthemis is one such Vin de Liqueur. Made from Muscat Blanc à Petits Grains, it spends five years in oak barrels emerging a pleasing coppery orange. Intensely sweet, it retains the fresh aroma of the Muscat while the oak aging gives flavours of honey, smoke and toffee. It is possibly the only realistic answer to the question ‘what wine goes with Christmas pudding’? It also suits the malt loaf in this slightly less sweet dessert. It is a wonderful 'sticky' but, a little goes a long way.

The End (for tonight)

We finished the evening with coffee and sweet treats – petits fours to those less casual. We had enjoyed an excellent dinner, with great invention and with some real standouts. We had a good time, but it required a long period of concentration. Much work goes into producing such meals so we owe to the chef to take it seriously – and to us, to get our money’s worth!

Coffee and sweet treats

Breakfast

We awoke refreshed and got up in leisurely fashion. Last night the courses had been numerous, but the portions small enough not to interfere with our capacity to enjoy a good breakfast.

Breakfast presents Michelin starred restaurants with a problem. Diners go into the evening meal prepared to try novel combinations and new flavours but are rather more wary at breakfast. The solution is usually to go for top quality, but familiar ingredients simply cooked. This does not mean they cannot produce a dish worthy of my platonic list – I will remember the scrambled eggs at the Yorke Arms in nearby Ramsgill in 2013 for the rest of my life.

At the Angel the breakfast menu appeared to have another five courses, though the toast and preserves were presumably to be eaten together.

We started with yoghurt, made in-house and enhanced by a layer of fresh fruits and nuts, then we ate the trout, home cured and lightly smoked over hay and accompanied by crème freche and dill. The yoghurt woke the palate, and the trout (a breakfast first) was very delicately flavoured.

Yoghurt and trout

The toast is Shokupan, another Japanese milk bread, which went nicely with the ampersand butter and the preserves, made in-house like the bread and choux buns. Filled with tonka bean chantilly the buns were unbelievably light, while the filling was delicious,

Toast and choux buns

The meat was Nidderdale sausage, prize winning pork sausages made by Farmson and Co in Ripon. The bacon, also produced, was more of a slice from a bacon joint with a sweet-cured rind than the usual back bacon, but none the worse for that.

Sausage and Bacon

Last up was a soft-boiled free-range Cornish egg. I am not sure Cornish chickens per se produced better eggs than Yorkshire (or even Staffordshire) chickens, but this was a fine egg and with the yolk dripping across ampersand butter, truly memorable. I have no photo, but if you have read this far, you probably know what an egg looks like.

And that finished our wedding anniversary gastronomic adventure. We may have risen eager to take on breakfast, but when we stood up from the table, we knew we had sacrificed lunch. It was worth it.

'Fine Dining' posts

Abergavenny and the Walnut Tree (2010)
Ludlow and La Bécasse (2011) (restaurant closed, post withdrawn)
Ilkley and The Box Tree (2012)
Pateley Bridge and the Yorke Arms (2013) (No longer a restaurant, post renamed Parceval Gardens and Pateley Br)
The Harrow at Little Bedwyn (2014)
The Slaughters and the Lords of the Manor (2015)
Loam, Fine Dining in Galway (2016)
Penarth and Restaurant James Sommerin (2017) (restaurant closed, post withdrawn. JS has a new restaurant in Penarth)
The Checkers, Montgomery (2017) (no longer a restaurant, post withdrawn. Now re-opened under new management)
Tyddyn Llan, Llandrillo, Denbighshire (2018)
Fischer's at Baslow Hall, Derbyshire (2019)
Hambleton Hall, Rutland (2021)
The Olive Tree, Queensberry Hotel, Bath (2022)
Dinner at Pensons near Tenbury Wells (2023) (restaurant closed Dec 2023, post withdrawn)
The Cross, Kenilworth (& Kenilworth Castle) (2024)
The Angel at Hetton, North Yorkshire (2025, Golden Wedding Celebration)

Fifty Years Together (1) Chasing Memories Around Wharfedale

Back to Where it all Started

Heading North


North Yorkshire
Fifty years of marriage requires a celebration, but as we set out to do just that, only I knew where we were going. This has become the traditional format of our anniversary jaunts, though neither of us can remember how it started. Lynne took the wheel (eyesight problems make it unwise for me to drive) and I directed her north up the M6, and 80 miles later north-east onto the M65. From the end of the M65 at Colne (of ‘fond’ memory to some) we travelled cross-country to Skipton, Gateway to the Yorkshire Dales.

The Traditional County of Yorkshire
Skipton and Kettlewell are marked, Hubberholme is just north of Kettlewell and Hetton is north of Skipton inside the National Park

Below is how we looked 50 years ago today. What we look like now will be revealed (more than once), as this post wears on.

Wedding Day, 26th of July 1975

Skipton

We paused in Skipton for coffee and then took a short walk through the busy Saturday market to the gates of the castle and posed for the day’s first photo opportunity.

Outside Skipton Castle (hardly changed, have we)

Over the gate is the word 'Desormais' (Henceforth) the slightly two-edged motto of the Clifford family who owned the castle from 1310 until after the Civil War.

We did not enter the castle, but we did in 2020 and it features in a post called Skipton, Grassington and Kettlewell. We did, however, drop in to the adjacent parish church as we had never been there before.

Around 1300 a stone church was built on the site of a 12th-century wooden chapel. It has undergone many alterations since, sometimes because of damage (in 1645 from the Civil War and in 1925 from lightening) and sometimes because later generations thought they could do better, and sometimes they could.

The most eye-catching parts of the church are the rood screen, which bears the date 1553...

Tudor Rood screen, Skipton Parish Church

... and, looking through the screen, the reredos. Designed by Sir George Gilbert Scott in 1870, it is set off by stained-glass window of about the same vintage.

The reredos and the east window, Skipton Parish Church

Kettlewell

From Skipton we  entered the Yorkshire Dales National Park and found the B6160, the ‘main’ road that runs the length of Upper Wharfedale, …

Along the B6160 into Upper Wharfedale

… and followed it to Kettlewell. Fifty years ago we spent our honeymoon here, and apart from more and more dwellings being tarted up as second homes/holiday cottages it has changed little. Today the village has under 300 permanent residents.

Kettlewell had three pubs in 1975 and, remarkably, still has three pubs today. We stayed at one of them, the Blue Bell Inn, which has had its ups and downs over the years, but currently seems to be doing well.

Our honeymoon hotel
The paint is fresh, otherwise nothing has changed since 1975

Here is Lynne nursing a glass of Guinness Zero outside the Blue Bell as we waited for our lunch.

Lynne waiting for lunch outside the Blue Bell, Kettlewell

Despite many attempts over the years, I have yet to capture the charm of the village in a photograph. Here, though, is a photo from my 2020 post Aysgarth and Kettlewell showing the bridge over Kettlewell Beck at the top of the village. We played Pooh Sticks here in 1975, in 2020 and again today (and a few months ago played at the original Pooh Sticks Bridge in Ashdown Forest – we hope to go professional soon.)

Pooh sticks bridge over Kettlewell Beck in 2020

Hubberholme

Just as we did five years ago, we drove northwards up the dale through Starbotton to Buckden where we turned left towards Langstrothdale, following the tiniest of roads to the hamlet of Hubberholme, the smallest, pleasantest place in the world, according to novelist JB Priestly.

The compact Norman Church of Saint Michael and All Angels at Hubberholme was sturdily built to survive almost 1,000 years of Yorkshire weather. We came here in 1975 on the first full day of our marriage on a visit suggested by my best man Chris Noble, sadly no longer with us. He sent us to find the carvings of Robert Thompson (1876 – 1955), known as the ‘Mouseman of Kilburn.’ On returning in 2020 we found the church locked (the baleful curse of Covid) so we came again, on perhaps a more significant day.

The Church of St Michael and All Angels, Hubberholme, photo taken in 2020

Early in his furniture making career Thompson started signing his work by carving mice into it, and the rodents can be found on the oak pews and the choir stalls at Hubberholme.

I wandered round, searching for mice and found nothing. Lynne left the back of the church, where she had been reading about JB Priestley, whose ashes are in the churchyard, and joined me in the search. For a while she was equally unsuccessful, and then she spotted one, and then having seen one, she saw another, and another. She had found quite a few before I found my first, looking without seeing has always been among my special skills. We found lots eventually, but I doubt we them found all.

A Robert Thompson mouse, Hubberholme (they all look the same wherever they are!)

The company Robert Thompson founded: ‘Robert Thompson's Craftsman - the Mousemen of Kilburn’ is still going strong ‘creating the antiques of tomorrow’ from English oak – and ensuring they all carry at least one mouse.

The Angel at Hetton

Having gathered sufficient rodents, we headed back down the Dale, following the B6160 to Cracoe before turning west to Hetton. The village is on the edge of the national park and only 5 miles north of Skipton.

We drove straight past The Angel at our first attempt; its signage is so very discreet. Describing itself as a restaurant with rooms it relies very little, if at all, on passing trade, serving neither ordinary food, nor charging ordinary prices. This was the destination for on our special day, and I had booked months in advance.

The Angel at Hetton

Our room was over the road, in what were once the stables.

Our room in the stable

It was comfortable, large, light and airy if a little over-designed. The lighting looked eccentric, though it worked well when we figured out the switches, which were as discreetly signed as the Angel itself.

A mildly eccentric lighting system?

The bathroom sinks (one each) resembled hollowed-out ceramic tree trunks, while the bath was perfectly designed for a ‘brides in the bath murder’ - but 50 years too late for us. On the other hand, the shower was a shining light in a bathroom of over-designed oddities. It was spacious, the controls were easy to understand and operate, the temperature was easy to set and never varied, the maximum flow was pleasingly torrential, and I could run the sprinkler and the hand shower simultaneously. The best indoor shower ever. My best outdoor shower was at the Xandari Pearl, Marari Beach, Kerala.

At the appropriate time, showered and more formally dressed, we made our way back over the road for dinner. The review of our gastronomic adventure has a post all to itself.

Monday, 23 June 2025

Slovenia (1): On and Around Lake Bled

A Lake, an Island and a Cream Cake

Slovenia?

Not Slovakia!


Slovenia
This post is the first of several about our visit to Slovenia. Some people - I'm sure you're not one of them – confuse Slovenia and Slovakia, so for their benefit: Slovakia was the eastern end of Czechoslovakia (there's a clue in the name) until Czechia and Slovakia decided on an amicable divorce, the decree becoming absolute on the 1st of January 1993…

…while Slovenia was the northernmost, wealthiest and second smallest of the constituent republics of Yugoslavia. In July 1991 Slovenia became the first Yugoslav republic to declare independence.

The Army was dispatched to deal with the breakaway but withdrew after 9 days, what the Slovenes did was less important to them than the imminent fighting between Serbs and Croats and the horror that Bosnia would become (see Sarajevo: The Siege, posted 2012). As most of the disintegrating Yugoslavia became locked in internecine warfare, Slovenia quietly got on with being a new, small independent Republic, joining the UN in 1992, the EU in 2004 and adopting the euro in 2007.

Slovenia (Bled and Ljubljana underlined) with position in Europe in inset

Slovenia is prosperous, but small, a tad (4%) smaller than Wales, the epitome of a small country, with only 68% as many people – and their sheep population is not worth comparing.

22-June-2025

Getting There

Flights from Gatwick to Ljubljana, the Slovenian capital, are scheduled for just over two hours. That is an hour less than going to Portugal which I had always thought of as a near neighbour, while Slovenia is far away in eastern Europe.

Our late afternoon departure was delayed, and waiting for an air traffic control slot wasted more time. A change of time zone and the inevitable formalities at Ljubljana meant darkness was falling when we met with Boris who would drive us north to Bled. We arrived in time to check in and go to bed.

23-June-2025

Bled Lake


Bled
After an excellent breakfast we ventured out for our first look at Slovenia.

Bled is a small town (pop: 5,000) nestling in the foothills of the Alps, 50km north of Ljubljana and 10km south of the Austrian border. It has two hotel rooms for every citizen, suggesting it has become a tourist hot spot.

Bled, its lake and out hotel

The reason for that is Lake Bled, but where was it? Our hotel boasted it was ‘a few steps from the lake’ so we walked down hill, rounded a curve and proved them right.

Lake Bled and Bled Island

In 18th century England, as the need for castles and strongholds diminished, aristocrats and those with sufficient funds built themselves opulent country houses. The Renaissance had introduced an appreciation of beauty in nature and wealthy house-owners wanted perfect views from their windows and terraces. Nature was not always up to the job, providing an opportunity for professional landscapers, foremost among them Lancelot “Capability” Brown, who would move a woodland here, insert a lake there and create (at great expense) landscapes more perfectly natural than the one nature provided. Lake Bled would be Capability Brown's despair, there is nothing he could do to improve this view.

Bled's shield (above) shows blue water, an island and a castle on a rocky bluff. The first photo showed blue water and the island; a slight change of direction brings the castle into view.

Lake Bled and Bled Castle

You may view Lake Bled as a tear dropped from God’s eye, but at a more prosaic level it is 2.1Km long, up to 1.4km wide, has a surface area of 1.45km² and a maximum depth of 30m.

Round the Lake

There is a clause in the Slovenian constitution which states that all able-bodied visitors to Bled must, at the first available opportunity, walk around the lake. There is not actually true but most visitors behave as though it is, and we were no different. We set off in a clockwise direction on a warm morning that could only get hotter.

The footpath is 6km of largely level pavement, woodland track, gravel path and boardwalk. We tried, not entirely successfully, to avoid the temptation to repeatedly photograph ourselves in front of the castle…

Me spoiling the view of the castle

… or the island just because it was a different angle.

Lynne and the island, Lake Bled

Shaded, woody sections of the path attracted anglers who set up their rods, reclined comfortably in their chairs, and dozed as they waited for the rods to catch them a fish.

There was birdsong, so I asked Merlin what it was. It quickly spotted blackbird, robin, jackdaw, chiffchaff and great tit - some of the commonest birds from our garden at home - plus the slightly less common but still not rare blackcap, song thrush and nuthatch. Amidst this was a marsh tit, a 'lifer' for me. Globally its population is healthy, but in the UK it has dropped 50% since 1970.

A couple of hundred metres of boardwalk at the lake’s western extremity...

Lynne on the boardwalk

...allowed us to peer into the limpid waters (well, they're as limpid as lakes get) and spot the angler’s quarry. The lake contains giant catfish, pike, carp, three species of trout (though we saw none on local menus) perch and more.

Is that a trout in there?

The boardwalk has an angle allowing both the island and castle to be in one photograph…

The island and the castle in a single photo!

… and while we were there the clocktower chimed 10.25, which seemed eccentric.

Bled Cream Cake

Around 10.45 it was getting hotter and we started looking for a coffee stop. We found one at Velika Zaka, roughly the halfway spot. To accompany our coffee, we ordered a blejska kremna rezina (Bled Cream Cake) because cream cake is an integral part of visiting Bled, like walking round the lake.

Bled Cream Cake

A huge traditional pastry (I am glad we ordered one between two) it was ‘perfected’ in 1953 by Ištvan Lukačević, pastry chef at Hotel Park. They are now all made to his recipe. Apart from being difficult to eat with two soft layers between two crisp layers, and supplying a complete week’s sugar requirement in one go, it is not very interesting – there is more to a perfect pastry than buxom good looks (see the Portuguese Pastel de Nata in Eating the Algarve). Oh dear, now I can never go back!

Completing the Walk

A couple of hundred metres beyond our coffee stop, as the clock chimed 11.07, we detoured from the lakeshore around Bled Rowing Club, Olympic Centre and marina. The rowing club has a 6-lane lane 2000 metre course marked out diagonally across the lake. The World Championships have been held here four times, most recently in 2011.

We never quite returned to the lake shore, but as the day grew hotter and the chiming of the clock more erratic, the number of walkers grew steadily. We plodded on and were surprised to look back and discover the island was now well behind us and the castle looming above.

Still plodding on

Re-entering the built-up area at the head of the lake, our walk passed parkland, playgrounds and swimming areas. I had considered swimming but decided the lake would be too cold. I have seen a photo of a former student of mine (now grown up, so she should know better) swimming in Lake Bled in winter when the water temperature was 4°. That put me off, though I have read that by the end of summer it reaches an acceptable 25. But June, I thought, might be a little bit cool for a dedicated wuss and heated indoor pool swimmer like me, and I was less than entirely comfortable with the thought of 2m long catfish – you don’t see those in Stone Leisure Centre.

Lunch (With a Side Order of Rant)

The circumambulation completed, we checked out the boats for an afternoon ride to the island and then found the nearest bar to have a bite, rest our feet and administer a very necessary cold beer.

A life saving cold beer, Bled

It was the nearest bar because we were tired, we did not reject the next one up the road for any reason other than proximity, and certainly not because of this review which you can find on Google.

Location is bad, along a busy road (it is the road we are sitting beside in the photo) and the drink menu is very simple. Only 4 beers on the menu... (the owner claims, 8 and the drinks menu might look less simple if you include the many drinks the writer has never heard of and probably wont try) … [the] lady at the bar speaks only her own language… I stopped reading there, ‘her own language?’ as though she was making it up as she went along. She was, I presume, a Slovenian, speaking Slovenian in Slovenia, that is less ‘her own language,’ and more the language of this town and this country. You, Mr Reviewer, were the one speaking ‘his own language’ rather than the majority tongue. Many (most) of those working in tourist facing positions do learn/pick up some English, it has become the lingua franca of the tourist trade; it makes us anglophones (me included) lazy, but it should not make us feel entitled. We, the army of travellers/tourists/holidaymakers, may be legion, but we are guests not occupiers and should behave that way.

With that in mind, we thanked the young lady who had brought us our beer and paninis, left a modest tip, as is the local custom and returned to the lakeside.

Bled Island

Getting There

A landing stage for Lake Bled’s traditional flat-bottomed boats was near the start/finish of our walk. The pletna (from High German Plätten 'flat-bottomed boat') has been used in Lake Bled since at least 1590 (some claim 1150). In 1740 Marie Theresa, Empress of Austria granted 22 families exclusive rights to ferry pilgrims across to worship on Bled Island. No motorboats of any type are permitted on Lake Bled, and even today only Pletnas may carry paying passengers to and from the island. Many modern rowers are still members of the original 22 families.

The Pletna sets off

They row standing on the stern using two oars. The boats’ construction owes something to Venetian gondolas (Venice is only 170km away) but the propulsion is different, and passengers sit beneath brightly coloured awnings.

Heading out across the lake

The heavy boat moved at speed, demonstrating expertly applied brute force. As we approached the landing stage, apparently far too fast, the rower stood up straight, gave a deft flick with one oar, the boat turned 180° and glided gently up to its mooring.

Pletnas on Blead Island

The Island and the Church of the Assumption

There is no obvious reason for Bled Island being a place of pilgrimage but it has been a sacred site since before Christianity arrived. The Church of the Assumption of Mary was built here in the 15th century, and even today on the appropriate feast day (July the 15th) crowds come here to worship.

We were not pilgrims, and as we left the boat the oarsman said ‘return in 40 minutes.’ We struggled up the stone steps to the front of the old church with its prominent ‘no entry sign.’ ...

Stone steps, Bled Island

... and round the back where there is the clocktower, a café and the inevitable gift shop. After a good look at that we still had 30 minutes to fill.

Bell tower, Bled Island

The church was open on this side, but we needed a ticket. On approaching the adjacent kiosk, we learned that entry was €12.50 each. That is €25 (£22, US$30) for two which is a lot of money for a short visit to a small, largely disused church. ‘Is there a special price for seniors,’ I asked, playing the old git card. ‘I can give you a child’s ticket’ he said ‘€5.’ And so he did, though I still thought it was on the high side - though Lynne disagrees.

Inside is a baroque altarpiece with almost enough gold to satisfy an American president….

Gold altarpiece, Church of the Assumption, Bled Island

…and a baroque pulpit, …

Baroque pulpit, Church of the Assumption, Bled Island

…but the church is older than that as the remains of a Gothic fresco demonstrate.

Gothic fresco, Church of the Assumption, Bled Island

A bell rope hangs in front of the altar rail and punters are invited to give it a tug. There is a technique to it, but if you follow the instructions no great strength is required to get the bell ringing at the third pull. After that you can go on indefinitely, but good manners demand otherwise.

Ringing the bell, Church of the Assumption, Bled Island

Only when I heard the bell did I realise why the bell we had heard this morning (and wrongly assumed to be in the clock tower) had been chiming at such eccentric intervals.

A Tall Tale

Long ago, in Bled Castle a nobleman was killed by robbers. His grieving widow, Poliksena had a beautiful bell cast in his memory for the church on Bled Island. Sadly, a terrible storm blew up while the bell was being transported to the island. The boat capsized, and the bell sank into the depths never to be seen again.

Distraught, Poliksena went to Rome, entered a convent and lived out a life of quiet devotion. When the Pope heard her story, he commissioned a new bell and sent it to the island church.

That was the bell we rang, if you make a wish with a pure heart, the Virgin Mary will hear it and grant it. Whether that is true or not, we do not know as neither of us made a wish.

Of course, like all sunken bells wherever they may be, when the mist is on the lake, the sound of a bell etc, etc, etc.

Back to Bled

Like most of the others, we arrived a little early for the return journey. The round trip, which commits the oarsman to 10-15 minutes rowing each way and a wait of 30 minutes, costs €20 a head. A pletna has 20 seats giving a total of €400 for the trip, do that five times a day, six days a week produces around €50,000 a month. Doubtless there are overheads, maintaining the boat, membership of the organisation which keeps the rowing fraternity a small elite group, and maybe landing fees and mooring costs, but it is, on the face of it, a nice little earner. But not every boat is full, and it is a seasonal occupation. Opening up the market might reduce prices, but tradition would be lost, the atmosphere would change, people might even notice there is nothing to do on Bled Island and that would have to be remedied. I think I prefer it as it is, low key, peaceful but maybe a little more expensive than it should be.

So, the story of our first day in Slovenia comes to an end. We went out for dinner later, and that will, one day, be part of another post called Slovenia: Eating and Drinking.